#what if they just make it an au and make everyone human-- /is kicked | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chuulyssa · 6 months ago

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୨・──── TELL ME I’M A LITTLE ANGEL, SWEETHEART OF YOUR CITY ────・୧

pairing ⸺ satoru gojo x reader

teaser ⸺ as a child, you were taken in by the powerful gojo clan and raised alongside their heir, gojo satoru — but never as his sibling. now, at an elite school, your fragile bond is tested when an actual noble woman enters the picture, bringing in a marriage proposal.

FIRST IN ARRANGED. [GOJO SATORU X READER]

READ PART II HERE

content ⸺ fluff, reader is an academic achiever and has a good handwriting, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, cliff hanger ending, human auctions, implied slavery, jealousy, implied torture, shoko talks about using medical tools for torture (lol), blood, implied abuse, implied grape (not at reader), magic!au, historic!au, the ages of reader and gojo throughout the story: 3, 10, 12, 15, 17

count ⸺ 22k

author’s note ⸺ thank you to everyone for waiting patiently! this is just the part one, i hope it does well to give me enough motivation to write a part two. i have so soo many ideas i’m hoping to incorporate.

🎧 ao3 wattpad

You sat next to the man, bowing deeply with him at some figure you couldn’t care less about. It had to be someone important obviously, and you knew now was the time you were going to get kicked out of a place for the tenth time in your life, unwittingly dragging this poor man with you as well. He had seemed kind enough when he had bought you off at that auction.

He wasn’t anything like you had feared. You had met other girls bonding with each other inside the cage; girls older and prettier than you, getting sold off one by one to old and creepy men who looked like they couldn’t keep it in their pants. You had dreaded meeting the same fate as them. That was, until the man who kept increasing his offer for you looked younger and stronger.

He was probably like one of those army officers you had seen at your mother’s house, who would stand guard outside your small room each night she and her happy family went out to lavish parties, to make sure you didn’t escape. Well, even if you did, you thought that was what they would have wanted, but they kept saying that they didn’t want anyone noticing your existence. Not that they didn’t have a good reason.

In your mind, you had hoped the man would win, and when he had, the triumphant look on his face made you sigh in relief; at least now you were sure you wouldn’t be used as a hole for life. But were you, though? Because the thoughts kept creeping back; the looks on the other girls’ faces when they were taken away by their new masters. But the mysterious man had made you sit on his pretty horse, taking you somewhere, away from the horrifying auctions that represented the worst atrocities made by humans.

You peered from under your hands, still in your bowing position. The person had now risen. He had dark hair and vivid blue eyes. He seemed to peer at you in as much curiosity as you were at him. That was, until a crisp voice had cut through the silence, knocking you out of your bow when it addressed your saviour to “pack his things and leave”.

“I understand, madam,” he said smoothly, getting up to leave, not before giving another curt nod. Then he turned to you. “This is where my job ends, little one. You’ll be much happier here,” he whispered, nodding at you and standing up. You almost wanted to stop him before you remembered you were told several times that you didn’t possess any human emotions. So you watched him leave, wondering how he was so sure this wouldn’t be another one of your previous houses.

“As for the child,” you snapped your head back to the dark-haired man in front of you who seemed to be giving commands, “we must decide which family keeps her. From the looks of it, she needs to be tended to,” he eyed your wounds from previous struggles you wished to forget about.

You stared at the people he was questioning, and they all looked away. This seemed like a meeting room, and the people were lined up sitting parallel to each other. Some were glaring at you like you had come to raid their houses, fuck their wives and drink their blood. None of them seemed to realize you were only a child of ten. Nervous under all the gazes, you wished to find another person you could bow to, just to avoid all the staring you were receiving.

“We will,” said the same voice you had heard earlier, and you finally looked at its source.

She had long, white hair that seemed to reach till the floor. Her eyes were light, and she looked pretty. She had a cold look on her face that made her seem frightening, though, and that was probably why you saw that none of the others could even muster enough courage to look at her eyes when she said those words.

“Well, it’s decided then,” the man said in a final tone, as if he had only bargained about the price of a few watermelons from his local vendor. “Love, if you will.”

Love? Oh, maybe they were married.

The woman stood up and everyone bowed at her again. You were about to sink back into the position before she crouched down in front of you, caressing your hair with a touch that made you look back at her.

“Come with me, daughter.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

“I have a sister now?” “Shh, and don’t call her that. I’ve already told you, she’s not your sister—”

“Does she know how to ride horses?” “Do you ever do anything else?”

“She should know how to ride horses.” “You can teach her.”

“Oh, wow, really?”

You scrambled away from the door at the sounds of footsteps returning and sunk back into the expensive bed the woman had had prepared for you. The ‘woman’ who asked you to call her ‘mom’, somehow losing the twinkle in her eye when commanding maids around, which she seemed to regain every time you spoke something.

You knew it was a trap though. If she really ‘adopted’ you and wanted you to call her ‘mom’, wouldn’t that mean you were the sister to whatever child she already had? Yet here you were, all cleaned up and changed, almost believing the charade before realizing the child was being advised not to consider you as their sister.

You bit your lip, trying not to cry. At least you weren’t at your old house thinking of ways to poison your family, or in that cage counting down for when it was your turn, or lying dead in some creep’s backyard. Maybe you could enjoy this while it lasted.

“May I come in?” A polite, boyish voice rang out from behind your door. A hushed whisper of an older woman seemed to reprimand him for not knocking, and the two started to argue.

“Yes?” You didn’t quite know how to respond professionally to the request, so your answer came off more as a question. You sure hoped the man wouldn’t scold you for your manners as well.

A boy stepped forward, and you immediately knew he was the son of the two clan leaders. Not because of his clothes, but because of his face. He had the same white hair as his mother, and the blue eyes he got from his father. Maybe blue eyes were a thing of the clan?

“Hi,” he said awkwardly, and the door closed behind him. “Mother sent me here for ‘bonding time’.” You kept staring at him, not realizing you were staring. He looked up at you and flushed. Only then did you realize, chuckling awkwardly and scratching your wrists, trying to get used to the expensive scents the maids had covered you with.

“Can I… uh,” he trailed off, staring at you, and you blinked back at him, not knowing what he was going to say.

“...sit on the bed?” You offered, and he raised an eyebrow before climbing on it, sitting in the most formal position you had ever seen.

“Do you like horse riding?” “What?”

He flushed even more. “Mother said we should ask each other questions to get to know the other better.”

“Oh.” “Yeah.”

There was another silence.

“So it’s my turn to ask a question now?” You asked. “Yeah.”

“Do you like potatoes?”

“What?” He processed your question for a solid five seconds before bursting into laughter. You kept staring at him as if he was stupid. Did you say something stupid?

“I like you!” He said in between giggles, his old formal, uptight position long lost. It was your turn to flush now. No one had ever said they even wanted you alive, let alone say that. Well, no one except for three people in the past few hours, and now this guy. You had a feeling you might prefer this over anything else for now.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The soft hum of celebration still lingered in the air. Lanterns flickered outside glowing warmly across your room. You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the wrapped gifts and trinkets the Gojo family had insisted on presenting you earlier. It had been strange, the idea of sharing a birthday with Satoru. You didn’t even know your real birthday, so his — no — your mother announced it would be shared.

Satoru had, of course, embraced the attention, dragging you along with him to cut the massive cake. You had never seen anything like this before, and it might have shown on your face, because he had held your wrist tightly as if annoyed you were taking so long, and cut the cake with you. That was what made it impossible to shun the feelings of belongingness.

Now, the house was quiet, and the festivities had faded. But just as you were about to pull the covers over yourself, the faint sound of your door creaking open made you pause.

“Hey,” Satoru’s voice whispered, followed by the soft padding of his feet. You turned your head to see him, still in the formal robes mother had fussed over earlier, though they were now slightly askew. His hair was a mess, his face flushed from excitement — or maybe all the sweets he’d devoured.

“Should you not knock?” you asked, folding your arms. You inwardly cringed at the noble accent you had unknowingly adopted from the Gojo family. “And what are you doing here?”

“Escaping,” he said, as if that explained everything. He plopped down without invitation beside you on the bed, leaning back on his hands and gazing at the ceiling. “Mother’s got the maids cleaning up. I was bored. Figured you’d be awake.”

You rolled your eyes, but he caught the faint smile tugging at your lips. “You’re going to get us in trouble. Again.”

“What’s the point of having a birthday if you can’t even cause some trouble now?” He shot you a grin, then leaned closer to the window. “Let’s go outside.”

“What? No.” “Please, please, pretty please?”

“I am not letting my first birthday become my death day,” you scoffed at him. Taking one look at the pout on his face, which seemed to stretch all the way down to his neck, you sighed, and he knew he won. “Fine. But we’re only looking outside.”

“What!? But what’s the fun in that?” “Then go alone.”

He pouted again, but you merely looked away trying to shield yourself from his cuteness. Soon after though, Satoru relented. He slid the window open and climbed onto the ledge, grumbling for you to follow. You joined him, settling beside him as the smell of night air filled your room. The stars were brilliant tonight, like silver dust across an ink-black canvas.

“They’re so bright,” you murmured. “It’s almost… too much.”

Satoru snorted. “That’s the problem with you. You overthink everything. Just look at them — they’re pretty, that’s all there is to it.”

You rolled your eyes again but couldn’t suppress a small laugh. “Fine. They’re beautiful. Happy now?”

“Very,” he said, grinning. Then he tilted his head, closing his eyes and mumbling something to himself. He opened his eyes, looking at you expectantly. “Now it’s your turn. Make a wish.”

“What?” You frowned.

“A wish! Like for your birthday. I know we already made some during the cake thing, but this one’s private. Just for us.”

You hesitated, unsure of what to wish for, before finally closing your eyes. Satoru watched you intently as if trying to guess your wish, but when you opened your eyes again, he pretended to be fascinated by the sky.

“Oh, done already? What did you wish for?” he asked after a moment.

“You said it was private,” you shot back. “What did you wish for?”

“Not telling,” he replied smugly, crossing his arms. “What if you laugh?”

“Why would I laugh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Because you’re you.” “And you’re stupid.”

The two of you fell into another argument, but when it finally died down, it was followed by a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional sound of distant crickets. Then, out of nowhere, Satoru blurted out, “Do you think the stars can hear us?”

“What?” You stared at him.

“The stars,” he said seriously, pointing upward. “Do you think they grant wishes, like gods or something?”

“That’s stupid,” you muttered, but you couldn’t hide the faint curl of amusement on your lips. “They’re just balls of gas.”

“Well, maybe those gas balls are listening,” he said, sticking his tongue out. “You don’t know everything. Maybe they are hearing us right now.”

You opened your mouth to retort but froze. A memory seemed to resurface…

“I still don’t know why you decided to keep the child!” a deep voice was screeching at another, soft one.

“I don’t know what came over me, I swear!”“It is the spawn of Satan himself! I respect you for what you have been through, but it is time to dispose of her.”

“Dispose? You don’t mean—”

Large hands came your way to muffle the screams from your mouth.

Your fingers clenched the windowsill.

“They didn’t hear me before,” you said quietly, almost to yourself.

“What?” Satoru noticed the change in your tone, and turned to look at you, his brow furrowing. “Who? The balls?”

You shook your head quickly. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

But Satoru wasn’t one to let things go. “Hey,” he said softly. “You can tell me. I mean, if you want.”

His sincerity made your chest tighten. Normally, after the word ‘balls’, he would have made a bad joke about male anatomy. But he seemed to have read the room enough to shut up. You looked at him, his bright blue eyes watching you with genuine concern. For a moment, you thought about telling him. But then, the weight of it all felt too heavy to share. He was too young, too shielded from the horrors of the world to be able to handle any of it anyway.

“It’s nothing,” you muttered. “Just something dumb I used to believe.”

Satoru opened his mouth to argue, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he smiled gently and nudged your shoulder. “Okay. But if you ever want to talk about dumb things, I’m here. You know, I’m dumb, so…” he tried making the joke you always did.

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you simply nodded. The two of you sat in silence for a little while longer, watching the stars. Finally, Satoru stretched and hopped down from the ledge.

“Goodnight,” he said, giving you a lopsided grin. “And happy birthday.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the warmth in his voice. “You too,” you said softly.

As he closed the door as softly as he could behind him, you stared out at the stars, wondering if maybe, just maybe, they had started listening after all.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The sound of hooves clattering against the cobblestone path filled the air as the royal carriage swayed gently on its way to the prestigious School of Royalty. The morning sun cast a golden glow on the lush green fields outside, but inside, the atmosphere was both tense and excited.

“You know,” Satoru began, leaning lazily against the plush velvet seat, “I heard there’s a whole batch of new exchange students joining today. Rumor is, one of them’s from the Silver Crescent Kingdom. Ever seen anyone from there? They’re supposed to have that, uh… ‘ethereal glow.’ You think that’s real, or just something people say?”

You barely glanced up from the notebook in your lap, furrowing your brows as you paused your incoherent babbling of equations. “If you spent half as much time studying for the exam as you do gossiping, maybe you wouldn’t need to cheat off me later.”

He smirked, unbothered. “Cheat? Me? I’m offended. I’m just naturally brilliant.”

“And naturally annoying,” you muttered, flipping to another page of hastily scribbled notes.

Satoru ignored the jab, his grin widening. At fifteen, he’d grown into someone who couldn’t step into a room without people swooning for his attention. You guessed it was just a Gojo thing he inherited from his mother. The girls adored him — some from afar, others more boldly (you still cringe remembering that one time a girl with a sorry excuse of a top was taken away by your guards for trying to get a kiss from him last year) — and the boys either envied or wanted to be him. The name “Satoru Gojo” seemed to be whispered wherever he went, and he couldn’t be happier.

You, on the other hand, had decided that the attention you receive at your house was enough to satisfy you for a lifetime, and you would rather spend your time learning something new — at least, that’s what you told your mother; that you would rather cry over your grades than guys, to which Satoru had cleverly remarked, “Why not both?” earning a glare from his mother. While you did have friends, and you did seem to be friendly with everyone around you, you would watch in dismay when most of these friends would recite their love stories, and you had nothing to share. The boys barely noticed you, too busy being gay over Satoru. But you had your books, your achievements, and the satisfaction of knowing you didn’t need anyone’s approval.

“And get this,” Satoru continued, his excitement growing. “I heard one of them’s some kind of prodigy. Like, they mastered advanced magic when they were ten. Can you imagine? Finally, someone who might be able to keep up with me. They’re a senior too, so I want to see the look on their face when they realize I’m better than them.”

“Mhm,” you replied distractedly, not bothering to look up. You were too busy with the definition of archaic spellcasting principles and the formulas for mana stabilization to muster a reply of more than a single syllable. The exam was in less than an hour, and the thought of failing even one question sent a jolt of anxiety through you.

Satoru leaned forward, peering at your notes upside down. “What’s that? Something about magic circles? You’re still on those? I mastered those ages ago.”

You snapped your notebook shut and shot him a glare. “You didn’t ‘master’ anything. You just wing it and hope for the best.”

“Hey, it works, doesn’t it?” He shrugged. “Besides, you’ll cover for me if I mess up. That’s what partners are for.”

“We’re not partners.”

“Sure we are,” he said breezily. “Partners in crime. Mischief-makers extraordinaire. The unbeatable duo.” He winked, and you rolled your eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of your head.

The carriage hit a bump, causing you to clutch your notes tighter. Satoru, unfazed, lounged back in his seat and stared out of the window. “You know, you should relax a little. Exams aren’t life or death.”

“For you, maybe. Some of us don’t have a safety net made of charm and raw talent.”

He laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “Wow, you really think I’m charming and talented? Thanks, baby.”

You didn’t dignify that dumb statement with a response. Instead, you turned your attention back to your notes, determined to make use of every second you had left.

The carriage began to slow, signaling their arrival at the school gates. Satoru straightened, his excitement palpable. “Here we go. Time to make an impression. Think the exchange students are going to swoon over me?”

“Only if they have no taste,” you muttered, gathering your things.

He grinned, standing and offering you a hand as the carriage came to a stop. “Come on, don’t be such a poopy.”

You cringed again before taking his hand, letting him help you down. The moment your feet touched the ground, the buzz of the school grounds surrounded you. Students swarmed the entrance, chattering excitedly about everything from the new arrivals to last-minute cramming for the exam.

Satoru strode ahead confidently, while you lingered a step behind, clutching your notes tightly. He glanced at you, running back to catch up with you. “Where’s Kuro? He’s supposed to be part of the dramatic entrance I had planned.”

“I sent him away. He was annoying me with the confetti.” “You— WHAT?”

You ignored him, continuing to walk up the stairs leading to your exam hall without looking up at anyone. Satoru jogged beside you.

“We haven’t met with any of the exchange students yet!” “Satoru, if you want to, then leave.”

He pouted, planting your face in front of yours above your notes. “You know I won’t leave you.”

“Then stay quiet and let me study.” “Alright, alright,” he said, sighing. He stared at you for a few moments, pacing around the hall with you while you muttered curses under your breath. He smiled. You always hated this one subject but felt the need to excel in it anyway. “Hey,” he said softly. “You’ll do great, you know.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, but you masked it with a scoff. “You’d better hope so. If I fail, you’ll fail too.”

He laughed again, a sound as effortless as everything else about him. “That’s true. Can’t impress anyone with an F on the paper, can I?” The loud bell rang, and Satoru moved to cover your ears with the palms of his hands. “I’ve got you covered, princess. In return, you must guarantee that I pass.”

You smiled a genuine smile at him, something you had gotten quite used to doing in the past four years you had spent with your new family. “I can’t guarantee that. Let’s go, I’m done now.”

His eyes widened comically, “What do you mean you can’t guarantee that?” You laughed at him, and he snatched your notebook from your hands. “Give me that! Oh god. I’m doomed, aren’t I?”

“Yup, let’s go now.”

The exam hall echoed with the sound of faint murmurs and the occasional nervous coughs. While theory had been nerve-wracking, at least you had been able to cram for it. But the practicals? They were a whole different beast. No amount of late-night revisions could prepare you for actual spellwork.

You clutched your wand tightly, its polished surface cold and smooth against your clammy palms. The examiner called your name, and your stomach flipped. Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward. What were the steps again? Swing your wand, say the words, and hope for the best.

You stood before the enchanted apparatus. It was a simple magical round glass that would respond to the accuracy of your spell, changing its colour accordingly. The orb pulsed softly, steams of gas floating stilly in its interior, waiting. You were supposed to transfigure a cactus into a goblet full of water. The room was silent, dozens of eyes boring into your back.

Why did they have to make everyone do the practicals individually, and on stage?

You closed your eyes briefly, mustering every ounce of focus. With a flick of your wand and the carefully practiced words spilling from your lips, you executed the spell. Wand still in the air, you waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing happened. Then, the orb glowed a brilliant gold.

“Perfect!” The elderly professor cried, clasping her hands together. She really liked you. “Next, please.”

Relief washed over you, and you felt a disbelieving smile creep onto your face. Scooting off the stage, you climbed down the stairs to your seat. You caught Satoru’s eye and mouthed, Good luck. He was slouching on his chair, winking at you and giving you a lazy thumbs-up.

Just as you sat down, you noticed your gaze didn’t leave him. You kept looking at him, how effortlessly good he looked in his outfit, sunglasses perched languidly on his nose. He was looking straight ahead at the stage above, and you glanced at the front too. Shoko got a pale yellow glow from the orb, an easy B.

Your eyes wandered to the girl in line ahead of Satoru. You recognized her instantly, how could you not? Wavy chestnut hair that caught the light just so, impeccable posture, an air of confidence that bordered on smug, and her pink lips upright looking behind her. She was from one of the distant kingdoms—brilliant in class, annoyingly charming, and unfortunately, quite pretty. And right now, she seemed pretty happy about being positioned so close to Satoru.

It was the way she was smiling at Satoru that irritated you. Not the polite, fleeting kind of smile you’d give a classmate. No, this was different. She tilted her head slightly, her lips curved in a way that made even you highly uncomfortable. You saw her fingers brush a strand of hair behind her ear — twice, because apparently once wasn’t enough — and she leaned just a fraction closer to him.

You squinted. Was she flirting? She was flirting. Yuck. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, but your jaw tightened. Getting up sneakily from your seat, you joined the crowd they stood with to spy on the two.

“I hear the examiners this year are super strict,” she said, her voice soft and lilting. “Not that you need to worry. I’ve seen you in dueling practice — you’re incredible,” she sighed at him dramatically, eyes turned to hearts.

Satoru blinked at her, then scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, thanks? I guess?”

She laughed — too loud for a casual compliment. “You’re so modest! That’s so rare, you know.” Her eyes sparkled as she stared up at him, clearly hoping he’d reciprocate the energy.

He didn’t. “Modest? Me?” Satoru’s tone was laced with genuine confusion, his brow furrowing slightly. “You sure you’re talking about the right guy?”

You saw Geto, his best friend, stifle a laugh at that, but you didn’t find any of this funny. Geto caught your eye and immediately stopped laughing, trying to inch closer to Satoru to warn him of your incoming wrath.

But the girl kept blocking his way.

“Oh, absolutely,” she said smoothly, leaning in even closer. “I bet you’ll get top marks, as always. You must have so many admirers.”

Your grip on your wand tightened. You might not be as violent as Satoru when it came to dueling, but you couldn’t care less about that at the moment. Nor did you seem to notice the sheer number of students surrounding you.

Satoru, as usual, was utterly oblivious. “Admirers? I sure hope so,” he said with a shrug. “But thanks, I guess?”

You wanted to shake him. How could he not see what she was doing? The way her voice softened whenever she said his name, how her lashes fluttered just a bit too much when she looked at him — it was painfully obvious. And yet, Satoru treated her like he treated everyone else: polite, casual, and just detached enough to make it clear he wasn’t interested.

“Next!” called the examiner, and the girl’s name echoed through the hall.

She turned to Satoru with a dazzling smile. “Wish me luck?”

“Uh, good luck?” he said, scratching his head.

You were half a second away from gagging, Geto slipping from beside Satoru to join you, both of you dissing the situation in hushed whispers.

As she walked away, you muttered under your breath, “Unbelievable.”

Geto muttered, equally frustrated, but this was pointed towards Satoru, “Unbelievable indeed.”

Your eyes followed the movements of her wand, and you tried to calculate the exact angle by which she tilted her wand too high, the length by which her hand movement went wrong and the distance between her wrist and the cactus assigned to her. Geto shook his head at your overly focused expression.

A loud pop filled the air, followed by startled squeaks. Your eyes widened. The examiners scrambled around, now very much turned into rats! The girl froze, her wand dangling uselessly at her side as laughter rippled through the room.

You bit your lip. What were you supposed to be feeling right now? Secondhand embarrassment or vindication? Serves her right, you thought, though a small part of you almost pitied her. Almost.

The headmaster, who had been watching the whole ordeal with an amused expression, quickly restored order, probably glad he wasn’t turned into a mouse or something. He dismissed the rest of the students and awarded automatic A’s to those who hadn’t gone yet.

You groaned and Geto laughed at you, a grimacing Shoko dangling from his arm. Together, the three of you were about to leave the hall when Satoru caught up with you, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Wild. Best exam ever. I didn’t even have to do anything!”

You shot him a sideways glance, your mood souring again. “Yeah, lucky you.”

“Wait, are you mad?” he asked, peering at you. “You’re mad. Why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad,” you said shortly, walking faster, waving goodbye to Geto, who was now left alone to deal with a hungry kitten, Shoko.

“You’re definitely mad,” he teased, catching up. “What, is it because I got an A without lifting a finger? Don’t worry, you’ll get to cheat off my usual genius self next time. Maybe you’ll even get an A+++++++ because of me… or whatever the highest grade is.”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You’re so modest,” you mimicked the girl from earlier, but he didn’t get the reference.

At break, you sat under the shade of a tree, quietly eating your snack and watching the courtyard buzz with post-exam chatter. Across the lawn, the girl was crying into her boyfriend’s shoulder, her wails loud enough to carry. You frowned, unsure whether to feel sorry for or annoyed at her.

Her boyfriend, a tall, broad-shouldered guy from her kingdom, seemed to be comforting her, rubbing her back and murmuring reassurances. Weird, you thought. He doesn’t even know he’s worse than Satoru in her eyes.

The suspension had been swift: four months for reckless and dangerous spellcasting. Watching her now, you couldn’t muster much sympathy. It was one thing to fail; it was another to fail so dramatically. It’s what she deserves.

Satoru plopped down beside you, unwrapping a burger he’d somehow acquired (probably chased after Shoko to steal her food). “Hey, isn’t that, uh... Britney? No, wait, Bridget? Or... Burger?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Burger?”

“Yeah, burger,” he said, taking a huge bite and gesturing vaguely in her direction. “She’s got layers, y’know? Like a burger.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head.

“C’mon, you gotta admit it’s funny,” he said, his grin widening. “She tries to turn on the charm, and bam! Instant ratification.”

You groaned at the pun, but laughter bubbled up anyway. Satoru’s dumb humor always had a way of disarming you.

“Heyyyyyyyy!” A voice dragged out, and you were met with a flash of dark blue hair before you were hugged tightly. “I heard your exam went great, but then, of course it did.” She patted your head. “Well done.”

“Thanks, Utahime.”

“No need to thank me,” Utahime pulled out your favourite chips from her bag and handed them to you.

“Hey, nothing for me?” Satoru wailed.

“Who the fuck are you?” “Rude.”

She ignored him and turned back to you. “Anyway, did you see any of the new exchange students? They’re good-looking.”

“So?” You munched on your chips.

“So,” she said loudly, shooing Satoru off to sit in his place next to you, “we can finally get you a boyfriend.”

Satoru snorted. “Boyfriend? Why does she need a boyfriend?”

“And,” she stepped on his foot with her heel and he skipped away across the courtyard, foot in his hand and muttering curses under his breath. “There’s that prodigy guy. You two could have been academic rivals if he was in your grade. Ugh, this is so annoying. Couldn’t he repeat a few classes? Dumbass.”

“Uh, I’m not interes—” “Yes, you are,” she looked at you with a wide, crazy smile as if daring you to disagree, and you gulped.“No wasting time watching couples break up,” she pointed at the girl in front of you, whose boyfriend seemed to have heard of the real reason she messed up her spell. Utahime lifted you by one arm and practically flew the yards to reach the main hall, where your assembly would take place to welcome the exchange students.

The assembly hall buzzed with anticipation, the crowd of students shifting restlessly as they filled the rows of wooden benches. Your arm still ached from Utahime dragging you all the way here. You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but feel drained—physically and emotionally.

The morning’s drama was still fresh in your mind, particularly the girl’s humiliating display. The idea of someone so brazenly cozying up to Satoru still gnawed at you. And now, you had to sit through an assembly to greet some mysterious prodigies who probably thought they were better than everyone else. Perfect.

“Sit here,” Utahime ordered, pointing to a spot near the front. “I need a good view.”

“Of what?” you asked, dropping onto the bench with a huff.

“Duh, the new guys. Maybe one of them will be your destined academic rival-slash-love interest,” she said dramatically, clasping her hands like a cheesy romance novel heroine.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m fine without one, thanks.”

“Oh, don’t be boring,” she said, plopping down beside you. “You need some excitement in your life. Besides, I heard some of the new guys are supposed to be really good-looking,” she whispered, leaning in as if discussing a conspiracy theory involving the Monarchy of Mars. “Like, model good-looking.”

You let out a noncommittal hum, tracing the edge of the seat in front of you with a finger. Utahime nudged you. “Don’t you care? Come on, aren’t you curious?”

“Not really,” you lied.

Utahime rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Sure, sure. But if someone walks in here looking like a movie star, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Your gaze wandered to the double doors at the front of the hall, where the new students were supposed to enter. You didn’t care much about the guys. But what if there were girls? Pretty girls. The kind with perfect skin and perfect hair and that effortless grace you always seemed to lack.

Your stomach churned. Why were you even thinking about that?

You glanced at Utahime, still chattering away about rumors she’d heard excitedly. She was bouncing slightly in her seat, her eyes scanning the room like a hawk. But you couldn’t shake the thought — what if everyone thought the other girls were prettier? You could almost smell the break up stories your dozen friends would fetch for you because the new girls seemed hotter to the dung-nosed guys of your school.

“For the next few months, I will be stuck amidst boy troubles,” you muttered, glancing across the hall. Satoru had finally joined the crowd, sauntering in late as usual. He spotted you almost immediately and shot you a wink before sliding into a seat with Geto and Shoko.

Your stomach did an involuntary flip, but you shoved the feeling down. He was just being Satoru like always. That’s all it was.

Right?

The headmaster’s booming voice filled the hall. “Welcome, students, to this year’s exchange program orientation!”

The crowd settled as the headmaster launched into a long-winded speech about tradition, excellence, and the importance of collaboration between kingdoms. You zoned out almost immediately, your eyes drifting back to Satoru.

He was whispering something to Geto, who smirked and nudged him in the ribs. Shoko looked utterly disinterested, flipping through a medical journal she’d smuggled in. Typical.

You pulled your eyes away from them. The last time you had zoned out in class because of him, your mood had been soured for the whole following hour. The sound of applause gave you an excuse out of your reverie. The exchange students were being introduced now, stepping onto the stage one by one. They were all polished, confident, and, admittedly, quite impressive.

Utahime elbowed you sharply. “Look at that one!” she hissed, nodding toward a tall boy with striking blond hair and piercing brown eyes.

You blinked. “Looks like he walked out of a painting.”

“Exactly,” she said, smirking. “He’s perfect for you.”

You groaned. “Can we not do this right now?”

Utahime ignored you entirely, listing off reasons why he’d make a great boyfriend: “Smart, handsome, probably good at magic—”

“Definitely better at cactus transfiguration,” you muttered, earning a snort of laughter from her.

Meanwhile, Satoru had twisted around in his seat, craning his neck to see what the commotion was about. When his eyes landed on you and Utahime, his expression soured slightly. He didn’t like being left out, and it was written all over his face.

“Who’s better at cactus transfiguration?” He suddenly appeared behind you.

“None of your business,” Utahime shot back, sticking her tongue out.

“Wow, mature,” Satoru deadpanned.

The assembly droned on, with each exchange student introducing themselves in turn. You tried to pay attention, really, but your mind kept wandering. Utahime’s ridiculous matchmaking schemes. Satoru’s infuriatingly perfect smile. The girl’s earlier meltdown. It was all swirling together into a chaotic mess of emotions you didn’t have the energy to untangle.

Finally, the headmaster wrapped up his speech with a flourish. “Let’s give our guests a warm welcome!” he declared, prompting another round of applause.

As the crowd began to disperse, Utahime grabbed your arm again. “Come on, let’s go talk to him!”

“To who?” you asked, bewildered. “The blond-haired guy, obviously!”

“Absolutely not,” you said, digging your heels into the ground.

But before you could argue further, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Leaving without saying hi? Rude.”

You turned to find Satoru standing behind you still, his trademark grin firmly in place.

Utahime groaned. “Go away, Gojo.”

“Can’t. I’m here to rescue my friend from your matchmaking madness,” he said, draping an arm over your shoulder.

You tried to shrug him off, but he held on tight, his presence annoyingly comforting.

“Why do you care?” Utahime shot back.

Satoru’s grin widened, but his tone was surprisingly serious. “Because she doesn’t need some random guy when she’s got me.”

He tugged you away, leaving Utahime fuming in his wake.

“Thanks for the save,” you mumbled once you were out of earshot.

