𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐌 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍!

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ THE F*CK LIST (extras)

✧.* “See? Was that so hard? Now here, clean yourself off my fingers, messy girl.”

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ Masterlist for What-If scenarios & extra scenes that originate from & take place in the AU of my completed jjk fanfic; The F*ck List.

[ { NEED TO KNOW } ] ➤ This is a collection of oneshots, most of which are smut. Some are canon to the fic while others are not.

[ { CONTENT/WARNINGS } ] ➤ fem!reader, explicit nsfw scenes, alcohol, college au, whore activities, gen z references, & above all; 18+ themes.

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

Coming soon ➤

☆ Gojo joined you & Geto.

★ Geto couldn’t get enough of you.

☆ Gojo skipped class to eat you out.

☆ You and Shoko practice kissing.

★ You and Choso fucked like rabbits.

☆ You slept in Toji’s bedroom.

☆ Sukuna became your fwb.

☆ Teasing Ino went further than planned.

☆ Nanami invited Ino to join the two of you.

★ Choso let you hold him while he pees.

☆ Yuki and Shoko “comfort” you after the drama.

☆ Your boyfriend Choso turns out to be a cuck.

★ Choso treats his newly wedded wife like a slut.

These aren’t exactly in order of when they’ll come out but links will be added to each as they’re published.

[ ★ = canon. ☆ = non-canon. ]

|| @kamiversee || status; ongoing ||

Requests; open — It can be smut, fluff, or angst, a canon or non-canon scene to/for the fic & anything I’m uncomfortable with writing, I’ll lyk <3

it's midnight and your husband, ran, thinks it's the best time to pour his feelings out for you.

"we're married."

coldness paints both of your bodies, to which you find delight in. everything feels perfect — you're well rested under the warmth of the comforter, your husband's arm is draped protectively on your waist, and the cerulean hues of your little night light rests on the night stand.

it feels perfect, almost. if only your husband hadn't kept muttering his musings to himself as you lie on his side.

"can't believe we're married," ran murmurs to himself. "i love you. i love you so much, sweetheart. have i ever told you how grateful i am you stayed with me?"

a minute ago, you were almost asleep. and you're certain it's late by now — the clock had probably struck midnight, yet you wonder to yourself why your husband was still fully awake on your side, much less pouring out his feelings for you when you're almost half asleep due to being lulled by his voice.

you don't complain, nor do you move. your head is gingerly turned to your side, eyes shut tight as you listen closely to ran's words.

"we've only been married for a week and wow," he lets out a chuckle, a smile appearing on his lips. "i can't wait 'til we're married for more than sixty years; that's a long time we're gonna be with each other — i hope you don't mind... sticking on my side throughout those times."

ran lifts his arm from your waist momentarily, only to reach forward and caress your face with his thumb. the smile never once faltered from his face as he watches your 'sleeping' form.

it's a bit embarrassing, he thinks, to think that he feels conscious with himself as he's pouring every little bit of feeling he has. it's a probable that you're asleep because it's been hours since the two of you went to bed, and it's late, so here he had been — writing each and every appreciation he has for you out loud, murmuring them in hopes that it reaches your dreams.

and hopefully one day, he'll have the courage to voice all of this to you.

"don't worry, i'm your husband. i won't let any harm come to you — if anything, they'd have to pass through me first.... and maybe rindou too." his words brought a small smile to your face. "i promise i'll keep my vows to you. i'll do my best to keep that smile on your face."

"we fight sometimes, and i make you cry on some occasions. and i'll admit that i've done you wrong on those days because," he pauses. "i'm not perfect. i say hurtful things to you that i don't mean. and i sometimes choose to run away than fixing our problem immediately.... nowadays, when i look at you i remember that it's always been you and i. it's you and i against everything, not you against me. and our marriage is a proof that i intend on keeping this promise that way — i'll always be by your side, love, no matter what."

he lets out a quiet breath, before leaning down to press a soft kiss on your forehead.

"so bear with me, okay? i love you."

the daddyfication of ran haitani

a/n: 18+!!!! nsfw!!! i got this request for hiding a pregnancy from ran and went cuckoo bananas this is gonna be multiple parts OOPS!!! please enjoy!!! ((for context, this is in the same world as boyfriendified ran!!))

content: unprotected sex, shower sex, mentions of vomit, pregnancy, lil bit angsty!!!

word count: 2.6k

ran's pacing in his office, exerting a significant amount of energy trying not to appear visibly upset by your phone call. across the room sat rindou and kakucho, who he'd been having a glass of whiskey and a nice chat with to celebrate the end of the work week before you called.

"baby?" your voice reminds him he hasn't responded to you yet.

"uh," he forces out the sound. "sure. that's fine. no dinner tonight. what did you say's goin' on?"

"i think i have food poisoning," you sigh, clearly exhausted. "i've been throwing up since i got home. they catered lunch at work today, maybe it was that."

"i should kill that caterer for ruining a night with my girl."

he's no more than 70% serious. probably.

you laugh into the phone and he turns his back to his brother and kakucho so they won't see the way he's smiling at the sound.

"thank you for that, but it won't be necessary. can we try for date night tomorrow?"

"'course," ran nods his head, hoping his tone didn't give away how disappointed he was to not be seeing you in the next hour like he'd planned.

"you sound sad," you sigh. he should've known you'd see right through him, you knew him better than anyone. "i'm sorry, baby. i'm sad about it, too."

"it's alright, babe," he starts back toward his seat. "really it is. i'll call you later? love you."

he hangs up and drops back into his chair, lifting the whiskey to his lips. rindou gives him a curious look. "my girl's got food poisoning," he explains simply, reaching for the bottle. "anyone up for another round?"

------------------------------------------------------------------

the food poisoning leaves you feeling a bit weak for the rest of the weekend, waves of nausea occasionally hitting you, but nothing as serious as when you'd called off friday date night.

you take it easy throughout the week, even calling out of work the next friday to get an extra day to really rest. ran takes the day off, too, so you can spend a whole long weekend together. and by friday morning, you're feeling good. so good that you're happily pressed against the cool tiles of the shower wall as ran thrusts his cock inside you.

the wet sounds of your pussy contracting around him are drowned out by the water running from the shower head, and you only hear ran's heavy, panting breaths because they're right in your ear. "fuck, you're so wet for me," he grunts. "look how easy i'm goin' in. love bein' in this tight little cunt."

"m-missed this so much," you whimper, nails digging into his back where you're holding onto him. it's only been a week since you'd last had sex, you wanted to be cautious about exerting yourself after being so sick, but even one celibate week for the two of you felt like months. ran chuckles in your ear, loving knowing that you long for moments like these the same way he does, and speeds up the motions of his hips.

you cry out, voice carrying through the apartment. at this angle, every stroke has his tip striking a spot inside your velvety walls that's making your head spin. "fuckin' cum around me," his words come out through gritted teeth. "squeeze my fuckin' cock the way i like it. need you to cum."

he hoists you up a bit higher on the wall, shifting your body onto one arm so his other hand is free to seek out your clit. as he rubs against the sensitive nub fervently, it hardly takes another minute before you're unraveling, toes curling, moaning loudly as you cum.

"shit, just like that," his hips stutter, the feeling of your slick cunt shuddering around his length always bringing him right to the edge of his own orgasm. your moans are only getting louder as you get more sensitive and the continued drag of his cock in your walls threatens to be too much for you.

"too much, ran," you whine. and just like that, his hips still for a moment as he releases in hot ropes deep inside you. he fucks his hips up a few more times, pumping his cum deeper, mind going a little cloudy as he comes down from his own pleasure. you squirm in his arms, kissing all over his face as he gently pulls out and sets you onto your feet.

"stop cumming inside me, perv," you tease after you've caught your breath. ran throws his head back and laughs.

"yeah right," he steals a quick kiss. "you love it too much."

you giggle and roll your eyes, reaching for the shower head so you can start cleaning up the mess he made between your legs. ran offers his arm to you for balance as you get to work.

suddenly you don't feel good at all. it's like a switch flips, the feeling coming over you so quickly you almost panic, shoving the shower head into ran's hands and almost slipping in your hurry to get out of the shower.

you barely make it to the toilet before you're heaving. the shower turns off behind you, followed by the sound of ran's wet feet on the tile. he wraps a towel around his waist then drapes one over you, rubbing your back through the fluffy material in absolute silence.

when the nausea passes, you flush the toilet and tug the towel tighter around your shoulders. your legs feel like jello, you doubt you have the strength to stand. so you plop to your butt, sitting cross legged on the floor and looking up at ran where he stands beside you.

finally, he clears his throat to speak. "was that my fault somehow??" what the fuck just happened?" he looks like a deer in headlights.

"how would it be your fault?" you smile weakly, reaching out for him.

he doesn't return the expression, but takes your hand, squeezing tightly. concern is written all over his face, mixed with something else you can't quite read.

ran plops down onto the floor beside you, examining you with too much intensity. he lays the back of his hand across your forehead, frowns, and drops it into his lap.

"stop looking at me like that."

"are you kidding me? i'm fuckin' worried about you," his eyebrows knit together. "one minute i'm fucking you in the shower, next minute you're throwing up, i'm not supposed to be a little fuckin' concerned?"

"you're yelling."

ran hadn't noticed. he usually didn't when he got emotional. it was something he'd been trying to work on, now that he had a girlfriend he loved and had been dating for just over a year. keeping himself in check was never very ran, but he tries his hardest for you. he inhales a sharp breath, forcing himself to calm down.

"i guess i'm still sick," you finally say.

"no way it's food poisoning then," his eyes narrow, skeptical but concerned.

"then what it is?" you sigh, pushing off the floor to try and get to your feet. ran jumps to help you up and you shrug him off, a bit too roughly by accident. "i'm fine," you snap. he stares at you, trying to read your mind. he decides not to comment on your sudden out of character hostility.

"we should get you some fuckin' medicine or somethin," he walks out to the bedroom. "get dressed."

you suck in a shaky breath and follow him into his room. he tosses a pair of your jeans onto the bed from his closet. then a t-shirt. you can't tell if it's yours or his but it'll work. you pull it over your head and toss the wet towel to the floor.

ran gets himself dressed while you step into the jeans and tug them up. you hesitate, blinking back at yourself in the mirror. the pants gape open at the waist, making you frown in confusion. what the fuck... why are they so... tight...

you try only once to fasten the button but give up immediately when the denim refuses to give. this was absolutely not the moment to find out you'd gained weight. like there wasn't enough making you feel like shit today. ran's weird fuckin' attitude, your stomach betraying you, the way the room hadn't stopped spinning since you'd stood up... it was all too much for one day. you don't even realize you've started crying until you hear your own choked sobs fill the room.

ran is frozen at his closet, watching you with wide eyes, and you feel so fucking stupid, bawling in his bedroom for no apparent reason, in your undone jeans.

"what's wrong?" he asks cautiously, approaching like you're an injured animal. "you don't feel good?"

"i-i don'wanna w-wear je-e-eans!" you wail, collapsing into his arms. he holds you tightly to his chest as you cry, rubbing your back but not saying a word. large hands cup your cheeks and ran presses his lips to your forehead. he looks you in the eyes, "you do not have to wear fuckin' jeans." for some reason the tenderness in his eyes, the patience he's showing you through this outburst, it just makes you cry harder. this time, though, he laughs. you hold him tightly around his middle as he reaches down to slide your jeans back down over your ass and down your thighs.

at that moment your stomach flutters. a warning.

"oh fuck," you shove away from him, kicking off your pants frantically and running back to the bathroom to throw up yet again.

------------------------------------------------------------------

this time, though, it doesn't stop. in fact, your vomiting just gets more persistent. ran is pacing through his apartment–no, he's practically jogging laps with how nervous he is– cursing wildly at a very patient emergency services operator who was completely undeserving of being caught in the crossfire of his panic.

"babe, do you need a fuckin' ambulance?" ran appears in the bathroom door, hand covering the lower half of his phone. you respond in a weak mnh, shrugging your shoulders before your head is back in the toilet. "yeah, send it over. pukey's not gettin' in my fuckin' bugatti." despite the way your body is violently rejecting the contents of your stomach, you manage to scowl at him. "i'll pay. i love you so fuckin' much," he mouths, eyebrows drooping apologetically.

if you didn't feel so awful, you probably would've laughed. ran was, after all, agreeing to pay $2500 for a fifteen minute ambulance ride so he wouldn't risk getting even a drop of something gross on the interior of his precious car.

the longer your nausea persists, the more time seems to blur together. it was somewhere between 10 minutes and an hour when ran came in with sweatpants and pulled them up your legs. and another 5–55 minutes later, the EMTs arrived to help you out of ran's apartment.

you send ran a look that you hope says this is so fucking dramatic and then you're in the ambulance, ran right by your side.

the emergency room nurses quickly assess your situation (looking rough, actively vomiting into one of the ambulance's barf bags) and hurry you into a room. an iv is started, a pill is swallowed down. you quickly start to feel normal again.

ran stands threateningly in the corner with his arms folded across his chest, saying nothing. a nurse comes in to run some tests and promises that a doctor will be in soon to talk with you. as soon as you're alone in the room, ran is at your side, sitting at the edge of your bed protectively.

"maybe it's just plain old sickness," you lay your head back against the pillows, exhausted from the events of the day but grateful to be having a conversation without getting sick in the middle. "stomach flu or something."

"fuck that," he grimaces. "i hate bein' sick, you better stay away from me."

you roll your eyes at him, "like you would ever let me if i tried." he flashes you a grin, adoration in his eyes. he takes your hand that's resting on the mattress, bringing it to his lips. your hand tightens around his when you feel him trembling.

"ran."

his eyes meet yours. the concerned, fearful look you'd seen earlier has been clouding his face since he made the call to the ER.

you squeeze his hand, kiss his knuckles, "why don't you go have a cigarette, honey? you're so tense."

"my fuckin' girl is in a hospital bed," he replies through gritted teeth. "of course i'm fuckin' tense."

"i know, my love, but look! i'm okay," you soothe, hoping your face is convincing enough. "i've got my fluids, they did their tests. i'm already feeling much better. you're shaking, hon. go have a smoke, feel better, and by then i'm sure we'll be ready to head home."

ran eyes you warily. the last thing he wants is to be away from you right now. but he had to admit, you knew him really fucking well. you could tell his anxiety was heightened tenfold because he hadn't gotten his nicotine fix in the last couple hours with everything going on. with a heaving sigh, he leans down to wrap you in his arms tightly.

ran wasn't a hugger usually, so you relaxed into the rare embrace, savoring the action. "this is nice," you mumble, tone nearly teasing. "fuck off," he grumbles, kissing your forehead. "i fuckin' hate this shit. i hate you being sick, hospitals fuckin' scare me. i-"

"ran," you chuckle.

"fuck, fine! i'm going."

almost immediately after ran leaves the doctor comes in. she's an older woman with light hair and kind eyes. "how do you feel?" she asks sweetly.

"much better," you tell her with a grin. "but i'd really like to know where that came from."

"was that man who left your husband?"

you shake your head, "my boyfriend." weird question, you think.

"are you sexually active?"

you nod, not particularly enjoying this line of questioning.

"do you practice safe sex?"

"like, uh–" you clear your throat.

"do you use protection?" she clarifies. your silence is enough answer for her.

"any mood swings lately?" she continues. "weight gain? headaches? fatigue?" your head starts to swim. "when was your last period?"

holy shit, when was it? was it late??

"the blood test shows that you're pregnant," she pats your knee. her reaction is ambiguous, you can tell she isn't sure if a congratulations is in order or sympathy.

"are you sure?" you blurt. "like, how sure are you?"

"pretty sure," she almost smirks. "we can run another test on your bloodwork for a more precise answer and call you with the results. you can take a home test in the meantime, too, if you'd like."

you nod weakly. she tells you the nurse will come in to discharge you but you can barely hear her.

pregnant.

the word is pounding around in your skull like a pinball machine. your hands feel clammy. pregnant. it would explain a lot. the throwing up, getting annoyed so easily with ran, the jeans, the crying over the jeans...

the door opens and you jump. it's ran, smiling as he comes in, looking much more relaxed than before. your heart sinks. what the hell were you going to say to ran??

"you okay?" he asks, grin fading.

you nod enthusiastically, "yeah! it's just a stomach bug. i was right."

the relief on his face makes you feel even worse. "i'm glad it's nothin' serious," he comes over to kiss your forehead. "you had me fuckin' worried."

"sorry, baby," you tug him down to sit in the bed with you. "thanks for taking such good care of me." he pulls your face closer and kisses your temple, "don't thank me, come on. you're my girl. m'so happy you're okay."

but you didn't feel okay. not at all.

part 2

Okay so you know how Eren is usually popular and a jock and Y/n is a loner/loser who is a nobody that no one likes……? Okay now imagine this, Eren is the loner/loser and Y/n is the popular girl that everyone simps over…….Its been on my mind all day so, add a cocky y/n who likes to tease Eren!!👀

now this is something i can get behind 😳 i was actually reading a little drabble over a nerdy eren messing with the cheerleader reader sooo, this is like a sign right? working on this, i added some things so i hope that you’ll like it!!

(i hope i didn’t go overboard with this)

enjoyyy ♡

“tease me, baby”

━━━ loner!eren j. x cocky!reader 18+

synopsis ➝ you’re the popular pretty girl that everyone loves and eren’s the quiet guy that wants to stay far, far away from girls like you. except, how can he do that in the confines of the detention hall, locked in a room with you? and how long can he fight you off without fucking your silly little brains out? you can’t wait to find out.

“please me, baby, turn around and just tease me, baby…” – cb & bm

tags/warnings ➝ modern!au, hs!au, sexual content, not a slowburn but it doesn’t jump right into the smut, shy!eren, virgin!eren, flirty reader, both are 18, detention sex, switch!eren, possessive!eren, slightly possessive!reader, praising, hair pulling, manhandling, oral (f. & m. receiving), premature cumming, meanie!reader, unprotected sex, dom(ish) reader, riding, breeding, creampie, eren hates you but loves the way your pretty pussy wraps around him <3

wc ➝ 17.1k

a/n ➝ i have to say, i really like this idea and this will be my first time ever writing eren this way so i’m probably a little too excited ahem...anyway, i had a lot of fun writing this so hopefully you’ll like it just as much as me! definitely recommend listening to ‘please me’ for this because…wow. it just fits, am i right? okok let me let you get to reading and pls rb/like bc apparently my mental health depends on numbers 🚶🏽‍♀️

Eren Jaeger.

Mysterious, quiet and smart with zero friends whatsoever. And yet…he was still one of the only guys in school that hadn’t approached you yet.

As you sat in the seat closest to the front of the classroom with a pen between your glossy plump lips, you pondered on what made him so different from everyone else. The room was half filled by now with only ten minutes left before class started. You were waiting for him to slink in behind a group and disappear towards the back of the room so that no one noticed him. You always did. People tended to forget he even existed because he walked a bit hunched over with his signature dark hoodie concealing all but his face. He always looked as if he only got three hours of sleep every night with dark bags underneath his dull emerald eyes. Despite such an ordinary look, he was still captivating.

There was something underneath the baggy clothes and unruly hair. Something dark yet inviting. And like a moth to a flame, you were interested and wanted to find out what that something was.

Finally, with five minutes to spare, you noticed him.

Four girls walked through the door, laughing and talking amongst themselves. Eren shuffled in right behind them, head down, with his book bag over his shoulder. When they dispersed to their usual seats, he blended in with a few other classmates until he finally made it to his regular seat at the back. You watched and that was when you’d noticed that someone was already sitting there, and not just anyone — but your ex boyfriend, Jean.

This was going to be interesting.

Instead of making it your problem and getting in the middle of what was to come, you stayed seated and chose to watch how Eren decided to handle it.

He stood over the boy, his facial expression lacking much else other than a faint scowl. “Hey. That’s my seat.”

“–and I didn’t know what to expect so when she squirted, I just laid there like this!” Jean mimicked what he’d done that night and his friends laughed, some with tears in their eyes. “I’m telling you. It was a shock but we fucked like three more times after that.”

“You took her home, right?” one of the friends asked, eyebrows raised.

Jean shook his head. “Nah. She had a ride. Glad I didn’t though. Probably would’ve fucked again before dropping her off.”

“Ah, come on,” Another one of them piped up, smirking. “She wasn’t that hot, dude.”

Jean scoffed. “Man, you didn’t see her. Her ass was fat. And her tits, bro,” He shook his head, stunned. “Comically large. I’d definitely mess with her again.”

Eren licked his dry lips before releasing an audible breath that made the senior turn around to look at him with a clear frown on his face.

“Yo, can I help you?” Jean asked him, arms crossed against his chest.

“You’re in my seat,” Eren simply repeated in the same monotone as before.

Jean dry laughed, looking him up and down. He shared a look with his boys, “Yeah? Well, that’s funny because,” he stood up and looked around the seat and desk, even the floor to double check. Once he was done with his search, his friends snickering behind him, he scratched his head. “I don’t really see your name anywhere on it.” He dropped his hand and stepped in front of Eren, eyes hard.

“So why don’t you go find somewhere else to sit, piss face?”

For the first few moments, Eren hadn’t said anything back to that. His eyes soaked up the arrogant look on Jean’s face until he snorted, making the other’s eyebrow twitch.

“Aren’t you y/n’s ex boyfriend?”

The question instantly set off a bomb inside of Jean’s head. He quickly took Eren by the scruff of his hoodie, bringing his face as close as possible, baring his teeth at him.

“The fuck did you just say?”

“What?” Eren tilted his head, a slow smirk spreading along his lips. “Too soon?”

The punch that came across his face was expected but it definitely hurt. Eren tumbled back, knocking into a desk near him. The girl that was sitting at the desk gasped and stood up, moving to the stand against the wall so she didn’t get involved.

“Say it again! I didn’t fucking hear you!”

Your pen dropped on the desk as you pushed your chair back, and hastily stood up. It probably wasn’t all that smart to get in between them now, but for some reason — you couldn’t just watch it all unfold. Not when you knew how violent Jean could be. At first, you were fine with letting Eren handle him by himself but after seeing him get hit — something in you snapped. You couldn’t watch it any longer.

When you made it to the back of the room, Eren was leaning on the desk he’d knocked into with one hand, using the other to wipe away the blood trail from his mouth. The two were in a staring match when you snapped your fingers in Jean’s face.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You shouted at him, face twisted up.

He scoffed, looking between you and Eren. “Me? What’s wrong with me? How about you ask that freak instead. Why the fuck would he bring you up?”

You shook your head, “Jean, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about but you need to get your shit together. You’ve beaten up half the school already, and wonder why we’re not together anymore.” Disgusted, you walked over to Eren and sighed. “I’m so sorry about that. Are you…are you okay?”

The last person Eren wanted to come and check up on him was you. Or any girl that was like you for that matter. His eyes couldn’t help but wander over the short skirt you were wearing. The thigh highs you wore weren’t enough to stop his mind from racing. How they seemed to be wrapped around your legs so tight, the fat of your thighs were spilling over them. Not to mention the buttons of your shirt looked like they were holding themselves together with nothing but luck and a prayer. 

The many nights he spent jerking off with you on his mind made him look away from you, a frown settling on his face.

“I don’t need your help,” he mumbled, making you frown up as well. “Go away.”

“Eren–”

“Oh this is funny,” Jean interrupted from behind you, clearly amused. He began clapping and soon had the entire class’s attention now. As if he hadn’t with the way he punched Eren seconds ago.

Great.

You turned around to face him, highly annoyed.

“So the outcast wants nothing to do with the slut of the school,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Oh how the tables have turned.” His twinkling brown eyes fell on Eren, smiling. “And why don’t you wanna fuck Miss Popular? Don’t tell me the rumors are true.”

His friends bursted out laughing then shushed each other. With a knowing smile, Jean glanced at his group then back at Eren who looked bored of the entire conversation.

“Oh…You’re not gay are you?” No response. “It would make the most sense.” He walked forward and grabbed your arm, pulling you against his chest.