“Anytime,” Satoru said lightly, though there was an edge to his voice you couldn’t quite place. “And besides, didn’t want you to end up with an annoying mother—”

You raised an eyebrow at him. Did he forget he was in a royal school where all the students and teachers were high-class nobles and the mere mention of vocabulary outside of the poshed-up ones exclusively for the rich would make him an infamous wreck in everyone’s eyes?

He caught your eye and continued, “—trucker.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

The dining table was as extravagant as ever, its polished surface reflecting the golden glow of the chandelier overhead. Plates were neatly arranged, and bowls of steaming food were placed in a perfect line down the centre. Mother sat at the head of the table, her posture so upright it made your back ache just looking at her. Across from her sat Father, whose stern expression was an almost permanent fixture at meals.

You occupied your usual spot, tucked between Satoru and his mother, a position that felt both safe and stifling. Satoru, of course, lounged in his chair as if it were a throne, pushing peas around his plate with one chopstick, clearly uninterested in the discussion at hand. It was peaceful and calm. But as soon as Satoru’s father set down his chopsticks, you knew this tranquillity wouldn’t last.

“Satoru,” his father began.

Satoru didn’t even look up, lazily poking at his food. “Uh oh. Here we go.”

“Don’t start,” his mother said sharply, and Satoru sighed dramatically, dropping his chopsticks like they were too heavy to hold.

“Fine. What is it this time? Did someone see me napping in class? Because, for the record, I was listening with my eyes closed.”

“Your instructor tells me your theoretical scores are excellent, as expected,” Satoru’s mother began, her sharp gaze sweeping across the table to land on him. “But your duel with Suguru during last week’s practice was... undisciplined.”

Satoru shrugged, not bothering to look up. “It’s not my fault Suguru got cocky.”

His father’s goblet hit the plate with a sharp clink. “And whose fault is it that you refuse to follow proper form? You’re not dueling for fun, Satoru. These exercises are meant to sharpen your skills for real combat.”

You could feel the tension grow, so you instinctively focused on the rice in your bowl. Satoru, however, leaned back in his chair, completely unfazed.

“Real combat isn’t about sticking to the rulebook,” he said lazily, resting an arm on the back of your chair. “It’s about adaptability.”

“That is not an excuse to showboat,” his mother snapped. “You might think you’re untouchable, but arrogance will get you killed one day.”

For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes — irritation, maybe, or defiance — but he masked it with a grin. “Not likely.”

“Only because you’re naturally talented,” his mother interjected coldly. “Talent will only carry you so far, Satoru. You lack discipline, respect, and—”

“Manners,” his father finished, glaring at him.

His mother pinched the bridge of her nose. “All we’re trying to make you understand is, this isn’t a joke, Satoru. You’re supposed to be the strongest, and yet you’re constantly underperforming. Meanwhile, look at her.” She gestured to you, and your heart sank.

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath.

“Look at her,” his mother repeated. “Top marks in every subject, excellent dueling reports, and the teachers can’t stop praising. Why can’t you be more like her?”

Satoru threw up his hands. “Because she’s a robot! Have you seen her handwriting? It’s terrifying!”

“I just have neat handwriting,” you mumbled defensively.

“Neat? It’s like a calligraphy competition on every page,” Satoru said, jabbing a chopstick at you. “She probably practices writing spells for fun.”

“She’s perfect,” his father said firmly, as if it were an unshakable fact of the universe.

“Exactly my point!” Satoru exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. “How am I supposed to compete with that?!”

“You’ve been doing wonderfully,” his mother interrupted warmly, and you almost choked on your water. She reached to kiss your forehead and you felt fuzzy all over.

“Really?” you said hopefully.

“Yes,” his father agreed, nodding. “We’re very impressed with your progress. And your last dueling performance was flawless. Keep it up.”

Satoru’s jaw dropped. “What? That’s it? No lecture about being even better? No existential guilt trip?”

“She doesn’t need one,” his mother said simply.

“She’s already self-motivated,” his father added.

Satoru gawked at them, then at you. “Wait, are you seriously not going to roast her? Not even a little?”

His mother held up a hand to silence the banter. “Enough. We’re not here to discuss her. We’re here to discuss you and your inability to take anything seriously.”

“I take plenty of things seriously!” Satoru protested.

“Name one,” his father challenged.

Satoru opened his mouth, paused, then pointed to you. “Her.”

You nearly choked on your rice. “What?!”

“See? I take her academic success very seriously,” he continued smoothly. “She’s basically my tutor at this point. Without her, I’d probably be failing food transfiguration.”

“Food transfiguration is not the metric for success,” his father said dryly, but his lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh.

“And yet, it’s a class!” Satoru shot back. “A class I pass, thanks to her.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Please stop talking.”

“Never,” Satoru said cheerfully, ruffling your hair like you were a pet.

The room went silent for a beat, and then his father muttered, “Pass the rice.”

You couldn’t help but snort, quickly covering your mouth to stifle your laughter. Satoru’s grin widened, clearly taking your reaction as a victory.

“I’m serious about the food transfiguration, though,” he whispered to you as the conversation shifted. “You saved me from flunking that one.”

“By telling you to stop turning the chicken into a dinosaur?” you whispered back, rolling your eyes.

“Exactly. Genius advice.” Satoru sighed, slumping dramatically. "I swear, if I weren’t so charming, I’d be useless."

“You are,” you replied, teasing him with a grin.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The foreign exchange students filed into the classroom. You hadn’t met any of them yet, but the instant you saw a giggling pack of girls, dressed in a way that clearly screamed “I’m a tourist, please give me attention,” take seats scattered around the room, you knew this would be a long class. They were chatting loudly, condescending smiles on their faces and prissy postures to back it up. One of them locked eyes with you and stood up.

The girl scanned the room, perhaps trying to find something to shift the attention of the bustling and noisy class to her. Sitting beside you, Geto didn’t even flinch as the girl cleared her throat loudly. You could feel it. She was about to open her mouth.

And open it she did.

“Do you guys feel,” she addressed her fellow exchange people, “that the culture here is a bit… Well, I don’t know what you'd call it. Primitive, I guess? It’s like they just dug it up from some ancient ruins," she said, waving a hand dismissively, as if she were talking about a dusty artefact. “This whole— uhm— ‘honour’ thing? So outdated. I didn’t find any such codes on how to behave in the culture of the South, or the West, or the South-West. Maybe it is because the people here still need to be taught manners, I suppose.”

The other students, contrary to what she had hoped, didn’t pay any attention to her. They didn’t seem to have heard her, because if they had… well, all of them were from noble clans, of course they would have a problem with it.

The girl didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

“You there!” She screeched at you, coming to a halt in front of your desk after pacing around like she was delivering an important lecture. “I heard you’re the top student. Representative, or something, they told me. Like—” she turned to face you more directly, suddenly noticing the lack of a surname on your badge “—wow, you don’t even have a last name. I heard you were from the Gojo clan. But, I mean, you don’t even have their surname? Were you picked up from some ditch or something?”

You flushed. Most of the students were tactful enough to not point that out to you, and if they did, they would return with a bruise soon after, credit to Satoru. But Satoru was in the hospital wing right now, and thankfully so, because you didn’t want him making a scene here in the middle of your Charms class. Geto’s fingers brushed lightly against your arm; he was trying to calm you down. He didn’t need to say anything; you already knew what he was thinking.

Shoko, sitting in front of you, shifted in her seat. Her fingers twitched toward her coat pocket, and you could swear you felt a chill run down your spine at the look she had on her face. Shoko’s glare was murderous, and her hand slowly moved to her doctor’s tools — just a few inches away from hurling them at the girl’s smug face.

“Don’t bother,” Geto murmured under his breath. “Let her go on. She’s not worth the energy.” His eyes never left you as he spoke, a detached smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Ignore her, Shoko.”

The girl leaned on your desk as you continued to determinedly stare at a spot on your notebook

“Oh, but wait,” she continued haughtily, “you must’ve been a mistake. I mean, the Gojo clan leaders, right? They couldn’t possibly have any sense of judgement, could they? Considering who their son is, who he’s raised by. They probably just took in anyone, huh? Just to fill the numbers. I bet they didn’t even care to see if you had any real worth.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Geto interrupted her calmly, his smile widening, a maddenned look in his eyes. “If you don’t stop right now, you might have to deal with a curse or two, because I’m not exactly one to be afraid of duelling in front of teachers.”

Alina was unfazed, leaning back in her chair with a smirk plastered across her face. “Oh, I so do. You can’t silence me. The Gojo clan is only famous because they have money and influence — nothing more.” She leaned forward again, her eyes narrowing. “And the leaders? They’re a joke. All that power, and they still let their precious son — what’s his name? Satoru? —play around like the child he is. Tell me, do you ever wonder if he’s actually good for anything besides being the ‘chosen one?’ Or is it just another piece of their precious family’s empire?”

No.

That was it.

You snapped. Your body moved before your brain could catch up. Pulling out your wand from your pocket, you let the cold tip touch her throat. The girl immediately shut up, caught off guard and not having the time to reach her own wand, which was kept on the table her friends were sitting at.

“What’s wrong? Can’t speak? I’d love to hear more from that croak of a voice you possess. Please, go on with your pathetic guesses about my lineage.”

“Don’t,” Geto warned, but you were too blinded by the ringing echo of her words about your family. Shoko was already gripping the side of her desk, looking like she wanted to step in.

“You want me to speak more?” The girl said. “I can speak more. Because I know what you are. I would have felt sorry for you if you weren’t so stuck up though. As they say, no power, no future.”

Before you could retort, or even say a quick charm to freeze her throat so it snapped in half, the door flew open, and a voice interrupted your anger.

"Both of you, in my office. Now."

It was the teacher, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, clearly fed up. Without missing a beat, you spun on your heel, flicking a glance at Geto and Shoko.

──── ୨ৎ ────

It was oddly quiet in the headmaster’s office. You sat alone at the desk, gloves pulled snug over your hands, a rag in one and a half-polished trophy in the other. The cleaning did little to distract you from the frustration you felt.

The headmaster’s words still rang in your ears: “Detention builds character, and perhaps a lesson in self-control will serve you well.”

Self-control. As if it was your fault someone had insulted your family.

The soft creak of the door interrupted your thoughts. You stilled, expecting the headmaster to return and scold you for slacking off. Instead, a familiar white head of hair peeked around the doorframe.

"What the—" you hissed. "Are you insane? If someone catches you here—"

“Wow. You, of all people, getting detention?”

Satoru leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a lazy smirk on his face.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

“Came to pick you up,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Kuro was freaking out because he didn’t know why we weren’t at the gates, so I told him to head home without us.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“Relax. He’s used to me pulling stuff like this.” Satoru strolled into the room, glancing around with mild interest before his eyes landed on the pile of trophies waiting to be polished. “So... what’s the story? Did you finally snap and hex someone?”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the trophy in front of you. “Shouldn’t you be hiding somewhere? I mean, you’re not supposed to be here after school.”

“Oh, I’m cutting it. I figured detention with you would be more fun.”

You ignored him, hoping he’d get bored and leave, but Satoru was never one to take a hint. He perched on the edge of the desk beside you.

“Come on,” he said, nudging your arm lightly. “Tell me what happened.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to look at him. “Nothing. Just... a disagreement.”

“A disagreement?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That’s all you’re giving me?”

You stayed silent, scrubbing furiously at a nonexistent smudge on the trophy. But your hands were shaking slightly, and he noticed.

His teasing expression softened. “Hey,” he said quietly, leaning closer and nuzzling your hair. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you said quickly, but the crack in your voice betrayed you. You cursed under your breath, setting the trophy down harder than you intended.

“Right,” Satoru said dryly. “You know lying is a sin, right?”

Before you could stop him, he reached out and plucked the rag from your hand. You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a firm look.

“Enough,” he said, tossing the rag onto the desk. He grabbed your hands, tugging the gloves off gently, his touch warm and steady against your cold fingers.

“Satoru, what are you—”

“Helping,” he said simply.

You stared at him, your breath hitching slightly as he held your hands in his. His grip was firm but gentle, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “Gotten detention, I mean.”

Your throat tightened, and you looked away. “I didn’t even do much. I just threatened her, ‘s all—”

“I know,” he said. “But you didn’t have to stand up for me like that.”

“Yes, I did.” The words came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t care. “She had no right to talk about your family like that. Or mine,” you added quietly.

Satoru’s expression softened, and he sighed, letting go of your hands only to pull you into a hug. Your breath stopped. It was so sudden and unexpected, but his arms around you were so warm and secure, and for a moment, you forgot just how cold the office was.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your hair. “For putting us first.”

You swallowed hard, your face pressed against his shoulder. You could feel his heartbeat. His vanilla scent filled your nostrils, and you couldn’t help but sigh at the sensation.

Just what were you feeling?

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. The gesture was so gentle, so unexpected, that it sent a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps prickled along your arms, and your breath caught in your throat. Eyes widening on his chest.

Satoru pulled back slightly, his hands still resting lightly on your shoulders. He studied your face for a moment, his gaze searching, before giving you a small, crooked smile.

“Alright there?” he asked softly.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. His smile widened, and he gave your shoulders a reassuring squeeze before stepping back.

“Good,” he said, picking up your gloves and the rag you had abandoned. “Because I think it’s my turn to polish these things. You’ve done enough.”

You blinked at him, confused. “You can’t just—”

“Too late.” He waved the rag dramatically, grinning. “Go sit down and relax. Perfect students need to take a break to be imperfect once in a while.”

Despite yourself, a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved you off, already humming to himself as he began scrubbing.

──── ୨ৎ ────

You sat with your detention homework in your garden after the headmaster had insisted on giving you some more ‘punishments’ for letting Satoru in his office. On the stone bench, you glared at the crumpled detention slip in your hands. The words from earlier still rang in your ears.

Wow, you don’t even have a last name. I heard you were from the Gojo clan. But, I mean, you don’t even have their surname? Were you picked up from some ditch or something?

You must've been a mistake

The nerve of that girl, whatever her name was. She had no right to talk like that. But as much as you hated to admit it, her words dug deep. Why didn’t you have the surname? Why were you even here?

You sighed, staring down at your hands, throwing the slip away and watching it skid between bushes. The gate creaked, pulling you from your thoughts. Satoru’s mother stepped into the garden. She always seemed to know when something was wrong.

She smiled warmly as she approached. “Trouble at school?”

You let out a small huff, tossing the detention homework onto the bench. “Some girl decided to remind me I don’t belong here,” you muttered. “She’s not wrong. I mean, I don’t even have your family name. I’m just... here.”

Her expression softened, and she sat down beside you. “Suguru told me it was someone from the Kamo clan. She said that, did she?”

You nodded. “She made it sound like I’m just some random stray you all picked up out of pity.”

A shadow flickered across her face, but she stayed silent for a moment, as if weighing her words carefully. Then she sighed softly and folded her hands neatly in her lap. “You don’t carry the Gojo surname yet because... you aren’t meant to. One day, you will.”

You were confused. “One day? What are you talking about?”

Her gaze softened further, and she reached for your hand. “You’re not here because of pity. You’re here because I care for you deeply. You’re family to me. And... well, you’re engaged, my dear. To Satoru.”

The words hit you like a thunderclap. “Engaged?” you whispered.

She nodded gently. “It was my decision. Not to strengthen ties or fulfill some tradition — I couldn’t bear the thought of marrying you off to anyone else. You’re important to me, and to this family. No one else would cherish you the way you deserve. No one else would love you the way I know he can.”

Your head was spinning. Engaged? To Satoru? The same Satoru who stole your dessert, teased you relentlessly, and drove you up the wall with his arrogance?

“Does he know?” you managed to ask.

A small, amused smile tugged at her lips. “Not yet. I’m waiting for the right time to tell him. You know how he is — he’d probably react with some ridiculous joke or dismiss it entirely without thinking it through.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “You mean I’m supposed to sit on this bombshell while he’s running around like an overgrown child?”

She chuckled softly, reaching over to pat your shoulder. “It’s not so bad. You’ve already grown close to him, haven’t you?”

Close. You couldn’t deny it. In the past few years, you had gone from tolerating his antics to — well, something. The butterflies in your stomach betrayed you every time he smiled or stood too close.

But this? This was too much.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you asked weakly, peeking through your fingers.

“I wanted you to have time to figure out your feelings without the weight of this hanging over you,” she admitted. “And... I wasn’t entirely sure when you’d be ready to hear it. But seeing you upset, questioning your place here, I couldn’t keep it from you any longer. Forgive me, darling.” She stood then. “You’re exactly where you’re meant to be,” she said gently. “Never let anyone make you doubt that.”

And with that, she disappeared back into the house, leaving you alone with the truth.

Engaged. To Satoru.

The butterflies in your stomach weren’t just fluttering now—they were staging a full-on rebellion. You let out a groan, slumping back against the bench.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Over a year had passed. The two of you were turning seventeen the next year, and with the increase in your age, the load of schoolwork increased too. The School of Royalty had seen so many changes. They were rebuilding the duelling grounds and organising even more clubs than before. Girls were mysteriously beginning to drop out of school, and you didn’t want to know why. There were less than ten girls in your class of fifty, and you figured this number would reduce even more as women in nobility were hurriedly married off to distant kingdoms, forced to give up their education to serve as a showpiece for the men to flaunt.

You were thankful the Gojo clan saw you as more than that, or you wouldn’t have been in the same class as your friends this year. You couldn’t bear not seeing Utahime, Shoko, Suguru and of course, Satoru.

Satoru.

The one you had realized you didn’t want if he wasn’t looking at you at all times, if he wasn’t talking to you at all times, or cracking jokes to you at all times. The one you had realized you wanted more of, more than what the two of you are now, more than what you two have ever been, more than friends, more than best friends; you wanted him more than anything in the world. Him, him, him, him. You wanted his eyes on you, his hands on you. You wanted everything about him. Everything. Every single thing—

“Hey, you alive?” His voice snapped you back to reality.

“Huh? Oh yeah.”

“I was saying,” he pulled a girl towards him by her hands and she landed on his chest with a dull thump. “This is Alina.”

You stared at her. Triumphant looking face, lips giggling into the broad layer of his front.

Wait.Wasn’t she—?

“You might remember her,” Satoru pressed. You did. Vividly.

Oh.

“She needs some duelling practice apparently, so she’s gonna be watching us from there,” he points at the stands. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s okay,” you said in a voice you didn’t know you owned. The words felt so heavy on your tongue, as if it was an entirely different person speaking them.

“Great, thanks,” he ushered the girl back to the stands and leaned down to kiss the top of your forehead again. You blinked.

Oh, no, he didn’t see it like that at all.To him, it was just a gesture he had grown used to doing. Yeah.

You stood across from him on the training field, your stance ready and tense. The sunlight was bright today, almost too bright, and you didn’t know if it was the heat or the sudden emptiness you felt. Satoru smiled at you, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You ready?” he asked, voice nonchalant. It wasn’t the usual teasing edge. The spark was missing.

You nodded.

“I’ve got you today, Gojo,” you tried making the dumb jokes he used to make. You weren’t sure if it was working, but you tried anyway.

The sparring session started, but something felt wrong. Satoru’s movements were slower than usual, his focus elsewhere. He kept glancing at the stands from time to time, as if trying to see if she was watching him. He didn’t block your attack in time, letting you knock him down with ease.

“You alright?” You bent down to help him up, but he just waved you off, a tight smile on his face.

“Yeah, yeah. Just… tired, I guess,” he shrugged, avoiding your eyes.

Alina came running down the stands, her hands clutched on her chest, fussing over him while he waved her off too, getting up.

“Another one?” “No, thank you.”

That was the first time you had ever said no to him.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Later that week, you walked into the cafeteria, hoping to find Utahime and grab a quick meal before your History class. You were halfway into the queue before you realized Utahime had Charms class right now. After all, she was a senior of yours; she would have more schoolwork than you. So you were about to take the tray you got to one of the empty tables alone, hoping to find someone else.

And you did find someone. Satoru sat across from Alina as comfortable as ever. They looked like they were on a date. Was this why he had skipped a class he had with you?

“Oh, hey,” he greeted you when you approached, but his voice lacked its usual warmth. There was a coolness in it, like he wasn’t really there.

The girl’s voice broke into the silence, bright and too eager. “I was just telling Satoru about how I’m finally starting to get the hang of wand control now. I know he’s been busy with other stuff, but he’s still managed to help me out.”

You felt the hairs on your neck prickle.

“That's great,” you said, keeping your tone neutral. “I'm sure Satoru is happy to help.”

You tried to keep your expression even as you sat down on their table. Wrong choice. Satoru, oblivious or indifferent, didn’t seem to notice any sort of tension in the air. He smiled, nodding along to whatever the girl was saying, while you forced a smile and picked at your food.

You felt like an outsider.

──── ୨ৎ ────

That same week, after a banquet of the noble families held at the Gojo clan’s immaculate residence, you were walking alone towards the girls’ dorms when you overheard two voices seemingly arguing calmly. You pressed an ear onto the door hiding the people.

“You don’t seem to realize your Alina is the same girl who was insulting your own family,” Suguru was saying. “She got us into trouble too. You weren’t there so you don’t know how bad she talked about—”

“I know she’s not like how she was before,” Satoru interrupted loudly. “And I know you guys still have a problem with her, but you’ve got to trust me, okay? She’s changed.”

Your heart sank. “Changed?” Suguru repeated bitterly. “Really? After everything she said about the Gojo clan?”

He didn’t reply right away, but when he finally spoke, it was with that soft, almost apologetic tone.

“I get it. I really do. But she’s… trying, okay? She’s not the same person.”

You clenched your jaw, your hands trembling slightly at your sides. You felt numb all over. Uprooting one leg from your position, you walked backwards, away from your heartbreak.

“I don’t know if I can believe that, Satoru. Not after everything she did.” “I know, but please. Try, for me?”

Your back hit the pillar and you stopped. Slowly lifting feet one after the other, you walked. You didn’t know where you were walking to, but you just walked. You didn’t know what hurt more: the fact that he was asking you to trust her, or the fact that you wanted to — because you trusted him so much.

“There you are!” Utahime caught up to you. “Where did you go? How can you get lost in your own house—” You lifted your face up to her, and she looked taken aback. She inhaled, wiping tears you never realized started falling after stinging your eyes so bad, and she asked in an uncharacteristically soft voice. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Utahime—” your voice broke.

──── ୨ৎ ────

You were walking down the school halls, your mind preoccupied with your own thoughts as you made your way to the classroom. The noise of chatter and the shuffle of students faded into the background, making you realize you were starting to zone out again. You seemed to do that a lot these days.

“And I just know it will be you!” Alina’s voice cut through, syrupy, too sweet to be sincere. You froze, stopping behind a pillar. They were standing conveniently near the same path you had to cross to get to your class. Great. Now you had to bite back any snide remarks you had because poor Satoru would be upset if you didn’t.

You peeked out. Alina was leaning against the wall, her laughter light and airy as she spoke to Satoru, who was right beside her, looking at her with that familiar, careless smile he used to reserve for you, one that you had now grown to hate.

You could hear her complimenting him, the way she laughed too loudly at every word of his. “Oh, Satoru, your technique today was amazing, as always! I honestly don’t know just how you do it.” Her tone was sugary, and you cringed. You wanted to look away, but something held you in place, as if some invisible force was gripping you to that spot, making you watch the scene in front of you with red eyes and darkness underneath them.

Then you heard his voice. “Come on, Alina, you’re making me blush,” he chuckled playfully. He was oblivious, as usual (or maybe he wasn’t, and he truly trusted this woman more than his friends). But you weren’t. You noticed how her hands lingered on his arm a little too long, how her fingers curled around his sleeve possessively.

You couldn’t breathe.

You turned, hoping to slip past unnoticed, but of course, she caught sight of you. There was a flicker of something dark in her eyes before she forced a smile onto her face, calling out in that voice that made your skin crawl.

“Oh, hey!” she chirped, calling out your name. “You don’t mind sharing, do you?”

The words hit you like a slap. You were caught between disbelief and anger. How dare she speak to you like that? You glanced at Satoru, hoping he would interject, but he didn’t. He was too busy focusing his attention on her like a complete idiot.

You looked down at the floor, clenching your teeth. “You can have him,” you muttered. You didn’t want to show her how much it hurt, but it was all too clear in your voice and actions.

Alina’s smile faltered for a split second, her eyes narrowing. “Oh, are you sure?” she said, “I’m sure Satoru wouldn’t mind at all. He’s such a generous guy.”

You could hear her subtle challenge, the way she was almost daring you to react. But you didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, you straightened up, forcing the words out with a calmness you didn’t feel.

“I’m sure,” you said simply. Not waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked away as quickly as you could, your heart pounding in your chest.

Behind you, you could feel her eyes on your back, but you refused to turn around.

You hated her. You hated the way she acted so confident. You hated how she was so entitled. And you hated how Satoru, in all his charm and glory, refused to hear a word against her; how he couldn’t see the way she was trying to wedge herself between not only the two of you but also your entire friend group.

It was always this way, wasn’t it? The more you wanted him, the farther he seemed to slip out of reach.

──── ୨ৎ ────

After a three hour long soak in your bathtub, you decided it was time to go back into your room without anyone noticing. You spent most of your time hiding away from everyone; your parents, your servants, and him anyway, so you doubted anyone would miss you. With a sigh, you wore your nightdress and pushed your bedroom door open.

Satoru was sitting on your bed, his chin in his palms as he stared at the floor, clearly deep in thought and waiting for you to return. The moment you walked in, his gaze snapped to you, and the tension in the room tripled.

“You’re back,” he said. There was something in his voice — you couldn’t point out what exactly it was, but you didn’t like how it made you feel.

“What are you doing in my room?” The words came out harsher than you had intended them to be.

He didn’t answer right away; just sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face before standing up and facing you fully. “Why are you always so mean to her?” His voice was quieter now, more frustrated than usual.

You blinked, taken aback. "Mean to whom?" you asked, trying to play dumb.

“Alina,” he said. “Why do you always treat her like that?”

You controlled the urge to roll your eyes, though you knew Satoru expected you to. You wanted to scream, but you held it back, just barely. “Oh, you mean the girl who’s been constantly hovering around you? The one who acts like she owns you?” You crossed your arms defensively. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was supposed to cheer her on and clap for every little thing she does.”

Satoru scoffed, taking his face in his hands before looking up again. “You don’t have to be so cold all the time! Can’t you just try to get along with her? She’s changed. Why can’t you just see that?”

“Changed?” You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at his innocence. “She’s the same girl who insulted your family. She insulted everything you stand for, everything you care about, and you think she’s changed? Are you seriously that blind?”

His eyes darkened, and he gritted his teeth. “You’re always so hung up on the past! Why can’t you just move on?”

You shot him a look, disbelief swirling in your chest. “Move on?” Your voice was shaking with the effort of holding back everything you wanted to say. “Why is it that you’re the only person who sees that she has changed? Why is it that everyone else around you swears she hasn’t?”

Satoru didn’t respond right away. Then, he took a deep breath in, as if it was taking every bone in his body to control his emotions to hit you at that very moment. “Why do you care so much? Why can’t you just give her a chance?” he asked, almost pleading with you.

You stared at him for a moment too long. “Because,” you bit back, “She’s using you. And you’re too caught up in your own world to even see it.”

He took a step toward you, voice rising now. “That’s not true! She’s not using me! She—”

You threw your hands up in frustration. “You don’t get it, do you?” You were shouting now. “She is using you, Satoru! And I’m the one who’s supposed to stand here and watch while you defend her? While you act like she’s some saint who’s done nothing wrong?”

Satoru’s patience snapped, and his expression hardened. He couldn’t stand anymore of you making assumptions about her anymore. “You don’t even belong in this house! Why do you think you have a say in anything I’m doing? You’re not even part of this!” He took a step toward you, his eyes dark with anger, a final insult.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. The blood drained from your face as everything came crashing down around you.

“Oh,” was all you managed to say, your voice barely a whisper as your eyes filled with tears. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even look at him. You felt your heart shatter into a thousand pieces in your chest.

Satoru’s expression faltered, but it was too late now.

“Leave,” you whispered through gritted teeth.

He hesitated for a second, looking like he wanted to say something more. But he didn’t. With a sharp breath, he turned and walked toward the door.

The second the door slammed shut behind him, you collapsed onto your bed, your hands clutching at the sheets as sobs wracked your body. You cried harder than you ever had before — louder, deeper, until you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your chest ached with every gasp, every sob, the pain of his words echoing in your mind.

You don’t even belong in this house!

He was right.

You don’t even have their surname? Were you picked up from some ditch?

She was right.

It is the spawn of Satan himself!

They were all right, all absolutely right, weren’t they?

Come with me, daughter.

It was a lie.

You know I won’t leave you.

Lie.

She doesn’t need some random guy when she’s got me.

Lie, lie, lie!

You know lying is a sin, right?

You clutched your chest hard. You didn’t know how long you cried, but when the tears finally stopped, all that remained was emptiness. A hollow space where something you had always held onto seemed to disappear.

──── ୨ৎ ────

“What are you doing here?” you asked coldly.

He shrugged, his usual smirk flickering to life. “Just passing by.”

“Passing by my room?” you shot back, though your voice was devoid of any emotion.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “Maybe… I wanted to talk.”

“What do you want?”

He hesitated, just for a moment, before forcing a laugh. “I don’t know. How are the studies? Still out to prove you’re the best in the room?”

Your expression didn’t change, and the awkwardness between you grew even more.

“Also,” he chuckled nervously, “what did you say to Utahime? I was almost killed thrice in the last two days.”

“If you don’t have anything important to say, Gojo, move.” You stepped past him, unlocking your door. You had begun locking it since the incident that night, to avoid him sneaking in when you were away and to avoid anyone walking in on you bawling your eyes out, trying to drown the repetitive voices in your head with theories about spells and charms.

“Why are you being like this?” His voice stopped you. He paused, watching you fiddle with the lock, clearly taking the hesitating actions as a cue to continue. “Like… like you don’t care.” His eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, they weren’t the Satoru you knew. There was no smugness, no teasing — just guilt.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep your voice steady. “You’re imagining things,” you said, pushing the door open.

“Am I?” His tone sharpened, and he took a step closer. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. You won’t even look at me.”

“Maybe I have nothing to say to you,” you replied, turning to him to see his expression one last time before sorrow overtook your senses again.

His shoulders were stiffened, and for the first time this night, he couldn’t meet your gaze.

“That’s what I thought,” you said, your voice quieter now. “You know exactly why, Satoru. You just don’t want to admit it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I didn’t mean it,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Goodnight, Satoru,” you said, slamming the door in his face before he could say anything else.

The silence that followed was deafening, and on the other side of the door, he lingered. You waited, holding your breath as you leaned against the wood, but no sound came.

And just like that, the distance between you grew wider.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Your school year was nearing the end, and summer was around the corner. The days before that had been a blur. You had avoided Satoru like the plague, throwing yourself deeper into your books and classes. Even your classmates had noticed the change, though none dared to bring it up to your face.

Except for Shoko.

“Are you okay?” she asked one afternoon, cornering you in the library.

“I’m fine,” you lied, not looking up from your Curses: A Guide to Identify the Weakness book.

“No, you’re not.” She pulled up a chair, crossing her arms as she stared at you. “You’re avoiding him, he’s avoiding everyone, and the rest of us are stuck in the middle of whatever this is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said flatly.

She groaned, leaning back in her chair. “You’re lucky this is me and not Utahime. Just so you know, he sent a message.”

That caught your attention. Slowly, you closed your book and looked at her. “What message?”

“He said he’s done with Alina,” Shoko said softly. “Said he wouldn’t talk to her anymore.”

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked quietly.

“Because,” Shoko said, standing up, “you’re both being stupid. And I’m sick of watching my friends tear themselves apart over something that could be fixed with one honest conversation.”

“Honest conversation?” you repeated bitterly. “What’s there to say? He made his priorities clear, Shoko.”

“Did he?” She raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “Or did you just decide that for him because you’re too scared to hear what he actually thinks?”

Your jaw tightened. “You weren’t there, Shoko. You didn’t hear the things he said.”

“You’re right, I wasn’t. But I’ve seen how miserable he’s been these past few weeks,” she countered. “He won’t say it, but he’s been beating himself up about it. He knows he messed up.”

“And what about me?!” you snapped, your voice harsher than you intended. “I’m supposed to just forget everything? Pretend like I wasn’t the one he hurt?”

Shoko sighed, her expression softening. “No. But you’re not giving him a chance to make it right. He’s been trying to talk to you — hell, he even took all the hits heroically when Utahime nearly ripped him apart.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Utahime — what?”

“Oh, yeah,” Shoko said. “She had a few choice words for him. Might’ve included running him over by her carriage horses. Not my place to repeat them, but let’s just say she wasn’t thrilled with how he handled things.”

Despite yourself, a small, bitter smile tugged at your lips. “Good for her.”

“Look,” Shoko said, softening her tone again, “you don’t have to forgive him right away. But at least talk to him. He’s done with Alina, and it’s obvious you’re not over him. Don’t let this thing between you two fester any longer.”

You stared at her for a long moment, her words sinking in despite the stubborn walls you’d built around yourself. “I’ll think about it,” you said finally.

“Good,” Shoko said with a satisfied nod. “Just… don’t take too long. We’re not kids forever, you know.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

The knock on Satoru’s bedroom door felt louder than you intended. You had rehearsed this moment in your mind a dozen times already. What were you supposed to say again?

Hey. It’s me. Haha.

No no no. Hey, how have you been?

No, ugh. Hey, nice weather?

Still, when the door opened and his bright blue eyes met yours, every word you had prepared seemed to vanish. The two of you only stared at each other, he in surprise and you in embarrassment.

“Hey,” he said, trying to break the silence.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The silence stretched between you for a moment before he stepped aside, gesturing for you to come in. You did, though your fingers fidgeted nervously at your sides.

The room looked messy. The bedsheets were sprawled around as if he had been tossing and turning all night earlier. The curtains were closed so the room was in utter darkness. Yet, you needed no amount of light to see the look of sleep-deprivation he carried on his face.

Was it because of you? Because you had acted this way? Was it because he was regretting what he said to you earlier (he should, a voice in your head said, but you pushed it away)? Or was he failing his classes again? His stream was different from yours so you couldn’t meet him in school either. Or was it perhaps because of—

“I was—” you both started at the same time, cutting each other off awkwardly.

You let out a breathy laugh, and for the first time in weeks, his lips pulled upward, a glimmer of the boy you knew. “You first,” he offered, stepping closer.

“I was going to say that I…” Your words faltered as he reached for your hand. His fingers, warm and tentative, brushed yours before interlocking gently. “Oh. Wow.” He smiled at you, pulling you closer to kiss the top of your head. “I missed this,” you admitted finally, your voice breaking slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, softer than you had expected him to be. “For everything. For being such a—”

A sudden knock interrupted him, and a servant’s voice called from the hall. “Young Master, Miss — Madam requests your presence in the meeting room immediately.”

Satoru groaned under his breath, but you let go of his hand, smiling as well now. “We’ll talk later,” you murmured, turning to leave.

The Gojo clan’s meeting room was one thing, but the Gojo family’s meeting room felt even more imposing. High ceilings, ornate woodwork, and an air of superiority — that was the only way anyone could describe it. Mother and Father sat at the head of the low table, their expressions unreadable.

“You’re here,” his father said. He gestured for you and Satoru to sit, and you did, sitting in a formal position with your hands on your knees, feet touching the soft pillow under you. His mother only nodded at both of you. “We’ve received an invitation from the Kamo Clan.”

Kamo Clan? You had read about a legend of theirs in your history class. A man who had dropped himself to the bottom of the hells indulging with curses to create powerful heirs. The Kamo Clan had an awful reputation — ancient, powerful, and, if rumours were to be believed, sinister.

Beside you, you felt Satoru stiffen, and whisper only one word.

“Alina?”

Of course! How could you have forgotten that? The girl who had been plaguing your school ever since she set foot in it was Kamo Alina. Suddenly, what his father said didn’t matter anymore. The way his mother was staring between you and him didn’t matter anymore. What was about to happen in his room that time didn’t matter.

“The banquet,” Satoru’s father continued, and it took a lot of effort from you to keep listening, “is an exclusive gathering of noble families from across the globe. It will take place in the south, and attendance is mandatory for representatives of our house.”

You gathered the courage to steal a glance at Satoru’s expression. The look on his face was enough to tell you he wasn’t surprised by the connection. He knew. He had known it all this time. Your hands curled into fists under the table, your nails biting into your palms, probably leaving marks too.

His mother’s voice said coolly. “Prepare yourselves. You’ll leave at the end of the week. Dismissed.”

You didn’t wait for Satoru as you stood abruptly, your pillow gliding across the floor. You made your way back to your room, trying not to look back at his face, but you didn’t make it far before he caught up with you.

“Wait!” He grabbed your arm, spinning you around to face him. “It’s not what you think.”

You yanked your arm free, glaring at him. “It’s not what I think? Really, Gojo? Because I think you lied to me.”

“I didn’t—”

“You said you weren’t in contact with her!” you snapped.

“I’m not! This isn’t me — it’s her family. They’re the ones—”

“Oh, so her family conveniently sends in an invitation to us to attend their stupid gathering at somehow the right time?”

“I don’t know? Look,” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, not at you, no, but at that darn family. “I told you, I’m not in contact with her. That is the truth. I haven’t spoken to her since—”

“Since when?” you interrupted, stepping closer. “Since you told Shoko you were done? Or since you got caught? Because it feels like right now, I’m finding out the actual truth.”

“That is not the truth, please just list—”

“Stop,” you cut him off. You had had enough. “It’s okay. I don’t know why you think I even care. I ‘don’t belong here’, remember?”

“That’s not what I meant!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the empty hallway.

You stepped back, shaking your head with a sigh. “Don’t follow me.”

“Please,” he pleaded, his voice softer now, desperate. But you didn’t look back as you turned and headed for the courtyard, away from him and his stupid, stupid noble traditions.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The journey to the Southern estate was agonisingly long, but then again, you were from the East, and crossing entire landmarks took more than weeks by unruly waters. After the travel on the Gojo estate’s huge ship, your family was met with a stout, snotty man representing the Kamo clan, in charge of dropping you to their estate by comfortable carriages. The carriage rocked back and forth, and the countryside unfolded before you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to appreciate any of it. Your focus remained on the window, your reflection glaring back at you. Anything to avoid looking at him.

Satoru sat beside you, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently against the carriage floor. The silence was so oppressive it practically screamed at both of you to make up already. His mother sat across from you, but her usual composed expression faltered slightly as she glanced between you and her son.

After what felt like an eternity, Satoru let out an exaggerated sigh, his head lolling back against the seat. "Are you seriously going to do this the whole trip?"

You didn’t move. “Do what?”

“This,” he said, waving a hand vaguely in your direction. “Acting like I don’t exist.”

“I’m not acting,” you replied coldly. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”

He bristled at your tone, his foot tapping faster. “Wow. Real mature.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, instead shifting slightly in your seat to angle yourself even farther away from him. The silence returned, heavier now, and his mother finally cleared her throat, breaking it.

“Is everything all right?” she asked delicately, her eyes lingering on you longer.

“Yes,” you answered quickly, too quickly. “Everything’s fine.”

Her brow lifted slightly, but she said nothing, her gaze darting to her son. He sat rigid, his jaw clenched as he poked his head out of his own window, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Fine,” Satoru muttered after a beat, as if to echo you. His tone was harsh, though he didn’t look at either of you.

His mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t press further. The realisation seemed to dawn on her that her carefully curated plans for her son’s life — whatever they might be — were starting to crack at the seams.

Satoru’s foot finally stilled, but his irritation hadn’t seemed to disappear yet. After another stretch of unbearable silence, he tried again, his voice softer this time. "Look, I’m not going to apologize for something I didn’t do.”

“Good thing I’m not expecting one, then.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Can you at least try to meet me halfway here? This is ridiculous.”

You finally turned to look at him. “What’s ridiculous is pretending any of this matters. I shouldn’t even be here, right? So why don’t you just—”

“That’s enough,” his mother cut in, her tone sharper than you had ever heard it. Her gaze pinned you both in place. “We’re almost there. I suggest you both compose yourselves before we arrive.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, retreating back into silence, but not before catching the slight smirk on Satoru’s face. It wasn’t amusement, though — it was frustration barely held in check. He didn’t say another word, leaning back against the seat and staring resolutely at the ceiling as the carriage rocked along. You pressed your lips together and turned back to the window.

That was when you saw it.

The estate loomed in the distance, its dark silhouette framed against the dusky sky. It wasn’t grand in the way the Gojo mansion was. No, this place had an oddly familiar air of foreboding. Its high walls and shadowed towers looked like they were whispering secrets and things long forgotten in history. The closer you got, the more a strange chill settled over you, prickling the back of your neck.

Goosebumps ran down your arms as the carriage rolled closer. The gates opened with an almost eerie slowness. There was billowing mist surrounding the entire area, and it made the scene even more creepy. You couldn’t explain it, but something about this place just felt… wrong. It wasn’t just the estate’s imposing presence or the way the evening light seemed to bend around it — it was something you couldn’t place at all.

You felt like something bad, really bad was going to happen here, or perhaps had already happened. A chill ran down your spine when you recalled the pages of absolute horror you had seen attached to the restricted books in your library, and their vibes seemed to match that of this place.

Beside you, Satoru shifted uncomfortably. You glanced at him for a moment and saw that his confident facade had slipped. His eyes lingered on the estate, as if trying to figure out just what it was that made the place seem so uncanny and unreal, like it was something straight out of a horror novel.

As the carriage came to a stop, his mother stepped out first, poised as ever. She didn’t seem fazed by the oppressive air of the place, but then again, she rarely showed any cracks in her demeanour.

You followed, your legs unsteady as they hit the gravel path. The chill hadn’t left you, clung to your skin. Satoru came last, his usual swagger dimmed.

“Remember,” his mother murmured as the servants approached, her voice low and pointed, “appearances are everything. Do try not to embarrass the family.”

You nodded stiffly, but deep down, all you could think about was how much you wanted to leave this place. Sighing and ignoring the tremble of your gut, you held your own hands and entered the estate.

The estate’s grand entrance hall was vast, its high ceilings decorated with intricate wooden carvings that spiralled into ominous shapes. A line of servants stood on either side, their heads bowed low in synchronised precision. “Welcome to the Kamo estate,” they chanted together, their voices echoing.

A servant stepped forward, addressing Satoru’s father (and not batting an eye to his mother) with an apologetic tone. “We regret to inform you that our — that is, the Kamo clan’s — leaders could not greet you in person. Urgent matters required their immediate attention, but they send their sincerest apologies and look forward to meeting you tomorrow.”

Satoru’s father met his wife’s eyes, and she nodded curtly, and the servant's eyes widened as if he realised the error he made by ignoring her and addressing only the male leader in your group. “It is of no consequence,” she replied coolly.

As the servants moved to escort you all further inside, you couldn’t help but glance around. The estate was undeniably grand, but there was something cold and uninviting about it. The polished marble floors gleamed under flickering chandeliers, and the thick, musty air clung to your skin. It felt more like a mausoleum than a home.

The servants led you through endless corridors, the silence broken only by the sound of footsteps on stone. Every now and then, you passed ornate doors or shadowy alcoves, each one looking more foreboding than the last. You tried to shake the feeling of being watched, but the creeping sensation never left.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a door, and the servant gestured to it with a bow. “This will be your room,” he said before retreating with the others.

You stepped inside hesitantly. The room was smaller, far removed from where they were escorting Satoru now, and you had a feeling his would be uncomfortably close to Alina’s. The room was smaller, colder, and had an air of neglect, as if it hadn’t been opened in years. Dust coated the surfaces, and the faint scent of damp wood lingered in the air. There were faint scratches on the walls as if someone had clawed at them long ago. The wallpaper had started peeling in places, and the furniture looked untouched, as though someone had decided only yesterday to disturb the fifteen year old cobwebs. The architecture, the layout, even the faint smell of mildew — it was unsettlingly familiar, though you couldn’t quite place why.

Satoru’s mother appeared behind you. She took one look around the room, and her eyebrows twitched into a carefully concealed scowl. “Well,” she said. “This is... quaint, to say the least.”

You turned to face her, unsure of how to respond. She gestured vaguely at the room, the bare walls, the dull, muted colours. “If you find this unsuitable, arrangements can be made. I’m sure a clan as proud as Kamo wouldn’t want their guests to feel...” She paused, her lips curling in distaste, “uncomfortable.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “No, mother,” you said, forcing a polite smile. “This is fine.”

Her brow arched, as though she didn’t quite believe you, but she didn’t press. “As you wish,” she said softly, turning on her heel and leaving without another word.

The door closed behind her with a heavy thud, and the silence of the room enveloped you. You exhaled slowly, taking in the sparse furnishings, the musty air. You hated the idea of being a burden, but now, as you sat on the bed, watching it creak loudly, you wondered if you had made a mistake.

Late that night, you lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to get yourself to sleep.

“One sheep, two sheep, three sheep—”

What would he be doing right now? Was he still upset?

“Fuck, lost count again.” You sighed loudly. This was probably the sixth time you had tried but failed to sleep. All because of him. You closed your eyes tightly to try again.

“One sheep, two sh—”

Shit. Nature’s call.

You widened your eyes and glanced at the door, dreading the thought of stepping out into the pitch-black halls of the manor. Your room didn’t even have a washroom, which seemed absurd for a house of this size and considering who it belonged to. Clenching your jaw, you tried to distract yourself from the pressure in your bladder by examining the room, but there was nothing to look at. No paintings, no books, no trinkets — just plain walls and dull furniture.

With a sigh, you finally pushed yourself up, deciding to find a maid to help you find the washroom. You lit a candelabrum sitting next to your bed to help you navigate the area. The hallway was dimly lit, the flickering lights casting eerie shadows across the walls. You tried to stay calm, but every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet made you jump.

You walked, and walked, and walked. The layout of the house was like a maze in itself, and every turn seemed to lead to another identical hallway. Within the span of minutes, you found yourself descending a set of stairs you didn’t remember seeing before.

The air grew colder. The scent of damp stone and decay was thick in your nostrils. You paused at the bottom of the staircase, realizing with a jolt of horror that you were in what looked like the basement of the manor. The little light coming from your candles barely illuminated the space.

A wave of nausea hit you. The place smelled like dead rats, but somehow, despite your lack of sight in the room, a lot of scenes seemed to cross your mind. Shadows in the halls. Muffled screams. The overwhelming fear of being dragged into this very basement to be punished for something you couldn’t understand. Your eyes caught on the walls, and you lifted your candelabrum up and stepped closer. There were faint marks carved into the stone. Tally marks. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.

Your hand reached out, trembling, brushing against the ridges. A flash of a memory hit you — your hand gripping a piece of stone fully covered in blood, dragging it across a surface, one line after another. But where had it been? In a classroom, on the board? No — this was something else, something darker. Your stomach twisted, and you stumbled back, the nausea overwhelming.

“Miss?” A voice shattered the silence, and you whipped around to see a maid standing at the top of the staircase. Her face was pale, her brows furrowed, as if you had offended every fibre of her body by stepping down into this basement. “What are you doing down here?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but no words came out. The smell of the basement, the tally marks, the scenes — they clung to you, and you could only shake your head.

“Let me escort you back to your room. You shouldn’t ever be here”

You nodded mutely, following her up the stairs. She led you back through the winding halls. By the time you reached your room, the trembling in your legs had mostly subsided, though the chill of the basement still remained. She opened the door for you, offering a rigid nod before disappearing back into the dark hallways. You stepped inside, closing the door behind you, and exhaled shakily.

Your hands were still trembling slightly as you sat on the edge of the bed, trying to steady your breathing. The scenes — fragmented, disjointed — played on a loop in your mind. What were they? Forgotten memories? Flashbacks? The tally marks, the muffled screams. They were just like something out of your worst nightmares. You buried your face in your hands, feeling the sting of tears prickling at your eyes.

A soft knock at the door startled you. You hastily wiped your eyes, rising to your feet. When you opened it, Satoru’s mother stood there. Her expression softened slightly when she saw you.

“You’ve been crying,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, stepping aside to let her in.

She swept into the room, her gaze flickering briefly to the empty, barren space. “This room is unacceptable,” she said bluntly. But then, as she turned to face you, something in her eyes looked gentler, almost human — something she had always carried around you. “You should have asked for it to be changed, darling.”

You shook your head. “I didn’t want to be a bother. It’s fine, really.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she studied you. Then, to your surprise, she stepped closer, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “You’re far too used to accepting the minimal,” she said quietly. “That’s not what you deserve.”

You blinked, startled by the tenderness in her tone. Before you could respond, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, her cool hand lingering briefly against your cheek. The gesture was so unexpected, so maternal, that your throat tightened with emotion.

“I will speak to the servants in the morning,” she said, straightening but not pulling away. “And if you ever feel uncomfortable — ever — you will tell me. Do you understand?”

You nodded wordlessly, unable to trust your voice.

“Good.” She adjusted the edge of your sleeve with a small, practised motion, as if tidying you was a second nature for her. “Get some rest. You look exhausted.”

She turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back over her shoulder. “And whatever it is that has you so unsettled tonight... I will see to it. Do not let it weigh on your mind. The past has a way of creeping into the present, but you are stronger than it.”

The door closed softly behind her, leaving you standing in the middle of the room.

For the first time since you had arrived at the estate, you felt a sliver of comfort.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Over the next week, your efforts to blend in with the household paid off in more ways than one. Most of the maids, initially wary of you as a noble guest, had warmed up to your presence. They appreciated your willingness to help with menial tasks and often joked that you were more reliable than some of their own peers. Soon enough, their dislike for the Kamo family began to slip into their conversations.

It started one evening when you were helping two maids, Haru and Tomoko, carry water from the wells. They spoke in hushed voices, glancing around nervously as though the courtyard’s walls themselves might eavesdrop.

“I’ve always said the Kamo family has skeletons in their closet,” Haru muttered. “Well, in this case, they’re probably in the basement. You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

You nodded. “I have. It’s disturbing. What were those tally marks on the walls?”

Tomoko sighed, setting her bucket down with a huff. “No one really knows for sure. Some say it’s the number of people tortured down there. Others think it’s the number of people who died. Either way, nothing good ever happened in that place.”

Before you could press further, another maid, Aoi, cut in sharply. She was older, sharper, and rigid. Yet you had watched her pull the buckets back up from the walls with such brute force that it was no wonder she was still working for the clan despite her age. “Enough! You shouldn’t fill her head with stories. She’s a noblewoman; this isn’t her concern.” Her eyes avoided yours, fixed firmly on the stone path.

Haru rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, relax, Ms Aoi. She’s not like the rest of them. She’s helped us more than half the family ever has. Why shouldn’t she know what’s really going on?”

Tomoko nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! And she’s already seen the basement. It’s not like we’re revealing some great hidden treasure. Besides, it’s about time someone outside this house knew what the Kamo family is really like.”

Aoi crossed her arms, her frown deepening. “And what good will it do her to know? The Kamo family isn’t to be trifled with. You’re putting her in danger — and yourselves, too, for that matter.”

You cut in gently, trying to defuse the tension. “I appreciate the concern, Ms Aoi, truly. But if the Kamo family has nothing to hide, then why should talking about it be dangerous?”

Haru smirked. “See? She gets it.”

Tomoko leaned closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Do you want to know what I heard? Years ago, when the punishments in the basement were still happening, the head of the house would personally oversee them. And sometimes…” she trembled visibly. “Sometimes, they weren’t even punishing people who broke the law. Just anyone they didn’t like. Servants who fell out of favour. Merchants who got on their bad side.”

Haru shuddered. “They say the screams would echo up through the floorboards. That’s why most of the older staff refuse to even talk about it. Too many bad memories. There is also the ghost of that little girl—”

“That’s enough!” Aoi snapped. “The girl doesn’t need every grisly detail.”

“Oh, come on, Aoi. You hate them as much as we do. Don’t act like you’re above this.”

“Whether I hate them or not is irrelevant,” Aoi huffed. “You’re still being reckless. If anyone hears about this...”

Tomoko grinned mischievously. “And who’s going to tell them? You?”

Aoi gave an exasperated sigh but said nothing.

That night, you wrote letters to Shoko and Utahime, recounting the strange conversation and the haunting basement. You might have mentioned a glimpse of Satoru, too, though your thoughts on him were far more conflicted.

Shoko’s reply was predictably blunt.

Sounds grim. Torture rooms, tally marks, mysterious deaths — real classic Kamo vibes. Maybe they’re compensating for their family’s lack of charm. But, you know, not my circus, not my corpses. Still, were they tortured with surgical precision? If so, let me know which tools were involved. I’ve got a scalpel set if you want to reenact it. Besides, I’ve always wanted to see how far someone could go with a bone saw and no anaesthetic. For science, of course. Stay alive. Bye.

PS: If you find any good booze down there, bring some back for me.

Utahime’s letter was far less chill.

That two-timing bastard is probably off doing handstands to impress some girl who can't tell her right from left. Honestly, I’m waiting for your mother to tell him the truth already. If he doesn’t start acting like your fiance, I’m going to come over there and bury him in that damn basement myself. If I had to spend more than two breaths in his company, I’d kill him. Actually, I’d kill him for free. Just say the word.

PS: If I didn’t love you, I would’ve told you to go into that basement again just for fun. But I do love you, so stay safe.

The Kamo clan leaders remained an enigma. Somehow, their presence was so secretive that their portraits were absent from every book and document in the library. You wondered if even the servants themselves had seen these people. “Maybe they’re so ugly they’re too ashamed to show their faces?” Shoko had suggested in one letter, and you still snorted remembering that.

From all your time in the estate’s library, you could only find their names — Kamo Daijiro and Kamo Akane. Creepy. You also learned they had two daughters: Alina, the eldest, and her twin who had married into another prestigious family and no longer lived at the estate.

You still hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of Daijiro or Akane, but that would change soon. A grand gathering was scheduled for the following night, and the maids were already preparing for their arrival in the estate.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The Kamo maids worked on you, dabbing floral scents to your neck and pulling a corsage on your hands. Behind you, Aoi’s hands deftly pulled at the laces of the corset you were reluctantly being tied into. Earlier, an unexpected scuffle had broken out between the Gojo clan maids and the Kamo maids when the latter had shown up, intending to tend to you.

“She’s our priority,” one of the Gojo maids had sniffed, her arms crossed.

“Not anymore,” retorted Tomoko. “She is living in the Kamo residence right now. Your loyalty isn’t required here.”

“Well, she’s from the Gojo clan!” snapped another maid, her tone haughty.

“Yes, and?” Haru shot back. The Gojo maids had given up after a reassuring smile from you, muttering about how they are only leaving because “the Lady asked so”.

Now, Aoi was tugging the corset strings tighter. The conversation had shifted from the petty bickering of maids to something far darker.

“You wouldn’t believe the stories this house holds,” one of the younger maids murmured, a shiver in her voice. “Do you know about the little girl?”

“What girl?” you asked. You hadn’t seen the story of any little girl mentioned in the books you had read, but you had distinctly remember a mention of her story in an earlier conversation with these maids.

“Ms Aoi knows about it best!” Haru exclaimed.

Aoi’s face darkened as she let out a long sigh. “It happened about a decade ago,” she began. “A child had appeared on the doorstep, barely an year old, mind you. The family had taken her in, but of course, they did not treat her like a daughter. They had left her in the care of us servants. I was like her mother,” she said proudly. “She had turned three, I still remember, it was her birthday that night. She spilled a glass of expensive red wine on Lady Akane’s dress. It wasn’t even the girl’s fault. She was just a baby, carrying a tray too big for her tiny hands. But Sir Daijiro… he doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

The other maids exchanged uneasy glances as Aoi huffed loudly, pausing her hands on your laces to wipe stray tears. “The girl was dragged to the basement, where they lock away the disobedient. She… she never came out.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “She was… killed?”

“Yes,” whispered one of the younger maids, her voice trembling. “It’s said her ghost still lingers. Sometimes we hear her cries late at night. And the mist that hangs over the estate? They say it’s her curse — her anger at the clan.”

Aoi nodded grimly. “I was here. I wasn’t much younger than I am now, but I couldn’t do anything to save her. All I could do was sneak her scraps of food and try to mend her torn dresses after… after the punishments.”

You were horrified. “Punishments? For a child?”

Aoi’s tears couldn’t be held back anymore. “She was just a baby,” she croaked thickly. “I’d hear her cry at night, calling for her mother. And when… when…” Haru handed Aoi a cloth to wipe her face. “When she died… it was the moment I stopped believing the Kamo family had any humanity left.”

The room fell silent for a moment, save for the sound of Aoi’s sniffling and your shallow breathing. “How can someone be so cruel?” you murmured.

“That’s why we’re all so terrified,” Tomoko confessed. “If they could do that to a child, what chance do we have? Everyone here walks on eggshells, afraid to make even the smallest mistake. The leaders haven’t changed. They’re still the same people who let that little girl die.”

Aoi’s hands resumed their work, tying the last knot on the corset. The maids stepped back. You glanced at the mirror, seeing not just your reflection but the haunted expressions of the women around you.

The little girl’s story stuck with you, her cries echoing in your mind. If the Kamo clan could be so ruthless to a defenceless child, what horrors could they unleash on those who dared to cross them?

──── ୨ৎ ────

The grand gathering was suffocating. The air was thick with the scent of incense and expensive perfumes, the soft hum of conversation occasionally punctuated by bursts of laughter. You had probably sent about fifty letters in all to Shoko, Utahime and even Geto asking them if they would come to the South, and they all had replied with repetitive no’s. You had tried to keep your head down, avoiding the heavy gazes of the Kamo guests. But you were glad to see that Satoru, for once, was sticking close to you, uncharacteristically quiet. He hadn’t so much as glanced at Alina all evening, and perhaps even all this time during the visit if you were lucky. Not that you cared, of course.

Earlier, when you had overheard his mother asking him to keep his distance from “that Kamo girl”, and you remembered how he had rolled his eyes so hard you thought they would have gotten stuck.

“Fine,” he had said with mock drama. “But only because I’m such an understanding guy. And because I want you to stop looking like you’re ready to shank me with a chopstick.”

Now, true to his word, his focus was entirely on you. Every time you caught him looking elsewhere, it was never in her direction. He had even waved off her attempts to engage him, subtly turning his back to her as though she didn’t exist.

“See?” he murmured, leaning down to your ear. “Haven’t even looked her way. You believe me now, right?”

You arched a brow, unimpressed. “You don’t get points for doing the bare minimum, Gojo.”

“Bare minimum?” he gasped, and you smiled a little. His response reminded you of the ‘old times’, as they were now. “This is maximum effort for me! Have you met me?”

“Hush now, both of you,” his father interrupted. “They’re here.”

The Kamo clan heads arrived, and the air shifted. The room quieted, all eyes turning to the doors as Daijiro and Akane Kamo entered. Their presence was magnetic, commanding. As they moved through the crowd, the guests bowed slightly, parting to make way. You moved your eyes to the carpeted floor. You didn’t want to introduce yourself to someone who would torture a little girl to death, for God’s sake.

But then curiosity overtook your senses. You had been thinking of what they would look like for ages. They were like a mystery you had been picking apart ever since you stepped foot into that basement. Now was finally the moment you would get to see the leaders who hid from newspapers, books and even their own servants. You finally looked up. And the moment you saw their faces, the world seemed to tilt.

Sharp cheekbones. Piercing eyes. Their very presence struck a chord you hadn’t felt in years. Distantly, hauntingly familiar…

Your parents.

“Hush, little baby, everything you need is right here,” your mother cooed, and you walked to where he was leading you. “Yes, that’s it. There are your favourite snacks here, and all your favourite toys. Come on. Go there.”

But you found something else to interest you. Aoi, the maid, was standing right there, watching everything, and you wanted to walk to where she was instead of your bad mother.

“Stupid girl, where are you going?” your father pushed you from behind into the basement, and you fell over its many steps. Falling, falling, falling. By the time you reached the bottom, your face felt hot with some weird liquid.

“This is your new house — for now,” your mother said finally, walking down the steps. “You have given me enough trouble. From the moment I was cornered in that dark alley, alone and frightened, till now — you have been nothing but trouble. You are a constant reminder of what happened to me that night. You shall die, die!”

“There, there, now, Akie,” you watched your father cradle your mother’s head in his chest. You tilted your head, and the force almost made you fall back to the ground. “The child will no longer remain here. I have the most secretive merchants arriving from the North to here. They will be taking this… thing away from us, away from you. And then you shall finally be free.”

The realisation hit like a crashing wave, pulling the air from your lungs. Your vision blurred, and your chest tightened. It was too much. Too much. It was unbearable.

Without thinking, you reached out, your trembling hand finding Satoru’s mother instead of him. Her warm, steady grasp grounded you back to reality, and she turned to you immediately in concern. She studied you for just half a second before realising something was wrong, horribly wrong.

“Come,” she said softly, guiding you out of the hall without a moment’s hesitation.

Satoru’s voice trailed behind you, confused. “Where are you—”

“Stay with your father,” his mother ordered firmly over her shoulder.

Once outside, the cool night air hit your face, and it made you realise the warm wetness flooding your cheeks and stinging at your eyes. She led you to a quiet corner of the garden, still holding you as tightly as possible.

“What’s wrong?” she asked gently, her eyes scanning your face. “Are you unwell?”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them. “They’re my parents.”

Her brow furrowed. “Who are?”

“Them.” You swallowed hard, finally breaking down. “They! They left me. They sold me. I didn’t know their names but… I’ve seen them. They’re…”

Her expression shifted from confusion to horror. You looked at her face. You had never seen a look like that on her ever before. She released your hand only to pull you into a tight embrace.

“You poor thing,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I had no idea. But I swear to you, they’ll never hurt you again. Not while I’m here.”

You cried on her shoulder loudly, and you could feel she was crying softly too. “Why? Am I not worth raising… Mom?” She pulled back slightly, cupping your face in her hands. “Why didn’t they come back for me?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care what their reasons were. You will be a Gojo soon. It is only a matter of time now. And you will forever, forever, be a part of our family. I will not let the Kamos stain your history, ever.”

You sniffled. From somewhere in the hall, you could hear Satoru’s loud voice, probably causing some kind of scene.

“See?” his mother said softly, trying to distract you. “He hasn’t looked at their girl once, just like he promised. That boy might be infuriating, but when it comes to you, he’s surprisingly reliable.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips.

Satoru’s mother stood behind you. Her fingers were combing through your hair softly, as if to sooth your emotions with her caring rhythm. She adjusted your corset strings next, pulling them tighter, not harshly, but enough to make you focus on the present instead of the roaring panic threatening to take over.

Beyond the ornate doors of the gathering, voices rose and fell. You strained your ears to pick out the words, leaning slightly toward the source. And then you heard it.

A deep, booming voice. The same voice from your nightmares. The one that haunted your memories. Your breath hitched. It felt as though the walls were closing in to suffocate you.

Satoru’s mother’s hands immediately moved to your shoulders to steady you. “Breathe, darling,” she said firmly. “I’m here, am I not? You are safe.”

You nodded, though tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “I’m trying,” you whisper, clutching the fabric of her dress tightly.