“Jean, let me g–“

“So you’re telling me,” Jean clamped a hand around one of your tits, squeezing it. You squeaked, and slapped at his hand, trying to get him to let go. He smirked. “That you aren’t turned on by this? That you wouldn’t fuck her even if she begged you to?”

Jean was one of the biggest bullies Eren’s ever had to deal with. When he transferred to the new school, it was done because of his parents divorce. His mother ended up with full custody of him which meant that he was pulled from the town he’d grown up in only to be thrown into a new city full of new people. That was freshman year. He was now a senior.

Back at his other school, there were plenty of bullies that he managed to ignore but sometimes sticking to the shadows did him more harm than good. They managed to conjure up the ludicrous idea that he walked around the school grounds like he was better than them all when he just wanted to get from point A to point B with no problems. The mere sight of him riled them up and he had to fight for his life almost everyday because of it.

With Jean, it always felt like a losing game. He was a jock and was captain of the basketball team. Everyone around the school knew that he’d dated most of the girls on the cheerleading squad but it was a big deal when he worked his charming magic on you. No one could believe it.

You were the only girl on the school’s official dance team that hadn’t ever bothered to spare him a second glance. At one point, you’d also been the new kid. Except, unlike Eren, you were treated as the shiny new toy. Every girl wanted to either befriend you with a devious motive or hate you from afar because of your beauty and talents. You were smart and good at dancing. Cheerleading was said to typically be left to the type of girls that yearned for the male attention but dancing was more for those that wanted to chase their passion. You’d been dancing since you were merely four years old and by the time you got to middle school, everyone knew how good you were at it.

Naturally, when you arrived to Paradis High, almost every girl had you on their hit list. There were some that were immediately friendly but Jean was their school’s pride and joy. The ‘It’ boy, so to speak. The instant he’d set his eyes on you, determined to turn your head, they were out for yours. You were hated simply because he wanted your attention and there was nothing more you could’ve done but politely decline each and every single one of his offers. Even though the girls saw that you held no interest for him, they hated you more for thinking you were too good to give him a chance when that was all they’d wanted from him. A simple glance from him in their direction would’ve made their entire year and you were boldly telling him no.

Eventually, with enough pleading, you caved. One date led to another and soon, the entire school quickly found out about your first kiss with him and they were suddenly all on your side. Girls that sabotaged your dance shoes, tripped you in the cafeteria or embarrassed you in classes by spreading false rumors — all came to a stop the moment you became the basketball captain’s official girlfriend.

Months to a year went by until you began to notice him talking to other girls. It’d seem he’d grown bored of you, and was looking for someone new to date. One night while on the phone with your best friend, Mikasa, you cried about it. She tried to offer up some decent advice but none of it made you feel any better. You knew what you had to do.

So you did it. You broke up with Jean, and things hadn’t been the same.

You’d gone from having the entire female population of the school on your side to having only two close friends that didn’t end up hating your guts by the end of it all. Mikasa and Sasha were there for you, through thick and thin.

You owed them too much for it.

With the break up came Jean becoming bitter about the situation. He’d blamed his failing grades and sour mood on losing you. Even the performance at his games became a problem. His coach wedged a stick up his ass to get him to improve but Jean just couldn’t stop thinking about you. Even hearing your name made him lose his mind. Hence why he looked like he was ready to strangle Eren moments ago after hearing your name fall out of his mouth.

“Jean, get the fuck off of me!” You exclaimed, trying to sink your nails into his hand to let you go. He continued to ignore you, eyes set on Eren who finally was giving him some sort of reaction with the way his fists were now balled up.

“Come on,” Jean pressed, keeping a hand on your breast. He laughed, “If you’re gay, just say that. No judgment here! Just don’t see how you’d not get turned on by all of this.” He looked down at your chest then at your neck, smirking. “I almost don’t believe it.”

When he gave you a little slack by trying to take your jaw in his hand, you shoved your back into his chest and he coughed, releasing you completely. You stumbled towards Eren, livid, as you tried to fix some of the buttons that had come undone.

“You’re an asshole, Jean! I hate you!”

Jean rubbed at the center of his chest, staring at you with a bit of playfulness that only made you more upset because how was he able to look at a situation like this as if it was genuinely funny to him?

“You hate me? Well that’s not what you were saying when you were spread out on my bed last week taking my co—”

The jab that connected with his jaw made him fall right to the ground with a groan, eyes squeezed shut in pain. Your eyes widened, taking notice that it was Eren that had thrown the punch. Your mouth dropped open to say something when Eren gave the other another hit across the face, jaw clenched in pure anger.

“What the fuck man!” There was a cut at Jean’s eyebrow that was quickly covered in blood as he tried to defend himself from Eren’s attacks. He was bigger than him and felt he worked out more but he still found himself unable to throw Eren off or dodge enough of his punches without gaining a split lip from them. “Get off of me, freak!”

“Eren!” You didn’t know what else to do other than try and pry him off of Jean so you did what you could until you heard a loud whistle ricochet off of the classroom walls. You covered your ears along with everyone else that was standing idly by, watching the fight.

“Just what in the world is going on back here?” Mrs. Ackerman asked, looking above the rim of her glasses as she finally pushed through the crowd that surrounded the three of you. She had a hand on her hip with her walkie-talkie in the other, a firm yet enraged look on her face.

Due to the distraction, Jean used the chance to push Eren off and stand up, hopping from side to side to gain his footing. You helped Eren up but he only brushed you off with a frown, moving away from you altogether. It would’ve made you a little sad if you weren’t interrupted by the teacher.

“All three of you. Principal's office. Now.”

Just as you thought.

After school detention for three consecutive days.

If that wasn’t worse, you and Eren witnessed Jean staying back in the office when you two were dismissed because apparently his punishment needed some adjustment so it wasn’t going to take away from his mandatory basketball practices after school. His days were said to differ from through the week to the weekends but how likely was that when his dad owned the school? Most of that was said to trick you in case you were listening but you already knew nothing was going to happen to Jean even though he’d basically started the entire thing. Eren had hit him last but only to defend your honor.

Honor…

Interestingly enough, it only just occurred to you why Eren might’ve hit him earlier. Was it really to defend you? In truth, Jean was right. You did sleep with him last week but only because he wouldn’t stop hounding you about missing you. When they failed to work, he insisted you help him with his homework and he’d finally leave you alone for the rest of the year. Claiming that he wanted his grade up to look good for college. As a fellow senior, you couldn’t say no because it was a stressful time for all the seniors. So yes, you went. However, with his hand constantly making its way to your thighs, looking at you with nothing but desire — he’d won. You didn’t miss him by any means. Your body only missed his touch and soon, he was several inches deep into your abused cunt, hammering against your cervix until you came in a matter of minutes. Shame quickly set in after that.

Even though it was true, it wasn’t meant to be told to everyone else. Both of you agreed that nothing was to be said to anyone and that it was to be the last time you saw each other. Graduation was around the corner so you didn’t say no but maybe you should have because what if it only made things worse with his obsession with you?

It was probably best that you kept your selected college to yourself in case he decided to try and apply too.

The last thing you needed was for Jean to follow you even to college. A place where you dreamed of it being Jean-free.

Detention began today, after school, and you weren't looking forward to it. That was why you trudged behind Eren in the hallway, dreading the long hours of doing absolutely nothing in a room with only just him and Ackerman.

Then, it hit you.

A room of only you, Eren and Mrs. Ackerman. The woman was going through a tough time in her marriage to Mr. Ackerman, the history teacher. A lot of students called him by his first name since that was a good way to piss him off, which was Levi. It did the trick every single time.

Anyway, that concluded with her leaving the room to spend thirty minutes to an hour on the phone going back and forth with him. In turn, leaving you with Eren all alone, in the classroom.

A slow smirk spread across your lips.

Maybe you weren't going to be so bored after all.

After a few more classes, it was time to head to the detention hall.

Eren texted his mom after leaving the principal's office earlier to let her know why he wasn't going to be able to make it home at the usual time. If she was upset, that didn't translate through her texts back to him and so he was left wondering how she was going to really react when he got back home.

Your parents weren't surprised nor upset but they told you that nothing like this needed to happen again. Like you were going to associate yourself with Jean anymore.

When you walked in, the room was empty.

Mrs. Ackerman's purse was on top of her desk at the front of the room but she was nowhere to be seen.

Breathing out a small sigh of relief, you walked further in and surveyed the array of seats in the room. In the end, you chose to sit towards the back, by the long window that spread across the wall, providing plenty of natural light for the spacious room.

Once you set your things on the floor by your chosen desk, you looked around and heard the door creak open. Eren strolled in with his backpack over his shoulder, wearing a sullen look on his face. His eyes danced about the room until he spotted a good seat that was miles away from you but still at the back.

You visibly pouted as you watched him set his stuff down, and sit at the desk. He pulled out his cell and with his cheek pressed against the palm of his hand, staring down at the screen as he let his thumb scroll through his social media — you were completely ignored.

Eren was a strange one. He'd fought Jean even though he had no personal vendetta against him because...Because of what? Again, you couldn't help but wonder if he was defending you earlier. Did that mean he didn't hate you as much as he said he did? What if underneath all of that hard exterior there was someone that actually gave a damn about you?

It was hard to deny the fact that you wanted something real. A relationship was more than the physical side to it. There needed to be romance, a real connection and something meaningful there. All of your previous boyfriends only stayed with you because it was hard to get your attention. Once they had it, they got bored and moved on.

It was time to stop choosing the same set of guys. Maybe going after someone a little less...cocky and more of the opposite was your best bet.

Someone like Eren.

“Psst.”

He remained focused on his phone, acting as if he hadn’t heard you.

“Eren,” you called out and he still didn’t give you the indication that he’d heard you. He definitely did.

“Eren—”

“—spaghetti? Is that what you’re wanting for dinner tonight, hun?” Mrs. Ackerman spoke into the phone as she walked back into the classroom wearing a gentle smile on her face. You stopped trying to get Eren’s attention and turned yours to her conversation instead. It wasn’t everyday she talked with her husband without shouting at him. “Oh! You’re making the spaghetti tonight. I see. No, no! I would love that actually. Yes.”

She stood in front of her purse for a moment before she giggled. She kept chattering on and on, and didn’t acknowledge either of you. That only made you look back at Eren to find him pulling out a dark notebook and a mechanical pencil. There wasn’t much of an expression on his face but you were curious all the same.

With no direct plan on what you were going to even say, you stood up, took another glance at your teacher to make sure it was a safe run before you quickly (and quietly) shuffled over to his side of the room.

He’d had his hood up so you were only able to see part of his face when you sat down, but wondered why he wasn’t telling you to move away by now. Hadn’t he heard you walk up?

“Hey,” you leaned forward, head tilted, trying to see more of his face. Upon finally noticing you, he jumped and tugged one side of his hoodie behind his ear. That was when you’d noticed the airpod that resided there. No wonder he hadn’t responded to your failed attempts at getting his attention earlier.

“What the hell do you want?” He asked a bit more harshly than he’d meant to come off. You just scared him was all. Plus, he’d chosen the furthest seat from you for a good reason and yet, there you sat — almost close enough for him to smell your intoxicating perfume. God, it smelled like you took an hour long bath in that overpowering fragrance.

You pushed your lips out into an irritating pout that he felt the need to kiss right off of your face, leaning back away from him with your arms crossed over your chest. That only made your boobs push up even more. The buttons to your shirt looked like they were barely holding on. He had to fight the urge to look away because that was only going to imply that you had the ability to exert a reaction from him and he couldn’t have that. At least, not with your knowing anyway.

“You’re so mean,” you mumbled. He could’ve rolled his eyes. “What is it about me that you don’t like anyway?”

He snorted, twirling the pencil in between his fingers with a tiny curl at the corner of his lips in amusement.

“What don’t I like about you? That’s a loaded question but easy to answer. Probably should dumb it down to a simple response just so you won’t end up whining about not getting it.”

The pretty frown that settled at your brows made him bite at his lips before gracing you with an answer.

“Everything.”

You blinked.

“I…Everything?”

Eren pressed his back against the chair he was in, keeping his dark green eyes firmly on you. “Yeah. Everything. You’re so fucking annoying with all the skimpy clothes you wear. The perfume, your voice, your personality. I don’t care for any of it. Just seems…fake. Like your boobs.”

You gasped, quickly standing up out of your chair, causing the legs to scrap across the floor. The sound was scratchy and it caught Mrs. Ackerman’s attention. The both of you looked at her as she raised her index finger to her lips. She shushed you before she instantly immersed into her conversation again.

Your head turned back to him and he was full on smirking now. It agitated you.

“Fake? My boobs aren’t fake!” You hissed at him and he laughed. “They aren’t!”

“Okayyy,” he drew out, eyebrows raised. “Whatever you say, Barbie.”

“You’re an ass,” you muttered, sitting back down but refusing to look at him now. “No wonder you’re single.”

“Truly don’t give a fuck,” he retorted, going back to sketching whatever previous work he had in his sketchbook open. “Girls like you are all the same anyway. Would much rather jerk off to the girls in final fantasy than the ones in real life.”

None of that was even true. Not even a little bit, and he knew it.

Eren spent most of his nights with his cock in his hand and you on his mind. Usually you were bent over a desk, moaning sinfully loud, not even worried about being caught. The thought of you liking  the idea of being caught only fed his imagination though because somehow, he felt you were slutty like that. Maybe you even liked being watched.

You weren’t his type at all, really. He used to be attracted to shy girls. Girls that covered themselves from head to toe with nerdy glasses like the ones he used to wear. Girls that were virgins and needed to be guided. That didn’t know the first thing about sex. He had this wild fantasy of being the one to teach them. Lure them to his bedroom where he took charge and showed them what sex was really about.

Then, he saw you.

None of the girls at Paradis High were like you. Sure, they wore questionable clothing that made him wonder how they passed the school’s dress code everyday but you were different. It had something to do with your body. The curves, how your clothes seemed to fit you. They looked so much more tighter on you than the rest of the girls in school, and that was what drew his attention. His and every male on the school grounds of course.

However, he refused to be one of those guys. And yet — he irritatingly enough couldn’t find himself able to cum without thinking about fucking you. Another low point to his miserable existence was finding the thought of letting you teach him, as the pathetic virgin he was, how to fuck a pretty girl like you. Envision you giving him back to back orgasm denials until he begged you to let him finish. Preferably all over your chest, but he’d take whatever you gave him because it was you.

He hated himself for it. Had once vowed himself to never stoop to a level as low as you. He only found you attractive and that felt like the end of him. He tried to replace you with 3D animated women but none of them made him feel the way you made him feel. He only had to think about you for a few minutes before his hand was covered in his warm release.

It was embarrassing. A real fucking headache.

Who were you to make him feel this way? How dare you come to school dressed so provocatively and whine about the staring and non consensual touching when you looked the way you did? Weren’t you taught to not entice creepy assholes like him?

Still, he always hoped to continue seeing you dressed in such a way each day he came to school. It was a relief every time and he was given yet another day of secretly ogling you from afar.

It was low of him. Sure. However, if he was going to be forced to watch you strut around in those indecent clothes you liked wearing so much — who was he to not indulge his eyes on such a sight?

“Girls like me?” You quipped, eyes down at your lap and away from him.

Eren glanced at you purely because of your flat tone which sounded a little off from how chipper you usually sounded. It didn’t make him feel guilty, but it still made him feel strange. Maybe that was guilt. He refused to acknowledge it though. You deserved it. No one told you to walk around looking the way you did. Then, you were too friendly with people. Whenever there was a new student, he always found you talking to them first. Trying to be their friend, and welcoming them to the school. Making them feel comfortable. It was so unnecessary to him.

Eren couldn’t even imagine how you were outside of school. Did you walk up to strangers with that same attitude? Wearing that same short skirt and tight shirt? Innocent smile with those plump glossy lips of yours? He wondered what would go through a stranger's mind looking at you dressed like that. Your silver belled voice floating through the air, maybe asking for directions or something, but not noticing their filthy gaze devouring the sight of you. Maybe you did notice, and maybe you liked it. Hell if he knew.

The grip he had on his pencil tightened at the thought of some sleazy guy violating you through his eyes as you innocently tried to talk to him. A man that would probably think about taking you in some dark alley, flipping up your skirt and having his way with you. Defiling you with his grimey and impatient hands, touching you in places only Eren wanted access to.

You noticed the far away look in his eyes when you raised your head back up, and frowned a bit.

“Hey,” you poked his cheek and he blinked a few times. “Are you…okay?”

There was no expression on his face now. There you were, asking him if he was okay when he was physically trying to hold himself back from fucking you blind on that very desk with poor Mrs. Ackerman watching. Like you wouldn’t have enjoyed it though.

Look at you. His eyes roamed over the concerned look on your face, your bottom lip pushed between your teeth. Bright eyes glazed over in worry, a particular softness directed towards him. Then he shamelessly let his eyes drop down to your thighs that were pressed together causing them to look thicker than usual. The action only made the thigh highs you had on tighter against your fleshy skin, forcing his mind to run wild. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was your angle. Looking all innocent but being such a slut underneath it all. God, did he want to find out. Fuck, did he want to be under you, gazing up at your through half lidded eyes, hungrily eating up the sight of you bouncing on his cock like the slut you were. Fuck.

“Eren,” you sort of whined and his jaw clenched. Why were you so fucking annoying? He could feel his hard-on poking at the surface of his sweats, and tried to ignore it like he wanted to ignore you. How could he with a voice as sweet as yours in his ear? Maybe if he stayed quiet long enough, you’d get all sad and mope back to your seat, leaving him alone for the next two hours or however long you two were forced to spend in this hell hole. Maybe, just maybe.

When he went back to drawing, something didn’t sit right with you. How he looked at you moments ago, clearly checking you out. Was that intentional? You were rather close to him. Maybe it was in disgust. It was clear he didn’t like you, if the insults and backing away from you every time you got close weren’t proof enough. It annoyed you because no guy in school (or on the streets) was able to ignore you the way Eren does. You were aware of how attractive you were and tried to use that on him but it was as if he was immune to it. To your pretty charms. Was he just…not attracted to you?

The thought of Eren genuinely being disgusted by you and your appearance made you want to cry for some reason, and you weren’t exactly a crier by any means. You were tough and emotionally stronger than most girls in the school. You could handle a little bullying or talk behind your back but oddly enough, thinking about Eren not being into you made you sad. Only because you were now genuinely interested in him and didn’t expect to find him not interested in you back.

When you sniffled, his curious green eyes were back on you. He watched you gasp at him, catching your moment of weakness before you threw a veil over your face, giving him a fake smile. He hated that look on you. It didn’t suit such a pretty face as yours. What was it about?

“Sorry,” you mumbled before standing up. His head tilted back, still watching you with confusion in his expressive eyes. “I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the year and try not to stand out so much.” Your hands twiddled in front of you, an unusual thing to see you do. What you were even saying was odd to him. It sounded rushed. “Sorry again.”

When you moved to walk away, you felt a hand quickly wrap around your wrist, stopping you.

Nothing pissed him off more than seeing your spirits crushed. This time, it seemed to be because of him and he didn’t like it. Couldn’t stand the feeling it gave him. Why were you suddenly pushing away from him? Was it his cold demeanor towards you? Offish tone and unresponsive body language? How hard was it for you to understand that he did all of that because he liked you and hated himself for it? Girls like you only knew how to break a guy’s heart, and he’d told himself that he’d never allow someone like you back in. Why couldn’t you get that?

Maybe you were different from the last girl like he tried talking to. Maybe you had gentle intentions but the only way he was going to be able to find out was through trusting you, and he couldn’t see himself doing that again. His trust had been broken a while back. He couldn’t handle going through that again. Not for a good lay, no, because maybe he didn’t just like you. He could feel the possessiveness tight within his chest thinking about you being with anyone else but him. Maybe that was why he’d teased Jean about you in class earlier. Then he found out that you and him had sex recently even though you two were no longer together. Needless to say, it pissed him off even more so he pushed you away when you tried helping him then.

It was like he was able to see you and Jean together in his head, vividly. Your legs spread wide at either side of him, letting him invade your tight cunt, digging your nails into his broad back, moaning his name louder than usual. Letting him come inside of you, marking your soft walls with his flawed seed.

Eren couldn’t help but wonder if you’d let Jean fuck you without a condom. Were you two that close? It was no secret that Jean had been around the school, well known for fucking half of the girls there. Now, including you. In Eren’s eyes, it disgusted him thinking about it. The simple thought of you letting that asshole fuck you without any protection aggravated the fuck out of him. It was what made him let you go, turning his head back to the sketchbook in front of him.

You stared at him for a moment then rubbed at your wrist. What was that? Did he want you to stay?

“Eren—”

“Look,” he cut you off, sketching. “We can be here and not talk so let’s try that.”

There was no sense in trying to change his mind. If he didn’t want you near him or talking to him then fine. It was his loss.

You trudged back to your seat and plopped down, crossing your legs. You’d begun to feel a bit bitter now as you took out your phone, angrily scrolling through your social media. Who was he to get so upset with you in the first place? And why did it matter to you so much? He was a nobody. He wasn’t even going to be remembered at the reunion in the next ten years anyway so you refused to waste anymore of your precious energy on him. There was no way you were going to lower yourself to begging a guy to give you attention. That was not happening. Ever.

The next 20 minutes was spent with you texting your friends and Eren on the other side of the room doing god knows what because you didn’t care to look at him. You stuck to yourself and kept yourself busy until you heard Mrs. Ackerman exhale rather loudly. As nosy as you were, you looked up and was shocked to see her husband waltz into the room. 

“You’re still here?” Levi asked, walking up to her to press a kiss to her cheek. You watched her tuck a bit of hair behind her ear, obviously bashful by the public display of affection. It was strange to see but you continued watching. 

“Yes. I’m over detention this afternoon. Mr. Rall wasn’t able to stay over so I volunteered.” Her eyes drifted towards you and Eren, and you quickly looked back down at your phone like you weren’t in on their conversation. “Especially since I was the one that put them here.” Levi raised a brow and she smiled. “There were fighting earlier so I sent them to the principal and they’ve got detention for the next few days. Are you finally heading home?” She asked, switching topics, looking back at him. Your eyes flickered back up at them, almost finding them a little cute together.

He hummed, fingers itching to play at her waist. “I am.” He stepped forward and lowered his voice, but not enough to shut you out. “I wish you could come with me. I hate when you stay over like this. Takes away from my time with you.”

You watched her giggle and almost gagged. Okay now it was getting to be a little too much. Next thing you knew you were going to walk into her class one day to find her with a baby bump, forced to realize that teachers with partners or spouses actually had sex. 

“Mm, I’ll be home shortly,” she whispered, biting her lip and pushing up her glasses. “Don’t wait for me.”

“Ahh,” he pulled back, a feigned hurt look on his face. “What a cruel world we live in.”

She giggled and playfully slapped his chest as he chuckled. “Go on and get out of here, Mr. Workaholic. Be home soon.”

“Alright, alright,” he smiled softly, heading back towards the door. He mouthed a quick ‘love you’ and she felt her skin heat up.

“Byee,” she sang and he left the room leaving silence in his wake.

It dawned on you that even if things weren’t the way they were between you and Eren now, there was no way you two would’ve been able to do anything with Mrs. Ackerman still in the room. You were banking on her leaving for a good period of time but it wasn’t like any of that mattered now. He wanted nothing to do with you and that was still fine. You didn’t care. It was his decision and you weren’t the groveling type. You weren’t!

“Ah,” Mrs. Ackerman breathed, glancing down at the watch on her wrist. She looked up at the two of you, “Children, I’m going to head to the copy room to print some things off for this coming week’s assignments.” Both of you looked up at her at the same time, paying attention. “Think you guys can behave until I come back? I shouldn’t be gone for very long.”

“Sure,” you replied with a shrug and Eren nodded, silently.

“Okay!” She grabbed her keys and walked towards the door, “Back as soon as I can,” and left, the door shutting quietly behind her.

As if the classroom wasn’t already pin-droppingly quiet from before, it was deathly silent now. You were almost able to hear the birds chirp outside of the window. It made you uneasy but you tried to continue occupying yourself with your phone.

Eren had his music playing so the silence wasn’t what started to bother him. It was the simple fact that no matter what he tried thinking about, his thoughts always ventured back to you. 

You were back on the other side of the room and it was because he pushed you away. It looked like it finally worked but at what cost? Truthfully, he didn’t want to drive you away but what else was he supposed to do? 

He should’ve been content with sitting there and doing his own thing but his pencil wasn’t moving. The inspiration to draw was now lost and that irritated him even more.

What was so special about you anyway? Why did you consume each and every single one of his thoughts 24 hours a day? Several nights did he go sleepless thinking about you, what you were doing and who you were doing it with. Why you weren’t doing it with him, even. 

It was annoying. So fucking annoying, he felt like pulling out all of his hair due to the frustration of it all. 

Not only were you distracting during classes with him but now you two were stuck in one together, completely alone. You were on the far side of the room and still managed to disrupt his concentration. How were you doing that?

With a groan to himself, he’d set the mechanical pencil down and moved back from the desk to give himself some room. When he glanced at you, you were still mindlessly going through your phone, completely ignoring his existence. Wasn’t that what he wanted? So why was he finding himself annoyed by it?

All of these questions with answers to every single one of them.

“Annoying,” he muttered and you looked at him. 

“Talking to yourself now?”

Your teasing tone almost made him want to snap. 

“Shut up.”

For some reason, you felt like pushing your luck. You knew that he wasn’t going to do anything if you teased him some more. Plus, you were growing a little bored of scrolling through your twitter feed. It also seemed that he was taking a small break so why not mess with him? Especially considering talking to you was utter torture for him which was perfect for you because bothering him seemed more fun than reading pointless tweets that never related to you. 

So, you put your phone face down on the desk, leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms with a smirk on your face.

“Make me.”

The hand on his thigh curled into a fist, physically trying to hold himself back from getting up and crossing the room to show you exactly how he’d make you shut the hell up. Rather, he stayed seated because fortunately for you, his sanity was still intact. So were his morals. He couldn’t give into your weak attempts at trying to get at him. He didn’t like girls like you. Bratty, loud, overly friendly, falsely innocent and more importantly — a slut. His standards were higher than that. The bar wasn’t in hell yet.

In return to your cheeky response, he simply rolled his eyes and stood up to stretch his limbs. You were slightly annoyed that your little ruse at getting a reaction out of him didn’t work because usually it was easier than this but Eren was different. It took a lot more than words to fully annoy him, it seemed. 

You weren’t given time to think much more about your failed plan when you caught sight of his abdomen as his hoodie raised up along with his arms. You got a clear view of his abs, smoothed and toned. Your mouth dropped open. Had he really been hiding a body like that underneath all of the bulky clothing he wore on a day to day basis? No wonder you nor anyone else ever noticed it. Did he work out? Then again, no one was born looking like Apollo so he probably did. 

Eren let out a groan that easily sounded like a moan which hadn’t helped you at trying to tear your eyes away from him. He dropped his arms and yawned, cracking his fingers while he was at it. Once he was done stretching, feeling eyes on him, he turned to you. You almost broke your neck turning it away from him as if you didn’t spend almost five minutes gawking at the guy. He smirked. You were so obvious, it was painful. 

“You know,” he began walking towards you, cutting through the tension in the air as he went. “If you wanted a closer look, all you had to do was ask.”

You heard him walking over but didn’t bother to acknowledge his presence. Instead, you rolled your eyes and picked your phone back up. How much longer did you have to spend being in the same room as him now? 

“Ohh,” he cooed, finally close enough to smell your nauseating perfume again. “Ignoring me now? That’s funny.” His pretty emerald eyes ate up the sight of you trying to pretend that he wasn’t standing right next to you. “Weren’t you whoring yourself out, like, 10 minutes ago?”

That got your attention. Your head snapped up at him, already feeling a growing strain due to how tall he was since you were sitting down. 

“Excuse me?” You breathed, blinking. “Whoring myself out? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’ve got a nasty mouth. Anyone ever told you that?” Gentle fingers went to touch your chin when you slapped his hand away. His expression didn’t change from the irritating smirk that stayed. “Now I can’t touch you?” He snorted. “Okay.”

Irritated now, you stood up, falling into a staring match with him. He just looked at you, highly amused. Why was he being so annoying now?

“Eren, what do you want? Earlier, you didn’t want to talk and now you’re chattier than me. What is it?” You cocked a hip out and crossed your arms again.

He shrugged, stuffing his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. 

“Dunno. Needed a break, I guess.”

“And do you have to bother me while taking your little break?”

He laughed, “No, but it passes the time. Plus,” he stepped forward, dark eyes narrowed at you playfully. “–you were all over me earlier. What happened to that energy? Not feeling slutty anymore? Hmm?”

Instead of stepping back, you held your ground because you weren’t phased by him. He was tall, but that was about as menacing as he got. You’d never seen this side of him though. He was usually very quiet and observing. Not one to talk without thinking about it first. 

Either way, you didn’t have the energy to entertain him anymore.

“Go back to your sketching,” you said in a dismissive tone and with a roll of your eyes, you were sitting down again. “We’ve got over an hour left in here and then we don’t have to ever speak to each other again. Sound good?” You were about to glance up at him when you felt his hand move into your hair, tugging your head back to look up at him. “Eren–!”

“You know what I want though? I want…I…” He drifted off, a frown settling onto his face. What did he want? To fuck you? Right here, in the classroom? He was better than that, and then it was you. He couldn’t fuck you. Didn’t he hate you? 

“Eren,” you mumbled, chest rising and falling as your thighs pushed together. As much as you wanted to get upset with him for touching you like this, you were too busy keeping back a moan from how aggressive he was being. The thought of why he had a hand in your hair went right over your head. It didn’t matter when you could feel your thin underwear soiling by the second. It was a bit embarrassing because maybe he hadn’t done it for any sexual reasons. Maybe you were just that much of a whore. 

Trying to focus on the present, you cleared your throat and tried it again, “Eren–”

“What?” He growled out, hand tightening in your hair. Thankfully you didn’t need to speak because your eyes told him what he needed to know. He quickly released you and took a step back, swallowing down the lump that had formed in his throat. “Uh…” he’d accidentally backed into a nearby desk, feeling his face warm. “Sorry…”

You sat there for a moment, slowly putting all of the pieces together. Luckily, the last piece you needed to finish the puzzle was the boner he currently had. Evident and hard for your eyes to pull away from. It looked like he was thinking the exact same thing you were. It also looked like you were going to have to be the one to initiate things, going based off of what you assumed was shared just between you and him. You just hoped he was going to want to reciprocate or else you weren’t going to ever live the rejection down. 

As you stood up, he watched you closely, hands gripped onto the edges of the desk he was leaned up against. He chose to not move, letting you walk towards him until you were right in front of him now. Since he was crouched down a bit, you were around the same height as him which made him inevitably harder than he already was. Something about the way you were looking at him. Eyes low and dark, the faint smirk on your pretty lips. Like you wanted to eat him  alive. God, he’d let you. Let you do whatever it was you wanted to. However, he wasn’t weak enough to give in to you that easily. Would have to try a lot harder than that.

“You don’t think I’ve noticed the way you look at me?” You asked him, not touching him just yet. You kept your hands to yourself but stood a breath away, peering into his deep eyes with control. “I’ve been watching you too, Eren. Did you know that?”

“No…” he breathed with a shake of his head, unable to look away. His fingertips itched to touch you but he kept his hands where they were. The wood of the desk creaked under his tight grip as he continued to wait for your command. “I didn’t know that.” He smirked. “But you sound like a fuckin’ creep. Maybe even a stalker.”

You quickly grabbed him by his chin, squishing his cheeks together. The smirk fell into a puckered look, making you smile. “You’ve got a nasty mouth on you. Anyone ever told you that?” You repeated the same question he’d asked you earlier, pushing your knee in between his legs, parting them with ease. He let out a breathless laugh, licking his lips.

“Dunno. Can’t really recall. Sorry.”

“Mmm, can I be honest about something?” You took one final step forward, dropping your hand and throwing an arm around his neck, pressing your breasts against his chest. His breath hitched and you kept your smirk as you brushed your lips against the shell of his ear. “You say that you hate me…but I can’t help but wonder how many times you’ve jerked off to the thought of me. Must suck not having the real thing. Guess those animated women have been enough for you, huh?”

You were good at being a tease but what you failed to realize was that Eren was different from the other guys you’d seduced. He was smarter and found zero shame vocalizing what was really on his mind.

“Stupid girl,” he said in a deep tone under his breath before he gripped your waist with his thick hands, keeping you firm against him. It was his lips that were now against your ear and feeling you shiver made him grin. “I can’t even cum without thinking about you. Were you aware of that too?” Your silence was what pleased him the most. He chuckled, “Stroking my cock, using my pathetic hand trying to imagine it as your pussy but I’m nearly positive it doesn’t compare to the real thing.”

Your cunt twitched at the imagery of him doing exactly that. You’d give up almost anything to feel him right now. Almost.

Frustrated, you pushed off of him and he still had that shit-eating grin on his face. He was now leaning fully back against the desk, head tilted as he stared at you. It annoyed you. A lot.

“If you wanna fuck me, just say that.”

Eren didn’t say a word, and it wasn’t like he needed to. His lust filled gaze was more than enough. 

“I wanna fuck you. Bad.”

You shrugged before sitting on top of one of the desks. Your thighs squished together and it was like you’d done it on purpose just to tease him. He was almost able to see your panties which was way more than he needed to see. Not that he was complaining because he definitely wasn’t. In fact…why not see more than that? 

“Sounds like a you problem.”

There was one thing that Eren couldn’t seem to understand about you. He was aware that you had a certain type. So that begged the question… Why were you flirting with him? He wasn’t a jock. Wasn’t popular. Hell, to the entire school’s population, he didn’t even exist. So why him? What were you trying to prove? He wasn’t going to let himself become a body count. That was for sure. He just wasn’t. He had a lot more self respect than that. Plus, jerking off to you alone in his room was more than he needed. To do anything with you in real life was…was too…

He couldn’t even come up with a good reason if he tried. He just knew it didn’t need to happen.

And maybe that was reason enough. 

“K,” was all he said before he pushed off of the desk and started to walk away. He needed to put some distance between you and him or he was definitely going to go back on his decision of fucking on the very desk you were sitting on. He was sticking to his morals and as hard as it was, it was best. You were still one of the most popular girls in school, even when most of them hated you for dumping Jean. There was no way in hell he was going to ditch his cloak of invisibility just for some pussy. He knew better than that. Way better. 

You wanted to sulk seeing that he’d made the choice to not approach you but a thought came into your mind. If he wasn’t going to make the right choice then that just meant that you were going to have to make it for him. 

While he walked back towards his seat, you decided to scoot back on the desk until you were in the middle of it and flipped up your skirt. There was never a time you didn’t get what you wanted and if this was the only time you were going to be alone with Eren, then you were going to make it a moment that he wasn’t going to forget. 

The sudden noise made him look back and what he saw almost made him trip up on his own feet. 

Your legs were spread wide, and you were pulling your panties aside with two of your fingers, looking dead at him through thick lashes. Your arousal stuck to the fabric and created a line that stayed connected until you began massaging your clit. It was a bold move to make but you were never wrong when you felt a vibe around someone. Eren was interested in you. It was so obvious, but there was still a chance that you were wrong. That you were making a complete and utter fool of yourself right now. Especially in a public setting. That never usually bothered you but those were during times where the guy actually wanted you back. This was completely different. Eren had expressed his dislike for you openly enough so you hoped that your intuition about this was right. 

A small moan slipped past your lips as you dipped a finger into your slick, warm cunt, clenching around the digit almost immediately. The cool hit of the air conditioner that came on made your thighs tremble as you licked your lips, keeping eye contact with him, fingering yourself slowly. Painfully slow. 

Eren didn’t know what to do other than watch you. How you were perched on the desk where anyone could walk in and catch you doing something so…So exposing. And yet, he couldn’t fight off his second hard on of the day. Annoying. All of it was so fucking annoying. You, most of all. Why were you doing this to him? Antagonizing him with the one thing he hadn’t been able to get out of his mind. Seeing the real thing was nothing like the pornos he’d seen. You weren’t anything like he’d tried imagining either. In fact, you were a million times better than the version in his head. He just couldn't figure out whether that was a good thing or not. 

“Eren,” you moaned pitifully, frowning as you curled your fingers, hitting the spot that you were looking for. By the time he’d come out of the deep crevices of his mind, he saw that your shirt was already open, breasts spilled out from the confines of your bra. Your nipples were pebbled from the cool air and you had one in your hand as you fucked yourself. His cock throbbed at the sight. Well, there went the last bit of his precious morals. 

Then again, morals be damned right?

You weren’t able to get his name out of your mouth fast enough before he strided back over to you, standing in front of you. He was panting, eyes drinking up the slutty sight of you. He’d watched enough pornos to at least touch you where he felt you wanted to be touched but it was all still new to him because watching and doing something was two entirely different things. 

He frowned, frustrated that he was too nervous to reach out for you until you’d shuffled up onto your knees. You were back at being at the same height as him with your naked tits at his chest again.

He was going to lose his fucking mind over you.

His eyes shamelessly darted down to your breasts, hands itching to touch you but he wanted to remain respectful. You found it cute.

“It’s okay,” you whispered and took his hand in yours, bringing it up to one of your breasts. His breath hitched when you placed his palm over it, completely covering your nipple from the coolness of the room. He swallowed and looked at you to find a sweet smile on your face. “You can touch me, Eren. Just…do it slowly, okay?”

The softness in your voice stirred his arousal even more because not only 10 minutes ago were you giving him the cold shoulder. How did your mood change so quickly? Then earlier you were pushing your tits in his face. You were so confusing.

He focused more on you and less on his thoughts as he pinched at your nipple, quickly looking up to catch the moan leaving your plump lips. So that's what you liked. He wondered if your nipples were as sensitive as he’d imagined once or twice before.

Wanting to test that theory, he dipped his head down, held your breast in his large hand and covered your perked nipple with his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud. Satisfyingly enough, your back immediately arched, your hands planting themselves on his shoulders. He grinned around you, happy to be right. You pushed your chest more into him and he groaned, cock stiffening more than it already was. Fuck, at this rate, he was probably going to cum through his sweats, untouched, but he held himself back. He didn’t want to stroke your ego anymore than he was sure he was going to, moving forward with you. 

“Eren,” you mewled, moving your hands into his hair, grabbing a fistful of it. A shiver snaked down his spine at the action and couldn’t hold back another groan that made you look down at him with a racing heart to watch him. “That feels good.”

“Yeah?” he said around your nipple, cheekily grinning as he looked up at you through his eyelashes, green eyes dark with hunger. “Say that again.”

Feeling shy all of the sudden, you made a noise before you looked away.. “I…It feels good. Why did you need to hear it again?”

“Mmm,” After a few more swirls, tugs and a playful bite at your nipple, he pulled back with a ‘pop’, causing you to gasp, staring at him. He leaned close to your face, smirking. “Why not?”

“Because…” your eyes fell on his lips. They were a little red and covered with his own saliva. Puffy, desperate to be on another part of your body. You had a second place in mind. “Ugh, just shut up and kiss me.” You pulled him in by the strings of his hoodie, pressing your lips against his. 

His hands quickly found their way to your hips, leaning into you as he let you lead him. That made you feel a little more confident, remembering who had the experience here. His moan into the kiss made you pull at his bottom lip with your teeth, teasing him. 

“Fuck,” he breathed shakily, fingers digging into your soft skin. “Again.”

You giggled and did it again, feeling his tongue try and chase after yours. He seemed to learn fast with the way he pushed against your lips, sucking at your tongue while exploring your mouth like he was trying to mark every inch of it with himself. It only worsened the thrum in between your legs, making you a bit uncomfortable. 

Your whine into his mouth got his attention, and he pulled back to give you a little air, trying to catch his own breath. His eyes flickered between your lips and eyes, smirking.

“Anything else you wanna teach me?”

You bit into your lip, thighs pressed together.

“Yeah. I can think of a few more things.”

Eren was bent at the knees, face in between your legs with you on the desk, leaned back. He tried to get you to get in a more comfortable position but you kept reiterating that you wanted to be able to see what he was doing until you felt confident enough that he knew what he was doing without your guidance. He didn’t exactly see the need of you watching him to guide him but then again, what did he know?

He stared at your wet cunt, wondering what the hell to do. He’d never actually seen a vagina in real life. Well, if catching his grandma come out of her bath that one time when he was six didn’t count. Porn had truly been his best friend. He did learn that amateur porn was better to watch so he didn’t feel like a complete idiot when it came to trying the things he saw. It was just the fact that he was now meant to put all of that to the real test. Real, meaning giving you top tier head. It was a tall order but he refused being second to someone like Jean or just Jean himself. He’d never live that down.

“Eren.”

He snapped himself from his incessant habit to overthink and looked at you, eyebrows furrowed with clear worry. You couldn’t help but snort, finding it unusual that you were half laying on your back with your elbows bent to support your upper weight, looking down at a guy that had been staring at your vagina like it was the world’s most complex puzzle. It wasn’t everyday you fucked a virgin. In fact, you couldn’t even recall the last time you did. It was so long ago.

“Yeah?”

“Just…start by licking me here.” You reached down and drew a circle around your clit, making sure he knew exactly where to give his attention to. “That’s going to be your best friend until I…you know.“

It sounded strange explaining how to give you head but then again, if you wanted to cum — you had to give him clear instructions or else you were either going to have to lie or let him believe that he’d made you orgasm on his first try. Giving him that false sense of hope wasn’t what was going to help you sleep tonight at all. 

“Okay…” He looked back down at your pretty clit, and just stared for a few silent moments. You watched him and didn’t say a word, wanting to see how he’d do. It wasn’t really rocket science, you didn’t think. It was typically a woman’s pleasure button. Some of the lucky few were able to orgasm from penetration alone. Unfortunately, you weren’t one of the lucky few. At least, you didn’t think so. It’d never happened to you. Fucking Jean gave you a bit of hope considering his dick was nice and big, believing he was going to reach places no one’s ever touched. Sadly, no luck. 

Maybe Eren was going to be the lucky one.

Once he was done awkwardly staring at your vagina like it was going to attack him, he leaned forward, and the moment his mouth closed around your clit — your head fell back in ecstasy. It was as if he’d skipped several steps and went right for the main course. He sucked at the sensitive little bud, tongue lapping across it with vigour. He didn’t even give you time to adjust when he moaned around you, brows pushing together in concentration. He was also keeping an ear out for any sounds that left your mouth because that was going to be his guide. If you were quiet, then he’d need to try something different. If you were vocal, then that meant—

“Oh fuck, Eren! Right there!” You moaned out, nails scratching at the poor rusted wood of the desk.

Then that meant he was doing something right.

He couldn’t help but let himself get a little cocky, smirking around your clit, slurping you up like you were water. The obscene sounds that came from him eating you out should’ve embarrassed you but nothing like that came to mind. Eren was eating your pussy like he’d suddenly become a pro at it. He didn’t even need directions or instructions. There wasn’t even a need to finger you as you’d begun to feel your release edging and teasing the surface. 

You tried to conceal your loud moans by clamping a hand over your mouth, but sitting up and watching the way he sucked and licked at your sweet clit made your head spin. He made the action so nasty. He was wild yet careful. Like he’d formed a plan in his head and had a set rhythm that he was sticking to. All you knew was that it was driving you insane and you couldn’t remember ever getting head this fucking good. 

Sooner than you were expecting, you quickly creamed all over his tongue, shaky moans slipping through your pretty fingers. Your thighs shook from the aftershock, trying to come down from your high. Unable to ignore the need to rest your upper body any longer, you laid flat on your back, and panted, trying to catch your breath. 

Eren straightened his back and licked your juices from his lips before he used the sleeve of his hoodie to clean the rest of it from his face.

“So…how was it?”

You stared up at the ceiling for a second, mind boggled with the fact that he even felt the need to ask you how that was for you. Did he really have no idea? That was grade A head. Definitely what artists sang about in their songs or what writers wrote about in their smut filled books. That once in a lifetime experience that you’d end up remembering at 80 years old, for sure. 

When you finally were able to compose yourself, you raised back up on your elbows again with your eyebrows almost shot into your hairline.

“How was it? Eren…I’m not exaggerating but I could’ve sworn I saw god. What the fuck was that? I thought you didn’t know what you were doing,” you exclaimed, shaken up.

He laughed, shrugging. “I mean, I didn’t. Not really. I watched some stuff, but I didn’t have any hands-on experience.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Well, you could’ve fooled me.”

“So…” He looked around until he decided to let his curious green eyes land back on you, hands moving up your calves to your thighs. “What now?”

You shivered from his touch and thought about that for a moment. 

“I want to return the favor…” You replied, staring back with want.

“M’cool with that.”

You snorted. “Course you are.”

He chose to sit down in a nearby chair, manspreading while he looked at you with that infuriating cocky smirk. You couldn’t believe that his success at eating you out was already getting to his head like this. 

“Look,” you stood in between his long legs before bending down to your knees in front of him. His head was tilted, and he was giving you a look very appropriate for your current position. You were definitely horny again. “Do you want me to tell you that you just got lucky for your first try?”

Eren licked his bottom lip excruciatingly slowly before biting it, laughing. “Lucky? Maybe. I guess that means you’d have to let me do it again just to prove to you that maybe, just maybe, I might know what I’m doing.” His eyes flashed with mischief, irking you to death. He was still grinning, little smile lines at the corners of his lips. When you really looked at him, he was attractive. Dare say, he might’ve been one of the most attractive guys in the school and didn’t even know it. If he were to stop hiding himself in hoodies and sweats, there was no telling what his popularity were to look like. However, catching his beauty first, you almost wanted to gatekeep him from everyone else. No one needed to get a piece of what you were now claiming as yours. If they weren’t able to see his worth as he was now, then they didn’t deserve him any different. 

“You’re annoying,” you mumbled before you decided to focus on the task at hand.

He watched you tug his sweats down along with his boxers and couldn’t fight back a proud smile at the look on your face, witnessing the size of him. His dick was so thick and heavy, it laid against his upper thigh. Hard and pulsating. The head was an angry red, covered with his precum. There was no fucking way he’d been walking around school for four whole years carrying a monster cock like that. No wonder he walked as slow as he did. The thing attached to him had been slowing him down this entire time.

You gawked at it in awe, glancing from it back to him. “Are you kidding me?” He snickered as if this was really a laughing matter. You were stumped. “Eren…”

“Can we talk about me having the biggest dick in school after I cum?” He slid a hand down his clothed chest to take his dick in hand, giving himself a few lazy strokes. He huffed out a broken moan, staring down at you through half lidded eyes. “I need…”

It wasn’t looking like he was going to finish that sentence and maybe because he was too embarrassed to say whatever it was he wanted to say, noticing his cheeks heating up. Cute.

“Yeah yeah,” you said under your breath, moving forward to plant kisses up his thigh, feeling him shudder against you. When you got closer to where he needed you most, he moved his hand away, pushing up his hoodie so that it was out of the way. You were almost distracted by his abs again but you kept yourself focused, spreading your saliva over the head of his cock once you reached it. 

Eren clutched at his hoodie, groaning needily at the feeling of having your lips so close to him. You took him in your hand and couldn’t believe how heavy he actually was. You imagined having him inside of you. Tearing through your soft walls deliciously before making a home there, and fucking you stupid. He was so big, there was no way you weren’t going to cum multiple times in a row. You wondered if there was going to be enough time to get to that part.

“Please,” he muttered, biting into his lip with a shy expression on his pretty face. Cheeks as rosy as his lips. It was so distracting. “Can you please keep going?”

Who knew he was the begging type.

“Mmm,” you smirked to yourself, cupping his balls only for him to throw his head back, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I’m getting to that, pretty boy. Relax.”