And then, the voice spoke words that made your blood run cold.

“…a marriage between Kamo Alina and Gojo Satoru.”

You froze. Your heart seemed to have stopped. The room seemed to have crashed down onto you. You tried to process what you had just heard. Satoru’s mother stiffened behind you, her hands pausing mid-movement.

“What did they just say?” you whispered.

She didn’t respond, though her head tilted slightly as she listened intently to the conversation happening inside the room. You caught snippets of whispers as noble families exchanged their astonishment at the bold proposal.

Surely, Satoru’s father knows. He knows that Satoru is supposed to be engaged to you.Right?

But then you heard him speak. His voice seemed proud and approving. “An excellent proposal, Daijiro Kamo. This alliance shall strengthen both our families. I accept.”

The words hit you like a slap. Your stomach churned, and for a moment, you thought you might be sick.

“Mom?” you whispered and turned to Satoru’s mother. “Why…?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “That moron,” she hissed under her breath. Her hands fell away from your shoulders furiously. “He didn’t consult me. He didn’t consult anyone except Daijiro. Of course, he didn’t. Men like to think their decisions are final simply because they made them.��

The applause from the other side of the door grew louder. The sound vibrated in your ears as the nobles toasted the ‘union’. Your panic surged again. “What do we do?” you asked desperately.

Satoru’s mother exhaled sharply. “I shall handle it.”

When she threw the doors open roughly, the room fell silent. The silence following her entrance was not mere courtesy; it was submission. Her presence demanded it. Yet Kamo Daijiro, standing near the center with a goblet of red wine in his hand, immediately stepped forward with a smug smile. “Ah, my lady Gojo,” he began, his voice filled with condescension. “I was just about to inform you of the wonderful arrangement your husband and I have come to. My daughter, Alina, will—”

“Will do nothing,” she cut him off coldly.

Daijiro blinked, clearly taken aback by the interruption. “I beg your pardon?” he said with mock-politeness.

“You heard me,” she said, stepping further into the room. Every eye in the room was on her. “You dare discuss an engagement for my son without consulting me?”

Daijiro’s lips curled into a patronizing smile. “With all due respect, Lady Gojo, this is a matter for the men to decide. Your husband and I both agree that this alliance is mutually beneficial. Surely you trust your husband’s judgment.”

She laughed humorlessly. “Trust his judgment? You think I’m going to stand by while you play politics with my son’s life?”

She turned to glare at her husband. Satoru’s father cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable under her piercing gaze, but Daijiro waved him off. “Lady Gojo, your anger is misplaced. This is a matter of strategy. You may oversee the household, but these are decisions of power — something women cannot fully comprehend.”

The room grew deadly quiet now, and Alina seemed to have understood that what her father just said had been a mistake. Satoru’s jaw tightened at the insult at his mother, but he did not say anything yet. You were still frozen in the doorway, but you could feel that he was about to snap at any moment now.

Satoru’s mother’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Women cannot comprehend power?” Every word was pronounced clearly, and she took a single step closer. “You’re standing in my authority. Under my presence. Having begged for my appearance at this folly of an event. And you think I don’t comprehend power?”

“But this is an alliance—” Daijiro started.

“An alliance that disregards my authority,” she interrupted sharply. “An alliance that treats my son like a pawn in your political game of blind chess,” Her eyes flicked briefly to Satoru, who watched the exchange with a furrowed brow.

The room erupted in whispers. The many noble families exchanged shocked glances. Even Satoru’s father looked uncomfortable now, though he didn't dare interrupt.

Daijiro straightened, his tone hardening. “Lady Gojo, I understand you may feel... emotional about this. But this is for the good of both our families. Surely you don’t mean to disrupt an agreement between two patriarchs.”

Her expression darkened further. Without breaking eye contact, she reached for a glass of wine from a nearby tray. In one swift motion, she threw it to the ground, and the crystal shattered into thousands of shards. The sound echoed in the silence.

“The marriage is off,” she declared, her voice unwavering. “Because Satoru already has a fiancee.” She turned and gestured to you, standing awkwardly in the doorway having followed her from outside. “My future daughter-in-law, her.”

The room erupted into chaos. Gasps and furious whispers filled the air. Kamo Daijiro’s face turned a deep shade of red. The Kamo clan, the maids (who were standing outside, peering through the gates you left open, having not been allowed to enter the prestigious ceremony) and leaders alike, looked mortified at her words.

“You cannot be serious,” Akane said through gritted teeth.

“I’ve never been more serious,” she countered.

“You have humiliated my family!” Daijiro growled, stepping closer threateningly.

At this, Satoru stood up, his sword in his hand as he placed himself between his mother and Kamo Daijiro. He tilted the weapon slightly to make sure the threat of blood was sent across to Daijiro, and blocked the way to his mother. Her eyes softened at his action, and she straightened. “This discussion is over. Take your child and leave, Kamo. I will take mine. There is no alliance to be forged here. Gojo clan!” She called to the maids, soldiers and workers of the Gojo clan who had come along with them on the journey. “We shall set off back home right now. Prepare.”

Daijiro stared at her with rage and humiliation. But when he glanced at the sea of judgmental eyes surrounding him, he knew he lost. With a barely concealed snarl, he turned on his heel, motioning for his family to follow.

Satoru fixed his sword back into its scabbard. His mother turned to you, softening again. She rested a hand lightly on your shoulder. “Come. We shall leave this place now, for good this time.”

She led you out of the hall, her grip steady and reassuring, even as the whispers behind you grew louder.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The journey back home felt strangely fast compared to the painstaking crawl southward. Perhaps it was Satoru’s mother’s fiery words that had lit a spark of patriotism among the servants, and maybe even the horses. Whatever the case, you arrived at the Gojo estate far sooner than expected.

You barely had time to set foot inside when Satoru found you. He cornered you in one of the quieter hallways. The first thing you noticed was his face; his usual, easygoing expression was clouded with something you had never seen before.

“Did you know?” he asked.

You blinked, thrown off by the abruptness. “Did I know what?”

“That you’re my fiancee.” The words came out bitter and flat, as if he couldn’t believe he was saying them aloud.

Your breath caught in your throat. You had been bracing for this conversation, but not so soon. Not like this. “Yes,” you admitted after a moment.

He reeled back, as though the admission had physically struck him. “You knew?” His voice rose, echoing off the corridor walls. “How long? How long have you known?”

“A year,” you said hesitantly, feeling guilt rise up in your throat. “I mean… last year, your mother—”

“A year?” His voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “You’ve known for an entire year, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I thought she would tell you,” you stammered. “She said she’d handle it.”

“Well, clearly, she didn’t!” he snapped, spinning to face you again. “So what, you were just going to wait until the wedding invitations went out?”

“That’s not what I meant!” you shot back. “I didn’t even agree to this in the first place. I was just as blindsided as you when she told me!”

“But she did tell you, and you did know,” he repeated coldly. “And you didn’t think I had a right to know?”

“You’re acting like I had a choice!” you said, your voice rising to match his.

“That doesn’t excuse keeping it from me!” he shouted too. “You and my mom — both of you — went behind my back. You made me feel like an idiot standing in that room today.”

“Oh, we made you look like an idiot?” you scoffed. “Why? Because you were actually planning to agree to her proposal? Because you wanted to marry that witch of a woman?”

His eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you serious? I barely even looked at her if I didn’t have to!”

“That was because mother had told you not to!” you countered. “Don’t stand there and question me when you’ve been acting like you have other options.”

“I didn’t know I didn’t have other options!” he shouted. “Because no one told me! The two people I trust the most in this world, you both kept me in the dark!”

You sighed. “Satoru—”

“No,” he cut you off. “Do you have any idea what this feels like? To know that the people you rely on the most didn’t think you were worth the truth?”

“That’s not fair,” you said softly, trying to find the right words. “I was just obeying mother—”

“Obeying mother?” he laughed incredulously. “By lying to me?”

“I didn’t lie!” you snapped. “I just… didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Well, you should have figured it out,” he said bitterly. “Because now, all I can think about is how little I actually know about you. About us. About… anything.”

The air between you felt heavy, suffocating. You wanted to say something, anything to fix the look of betrayal in his eyes, but your mind was blank.

Finally, he shook his head, his voice dropping to a strained whisper. “Look… I’ve never thought of you that way before, okay? You’re… you’re pretty, but you’re like a sister to me. That’s how I’ve always seen you. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

Oh. Of course.

“I need space,” he muttered, stepping back. “I need time to think.”

──── READ PART II HERE

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misserabella · 6 months ago

Text

@ entersandman 2

☆☆☆☆☆ (a film for two)

summary; after lots of teasing, you finally tell spencer who you are and help him out with his ‘little’ problem.

cw; +18 minors dni, pure porn, teasing, praising, praise kink, sexting, spencer being a needy mess, mention of streams, sex toys, a lot of orgasms, media au!, semi-public sex, oral sex (f and m receiving), cum swallowing, spitting in spencer’s mouth, pillow humping (spencer), mommy kink, sub! spencer and dom! reader, sex calls, dirty nastyyyy talking, breeding kink, fingering (r receiving), so many pet names for spencer ‘cause he deserves them, face riding/use (spencer receiving), nipple play, nipple sucking, spencer cursing, reading being a smug little shit, hickeys, this is so explicit omg, chocking (spencer receiving), spencer talking dirty?!?

an orgasm is a very human thing. and spencer has had many, many orgasms before. he lived basically off of having them. but none of them have been as good as the one he had while seeing the pictures and videos you’d sent him.

and he’s tried…

tried so hard…

a whole week. he’s been going live every night for a week. his arms is sore at this point, he swears it’ll hurt if he got hard again. and he had made so much money… it was stupid, but maybe it was because he had tried everything that week. everything to get an orgasm as good as the one you’d given him. he had used all his toys too; his fleshlight —into which he pumped his dick with abandon using his eidetic memory to remember the sound you made on your videos—, his vibrator —which he’s run up and down his cock and around the leaking tip—, his other vibrator that stimulated his prostate —the overstimulation made him a mess, but it wasn’t as good as your guidance and words—, her blowing masturbator — to imagine what your mouth would feel like—…

but of course… it didn’t work. and you hadn’t joined not even one of those lives. he looked like a kicked puppy on all of them out of camera, needing you to cum easier and well… better, harder.

@ entersandman

@ entersandman; want your mouth on me. i can say please.

@ entersandman

@ entersandman; where are you? i miss you…

it wasn’t fair. you couldn’t just... show him how good ��sex” could feel and then leave him like that. he grew paranoid, watching everyone —female of course— in his classes in hopes of a sign, a slip, and needy, that too.

soooooooo needy.

@ entersandman

mommy please

please need you

you smirked at the new messages on your phone.

@ puredoll

can’t baby, you know i’m studying, not everyone is smart as you, my clever boy

@ entersandman

i’ll help you! just tell me who you are and we can study together!

you snickered and sent him a picture of your cleavage, since you were laying downwards on bed, reading your philosophy books.

@ puredoll

almost got me baby. but we both know that studying isn’t what you want.

spencer groaned, at the sight and at the feeling of his cock standing up, pretty and ready to go. he pouted, and thought about sending you a picture to try and get you with his puppy eyes, but ended up getting shy about the idea and gave up.

@ entersandman

you’re mean.

you couldn’t help but laugh when the notification of spencer’s new stream popped up.

toying with him was easy, but you too had needs, and were growing needy as well. you wanted him. so bad it almost hurt. and he was growing closer to finding out who you were since you couldn’t help but stare at him in class, lost in his beauty.

so, one day, you decided to make your move…

it was a sunny day, and you had opted to wear one of your best outfits, a white snug dress that laced up around your neck with golden sandals. your hair was up in a curly hairdo with little strands cupping your face and your makeup was done with a large eyeliner and glossy cherry lips. you looked amazing —like any other day— but you decided that today you wanted to notch it up one bit by applying your favorite scented body cream, repainting your toes and nails in white and spritzing your favorite and most precious perfume around your whole body.

then, you took your school purse and keys and left for the day.

you didn’t even need to find him, he came to you like as if god knew of your intentions. he looked pretty. with a blue shirt and tie, and brown trousers and shoes. preppy, nerdy, slim fingers sliding up the bridge of his nose his glasses. his hair was taimed, perfectly combed, and he was clinging onto his satchel like a little kid.

cute. you smiled and slowed your walking towards the class, so you could…

“oh. sorry. please go ahead.” he said as he almost bumped into you going pass the threshold and into the room.

you looked up at him and with a kind smile said. “thanks, pretty.” the last part was tinged in teasing, your lips curving more into a smirk now as you looked away and made your way inside, your perfume engulfing him as you passed by.

and he stood there, frozen. ‘cause not only a pretty girl had just called him pretty himself, but… “pretty”, what you always called him on streams and in your nightly chats. and that smirk…

he gulped. could it be? he looked inside and saw you watching him, curving your eyebrows as in ‘aren’t you gonna come inside?’

his feet moved alone, and before he could stop himself he was sitting right by your side.

“bold move, spencer.” you said, and he shook to the core.

spencer, spencer, spencer, spencer…

it was as if you were made to say his name.

“is it you?” he inquired, his eyes on your profile until you turned towards him with a playful frown.

“ ‘is it me’? who am i, spencer?” you were teasing him. of course you were. he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists on his thighs, his checks flushing, adam’s apple bobbing. he looked around, at the almost empty classroom. “what is it? you can’t say it?” he shook his head and you cooed. “aw, i thought better of you than this, spencer.”

he swallowed harshly and closed his eyes for a second before looking at you like a puppy.

“mommy.” he muttered and you smiled.

“good boy.” you praised him, and he had to swallow down a moan, it sounded better than he had imagined. you were better than he had imagined. you were beautiful, gorgeous, breathtaking… you surely knew how to take his breath away.

“why… why now? why are you telling me now?” he inquired and you hummed.

“you aren’t happy?”

“no! of course not, it’s not that! it’s just…” you understood.

“well i was growing tired and… i really wanted to play with you.” you pouted, and reached for his cheek, caressing it. spencer swallowed again, and gripped his satchel over his legs. you smirked. “what are you hiding, huh?”

“nothing.”

“spence…” you warned and his cheeks got impossibly red.

“you know.”

“yeah, i know. but i want you to say it.” his whole neck flushed and his lips trembled. “come on, be a good boy.” you purred.

“you made me hard.” he explained and you smirked.

“aw, that easy? baby… someone’s needy, hm?” your hand came into his hair, and he hummed, almost moaned as you scratched at his scalp.

“you… you left me.”

“what do you mean baby?” you played with the little hairs on his nape.

“you didn’t enter my streams.” you cooed once again.

“i know. did you miss me?” he nodded. “you did, huh? what did you do on those streams, hm? tell mommy.” god. you couldn’t talk about this things in public, but again, there were two more people in the class since it still was early, and they were on the furthest seats ever on the back chatting away. there’s no way they could hear you. his eyes trailed over to them anxiously and your other hand fell to his thigh. he almost jumped out of his seat. “spence.”

“i… i played with my toys.” he quivered.

“played with your toys, huh?” he nodded, hair falling to his pretty eyes. “what kind of toys?” he gulped when your hand started to move up his inner thigh and below his satchel.

“my… vibrators.” you hummed.

“and did you cum?” he nodded. “was it good?” he shook his head this time. “why not?” you were now drawing circles with your thumb on his thigh and he was stuttering.

“you weren’t there.” you almost melted at his pout. you would give him anything if he played that move on you, by your reaction, spencer knew, and he was gonna take it to his advantage. “i missed you so much mommy…” suddenly someone shouted in the back and startled you. it was a shriek of joy.

‘the class got cancelled!!’

‘are you joking?’

‘nuh-huh! god i’m gonna go back to my house and sleep the rest of the day.’

you could hear the other couple chatting as they quickly gathered their things and left from the back exists in a hurry to get back into their beds.

it was as if god loved you. how else could you have gotten spencer alone… with you?

spencer suddenly felt as if he were being stalked by a predator by how your eyes changed. your hand moved up… up… up… until you were cupping his erection, and he let out the prettiest whimper you’ve ever heard.

“god, you sound prettier than through the screen…” you sighed.

“mommy…”

“what is it baby?” you started to touch him from over his pants, with your hand measuring his length. he was big…

“we can’t… we’re at school…” he whined, although his hips thrusted against your touch in need for more.

“you don’t seem too sure about that.” you smirked. “you’re so pretty, the prettiest boy ever. you know how badly i wanted to enter those streams and see you? but no. i had to go slow with you. well i’m tired of going slow. aren’t you, spence?” he nodded.

“yes, yes, god…”

you pushed his satchel aside. “wanna see you.” he nodded once again, and with desperate fingers struggled to open his pants, pulling from his clothes so his cock would slip free. you clicked your tongue at the sight of his reddened tip. “baby… look at you. doesn’t it hurt?” he nodded.

“i just couldn’t help it…” he cried out. he had touched himself raw. “every time i thought about you…” he flushed. you understood.

“i can’t touch you like this, it’ll hurt you.” you cooed and his puppy eyes came back.

“no! please! it won’t hurt i promise! i’ll be good!” he begged, and you shook your head. “please mommy please…” you sighed.

“i can’t use my hands…” you said, but smirked, there were other ways to make him cum. and you were good at them. his eyes almost popped out of their spheres when you got on your knees in front of him.

“oh god…” he whispered at the sight and the implication of what you were about to do.

“i’m about to ruin my lipstick, so you better behave, hm?” he quickly nodded, desperately even.

“i’ll behave mommy, i promise.”

“good boy, pretty.” you said, and took him in your hand. he moaned, his head falling backwards on his seat. “baby… i haven’t even started yet.” you chuckled.

“sorry, it’s just… i’ve thought so much about this…” he bit down on his botton lip and you let out another chuckle.

“you’re so cute…” and with that your tongue swiped a stroke across his red and raw head. your lips curved at the whimper that fell from his lips and just how quickly his hand came to the top of your head. you licked clean the beads of precum there with a hum. “taste so good baby… better than i imagined.”

“keep praising me and i’ll cum.” he whined breathlessly and you laughed, pumping him slowly from his base before taking him into your mouth with a little moan.

him and his praise kink…

you loved the heady taste, how thick and large he was, and how warm he felt in your mouth.

he wouldn’t stop leaking, and you started to suck, slowly taking more and more of him in your mouth with the bobs of your head. you thanked this was a secluded area and 1. the doors were all closed and 2. there were no cameras, ‘cause spencer wasn’t good at keeping quiet, and you’d kill anyone who saw the pretty faces he was making right now as you fucked him with your mouth.

“mommy…” he moaned, his back arching as you sped up. “fuck. feels so good mommy, so good… thank you, fuck, thank you…” he praised you, and you felt your core getting wetter than it already was. you too had a praise kink after all.

his hips started to thrust up and your hands left him to go to his hips and push him down on his seat.

“sorry, sorry mommy…” he cried as you popped him out of your mouth and hissed a ‘stay put’ at him.

“you’re gonna be good and take it, aren’t you pretty?” he nodded. “that’s my good boy.” you went back at him, licking him from base to tip before taking him back down your throat.

“oh my god…” he was a mess. but he was your mess. he hissed when you gave special attention to his head, licking and sucking harshly. but the pain only made the whole experience better. he was a gentleman, pushing the little strands of hair out of your face, but he was getting lost on the feeling of his impending orgasm. “mommy, i’m gonna…”

“you’re gonna cum for me?” you asked as you pumped him. he nodded, his tongue peeking to wet his lips.

“yes, yes mommy…”

“where do you wanna cum, hm pretty?” you inquired, sucking on his head.

he blushed. “can i…?” he stopped, stuttering.

“come on baby, be good and use your big words.”

“can i cum in your mouth?” his puppy eyes were back, his adam’s apple bobbing. you smiled.

“you wanna cum in my mouth? wanna fill me up and watch me swallow it all?” you haunted him and he nodded. “how do we ask for it?”

“please mommy, please… can i?” you hummed in thought, just to tease him, before nodding.

“yes, you can, baby.” he moaned, and you went back to taking him back in your throat, down to the base, almost choking. the feeling of your throat closing around him making him whimper and thrash.

“ah-ah-ah!” he hiccuped, voice airy and the grip of his hand tightening on your hair. his cock twitching inside your mouth, and with one last suck, he couldn’t hold it anymore. he let go with a high-pitched whimper, his mouth falling open in a silent moan as his head fell back and his neck got exposed to your hungry eyes. you swallowed everything he gave you as you continued bobbing your head to extend his orgasm.

once down from it, you popped him out of your mouth, licking your lips clean.

you looked up at him to watch his chest rising and heaving in breathless puffs of air.

“are you okay baby?” you inquired him, and he mindlessly nodded. you had just sucked him braindead. “that good, huh?” you smirked, and he nodded.

“so good, mommy. thank you.”

“aw… so polite…” you got up from your knees, but not before putting him back in his briefs. “open up.” you patted his lips and he followed your orders. you spat into it and he moaned, happily swallowing. “good boy.”“tastes good?” he nodded. “does it hurt, baby?” you patted his chest, your noses touching.

“no, mommy.” he shook his head.

“still. you’ve gotta take care of yourself baby, how else am i gonna have fun with you, mh?” he nodded. he was still breathless and with a fuzzy mind. “no more touching until you’re all better, understood?”

“understood.”

“atta boy.”

later that day spencer posted on his twitter.

@ entersandman

@ entersandman; head so good i’d be losing mine

after that spencer really did lose his mind.

you were serious about the “no touching”, but this. this was pure torture.

not only he could remember every little thing about your head, but you just looked so good everyday at school, and your messages, and your pictures… god… he was going crazy.

he needed to touch himself but he was supposed to be a good boy, so he couldn’t.

@ entersandman

@ entersandman; i’m being a good boy i promise mommy

but he wanted to rub one out so badly…

“mommy…” he whimpered.

it was a late night friday. 2AM. and spencer was desperately and ridiculously grinding against his pillow. it had been a week since he had the feeling of your mouth around him. a whole week of teasing from your part. he was already healed. and so, oh so desperate.

he hadn’t cum in a week, and it was getting to his head. that’s how he found himself right were he was right now.

“that’s it baby, keep humping that pillow for me.”

you had been surprised by the incoming call. this late at night? it shouldn’t have been bad, but not spencer moaning and whimpering on the other end, what quickly turned you the fuck on.

“oh fuck…” he whined, his sweatpants being the perfect friction against his leaking cock.

“what are you thinking about, huh?”

“your mouth…” he sighed. “mommy please… let me touch myself, please…”

“mmmh… you sound so pretty begging for it, baby… it’s been long since you last did it, huh?”

“yes.” he whimpered.

“awww, poor baby.” you cooed and he groaned at the way his cock jumped. “you wanna touch yourself baby? you wanna cum?” he moaned as a positive. “but what if i want it for me, huh? all that pent up, heavy load of yours, hm?”

he almost came right that instant as he thrusted against the pillow.

“you want it?” he panted and you hummed. “where?”

“in my pussy.” spencer’s eyes rolled.

“oh my god.”

“so… are you sure you wanna waste it in your hand?”

“no, but…” he whined.

“but?”

“you’re not here…”

“so why don’t you come here?” his eyebrows perked up. “come to my place.”

“are you serious?” he questioned you, and you giggled.

“of course i am, it must have been so hard for you this week… you should come here and let me make you feel better.” you purred. he moaned.

“i’ll be there in 10 minutes.” he quickly babbled, and hung up.

you sent him your address as he quickly put on some clothes and took the keys to his car.

now you just had to wait.

“mmmph!” your mouth was on his as soon as he stepped through the door, tongue swiping his lower lip for entrance. what little of his erection had gone down in the way was quickly back as you pushed into his mouth.

“you taste so good…” you whispered against his lips, his hands on your hips as he kissed you once again, desperately.

“need you…” he whined, his cock throbbing against your belly.

“you do, huh?” he nodded. “how much?”

“so much…”

“yeah?” your fingers trailed down his jaw, and he shivered.

“yeah.” he whispered against your lips.

“then show me.” without needing to tell him twice, his hands shot up to the sides of your face, pulling him for the wettest and neediest kiss someone had ever given you. he was pouring everything he had on it, and you moaned, melting against him as he guided you backwards.

“room?” he hummed between kisses.

“to the right.” you answered and squeaked when his big hands came down to your thighs and pulled you up, making you surround his hips. the two of you groaned at the feeling of his erection against your pussy, and you rocked your hips to feel more.

“fuck.”

he quickly made his way into the room, never straying from your lips and softly placing you onto your bed.

“mommy.” he whispered against your jaw as he kissed his way down to your neck.

“yeah, baby?”

“wanna eat your pussy.” he whispered against your skin, and you shivered.

“yeah? you wanna eat my pussy, honey?”

“yes, please.” he begged and you groaned, nodding. he whimpered at just the thought, his hands quickly followed yours to your shorts, pulling them off along with your underwear as you moved up the bed and him; down, kissing at the exposed skin on your stomach. you groaned at the feeling. you had thought so much about this…

he kissed at the skin of your hip, nibbling and sucking as he made his way in between your legs, pulling them over his shoulders.

“you’re so beautiful…” he groaned at the sight of you all spread out for him and glistening… “god i just can’t wait.” he whispered before diving in and licking a fat stroke up your slit with a moan, whimpering when you did too and your hands made their way into his hair and tugged.

“oh god, spencer…” he ate you out like a man starved, sucking at your clit before going back down to your entrance and plunging his tongue inside to slurp out your juices.

“so good, mommy, you taste so good…” he moaned, licking his lips before going back at it. you pulled at his hair, messing it all up as you rocked your pussy against his tongue, riding his face and pulling him closer. he was even louder than you were as he licked everything up.

one of his fingers caressed your entrance and your hips canted upwards, moaning as he pushed it inside.

“fuck, pretty. you’re so good at this… fuck me with your fingers baby.” you ordered and he complied, starting with the one already inside, pumping it in and out as he suckled at your clit. “just like that, good boy.” he whimpered and added another, curling them to hit your g spot. he wanted to make you feel good. he needed the praise. his hips rocked against the mattress as he fucked you with his fingers and licked your clit. “atta boy, fuck, you’re gonna make me cum…” your back arched. “gonna give you this pussy baby. gonna make you a fucking mess. want your load inside of me, fuck, spencer, fuck!” you could feel yourself reaching it, getting closer and closer and closer… “yes, yes, yes!!!!” you used his face as with a final suck and curl of his fingers you fell apart, your eyes rolling back. he moaned when he felt you squeezing his fingers, fucking you through it.

once you came down, he licked you clean. sucking his fingers inside his mouth with a moan.

“come here.” you ordered, pulling from his tee-shirt until he was in between your legs. “you did so good baby… ate me out so good…” you praised him, and he sighed, smiling. “now give me a taste, will you?” you purred, pulling down his bottom lip to open up his mouth as you guided him to yours, kissing him hungrily as you took off his top.

he whimpered, his tongue dancing with your own as you rolled the two of you over and sitting on his lap. “fuuuuck…” he moaned when you started to roll your hips against his.

“you’re so hard…” you bit down on your bottom lip, discarding your shirt. his eyes widened at the sight of your naked and exposed chest, his hands quickly going to your breasts and thumbs rolling your nipples. “i want you now.” you smirked, and he nodded, helping you get rid of the last piece of clothing that was on him, since he wasn’t wearing any underwear. “no underwear? someone came ready…” you smirked and he whined, being cut off by his own moan when your pussy made contact with his cock. your lips engulfed his length as you rocked your hips, lubing him up.

“you’re killing me.” he cried out, his dick twitching, head dribbling with precum.

“shhh… let me make you feel better, pretty.” you kissed his lips, taking him in your hand as you rose your hips and guided him to your entrance. “gonna fuck you so good spence… you’ll forget your own name.” you promised before you slowly sank down on him.

and spencer knew you were telling the truth, ‘cause just with the tip inside, his mind was blank.

“oh god, oh my god, jesus christ, fuck, shit…” you wanted to laugh at the indecent amount of words that were stumbling past his lips.

“aw come on baby, already?” you smirked. “it’s just the tip.” his hands were on your hips, fingertips pressing against your supple skin. “are you sure can you handle it?” you inquired but he didn’t answer, moaning as you lowered yourself just the slightest amount, taking another inch. “spencer.” you harshly called out his name.

“yes?” he dazedly replied, chest heaving, cheeks flushed. you could eat him up.

“i said. can. you. handle it?”

“yesyesyes, please mommy. i can. i promise.”

“good. don’t you dare cum until i tell you to.” you ordered before taking all of him in in a quick movement. his eyes rolled backwards and from his mouth erupted the most beautiful whimper you’ve ever heard.

“oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…”

“sure, if you wanna call me that.” you shrugged, a smug smile on your lips as you started rolling your hips to adjust to his girth. “fuck, you’re stretching me out so good baby, so fucking big… a pretty boy with a pretty and big cock, you have it all don’t you?” he moaned, nodding at your words even if he hadn’t really processed them. he was trying his best not to burst.

come on, he hadn’t come in a week. a week in which you hadn’t stopped edging him. you had to know what you were doing to him. you just had to.

“don’t move, please.” he muttered, his dick twitching, he was gonna cum so hard.

“we haven’t even started yet…” you sighed, and he pouted. he wanted to make you feel good, but you had this effect on him in which he could cum with just one single touch. “i thought you could handle it…”

“i can! it’s just…” he saw you smirk. “god… you know what you do to me, you know.” you puckered your lips as you leaned closer to his own.

“that i drive you crazy?” you rolled your hips and he moaned, his grip tightening. “oh i know darling, i can feel it…” you whispered against his ear before your lips latched to his neck and your hips started to slightly move.

“you’re killing me.” he whimpered, and you hummed, sucking a pretty mark where you knew he wouldn’t be able to hide it. “don’t stop.” his hands wandered to your ass and helped you move more, slowly riding his cock.

you moaned when his tip kissed your cervix.

“fuck baby you’re so deep, can’t wait to feel you pump me full.” he moaned, and his hips subconsciously pumped upwards, making you laugh, although you almost squeaked. “oh you liked that, huh? like the idea or your cum inside me, pretty?” he nodded.

“yes, fuck, yes. want it all deep inside your pussy mommy.” you moaned, moving harder. the squelches of your wetness around his dick moving in and out of you filled your room, only turning the two of you more.

“yeah baby? want me round and pretty for you?” the idea almost made him cum and you noticed. one of your hands surrounded his neck. “answer me, baby.”

“yes,yes,yes.”

“good boy.” you started to ride him in earnest. his eyes fell to your jumping breasts and then his hands followed, rolling your nipples to stimulate you. your back arched. “that’s it, touch me pretty, touch my tits.” your hand tightened around his neck and his hips stuttered against yours. “you like it, hm? like my hand around your neck baby?” he nodded.

“harder.” he begged and your smile got wider.

“atta boy.” you complied and his moans increased in volume. “that’s it pretty, let me hear you.”

“mommy…” he whimpered. “i can’t, it feels so good…!”

“don’t you dare. i’ve just started playing with you.” he whined, but nodded, his muscles tensing as you went faster, your own moans spilling into the room. “fuck, such a good cock. love it. love your cock baby.” you praised him, and you felt it twitch. he rose to hold you, his hands back on your ass to drive you harder down on his cock until his tip was breaching your cervix and your eyes were rolling back.

you wouldn’t let him cum? fine. then he’ll make you cum first.

his mouth latched to your right nipple as his hips snapped up against yours.

“spencer!” you screamed in ecstasy.

“mommy, fuck, mommy.” he panted against your chest, moaning against your skin before his tongue would circle your nipples and suck.

“don’t stop. don’t stop, just like that.” you were surprised at his sudden change, but you weren’t gonna complain, not when he was fucking the lights out of you.

“it was made for me, mommy. your pussy was made for me. it takes me so good…” he was babbling, whimpering as you tugged on his hair. the two of you moved messily, taking from the other, giving at the same time. desperate. hungry. it was as if you two were in heat, lost on each other.

“fuck baby, i’m gonna cum. gonna cum all over your pretty cock.” you moaned, and he went harder, one of his hands surrounding your waist to keep you in place for his incessant thrusts and the other moving to your clit, drawing circles on it to push you closer. “fuck,fuck,fuck!!!!!” you screamed, your back arching as with a couple more thrusts your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, clenching down hard on his dick.

spencer whimpered, driving into you over and over again to fuck you through it, begging like crazy during it. “please mommy, can i cum? can i cum now? please let me cum, let me fill you up mommy.”

“yes pretty yes, fuck my pussy, pump me full of your cum. i want it in my womb.” his hips stuttered and with, one, two, three more pumps he was burying himself impossibly deeper, breaching your cervix and spilling into your womb with a moan.

you two continued to rock against the other to ride the high down until all that was left was pure bliss. you two flopped down against the bed, you on top of him as you tried catching your breaths.

“uh…” he tried, clearing his throat. he was out of words.

“yeah.” you nodded. “that was…”

“yeah.” he copied you. “wanna go again?” he asked after a beat, too eager to make you feel good again.

“yeah.” you muttered before devouring his lips.

[…]

months passed, and spencer was once again on one of his lives, shirtless, his stomach tied up in knots in nervousness. his adam’s apple bobber, his breath hitched as your fingers scratched his neck.

“hey you all, i have a surprise for you.” he said before an unknown figure slowly joined him on his bed, completely clad in lingerie. “this… is my girlfriend, and today… she’ll be joining me.” he stuttered as you pressed wet kisses to his neck and jaw.

“ready, pretty?” you inquired him, kissing his lips. and he nodded, puppy eyes staring at you. “good. cause i’m gonna fuck you dumb. and they are all gonna watch.”

☆☆☆☆☆

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iwaasfairy · 1 year ago

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┌─ “ ! „ FEARLESS, STUPID

tw. a/b/o, military au, dystopian au, noncon, threesome, heat, dumbification, double penetration, patronization/ degradation, praise kink, daddy kink, dom/sub themes, choking, anal play, a lot of spit and cum, size kink, tummy bulging, mentions of human captives, kinda forced prostitution wordcount. 9.8k

a/n. I had a lot of fun writing this one bc it’s just extremely fairycore and indulgent. heavily inspired by rhi and her incredible brain for writing the hand that feeds!!! I love that fic and have always wanted to write smt set in vaguely the same world. thank you to everyone who beta read as well I appreciate it soooo much ♡♡

geto suguru, kong shiu, fushiguro toji x fem!reader

The air is dry and cold, enough to hurt on the way in. It’s cold enough for your warm air to come back out and form droplets on your nose that drip into the snow.

Your head down, crouched in the smallest shape you can make yourself, is how you find yourself drifting in and out of focus. Not only are you cold and hungry, but it’s been long enough for the scent of smoke and ash and foul, sour fear to have started losing it’s smell. You can’t even expend the energy to move your head to the side and look, without getting tired. The crunching of the heavy boots in the snow is the only thing that’s pulling you back into it. That and the occasional clang of the line of cuffs shaking around someone’s wrists.

It’s gone quiet now.

You wonder if others have fallen asleep. You’re not far off yourself. When some commotion happens over by the gates, some of the uniformed figures rush to go look, feet kicking up snow as they go — It’s a blur of shouts and orders, before the loud hum of an armored vehicle stops not too far away. That’s all it takes to wake you up again, and despite yourself, your arms start shaking in their place behind your back. The cold of the metal radiates all through your bones.

You realize you’re scared. That’s the thumping between your ears.

“Lieutenant. Good evening, Sir.”

A soft, almost warm voice stands in stark contrast against the cold of the surroundings when the feet stop a few steps short of the kneeling row of people. “At ease, soldier.” He sounds older than some of the youthful faces you’ve seen here, dragging people around by their ankles to stuff them into loaded trucks. But not old. Not nearly old enough to carry the weight he does. “What’s all this?” the voice pivots, aimed now towards your group. A few of the women beside you uneasily shuffle in their places.

“Captives from a raid by the fifth division this morning. They interfered with the commission’s supply line when they tried to escape.”

You smell smoke with each breath. The man makes a soft humming noise, before he scans the row of kneeling people again. “So why are they still here? We have plenty of mouths to feed already.” You have seen what they do with prisoners here. Just this one, long day has shown you all you need to know. Your life will be short and unnoticed, and if you’re lucky, you won’t go through hell before you’re shot between your eyes. The cold air makes clouds in front of your face, as the steam rises above the snow into the black night. “Beta's?”

“Yes, Sir.”

You strain your neck to tilt your head up. You’re not sure why you do it. Maybe it’s the wrongful association of that voice, smooth and lithe and easy- with the pain you’ve witnessed. You don’t have much hope of making it out, and though you could beg, you’re not even sure if they see you as human enough to consider a plea a plea. Your eyes glide up the perfectly fitted suits, dark gray and gold until you find the face of the leader— and startle. Long, black hair is tied into a sloppy bun in his neck, and long bangs almost hide one eye from view.

But the eyes are striking and sharp and long lashes frame them against pale skin, and you can’t look away when his lips form the words. “So, kill them.” His cigarette burns bright orange when he takes another pull.

The younger of the two only lets out the briefest breath. “...Yes, Sir.”

The fear makes the pitched whimper get stuck in your throat, and more puffy clouds drift out of your lips when you start to shuffle in a panic. Not fight, you don’t ever fight. The man turns on his heel. And you’re not the only one, as soon cries and sniffles and the petrified glances only set you off more. Your eyes drop to the muddied, dirty patches of snow that the cars drove through, the people around the camp; as your stomach turns and your bottom lip starts to wobble. You knew this is how you’d turn out.

As soon as they put the cuffs on and tossed you onto the ground to wait… your own whimpering just melts into that of the others, but peaks when a hand grabs you by the hair and yanks you up, then lifts you by your arm. “No, no, stop!” The girls around you start screaming too, one grabbing at your arms to pull you back down. But the soldier doesn’t hesitate to kick her in the nose, as you cry, trembling like a kitten picked up by her neck.

Everyone’s scared for themselves, but they’re scared for you too, and you for them. “Stop, please! Please!” They cry. The blood thumping between your ears makes it hard to focus on anything but the painful grip on you, and the disgusted face of the man before you. When you don’t make any effort to fight, he drops you back down into the cold snow, and instead aims the long barrel of his gun straight at you.

You can’t even look away, as your heart rate slows. As you watch the small snowflakes come from the sky to meet you.

“Wait.” The voice returns when he stops halfway to the car, and makes your eyes shoot up to find his face, as shivers roll down your back. You know you’re stinking up the place, as the placating hands of the girls around you reach to brush fingers. It’s not much, but allows you to take a sniveling breath. “This one’s an Omega… Settle down, soldier. We’re not trying to hurt, are we?” The buzzcut’s eyes widen slightly, maybe as he takes a first good look at you and notices the smaller frame, big doe-like eyes, the softer set of your face and demeanor. Just as quickly as he gives you another up and down, he steps aside and lowers his heavy-duty gun back to the ground.

The older one takes a step back towards you. Your face must be windbitten, lips cracked and cold and stained with tears where you sit, but the noiret doesn’t falter as he drops into a squat before you. His face breaks out into a soft smile, and his hand rises to brush along your cheek, avoiding the black eye as he goes. “You’re a rare find. You on blockers?” Not enough recent ones to keep out all of the scent, clearly.

It’s not a question that needs answering, but as his thumb brushes over your lip, you find yourself giving the smallest nod. Gently, careful not to make any harsh movements. He does the same when he helps you right yourself back onto your knees, and then gives you a slow, calculated trace with his ocean-dark, silvery eyes. “Smart. We almost missed out on you with all the Beta stench.” A small furrow worms between his brows. “Are there others?” He asks, and then gives a swift continuation. “Don’t lie. If you lie I’ll know.”

Your voice cracks when you start. “I- If I tell you- what will happen to them?”

With only the slightest bit of hesitation, he seems to mull it over. Sharp, angular features soften just a bit as he draws his hand back from your face to run it under his nose instead. And whatever he smells must soothe the urge to get angry at being questioned, because his cheeks push up genially until his eyes are practically just moons. “How’s this? I’ll be fair, after hearing whatever information you have.” The anxiety ebbs and flows as you look to the faces at your side, then swallow.

Your heart hammers wildly in your chest. You have no reason to lie. There’s no one left that didn’t get shot as they ran… You clear your strained voice with a tight cough. “I- this is all that’s left. There’s no one else. We had people who escaped before you even closed in. B-but there weren’t any Omega’s left, the last raid already took them all. That’s all I know.” You try to keep your bottom lip from wobbling as you talk, ignoring the cold of the tears that are now freezing on your lashes.

Those dark, unrelenting eyes don’t waver as you speak, and you can’t help but wonder what it is he sees. Surely he knows, you wouldn’t need to lie. Just as you start getting anxious at the silence, he gets up from the floor, before dusting impatient hands over his pristine jacket— and a saccharine smile slips back onto his lips as he waves a hand. “Bring the Omega.” You jump when the soldier from earlier immediately starts yanking at your chains, but that’s it. It’s not in your nature to fight back. Then the Lieutenant walks back to the car as another opens it for him, and casts a final glance your way.

The smile doesn’t fall when he shifts that gaze to the side, and sucks his teeth. “Kill the monkeys.”

There’s nothing more embarrassing than having to fight your nature at every turn. You’re confronted with it more than you’ve ever been before, when they drag you across the cold tiles with your legs kicking, tears rolling in thick beads down your face and neck. You’re not a fighter. You’re not made for it. At every chance, your body chooses the easiest way out, oblige now, suffer later. Even when your mind screams at you to run, bite and kick and escape — you stay down. Cold metal slices into the tender and sore skin of your wrists when they yank you up another few feet, before dropping you onto the floor next to the makeshift desk.

You’re sniveling like a child. The man behind the desk looks at the several soldiers who stay put, before lifting an eyebrow.

“Lieutenant Geto says you’re to clean her up for processing.” One of the men sighs, before glaring down at you with a tight-lipped frown. It sets the hairs on your neck on end to feel such blatant displeasure from an Alpha.

The lighter haired young man stands from the chair at that, and gives you a quick once over. “For the barracks or to be sent to the commission?” He smiles when you look up at him, gentler, then places a warm hand on the top of your head to start soothing you. It’s enough to make your lip wobbly. The little bit of warmth isn’t enough… but it feels so nice. So good, to have a caring touch.

One of the other soldiers takes the heavy strap off his shoulder to put the gun down, and grunts. “Neither.” His top lip lifts into a scowl as he glares at the corner of the room, before turning to look down at you too. “Personal pick, I heard.”

The other soldier remains at the door, but clicks his tongue. “And we’re supposed to keep our mouths shut about it.”

“You ever had an Omega?” The one asks the other, nervously grinding his gun in circles. “I haven’t. Yet we’re going to war for ‘em… Only for pompous pricks to get first pick of the litter because they’re bold enough not to report to the commission.” The soldier grins without any amusement from across you, and you can’t help but hide more into the leg of the man who’s still touching you kindly. “Goin’ to war for pussies like yours… must make you something real special, right? But you’re unreported. What’s keeping me from just… taking you for myself?” Then he looks between the two other men. “I’m even willing to share between the three of us if you’d help out. Keep some things quiet.”

“You said the Lieutenant picked her out because he liked her, right?” The lighter haired man runs his free hand through his undercut, then leans down to lift you under your arms and get you onto tired legs against him. “Means you got something in return for keeping a secret already.” He’s all wired muscle under the uniform he wears, and wraps his arm around the small of your back before picking you up entirely. “Don’t do something stupid. There’s no place to keep her where some officer wouldn’t smell her anyway. Can’t keep her under your mattress like a pack of cards, can you?” He starts walking you towards the doors of a presumed bathroom without complaining, even though the other guy clicks his tongue.

“Itadori. You think you’re helping out just being another dog for the commission?”

“Instead of a thief?” He pushes the door open with one hand, already walking through. “Go get your free drinks or cigarettes or whatever he promised you, and do your job. I’m doing mine.”

The door falls shut with a loud noise behind you both, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth. Your arms wrap a little tighter around his neck. “T-Thank you.”

His grey eyes find yours, before he smiles again. Softer. He’s an Alpha too, but must come into contact with your kind more frequently. He feels gentler to the touch when he speaks. “Don’t thank me yet.” Then he deposits you in a stained, old bathtub, and sighs before grabbing the showerhead. “Let’s get you cleaned up first. Ranking officers like their girls extra clean.” When you don’t move, he goes to take off your dirty shirt, and you only shiver in place as it happens.

After a few seconds of silence where he brushes fingers over the unmarked stretch of your neck, you swallow tightly. “You can’t let me go, can you?”

Itadori turns up the water until it’s warm, and his brows flatten. “…No. I’m here to do a job. I’m sorry.” You believe him. Doesn’t make you feel any better, though.

The cot is barely big enough for you, and the cold from the floor radiates up through the ratty, old mattress into you. But it’s still better than sleeping in the bed where Geto sleeps, where he can get his hands all over you, hold you, cling to you. You’re glad that the Lieutenant doesn’t particularly care whether or not you shy back away from him for the night, as long as you don’t act up when he wants you close. It’s an unwritten contract he likes to pretend you have. As if you weren’t forced into it. As if you had any choice.

The starchy sheets are cold too, they leave you shivering more than sleeping. When you walk through the halls you’re cold and barefoot and uncomfortable, but when you’re here you’re colder, naked and more uncomfortable.

You don’t know that much about the army. You don’t know that much about other things either, but you know that Omega’s are few and far in between. You know they go for lots of money, money that even Geto doesn’t have. You know that he’s using you to your full potential before his higher-ups find out, and that too much commotion would draw attention of the commission. Attention you don’t want. When your teeth start chattering, the man in the large bed, with the soft pillows and body heat calls.

Says your name like he means it. Like he likes to whisper to get under your skin- holding your life between slim fingers. He sighs. “Come. Get into bed. I can’t sleep when you’re not sleeping. And you’re not going to sleep when you’re shivering to death.”

“I’ll sleep,” you softly assure, pull your thin blanket closer. Your feet are cold and the room isn’t dark enough for it to actually happen. But you can pretend.

“I’m not asking.” You know he’s not. Maybe it’s because the alarm clock is showing an ungodly hour— and he’s tired. It wouldn’t be the first time his boot meets your cheek when you whine too much, displease him in ways Geto doesn’t like. “Come.”

He yawns when opening the blankets, waves you closer. An Alpha demands, and your lungs ache to follow the order. It physically hurts to resist. Your thin layer of tears sit on your waterline for a while before you shift. Slip across the room naked, and crawl into the bed under his arm. “That’s a good pet…” The panes of his chest are warm enough to have you melting like ice into his shape and mold yourself to him. It’s in the weight of his arm over your waist as he pulls you in close. Tethers you. You want to be and stay mad. Frightened.

It’s just… Geto’s scent’s become one you can bury yourself into. Your hands ball against his chest, and the fingers he presses into your hips stray down.

Your breathing hitches at the touch, and your stomach seems to want to crawl up into your mouth when he spreads your legs apart. “I’m hardly the worst one here. Get used to it already. People here are frustrated. Many of them haven’t had an Omega in years.” His rough fingertips slide between your legs and trace over the raw, achy mess he made of you not hours before. It’s sticky and uncomfortable, and you jerk when he rather impatiently starts thumbing your clit. It hurts- enough to make your face scrunch as you hide it into his pecks. “You don’t even know how lucky you are that I’ve kept you to myself.”

You do know that, though. You’ve passed by some of the barracks further away from the officer buildings. You’ve smelled the Omega fear, the blood and sweat and ruts; or what it’s like for a person to beg for a moment of reprieve. You have not a scratch on you, and you should be more grateful than you are. That you’re not taking a whole division’s sexual frustration to keep them from killing each other. When his fingers slide the wetness, remnants of slick and cum back into you and force your pussy to stretch again- you start sniffling against him. “I know I am,” you whimper, biting your lip. It’s not enough to just be this. You can’t just lay and wish for it all to go away. You have to be a participant, or Geto might switch you out.

As you whimper, swallowing back the tears- he presses his lips against your forehead. “Can’t help but cry? Poor baby.” He grinds the fleshy part of his palm against your pussy, breathing against you. “Tell me what it feels like.”

“I- Feels- b-big,” you choke out, twitching when his fingers curl into you and fuck deeper until they stroke much deeper than your own. The coldness fades a little when he rolls you over onto your back and gets on top, pinning you with his thigh. “Geto-sama- Please stop, I’m still- sore. It- it hurts really bad.”

With a slight frown, he pulls his fingers out of you and wipes them on your thigh, before sighing. Your eyes crack open at the lack of touch. His long black hair falls down over his shoulders, as he holds himself above you— and stares at you for a moment too long. One where he seems to consider your feelings at least a little, for once, brushing his clean thumb along your neck and shoulder. “I’m going back to the front soon. Do you know what that means?”

You’re not sure if it’s meant to be patronizing… but you don’t know. The wet, cold numbness that returns to your cunt is an unexpected unease. You wanted to stop. You did. But when he sits back on his heels and looks at you for a few seconds in abject silence, the distance feels too far. Geto comes back to you with a furrowed brow, before a line of kisses is pressed along your jaw and neck, where he takes a deep breath and makes your entire body purr. “Means you’ll be passed on to some other scum.” He almost growls when he says it, urges your one leg over his thigh to make room.

“I put in a good word that if I come back you’ll come back to me- but…” His sharp eyes find yours blown out and dark, as he pulls you closer to his hips and rolls himself against you. His hard cock- he’s always hard when you’re in his bed, bops as he grabs himself and pumps a few achingly slow strokes. A translucent drop of precum drops to your pussy, and he spits on his hand and your pussy for good measure. “I’ll be two months without this soft Omega cunt squeezing me to sleep.” As he groans and slides the flushed head of his cock against you, he presses his weight into you again. “Let me use you. Or see what fucking happens.”

The hearth burns at the far end of the pristine, wooden room. Enough to make your hands clammy, shifting yourself back and forth between both legs- before glancing up to Geto once more. He looks more pampered today. Standing straight with only his fingers looped loosely around your arm. For a split second you wonder if you’d be able to make it down the marble set of stairs and across the courtyard into the shallow bushes— but it’s only a moment. Not more than a brief hope that instantly gets snuffed out when the heavy doors slide open, and a deep grunt passes by you both.

Geto salutes, the man does not. He only clears his voice with a mix of impatience and -tobacco, probably, before motioning his head towards the desk. “Lieutenant, what can I do for you?” His voice is frighteningly low, more rumble and bass than anything else, and sets the hairs on your arms on end.

His half-lidded eyes flick from the man beside you, ever so swiftly to you, then back. Face blank, uncaring. You stumble when Geto takes a few steps forward, basically dragging you behind him towards the chairs. When he lets you go, he gives you a look, and so you sit. Hands folding in your lap to keep them from picking at the edges of your clothing.

Or lack thereof. There’s a clean gold plate with the name Shiu Kong engraved at the very front of the desk, staring back at you. Your Alpha doesn’t hesitate to sit down too. “Major General Kong, Sir. A pleasure as always. You’ve lost some weight?”

“Hardly,” the man shoots right back, unfazed. “You can lay off the flattering.”

Geto and the stranger seem to converse with their eyes for a moment, before your owner gets comfortable in the velvet chair beside you, and hangs his arms over the back with a slight smile. The other man doesn’t bother to sit in his own chair across from you, instead just bending to get out one of the no-doubt expensive cigarettes, and lighting it. The smoke travels in slow, winding circles up to the ceiling as he hums. “So, the Omega. Y’ want to buy her?”

“I’d like her returned to my possession with the least amount of scratches when I get back, Sir.”

“We’re in a war, Suguru.” The man takes a short puff of his cigarette again, before putting his foot onto the chair and leaning in just barely. Dark, grayish eyes narrow. “You can’t pick out playthings at your whim. We have rules about these sorts of things.” The ash goes into the overfull ashtray, before those irises find you where you’re still slumped in the too-big chair. Almost amused, he lets out a bit of air through his nose, before punctuating his words with another drag. “Higher ranks get first picks, but if you’re gone, you’ll have to share. She looks healthy, young. Girls like that go for a lot of money these days.”

“I understand, Sir.” Geto’s smile doesn’t slip though, not even when he takes one of your hands and pulls until you get up. With his prompting, you instead sit back down on his lap instead, and the noiret hooks his chin over your shoulder when he strokes your thigh. You duck your head in shame. “It’s just that- she’s more of an indoor pet. I’d like to keep it that way, if possible.” His other hand winds under your chin to nudge it back up into view, as you shiver. Watch the attention of the superior officer linger just a second on the way your shirt falls around your hips.

Geto’s. “You have a mansion not too far from the front, as I understand it? And due to surely unfortunate consequences, your last Omega… broke.” His voice gleams as he says the words, and they seem to wind like a coiled spring around your neck. “I’m more than willing to part with mine for a while, if I could have a guarantee she’d be close by. Used sparingly.” You don’t know enough about the army to know if Shiu Kong has the kind of strings that Geto’s presuming he has— but you don’t really dare complain. The silence drags; before it crumbles into pieces when a slight relaxation pulls at the older man’s lips, cocking his head.

“Have her stand.”

You do, spurred on by the quick pat to your thigh and a winning smile, eyes fluttering as you trace the patterns on the floor. As the presence of the older Alpha fills your senses and he circles around you too close, he smells of smoke and a deep, woody musk that could bring you to your knees if you weren’t so used to it by now. After a round where his finger patiently brushes past your most valued features, he takes your face into his palm and forces your eyes up. Until you can no longer ignore the handsome face ducking down to meet your gaze.

You whimper. Let your face get turned here and there before he takes the end of the cig from between his lips, and addresses you directly. “You got a name?”

“Y-yes.” You stumble out, basically whispering it when he stares like that. He doesn’t have a kind face like Geto does, you notice, more angular, stubbled, at least a decade older too. You find yourself reaching for Geto’s hand despite knowing better, if only to have something to cling to as you blink away nervous jitters, and excess tears that are always ready to spill. Your bare feet shuffle against the carpet below.

Whatever he sees staring back at him is enough for his fingers to drop to your collar, dragging it either side with a grunt. “It’s some skill to find an unmated, pretty, little Omega hidden from the commission, Lieutenant… One would almost call it suspicious.” There’s a hint of amusement, one he pushes out alongside the butt of the cig. As if he knows he’s in, Suguru stands from the chair to put a comforting hand on your back and rubs circles through the flimsy fabric of his oversized shirt, tucking his thumb into the loose boxers you’re wearing below.

“I just get lucky, Sir. Omega’s delivered to the commission lose their charm too quickly, s’all.”

Shiu’s eyes give you another slow up and down, then he clicks his tongue. “So, what do you want in return for this present?”

“Nothing at all, really.” The hand pulls you into his side to nuzzle along your neck for some extra show, where he nibbles at the sensitive spot— makes you whimper like a bitch in heat. It’s loud enough for the other man to eat you up whole with his eyes, puffing out his chest a little to push off the desk. The swift hand wrapped around you gives you an adoring squeeze, before Suguru pouts into your temple like he’s parting with a prized possession. “Just that I get her back once I’m done with my service at the front in a few months.”

“Done.” Shiu busies himself with the bottle of expensive looking liquor, before casting you another glance. “Dress her in some actual clothes though, will ya? She already attracts enough attention as is.”

You stare at the fogged-up window with your duvet tucked to your chest, and breathe a few shallow breaths. There’s soldiers running up and down the camp, tucking their caps low against the biting wind. You only bother to follow one of them with your eyes, light hair peeking out from under the hat as he runs his laps. Instead of lingering on the thought, you shiver when a heavy, muscular arm pulls you around your waist and down into the bed. Shiu’s quick to let out a grunt, before opening his eyes and hooking his chin over your shoulder to nose at your neck. “You’re goin’ into heat soon?”

You barely dare shift when his stubble tickles your throat, and a few rough kisses get placed right over your pulse. “Probably. I-I’ll- ah-” His hand wraps around the base of your neck as he starts sucking on the sore skin, where bruises still sit from yesterday. You’re not sure if it’s his hands wrapped around your neck that caused it, or the way he bullied his cock way too deep into your throat— but you’re so sore. “I’ll need heat blockers for a while.”

“Mh,” he smells like tobacco. And a heavy, manly musk that’s so overwhelmingly Alpha. It’s distracting. It melts your tongue to the bottom of your teeth. “No need. We’re far enough away here that they won’t smell you. Or if they do, they can’t do anything about it anyway.” You blank, only to mewl and curl away when his lips and tongue rakes over a particularly sore spot, making your toes curl.

“But- b-but I,” you stutter, and one hand comes up to protect your scent gland from him as he gets up onto one arm to get on top of you. You haven’t gone through a proper heat in forever. It wasn’t ever safe even with just Beta’s around— you barely even remember what it feels like. Only that it hurts so bad it could make you sick. “But I don’t want to go into heat. It hurts.”

Shiu stops his barrage on your neck to frown at you, as he nudges your legs aside for his own thick thighs. One eyebrow raises at you like you’re dumb. “It doesn’t hurt when I’m here to breed you full, little girl.” He scans your face as he keeps pushing your one knee to your chest, before his mouth flattens out. “You don’t know that? You’ve never had an Alpha cock in here during heat?” It’s embarrassing. It’s so embarrassing— the way he eyes you like you’re some sort of idiot. It’s not like you had the privilege of trying it out before all this, hiding like a mouse. “Aw, baby girl. You’re so sweet.”

It doesn’t sound like a compliment.

“Daddy’ll have to teach you.” His large hand forces it’s way between your legs to squeeze your cunt and make you squirm under him, before he finally sits back and pushes the covers off, revealing the battle-worn body. “But not right now. Get up and go wash. We’re having company over.”

Your mouth’s dry, so you swallow tightly. “Who?” Your legs still tingle even when he gets out of bed, a little numb, a little achy.

“A… friend, I guess.” He picks out one of the cigarettes on the side table after putting on a shirt, and plops it between his lips. “You won’t like him.”

With sweat rolling down your neck, you stumble across the steam-coated tiles and grab onto the sink. Shaking like you’re ill. You definitely feel that way. It makes your entire skin feel statically charged, and sore, and so painfully needy. As soon as you take another step, you almost immediately topple over, legs trembling despite yourself. There’s no better sign than the dry feeling in your throat, and the way a whimper threatens to escape you with every move.

So you do all you can, and start tearing up as you wrap a towel around yourself. Even your own innocent touch feels too much, and you hurry through the process to barely manage pulling on a top and some panties, before your body refuses to oblige. You want to cry. Why did this have to happen now? Why here? Shiu hasn’t been bad to you, but he also isn’t particularly gentle. You didn’t want to go through heat at all. “Mh-mn, need- agh.” You whine thoughtlessly, as you wobble to the door.

There’s a swell of voices from down the hall— talking that doesn’t last long before falling quiet as you make your way to the bed. You’re so hot that it’s hard to keep your eyes open, your thighs rubbing uncomfortably as you walk. Thick, almost sticky tears wobble on your waterline, and the heat in your stomach sinks right into your center the more of the room you take in. It’s not your fault - everywhere you look it stinks of Alpha musk. Thick and overpowering to your flighty brain, it makes you want to keel over onto fours. You really are just a bitch in heat, and that is embarrassing too.

Makes you want to curl up onto a solid chest and let yourself get bounced onto his cock like a ragdoll.

It takes so much of your effort to drag yourself to the pillowed surface that you fail to hear the steps coming closer, let alone control that you’re scenting up the entire top floor when you crawl in and your pussy starts clenching around nothing. You’re mewling faint nothings as you stuff your face into the blankets— and smell only him. Heavy on your wet tongue.

“Agh, I- Al-pha, I need- it hurts. It hurts, I want you~” With your chest to the bed and your legs raised up, you just feel like you need to— to get filled up to the brim to make this aching stop. “Mhmm-ugh, please, pleas- need you, Shiu~” Slick’s already coating your pussy enough to slip right in, wet like the spit in your mouth that gathers under your tongue. Your head’s so light. It’s spinning.

Then, a heavy palm strokes over your crown, and your noises explode.

“Ah, ah, agh, daddy, daddy.” The weight of the touch travels down your neck to grip you, and your body curls to raise your ass even further up in need of friction. “Daddy, please. I don’t want to~ T-told you I- need-ed blockers. Ah, ahh.” The low chuckle you get isn’t the one you expect, but you can’t open your eyes enough to see what’s going on.

“Bit friendly for a hello, isn’t it?” There’s a huge body that surrounds you when leaning over you, as lips travel down behind your ear. “S’cute though. That’s a pretty girl. Daddy’s here.” Rough hands push your hips down with one swift move, slipping two fingers under your panties to pull the fabric taut. The slick grinds the fabric uncomfortably to your cunt, but you can’t be still. “Already drenched through your clothes, pet.” You don’t mean to. You don’t, you’re so sorry. “Whining like a little baby, need to get filled up?”

“Only thinking with this pussy, right? This is why Omega’s don’t run anything…” The lips ghost over your scent glands, making you squirm with dripping anticipation, when he lets his tongue run over his teeth and then along your throat. The juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, untouched and open and soft. He groans. “Ugh, fuckin’ hell, you’re so sweet. Your scent is almost making me sick.” One hand digs sharp nails into the meat of your ass, as the other reaches around to start pulling your camisole down over your sensitive tits. “Want some love from daddy, baby?”

A slightly raspier voice comes from somewhere behind you and drowns out your own whining and mewling. “I thought I told you to wait, Fushiguro.”

“Your pet was crying, Kong.” He rakes his teeth over that one spot again until you can’t stand it anymore, and your tears start dripping into the blankets. You push your chest out until his warm palm reaches around and squeezes, rubbing a thumb over your nipples. “Plus, just smell her. She’s scenting up the whole house. I wanted to come help.” After a long pause where you’re fighting the need to rub yourself on anything cock shaped like an animal— you’re turned over by a sturdy yank on your shoulder, and long fingers slide into your messy, drool filled mouth to press on your tongue.

Its Shiu, whose normally stern brow now is arched in amusement. The man on the bed with you moves away just enough to let you take a look, and take in the messy dark hair and almost metallic blue eyes, scarred face and dog tags hanging from his neck as he rolls onto his side. Shiu pinches your tongue to make you squeak, then leans in. “See you’ve already made introductions.” You mumble a pathetic ‘daddy’ under his sharp gaze, before he takes a deep breath.

“Poor girl, already going into heat? You didn’t last long. Needy, little pussy’s throbbing, isn’t it?” He pulls the top fully down until it’s hooked under your tits, then hums. “Look so cute when you’re begging to get fucked.”

“Gonna let me have a turn too?” Fushiguro rights himself onto one forearm, then pushes a finger down on your forehead until it's tilted all the way back and you’re looking up at him again. He’s got a mean sort of look in his eyes, right before his lips twitch when you groan softly at the touch. You literally can’t help yourself. It hurts so good— good enough to make you want to wrap your legs around either of their hips and stay there. Aches.

Shiu’s voice resonates through your body when he moves to kneel down to your body and starts kissing from your belly up, making you twitch. His gravelly hum reverberates in your clit, as your legs get spread over each shoulder when he comes up. “She’s not mine to give away Toji, so- ugh- restrain yourself a little.” His big hands smooth over your tits instead of squeezing you like you want, until you really start worming around under their touches.