“Fuck,” he moaned at the pet name, trying to hold onto his sanity. Just having your hands on him was enough. He couldn’t even imagine what your mouth was going to feel like. Him hitting the back of your throat, filling it with so much sweet cum, making you swallow every bit of it. Fuck.

More pre dribbled onto your hand and you could tell that he wasn’t going to last much longer. This was going to be a quick blowjob. You were going to have to train him to last a little longer than this. 

Deciding on not using your mouth for now, you stood up to your feet, keeping his cock in your hand. You slid your palm up and down, using the precum and a bit of your saliva to keep it lubricated as you smiled sweetly, standing back in between his legs. He was breathing heavily now, abs tightening as he felt your thumb cross over his fat mushroom head, teasing him. He sat forward, looking up at you with desperate eyes that told you he’d do anything to cum right now and you bet he would. Such a pathetic look on such a pretty face.

How lucky you were.

You were still standing but were bent a bit so you could keep your stride going. His clouded emerald eyes were locked onto yours, a hand finding its way to your thigh to keep him grounded. Your tits were now directly in his face and he didn’t waste any time taking a nipple in his mouth. You moaned out in surprise, squeezing his cock in the process. He groaned around your breast, bringing you closer to him. He was fucking into your hand now, getting desperate. He was so close. So unimaginably close, he could feel the pressure rising at the center of his stomach. His hand left your thigh and wrapped his arms around your lower mid section and ass, keeping you there. 

“Eren,” you called for him, trying to get his attention. He was throbbing in your hold, veins more prominent than before you touched him. Without a word, you knew he was close. “Look at me.”

He popped off of your nipple, gazing up at him with such a far away look in his eyes. So pretty to look at. You were losing your mind over him.

“I want you to cum for me. Can you be good and do that?“

“Be good?” He asked, eyebrows drawing together with his lips parted. He tore his eyes from you and kissed at your stomach, nipping at your warm skin. “I’ll do whatever you want me to, just please. Need to cum so bad. I can’t…” his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, moaning louder now. 

His hips stuttered as you dipped down to capture his lips with your own, shoving your tongue down his throat. He choked on a moan, not knowing where to put his hands now. You stroked him faster and he panted against your lips, moaning hopelessly into your mouth. 

“Gonna cum. Gonna…M’gonna–”

“Wait.”

You pulled your lips away from his and quickly dropped down to your knees. He frowned at what you were doing but lost it the moment he felt your plump lips finally wrap around his thick cock. 

His long drawn out moan was either because of him shooting his seed down your throat or the feeling of your mouth on him, tongue swirling over his sensitive head. His cock pulsed and twitched as he continued letting you milk him dry, thighs quivering. He used an arm to cover part of his face as he made low noises that were moans but more whiny. 

“Please…Can you…?”

When you swallowed every drop of him, something you didn’t usually do with anyone you went down on, you let him go with a ‘pop’ sound, making his head spin once more. He was trying to catch his breath but you were greedy. 

You straddled his lap properly this time, feeling his flaccid cock against the crack of your ass. He groaned under his breath, hands quickly attaching themselves to your waist, dark eyes back on you again with a playful frown.

“Let’s forget I came early, yeah?”

You pucker your lips, tapping your index finger against your chin in thought. 

“Mm, how about…no?”

You giggled when you felt him squeeze your hips, frown deepening. He was so hot post orgasm, it should’ve been a downright crime. His forehead was dotted with small beads of sweat and the majority of his face was a little red. It paired well with his dark hair, dark brows and mystic green eyes. How had you not seen him in such a light before today? How did you miss him? 

His eyes searched your face trying to figure out what was going through your mind but you didn’t give him anymore of that opportunity when you began grinding down your hips, conveying through your actions what you wanted. 

He smirked lazily, leaning forward to where his lips ghosted over yours.

“If you want me to fuck you, just say that.”

“If I’m riding, that means I’m fucking you, pretty boy.”

Eren broke eye contact and dipped his face into your neck, groaning. There went that stupid pet name again. God, you were going to be the end of him.

“Fine,” He shot back, kissing at your collarbones. He smiled against your skin. “I guess this means I don’t hate you so much anymore.”

“Mmm,” You hands played with his hair, trying to continue ignoring the throb in between your legs. “Good. Shouldn’t have hated me anyway.” With enough of his hair in between your fingers, you gripped onto it and pulled his head back to face you. His lips parted in surprise. “In fact, I don’t think you ever really hated me in the first place. Maybe you wanted to but you couldn’t ignore how attracted you were to me. Isn’t that right?”

Eren swallowed the pool of saliva in his mouth before answering you, “I don’t…I don’t really know. I mean, I’ve been attracted to you but how does that correlate to me disliking you?”

“Because silly boy,” The playful smile on your face made him weary, wondering what you were going to say next. “–how can you hate someone that you wanna fuck so bad?”

He was hard again. It was surprising to him because it usually took him a minute for him to come back after a good orgasm but you were so…so alluring. Charming and very seductive. He didn’t foresee himself falling into the hands of you but there he was. Trapped by your fatal gaze, too captivated to look away. He didn’t even know what to say back to that because you were right. He’d spent too many nights fucking into his lousy hand picturing you on his cock instead. Desperate yet controlling at the same time. When he thought you were everything he wanted to stay away from, you were actually the very one he needed. He just couldn’t admit that to himself. Now, he could care less. He wanted you, and that was all that mattered to him.

Watching him fall into thought, you pouted and shifted up using his shoulders for leverage. You leaned forward and reached a hand down between your legs for his growing erection, taking his heavy length into your delicate hand. He let out a shuddered breath, blinking back into the present as he felt you tease the tip of his cockhead at your entrance. So wet, so warm, fuck he was gonna lose it again. 

Your name sounded heavenly coming from his pretty lips, eyes already pleading you to keep doing what you were doing. 

Your face was close to his, eyes eating up the way he panted, eyebrows knitted together. It was such a major contrast to the boy you’d watched walk into class earlier. The Eren in front of you was compliant and desperately wanting to cum again. 

He was such a hidden gem. How did you get so fucking lucky? 

“Shhh,” you told him, your lips against his as he whined, feeling you coat his length with your arousal, his hands gripping at your thighs that were still covered by the high socks you were wearing. “You’re so loud, baby. Can you be a little quieter for me?” He whimpered, chest rising and falling. “Unless you wanna be caught like this. If so…” you pecked his lips, giggling. “–then let’s see how much louder you can get for me.”

Eren didn’t have time to give you an answer back when you finally began sinking down onto him, inviting his fat cock into your warm cunt. The grip on your thighs tightened as his head fell back. The moan that left his mouth was loud but nothing that would’ve gotten you two caught. Least, not yet. 

“Shit,” he groaned deeply, jaw clenched. “I won’t be able to last that long. I could probably cum now. Just don’t move. Please don’t move,” he begged as if he was the one in control here. Did he forget who was on top?

With a smirk, you lowered yourself further down until you felt every inch of him pulsating against your soft, wet walls.

There was no doubt that he was in deep. He couldn’t even describe the feeling. The best he was able to do was think of it like a tight glove around his cock. He was positive that if you started moving, he was going to cum all up against your poor cervix, breeding you stupid. He was barely holding onto his sanity, having never felt anything as good as this. His hand was a poor imitation and hoped he never had to resort to it ever again as long as you existed. 

“Eren,” you cooed, bringing his head back forward by holding his face with your warm hands. “C’mon. I know that this is your first time having sex but hold out a while for me, yeah? If I lose you, I’ll just have to use you.” You grinned, “Though, I don’t think you’d mind that one bit, hm?” 

“God, just shut up and fuck me,” he blurted out, smacking your thigh with a tired frown. “Don’t make threats. Be about it, yeah?” He mocked, and had no clue what he was in for.

Your grin smoothed into a half smile. “Just know I’m not stopping until I’m done with you, and remember — you asked for it.”

With your hands back on his shoulders, you pushed yourself forward a bit until you slid off of him, but not all of the way. Just enough that when you slammed yourself back down, he was back to kissing your cervix. Both of your moans blended together and you did that a few more times until you found your rhythm. Eren was a mess of whines and groans, hands all over you. He was biting into your shoulder while heavily breathing against your neck. No matter what he was doing, he kept you close to his body and had no intention of letting you go. 

You bounced in his lap, his strong thighs able to keep you balanced enough to do a number on him. Your tits jiggled in front of him and it was like his civil duty to give them attention. The moment his mouth was on both of your nipples, you squeaked and wrapped your arms loosely around his neck, trying to keep the same rhythm without being distracted. 

The way you were stretched out around his cock, creating the most obscene squelching sounds known to man, it was hard not filling your pretty pussy up with his cum already. Then the way you continued to slam your hips down onto him, it was too much. 

You felt so fucking good. 

The two of you continued like that until you began feeling tired, which was ironic considering you were the one that had told him you weren’t going to stop until you were done. Looks like that came early.

“M’starting to get a cramp, sorry,” you mumbled, stopping all movement and lying flat against him, trying to catch your breath. 

Eren was still incredibly hard but he didn’t want you to feel like you were the only one that was supposed to put in the work here. Not when he was able to help.

“Hold on,” he said against the shell of your ear before he slid his hands underneath your thighs, standing up.

You gasped and looked around, “Eren–”

“Mm, wait a sec.”

When he laid you down on a desk, your legs were at either side of his hips, pushed up with his hands at your knees. He smirked at the curious look on your face. 

“Don’t look so surprised. You couldn’t keep your word so now it’s time I make the same promise and make good on it.”

You frowned, easily huffing out into a pout. “That’s not fair. I tried.”

“I know,” he cooed, looking along your body with ravenous eyes. “But you couldn’t do it. That’s okay,” his eyes dropped to your glistening folds, humming to himself. “Now it’s my turn.”

You weren’t sure what to expect but just as he’d eaten you out earlier, he didn’t need any directions with fucking you just as good. 

It was a complete shock because he was a virgin. He had no sexual experience. Everything he knew came from porn. It was like he knew exactly where all of your pleasure points were and exploited them with each snap of his hips. He had a grip on your waist, focused on the way his girthy cock slid in and out your puffy cunt with ease. The desk rocked under your weight as you choked out a moan, trying to reach out for him.

With an amused grin, he entertained you by pulling you up and throwing your arms back around his neck as he continued to hammer into you, swallowing your moans, kissing you. Your moans were muffled now, just as his were. He didn’t want him to stop until you came. Maybe you didn’t want him to stop even after that. There was just something so addicting about him that you couldn’t place. It was frustrating. 

You were the first girl he’d ever fucked and it gave you a sense of possession. There was no way you were letting him go now. He was yours and no one else’s. Even if for some wild reason he didn’t want to see you again after this, you weren’t beneath begging him. Anything to keep him around for as long as possible. 

Little did you know, he felt the same way about you. If not more.

With your arms around his neck and his arms holding up your thighs as he fucked into you, the world around the two of you began to slowly disappear. Nothing nor anyone mattered except this moment, right here. You trembled against his hard body, letting him mold your little cunt to fit his cock and his cock only from now on. So stuffed, so full, you couldn’t even think straight. 

“Eren, I’m s’close,” you mumbled against his lips, whining pathetically. “Please cum in me. M’on the pill so it’s okay.”

Like he wasn’t going to fill you up anyway. He had zero plans of pulling out considering the only thing that was able to stay on his mind before anything else was the way your pussy gripped his cock like you didn’t want him to pull out. Like you were trapping him in. He didn’t mind it. It was good he had the go to do it because he was going to feel bad afterwards. 

“You were right,” he said, holding eye contact. “I’ve never hated you. I’ve been attracted to you for a pretty long time but it’s deeper than that. I didn’t…hit Jean earlier just because he was bad mouthing you.“

His thrusts didn’t stop so you were having a hard time focusing on what he was saying but you did your best because it sounded important. “I punched him because…” He bit his lip, almost wanting to look away from you, clearly embarrassed. “–because I’ve also been obsessed with you. Then he said he fucked you recently and I didn’t know how to react but was it true? Did you really fuck him?”

Earlier, when he gave you and Jean some thought, he was a little convinced that it actually happened but for some reason, a part of him kept trying to deny it. Maybe it was due to the fact that he hated the idea of you going back to Jean, even if it was a one time thing. He couldn’t fuck you until he got the answer he was looking for. He also needed to know that Jean was completely out of the picture or there was going to be a problem. 

You sputtered, being put on the spot. “I- Well, yeah? I mean…It wasn’t really planned. But wait, so you’ve been obsessed with me? For how long? Why didn’t you say anything? Did you think I wouldn’t have been interested? What else is ther–Ah!” He thrusted deeper into you, a high pitched whine slipping from your lips as your nails sunk into his back. 

“You’re asking too many questions,” He growled out, frowning as he used your cunt like his own personal cocksleeve. “Picturing him fucking you the way I am is pissing me off. I don’t feel like talking anymore.”

You were shaking now and not just from the force of his pounding but from how close you were to your release. He was now fucking you with newfound hatred, the image of you with Jean stuck in his mind. He hated it. Hated how long he wanted to be the one fucking you. The only one you were allowed to let touch you when you felt like being touched. How it took him too long to prevent any of it from happening. If only he had spoken up sooner, you would’ve been his a long time ago. 

“I’m gonna erase every part of him from you, do you understand?” 

The way the head of his cock kept hitting that one spot that made you a whimpering mess before him — it was too hard for you to have a conversation with him. At this rate, you were going to legitimately forget your own name. You still hadn’t recovered from him eating you out earlier, pieces of that memory playing over and over in your head as you tried to stay grounded. Your pretty moans bounced off of the empty classroom walls, a wonder how no one caught the two of you yet.

“No one’s gonna fuck this pussy but me and I fuckin’ mean it,” he continued to mutter, hot with anger and frustration.

It was your fault for having a body like that. For being so nice to people and coming off too trusting. Maybe you weren’t desperate but he couldn’t help but wonder why you walked around acting like it. Then again, none of that mattered now. You were his and he was going to make sure everyone knew it. That was going to start by him giving you obvious dark marks along your neck. 

“Eren,” you stuttered out, eyes almost rolling to the back of your head. “Gonna…I’m…” you closed your eyes, feeling his lips on your neck. He fucked into you like it was his last day on earth and nothing could’ve torn you two apart. “Fuck, I can’t! I can’t, I can’t,” you babbled on and on until he felt you suddenly tighten around his length, creaming lewdly around his throbbing cock.

Your breath was sporadic, still holding onto him as he jack-hammered into you without remorse for the overstimulation you were feeling. You moaned out his name, pleading for him to slow down but he was chasing his own high. Plus, he wasn’t stopping until you were full with his cum. He needed to fill you up. His sanity depended on it. 

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight. I wouldn’t be able to pull out even if I tried,” he commented with a lazy smirk against your warm skin, gripping onto you. “Stay just like that. Let me use you until I’m done, ‘k?”

Like he needed to wait until you answered him. He didn’t stop. He pounded at your poor abused cunt, eyebrows furrowed as he felt his stomach tighten. His abs tensed under the growing pressure and as soon as he heard your sweet voice, he let it all go.

“Cum for me, Eren.”

He filled your fertile womb up with the intent to breed you full, knowing that you were on birth control. Still, the thought counted.

You let him ride out his orgasm, not having the least bit of energy to make any sort of movements anyway. Your vagina felt like it was ready to run away from you with the way Eren treated it. He sure knew how to catch onto stuff fast. This was a memory that you weren’t ever going to forget. Hopefully, it was going to be replaced with many more.

“Fuck,” he said in a low tone, sweat rolling down the side of his face as he pulled his softening dick out of you. 

He couldn’t help but bend at the knees, eagerly awaiting the cum he’d stuffed in you to come oozing out. 

Your legs remained wide and open, looking down at him with a raised brow. The moment he caught the shine of his seed tumbling out of your fucked out hole, he smirked. “That’s it.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he heard you mumble and couldn’t help but laugh, looking up at you through dark lashes. 

“What?” He stood up, pulling his sweatpants up with him. He licked his lips, fitting himself in between your thighs once more. “Can’t I finally claim what’s always been mine?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, playfully, before you pushed your skirt back down and stared back at him. “Always been yours? Care to explain?”

He smirked. “Happily. First off–”

“What in the world are you two doing back there?” Mrs. Ackerman screeched, a look of horror written all over her face.

Scared out of your skin by her sudden reappearance, you pushed Eren back and almost fell trying to get off of the desk. You reached for your forgotten underwear on the floor while Eren stuttered out an excuse, his ears growing red.

“W-well, we uh–”

“Gotta go!” You finished for him, grabbing his wrist with your stuff in your hands. “See you tomorrow for detention, Mrs. Ackerman! Bye!” 

“Wait–!” Eren mumbled, tripping up on his own feet as you two headed for the secondary door at the back of the classroom. Before leaving, he’d managed to swipe his belongings from the desk he was sitting at along with his book bag. 

When you two were pretty far down the hallway for Mrs. Ackerman to catch up, you stopped and let him go, trying to catch your breath. It didn’t dawn on you that you were still without underwear until you felt your skirt rise. 

“Hey!” You exclaimed in embarrassment, slapping Eren’s hand away. He laughed.

“Put them on. It’s kinda windy outside.”

“I know what to do,” you said in a pout, doing exactly that as you hid behind him in case someone decided to come down the same hallway.

His tone was more on the possessive side which made you think that maybe a conversation needed to be had. You weren’t sure if he was going to laugh at the idea of becoming a thing or tell you that it was the last thing he wanted. Or worse, that he never wanted to do anything like that ever again. The latter was going to hurt the most so you chose to think positively instead. The signs pointed to him saying yes, and that was what made you stand back up with a smile on your face. 

Eren raised a brow, “Satisfied? What’s on your mind?”

“Well,” you began, hoping that you were going to be able to get your thoughts together in time to ask him what you wanted to say, “So, how was your first time?”

He bursted out with laughter, drawing a cute frown on your face. “It was good, but that’s not what you really want to ask me.” He stepped closer to you, almost close enough to touch you. “So ask me.”

“Oh,” You looked down, hating how intimidating he was coming across just because of his height and sudden change in demeanor. You weren’t usually this lost for words. It was annoying. “I just…Do you like me?”

“I do,” He answered straight away, causing your head to pop back up, looking at him with hope in your eyes. He smiled. “I wouldn’t have had sex with you if I didn’t. Now I have a question for you.” He took your face in his hands, eyes softening enough to calm the nervous butterflies in your stomach. “I know I made it clear that I don’t want you with anyone else but it wouldn’t be official unless I asked, do you wanna be my girlfriend?”

It was as if your heart had flown right out of your chest and took flight into the skies. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. He wanted you to be his girlfriend. His girlfriend. You. 

Even though you were pretty popular, that meant nothing to you. Not when it came to someone like Eren wanting to be official with you. Especially since it’d taken four years for you to finally see him and know what his true feelings for you were. Happy was an understatement. You were over the moon. 

“Well?” His voice brought you from your thoughts, a faint worried look in his verdant green eyes. You gave him a soft smile, covering the hand he had on your cheek with your own. 

“I would love to be your girlfriend, ‘ren.”

He immediately flashed his white teeth, happy that you said yes. He took you into his arms by your waist, and pressed his lips against yours. Easily, you melted into the kiss, feeling your heart wash over with warmth. 

Eren was yours and you were his. As crazy as it seemed, you didn’t see it coming. None of it. Eren was the quiet guy and you were the outgoing, popular girl. It was going to be a major shock to the entire school when they witnessed you two walk through those double doors in the morning but you weren’t going to be phased by any of the attention. All you cared about now was him. 

Your cute little boyfriend.

Had a nice ring to it.

“Mine,” he said against your lips and you giggled, burying your face into his chest. 

“Yeah, all yours. Now let’s go. I feel gross and want a shower.”

He pouted as you took his hand and tugged him down the hall, towards the double doors that led outside. 

“Can’t you keep it in a little longer?” He whined, walking a little behind you. “Selfish.”

“Eren, I am not keeping all of this cum in me. You’ve lost your mind. It’s uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, but-”

“No buts.”

“Speaking of butts…” He trailed off, smirking as he lifted your skirt up again with his index finger to get another peek. You exhaled loudly and smacked his hand away without turning around, trudging down the hall with a warm face and butterflies in your stomach again. 

Annoying. 

a/n: sorry if the ending was a little flat, if you haven’t been able to tell i suck at them;( but i hope that it was still decent ! ty for reading & expect more content soon <3

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stardust

summary: raised in a village on the kingdom’s outskirts, you’ve always dreamed of seeing the annual lantern festival in the capital. when you unwittingly help a thief on the run—gojo satoru—he agrees to take you there as repayment. what starts off as a simple deal soon pulls you into a conspiracy that ties back to the crown—and to satoru’s past.

⇢ pairing: thief/flynn rider!gojo satoru x fem!reader ⇢ contains: romance, angst, smut (oral sex, unprotected sex, loss of virginity), slowburn, action, tangled au, debatable attempts at comedy, profanity, inaccurate depictions of horse-riding, mentions of poison and murder, violence that comes with daggers/swords/frying pans—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! ⇢ word count: 31k ⇢ playlist: “you broke my smolder” ⇢ art credit: _3aem | read on ao3 here.

It turns out that blackmailing a wanted criminal is much harder than it seems.

For one, he does not take you seriously. Not even a little.

“Oh no,” Satoru says, eyes wide with feigned horror. “You’re going to turn me in? Me? The helpless victim in all of this?” He clutches his chest, staggering back as if he’s been struck. “What a cruel, coldhearted thing to do to the man whose life you just heroically saved.”

“You’re only saying that because you know I have the upper hand,” you deadpan.

“Details, details,” he says, waving a hand. “But let’s be real here, sweetheart. If you were really going to call the guards—after you rescued me from the aforementioned guards—you’d have done it by now.”

You stiffen. He grins, slow and knowing. “Ah,” he says, tapping his temple. “See, that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re bluffing.”

“I am not bluffing,” you insist, even as your grip tightens around your satchel.

Satoru’s grin only grows. He takes a step closer, like a cat toying with its prey. “Oh?”

You plant your feet firmly, refusing to back down. “Oh, indeed.”

Then—so fast you almost don’t register it—he lunges. With a startled yelp, you whirl away, narrowly dodging his grasp as he reaches for the satchel. Satoru lets out a low whistle. “Not bad,” he muses. “You’ve got quick reflexes.”

You clutch the satchel to your chest. “You’re just predictable.”

Satoru places a hand over his chest and gasps. “Predictable? Me?” He scoffs. “Sweetheart, I am many things—charming, intelligent, devastatingly handsome—but predictable is not one of them.”

“Fine.” You roll your eyes. “If you want the crown back so badly, then take it,” you say, and before he can react, you pivot on your heel and sprint. 

“Whoa, hey—”

You dart through the trees, leaping over gnarly roots and weaving through the underbrush, legs burning as you push forward. The satchel bounces against your side. The village is close—if you can just make it past the ridge, maybe you can—

A hand catches your wrist. You’re being spun; the world tilts, and your back slams into something solid. Your breath is knocked out of your lungs with a sharp gasp.

Gojo Satoru—the most wanted man in the entire kingdom—looms over you. His palm is pressed flat against the trunk of the tree behind your head, trapping you in place. He’s not even out of breath. His hair is a mess of white strands, a few falling over his forehead, and his eyes—those ridiculous, celestial blue eyes—are twinkling with delight.

“Well,” he drawls, “that was fun.”

You glare up at him. “Let go.”

“Mm.” Satoru taps his chin, considering. “Nah.”

“Gojo.”

“Say please.”

You shove at his chest, but he doesn’t budge. At all. He’s all lean muscle beneath his clothes, far sturdier than his lanky frame would suggest. You grit your teeth. “You are the worst.”

“And you,” he says, patting the tip of your nose, “are terrible at making threats.”

You open your mouth to retort, only to clamp it shut immediately after. Hoofbeats. Both of you freeze. They’re distant at first, then grow louder, thundering against the dirt path. Your stomach twists. The guards are back.