“Mh~ hurry up!”

It’s out before you know it, and the backlash rushes straight to your cheeks in heat, burning up on your face. Fushiguro groans though, long and deep- before he pushes off the bed to get onto his knees, and grabs himself through the awfully casual clothing. His hand wraps around the large, large cock pressing against the fabric— and when you open your mouth and basically salivate at the sight- he lets out a lightly pinched chuckle. “Oh, you don’t wanna be doing all that, pet. You’ve got days of heat ahead of you— and you’re getting me hard as a motherfucker.”

All it’s doing is making you so horny you can barely see straight, and each inch of your body surges with electricity. You need something inside you. Now. Now, now, now. He runs a distracted hand through his messy fringe, and rolls his hips into his hand with a groan. “What’s it gonna be, Kong? If you take her underwear off I’m not leaving. Sweet, little thing like that…” Your legs are up by his ears when the familiar giant sits up onto the bed too, and your hand reaches for his to pull him closer by his thumb. “Haven’t had a greedy, fertile little Omega pussy in a while- the Commission always bitches I have too much fun.”

A hesitant furrow worms itself between Shiu’s brows for a bit, before he sighs. “Can’t bite ‘er, she’s not mine. I’m just keeping her.” His eyes are more blown out than normal, dark ring of black taking over the longer he touches you. You’re sure you’re similarly spent when you moan his name and he groans. “Fuck, baby. Want this Alpha cock in here?” His large hand smoothed over the supple skin of your lower belly, when you wiggle yourself against him, basically grinding onto his leg. “Needy, huh.” He licks his lips. “Fine, join. Can count us even after that.”

At that the other noiret grins, and pulls his shirt over his head in one swift move of agreement. Shiu’s hands already roam back over every bit of exposed skin. “And I get first turns.” The large fingers mindlessly playing with your nipple pinches you, when grayish eyes find you beneath him. “Get up.” With just a quick motion, you force your sluggish body up and onto fours— and fight the urge to force your head down yet again. That’s what would feel right.

“That-” Shiu’s hard too, you notice quite happily, when you grind back against him to find another thick, heavy bulge in his pants that heats your cunt. “That’s it.” You mewl, have no choice to. As you look back over your shoulder, he takes a moment to study you where you’re so much smaller beneath him. Omega’s always are, but these two are big even among other Alpha’s— more slick sticks your panties to the shape of your cunny. Your body’s entirely sticky with sweat, neck and throat aching and radiating heat all over you.

Your tongue melts in your mouth, when you look back and Fushiguro’s stripped down entirely— shredded body towering over you as well. He squeezes a rough ring around the flushed, pulsing head of his cock. “Uh, ugh-ah, daddy, daddy, daddy- Please? Please.”

“Who are you calling daddy?” The general asks sternly, but there’s no malice there. He’s amused as he peels the panties over the curve of your ass and down ever so slowly, letting your wet folds drip all over his fingers as he plays around in them. The touch makes you stagger forward, arms almost giving in— and you whine something unintelligible into the covers. “Fu~ck, you smell so sweet. Little Omega bitch in heat- ugh.”

A heavy hand lands on the swell of your ass, and stings so bad. With another spank your pussy clenches around nothing, and by the third you’re basically begging and your cunny’s sucking his fingers in. “A-daddy, please. Hurts. Uh-pu-lease. Need Alpha inside. Quickly, please. I-it hurts.” Another hand pets your crown for a few seconds, before he grabs a fistful of hair and pulls your head up. Your mouth hangs open, and your tongue drops out at the sight of the hard, veiny cock before you.

It’s flushed a sweet sort of pink, nothing like you can already tell Fushiguro is— but drool still gathers in globs, looking at the precum glistening on him. “Gonna open your pretty, little mouth wide for me, pet?” As he strokes himself, the man behind you starts toying his fingers around your holes, and smears your slick all over until you’re entirely sloppy. Then chuckles, throwing his head back with a grunt.

“Fuck, forgot how hard I get- with Omega’s.” The slick sounds of your pussy, and both men's hands stroking their swollen cocks makes everything so loud. Wet and needy and animalistic— your own whining drowning out your thoughts. You just want more. More touch, please. Shiu spits onto your holes without hesitation and slaps his thick, hot cockhead against you a few times, before placing one hand on the middle of your back to force you in place. “Don’t run away from me- jus-t take it.”

“O-oh-fu-ugh.” He pushes inside with more of his weight, thick thighs pressing up against the inside of yours when you spread wider, and almost get pushed over. If not for Toji holding you up and rubbing himself along your cheek and lips too, impatiently stroking himself.

The head’s already big, stings on the way in. Enough to hurt, enough to make you tear up. He’s just so thick and glowing hot to the touch— basically pulsing inside you. You can feel his heartbeat through the skin as the head pops in with a lot of pressure. Your throat starts making noises despite you. “A-agh, ugh agh, da-I- ca— um-hnggg.”

“My turn,” Toji grunts after a bit, hooking a finger in your cheek to open your mouth more and coach your tongue out. “That’s- a good cockslut— open wide.” You do, letting spit drip as you relax your jaw and wrap your lips around him, filling up your mouth too much. You’ve never been so needy. The choking and the taste only make your eyes want to roll back in your skull, giving yourself over to them. You don’t want to do anything except give yourself over, struggling to make enough space between your legs to allow Shiu closer.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby, uhh-fuck.”

He’s still going slow, necessity, as each inch of his fat cock gets stuffed inside you, using his fingers to push more into your comparatively tiny cunt— and each bit deeper he goes, the more you feel like melting. It hurts, hurts and aches and bulges your stomach; and Fushiguro pushes deeper and bulges your throat- and it hurts- It does. But you can’t stop. You reach your arms out to wrap around the man’s glutes and pull him closer into your face, drool dripping down your chin. “Mh-mhm mhhuh.”

With his tongue trapped between his teeth, he grins. “Hah, you’re talking a lot for someone with their mouth stuffed— Does that feel good? You like choking on Alpha cock?” Your teary eyes try to focus on him, but you can’t, just cling on harder as the cock inside you kisses your cervix and he’s still not done. It aches so much, stretching you much wider than you’re meant to go. But it does, it does, it does. You don’t want to stop. “A little longer, that’s it, a little more~”

Instead you try to hollow your cheeks around him as he sits too deep in your throat, and fight the urge to squirm when your breath starts to pinch. Your body worms, you cry around them, and slick drips down your thighs like syrup. When Shiu bottoms out, it actually makes you gag, feeling so full and spent— and you squirm as Fushiguro keeps you. “Mh-hh- hck.” Your mouth aches as your lungs start to scream, and vision goes blurry.

Shiu pulls back before the other man does, groaning at the sight of sloppy, milky slick coating his cock, then slides back into your warmth just as fast, forcing your body to stretch again to make room. T-too big. “Let her- hh- up, she’s turning blue.” As you’re basically about to pass out, you get pulled off of him and gag violently, before taking sniveling, painful breaths again. You barely get the chance to breathe before your chin is lifted again, and he tilts your face left and right.

Your mouth drops open again, and tongue squirms around nothing. “More? You want more, greedy slut?” He smiles again, but more genuinely impressed this time— and hums. “Such a good, little Omega.” You can’t help it, you shiver and moan when he lets you back at his cock. And Shiu pulls back again only to fuck back into you, forcing you open as he builds a rhythm.

“She liked that one. She’s trying to clench my dick off.” He moans, and his unoccupied hand swipes some wetness dripping down your leg to circle it around your puckered hole instead. “You think she can take two?”

The cock gets stuffed back into your throat, but he pulls back faster now, instead using your head to fuck himself into you as he groans. “‘Nuh uh, she can’t. She’s too tiny— L-ook, you’re already -fuck- bulgin’ er.” He watches your lips struggle to wrap around him as he fucks your throat— only stopping for a moment to wipe some of the spit off your face. “She likes it so much though, look at that. You’re just a dumb, cocksleeve bitch, right? Want Alpha cocks to fill you?”

You can’t answer. Your brain’s all scrambled from the heat, a cloudy, pillowy feeling sitting over everything else. It feels so, so good. Being stretched to your limit, getting used. Your pussy clenches uselessly around the too-big invasion, getting bounced against Shiu’s thighs with a noisy ‘pap, pap, pap’. If you could think, you’d agree though. The pressure of his cock grinding into your sensitive insides, basically lifting you off your knees as he grabs your hips to jackhammer into you deeper, it’s all too much.

“Close?”

You’re drowning in your own arousal. After a few more seconds of getting used for all your worth, the expanding, pulsing pressure in your stomach grows too tight— and your toes curl uselessly as you cum without warning. It shatters inside you as you fail to clench around the thick length in you, instead dropping though your arms as you pull off of the cock in your throat to tremble through your orgasm. “Ah-hgh- ugh ah da-Alpha, Alpha, ahh ah agh! St-hngh~” You cry. Thick tears, spit and snot get wiped into the covers as you try to catch your breath, while still being fucked into.

You can’t stop shaking. Even then, Shiu’s cock keeps forcing the head against your cervix and making your eyes bulge. “Oh fuck, fuck- too tight— shit, I was this close, hah.” When he slips out for a second, you collapse entirely, aching immediately at the emptiness inside you. Your tits are sores, but everything else is burning so hot you feel like you might go up in flames.

It’s Fushiguro who picks you up by your arms and pulls you into his chest after a while, holding your pathetic, naked body like a ragdoll. “So cute now that you’re all flushed, cumming like that. But you’re not done, are you?” His fingers squeeze either side of your cheeks to bring your mouth to his, kissing on you until you respond and let his tongue melt against yours.

Your head’s still spinning, but a different kind of heat grows now in the base of your neck, desperate and needy. Your hand reaches to get more, more skin, pulling at the short hair at the back of his head- you moan into the kiss. Tongues and spit mixing as it slides down your throat and he towers over you, cock bouncing against your stomach. When he pulls back, long lashes brush yours, and you whimper when the touch goes.

Shiu’s staring. You can’t tell what expression he has, but it’s enough to make Fushiguro frown and lift his lip. “Fuck off. I get protective when they whine like that, s’all. She’s sweet when she’s cryin’ all baby like.” He instead focuses on pinching and toying with your puffy nipples, rubbing each side with rough fingertips, then hooks his chin over your head to look past you. “Wanna try the two of us at once?”

Instinct gets the better of you, and you’re already nodding against his pecs before you can think. “Two, two- w-want, please. Mhm, want Alphas.” It makes both men laugh, hands sliding all over you as you stick your ass out and Shiu spits on his hand. His cock’s still coated with wet, a white, creamy layer around the base of his cock as he strokes the head a few times. You’re seeing double, and your tongue feels like molten candy. But still you keep drooling and nodding. “Want, want you, wanna have- m-more, please.”

He then grabs your hips to yank you back against his hips, letting his cock push on your ass as his wet fingers curl inside your puckered hole, and stretch it out with two fingers. “She’s already fucked out of her mind, poor thing.”

“Mhm, agh- Alp- daddy, daddy— s’ sensitive- please, please, please~”

Fushiguro’s face blanks, before he takes a deep breath and groans low and gravelly, and grabs you by the neck. “Ugh, she’s- her scent is everywhere. Little bitch in heat moaning like it’s her job.” He buries his nose right where the most sensitive, burning part of your neck is, making you crumple, and kissing along the shell of his ear where you can reach. The fingers inside you, the pressure and heat of the two cocks against you— everything’s making you crazy. You’re losing your mind, trying to hang on to him as he licks over the glands. “Want daddy, baby?”

Your head bobs like it’s disconnected from your longing, arching body. And you almost cum again on the spot when sharp canines drag over that spot. You just might.

A low growling sound makes you open your eyes. Shiu’s hand is between the face and your neck, much to the other man’s dismay. “I told you not to bite ‘er. Don’t care how much she begs- she’s not ours to bite.” There’s a moment of silence between them, before Fushiguro sucks his teeth in annoyance, before grabbing his cock instead.

“She is mine.” His large hand wraps around your arm, and pulls— but your other shoulder is still clamped in Shiu’s palm. Almost painfully tight, as a muscle twitches in his jaw. And the tension between them is making you clam up, but your body’s still aching too hard.

“Share, please,” you sweeten your voice as you press your lips to Shiu’s knuckles, then present yourself a little more and shake your ass against him. “Please, daddy? Want to be full.” It doesn’t take long for that same flush to travel back up his chest and cheeks, and his irises to get wider and darker again. “Full of Alpha cum, t-take all of you.” It’s with that that he wraps an arm around you entirely and pulls you up against his chest, placing his cock between your legs as he lifts your knees. “Ack- agh.” You mewl, and Fushiguro leans in for another kiss.

Briefer, but no less messy.

Shiu’s quick to press his own kisses to your throat, letting his stubble rub over your scent glands— with your pussy clenching in response. He rolls his hips against you a few times, then lines up with your ass as he groans. “Hold her legs.” You take a deep breath, and close your eyes as the cock presses to your ass, slick enough to push in with minimal effort. “Uhuh, there’s a good Omega.” As he does though, the space in your body is so full, you’re struggling to breathe. It aches enough to make you wilt and bloom all at once.

And then Fushiguro takes over on your pussy, and you cry out. Your hot cheeks are coated with tears, and your clit thumps with all the blood. It’s too much. You can feel both of them slide into you with painful precision, wetness spilling all over as you break out in cold sweats. But it- it feels so good. Fushiguro slips in a few inches at once, making your legs shake— before you dig your nails into his shoulder and your vision goes black. “Oh- fuck-f-fuck, cu-mming~ Agh- uhh nghn, oh god.”

The two men slide you down until you’re so full it feels like your insides are moved aside to make room. Like you’re about to tear in two, squished between two hot, solid bodies. Before Shiu groans into your hair, and lifts you up to slide you back down. And again, and again. Bounced on the two of them while slick drips out of you, and you’re creaming around them both. “That’s a- ugh- pretty girl.” Your orgasm barely pitters out before you’re cumming again, and you’re getting kissed on as you’re crying.

Not a single thought makes it though you. You’re clinging on for dear life. Only the heat between the three of you as you melt into a puddle.

You’re fucked until you can’t even feel your legs, let alone hear how you’re mewling and crying— like you might dissolve. But you do feel it when a tongue laves over your neck, and the cock pulsing inside you starts jack-hammering into you harder than before. Everything feels so- good- that you’re probably drawing blood into his shoulders, and the tongue becomes teeth. One second you’re floating, and the next the pressure grows too much— teeth break skin, and your pleasure becomes mind-numbing.

Fushiguro’s teeth sink into your shoulder deeper as he breathes you in, fucks his cock into your guts with the intent to stay. And the other man grunts, squeezing you tighter. But without thinking, he follows suit to bite down on the other side of your neck, letting you shake through yet another orgasm when the hot blood runs down your collar. You’re entirely spent, so there’s not one part of you that still feels the way Shiu speeds up inside your ass, before groaning out your name as he licks along the wound.

“Fuck, gonna- knot my girl. Fuck- ugh, ughuh— my baby, mine. Mine.”

It feels like you’re stuffed further than you ever thought possible, face dropping into Fushiguro’s chest when they slow down, and ropes of hot cum drip out of you despite the knots. Wasting it in a way that you’d savor, if you had any energy left. Instead you can only barely breathe, and rub your nose into your Alpha’s chest. It feels good. You wanna go again.

“Uh— my bad. I got carried away.” One of them sighs after a while, the rumbling of his voice rocking you to sleep.

“Yea…” The other responds, only the slightest bit guilty. “…Guess Suguru will have to learn how to share.” His large hand smoothes over your cheek, before stubble and soft lips kiss over the mark he’s made.

“But I don’t think I wanna share.”

#geto x reader #toji x reader #shiu kong x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #geto smut #toji smut #shiu smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #tw.dark content #tw.a/b/o #tw.noncon #tw.size kink #tw.double penetration #🍯honey.pot

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creamflix · 4 days ago

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GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN ZAZA ! ꒰ঌ ໒꒱

mission brief your college banned weed, your grades are hanging by a thread, and you definitely did not plan on making your plug your most consistent situationship. w.c 9.8k

risk assessment lots of weed usage and references (this is not based off of #experience for the most part, please be safe & check your sources xx), crack & fluff, female reader, university au, meet-ugly, somewhat ooc characters, misogyny, poor queer assumptions, breaking the 4th wall, city-girl reader, opposites attract, depictions of social anxiety, legally blonde and 2010's anime references, uraume cameo ft! naoya, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna, gojo

a/n the whole concept of a plug romance was ib by my baby @lacyblades's plug gojo series, make sure to check it outt ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰

☆ NAOYA ZENIN

You weren’t expecting much when you decided to message a guy called Naoya Zenin for a dime bag — just some weed, maybe a weird vibe, and a quick escape. But you should’ve known something was off when everyone who smoked weed gave you that same look.

That solemn, pitying, godspeed-soldier look.

One girl even muttered “I'll pray for you” under her breath, which was a bit dramatic. You were getting dope, not going to war. But then again, they all said the same thing: Naoya’s shit is gas, but he’s the worst fucking person you’ll ever meet. You figured they were exaggerating. You’ve dealt with weirdos before. How bad could he be?

Well.

You found out the moment he opened the door with his stupid bleached-blonde hair, gold chain, and a shirt that had “NO SIMPING ZONE” printed on it like a threat. The hallway already reeked of superiority complex and a mango vape pod. “Who's it for?” he asked, not even a hello.

You blinked. “What?”

“The weed,” he said, waving the baggie like it was a cursed object. “Your boyfriend? Roomie?”

“Uh. Me?” you said slowly. “It’s… for me?”

And it was like you had kicked his ego right in the crotch.

“You smoke?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you smoke weed?”

“…yes.”

“Like, by yourself?”

“What the fuck is this, a survey?”

He squinted at you like you just told him women had human rights. His face pinched, his lip curled, and you could practically hear the internal misogyny revving like a chainsaw. “Look,” he said, setting the baggie down like it was contaminated, “I'm just saying, it’s kinda unattractive. Like, girls who do drugs? Yikes.”

You stared. “You sell drugs.”

“Yeah, to guys,” he said, like that was the natural order of things. “Or like, chill chicks. Not…” he gestured vaguely at you.

“Not what?”

“Not, you know. Girls.”

It took everything in you to not put him through a wall. You had come into this with the utmost neutrality. A plug is a person, you told yourself. We don’t judge. But here he was, looking like if insecurity were personified by an anime villain with frat boy vibes, actually trying to cancel the deal because you dared to have a uterus and smoke up. “I don't think I'm comfortable selling to you,” he said, arms crossed like he was laying down some moral high ground. “It's just not feminine.”

“Oh no,” you deadpanned. “What if I stop being feminine and grow chest hair. Will my boobs fall off too?”

Naoya did not laugh. He looked offended on behalf of the concept of gender.

You stood there for a moment, blinking slowly at this man who would probably cry if a woman outsmoked him, wondering if it was too late to just start growing your own goddamn weed. Or if the hallway cameras would catch you if you kicked him in the shin and ran.

“I'm not selling to you,” he said again, arms folded.

“Cool,” you said, turning around. “Then I'm telling every girl on campus to never buy from you again.”

His eyes bugged. “Wait, what—”

You didn’t wait. Naoya Zenin could keep his opinions and his za. You’d rather go sober than fund his self-inflicted sexism. Besides, rumor had it a guy took gacha bribes, and he didn’t mind if your pronouns were she/her/hitting-that-shit.

—

The house party was loud in that way only bad parties are — bass thumping through your knees, a fog machine making the entire room smell like burnt plastic, and some poor girl crying in the bathroom over a man who probably owned Yeezys. You weren’t even sure why you came. Boredom, maybe. You hadn’t seen anyone you liked in the first ten minutes, and you were seconds from leaving when the crowd split like the red sea and in walked… him.

Naoya Zenin. But not the "no simping zone" shirt Naoya. This was party Naoya. His hair was slicked back, jaw sharp under dim strobe lights, silver chain glinting under a jacket that suspiciously looked like real leather. He smelled like something expensive and infuriating — like pepper and pine and generational wealth. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said he looked good. If you really didn’t know better, you might’ve said he looked hot.

But you did know better, so you stood very still and hoped he didn’t see you. Spoiler: he did. He made a beeline straight to you, sauntering like he owned the party, the house, and every sad soul on the aux. “Hey,” he said, voice practically smirking.

You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me I'm suddenly woman enough to sell weed to.” He chuckled like you were being so dramatic. “Nah, not for sale.” He pulled a sleek, perfectly rolled doobie from behind his ear.

“This batch is just for testing.”

Testing.

You glanced down at it. It was beautiful. Thick, crisp, neat. Probably rolled with tweezers in a windless room while a choir sang in the background. The DJ switched tracks to something that sounded like a washing machine being sacrificed. You felt your brain scream a little. “Testing?” you echoed.

“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer. You could smell his cologne now — rich boy cinnamon and something spicy enough to hurt your feelings. “Gotta know if it’s worth selling to, you know, guys. Not girls.” He smirked like he was being cute. You wanted to set him on fire.

And yet.

The blunt in his fingers was practically glistening. You were two shots of pineapple vodka in, and the DJ just played the third remix of “Mr. Brightside.”

Fuck it. You took it from him, muttering a bored “light it.”

Two hits in and you knew you were screwed. It was good. Like, ruin your night and make you vulnerable to a Zenin good.

And he was watching you far too closely. Like a cat watching a mouse. Or a man who knew he had something you wanted, and was way too smug about it. “So?” he asked, leaning in. His voice was smug, sweetened with that particular brand of you should be lucky i’m even offering you this. “Good enough for the boys?”

You exhaled slowly. You could lie and say it sucked, but your lungs were singing and your brain was on vacation. You knew it. He knew it.

You didn’t answer.

He leaned back, arms crossed, pleased like a cat who caught a bird with one paw. “I knew it,” he said, low. “I saved this batch for you, y’know.”

You blinked. “You what?”

“Yeah. Thought you’d show up.” he shrugged, too casual, too cocky. “Guess it’s your lucky night.”

You blinked again. Once. Twice. The music in the background dropped and the beat switched again. Someone screamed “this is my song!” when it absolutely wasn’t. You were high, annoyed, and mildly impressed.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, passing the blunt back. He grinned. “But I'm hot.”

…Unfortunately, he was. Even more unfortunate — he knew it. And worst of all? You were definitely getting high off his stash again.

What happened over the next few months could only be described as a slow descent into the most bizarre relationship dynamic you’ve ever had with a dealer. And not relationship like that — God no. Naoya Zenin was still the same infuriating, misogyny-scented man you had ever met. He still made comments like “Women shouldn’t be smoking blunts this fat” and “You’ll ruin your lungs, babe, you should stick to edibles like the other girls.” But you? You were different. Or at least that’s what he decided in whatever part of his ego that functioned as a moral compass.

You were his little test subject. His “control group.”

“I just need someone dumb enough to be honest,” he’d say, handing you a fresh joint before anyone else got their hands on the batch.

And somehow, that translated to: you always got the first roll. You always got the stronger shit. You always got the nice papers, the flavored ones, the ones with little sparkles or kittens on them.

Hello Kitty rolling papers. You held up the pack once, squinting at it. “You bought this ironically?” He didn’t even look at you, just shrugged from his desk, hoodie pulled over his hair like he wasn’t in his own damn dorm room. “Females like you go feral over that stuff,” he muttered. Then, quieter:

“I saw it in your story once. The pink ones. Said they were cute.”

You blinked. “You saw my story?”

“No.”

You nodded, lips twitching. “Right.”

He kept pretending to scroll on his phone, even though you saw the screen was just his locked home page. Meanwhile, you were curled up in the middle of his very expensive mattress — firm, clean, annoyingly good quality — exhaling smoke toward the ceiling while some painfully curated “chill” playlist stumbled through a loop of Kendrick, Yeat, and occasional anime lofi covers that you knew weren’t there when you first met him. “Did you just shuffle a Youtube lo-fi mix into this?” you asked once, high and curious.

“No. It's just…Japanese trap.”

“It's literally the Yarichin Bitch Club—”

“Shut up.”

He never sat on the bed. Always lurked in the corner, leaned on his stupid ergonomic chair like he didn’t wanna be caught enjoying your company. And every time you asked him why he was standing like an NPC, he grumbled some shit about “Not getting comfortable around girls.” But you never caught the subtext.

Naoya Zenin, feminist icon? Absolutely not. Naoya Zenin, a man whose internalized sexism was now actively fighting his deeply repressed crush on you? Every single day.

“I'm not doing this because I like you,” he reminded you once, voice clipped, as he passed you a custom pre-roll sealed in a Hello Kitty ziplock.

You didn’t even look up from your phone. “Who said you did?”

He opened his mouth. Shut it.

"You females are so confusing,” he muttered.

You snorted. “Good thing I’m just your lab rat then.”

His jaw clicked. You didn’t notice — because, as always, you had no idea. But Naoya? Naoya was drowning in the best strain of delusion you’d ever smoked.

☆ GETO SUGURU

The first thing you noticed when you met Geto was his hair.

Thick, dark, and pulled into a glossy, mid-back bun that would put half your Pinterest saves to shame. It shimmered under the light, almost too good to be real — like someone had digitally rendered it for an ad campaign about hair-care.

You’d walked into his place half-prepared to meet a woman.

Blame the name. Suguru sounded soft to your tired brain, and when your friend said “bro’s got that gas, you’ll know by the hair,” you assumed a goddess of a plug — tall, mysterious, beautiful — would be waiting to bless you with carefully grown hydro and no small amount of mommy energy.

So when you entered, saw the figure from behind — tall, yes. Beautiful, obviously. Long hair, swinging as he reached for something on the table — you went, “Oh my god, your hair is gorgeous, girl.”

And then he turned around.

Oh.

Purple eyes. A sharp jawline that made your heart do unspeakable things. Black tunnel plugs in his ears — big ones, glossy, catching the light just right. He blinked, paused, and then smiled slowly. Warmly.

“Thank you,” he said, voice low and silken and not at all belonging to the she/her you’d crafted in your head. “But I'm not a girl.”

You wanted to die, like right there. Crawl under the nearest coffee table and remain a fossil.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you blurted, heat rushing to your ears. “I didn’t — I mean — your hair — I wasn’t trying to be weird, I just thought —” He laughed, full and rich, head tipping back as he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Nah, you’re good,” he said. “That's a new one, though.”

You were not good. You were actively malfunctioning, trying to recalibrate from cool girl buying weed to accidental misgenderer who couldn’t shut up.

“I mean, like, plugs — you’ve got plugs and you’re the plug? Kinda poetic,” you tried, grasping for levity, for a joke, anything to move past your humiliation.

That got another laugh. You could’ve sworn the floor dipped under you.

“Yeah?” he mused. “Maybe I'm just really committed to the brand.” You nodded too fast, clearing your throat as you pulled out your phone like it would protect you.

He handed you the bag — neatly sealed, vacuum-tight, labeled with a tiny sticker that said “pink runtz” in his neat handwriting. Everything about it was extremely polite. Even the way he held it out to you, like you were at a boutique counter and he was passing over perfume samples. “Here you go,” he said. “Enjoy.”

You took it with both hands. (Why both hands? What were you, receiving a family heirloom??) “Thank you,” you mumbled. “And again, uh… sorry for the whole…” you gestured vaguely to his entire existence.

“No problem,” he said easily. “See you later, girl.”

You blinked. Did a little double-take.

…Girl?

Wait. Was he gay?

He had to be, right? The energy was just too smooth, too non-threatening, too effortless. Plus, the hair, the plugs, the smile, the way he said girl — it all fit. Yeah. Definitely gay. Sweet, gorgeous, gay plug.

…Right?

Meanwhile, Geto watched you leave, eyes still soft at the corners, thumb brushing idly across his palm where your fingers had almost grazed his. “Cute,” he murmured to himself. Then added, under his breath, “Wish she’d called me babe instead.”

But there’s always next time.

But the next time you dropped by Geto’s, you didn’t come alone. You brought Uraume.

They were tall, pale in that “Victorian ghost but hot” way, and wore a structured, monochrome fit that made you feel underdressed even though you were just here for a refill. Uraume moved like they were born inside an art gallery — all grace and precision and a deep-rooted meh to the chaos of the world. You’d known them since undergrad and always thought they and Geto would hit it off. Same aura, same cool, collected, possibly-haunt-their-own-loft-in-Berlin energy.

“You’ll love him,” you said on the walk over. “Gorgeous, chill, and he called me girl unironically.”

Uraume gave you a side-eye that could shear bone. “You’re trying to set me up with your plug?”

“Not set up — just, like, meet. He's gay. I think. You’ll see.”

Uraume didn’t respond, but their silence was pointed.

Geto was expecting you. Well — you and “someone else,” though the someone was vague enough that he’d let himself entertain the delusion that it might be a cousin. a roommate. A dog.

But then the door opened, and there you were. Smiling wide, eyes bright, excitement making your voice bubble up like soda. “Hey!” you chirped. “Brought a friend!” Behind you, Uraume stepped in, immediately scanning the apartment with an expression that could only be described as polite suspicion.

Geto stood, blinking once. He recognized beauty when he saw it — Uraume was undeniably attractive, angular in a sharp, clean way that made his chest instinctively straighten. But that was about it. No spark, no interest, no gravity. His attention flicked back to you, as it always did. You were laughing at something stupid. You always laughed at something stupid. God, it was going to kill him.

Small talk ensued. You made introductions, Uraume kept their hands folded like they were here for a health inspection. Finally, they turned to you with a very pointed question.

“…Where’s the gay?”

Geto froze mid-baggie. You looked confused.

“What?”

“The plug,” Uraume clarified, gesturing vaguely to Geto. “You said he was gay.”

You blinked. Turned to Geto. He blinked. Then said, very calmly, very apologetically:

“I'm not.”

Silence.

Like full, sitcom-record-scratch silence.

Uraume’s brow twitched. Geto cleared his throat.

You… looked like someone had just pulled the rug out from under your brain.

“But — the ‘see you later, girl’ — the hair — the —”

Geto held up a hand, trying not to laugh. “Okay, first of all, I say that to people. Second of all…”

He paused, looking at you. And for one millisecond, the air changed.

“…I don’t really talk like that to anyone else.”

You stared. Uraume stared. Geto stared right at you.

Oh.

You wanted to rewind the whole interaction. Crawl backward out the door. Instead, you made a high-pitched noise that sounded like a mouse being stepped on. Uraume, bless their elegant heart, sighed deeply. “So you weren’t trying to set me up?”

“I mean… i was,” you said weakly. “But—”

“With a man who’s been undressing you with his eyes since we walked in.”

You almost choked. Geto made a sound that could’ve been a cough, a laugh, or help.

“I — I haven’t —”

“You have,” Uraume replied, adjusting their collar with zero chill. “It's fine. I get it. I'm attractive, but unfortunately I have no tits. Tragic, really.” Geto finally let out a small, helpless laugh. “You’re very attractive,” he said. “Just not really my type.”

“Yeah,” Uraume said, smirking a little now. “Your type’s clearly flustered and wearing mismatched socks.”

You looked down. Kill me.

Uraume turned toward the door. “I'll wait outside before I see something traumatic. Thanks for the entertainment.” And just like that, they ghosted out, as elegantly as they’d entered. Leaving you and Geto alone. You opened your mouth to apologize. Or clarify. Or die. But Geto just smiled. Soft. A little amused, a little not.

“…For the record,” he said, walking over to hand you the refill — perfectly packed, like always — “I liked the idea of a refill. Not the setup.”

Your fingers brushed.

“But,” he added, leaning just a little closer, “If you ever wanna set yourself up instead…”

You blinked. He winked. You may never recover.

☆ NANAMI KENTO

You’d been waiting under the ugly stone archway behind the Humanities building for nearly twenty minutes, pacing and checking your phone like a teenager abandoned after a school dance. Your guy — well, your friend’s guy who swore the plug was “chill, reliable, and hot if you’re into geeks” — was supposed to meet you here. Codeword: blue eyes hypnotize.

Very subtle. Very anonymous. Very fucking annoying.

So when a man in a tailored suit walked up the steps with a suitcase, you automatically moved out of his way. He didn’t look like someone who was here to facilitate illicit extracurriculars. He looked like a tax auditor. A hitman. The guy who gently but firmly fires you with a severance packet. “Excuse me,” he said, voice precise and polite. “Are you here for the… meetup?”

You blinked. “The what?”

He glanced at your shoes, then at your phone, then back at you like he was mentally cross-referencing a checklist.

“…Blue eyes hypnotize?” he said, like it physically pained him.

“Oh my god.” you took an instinctive step back. “You’re the plug?”

He sighed, like he’d been asked to commit a crime against his will. “No. I’m not the —” he paused, clearly wrestling with something deep and moral. “I'm… covering for someone.” You stared. He didn’t elaborate. He was wearing an ID card around his neck that read Nanami Kento, Head Delegate – UN Model Council.

So he’d just come back from MUN. You felt like you’d stumbled into a BBC drama where the intern accidentally does espionage.

“Are you sure you’re in the right place?” you asked. “Because I was told blue eyes —”

“Couldn’t make it today,” Nanami cut in. “He said — and allow me to quote — ‘Lol can u pass it to the hot girl, she’ll know, just say the code thing xoxo.’”

You winced. “That tracks.”

He nodded, grim. “I debated ignoring both of you.”

Then, without further preamble, he knelt down, set his suitcase on the grimy pavement, popped it open like he was about to give a TED talk — and began removing documents. Notebooks. Binders. Printed policy drafts. A laminated flowchart titled Conflict Resolution and Drug Decriminalization in East Asia. You stared in silence as he pulled out a sealed envelope marked “last will & testament” and tucked it under his arm like it was a receipt.

Finally, from somewhere beneath the bureaucratic detritus, he extracted a moderately crumpled ziplock bag. It looked wildly out of place in the otherwise pristine, corporate-ass briefcase. He carefully dusted it off with a cloth (a cloth) before handing it to you like he was passing off a court summons. A homemade QR code was slapped on the back, printed on sticker paper. “You can scan here,” he said. “Please include the transaction ID in the note.”

You took it slowly. Reverently.

“…Thanks?”

“Don’t thank me,” he said flatly. “I had a debate round scheduled for now. Instead I'm standing here, holding someone else’s will, handing you illicit substances in front of a garbage bin.”

“You… seem very responsible for someone who knows a guy like blue eyes.”

He scoffed. “I wouldn't say I know him. We’re roommates, unfortunately. He once tried to convince our landlord that the leak in our ceiling was a portal to the astral plane. She gave us a three-day notice.”

“And you’re covering for him?”

He looked like he wanted to die.

“He told me you looked ‘docile and non-threatening.’ I assumed that meant you wouldn’t stab me.”

“Docile?” you echoed. “What, did he send a photo?”

He didn’t answer, which was, in itself, an answer.

A long pause. Both of you just kind of standing there. Neither one of you exactly thrilled about the situation. Finally, you shifted.

“Well. I guess this is… it.”

“Mm.”

“You gonna do this again?”

“Absolutely not.”

You nodded. Respectable. As you turned to leave, Nanami called out:

“He'll be back next time. I sincerely hope.”

You raised a hand. “Thanks again… delegate Nanami.”

He exhaled like it physically hurt to hear that out loud. Behind you, his voice trailed faintly into the air:

“…I really need new roommates.”

—

But really, you weren’t expecting him again. Not the man in the wrinkled button-down and loosened tie, sleeves shoved up like he’d been mid-negotiation or a breakdown — same difference — and somehow still smelling like freshly baked cookies and weed. It took you a second to register. The flour-dusted briefcase. The weary expression. The gold name badge peeking out of his chest pocket like it had been forgotten there weeks ago. “Delegate Nanami?” you said, bewildered.

He flinched like you’d thrown a dart into his spine. “Not… officially,” he muttered, voice hoarse, eyes scanning the small courtyard like he was checking for witnesses. “This is strictly a freelance appearance.”

You blinked, then looked down. In his hands: a small, clear plastic box tied with a ridiculous pink ribbon. Inside it, two types of cookies — one set perfectly shaped and golden, the other darker, denser, with a suspiciously herbal aroma even through the box. Your brows lifted. “You baked these?”

“Unfortunately,” he said. “A last-minute request.”

You took them gently, inspecting the sticker on the side — a wonky heart with love n’ nip, xoxo scrawled in a handwriting you’d never seen before. You turned the box over and saw the same homemade QR sticker from last time, this one stuck crookedly, like it had been applied mid-crisis.

“These from… ‘blue eyes hypnotize’?” you asked, voice skeptical.

Nanami closed his eyes like you’d recited a slur. “Yes. He thought it would be a good ‘seasonal campaign.’ He said it was ‘low effort, high whimsy.’ Then he went to get his hair frosted and asked me to ‘deliver the goods with love and mystery.’”

You blinked again. “I thought you were just filling in last time?”

Nanami opened his eyes. They were bloodshot in the way that suggested not smoking but being around too much smoke.

“…I got roped into baking. He said people were more likely to buy it if it was homemade and ethically sourced.”

You stifled a laugh, then paused. Then looked at the box again. “…Wait, these are two different batches?” He tensed. Subtly, barely perceptible. But you caught it.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “One is… catnip. The other’s regular.”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

“In case…” he cleared his throat. “You didn’t want the first kind. Or wanted both. Variety is important.”

You stared. “Did you bake two types for everyone?”

He didn’t answer, which was an answer.

Your lips parted just slightly, breath caught between amusement and something warmer. You noticed the way he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes, how he kept smoothing his hand over the lid of the briefcase, the tension in his shoulders rigid like he was balancing a full tray on his back. He hadn’t shaved. There was flour in his hair, and one of his shirt buttons was mismatched.

“You look like you’ve been through hell,” you said softly. He gave a one-shouldered shrug, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I've had worse Thursdays.”

You held the box up between you. “These are really cute. And they smell amazing.”

Nanami looked like he was torn between relief and abject embarrassment. “Thank you,” he said stiffly. “It was mostly Gojo’s idea.”

“Who?”

He blinked. “Blue eyes.”

Oh. You stared a second longer.

“So… he has a name?”

Nanami didn’t even flinch this time. “Unfortunately.”

You smiled, crooked and fond. “Well,” you said, “You’re a much better cupid.”

He looked at you like you’d cursed him. Then immediately broke eye contact to pretend to re-check the payment QR code, even though nothing had changed. You watched the way his fingers fiddled with the sticker again, then stopped, pressing the corner down like it mattered. “…If you ever want non-catnip cookies,” he said, carefully, like testing the edge of a knife, “I have a standing recipe. No obligation. No… ribbons.”

Your eyes widened slightly. Was that an invitation? Or a bakery recommendation? But he wouldn’t look up. Instead, he gave you a brisk nod, already turning away like he hadn’t just panic-confessed a crush via cookie code. You stood there, cookies in hand, heart full of sugar and smoke, watching him retreat like a man fleeing the scene of a very gentle crime.

It took you a full minute before you laughed to yourself.

Then you texted your friend.

you [2:39pm]: blue eyes is not the hot one. it’s his roommate. holy shit.

☆ CHOSO KAMO

You were all for supporting local businesses — especially if they bloomed out of someone’s dorm bathroom and gave you a ten-minute high from a single puff.

You’d heard of him before. The plant guy. New transfer. Lowkey, didn’t talk much, wore hoodies with the sleeves chewed through, never made eye contact during attendance. Kamo, someone said. Or maybe that was just the name listed on the label of the ziplock bags he apparently sold. A friend of a friend vouched for him — said he grew it himself, only used filtered water, and played classical music near the pots “because it helps the terpenes flourish.” You didn’t know what that meant, you just knew that when this mutual passed you a single gram with the warning “this shit might make you see your own birth,” you paid attention.

So when the same friend texted you a barely readable address, you expected to meet some scrawny countryside kid with glasses and dirt under his nails. You even rehearsed your polite city-slicker voice. “Thank you, this is so fresh,” and all that. What you didn’t expect was for the door to swing open and reveal a man who looked like he’d just stepped off the cover of some indie underground zine titled ‘men who could ruin your life and forget your name.’

Tall, built like he’d been carved by someone clinically horny, shirt hanging off one shoulder like it had given up, collarbone pierced — pierced, — with a silver barbell that glinted when he moved. He had a black tattoo running sideways down his nose, and those lips. Full, slightly chapped, plush enough to be distracting. Soft brown eyes that barely blinked, droopy and disinterested under a smudge of lavender eyeshadow, like he’d done his makeup in the dark and didn’t care to fix it. He blinked once.

“Hey.” His voice was low, like a gravel path after rain.

You opened your mouth and forgot the words.

He stepped aside to let you in, and you caught a whiff of something — clean laundry, basil, and just the faintest trace of lemon body wash. No way, you thought. No fucking way this is Kamo.

“You want water or somethin’?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck, head tilting a little. “I made banana bread this morning. There’s still a slice left, I think.” You stared. Banana bread? He blinked again, slightly slower this time. “You okay?”

You walked in like you were sleepwalking.

His dorm was not what you imagined a weed grower’s to be, not even close. No Bob Marley posters, no messy ashtrays, no vape clouds. Instead, the place was warm, cozy, with sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains that made everything look soft. His desk was cluttered with seed packets, plant cuttings in glasses of water, a very worn-out book called “Cannabis for dummies” and another called “The botany of desire.” And from the bathroom, you could faintly see green. Actual green, like a jungle was growing in his bathtub.

“The temp in there’s perfect,” he said casually, catching your line of sight. “Humidity’s the trickiest part. But once I got the cycle right, everything started thriving.”

And then — as if he hadn’t just committed several crimes with that body and this voice — he leaned over the mini fridge and pulled out a ziplock, weighed it with one hand, and passed it to you.

“This one’s blueberry kush, real sweet. Might make your ears ring a little.”

You didn’t know whether to thank him or to cry. He looked at you again, head slightly cocked. “You good?”

You nodded slowly. Because here he was — this beautiful, pierced, sleepy-eyed plant nerd who baked banana bread, listened to ABBA (You swear ‘Gimme Gimme Gimme’ was playing faintly from his bluetooth speaker), and handed you weed like it was homemade granola. None of the rumors did him justice.

He didn’t flirt, didn’t brag, didn’t even seem to know what he looked like. And that made it all ten times worse. Because what were you supposed to do with a plug who looked like temptation and acted like a librarian? You clutched the baggie like it was fragile glass and said the only thing your brain could conjure.

“…This smells amazing.”

He smiled — smiled, like the sun peeking through a lazy sky. “Thanks. I can text you when I got more.” You nodded, then tripped over the doorway on your way out. ABBA played on —

And Choso squeaked.

An actual, involuntary, horrifically real squeak the second you closed his door and your footsteps padded down the hall, fading like the last four minutes of an ABBA song that’d just ruined his life. And he stood there, in his socks — the ones with holes in them — baggie still dangling from one hand, half-eaten banana bread slice in the other, mind replaying everything he’d just said like it was being beamed through his skull with a megaphone labeled you fucking blew it.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to just freeze and panic and act like the most boring man to ever walk the earth. He was supposed to be cool. Show you his homemade record shelf and his boots — his boots, god, the fifteen different pairs of heavy, clunky, beautiful black boots all the way from his hometown. He even dusted them this morning. He wanted to explain how each one had its own story: market day boots, rainy day boots, festival boots. One pair still had a faint smudge of dried mud from a music fair he went to at fifteen. He wanted to offer you tea, tell you about the dried hibiscus he had steeping in a jar in the corner, and how his mum used to say it’d make your cheeks glow. But what had he said instead?

“Do you want banana bread?”

Fucking banana bread, like the most basic thing in the world. In his hometown, every lad could make banana bread blindfolded and drunk. It was the first thing boys learned to make when they had their first real crush.

And now you probably thought he was just like every other wide-eyed, weed-growing loser in the city, trying to butter up his buyers with carbs and eye contact.

Choso sank onto his bed, face in his hands. His sheets still smelled like lemongrass detergent, and the faintest whiff of you clung to the air — perfume, shampoo, city.

Because you. You, with your soft voice and effortless smile. You who had saved him from a capitalism-induced crisis four months ago when he was standing in a café, overwhelmed by a chalkboard menu that listed a drink called "dirty chai" that cost more than his weekly groceries. Back home, tea was just tea. Simple, warm, honest. But he had been cold. He had been lost.

And then — then you’d appeared behind him like some ethereal campus fairy, leaned in and said, “If you like green tea, maybe try the matcha? It’s less confusing than it sounds.”

And then you were gone.

You didn’t even stay to see how red he turned, or how he repeated that order in a near-whisper and clutched the paper cup like a relic. He'd gone home and told his brother that someone helped him, a girl, a kind one. He never caught your name, but your smile — your voice — that stuck.

Matcha. That was what you gave him. That was what he ordered every time he came to that café, even though he could steep better tea with his eyes closed at home. Just in case he ran into you again. But you never showed up.

Until today.

You — you, the girl who made him believe the city might have good people after all — had walked into his room asking for zaza. His zaza. And you smiled at him like you remembered none of that and everything all at once. So casually. Like you hadn’t tilted his entire axis four months ago and then reappeared, smelling like laundry and looking like a dream. And now you were gone again, and he didn’t even tell you about the purple rice he was growing in his windowsill or the wild strawberries in a shoebox under the sink.

He flopped backwards on the bed, groaning into the sheets.

“Stupid. Stupid.”

Well. Maybe next time, he’d get it right. He’d make you real tea, show you the boots, maybe play you something on his clunky little record player. He didn’t know much about city girls. But he knew he liked this one. And he’d do better. Just wait.

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURO

You were sent as bait.

Not in so many words, but you knew. You knew from the way they all nudged each other and giggled like hyenas when you agreed to “do the pickup this time.” You knew from the way someone said, “Toji only deals with girls, haha,” and you really knew when another added, “Just act pretty and you’ll be fine.”

Gross, objectively. And also a very bold assumption about your gender identity, frankly, but you were too bored and too curious to turn it down.

Which is why you were now sitting on a faded public park bench with peeling red paint and disturbing Mickey Mouse graffiti — eyes darting toward every approaching silhouette like prey — waiting for what your friend described as “the guy who looks like he could eat a helicopter.” You later realize that he does not look like he could eat a helicopter. He looks like he already did, and is now looking for dessert.

Toji Fushiguro approaches like a goddamn myth in motion. Tall, built like someone who’s been bench pressing prison inmates, dressed in head-to-toe black like he’d gotten lost on the way to a mob funeral, with scars you didn’t want to imagine the origin of. He had the sort of face that could terrify a priest and seduce a nun. And you? You just sat there, fully convinced you were about to die. But then—

“Are those… purple?” he asked, pointing at your nails.

His voice was quiet. Too quiet. Not gravelly, not sultry — awkward. Almost bashful.

You blinked. He blinked back. He sat down, and the bench groaned like it was filing a complaint with god. You watched him fumble with something in his massive hands, and you noticed the way he didn’t look at you — not really. More like next to you. His eyes darted everywhere else. The grass, the paint peeling on the bench, the weird drawing of Mickey Mouse’s warped little face near your thigh. He cleared his throat.

“Uh, suits you,” he said, nodding vaguely in your direction. “The purple. It's nice.”

Okay. What.

This was the guy who was supposedly a womanizer? This was the plug people were too scared to deal with unless they were certified bombshells? This man who looked like a live-action anime villain and moved like he could break your ribs with a hug was out here complimenting your nails like he was mustering every ounce of courage he had not to combust? He finally handed you the goods — in iridescent, pearlescent, holographic wrapping. Something that looked like it was bought from a dollar store for birthday party favors.

You blinked again.

“Uh, sorry about the, uh—” he gestured at the bag vaguely. “Didn’t have tape. So I just, you know. Wrapped it.”

You held it like it was a gift, because it was. Because Toji had just handed you a space cake wrapped like a birthday present and was now standing up, brushing nonexistent dust from his pants like he’d just had a tea party and wasn’t quite sure what came next.

“Okay, uh. Thanks for coming. Sorry if that was — um. I mean, enjoy,” he stammered, and then—

He bowed.

Full, chest-folded, bowed. And then walked away like he’d just embarrassed himself in front of royalty.

You just sat there, high on confusion. Maybe he really had never seen a woman before. Or maybe — more likely — the stares and the glares and the resting murder face was just a cover. Because the truth was… Toji couldn’t smile without looking like he was trying to stop one from happening. And if he did, it’d probably scare someone anyway. So he’d rather not. But he tried. He tried. He asked about your nails, and you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe you’d volunteer to do the pickups more often. You had a nail appointment next week, after all.

But before all of this, Toji was in a jungle gym. Let’s just get that part out of the way.

He was crouched awkwardly between two plastic slides, head ducked under a bar that was clearly not meant for full-grown adult men, let alone him, all six-foot-something of pure ex-hitman-turned-therapy-fundraiser bulk. His knees were digging into damp, sand-caked rubber flooring, and he was trying — trying — not to hyperventilate while giving himself a pep talk.

Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Just… be normal. Be casual. Ask how she is. Don’t stare. Don’t say anything about her eyes. Or her hands. Or her voice. Or anything.

Toji squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck. it was happening again. His mind flung itself back into the past — high school, senior year, school corridors lit with the aggressive hum of fluorescent lighting and the nervous tap-tap-tap of his big-ass converse against linoleum floors. He'd had a plan, dammit. A plan. Talk to girls, practice conversations, get better at the social thing, and finally approach Sydney, the sunny blonde in his homeroom with that annoying little sparkle in her eyes that made him feel like a dumbass every time she said hi.

Except.

Except, hormones are a bitch.

What started as “just practice” spiraled very quickly into a bizarre PR nightmare where Toji found himself talking to literally every girl but Sydney. Out of anxiety. Out of panic. Out of a weird, rabid need to rehearse and re-rehearse and never get to the main act.

By graduation, Sydney was dating someone named Nate, and Toji was The Guy Who Hits On Everyone But Doesn’t Know How To Finish A Sentence.

A womanizer, a creep, someone no guy would leave their sister alone with — not because he did anything wrong, but because he was too awkward to do anything right.

The social anxiety diagnosis came a year later and the therapy bills came after. Then came the dealing, and then came the reputation. The funny thing?

He never liked dealing.

He hated being seen, hated having to look people in the eye, hated the goddamn small talk. He tried to automate it, for god’s sake — had a spreadsheet, QR codes, fucking inventory notes on his phone — anything to avoid actual human connection. And now here he was, hiding in a goddamn jungle gym because you’re too fucking pretty. His pulse thudded in his ears. He was clutching the baggie like it was a ring box, knees shaking.

You hadn’t even done anything. Hadn’t flirted, hadn’t asked, hadn’t even looked at him too long. Just sat on that bench like you were built from sun and honey and a little bit of whatever God put into women he wanted men to lose their entire minds over.

He tried to regulate his breathing.

Breathe in for four. Hold. Out for eight. Do not throw up. Do not ask her about her zodiac sign. Do not speak unless spoken to.

Toji crouch-shuffled out of the jungle gym like a grown man doing the walk of shame, palms sweaty, jaw clenched. You were still there, reading something on your phone, bag slung lazily over your shoulder, legs crossed just enough to be intimidating without meaning to. Your nails were painted. Purple.

He short-circuited a little.

“Uh, nice nails,” he blurted, voice gravelled and quiet and too fast. You looked up, startled. He froze.

Smooth.

His fingers twitched. Maybe he should just hand you the ziploc and run like usual. Say nothing, keep it clean, keep it simple. That's what everyone else got. The runners. The girlfriends. The random brave strangers who’d come up all smiles and try to flirt — not because they liked him, but because they thought it’d get them an extra gram. But you… you asked him how he was. Just once.

How are you, Toji?

Like it mattered. Like he mattered.

He cleared his throat and sat beside you like the world might split open and swallow him whole. The bench creaked like it was offended by his weight.

He hated this. Hated being in his own skin, hated how his resting face looked like he was glaring, when really, he was just trying to think of something polite to say that didn’t involve complimenting your entire genetic lineage.

“Uh, I wrapped it,” he muttered, handing you the baggie with the iridescent paper. “Didn’t have… tape. So. Yeah.”

You took it like it was a birthday present. Smiled at him. And for a second, the social noise inside his head dimmed.

Toji stood up. His palms were sweaty again.

He bowed. Bowed, like you were royalty. Like that was the only socially acceptable thing he could think of to do. And when he turned and walked away — stiffly, hurriedly, like he was being chased by a ghost — he swore he’d never let anyone send someone else in his place again.

Not when you were the one showing up.

☆ RYOMEN SUKUNA

The sun was a bitch today. You knew that because your thighs were sticking to the plastic bus stop bench, your pits were questioning their loyalty to your deodorant, and your brother had sent you to do his dirty work like this was the goddamn hunger games.

“Just go, it’s been paid for. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t say thank you.”

Oh sure. Easy. Send your sister out into the world of mysterious substance exchange like you’re not the one who watched her cry over the scrapped ending of Legally Blonde less than two hours ago.

So here you were. Sweaty, confused, a little delirious from secondhand heatstroke. And then you saw him. Which is to say, him.

Tattoos snaking up both arms and his face — his fucking face — like he had crawled out of a graphic novel and got bored halfway through. Piercings glinting in the sunlight, bleached hair pulled back in a way that was supposed to look effortless but very much screamed intentional. Shirt unbuttoned halfway like it was doing him a favor. That’s not a dealer, you thought. That's a Greek god in cargo pants. But no, that’s exactly who he was. “Yo,” he said, already digging into the backpack slung across one shoulder.

“Your brother told me indica, but like — he said nighttime indica, not couchlock, which’s basically the same thing, but it depends if he meant something like the pink runtz or more like a platinum OG — wait, do you know if he likes purple terps? ‘Cause I have this one that tastes like fucking grape medicine but in a good way. Or, like, there’s one that hits you with dry mouth fast but it’s good for sleep—”

He kept going. And going, listing things like you were supposed to understand the periodic table of weed strains. You nodded, lips parted slightly in what you thought was a neutral expression but was probably closer to early-onset panic. You could feel your heart pulsing in your neck. Your mouth was dry. Or wet? Both? You couldn’t tell. Everything was damp and hot and stressful. Finally, after what felt like three hours but was probably three minutes, you swallowed and said—

“I don't know.”

Barely a whisper. Shaky, a little croaky, possibly traumatized. “I don't… I don't know what kind. I wasn't told.”

Sukuna — you didn’t know that was his name yet, but it was giving Sukuna — stopped. His eyes twitched. As a matter of fact, his whole body twitched. He stared at you like he’d just been hit by a midsummer tax audit.

And then he let out the loudest, most visceral groan of human exhaustion ever recorded. Head tilted back, hands shoved through his hair, a full-body sigh that made birds scatter and God turn the sun up just to be petty.

“Bro, what the fuck.” he muttered, pacing. “I’ve got six more stops, two of them in the fucking dorms — do you know how long it takes to get past security there? Do you even know what a hybrid is? Do you know why we don’t say thank you?”

You blinked. Sukuna blinked.

Silence.

And Sukuna knew today was going to be bullshit the second he saw your face instead of your brother’s. Your brother, who was usually all business. No stalling, no “wait I forgot the cash” antics. Just a head nod and a quick exit. Dependable, dry, vaguely annoying.

You, however, were neither dry nor dependable.

You were currently hyperventilating under a Jacaranda tree and babbling something about Harvard law school. He watched you for a moment, expression somewhere between a squint and a grimace, hands on his hips like he was preparing to build a shed or bury a body.

“…Are you quoting Legally Blonde right now?”

You paused mid-rant, sniffling. “I was watching it, like, two hours ago, and now I'm here. And I don’t even smoke, my brother just said go get the thing, and then you started talking about…couch-something? And I’m not even wearing proper shoes for this—”

Sukuna rolled his eyes, not because he didn’t care, but because that was his only way to delay a full-blown fuck me moment. He had heard of you before — vague mentions during other deals. Always framed around inconvenience:

“Can’t leave her alone too long,”

“Nah, she’s at home today, can’t risk the smell,”

“My sister's around, so not now.”

He expected a brat. A teen. Someone with a 100k Snapscore, a rhinestone phone case and a visible need for supervision. He did not expect someone basically his age, sitting in a puddle of heat and anxiety, with the kind of eyes that made you look twice and a mouth that couldn’t stop moving even if it wanted to.

And for reasons he did not care to investigate, Sukuna found himself…listening. Not fake listening, actually listening.

Like when you started monologuing about how Elle Woods was judged just for wearing pink, and how your brother was now pulling the same kind of injustice by sending you into the unknown like a sacrifice to the zaza gods. “He said don’t say thank you, like that’s normal,” you sniffed, pacing now. “Am I supposed to just grab the bag and go? What if it’s the wrong one? Is this a test?”

“It's not a test,” Sukuna muttered, arms crossed, watching you with a half-lidded stare.

“I can't fail.”

“I'm not grading you.”

“But you could.”

He sighed, dragging a hand over his face, eyes twitching when you hiccuped in the middle of your next word. This was a nightmare. He checked his phone. Four missed deliveries. Fuck. “Call him again,” he barked, jutting his chin toward your phone.

“He’s not picking uppp,” you wailed, already dialing anyway. “And when he does, I'm gonna commit fratricide. That’s legal, right?”

Then — like divine intervention — your brother answered. And immediately, your hand flew to your chest, your lip trembled, and your voice cracked like a war orphan on the verge of a ballad. “I don't know what to ask for, I didn't ask to be born into this family—!”

Sukuna winced as your voice pitched three octaves higher.

The call was short. Some loud cursing, some laughter, a few insults, and a loud “Stop fucking crying, Jesus, just get the platinum—” and that was that. You hung up and slumped like your skeleton gave out. “Here.” Sukuna shoved the baggie toward you. “Platinum OG. Sleep strain, nice body high. Pairs well with girl tears and whatever the hell you got going on in there.”

You didn’t even look up, just took it. And used the corner of his shirt — his shirt — to dab your damp lashes. He stared at you, down at your hand, then back at you.

“…Are you crying into my clothes right now?”

You nodded. “They’re cotton.”

His jaw clicked. He wanted to groan. He wanted to throw his phone in a lake. Instead, he let out a long, nasal exhale. You looked up at him finally, cheeks flushed, eyelashes stuck together, still holding the damn bag in one hand like it might bite you. “Thank you,” you whispered, despite your brother’s explicit instructions.

“You’re not supposed to say that,” he grunted. You smiled, faint and ruined and puffy. “I'll say sorry, too, if you stick around.”

And something in him — something warped and inconvenient — twitched. Because he could see it now. That part of him that usually wanted to sprint the fuck out of social interactions? Quiet. His eyes lingered on your face, your lashes, the smudge of stress-sweat and heat that made you glow.

He sighed again. He could speedrun those other deliveries. Maybe swing by later.

For fraternal check-ins, obviously. Not for you. Not because he liked you or anything.

☆ GOJO SATORU

You didn’t know what was more devastating — the fact that you spent nearly two hundred grand clawing away at an arcade machine for a limited edition Albedo figurine, or that the guy who actually wanted her didn’t even leave his house. No, he just bribed you into doing it for him. “Blue eyes hypnotise,” he called himself. Like a joke. Like a threat. Like a man who didn’t have any shame.

You only got his real name — Gojo Satoru — when he turned around and you caught a flash of his university ID tag, half-tucked behind a plushie keychain shaped like a pudding. He was apparently from the Engineering department, which was either a lie or an actual war crime, because nothing about the way he looked or acted said science. But there he was, in a dorm room that smelled like strawberry soda and fabric softener, crouched on the floor like a grown man summoning a demon from a display box.

“Look at her,” he cooed, setting the Albedo figurine gently — tenderly — into her glass shrine. “She’s so misunderstood. Nobody gets her like I do.” You blinked at him from the edge of his futon, arms still sore from wrangling that claw machine like it owed you rent.

“So…can I get the stuff now?”

He barely looked up, just pointed vaguely at the corner of his room — where Hatsune Miku was standing on a glass shelf in all her twin-tailed glory. But instead of a mic, she held a tiny bag of very clearly illegal herb in one plastic hand. You stared back at him, then back at Miku.

“Is this — is this some kind of themed display?” you asked. Gojo just beamed, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Yeah! I’ve got Rin holding a grinder, Nezuko’s the designated lighter girl, and Saber — oh wait, lemme show you—”

He moved across the room, the wooden floors creaking under the weight of his sins and merch, to open another glass cabinet filled with boxed Nendoroids, switch cartridges, and an entire row of perfume bottles that you knew were only bought because they were collaboration exclusives. And the worst part? He was hot.

Glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, oversized shirt that said “science is sexy” in pixel font, hair pulled back in a loose bun with a Hello Kitty clip. And those stupid, stupid blue eyes twinkling at you like a paywall.

“So. Ya like claw machines?”

“No,” you deadpan. “I like weed.”

He laughed — giggled, actually — like that was the most charming thing he’d heard all week.

“We should hang out more,” he said, reaching for a heart-shaped tin box that he cracked open to reveal little wrapped edibles shaped like stars. “I trade limiteds for labor. Win me figures, get high for free. It’s a perfect ecosystem.”

You took the bag from Miku, still watching him with a healthy mix of horror and fascination. His room looked less like a place someone lived in and more like a walking otaku’s dreamscape. Frames on the wall — real glass, not Ikea — with signed prints. A projector setup. A heated kotatsu. Not even a fake one, actual imported goods. You spotted a collectors-only Hatsune Miku ita-bag on his chair and realized with chilling clarity—

This man was loaded. And somehow, dealing was just a hobby. “So you're rich,” you muttered, half to yourself.

“No, I'm emotionally compensating,” he chirped, handing you a cola-flavored edible. “And high-key, Miku funds half my lifestyle. God bless licensing.”

You didn’t even know what to say anymore. The za was yours, technically. but your soul? Your soul had been mortgaged. As you left, he waved from the door with his fingers wiggling, still barefoot, still smiling.

“Bring me that Rem-Ram plush next time and I'll give you a freebie!”

You didn’t answer, just turned away clutching the Miku za, feeling thoroughly hypnotized.

Fucking nerd.

And as you left, Gojo Satoru is starting to spiral.

Not in the tragic, tortured anime boy way (although he could do that too, he has the bone structure for it), but in the what if I am God’s strongest soldier but also emotionally constipated kind of way. Which, to be fair, is on brand. He's from the Engineering department, not Psychology — he doesn’t need therapy, he needs more shelf space for his waifus. Except now he’s wondering if he should detour to the Psych wing after all, because he’s not normal about you. Like, at all.

You showed up at his dorm with the Albedo figurine — the grail, the myth, the she who watches over the za with her plastic rack — and Gojo knew. He knew this was destiny. He didn’t talk to you directly, oh no, that would be too sane.

He talked to Albedo instead.

“Thank you for returning to me, my queen,” he whispered to her lovingly while unboxing, carefully peeling the protective plastic like he was unwrapping life itself. You were just… sitting on his futon, watching this happen. Watching this man ignore you in favor of a busty demon lady. And the worst part? You looked annoyed, which meant he was winning.