Satoru doesn’t hesitate. One second he’s in front of you; the next, he’s sweeping you into his arms like you weigh nothing and hauling you away from the side of the path, diving into the thick of the trees.

“What—? Put me—”

“Shhh.” He claps a hand over your mouth, pressing you against the trunk of an enormous oak, both of you half-hidden behind the tree. Your heart pounds. You can see the riders now, their armour glinting under the early morning sun. Their voices carry over the rustling of the leaves, and you hold your breath.

Satoru does too, though you doubt it’s out of fear. No, he looks entirely at ease, a smirk tugging on his lips as he watches the guards ride past, none the wiser. Just as quickly as they arrived, they’re gone. The silence stretches.

Finally, Satoru leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re welcome.”

You bite his hand.

“Yowza!” He jerks back, cradling his hand like you’ve just inflicted a mortal wound upon the limb. “Did you just—”

“Yes,” you say primly, straightening out your tunic. “And I’ll do it again if I must.”

Satoru gapes at you, then lets out a laugh, wild and unrestrained. “Oh,” he breathes, shaking his head. “Oh, I like you.”

“Great,” you say. “So you’ll take me to the capital?”

His laughter dies. You smile sweetly at him. 

Satoru groans, dragging a hand through his hair. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, mostly to himself. His head tips back against the tree, and for a moment, he just stands there with his eyes closed, as though he’s bargaining with the gods to give him the virtue of patience which he so clearly lacks. “I just saved your life.”

“I saved yours first.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You are so lucky you’re cute.”

“I—” Your cheeks burn despite yourself.

“Not that lucky, though,” he interrupts, dropping his hand and fixing you with an almost pitying look. “Because if you think I’m actually going to drag you with me all the way to the capital just because you swiped a little trinket from me, you’re out of your mind.”

Your momentary victory screeches to a halt. “What?”

“You heard me.” He straightens, stretching his arms above his head. “I’m not taking you anywhere.”

“But you just said—”

“I just humoured you. Big difference.”

Your mouth opens, then shuts, then opens again. You ball your hands into fists at your sides. “You promised.”

“I lied.”

“Gojo!”

He grins, wholly unrepentant, and takes a step back. “C’mon, sweetheart. You didn’t actually think that was going to work, did you?” He tuts, shaking his head. “Cute and naïve. What a dangerous combination.”

Frustration coils in your chest. You take a deep breath. “Alright,” you say, almost calm. “Then I’ll just go to the guards right now, and—”

“No, you won’t,” Satoru says, raising a single finger.

Your nostrils flare. “And why won’t I?”

“Because I just saved your life,” he says, enunciating each word as though you’re a particularly slow barn animal. “Which means, at the very least, I deserve some gratitude.”

Your jaw drops. “Gratitude?”

“That’s right.”

“We’re even!” you sputter. “I saved you first!”

“Semantics. Point is, I was heroic, you were impressed, and now you can return my crown to me and we can go our separate ways.” He winks. “Sounds good?” 

“That—” You stare at him, incredulous. “That is the exact opposite of good.”

“Hm. Sounds like a you problem.”

Your grip on the satchel tightens. “Fine,” you say through gritted teeth. “Then I’ll—”

Before you can finish, he’s already moving. Fast—too fast. You barely register the blur of motion before his hand is dipping into the satchel, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the crown. Panic flares. You react without thinking.

Your hands snap out, grabbing his wrist before he can pull away. He pauses, blinking down at you, startled—because somehow, despite his speed, despite the way he should’ve been able to snatch the crown before you noticed and vanish into the trees—he hadn’t accounted for you actually stopping him. 

Both of you freeze. Then, in an utterly ridiculous, ungraceful tangle of limbs you both go crashing to the ground. The satchel slips from your grasp, tumbling into the dirt. The crown spills out, gleaming in the morning light. It’s a glittering band of gold inlaid with the sort of precious stones and gems you’ve only ever heard about. A string of words, written in a curling handwriting, are etched into the inside of the crown’s band. You blink against the glare. Satoru lands half on top of you, his weight pressing you into the earth.

Satoru is heavy. Not overwhelmingly so, but enough that you’re acutely aware of every point of contact; the solid warmth of his torso against yours, the way his arm is braced beside your head, keeping his weight from crushing you fully.

And, unfortunately, he seems just as aware. A slow, amused smile curls at the edges of his lips as he props himself up on his elbows, peering down at you with those ocean-bright eyes. “My, oh, my,” he muses, low and amused. “How terribly forward of you.”

Your face heats up. “Get. Off.”

He doesn’t. Instead, his gaze flickers to the crown lying in the dirt beside you, just out of reach. His smile widens. You see the moment he decides to go for it. Unfortunately for him, you’ve already decided first.

With a grunt, you knee him in the stomach. Satoru wheezes. You wriggle out from beneath him just as he recoils, scrambling for the crown. Your fingers barely skim against the metal—but before you can grab it, the thief lunges forward and tackles you again. There is no grace to it this time. You wrestle in the dirt like two absolute idiots, rolling, kicking, twisting in a desperate scramble for control. He’s stronger, but you’re determined, and maybe just a little feral at this point. 

“Would you quit it?” Satoru grunts, narrowly dodging an elbow to the ribs. 

“Not until you help me!”

“I told you—”

You shove your palm against his face. Satoru lets out an indignant noise, muffled by your hand. You take advantage of his momentary distraction and reach out—only for Satoru to grab your wrist and twist, sending you both tumbling again, until—

Somehow—somehow—he ends up pinned beneath you, and this time, you have the crown.

Your fingers tighten around it as you scramble off him and glare down at Satoru. He’s sprawled in the dirt, a mess of leaves clinging to his wind-ruffled hair, and a streak of dirt is smeared across his chin. You’re certain you’re in no better shape; you pull a stray twig out of your hair, and rub away the mud on your cheeks with the back of your hand. He props himself up on his elbows, surveying you.

“Tragic,” he sighs. “I almost had it.”

You twirl the crown between your fingers, letting the jewels catch the light, and let your lips turn upwards in a saccharine smile. “It’s called a hustle, sweetheart.”

The marketplace is settling into a quieter rhythm at this time of the day, the golden light of mid-afternoon casting long shadows upon the cobbled streets. Satoru trudges beside you, his usual confidence replaced with something closer to reluctant resignation. 

He looks utterly put upon, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, lips set in a pout. Every few steps, he kicks at loose pebbles on the road, sending them skittering ahead of him. You’d almost feel bad for him—almost. But then, you remember that this is a man who stole a crown, got caught, and is now bitter because someone played him at his own game. 

The smell of freshly baked bread drifts through the air, warm and inviting, mingling with the sharp scent of spices from a nearby stall. You stop in front of a small bakery, the wooden sign above it swaying slightly in the breeze. Through the open windows, trays of steaming loaves sit behind the counter, their crusts golden brown and crisp.

Satoru watches as you peer through the display, an unimpressed look on his face. “Wonderful,” he says. “I get blackmailed into helping you, and now we have to go grocery shopping. Truly, this is my lucky day.”

“We need supplies if we’re going to travel.” You glance at him, and roll your eyes. “Or do you plan on surviving on pure arrogance alone?”

He sighs dramatically, tossing his head back. “I’ve survived on worse. Once, I survived an entire week on nothing but stolen fruit and the will to be a menace to the commander of the Royal Guard.”

“That explains so much.” Ignoring his indignant huff, you step forward and exchange a few coins for a loaf of bread, still warm from the oven. The baker, a kindly old woman, gives you a small smile as she wraps it in cloth. You thank her and tuck the bundle into your bag. 

Satoru watches this process with the dismay of a man being forced to endure unimaginable hardship. Then, as if suddenly remembering something important, he straightens. “Speaking of which,” he says, tilting his head towards you, “where exactly is my crown?”

“Safe.”

“Where?”

“Hidden,” you say, and flash him a too-sweet smile.

Satoru groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re crazy. First, you rob me. Then, you blackmail me. And now, you’ve hidden my prized possession like some kind of—” He gestures vaguely at you, searching for the right words. “Some kind of tiny, feral leprechaun.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Think of it as collateral.”

“Oh, sure,” he mutters dryly. “Because trusting the person who stole from me is such a fantastic idea.”

“You stole it first.”

“So you’ve said. The point is, I need that crown.”

“Why?” you ask, raising a brow.

He hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, before flashing you his usual grin—teasing and entirely insincere. “Because it’s mine?”

You snort. “Try again.”

Satoru leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing some grand secret. “What if I told you it holds great sentimental value?”

“I’d tell you to stop lying to my face.”

“Wow,” he says, and then says your name, dragging out the last syllable. “So distrustful.”

You shake your head, adjusting the strap of your satchel. “If you do what you promised, I’ll give it back.”

He studies you, gaze flickering briefly to your satchel, as if he’s considering whether he could swipe it and make a run for it. (Not that it would be of any use, anyway, since you’ve hidden it underneath your mattress in your tiny little cottage.) Instead, he sighs, slouching forward like the weight of the world rests upon his shoulders, and mutters, “This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Not my fault you lost,” you sing-song.

“I almost had it,” he whines, but his lips twitch.

“But you didn’t.”

“What do you want to go to the capital for so badly, anyway?” He squints at you. “You’re dragging me halfway across the kingdom, blackmailing me with my own stolen goods, and for what? What could possibly be so important that you’d go through all this trouble?”

You hesitate. It’s not that you’re unwilling to tell him—it’s more that you know exactly how he’ll react. Still, you suppose there’s no avoiding it now. You clear your throat, keeping your gaze ahead as you walk. “I want to see the lantern festival.”

A beat, and then, Satoru stops dead in his tracks. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You heard me,” you grit out, already regretting having said anything.

The thief blinks at you, disbelieving, then throws his head back and laughs. It’s far too loud and obnoxious for your liking.

You whirl on him, scowling. “Stop that!”

“Oh, this is rich.” He wipes at his eye theatrically. “You mean to tell me that all this—” he gestures between the two of you— “was because you want to see some floating lights.”

“They’re not just floating lights,” you snap, folding your arms. “They’re magical.”

Satoru snickers. “Sure they are.”

“They do it in honour of the late queen. And not just anywhere—only in the capital. People travel from all over to see them.”

“Yes, and most people would travel from all over to avoid me, but here you are. Seriously, sweetheart, I thought you were on some grand, noble quest. Some life-or-death mission. But no. You just want to watch some fancy fireworks.”

“Forget it,” you huff, pushing past him. “I don’t need to justify myself to you.”

Satoru falls easily into step with you, still chortling to himself. “No, no, I think this is fantastic. Here I was, thinking you had some deep, tragic backstory—maybe an old lover waiting for you, a family secret, a kingdom to reclaim—but no. You just want to see a festival.”

“I happen to like beautiful things,” you tell him.

He hums. “So you do.”

There’s something in the way he says it that makes your steps falter, but when you glance back at him, his expression is unreadable. You quickly recover, jabbing a finger into his chest. “And don’t act like this is entirely my fault. You’re the one who stole the crown. If you weren’t a criminal, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“That’s a very unfair accusation. I am an entrepreneur.”

“You’re a thief.”

“A businessman.”

“An annoyance.”

He grins. “A charming gentleman.”

You groan, picking up your pace. “I can’t believe I’m stuck with you.”

“Oh, please.” He slings an arm around your shoulders, ignoring the way you stiffen. “We’re partners now, aren’t we? Off to see the lanterns, hand in hand, like something out of a fairy tale—”

You shrug him off and march forward, squaring your shoulders. Gojo Satoru is unbearable, but if he’s your only ticket out of this boring, provincial life, then you have no choice but to grit your teeth and stick it out. The cost will be worth the reward. 

The road stretches long and unbroken before you, a dirt path winding between fields and sparse woodland. You’ve seen this road before—when traders arrived at the village, when hunters returned from the mountains—but you’ve never set foot beyond it. 

Now, after years of watching others leave, you are the one walking away. You should feel relieved. Excited, even. 

Instead, you feel like an imposter. Like you’re wearing someone else’s skin.

Even your clothes don’t feel like your own. You’re used to sturdy village garments—worn tunics and skirts, softened by years of washing, familiar and comfortable. But now, you’re dressed for travel, and it feels unfamiliar. A dark green cloak, belted at the waist, drapes over your shoulders, its hem brushing against your ankles. Beneath it, you’ve chosen a linen shirt and brown trousers instead of a skirt—more practical, but strange. The boots on your feet are a size too big, borrowed from the village blacksmith, and though well-worn, they still rub uncomfortably against your heels.

Beside you, Satoru moves as if he owns the world, his long strides lazy. His clothes, though practical, have the distinct look of someone who wants to be looked at—worn leather boots, dark pants, a white tunic half-buttoned beneath a navy vest cinched at the waist. The coat hanging off his shoulders is long, lined with faded embroidery at the edges, the kind of detail that once belonged to something expensive before time and travel wore it down.

Unlike you, he looks completely at ease. As if he’s done this a thousand times before—which, of course, he has.

“I was expecting a little more enthusiasm,” Satoru comments. “Most people would kill for a trip to the capital with someone like me.”

You adjust the strap of your bag. “Most people would just kill you.”

“Ouch. That one actually hurt.”

“If only,” you mutter.

He chuckles, undeterred, and kicks a stray pebble along the path. You’ve been walking for over an hour, and he hasn’t stopped talking the entire time. It’s mostly been nonsense—complaints about the lack of decent taverns in your village, dramatic sighs about the state of his boots, and a running commentary on the tragedy of being forced to travel with someone so determinedly unfriendly.

“What exactly is your plan once we get there?” he asks. “Because I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but the capital isn’t as great as they make it sound.”

“I don’t need a plan,” you mumble. Truthfully, you have no idea, but you’re certain the answer will come to you. Somehow.

“Right, because winging it always works out well,” he says, looking at you like he’s waiting for you to react. He gets no such satisfaction—your eyes are fixed firmly on the road—and so, he ploughs on, “You know, it’s adorable how much faith you have in your ability to not get robbed, lost, or, I don’t know, arrested for trespassing.”

You let out a slow breath. “If I do get arrested, I’ll make sure to tell them where to find you.”

“Ah, but that would require you to know where I am. And I am a famously difficult person to pin down.”

You make a noise of irritation in the back of your throat, adjusting the strap of your bag. At this rate, you’re starting to think that letting him get caught might have been the better option.

By the time the sun has dipped below the horizon, the two of you reach the edge of the woods. The thick canopy overhead swallows the last of the daylight, leaving only streaks of violet and deepening blue through the gaps in the leaves. The path ahead is narrow and winding, the scent of damp earth and pine filling the air. Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls.

“This is it,” Satoru announces, dropping his bag on the ground. “Our humble abode for the night.”

“We could walk a little further,” you say, frowning.

“And risk running into something with fangs?” He plops onto the ground, resting back on his elbows. “No thanks.”

You sigh but don’t argue further, shrugging off your pack and kneeling down to clear a space for the fire. If you wait for Gojo Satoru to be useful, you’ll be waiting until your bones turn to dust. To your surprise, he doesn’t interfere. He simply sprawls out on the grass, watching as you gather dry leaves and kindling. 

“Watching you work feels kind of nice,” Satoru says, tapping a finger against his knee. “It’s like having a personal servant.”

You shoot him a glare. “Do you want to get stabbed?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says, and guffaws to himself.

Rolling your eyes, you focus on the fire, striking flint against steel until sparks catch in the dry grass. Slowly, the flames flicker to life, casting an amber glow over the clearing. Shadows stretch long and uneven, the trees shifting in the fire’s light. 

The thief sits up, brushing stray grass from his vest. “Alright. Time to find some food.”

“We have food,” you point out, nodding at your pack.

He makes a face. “We have bread. I, for one, refuse to live like a peasant.”

“You are a peasant,” you say, raising your eyebrows.

“Wrong,” he corrects. “I am a distinguished criminal.”

“Go starve in the woods, then.”

“Fine,” he huffs, standing up and dusting himself off, “but if I don’t come back, you have to live with the guilt.”

“I think I’ll manage.”

He mumbles something under his breath, but disappears into the trees anyway. You take the opportunity to sit back against your pack, stretching your sore legs and letting the warmth of the fire seep into your bones. Five minutes later, Satoru returns—only, he’s not alone. He sprints back into the clearing like a man being personally hunted by death itself, arms flailing as a blur of fur and claws barrels after him.

“What the—” You barely have time to sit up before Satoru dives behind you, using you as a human shield.

“Get it away from me,” he hisses, gripping your shoulders like his life depends on it.

Your eyes whip back to the so-called menace: A small, scruffy-looking cat with patchy grey fur, green eyes, and one torn ear. It stands by the edge of the firelight with its tail puffed up like a bottlebrush.

You blink. “Did… Did you just get chased by a cat?”

Satoru glares at you, panting. “That thing is deranged.”

The cat lets out a shrill mrrow and lunges. Satoru yelps, scrambling further behind you, but the little creature stops just short of pouncing and instead sits daintily by the fire, licking its paw like nothing happened. You stare at it. Then back at Satoru. Then back at the cat.

“Wow,” you say slowly, turning around to face the grown man cowering behind you. “You, the great Gojo Satoru, feared thief and most wanted man in the entire kingdom, are afraid of a stray cat?”

He scoffs, straightening up as though he hadn’t just used you to hide from a cat. “Afraid? As if. I just didn’t expect it to be so… fast.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It ambushed me.”

You glance at the cat, which is now lying on its side and stretching out luxuriously. It is, unarguably, the most harmless thing you’ve ever seen. You smirk. “I think I’ll keep him.”

Satoru gapes at you. “What? No! That thing has a personal vendetta against me.”

The cat looks up, makes direct eye contact with him, and flicks its tail in a deliberate motion. “Yeah,” you say, grinning, “I like him.”

Your companion groans, rubbing his face. “What are you going to name him?”

You tilt your head, considering. The cat gives an unimpressed meow and swipes a paw at your ankle, before it pads over to you, climbs onto your lap and turns around in a circle. It kneads your thigh before settling down. 

“Megumi,” you decide.

“Oh, come on.” Satoru lets out a strangled noise. “That thing is definitely not a blessing.”

Ignoring him, you scratch behind Megumi’s ears absentmindedly, reaching behind with your free hand and grabbing your pack. You undo the drawstring and pull out the loaf of bread; tearing out a chunk, you pop it into your mouth. The cat purrs in satisfaction, settling deeper into your lap.

Satoru watches this betrayal unfold with a deeply wounded expression. “I can’t believe this,” he mutters. “Two minutes ago, it was out for blood. Now it’s purring like it pays rent.”

You snort, tossing him a piece of bread. He catches it with ease but doesn’t eat it right away, instead tearing at the crust in distracted motions. The fire crackles between you, throwing warm golden light over his features, softening the sharp angles of his face.

You hesitate for only a moment before speaking. “Tell me a story.”

Satoru quirks a brow. “What, like a bedtime story?”

“No, idiot.” You roll your eyes. “Tell me about the capital. I’ve never been past my village.”

“...The capital, hm?” He shifts slightly, leaning back on his hands, and tilts his head skywards. For a moment, he’s quiet. The fire pops, and its glow dances over his cheekbones. Somewhere in the trees above you, an owl hoots. Then, he starts speaking.

“The capital is loud,” he says, “but not in a bad way. It’s the kind of noise that reminds you that you’re alive. The streets smell like roasted chestnuts, chocolate, and something sweet that I’ve never been able to place. No matter where you go, you’ll always be able to hear something—someone haggling in the market, children playing hopscotch, lovers whispering sweet nothings under balconies.”

His voice lowers, almost like he’s letting you in on a secret. “There’s this place, just past the main square. A bookshop, tucked between an apothecary and a tailor. You wouldn’t even notice if you weren’t looking. It’s small—cramped, really—but it smells like ink and old paper, and the owner never minds if you stay too long. When I was younger, I used to sit there for hours, reading about places I’d never been. I’d tell myself I’d see them all someday.”

“And then there’s the bridge,” he continues. “It stretches over the whole river, wide enough for carriages to pass, but if you go at the right time, just before dawn, it’s empty. You can stand in the middle and watch the whole city wake up—lamps flickering out, shutters creaking open, the sky turning from grey to pink to gold. It makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world, just for a little while.”

Satoru exhales, and there’s something wistful about the sound. When he looks at you again, there’s a lopsided smile playing on his lips. “Not bad for a bedtime story, huh?”

You blink, caught between the warmth of the fire and the warmth in his voice. “...Tell me more.”

He laughs, bright and careless. “You’re greedy.”

“Maybe.” You shrug, suppressing a smile.

“You’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” he says, leaning back fully and folding his hands behind his head. “If I tell you too much, you might decide you don’t need to see the capital for yourself, and I’d never get my crown back.”

You glance down at Megumi, still nestled comfortably in your lap, tail flicking lazily. Perhaps it’s the way the thief spoke about it, or maybe it’s the way you’ve always yearned for this, but the thought comes quietly, unbidden: I already want to see it more than ever.

Morning creeps up on you slowly, quietly, peacefully. The fire has burned down to embers, the air is crisp, and the forest hums with the comings-and-goings of woodland creatures. You are warm, bundled in your cloak, Megumi purring against your chest, and for once, Gojo Satoru is quiet.

It’s perfect. Until something snorts directly at your face.

Your eyes snap open just in time to see a giant, pinkish nose inches from your own. Then— Snort. A blast of hot air right into your face. You yelp, scrambling back, only to trip over Satoru’s arm and land hard on your side. The movement startles Megumi, who lets out an indignant yowl and bolts straight onto Satoru’s face, claws out.

“What the Hell—” The man jerks upright with a strangled sound, flailing as Megumi uses him as a launchpad and disappears into the trees. His vest is askew, his hair is sticking up at odd angles, and he looks utterly lost. “What—where—why does my face hurt— Who is attacking me?”

“That!” You point wildly at the culprit.

Standing at the edge of your makeshift campsite, staring you both down like a disappointed parent, is a massive white horse. At first, you’re confused—horses don’t live in the woods, you’re pretty sure. Then you see the crest of the royal family hanging off of its neck, and you grimace. His reins are hanging off the sides of his saddle; he seems like a runaway royal horse. He paws at the dirt, ears pinned back, looking every bit a soldier preparing to arrest a pair of criminals. 

Satoru blinks at him. Then at you. Then back at the horse. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

The horse huffs like he can’t believe he has to deal with this nonsense. Then, before either of you can react, he lunges straight for the thief.

“SUKUNA, NO!”

You barely manage to scramble out of the way as Satoru lets out an undignified squawk and rolls out of the way, narrowly avoiding being stomped. He barely has time to get to his feet before Sukuna lunges again, snapping at his cloak.

“What is your problem?!” Satoru screeches, holding his arms up defensively. “I didn’t even do anything—oh, my God—Stop—”

Sukuna does not stop. Instead, he clamps his teeth onto Satoru’s sleeve and drags him sideways.

“He’s arresting me!” Satoru howls, flailing as his feet skid in the dirt. “I’m being detained! Help!”

You double over in laughter. “I—think—he recognises you—”

“Oh, what gave it away? The way he’s dragging me to my demise?”

Sukuna whinnies like he’s insulted by the accusation. As if to prove a point, he yanks even harder—ripping Satoru clean off his feet. He lands on his back with a thud, groaning. Sukuna looms over him, nostrils flaring, clearly debating his next move. 

“Okay, okay. I surrender,” Satoru wheezes. “I hereby admit to all my crimes—past, present, and future. Just let me live.”

Sukuna snorts. Satisfied, he steps on Satoru’s stomach for good measure before backing off. You wipe tears from your eyes, your own stomach hurting from laughing too hard. “I think he hates you.”

Satoru groans, draping an arm over his face. “I think I have internal bleeding.”

Megumi, now safely perched atop a tree branch, lets out an approving meow. Sukuna steps back, looking incredibly pleased with himself. His ears flick forward, and he turns to you, huffing expectantly.

You tilt your head. “Oh. I think he likes me.”

“Oh, great,” Satoru says, lifting his head weakly from the ground. “Betrayed by my own travel companion.”

You ignore him, cautiously stepping forward and holding out a hand. Sukuna eyes you warily but doesn’t move away. “You just don’t like him, do you?” you murmur, glancing down at Satoru, who’s still groaning in the dirt.

Sukuna snorts. Satoru lifts a finger from where he’s lying. “That was unnecessary.”

“I think it was perfectly necessary,” you reply sweetly before turning back to Sukuna. He’s still watching you closely, but he doesn’t seem hostile. If anything, his tail flicks once, like he’s waiting for something. Slowly, carefully, you raise a hand to his nose. “You’re not so bad, are you?”

Sukuna leans in, taking a few experimental sniffs before—much to your delight—nudging your palm with his nose. Satoru lifts his head again, gaping at the scene unfolding in front of him. “What the Hell,” he says flatly. “I used to feed you when I was in the palace, you ungrateful beast.”

The horse flicks an ear, unimpressed. Then, as if to drive the point home, he lifts a hoof and kicks dirt in his direction. 

You barely stifle a laugh. “I don’t think he remembers you very fondly.”

Satoru groans. “This is what I get for trying to be a good person.”

“You’re a thief.”

“Details.”

You scratch gently at Sukuna’s muzzle, feeling the warm puff of his breath against your fingers. He allows the touch, nuzzling further into your palm. The royal crest on his bridle—the golden emblem of a sun against a dark blue background, the visage of light always conquering darkness—glints in the morning sun. It feels like a reminder of where exactly he’s from.

A warhorse. Loyal to the palace. Loyal to—

You glance at Satoru. He’s watching Sukuna with an expression you can’t quite place. Something distant. Something nostalgic.

“You’re from the palace, then?” you ask softly.

His usual bravado doesn’t come immediately. He props himself up on his elbows, staring at Sukuna like the horse is a relic from a past life—one he hadn’t expected to come face to face with again. “Yeah, ‘course,” he says. “Wouldn’t lie about that.”

Sukuna snorts, stepping closer to you. He’s massive, all muscle and barely-contained energy, and yet he stands still beneath your touch. 

“Did you ride him?”

“He wouldn’t let me.” Satoru scowls. “Little bastard always tried to bite me when I got near him.”

The horse huffs, as if to confirm this. You stroke his mane absently, and say, “He seems different now.”

“Yes, well—” Satoru finally gets to his feet, dusting himself off with a wince. “Guess we both are.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes you think he’s not telling you the whole truth. You decide not to push him further, curious though you may be. You let the silence settle between you both, the rustling of leaves filling the space where conversation might have been.

Finally, Satoru sighs. “Since he’s so smitten with you, does this mean we get a free ride to civilisation?”

“Maybe.” You glance at Sukuna.

“Wonderful!” Satoru says, clapping his hands. “Because I refuse to walk another ten miles while my organs are busy rearranging themselves from being trampled.”

“Let’s see if he’ll let us.” You pat Sukuna’s side reassuringly before turning towards the remnants of your campsite. 

The fire has long since dwindled into ash and embers, and your packs are haphazardly strewn about—likely due to your frantic wake-up earlier. Your bag is slumped against the base of a tree, close to where you’d left it. Satoru’s bag is nearby, though considerably messier. One of the straps is half-ripped, and the flap is barely secured. You pick it up, brushing off dirt and leaves.

“You live like this?” you ask, tossing it to him.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Satoru says. He fumbles but manages to catch it, just barely.

“You were cribbing about bread last night,” you remind him, slinging your own pack over your shoulder.

“I wasn’t begging. I was demanding my basic human right to a proper meal.”

Megumi, who had disappeared into the trees during Sukuna’s rampage, reappears, gracefully leaping down from a low-hanging branch. He lands neatly on the ground, flicks his tail, and gives you both what can only be described as the feline equivalent of the stink eye.

Satoru looks at him warily. “Are you sure he isn’t plotting revenge on us?”

“He likes me,” you say, crouching to scratch behind Megumi’s ears. The cat lets out a quiet purr, rubbing his head against your hand in approval.

“Of course, he does.”

“Don’t be jealous.”

Satoru mutters something under his breath that you couldn’t be bothered to listen to properly. You gently pick up Megumi and settle him into the crook of your arm. He doesn’t resist, curling up as if he’d rather not exert the effort to protest. Sukuna, who has been watching this entire exchange with the unimpressed air of a soldier waiting for incompetent recruits to finish fumbling, lets out a sharp huff and stomps his hoof.

You turn to him. “Okay, okay. I’m ready.”

“You know how to ride a horse, right?” Satoru asks, raising an eyebrow.

You pause. “...How hard can it be?”

“That’s not an answer—”

Satoru’s warning goes unheeded; you’re already marching towards Sukuna with the kind of confidence only possessed by someone who has no idea what they’re doing. You place a careful hand on the saddle and hoist yourself up. Or, well, you try to. Your foot barely catches on the stirrup before you wobble, losing balance. The next thing you know, you’re slipping straight off the other side. 

Satoru catches you before you can hit the ground, his hands firm around your waist. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You scowl, pushing yourself upright, but he doesn’t let go right away. You’re close enough to see the way the morning light catches in his eyes, the sharp blue softened by gold. His hands are warm where they steady you. You swallow thickly, suddenly aware of the heat creeping up the back of your neck.

Megumi, disgruntled from the movement, lets out a miffed meow. The spell breaks.

“Alright,” Satoru says. “Let’s try something else before you end up with a concussion.”

You glare at him, dusting off your sleeves as he turns to grab your packs. He ties them securely to the saddle, double-checking the knots before giving Sukuna an approving pat on the neck. The horse swishes his tail but remains otherwise still. Satisfied, Satoru turns back to you, hands on his hips. “Okay, up you go.”

Begrudgingly, you step closer, adjusting your hold on Megumi before reaching for the saddle. Satoru moves before you can think to protest, hands steady around your waist once more as he lifts you effortlessly onto the seat. You let out a startled breath, barely managing to swing your leg over the saddle before scrambling to adjust yourself. Your fingers grip the front of the saddle so tightly, the hard leather digs into your palms. Megumi, situated against your chest and in between your arms, flicks his tail against your face.

Sukuna shifts beneath you, muscles rippling underneath his sleek coat. You inhale deeply, trying to steady your nerves. You’ve never ridden a horse before.

The thought doesn’t sink in until you’re actually up here, perched atop a beast far larger and stronger than you, with only a few flimsy leather straps keeping you from falling to the ground. For all the bravado you’ve shown so far, you have to admit that you’re terrified.

“See?” Satoru drawls, stepping back. “Much better. Was that so scary?”

“No,” you lie.

The thief studies you for a moment, and then comments, “You’re a terrible liar.”

You give him a withering look, but he’s already moving—grabbing the front of the saddle and swinging himself up behind you in one smooth motion. 

“Satoru—!”

Your protest is cut short when he settles in, his chest pressing flush against your back. He’s warm—too warm (or is that you?)—and suddenly, all your attention is split between the solid, sturdy weight of him behind you, and the hands that reach around you, easily taking the reins. 

“Relax,” he says, voice lower than usual. “I’ll steer.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest, and you don’t think it has anything to do with the horse anymore. “I wasn’t scared,” you mutter, but there is no conviction in your voice, even to your own ears. 

Satoru leans in just slightly, breath ghosting against the side of your face. He chuckles, the sound reverberating against your back, and says, “I’m sure you weren’t.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you stay quiet, focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of Sukuna’s steps once he starts moving—and despite your determination to remain oblivious to Gojo Satoru and his presence, you can’t ignore the way his arms remain loosely draped around you, or the way he shifts ever so slightly when the horse moves, keeping you steady without saying a word. It’s natural, the way he adjusts to you, like he’s done it a thousand times before. Like he doesn’t even need to think about it.

The woods stretch ahead, quiet and endless, but all you can focus on is the sound of your own heartbeat, loud in your ears.

“Tell me more about the palace.”

The rhythmic sway of Sukuna beneath you is oddly soothing, each hoofbeat settling into a steady, lulling cadence. You tilt your head back slightly, feeling the warmth of Satoru’s chest where he sits behind you. His arms are still lightly caged around you, as he guides the reins like it’s second nature to him. Megumi, no longer content with being curled up against your chest, perches himself on the base of the horse’s neck, swiping lazily at Sukuna’s mane every now and then. The horse flicks his ears in annoyance but does not stop him.

Satoru hums, considering your request. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, eyes drifting upwards, towards the slivers of blue sky beneath the trees. “What was it like?”

“Well, it’s exactly what you’d expect,” he says. “Tall, grand, and filled with old men who love to hear themselves talk.”

You huff out a silent laugh. “Sounds charming.”

“Oh, it’s a real dream. The walls are lined with marble, the kind that catches the light just right in the mornings, almost as if the whole place is glowing. The halls stretch wider than some villages, with paintings hanging on the walls that tell stories older than anyone can remember. And the ceilings—” He shakes his head, his chin brushing against the back of yours. “So high it feels like you could reach the sky if you just climbed a little higher.”

There’s something distant in his voice, something wistful and melancholic and fond. “You make it sound very beautiful,” you say quietly.

“Because it is. It’s meant to be. A symbol of power—of control. A kingdom that shines so brightly, no one knows about the shadows it casts.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, but his expression is stony. That easy drawl of his is still there, but beneath it, something festers—and it makes you hesitate before you press further.

“And you?” you ask. “Where did you belong in all of that?”

Satoru exhales through his nose, a slow, measured sound. “Wherever they needed me.”

It’s not an answer, but it tells you enough. You let the silence stretch, waiting to see if he will offer more. He does.

“The training grounds were always my favourite.” His voice drops slightly, thoughtful. “They were tucked away behind the east wing, away from all the silk and the gold. You could hear the clash of swords from sunrise to sundown.” He pauses, then adds, almost to himself, “You never forget the sound.”

A soldier, you think. Or something close to it. It makes sense—the way he carries himself; the way he moves, like he’s always aware of every possible escape route; the way he knows so much about the kingdom and the capital.

You don’t say it out loud, though. Instead, you ask, “Did you like it?”

“I liked knowing what was expected of me.” A beat of silence, and then, “But I was never very good at following orders.”

A soft breeze cuts through the trees, rustling the leaves and cooling the warmth of the sun against your skin. “Is that why you left?” you ask carefully.

Satoru chuckles, but there’s no real humour to the sound. “Oh, I didn’t leave.” His fingers tighten around the reins, just a little. “I was sent away.”

The words are heavy. You don’t push. Sukuna continues forward, steady and unbothered, the sound of his hooves filling the silence that follows. You focus on the road ahead, on the sunlight filtering through the trees, on Satoru’s warmth behind you.

When he finally speaks again, voice lighter, teasing, you let him steer the conversation away. Somehow, you get the sense that when he’s ready, he’ll tell you the rest.

The afternoon sun begins to dip, casting long shadows through the trees. The road ahead winds towards the hills, where a small village is nestled between the slopes. You’ll have to pass through it to get to the capital, according to Satoru. Smoke rises lazily from the chimneys, the scent of burning wood and roasting meat carrying faintly on the breeze.

Satoru shifts slightly. “Looks like we’ve made it before sundown.”

Megumi meows, flicking his tail before settling back down; you reach forward and scratch in between his ears, absent-mindedly. The thought of a warm meal and a real bed makes your shoulders sag with relief. The past few nights have been spent beneath open skies, wrapped up in your cloak that barely keeps the chill away.

“You think we’ll find an inn?” you ask, glancing behind.

“Unless it’s run by a hermit who hates money, yeah,” Satoru says. “Though I wouldn’t count on a royal welcome.”

That much is obvious. Travellers are rare in villages like these—strangers even more so. Your presence will not go unnoticed.

As you pass the first row of wooden houses, heads begin to turn. A blacksmith, hammer paused mid-swing, watches you warily from his forge. A woman gathering water casts a cautious glance before whispering something to the child at her side. Even the baker, hands dusted in flour, spares you a lingering look.

Satoru doesn’t seem fazed. “Friendly place.”

“Maybe they’d be friendlier if you weren’t grinning like you had a bounty on your head,” you mutter.

“I think we both know they wouldn’t be wrong about that.”

That sends a sharp prickle down your spine. You don’t respond.

The village square is small, paved with uneven stone and lined with merchant stalls. Most are already closed for the day, wooden shutters drawn and lanterns lit. Near the far edge, tucked between a tailor’s shop and a grain store, stands an inn. The wooden beams are weathered with age, but the sign above the entrance is freshly painted—The Fuzzy Duckling, it reads, complete with a crude drawing of a yellow duck underneath. The scent of stew and ale wafts through the open doorway.

Satoru nudges Sukuna to the stable. “We’ll rest here.”

You dismount first, stretching your legs as Satoru swings down beside you. Megumi jumps off the horse’s back and lands gracefully on the thief’s shoulder. 

The inn is dimly lit, the glow of lanterns casting flickering silhouettes. The scent of firewood, damp earth, and something vaguely sweet lingers in the air. It’s fairly empty, though you suspect that’s just because of the early hour. Wooden tables and stools lay barren, with empty tin jugs placed on each table. Behind the counter, a man leans lazily against the wall, watching you both with sharp, hooded eyes. His dark hair is slicked back, and there’s a faint scar on his jawline. He doesn’t say anything as he steps forward.

“Hey, hey, look who it is!” Satoru grins, though, by now, you’ve spent enough time with him to know it’s fake. “If it isn’t my favourite innkeeper, Shiu. Did’ya finally get rid of all the mould growing in your wine cellar? I don’t know if it was the mould or the age, but it sure tasted weird the last time I was here.”

Shiu smirks. “Been wonderin’ when you’d show up again, Gojo.”

You look between them, sensing familiarity, though not necessarily the friendly kind. “We need a room,” Satoru says, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Think you can manage that, old man?”

“Call me that again,” Shiu says, “and I’ll leave you to sleep outside with the horse. The lady will get a room for free, of course.”

You tense at his words, not enjoying the way the man’s gaze rakes over your body before settling back to Satoru. You get the feeling the thief notices too, because he moves closer to you, shoulder brushing against yours. “Ah, well,” he says. “I’m afraid that’s not negotiable.”

“Relax,” the innkeeper says. “I’m not a skirt-chaser. You can keep your woman with you. Room’s at the end of the hall. Payment upfront.”

Satoru flicks a coin onto the counter. Shiu catches it easily, giving it a quick once-over before pocketing it. As Satoru turns towards the stairs, something catches your eye near the entrance—sheets of parchment tacked to a wooden board. Your eyes snag on one in particular. 

A wanted poster.

The ink is bold despite the crumpled paper. The sketch is rough but unmistakable—wild white hair, sharp features, a grin that barely conceals its arrogance.

WANTED—DEAD OR ALIVEREWARD: 100 GOLD COINS

Your stomach twists. Satoru follows your gaze and sighs. “Damn. They just can’t get my nose right.”

“This isn’t funny,” you whisper.

“It’s a little funny.” Satoru’s grin widens, but you don’t miss the tautness in his shoulders. He nudges you gently towards the stairs. “Come on, let’s get some rest.”

Shiu watches you both go, smiling, but his gaze follows too long for comfort. Your chest constricts. The room at the end of the hall is small but serviceable—one bed, a rickety wooden chair, and a window with a view of the village square outside. The floor creaks under your boots as you step inside. Megumi jumps onto the bed immediately, curling up near the pillows, flicking his tail once before settling.

Satoru stretches with a groan, rolling his shoulders. “Cozy.”

You sigh, pressing your forehead against the cool windowpane. The village outside is quiet, bathed in early moonlight, but the unease gnawing at your stomach refuses to fade. “I don’t like this,” you murmur. “The way Shiu looked at you—”

“He always looks at me like that,” the thief says, sounding far too chipper than he probably should.

“Satoru.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “We won’t stay long. You can take the bed. I’ll use the chair.”

The exhaustion from days on the road pulls at your limbs. You don’t bother arguing; sleep finds you much faster than expected.

You wake to the sound of boots in the hallway. Your breath catches. This isn’t the usual creak of old wood settling—this is deliberate. Heavy. Purposeful.

Your eyes dart to Satoru. He’s already awake, sitting rigid on the chair, blue eyes alert even in the darkness. His hand moves instinctively to his belt, where he’d shown you his dagger rests a day back, hidden.

A knock echoes against the door.

“Room service,” Shiu’s oily voice drawls from the other side.

Your blood runs cold. Satoru doesn’t answer. He tilts his head, listening. You strain your ears too, heart hammering—there’s a faint shift of fabric. The sound of leather gloves flexing. Someone adjusting their grip on a sheathed blade.

Satoru curses under his breath. “Son of a—”

The crash comes a second later.

The door splinters inward, sending shards of wood flying. You barely manage to roll off the bed before a knife thuds into the headboard where you had just been lying. A figure stands in the ruined doorway: Tall, broad, dressed in black. A jagged scar cuts across the side of his mouth.

You don’t recognise him, but Satoru does. His entire posture shifts—his usual cocky, easygoing stance sharpens, muscles tensing. A slow, tight exhale leaves him as he pushes himself to his feet.

The man in the doorway tilts his head, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips. You can just make out a jagged scar cutting across his mouth. “Been a while, Gojo,” he says.

Satoru’s lips press together in a thin line. “Not long enough.”

You glance between them, a creeping unease settling in your bones. Whoever this man is, Satoru knows him—and he doesn’t like him. The stranger takes a lazy step forward, boots crunching over the splintered wood. His eyes, dark and unreadable, flick to you for a moment before settling back on Satoru. “Didn’t think you’d be dumb enough to walk back in here, with a beautiful lady by your side and a bounty on your head, too. Guess you really wanted to see me again.”

“Trust me, Fushiguro—” Satoru’s jaw ticks— “I’d rather be anywhere but here.”

Fushiguro. The name means nothing to you, but the way Satoru spits it out like a curse sends a prickle of warning down your spine. The man clicks his tongue, his smirk widening. He twirls another dagger in his fingers, casual, lazy. “Did I wake you? Sorry to have disturbed your evening, but—”

Satoru moves faster than breath, grabbing your wrist and yanking you back towards the window just as another blade whizzes past his ear, missing him by an inch. Megumi hisses, darting into your arms and scrabbling onto your shoulder. You don’t even feel the pain where his claws dig into your skin.

Fushiguro lets out a low, amused chuckle. “Running already? C’mon now, Gojo. You’re making this too easy.”

Satoru kicks the window open. “Hold onto me.”

“What—”

And then he jumps.

The wind rushes past as the two of you and the cat drop down, the world blurring around you. You barely register the impact—Satoru lands with a practiced roll, keeping you close, his arms tight around you as he shifts the force of the landing onto himself. Your pulse is roaring in your ears.

Above, Fushiguro leans lazily out of the open window, tilting his head condescendingly. “You’re just making this more fun.”

Satoru doesn’t wait. He grabs your wrist and runs. The streets are quiet, the village mostly asleep, but your footfalls pound against the dirt. Behind you, you hear the faint creak of wood—Fushiguro dropping down from the second story without a sound, graceful as a damn cat.

The thief yanks you towards the stables. “Get Sukuna. Now.”

You don’t argue. The stable doors slam open as you shove inside. Sukuna snorts, stomping his hooves in agitation. You fumble for the reins. “What about—”

Satoru turns just as Fushiguro appears in the doorway. Everything slows.

The light from the lanterns flickers against his dark silhouette. He’s alone, not a single other mercenary in sight. But somehow, that makes it worse. In the darkness, it feels like he’s pressing down on the space, filling every corner, every shadow.

“You didn’t bring backup?” Satoru taunts. “I’m insulted.”

“Didn’t need any,” the bounty hunter grunts.

He moves—a flash of steel—and Satoru shoves you back. The blade slices through the air where his throat had been a second before. He ducks low, twisting away, and kicks. His foot slams against Fushiguro’s side, sending him skidding back a step—but Fushiguro barely reacts, barely blinks, like he had been expecting it.

He strikes again. You barely see the knife coming before Satoru dodges, his movements sharp and fluid. The stable door splinters as the blade embeds itself in the wood.

Satoru grits his teeth. “Go!”

But you—curse your damn cowardice—hesitate. Fushiguro notices. His foot pivots—he lunges for you. A flash of fear tightens in your chest—

But Satoru is there. He grabs Fushiguro’s wrist mid-strike, twisting it brutally. Fushiguro growls as Satoru hurls him backwards, sending him crashing into a pile of hay bales.

“Get on the damn horse,” Satoru orders, breathless. He swings himself onto Sukuna’s back, pulling you up after him, Megumi leaping onto the horse in time with you. 

You barely have time to wrap your arms around his waist before he kicks off. Sukuna surges forward, hooves pounding against the dirt road as you tear through the village, leaving the inn—and the very pissed-off bounty hunter—behind.

Behind you, there’s a sound—something sharp, fast—whistling through the air. Satoru jerks the reins, pulling sharply to the side. A blade embeds itself into the wooden post just ahead of you, still quivering from the force of impact.

“Shit,” the thief breathes. “He’s not giving up.”

You don’t look back. You don’t dare to. The village gate is just ahead. If you can get past it, you might have a chance of losing him. Megumi wails, digging his claws into your cloak, ears flat against his head.

Satoru leans forward. “Come on, come on—”

Sukuna bursts out of the gates. Fushiguro curses loudly behind you, but it sounds far away, swallowed down by the horse’s thunderous galloping. You tighten your grasp around Satoru and squeeze your eyes shut. (You might be imagining it, but you swear you feel one of his hands cover your own, a gentle brush of his palm against the back of yours.)

The fire crackles weakly, providing warmth against the cold night air. Sukuna, exhausted from his earlier run, tucks his legs underneath himself and settles down near it. Megumi curls up next to him and begins washing himself. The stream nearby gurgles and bubbles merrily.

The fight is over, the adrenaline long faded, but still, the stress of it all loiters like a phantom pressing against your ribs. Your shoulder throbs now, where the cat had dug his claws into the skin, but thankfully, it isn’t bleeding. Your hands are shaking. You dig your fingers into the earth, trying to steady yourself. 

Satoru stands a few feet away, pacing, his boots crushing twigs and dried leaves. His breath comes fast and hard, back rigid with frustration. His coat is torn at the shoulder, and there’s a thin line of blood trailing down his forearm.

You should say something. Thank him, maybe. Apologise. But the words stay stuck in your throat.

“What the fuck what that?”

You flinch, but his voice keeps coming, sharp and cutting.

“You froze—I told you to move, and you just stood there.” His hands come up, then drop to his sides. “You could’ve died.”

You bite your lip, shame curling hot beneath your skin, but his anger makes something inside you snap. “I was caught off-guard—”

“No shit!” he bites out. “You don’t get to be caught off-guard, not in the middle of a fight!”

“I didn’t ask to be in a fight!” you snap. “I’m not—” You exhale sharply, hands curling into fists. “I’m not like you, Gojo. I’m not a fucking thief who’s used to running for my life every other night.”

His jaw tightens. “So it’s my fault now?”

“Isn’t it?” You throw your arms out. “If you weren’t on the face of every damn wanted poster from here to the mountains, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

Satoru lets out a bitter, humourless laugh. “Right. Because I’m the one who dragged us into this.”

“You are—”

“No,” he cuts in, eyes flashing. “If it wasn’t for your stupid, fucking dream, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

The words slam into you like a fist to the gut. A cold wind rustles through the leaves, stirring the dying fire. Sukuna neighs lowly from where he’s sat near the flames, but you barely hear him over the ringing in your ears.  

Your stupid, fucking dream. The dream you’d held onto for years, the one that had kept you going, had pushed you forward through every hardship. Your throat tightens. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, it’s not fair? You had no idea what you were asking for when you dragged me along on this little adventure of yours. Now, we’re running for our lives in the middle of nowhere, because you had to see some damn lanterns.”

The way he says it—like your dream is nothing more than a childish whim—makes something ugly twist inside you. “You know what, Gojo?” Your voice shakes, but not from fear. “At least I have a dream.”

His expression darkens.