“She's perfect,” he sighed dramatically, lifting the figure to the light like she was about to be baptized in his otaku holiness. “Better than any real girl.”

You scoffed, and he heard it. Oh, he heard it all right. Success, he thought, the cogs in his brain wheezing like a dial-up modem. She's jealous. She’s spiraling. She wants to be my real girl now.

He had charisma. Not rizz — that word made his gums itch — but presence. Aura. The kind of deeply concerning magnetism that made people lose brain cells around him. He had a theme. Nezuko with the lighter, Rin with the grinder… even his plushies had roles. He wasn't like other dealers — he was aesthetic.

You didn’t stand a chance.

Maybe you were his Zero Two. No, wait. Too pink. His Hori? No, that pairing was mid. Maybe you were his Faye Valentine, all mystery and menace and weird snack orders. Or maybe — maybe MAPPA would make an anime about the two of you. A rom-com, but the kind where the guy’s so stupid it becomes a tragedy.

He could see the promo now: “The strongest dealer meets the one girl who got him to shut up.” Bonus points if they animated his sparkly glasses glint just right.

Maybe he could pull a few strings, call in a favor. Not that he was from an anime or anything, haha. Definitely not from that one. No, no. He's real. He's totally real.

You asked him if he had more edibles and he accidentally said, “Only if you say you love me,” before immediately covering it with a fake cough that sounded like a dying sim.

“What?” you frowned.

“Nothing,” he said, nearly choking. “I said… they’re gummy. Fruity. Ha-ha.”

Smooth. Like butter.

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t leave. You stayed, kicked your shoes off, asked if he had wi-fi. And Gojo, who had a literal shrine of waifus across from his bed, thought to himself: Damn. Maybe I need to start making room on that shelf for a new figure called: the girl who brought me Albedo and accidentally stole my heart. Definitely not for dramatic reasons. Definitely not because he was projecting.

Definitely not because, if he was from an anime, he’d want you in every single ending theme.

a/n sukuna's part is based off of a true story except my experience did not end in romance. i hope you enjoyed reading tho :P if you have any silly weed experiences please drop a confession in da ask-box 🫣 and yes, blue eyes hypnotize is a yo yo honey singh reference...

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artdagz · 14 days ago

Text

First and foremost, Jazz prowl mecha AU is so fun and I'm reading so much of it and sometimes I really just want to share something.

As most probably already know this was started by @keferon and this AU is so fun, I really can't, everyone is so creative and there's so much to learn and see everywhere, the angst, the evolution and cheesy romance mix with hurt comfort is just🤌

So please, it's just some idea, but I hope this gives somebody something ><

(First part is big hurt, second part is rescue. So prowls death and not being treated like a human, when his conscience is in the mech, but he gets safed/saves himself with jazz. )

What if prowl becomes somewhat like Vortex in the mecha au, but with the downside of now being a supercomputer trapped in a mech that won't move without a pilot.

And as they notice he can still calculate stuff for them but is no longer a fragile human and also conveniently can't say no to requests, they use that without remorse. Prowl is allowed to move freely in the field when fighting quintessons but used in his spare time to do all sorts of administrative tasks that commanders are too lazy to do..

It happens along these lines:

Tarantulas notices Prowl won't be able to be doing the whole upgrading forever.

He's failing more and more, getting worse.

So next time he has him under his knife, he's doing something so in case prowl won't make it There is a safety backup of prowl in his mecha, so that's how prowl becomes a mech.

When Prowl suddenly stops in battle and all jazz can do is get them out of there, back at base there's nothing they can do for human prowl anymore.

While the battle is still raging around them, Jazz just sits next to prowls mecha hoping prowl will make it.

But it's as everyone feared and jazz is just sitting there close to prowls mech knowing his friend will never return and nobody dares to come closer.

Tarantulas approach being met with a visor that dares him to get any closer.

They organize a small funeral, one of the other pilots inviting jazz. Jazz goes, out of his suit for once, to attend.

When jazz is back his suit informs him that someone had been in prowls mech.

And it was Tarantulas.

Jazz thinks about confronting Tarantulas, but instead goes into prowls mechs cockpit, looking around to find out if he did anything.

And there's this button that's blinking, it's the startup button and jazz just absentmindedly pushes it, the mech whirring to live around him and the cockpit closes.

Text is running on the screen that looks like startup of a computer, then there's just text that's scrolling down further until it gets to the bottom.

The little blinking bar indicates the last line is just blinking for a while as jazz stared at it.

Then suddenly it moves again.

One word catches his optic

Jazz

Written on the screen.

And another line appears.

Help.

So, prowl is stuck in his mech, which wouldn't be as bad if he could move.

Jazz hacks the programming that makes it necessary for there to be a pilot and everything is a 100% better cause he can move.

Still unlike before, prowl can't just get out of his mech and walk around and that's so frustrating, cause his health isn't an issue anymore but now he got military breathing down hus neck, who are ecstatic at not having to worry about prowl being human anymore and prowls workload suddenly becomes so much that even if he was allowed to move he doesn't have time.

The programming and the reinstalled tacnet making it so he can't say no even though he wants nothing but a break.

Jazz being in Prowls mech trying to talk to him and more often than not he'll be sitting in the cockpit and prowl suddenly cuts off and his vents kicking on, as they use prowl to calculate scenarios like a piece of equipment.

Jazz noticing this installs a blocker that prowl can use to deny dumb requests and suddenly prowl can hear his own thoughts again.

When military gets on jazz’ case about doing that, threatening him to reverse what he did, prowl interferes.

He threatens them back he'd go with jazz and if they do anything to him he'll do the same to his own mech (himself).

Now prowl and jazz get to go out on walks together.

And prowl finally comes to realize that he actually died and everything just feels so much in a robotic body that is all built for efficiency but not for expressing oneself or even just feeling anything.

#mecha pilot jazz au #reverse mecha au #jazz #prowl #tw death #robot body #does this fit #holds up a puzzle piece

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nemisuki · 6 months ago

Text

Behind The Walls

Zombie Apocalypse AU | The society you used to know was long gone when the outbreak started. You were supposed to be worrying about what to wear at your graduation, not about what house to scavenge for supplies. You find yourself sticking together with your blonde classmate, only to be separated from him soon after. Living in a world without humans was isolating, but a world without him is just lonely.

᧔o᧓ || Katsuki Bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, no nsfw, no quirks, kinda depressing at first ngl, minor gore and blood mentioned bc zombies duh, angst but happy ending, first kisses, love confessions, minor time skips, starts as third years and ends around 19-20 yrs, tamed bakugo bc he's mature yet still feisty, 5.7k word count

According to the tally marks scribbled down in her flimsy notebook, it's been exactly three months and 10 days.

Three months and 10 days of being on her own.

Everyday it gets harder to think about the past, so she chooses to ignore it as her day goes on. She tries to avoid leaving the house as much as possible. Not leaving her temporary base, unless it's time to scavenge for supplies like food or water.

When she does go out, she can only hope that she’ll find something edible. Majority of the time getting lucky by finding rusted cans of food or forgotten granola bars. It's been a few weeks since she ate her last fruit. A package of dried mango.

Due to the sudden transition from fall to winter, it was hard to find such delights. Not leaving her much time to cherish it for a future occasion.

It’s winter now.

Years ago she would've been happy at the sight of snow.

But the world is different now.

Instead of feeling joy at the sight of the first snowflake, she quickly made her way back to her hideout. Grabbing her bookbag and packing all her essentials in it, which wasn't a lot in the first place.

She couldn't stay much longer in this house during the winter. The structure was practically crumbling by the day and certainly wouldn't hold up in the cold climate. Honestly, she was lucky that it held up till now.

It was at night where her mind constantly wandered back to the past.

Back to him specifically.

(∩˃o˂∩) flashbackᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

In a single day, society lost all aspects of humanity.

But moments before that, came the main topic of discussion — romance and crushes. Typical girl talk.

It didn't take long for her classmates to notice how quiet Y/N had gotten. Seemingly extra shy all of a sudden. They all squeal knowingly and nudge her to “spill the beans” on who she has her eyes on. Though everyone already knows. Hell, the whole grade probably knows.

She dismissively waves her hands around trying to deny such silly assumptions. But her eyes go on autopilot and land on the destination – his desk.

The blonde who seems to be slouching in his seat, is spewing curses towards the ‘extras’ who come up to him so casually as if it's any other day. The infamous hot head has definitely mellowed out over the three years. Yet his temper never disappeared completely, well not like anyone minds it now.

Spending 8 hours around complex personalities such as his, makes you immune to their empty threats and insults. Anyone who spends much time with him, such as his classmates, knew he didn't mean harm.

As everyone waited for the teacher to arrive, that's when the screams started in the hallways.

Y/N could never forget the scene of everyone collectively pausing their conversations to listen. To question what exactly is going on.

Soon the odd noises started multiplying. Students began running down the hallways, yelling at the top of their lungs with complete fear displayed on their faces.

It was then when panic kicked in.

The speakers soon switched on in each classroom and hallway. The principal's voice echoed throughout the school, clear unease in his tone.

“ALL STUDENTS AND STAFF LEAVE THE PREMISES NOW! A UNKNOWN VIRUS HAS SPREAD THROUGHOUT THE BUILDING. PEOPLE ARE GOING FERAL AND BITING ONE ANOTHER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL! PLEASE SAVE YOURSELF-”

The sudden announcement was cut off by screams of pain and unknown groaning from the attacker. Not much longer, anxiety surged through everyone's body. Everyone ran out of the classroom trying to get away from an unknown threat.

Y/N rushes out alongside her classmates, attempting to make her way through the crowd. Students pushing one another to reach the closest exit quickly. She yells out to her friends who are farther up ahead for help. Her height comes to be a disadvantage for her as she gets shoved around left and right.

Making no progress whatsoever, her classmates make it out of her sight. Unable to hear Y/N's voice due to the screams and chaos around them.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Her heart starts beating at an uncontrollable rate, complete dread taking over her body as she's left alone in a crowd of unfamiliar faces. Her mind is going on loop, praying to whatever god out there, to save her. To help her.

She can feel her vision get glossy as tears start to form. And then not a second later, she feels a warm hand wrap around her waist. Pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts.

Her body jumps at the sudden contact and she quickly looks up to her side, only to see those red eyes staring back down at her.

“There you are” he says while inhaling a deep breath of what seems to be relief. His eyes quickly looked over her figure, seemingly to look for any sign of injury or pain.

“B-Bakugo-”

“We don't have much time. C'mon, we're leaving another way, this crowd is doing us no good” he says, cutting her off before she could even reply. Using his arm that was resting on her waist to easily lift her off the ground.

She yelps in shock and quickly wraps her arms around his neck to stabilize herself, not wanting to fall from his grasp. He shoves past the mass of students and runs towards the library, the room now empty of people and eerily quiet.

Y/N wanted to ask why he brought them here, but her question answered itself when he ran towards a window and set her back down on the floor. A fire escape visible on the other side of the glass.

“Stand back nerd” he yells in her direction as he picks up a chair then starts to continuously hit the window with all his strength.

Only after a few tries does the glass shatter with a loud crash. He uses the silk curtains to dust away the shards from the window frame for an easier path. With ease, he hops over the open wall and stands on the ground of the metal fire escape.

He looks back and beckons for her to approach quickly. She can still hear screams coming from behind her in the hallway, making her legs move immediately to the shattered window. She was about to climb over when he looped his hands under her arms, picking her up like a doll and pulling her outside with him.

Once again, setting her down beside him.

“Let's go. And don't move so fast, this fire escape might be old as hell and fall to the ground with us on it” he says while starting to walk down the steps first.

“Do you know what's going on? There were some students in the hallway with blood on their uniform” she says, completely frightened as they started to descend down the steps in a quick yet careful manner.

“No damn idea. But what I do know is that we’re getting the fuck out of here” he grumbles as he’s seemingly in thought. Likely trying to come up with a reason as to what's happening.

They both pause in their steps when they look towards the front of the school. Y/N gasps and covers her mouth in horror of the sight. While Bakugos eyes widen as he looks ahead at the entrance gates of UA.

It was a massacre. Screams of pain and terror echoing around the area. Corpses of students and staff members are on the ground, bloodied and missing chunks of their bodies. Some of the dead now standing up, and moving around sluggishly to attack those who are running by. Eating eachother alive. The walking corpses only multiplied in numbers by the minute.

The movies became reality that day.

An unfortunate reality.

“Zombies” Bakugo says as his fists clenched at his side while looking at the scene playing out before him. He mutters a variety of curses under his breath and quickly takes out his phone to check if he has a signal of any kind.

“No damn signal. Of course!” he groans and puts his phone back in his pocket. He quickly looks in her direction as he tries coming up with a plan, “Nerd listen up. We’ll go to my house since its nearby then-”

Bakugo pauses when he sees the expression on her face. Her fearful face and glossy eyes with tears already spilling out as she looks at the sick scene of zombies tearing into others flesh. Recognizing a few students from other classes or by passing them in the hallways.

A few seconds later his hand lifts up to turn her head to face him, and not at the gruesome sight below. She can see the neutral expression on his face, and she bites her bottom lip to avoid more tears falling down. Not wanting to seem so weak in front of him.

“Can we stick together?” she says with a wavered voice while wiping her tears away.

“Tch. What kind of stupid question is that? Of course we're gonna stay together. Don't need you running off and getting yourself killed” he says quickly with furrowed brows, as if he's offended she'd even think he’ll leave her alone.

He can still see the fear in her eyes and he sighs. Resting his hand on her cheek as he speaks in a confident manner, “Alright, pay attention because I'm only gonna say this once. Me and you are not going to be separated. Do you know what I did when we all dashed out of that shitty classroom? I looked for you. Because I knew your ass was gonna be scared as shit.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Her breath wavers at his words and admission. It made her body feel warm all over. Her tears are no longer present anymore. She notices how quickly he lets go of her chin and averts his gaze. Suddenly embarrassed by his own words, as the tips of his ears turn red.

“So uh, don’t cry or whatever. You're with me from now on. What, you don’t trust my abilities to protect you or something? I ain’t weak ya know” he huffs scratching his head and avoiding her eyes.

“I trust you” the words exit her mouth before she can even think.

She does trust him. More than anyone.

Y/N knows how much he’s changed since their first year at UA. And she can't help but to have fallen in love with him along the way. Though that’s for another day, for now they’ll need to survive.

“…Good. Now c'mon my house is a few minutes from here. We'll stay there and come up with a plan” he says quickly grabbing her hand all of a sudden as they walk down the fire escape. He doesnt turn around or talk much after that. But his flushed ears say otherwise.

The journey to his home was mostly silent, but their hands stayed intertwined. When she asked him about it, he simply spoke about her being “a notorious klutz” and having to keep tabs on her.

Both of them avoided the topic after that, to focus on getting somewhere safe for now. Maybe one day, when things settle, they’ll finally talk about this tension between them. It’s long overdue anyways.

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ ⎯⎯ ✦

That was a year ago. And they never did have that talk about romance.

Months went by and the two were on their own. It almost felt as if they were the last survivors on earth. Not another human to be found.

Then everything changed when they were on a scavenger run.

There were just too many zombies. A huge hoard came out of nowhere, almost as if they were collectively migrating west like the birds in the sky.

Both of them ran towards the forest, assuming their best chance of survival was to camouflage alongside the patches of green. Yet neither of them could escape the corpses' line of sights.

Bakugo mutters curses under his breath as they run, “Oi! Y/N I need you to run east, find a house and stay hidden til I find you. I’m going to distract these bastards away and run in the opposite direction-”

“W-what?! No, I can't leave you!” she quickly says, looking at him as if he lost his mind.

“Damn it Y/N! At this rate we’ll both die out here. Now go!” He practically shoves her to change courses.

“B-but-” she looks back at the hoard and then to him again. That's too many to take on his own, not even he could…

“GO YOU IDIOT!”

Y/N looks at Bakugo one last time as she grits her teeth in pain and frustration, “Don’t die you dummy! I-I love you!”

His eyes widened at her sudden declaration of love. It took him a moment to react but his lips curve very slightly upwards, “Hah you idiot, as if I’ll die to these weaklings! Now go!”

With a pain in her heart, she changes directions and starts running towards the city as instructed. Some zombies break from the pack and continue chasing her but Bakugo yells out to get as many as their attention as possible.

She feels sick to her stomach despite the smile he gave her. Wanting nothing more than to turn back around to find him. But she knows it’s best to listen to him. To trust him. So she runs east.

Runs, runs and runs.

Y/N enters the first house she sees and quickly shuts the door. Sliding against the wall as she inhales gasps of air, trying to recover her energy. Other than her own racing heartbeat and breaths, it’s quiet.

Too quiet.

She’s gotten used to Bakugos loud presence around her, only feeling more lonely now that he’s gone. But he’ll be back soon. Right?

Quickly she shakes her head of any negative thoughts. He’s completely capable on his own.

She grabs her baseball bat and proceeds to walk around the house. Thoroughly checking every room for potential threats. Thankfully finding nothing in the home.

She remembers the survival tips he taught her and quickly gets to work. Making sure every door is locked, boarding up the windows and picking a resting place where there’s always two exits if needed.

Her stomach growls and she sits down, unwrapping a granola bar from her pocket. Eating in silence as she waits.

Days will soon pass and no sign of him.

She wants to go out. Look for him. Maybe he’s lost. But what if she leaves and he comes to an empty house?

After some thought, Y/N decides to track the days in an old notebook she found in one of the rooms. If he doesn't show in 2 more days then she’ll head out.

When the time comes, she leaves the house to look for him in the woods. For any clue or sign. Leaving behind a note at the house in case he shows up while she’s away. Bold writing stating ‘Bakugo stay here. I’ll be back’.

She came back that evening, empty handed with no clues. Coming back to the house exactly as she left it. That night she could only curl up in the old mattress she found, cuddling into a blanket as she cried herself to sleep. Missing Bakugo. And thinking the worst.

(∩˃o˂∩) flashback over & back to present ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

Y/N continues walking east, using the sun to guide her in the right direction. A tip she learned from none other than Bakugo. It’s been 3 months and 10 days according to her journal.

No human interaction. No sign of Bakugo.

She left another note at the house, in case he did manage to make it back one day. Telling him that she’ll continue heading East.

Overnight it snowed a tremendous amount, much to her disappointment. It’s freezing and she didn’t have good quality clothing. Using a bunch of old ragged clothes to bundle herself up in layers.

What’s worse is that she’s low on supplies. It’s harder to scavenge during the winter. Animals go into hibernation and there’s no berries growing in the forests. The only food in her bag currently is a single can of beans and some crackers.

She continues walking east, taking occasional breaks and hiding from zombies who she avoids contact with at all costs. The only good thing about winter is that they slow down the zombies' movements.

Y/N doesn’t continue her journey anywhere else but East. It has to be East. Her legs take her as far as they could, til the sun starts setting. She looks around and sees nothing but trees around. No shelter in sight. But thankfully no zombies either.

So she keeps going. Yet soon she notices the wind start to pick up, snow falling down heavier than before. Just her luck.

A blizzard.

Her body battles against the harsh winds and she shivers uncontrollably. This isn’t good. She genuinely might freeze to death out here. Tears want to fall yet it’s so cold that her body is unable too. Her body feels so heavy, so weak.

After a few more hours, in the pitch black forest, she sees it. Smoke floating up into the air, the sound of engines in the distance. People.

Her heart nearly stops right then and there. People? Survivors?

It’s been over a year since she’s seen other humans who aren’t Bakugo. She doesn’t have any other choice, it’s either ask for help or die out here in the cold.

With newfound hope in her heart, she continues walking forward. Her eyes slightly widening at the sight in front of her.

A military base.

Oh my god. A campsite of what looks to be soldiers with vehicles. Concrete walls are all around the perimeter, snipers are on watch towers as they walk around.

She tries taking multiple steps forward but her legs are so shaky, “E-Excuse me…” she says as her teeth chatter, she definitely won’t get their attention like that. Even if she ran it would take her minutes to reach the base.

Slowly with weak arms she lifts her flashlight and flicks it on and off in the direction of the watchtowers. Hoping to get someone’s attention, anyones whatsoever.

After a few tries, someone on the watchtower seems to notice. They talk to the other guards and a few minutes later, the gates soon open. A military car zooming out and coming into her direction.

Her knees give out. Due to relief or fatigue she doesn’t know. She falls onto the ground of covered snow and her eyes struggle to stay open.

She hears the vehicle pause nearby and a man shout “It’s a survivor!”

Her eyes squint trying to regain her sense of sight, yet all she can hear is mumbles all around her. Then soon, feel herself being picked up and loaded into the back of a truck.

“She doesn’t seem to be infected!”

“Quick check her vitals!”

“She's freezing to the touch!”

“Ma’am? Can you hear me? You’re safe now”

“What's your name?”

Her eyes slowly start closing against her will but she tries answering, “Y-Y/N…”

Everything is a blur after that. All she could remember is the feeling of warm blankets being draped over her. Then just darkness.

(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ time skip⋆｡𖦹 °✩

It's been a while since then. Two weeks since she's been temporarily situated at the main base.

For a few days she was in and out of consciousness, fighting against her hyperthermia and malnourished body. But after much treatment from the medical team, she was able to finally wake up and adjust to her new surroundings.

It was so different, yet so familiar.

She resided in a tent with other survivors who had similar stories. Though she tended to keep to herself, despite feeling joy at no longer being alone, it wasn't the same as with Bakugo.

The survivors in her tent often spoke around the campfire as they ate the food that the soldiers provided for them. Then the topic of discussion suddenly switched. They went around speaking of their past loved ones or companions they lost along the way when the outbreak started.

“And you Y/N? Did you have anyone before the world went to hell? You don't have to share if you don’t want to of course”

All eyes look in her direction, waiting for her to speak. She hesitates but stares at the fire as she speaks, “I was at school when the outbreak started. We heard screams in the hallways, and an evacuation announcement soon after. I ran out of the classroom, lost my friends in the crowded hallway. Honestly I felt like I was gonna get trampled at some point-” she weakly chuckles at the thought and a small smile forms on her face.

“But then a classmate found me. We managed to get out of the building in time. Spent a year together after that… just the two of us” she says while a wavered voice towards the end. She clears her throat trying to regain herself and speaks quicker.

“We got separated after that. There were too many zombies chasing us, so he ran another direction to lead them away. Haven't seen Bakugo since that day-” she cuts herself when she hears silence. Too much silence.

She looks up from the fire and around at the group. Noticing their widened eyes and stunned expression.

“W-What?” she says awkwardly scratching the back of her head, not knowing why they reacted so differently to her story in specific.

“Did you say Bakugo?” an older man asked her quickly with furrowed brows.

Honestly she didn't even realize she let his name slip out of her mouth, “Oh.. yeah his name was Bakugo-”

“As in Katsuki Bakugo?!” another woman jumped in with a curious expression.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Y/N could almost feel everything freeze at that exact moment. Her eyes widened at the woman's words. Everyone seemed to notice her sudden look of shock and another man quickly interjected, “A blonde guy with red eyes and a grumpy as hell temper right?!”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Yes! Do you know him?!” Y/N says nearly jumping out of her seat and dropping her plate of food. Newfound hope in her eyes.

“That guy was brought here a while ago! The soldiers found him in the woods all exhausted and bloodied up. Apparently the guy took on a hoard of zombies himself. He kept refusing to come here, saying that someone was waiting for him back home. But he passed out from exhaustion before he could refuse. The soldiers returned with him after and he's been here ever since” the man says as the others smile at the realization.

“Where is he now?!” she quickly says, grabbing her boots and tying up the laces. Already feeling her heart rate skyrocket at the revelation.

“He works here as a soldier! His group should be coming back from an expedition any moment now at the front gates!”

“Go get him girl!”

“You got this Y/N!”

She shines the brightest she's had in a while and nods at the group, “thank you all!”

Her legs ran as fast as she could towards the front of the base. Her smile never leaves her face. She knew it. She knew he was alive.

In a matter of minutes, she makes it towards the front gate and runs over to join a group of awaiting survivors. “Excuse me, did a group return from an expedition just now?” she says to a woman as she tries to steady her breathing.

“Hm? Not yet, they're opening up the gates now. You made it just in time. I'm waiting for my boyfriend, are you as well?” a female says as she smiles at her.

Y/N feels her cheeks heat up at the question, suddenly growing flustered. She didn't even know what type of relationship she had with Bakugo.

Sure they were alone together for a year and had clear feelings for one another, yet they never did establish anything between them. The woman notices and chuckles, “So you are! Then let's pray for everyone's return hm? Oh look, here they come!”

The gates slowly open up, revealing a large group of soldiers on the back of trucks and cars. People cheer as the vehicles pull into the base and the gates close back up once everyone is in. Soldiers scatter around to find their families or loved ones that are waiting for them.

Y/N walks around the crowd looking in every direction trying to find him, that blonde hair that she misses so dearly. With no luck, she can feel her heart sink to the bottom of her stomach.

Til she spots it and freezes in place.

That spiky blonde hair that she hasn't seen in months.

His back is to her as he speaks with other soldiers, “Restock on supplies and take the injured to the medical tent. And someone get me a report tomorrow on the number of casualties we faced on the expedition” he says in an authoritative cold tone as he walks towards a tent.

“Yes Captain!”

Her eyes don't leave his figure as he disappears behind a large green tent. He looks both healthier and stronger now, she can tell by the increase in his back muscles through his uniform.

And captain? He's captain of a squad… she shouldn't be so shocked. Of course he is, given his incredible leadership and survival skills.

She shakes her head to get out of her thoughts, now running towards that tent with purpose. Her hand shakingly hovers over the tent curtain to move it out of the way-

“I told all soldiers to not bother me after the expeditions. Stand down soldier” he yells out as if he sensed her presence.

Y/N smiles at the sound of his voice and pushes past the curtain. It was clearly his tent. Where he slept and resided after missions. Her eyes land on his back as he is taking off his gloves, he pauses and tosses them down on a nearby desk. Turning around to face her for the first time.

“Oi. State your name and rank, for disobeying orders you shall be-”

His whole body stiffens as he looks at her. His eyes widening and his words wavered towards the end. Their eyes meet instantly. He looks like he's seen a ghost.

“Y/N-”

“Katsuki!”

Her legs moved forward before she could think. The gap between them lessened by the second. Tears were already beginning to spill out of her eyes. He quickly closes the distance, meeting her halfway.

She wraps her arms around his neck, clinging to him so hard that her hands shake. Crying into the crock of his neck. His familiar scent invades her nose and sends warmth throughout her entire body.

He's not doing much better. As soon as she reached him, his arms immediately wrapped around her waist. His breath came out in shaky breaths as he held onto her.

“How- thank the gods. You're alive. Thank the fucking gods” he says in a hoarse mumble to himself or her, she doesn't know. He quickly pulls away to give her body a full scan for any injuries. When he sees nothing he lets out a loud sigh of relief.

“Katsuki-”

He lifts her head with his hand and leans down immediately. His lips finding hers in a desperate searing kiss. Her breath hitches but her eyes slowly close at the sensation. His hands find her waist yet again to pull her body flush against his.

She's reminded of how warm his body was. His palms feel like it's burning his mark on her skin through her clothes. She can feel his fast heart rate against her chest, and she knows he can feel hers too.

The kiss increases as time goes on. Only after a minute does he part away from her lips. They gasp for air, yet only for a few seconds at best. Because his lips were back on hers shortly after.

But it wasn't lust filled whatsoever. His left hand trailed up her body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. This kiss was more soft. More tender.

He slowly pulls away and his hand reaches her cheek, wiping away the remaining tears from her face. With this close proximity, she can see those red eyes she's missed so much. Her hand gently rests against his cheek, wanting to feel him.

Making sure this is real life and not one of those hopeful dreams she's had in the past few months.

“What happened? You went missing for months, I was looking all over for you. I thought you had…” she doesn't dare finish her sentence. Biting the inside of her cheek to avoid the tears resurfacing.

“Some people told me that soldiers found and took you in. But it's been months and you're some sort of captain now? Were you ever gonna come back to me-”

“I never stopped looking for you Y/N” he quickly says with furrowed brows. Still cradling her face. His other thumb massaging small circles on her hip to ease her nerves.

He sighs and runs a hand through his spiky hair, “Shit- I wasn't supposed to stay here that long. Wasn't even gonna join them til I fucking passed out. I woke up here a few days later. Tried to leave but I had an injured leg, so they kept me here til I healed up. After a week or so, I realized how safe it was here. Safe for you.”

His eyes meet hers again and the grip on her hip tightens. Guilt showing in those red irises.

“I joined the soldiers immediately after that. I went out on every expedition near the east to keep an eye out for you. Did my best to show off my strength so I can quickly climb up the ranks. I knew if I left this place, it would've been near impossible to find you. They had vehicles and people I could use. I managed to become a captain in no time, and got my own group. Practically had to beg the leader of this place to give me the east section of patrols.”

He rests his forehead against hers and lowers his voice in a softer tone, “I promise. I have never stopped looking. I didn't just become captain to look for you. I'm making this place safer. For the other people here sure. But mainly for you. So we don't have to be separated ever again. I don't know how the hell you found me first, or what you've gone through on your own and you can tell me later but… I swear to you-”

His warm hand grabs hers as he kisses the back of it, “I will never let you be alone ever again. Because you're mine now. Got it nerd?”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Mhm…” she lets more tears fall down her cheeks, smiling at his words. Looking into his eyes as she forces every detail in her brain. During their time apart she was terrified she’ll forget his face. But now she won't have to worry.

Bakugo scoffs and the corners of his lips turn up, “Cmon we're getting some food in you. You're thin as hell.”

She couldn't help but to laugh at his words, “I was eating a bit earlier, i'm not that hungry”

“They have real mangos here-”

“Mangos?!”

He lets out a rare chuckle and ruffles her hair as they start walking out the tent, “Yeah they do. Though I haven't tried them yet.”

Her head snaps in his direction at his words, “What?! You're telling me you've been here for months and never tried the mangos?!”

Bakugo hums and intertwines his hand with hers. She can feel her cheeks heat up as the people around stare at them with shock.

“Didn't want to have the mangos” he grumbles as he leads her to the building.

“Why not?” she says tilting her head in confusion.

“They reminded me of you.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“O-Oh… I see” she says softly with new found happiness. “Um Bakugo, why is everyone staring?” she whispers to him trying to change the subject.

“Hah? Oh…. well I don't really have the nicest reputation here. The extras are probably shocked I'm holding your hand or something” he mumbles as his ears turn pink. But he doesn't let go of your hand. She doesn't mention it, thinking it's cute.

Eventually they made it to the canteen, and all eyes were on them. But one glare from Bakugo caused everyone to look away and go back to their private conversations.

Y/N follows him to a private room for the both of them, sitting down as he orders soldiers to get “the best mangos” they had. They sit in that room for hours. Both of them giving updates on the time they were away from each other. Happily eating a countless amount of the tropical fruit. The sweet taste rejuvenates both of their taste buds.

“Um so about back then… I think about the last time I saw you everyday. Thinking about how I should have done things differently. I have many regrets in my life, but my biggest regret was not saying it back” he mumbles as he stares at her, not breaking eye contact.

“Huh? Say what?”

“I love you”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“I love you too” she says shyly looking at him and resting her hand over his hand.

He rolls his eyes and grumbles, “Yeah I know nerd. Now give me that rest of your mango if you're not gonna finish it!”

“What?! No way!” She tries taking another piece yet she only sees Bakugo steal the plate.

The two start going back and forth, stuffing their faces with fruit. Completely content with where they are right now. Now safe behind these walls, together.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

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