“At least I want something, something that isn’t just running and stealing and barely surviving,” you press on, chest heaving. “But you? What do you want, Satoru? Huh?” You step closer, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Do you even have an answer, or are you just going to keep laughing everything off like you always do?”

His lips part, but no words come out. For the first time since you’ve met him, Gojo Satoru is speechless. But it only lasts a second. His gaze flickers, something unreadable flashing through his eyes before his mask slams back into place. He lets out a sharp breath, his expression twisting into something cruel.

“You think you’re better than me?” He steps forward now, and you don’t back away. “You think just because you’ve got some dream, you’re any different?” His voice lowers, turning razor-sharp. “Let me tell you something, sweetheart—dreams don’t mean shit when you’re dead.”

Your breath hitches.

“Out here, it’s about surviving. That’s it.” He gestures between you. “And the only reason you’re still breathing is because I’ve been watching your back.”

You hate that he’s right. You hate that you froze. You hate that, for all your fighting words, you hadn’t been able to do anything when it mattered most. Perhaps worst of all, you hate that he saw.

Satoru exhales, shaking his head. “Forget it,” he says. “I’m going to get food.”

He turns and stalks off into the woods. You don’t call after him, because you don’t trust your voice not to break. The moment Satoru disappears into the trees, the night feels oppressive, like the darkness is closing in on you. 

You stand there for a long time, fists clenched at your sides, staring at the spot where he walked off. Sukuna shifts in his sleep. Megumi’s breathing is slow and even. You should rest. You should scrounge through whatever leftover supplies you have from your village and find something to eat.

But your chest feels tight, like there’s a rope around your ribs, pulling, pulling— With a shuddering inhale, you turn and walk towards the stream.

The water is cold when you dip your fingers in, crouching beside it. The icy surface reflects the moon’s pale light. You stare at your own reflection, at the way your lips tremble, at the redness creeping into your eyes. You squeeze them shut. It’s fine. You’re fine.

You press the heels of your palms against your eyes, willing the burning away. But the second you take a shaky breath, it hits you all at once—the fear, the frustration, the exhaustion weighing on your bones. A choked sound leaves your throat before you can stop it.

You shouldn’t be crying. You don’t want to cry, but the argument replays in your mind over and over—Satoru’s voice laced with anger, the way he threw your dream back in your face like it was nothing. 

He doesn’t understand, you think. But is he right?

What were you thinking? That you could drag a thief to the capital and expect everything to go smoothly? That the world would just let you chase your dream, no consequences, no danger? Maybe your dream really is foolish. Maybe you are naïve for believing that you could just waltz into the capital and see the lantern festival without any repercussions. Maybe—just maybe—Gojo Satoru regrets ever having met you.

The thought makes something inside you crack, the pressure behind your eyes spilling over. A broken sob escapes, and then another, your shoulders shaking as you press a hand against your mouth, desperate to smother the sounds.

A hand lands on your shoulder. You suck in a sharp breath, jerking away, heart racing—

“It’s just me.” The voice is quiet but unmistakable.

Your breath stutters. Satoru crouches beside you. His presence is warm despite the chill in the air, and you realise now how cold you’ve gotten, how your legs have gone numb from sitting in the same position for too long.

You quickly wipe at your eyes, turning away. “Go away, Satoru.”

He doesn’t. Instead, he sighs heavily and shifts so he’s sitting right next to you, close enough that his knee bumps against yours. “I’m sorry,” he says, finally. “I was a dick.”

You blink.

“I mean, I’m usually a dick,” he continues, gazing at the water, resting his elbows on his knees. “But that was… excessive. I didn’t mean—” He stops. Tries again. “Your dream isn’t stupid.”

Your voice is small when you ask, “Then why did you say that?”

“I just… When you froze back there—” His voice is quieter now, almost hoarse. “I thought you were gonna die.”

You swallow hard. He murmurs, “I’ve seen people freeze like that before. And they didn’t walk away from it.”

“I did walk away,” you whisper, not sure if it’s the right thing to say.

“Yeah.” He turns his head, meeting your eyes properly for the first time since the fight. “You did.”

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you—like he’s seeing you for the first time. Or, maybe, like he’s seeing too much. You don’t know who moves first, but his hand is covering yours, warm and solid. His grip is hesitant at first, but when you don’t pull away, his fingers tighten around yours. You squeeze his hand back. Neither of you speak.

The fire crackles behind you. The water rushes softly. The moon watches from above.

Gojo Satoru, you think, is an enigma wrapped in glib promises and endless grins. You wonder if it’s his coping mechanism. He’s intelligent, quick-witted and silver-tongued. He’s good at fighting. You want to ask him why they sent him away from the palace, but you don’t think you have the right to. He always seems torn about it, when he’s spoken to you about it before—like it’s a bittersweet part of his life that he’s not very keen on revisiting.

He must have been something before turning to thievery. You stare at him like he’s a particularly intriguing puzzle, walking next to him. He guides Sukuna loosely by the reins; only Megumi is perched on his back, you and Satoru having favoured your own two feet instead of the back aches and leaden legs that come with extended periods of horseback riding.

“If you wanted to stare at my face so badly, I could’ve nicked the wanted poster back at Shiu’s inn,” Satoru says, not bothering to look at you.

Your cheeks prickle with heat. “I wasn’t staring,” you mumble.

The night air is cool against your skin; the wind carries the scent of damp earth and distant firewood, the kind of smell that reminds you of home—though, truthfully, you’re not sure what home even is to you anymore. Maybe it’s the road beneath your feet, the anticipation and uncertainty that comes with weeks of travel. Maybe it’s this: Walking beside a thief who used to be something more, who still is something more, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself otherwise.

Satoru doesn’t say anything for a long time, but his arm brushes against the side of yours, familiar in a way that’s almost comforting. The dirt path winds through the trees. The occasional torch flickers in the distance, marking the outskirts of the city. Sukuna snorts softly, and Megumi’s ears twitch as he scans the darkness ahead.

Eventually, Satoru speaks again. “It’s rude to stare and not share your thoughts.”

“I was just thinking,” you huff.

“Dangerous pastime.”

You kick a loose pebble from the path. “I was thinking about you.”

He makes a low, amused sound in his throat. “How nice of you. I knew you liked me, but I didn’t think I occupied your thoughts so thoroughly.”

You don’t rise to the bait this time. “I was thinking,” you say, “about what you were before this. You told me once you were from the palace, but you never really told me why they sent you away.”

Satoru is quiet for a moment. The leaves rustle around you, and you tug your cloak tighter around your shoulders.

“They trained me to be a soldier,” he says, finally, softly. “Me and—” He stops, swallowing the words like they taste bitter.

“And…?” You prompt. Your steps slow.

His grip tightens around the reins. “And someone else,” he finishes. “My best friend.”

The way he says it makes your chest ache. Satoru clears his throat and continues, “They trained us young. Said we had a gift for it. A gift for war, for strategy and battle.” He laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “But a soldier only has value if he follows orders. And I wasn’t very good at that.”

You don’t push him to say more, though questions press against the tip of your tongue. The capital looms closer, the distant glow of lanterns casting an orange hue against the horizon. The trees begin to thin, giving way to rolling hills and farmland. In the distance, you can just make out the towering walls that guard the city, their stone surfaces illuminated by torches.

As you near the outer gates, the sleepiness of the countryside fades into the vibrant pulse of the capital. Even at this late hour, the city is alive, breathing, stretching its limbs in the form of flickering lights and distant laughter. You can hear the clatter of hooves against cobblestone, the occasional shout of a merchant still trying to haggle his wares, raucous debates from the inside of taverns. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine, of damp stone and burning oil. It’s overwhelming in a way that makes your head spin and your chest tighten with something too big to name.

The capital. Your dream.

Satoru slows Sukuna to a halt just before the stone walls of the capital, guiding him off the main road and into the cover of a surrounding thicket. You follow, ducking beneath low-hanging branches. The trail here is narrow and overgrown, winding through the roots of old trees. Sukuna moves easily, his hooves barely making a sound against the packed dirt. When the city walls finally loom ahead, Satoru pulls on the reins, bringing the stallion to a stop beneath the shadows of an ancient oak.

“This is where we part ways,” the thief says, patting lightly on Sukuna’s saddle.

Megumi’s dark ears twitch, catching every sound, his green eyes narrowing at the imposing walls. The cat hops off the horse’s back. He’s been tense since you approached the capital; he doesn’t like unfamiliar places, and the sprawling city is anything but. 

Satoru tugs the reins over Sukuna’s head and leads him to a sturdy tree, securing him with deft hands. He runs a palm along the stallion’s neck in reassurance before crouching to do the same with Megumi. The cat lets out a mrow but doesn’t resist when Satoru scratches him behind his torn ear.

“You stay here and watch Sukuna, yeah? Be good,” he says, tapping him once on the head before straightening and unhooking your weather-beaten packs tied to Sukuna’s saddle and tossing them over his shoulder.

“You’re leaving them here?” you ask, glancing between the horse and the cat. It feels strange to abandon them at the outskirts, but you suppose it would be impossible to smuggle a massive stallion and a stray cat through the streets of the capital.

“Not leaving,” Satoru explains. “Just letting them sit this one out. Sukuna’s too big, and Megumi doesn’t care for crowds.”

You hesitate. Satoru doesn’t give you time to dwell on it, already striding ahead. You follow him through a break in the trees, slipping past the walls through a hidden opening you never would’ve noticed on your own. The dirt beneath your feet slowly gives way to stone and lamp-light. 

By the time you emerge into the streets, the towering stone walls are behind you, replaced by the overwhelming grandeur of the inner city.

You barely notice the way your breath catches in your throat, too preoccupied with taking it all in. The streets are narrower here, winding and twisting, labyrinth-like. The buildings loom taller than any you’ve ever seen, their façades adorned with intricate carvings and delicate ivy creeping up the sides. Ornate balconies overlook the streets, their silk curtains swaying with the breeze, and the warm glow of candlelight flickers in every window.

A vendor still lingers at his stall, selling roasted chestnuts wrapped in parchment, the rich scent making your stomach grumble faintly. A group of masked performers twirls in the city square, their laughter bright and musical. A nobleman in embroidered silks strides past with a pretty woman on his arm, their voices hushed as they slip into a gilded carriage.

It’s stupendous.

You don’t realise how close you’ve pressed to Satoru, your shoulder pressing into his arm. He notices, of course—he notices everything—but he doesn’t comment. He simply keeps moving, weaving through the crowd with the sort of confidence that only comes with someone who has walked these streets their entire life.

“Stick close,” Satoru tells you. “It’s easy to get lost if you don’t know your way around.”

The deeper into the city you go, the grander the architecture becomes. The modest stone buildings give way to towering structures of marble, their columns wrapped in flowering vines, their streets lined with lush greenery and carved statues. The roads widen, no longer cramped and twisting, but sprawling and lined with golden lanterns. Then—

Your breath stutters as you step into an open courtyard, and there, standing tall and regal under the silver glow of the moon, is the palace.

It’s massive, far grander than you ever could have imagined. White stone gleams under the warm lights, intricate carvings adorning every arch and column. The banners of the royal family ripple in the cool night breeze, deep blue with the yellow royal sigil against the ivory walls. The golden spires reach towards the heavens, their tips catching the light of the stars, as if they themselves are part of the sky.

Awe roots you to the spot. For years, you’ve dreamed of this place; of seeing it with your own eyes. Now that you’re here, it doesn’t feel real.

Satoru stops beside you, watching you quietly, blue eyes twinkling. With a smile curling at his lips, the thief tilts his head towards you and murmurs, “Well, sweetheart. Welcome to the capital.”

Satoru says he knows a place where both of you can spend the next three days until the lantern festival commences. You don’t believe him, especially after what happened the last time with Shiu and the bounty hunter. He had glared at you, deeply affronted, said, “Your lack of faith in me is appalling,” and then proceeded to lead you back towards the inner city.

“Remember that bookshop I was telling you about?” he asks, rounding a corner. 

“I remember,” you say.

“The former owner’s son runs it now,” Satoru says. “He’ll let us stay there.”

You don’t deign to reply, still drinking in everything—the towering buildings, the banners hanging from balconies, the cobblestone streets that shine under the flickering lights. Shopfronts boast their trinkets and fine silks, while street vendors call out to passersby, offering skewers of sizzling meat and honey-dipped pastries. 

It’s strange. The world you have known until now has always been smaller. Quieter. Even in the busiest towns, even in the places where merchants and travelers gathered, there was never anything like this. The capital, you think, is a city that never sleeps; a city that belongs to people like Satoru—people who thrive in movement, in laughter, in places where the streets are never empty and there’s always something new waiting around the corner.

You tune out the thief talking beside you. He’s rambling about something, making some quip about your starry-eyed expression. The city is so alive, so rich with colour and movement, that it fills every space in your mind.

A sharp tug at your wrist yanks you back just as a carriage rushes past, wheels rattling violently against the stones where you’d been standing a second ago. The force of it stirs your cloak, wind whistling against your cheek. The shock of it doesn’t register right away. You stumble, your body pulled by something—someone—solid and hard.

Satoru’s arm is firm around your waist, his fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist where he pulled you. The warmth of him is undeniable, even through layers of fabric. He holds you against him, close enough that you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. Your breath is stuck somewhere in your throat, heart pounding against your ribs. You hadn’t even noticed you’d stepped into the carriage’s path, hadn’t realised how dangerously close you’d come to being trampled beneath its wheels.

Satoru exhales slowly above you, his grip tightening for a brief second before relaxing. “Gawking at the scenery is nice and all, but I’d rather not have to scrape you off the road.”

“I wasn’t gawking,” you mumble, more out of reflex than actual protest. Your stomach flips, though whether it’s from embarrassment or something else entirely, you’re not sure.

“You were,” he murmurs, but the teasing lilt in his voice is absent. His fingers, still wrapped around your wrist, loosen just slightly—but he doesn’t let go.

Instead, his grip shifts. His fingers slide down, intertwining with yours, palm pressing firmly against your own. He’s holding your hand. A warmth unfurls inside your chest, one that you don’t quite know how to name.

The two of you weave through the crowd like that, his fingers still tangled with yours, warmth bleeding into your skin with every step.

Satoru doesn’t let go until you round the next corner. The streets narrow, becoming quieter. The clamour of the main road fades behind you, replaced by the occasional murmur of voices from dimly-lit taverns and the sound of the wind rustling through laundry lines strung between buildings. The air smells of damp stone, faintly sweet and petrichor-like.

You clear your throat, trying to ignore the persisting warmth of Satoru’s touch even after he lets go. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he continues ahead. You wonder how often he’s taken this path—how many times he’s disappeared into the quiet corners of the city, both as a thief and as a soldier-in-training.

Eventually, he stops in front of a small, weathered shop tucked between a tailor’s boutique and an apothecary. The wooden sign above the door sways slightly in the breeze, the faint, worn lettering just barely readable. Nanami’s Books.

It doesn’t look like much from the outside. The wooden shutters are drawn, the paint on the door slightly chipped, but there’s something sturdy about it—something dependable, like it’s been here for years, and will remain standing for years to come. A single candle flickers behind the window, casting a warm glow through the glass.

Satoru raps his knuckles against the door. “Nanami,” he calls, sing-song.

The door creaks open, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man with blond hair, wearing a crisp, white tunic, and an expression so unimpressed, one would think Satoru had just asked to rob the place. “No.”

“Nanami,” Satoru coos, grinning.

“No,” Nanami repeats, firmer this time, as if sheer repetition will make him disappear.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

Nanami sighs wearily, bringing up a hand and rubbing tiredly at his forehead. “You’re going to ask if you can stay here.”

Satoru places a hand over his chest, wounded. “What, no warm welcome? No, ‘Satoru, my dear friend, I’ve missed you’?”

“I’ve never said that to you in my life.”

“The lack of hospitality here is astounding.”

Nanami does not dignify that with a response. Instead, his gaze shifts to you. His scrutiny is wary but not unkind, expression flickering with mild curiosity. You shift slightly under his gaze, unsure of what he’s looking for.

“You’re new,” he says.

You nod. “First time in the capital.”

“And what trouble has Gojo dragged you into?”

The corners of your mouth lift up in a smile; Nanami seems like someone you can get along with—a kindred spirit in the art of pushing Gojo Satoru’s buttons. The thief, of course, doesn’t share the same sentiment. He gasps, offended, and says, “Why do you assume it’s trouble?”

“Are you really asking me that?” the bookshop owner asks dryly. He sighs, visibly considering whether allowing Satoru into his home is worth the inevitable headache. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, a gesture that suggests this is not the first time he’s found himself in this exact situation. “How long do you plan on staying here?”

“Two nights,” Satoru answers. “Just until the festival.”

“Fine.” Nanami’s shoulders slump as he reluctantly steps aside. “But if you so much as breathe near my ledger—”

“You’re the best.” Satoru claps a hand on his shoulder before he can finish, flashing a triumphant grin. Nanami, on the other hand, looks like he instantly regrets his decision.

Inside, the bookshop is lit by candlelight, the scent of parchment and ink thick in the air. Shelves stretch from floor to ceiling, packed with books that look well-loved and well-worn. The floorboards creak softly underfoot, and a single lamp flickers on the counter beside an open ledger, its pages filled with neath, meticulous handwriting.

“The loft is upstairs,” Nanami says, rubbing his temples. “Try not to destroy anything.”

“No promises,” Satoru says cheerfully.

You follow him up the narrow staircase, stepping into the small loft above the shop. The space is simple—two mattresses perpendicular to each other, pushed against the wall, a low table, and a window overlooking the street below. Dust lingers in the corners, the scent of old parchment soaked into the very walls. There’s no extravagance here, nothing grand or gilded, but it’s warm and lived-in.

Satoru throws himself onto a mattress with no ceremony, arms spread as he sighs dramatically. “See?” he says, peering up at you. “Told you I knew a place.”

You roll your eyes, but despite yourself, a small smile tugs at your lips.

You wake up to the sounds of an argument in the shop below. The mattress is lumpy and a little hard, but it beats sleeping on the forest floor with nothing but your cloak separating you from the cold earth. Satoru’s mattress looks the same as it did last night—the covers placed meticulously and tucked into the sides, the pillow not creased, as though he hadn’t slept at all. A quick glance around the loft leads you to find a wooden basin filled with water. You pad over to it and splash your face once, twice. The water is cool against your skin. You rub the gunk out of your eyes.

It seems the argument isn’t going to abate anytime soon. Nanami’s voice rises, and, cautiously, you make your way out of the door and pad over to the top of the staircase so you can hear better. 

“You’re a fool,” the bookshop owner says. “I told you that months ago, and yet here you are. Again.”

Satoru sounds almost amused when he replies, “Well, hello. What happened to good morning?”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

A beat. You shift onto the first step, careful to keep your steps light.

“I appreciate the concern, Nanami,” Satoru says. “Really. But you should know by now that I’m impossible to kill.”

“That isn’t the point.” There’s the sound of something hitting the counter—a book, maybe, or Nanami’s palm pressing against the wood as he fights for patience. “You’re still chasing this—this ridiculous theory? After everything?”

Your fingers tighten around the bannister. “It isn’t ridiculous,” the thief says, quieter this time.

Nanami scoffs, dry and unimpressed. “You’re gambling with your life for a theory you can’t even prove.”

“That’s the point, Nanami,” Satoru counters, sharp. “I have to prove it.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Nanami says, and there’s something frayed at the edges of his voice, something that sounds a lot like concern buried under layers of irritation. “You could leave this alone. Walk away before—”

“Before what?”

“You know what.”

For a moment, neither of them speak. The words sit heavy in the air, thick enough that you almost feel them pressing against your skin. Nanami exhales. “And even if you’re determined to be a reckless idiot,” he says, voice cooler now, “what gives you the right to drag someone else into this?”

You stiffen at the mention of yourself. Satoru clicks his tongue. “Oh, come on. I didn’t drag her into anything.”

“She’s here, isn’t she?”

“She dragged me here. She made that choice herself.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s choosing,” Nanami snaps. “Tell me, Gojo, did you bother explaining anything, or did you simply try to charm her skirts off and decide that was enough?”

“I can be persuasive if I want, you know.”

“Insane. You’re insane, and I want nothing more than to—”

You’re not sure what compels you to move, but you step down the stairs, making your way towards them before the argument can escalate any further. Maybe it’s curiosity, maybe it’s annoyance, maybe it’s the simple fact that you’re irked at being talked about like you aren’t standing just a few feet away. At the sound of your footsteps, both men turn.

Nanami regards you with a sharp, assessing gaze. Satoru runs a hand through his hair, but grins at you. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he greets. “Enjoy your beauty rest?”

You give him a withering look before turning to Nanami. “What’s going on?”

“That,” he says, lips pressed into a thin line, “is exactly what I’d like to know.”

“It’s too early in the morning for us to be concerned with all this serious talk,” Satoru cuts in, clapping his hands. He glances at you. “Nanami, does Utahime’s shop open this early?”

“Yes,” he replies. “But I don’t think she’ll be very receptive to you barging in and ruining her morning.”

“Nonsense! Utahime loves me.”

Nanami sighs. “I’ll warn her first.”

“There’s no need for that.” Satoru waves a hand in the air dismissively, placing his other one on the small of your back and gently steering you out of Nanami’s bookshop. You bite your tongue, curious to know what they were arguing about, but unsure if it’s in your place to pry. 

“Where are we going?” you ask instead.

The thief grins, letting the door to the bookshop swing shut behind him. “To get you some new clothes.”

“What’s wrong with—” You don’t bother finishing the question, as Satoru leads you through the winding streets of the capital. The city is slowly waking—merchants setting up their stalls, children darting between their parents, the scent of roses and bread wafting from nearby bakeries and flower shops. You can hear the clang of a blacksmith hammering metal in the distance, the occasional neigh of a horse, and people haggling over the fresh produce that’s just arrived from the surrounding countryside.

You clutch your cloak around you a little tighter, feeling a little out of place. It’s different, now, in the daylight, when the darkness doesn’t obscure your vision and those of others. You glance down at yourself, taking in the well-worn fabric of your cloak, the practical cut of your tunic and trousers. It’s not like you’re dressed in rags, but compared to the finery you’ve seen nobles wearing in the streets, you suppose you do stick out rather like a sore thumb. (So does Satoru, your mind offers helpfully, but unlike you, he moves as if he owns the very streets he walks on, as if the world itself bends to his whims.)

“Is this really necessary?” you ask hesitantly.

“Absolutely.”

You narrow your eyes. “I feel like you’re just looking for an excuse to spend money that isn’t yours.”

“I would never—” he begins, but you give him a flat look, and his lips curl up into an utterly unrepentant grin. “Alright, maybe I would. But in this case, it’s a matter of principle. Don’t you want to look all nice and pretty at the lantern festival?”

You roll your eyes but let him drag you long, weaving your way through the bustling market district. Eventually, he stops in front of a charming little boutique, its windows lined with displays of elegant dresses, rich fabrics draped across headless mannequins. A little brass bell jingles as Satoru pushes open the door. The interior of the shop is warm, bathed in the golden light filtering through the windows. Shelves upon shelves of neatly arranged fabrics line the walls, bolts of silk and brocade in every shade imaginable. The air smells of lavender and fresh linen, with the faintest hint of parchment from the stack of ledgers resting on the counter.

Behind that counter, a woman with dark hair pulled into a loose bun looks up from where she’s inspecting a sheet of shimmering fabric. Her sharp eyes land on Satoru, and whatever semblance of peace she had this morning is immediately shattered. “Oh,” she says, “not you.”

“Utahime!” Satoru places a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

“You deserve it.”

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” he simpers.

Utahime arches a brow. “You are not my friend.”

Satoru wags a finger at her. “Business associate, then?”

“Barely.”

You shift uncomfortably, not entirely sure how to insert yourself into this conversation. The two of them clearly have some sort of shared history, similar to Nanami and Satoru. Curiosity prickles in your stomach; you want to know more about them, about Satoru’s life before he became a wanted man.

Utahime exhales through her nose, then finally turns her attention to you. Her expression softens slightly, the corners of her lips quirking upwards. “And you are?”

You hesitate, suddenly feeling very out of place surrounded by all this luxury. “Um—”

“She’s my new travelling companion,” Satoru interrupts, slinging a hand around your shoulders as if that explains everything. “Which is why I’ve so graciously brought her here—to make sure she looks the part.”

Utahime stares at him, then at you. Slowly, her grin turns amused. “You mean, to make sure you don’t look like a pauper standing next to her.”

You choke back a laugh. Satoru splutters, “I—how dare you—”

“You look like you’ve been sleeping in ditches, Gojo,” the tailor says.

“That is not true.”

“You have leaves in your hair.”

Satoru blinks, reaches up, and, sure enough, pulls a small, dried leaf from his messy white locks. He flicks it away with a muttered curse.

“I can’t stand someone as pretty as her walking around with a man who looks like he lost a fight with a laundry line. Come,” Utahime says, addressing you and already pulling a gown off a nearby rack. “Let’s get you sorted before I throw him out.”

You follow her shyly deeper into the boutique, leaving Satoru to sulk near the counter. The further in you go, the more extravagant the fabrics become—rich velvets, shining silks, intricate embroidery, lacy tulle. You hesitate, again, feeling out of place among such luxury, but Utahime does not seem to care for your reservations. She studies you with a critical eye, holding up various fabrics against your skin.

You shift awkwardly under her scrutiny. “I don’t need anything too fancy,” you say quickly.

Utahime gives you an unimpressed jerk of her chin. “You think he is going to let you walk around in something plain?”

You glance over your shoulder at Satoru, who is currently inspecting a mannequin in the corner, tilting his head. He doesn’t even pretend to be paying attention. You sigh. “Probably not.”

“Exactly.” Utahime flicks through a row of dresses before pulling one out. “Try this.”

The fabric is smooth beneath your fingertips, a deep blue that shimmers like water under the sunlight. The embroidery along the neckline is delicate, intricate swirls of silver thread that catch the light. It’s beautiful—far more beautiful than anything you’ve ever worn before.

“I—I don’t know if I should,” you admit.

“Why not?”

“I mean, I—” You falter. The words sound silly even in your own head. I’m not used to things like this. Things this nice.

But Utahime merely shakes her head and shoves the dress into your arms, though not unkindly. “You should, because you can.” She gestures to a dressing screen next to you. “Go. Try it on.”

You nod, uncertain, before stepping behind the screen, fingers tracing over the soft fabric. It takes a moment to undo the laces of your old clothes and slip into the new dress. The material drapes over you fluidly, the fit surprisingly perfect. The bodice is snug but comfortable, cinching at your waist before flowing down in gentle folds. The sleeves are light, sheer fabric brushing against your skin like a caress.

When you step out, Utahime nods in approval. “Better.”

You look down at yourself, smoothing your hands over the fabric. It’s strange, wearing something so fine, something that makes you feel seen. You’re so used to blending into the background, to preferring practicality over beauty. But now—

A low whistle interrupts your thoughts.

You glance up to see Satoru leaning against the counter, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his lips. “Damn,” he muses. “I always knew you were cute, but this is something else.”

Your face heats. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious!” He pushes off the counter, walking over to circle you, inspecting you from every angle. “You’re going to have every noble in the capital turning their heads.”

“Which means you can’t go around looking like that,” Utahime interjects, shooting Satoru a pointed glare.

He blinks. “Like what?”

“Like a half-drowned stray,” she says, and before he can protest, she shoves a bundle of clothes into his arms. “Go change. I refuse to let someone as beautiful as her be seen with an absolute pauper like you.”

You laugh, and Satoru pouts at you. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Extremely,” you agree.

Grumbling under his breath, he disappears behind another dressing screen, leaving you and Utahime in silence. After a beat, she turns to you. “You’re travelling with him willingly?”

“It’s…” You chew on your lip. “Complicated.”

She hums, as if she’d expected nothing else. “Be careful.”

You don’t know how to respond to that, so you simply nod. A moment later, Satoru emerges, now dressed in something far more refined than his usual attire. The loose, tattered shirt underneath his vest has been replaced with a fitted tunic of dark navy, the high collar emphasising the sharp angles of his jaw. The long coat draped over his shoulders is a deep charcoal, lined with silver embroidery. Even his boots look newer, shinier.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Well?”

Utahime clicks her tongue. “It’s an improvement. Barely.”

Satoru ignores her and turns to you. “What do you think?”

“You look… less like a thief,” you say.

“I’ll take that as a win.”

Utahime rolls her eyes, thrusting a pair of slippers that match the colour of your dress at you, along with an ivory comb to pin your hair back in place. “Take these and get out of my shop.”

So you do.

The capital, you’ve come to realise, is a place of contradictions—grand stone buildings adorned with ivy, shadowed alleyways where whispers slip through the cracks, noblewomen in embroidered shawls brushing shoulders with street performers balancing on stilts. 

Satoru weaves between crowds easily, pausing only when something catches his interest: A vendor selling sugared fruits, a fortune teller shuffling tarot cards at a makeshift stall, a pair of children chasing each other with wooden swords, their giggles ringing bright in the late morning hour. He lingers just long enough to soak in the moment before moving on, as if the city itself is nothing more than an elaborate game designed for his amusement. You try not to stare, but the way he carries himself is captivating—like he’s seen it all before and yet, still finds a way to be charmed by it.

“See?” He nudges your arm lightly with his elbow. “Told you you’d fit right in.”

You press your lips together and say nothing. The fabric of your new dress sways as you walk, softer and finer than anything you’ve ever owned. It feels unfamiliar against your skin, but not unpleasant. It makes you feel different, somehow, like you’ve stepped into a role that doesn’t quite belong to you. People glance at you differently now; not with suspicion or wariness, but with curiosity.

“So, what now?” you ask instead.

Satoru grins, wild, his blue eyes shining with mirth and excitement. “Now? Now, we explore.”

And explore you do.

He leads you through the winding streets, pointing out interesting stalls and dodging carts and carriages. He stops at a street performer juggling knives and dramatically gasps at every toss, leaning in as if he’s witnessing a royal duel. You shake your head, but his antics coax a quiet smile out of you. When he catches it, his smile softens just a little.

A hidden alleyway tucked between two bustling shops reveals an old woman sitting behind a small table, delicate glass trinkets laid out in neat rows. The figures catch the light, shimmering like captured stardust. Satoru crouches, fingers hovering over a tiny glass cat, its tail curled in mid-motion. His white hair falls into his eyes as he studies it, the briefest flicker of something thoughtful passing over his features.

“D’you think Megumi and Sukuna are getting lonely?” he murmurs, turning the figurine over in his hands before placing it back, offering the woman a charming wink as he tosses her a coin for her time.

“You didn’t buy it,” you observe. The two of you step back onto the main street.

“Didn’t need to,” he replies, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Just wanted to look.”

You make your way towards the bustling heart of the market, where stalls overflow with bright fabrics, glinting trinkets, and fresh produce. The scent of roasted chestnuts curls around you, warm and nutty. Satoru pauses, his gaze flicking to a vendor skillfully tossing chestnuts in a wire pan over an open flame. The chestnuts pop and crackle in the heat. Without a word, he steps forward, tossing a few coins onto the counter. The vendor barely has time to acknowledge him before Satoru is already handing you a small paper pouch, its warmth seeping into your fingers.

“Try one,” he says, grinning.

You peel open the shell of a chestnut, the scent much richer up close. When you take a bite, it’s soft and sweet, the kind of warmth that settles deep in your chest.

Satoru watches you expectantly. “Well?”

“They’re good,” you admit.

“Of course they are,” he boasts. “I have impeccable taste.”

You huff a small laugh, shaking your head, but you don’t pull away when he reaches out, brushing a stray hair from your face that escaped the confines of Utahime’s comb. His fingertips barely ghost over your skin fleetingly, but you feel it like an ember catching flame. It stretches between you like a thread being pulled taut—and then he clears his throat and looks away.

“Come on,” he says, tilting his head in the direction of another street. “There’s one more place I want to show you.”

By the time you arrive at the jewelry stall, the sun hangs high overhead, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. Unlike the market district, this section of the city is quieter, the chatter of merchants distant, softened by the hum of rustling leaves. The stall itself is small but carefully arranged—dainty chains displayed on dark velvet, rings nestled in silk-lined boxes, gemstones catching the light in a kaleidoscope of colours. Here, the world feels slower, as if it exists in its own pocket of time.

Satoru steps forward, fingers skimming lightly over the jewelry. His expression is uncharacteristically thoughtful. You watch him curiously. Until now, he’s been aimlessly amused by everything, flitting from stall to stall and shop to shop like a butterfly with no real direction, but this—this is different. There’s an intention behind the seriousness in his eyes.

“What are you looking for?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead picking up a simple silver necklace with a small blue gemstone embedded in its center. He turns it between his fingers, the pad of his thumb brushing over the stone as he studies it for a long moment. Then, as if coming to a decision, he looks at you.

“This suits you,” he says.

You blink, taken aback. “What?”

He steps closer, the space between you shrinking. “Here,” he says softly. “Let me.”

Your breath catches when his hands lift, brushing against the back of your neck. The metal of the chain is cool against your skin, but his fingers—his fingers are warm, careful, the touch light enough to send a shiver down your spine. He lingers for just a fraction too long before fastening the clasp, fingertips grazing the nape of your neck in a way that makes heat bloom beneath your skin. When he pulls away, the pendant rests just above your collarbone. You touch it lightly.

“I—I can’t take this,” you say, voice quieter than before.

Satoru only smirks, but it’s not his usual brand of tiresome arrogance. It’s softer. “Too late. No returns.”

Your fingers tighten around the pendant. The stone is smooth beneath your touch, reflecting the sunlight in shifting shades of blue. It reminds you of something—of fleeting moments, of oceans you’ve never seen, of something vast and untouchable yet undeniably present. The question slips out before you can stop it: “Why?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. His gaze roams over you, something unreadable flickering in those too-bright eyes. Then, he shrugs. “Consider it a souvenir,” he says. “Something to remember today by.”

You want to press him for more, but something about the way he says it is fragile, delicate in a way that makes you hesitant to touch it too harshly. It is a thread pulled just slightly tighter, a balance shifted just slightly off-kilter. He reaches for your wrist, tugging you gently back towards the street. 

“Let’s go,” he says, ever the one to move before a moment settles. “We’ve still got time before sunset.”

By the time the sun begins its descent, the capital is alive in a different way than before. Where the market had been filled with the shouts of merchants and the clatter of wooden carts, the town square now hums with a different kind of energy—joyful and infectious.

Colourful paper lanterns have been strung between buildings, flickering to life as the sky fades from gold to dusky violet. Musicians gather in the center of the square, their lively tune spilling into the air, coaxing laughter and movement from the people around them. The scent of honeyed pastries from a nearby stall blends with the perfume of crushed petals from garlands strung over doorways.

“Well, sweetheart,” Satoru says, “it’s your lucky day. Looks like we’ve arrived just in time for a celebration.”

You look up at him, slightly wary. “A celebration for what?”

“The night before the lantern festival, ‘course.” He grabs your wrist and pulls you forward.

“Satoru—”

“Hush, we’ve done nothing but walk around all day,” he says, meandering through the crowd. “Let’s have a little fun.”

Your protests die on your tongue when you step into the heart of the square. The music swells, a melody of flutes, fiddles and tambourines; it is so rich and lively that it seems to settle beneath your skin, curling around your ribs like something alive. All around you, people spin and sway to the rhythm, moving as if the music is stitched into their bones. Women twirl in dresses of deep reds and blues, their skirts fanning out like blooming flowers, while men clap their hands to the beat, laughing as they switch partners. Children dart between the dancers, giggles escaping their lips, while couples sway together, lost in their own world.

You’re so caught up in taking it all in that you don’t notice Satoru moving until his hand finds yours again. The moment you realise what he’s doing, your eyes widen. “Oh, no—”

“Oh, yes,” he counters, grinning as he spins you suddenly, catching you before you can stumble. “You can’t expect me to dance alone, can you?”

“I can if I don’t know how,” you retort, heart racing at the unexpected movement.

He clicks his tongue. “Tsk. And here I thought you were quick on your feet.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Only when I need to be.”

The thief only laughs, that bright, boyish sound that makes something warm settle in your chest. “Just follow my lead,” he says, drawing you in.

Against all reason, you do. At first, you’re hesitant, stiff under his hands while he guides you into the rhythm of the dance. But Satoru is nothing if not persistent. He keeps you moving, spinning you into the flow of the music, making the world blur in bursts of colour and light.

It’s dizzying, the way he moves—not just with grace, but with a kind of unshaken confidence, like he’s never once doubted that the world will bend to him if he asks it to. His hands are steady on yours, his steps sure, and when he grins, it’s the kind of grin that makes you feel like you’re part of some grand adventure, something wild and untamed.

You’ve never met a man like him before.

Somewhere along the way, your hesitation fades. Your body moves with his naturally now, drawn into the lilt of the music. Your laughter bubbles up before you can stop it, spilling into the air between you as he twirls you beneath the glow of the lanterns. Satoru watches you closely, his smile softening, just a little around the edges.

“Told you it’s fun,” he murmurs.

You shake your head, breathless. “Warn me next time.”

“You do want a next time, then,” he says, and you don’t have an answer to that.

Because—maybe—you do. Something in you, you think, has begun to unravel. Maybe, against all logic, you’re slipping. Maybe, you don’t mind. You meet his gaze, heart rabbiting about in your chest. His eyes are impossibly blue, bright even in the dim glow of the lanterns. Your heartbeat is too loud in your ears, your thoughts a mess of tangled emotions, but you can’t bring yourself to step away. Not when his grip is this steady, not when his eyes are watching you like that.

The music melts into something softer, the once-rapid twirls melting into something slower, more intimate. Satoru’s hand shifts, resting lightly against your waist, his other still holding yours between calloused fingers. The world feels smaller now, quieter, narrowed down to just the two of you.

When the song finally ends, both of you out of breath and a little bit sweaty, Satoru steps back and bows with an exaggerated flourish. The fondness in your chest betrays you, and you curtsey back. He holds your hand again, and doesn’t let go. Even as the music fades and the crowd disperses, laughter trailing off into the warm night, his grip remains firm. You should pull away. Should remind yourself that he’s still a thief, still unpredictable, still frustrating beyond belief. 

Instead, you let him guide you through the winding streets of the capital once more, past shops closing up for the night, past candlelight flickering through bedroom windows, past lovers whispering in darkened corners. The warmth of the evening settles over you both, the smell of jasmines and roses and summer heat pressing in close.

“You’ll like this,” Satoru says, turning back over his shoulder.

“You say that about everything.”

“And I mean it every single time,” he replies. 

He takes you through a narrow alley, walking with the surety of someone who has spent their childhood finding all the hidden parts of the city. A wooden ladder rests against the side of a weathered stone building; Satoru lets go of your hand and immediately starts climbing.

You pause. “Seriously?”

“Unless you want to climb up four flights of stairs,” he calls down, teasing. “But I don’t think you’re in the mood for a hike.”

With an exasperated shake of your head, you gather the folds of your dress into your arms, bunching up the fabric. The ladder, thankfully, is sturdy despite having stood in that spot for who knew how long. The climb is easier than you expect, and when you reach the top, Satoru is already waiting, standing near the edge of the rooftop with his hands in his pockets, watching the city unfold beneath him.

Your breath hitches. The view is stunning. From here, the capital is a sea of golden lights, stretching wide until the river that snakes around the perimeter near the far end. The castle looms in the distance, its towers reaching towards the heavens, the marble reflecting all the lights. Beyond it, the countryside stretches endlessly, shadowed hills rolling underneath a sky dusted with constellations. The stars seem impossibly close, as if you could reach out and trace them with your fingers.

Satoru watches your reaction, the corners of his lips curling into something softer than a smirk, something quieter. “Told you.”

You don’t reply immediately, too busy taking in the sheer vastness of it all. The castle, the city, the stars—things that once felt distant and untouchable now seem just within reach. Stepping closer to him, you ask, “How did you find this place?”

“I used to come up here as a kid. Sometimes, when things got—complicated, I guess you could say—I’d sneak away, climb up here, and just watch. The world looks different from above.”

You nod, turning back to the view, letting the quiet settle between you. Satoru plops down onto the shingles of the rooftop, inches away from the part where it begins to slope, and motions for you to do the same. You comply, dress rustling as you sit down next to him. After a moment, Satoru shifts, leaning back on his palms, his long legs stretched out in front of him. The cool night air ruffles his hair, the moonlight catching on the silver strands.

“Can I ask you something?”

“...That depends,” you say.

His smile is easy, lazy—but his eyes are sharp and searching, like he’s trying to peel back all your layers. “Back in the market,” he starts, slow, “you let me pull you into that dance. You could’ve left. You could’ve made an excuse, walked away, ignored me entirely. But you didn’t. Why?”

You suck in a breath, eyes drifting to the city below. The streets are quieter now, the celebrations beginning to wind down. For so long, your world has been small. Not just physically, but in the way that mattered—the way that made it feel like you were meant to stay in one place, bound by duty, by love, by responsibility.

“My grandmother,” you begin, softly. “She was the only family I had left.”

Satoru doesn’t move; he just watches you, waiting. “She got sick,” you continue, wringing your fingers together on your lap. “And I had to take care of her. I couldn’t leave, even if I wanted to. Even if—” You pause, exhaling through your nose. “Even if I dreamed about it sometimes.”

The memories come back in pieces—watching the world pass by beyond the edges of your village, wondering what lay beyond the fields and forests you had never crossed. The way you used to sit by your grandmother’s bedside, listening to the stories she told of places she had never been either.

“She passed away,” you say, quieter this time.

Satoru doesn’t speak, but the way he looks at you makes your chest tighten. You turn your head, looking out over the city again. The castle towers rise high against the star-streaked sky, the view stretching beyond anything you ever could have imagined from your tiny corner of the world.

“I spent so long staying in one place,” you admit, “being careful and doing what was expected of me. But now…” You trail off, searching for the shape of the feeling that’s been unravelling inside you since the moment you first stepped beyond the life you thought you were meant to live. “Now, I think I just want to see what’s out there.”

A slow smile tugs at Satoru’s lips. It’s not the cocky smirk you’re used to, nor the grin that comes with a teasing remark. It’s softer, something almost—fond. “And now that you’re here, is it everything you’ve dreamed of and more?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. “It’s incredible.”

“I’m glad,” he says, then, after a beat: “Alright, my turn.”

“Your turn?”

“To answer a question.” His eyes flicker to you, playful. “You want to ask me something, don’t you?”

You pause. Then, before you can overthink it, you ask, “Are you still only with me because you want the crown back?”

The teasing edge in his expression falters, just for a second. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifts, fingers tapping idly against the rooftop, his eyes fixed on the distant castle. When he speaks, his voice is quieter, more thoughtful. 

“At first, yeah,” he admits. “That was the plan.”

You wait, sensing there’s more. Satoru lets out a breath, a faint chuckle escaping him, though there’s a strangeness to the sound—like he’s amused at his own thoughts, still figuring them out. He says, “But you’re not exactly what I expected.”

You frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shifts, turning to face you fully now, the golden lights casting shadows across the side of his face. “It means,” he says, “that I figured you’d be like everyone else. Predictable. Easy to manipulate. Someone who’d either slow me down or get in my way.”

Satoru smiles, tilting his head, but this time, it’s different—less teasing, more like he’s studying you, trying to commit you to memory. “But you’re not.”

Your heart stutters. You don’t know if it’s the words themselves, or the way he’s looking at you—intent, unrushed, like you are something worth deciphering—but something shifts, something fragile and terrifying in its certainty. You should say something; you ought to shake your head, roll your eyes, scoff at him like you always do. But the night air is wrought with something you don’t have a name for, and the weight of his gaze pins you in place.

“You’re stubborn,” he continues, voice dipping just slightly, low enough that you feel it more than hear it. “Smart. Quicker than I expected. You surprise me.”

The breath you’ve been holding releases in a slow exhale, but it doesn’t make the feeling in your chest settle. “I don’t know if I believe you,” you murmur.

Satoru leans in, not touching—not yet—but close enough that the heat of him brushes against your skin. “You really should.”

You barely have time to process what he means before he moves, slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to stop him. Some part of you registers this—but you ignore it, because somewhere along the way, you stopped wanting to.

His hand lifts first, fingertips ghosting along your jaw, barely there, a touch so cursory, it could be mistaken for hesitation. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t pull you in like a man desperate—he waits, breath mingling with yours, gaze flickering down to your lips, then back up again, watching. It’s agonisingly slow, and maybe that’s what makes your pulse hammer in your throat, makes your fingers tighten at your sides as if fighting the instinct to reach for him. 

And then—the faintest brush. Featherlight; testing. A breath of a kiss, a question rather than an answer. You could pull away now, but the moment his lips meet yours, something inside you caves.

It’s soft at first, uncertain, but the second you respond—just the smallest tilt forward, the slightest press of your lips against his—he becomes more insistent. His hand cups your jaw more firmly, his other coming to rest against the small of your back, drawing you in as though the space between you is something offensive and unbearable.

You gasp against his mouth, but it isn't surprise. It’s relief; like something that had been threatening to snap inside you has finally, finally broken loose. His lips move slowly against your, unhurried but devastating, a contradiction of softness and something deeper, something unjumbling beneath your skin. You don’t even realise when your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt, holding on like he might slip away if you don’t.

You don’t think. You don’t breathe. You just fall.

It’s easy enough to fall into Gojo Satoru like this. Too easy, really. It should be harder. It should be something that gives you pause, something that makes you second-guess yourself. But you don’t, because right now, on this rooftop with the whole city stretching out below you and the stars scattered across the sky like crushed diamonds, it doesn’t feel like a mistake. It doesn’t feel like something you’ll regret. It just feels like him.

Satoru pulls away and watches you carefully, the way he always does when he’s waiting for you to make a move first. His hands rest loosely on either side of him, deceptively relaxed, but his gaze tells a different story. There’s something in his eyes tonight—softer, expectant, something that makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t entirely understand. Maybe you’ll never understand him fully. But you think, maybe you don’t have to.

You reach for him first this time. A brush of your fingers against his wrist. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak—just watches, as if memorising the moment. You shuffle closer, until your knees touch where he’s sitting, until his breath stirs the air between you. When you finally lean in, when your lips graze his in something that isn’t quite a kiss yet, you hear the sharp inhale of breath he takes. Then, finally, he moves.

Satoru kisses like he does everything else—sure of himself, but not impatient. He takes his time, lets you press in closer as his hands find their way to your waist, his touch steady and warm. The rooftop is quiet except for the distant sounds of the city and the faint hum of the night air, but all you can hear is him—the way his breath blows on your cheek, the way he exhales softly when your fingers slip into his hair.

You let him kiss you deeper, let him tilt his head and pull you closer and melt into him as easily as breathing. When he pulls you into his lap, hands firm on your hips and his lips trail lower, brushing along your jaw, your throat, your collarbone, you decide you don’t want to stop at all.

The inn is a modest place, tucked between streets. Its wooden beams creak, and the scent of old bookshelves and candle wax wafts through the air, mixing with something sweet—honey, maybe, or the remnants of a forgotten perfume. Satoru had brought you here so quickly and paid for a room that, despite the knowing look the innkeeper gave you both, you didn’t have the time to feel embarrassed before he was whisking you away.

It’s quiet here, away from prying eyes. The bed beneath you is softer than you’d expected, sheets worn but clean, warmed by the heat of your bodies. A single melting candle in the corner lights up the room, its glow casting shadows along the rough-hewn walls, pooling in the hollow of Satoru’s throat as he hovers over you.

There’s a moment—just a moment—where uncertainty creeps in. You’ve never done this before. Somehow, Satoru seems to know that without you even saying anything. His hands, steady and warm, never wander too far, never push for more than what you’re willing to give. Even as his lips move against yours—slow, coaxing, patient—there’s an unspoken question between every kiss; an invitation rather than a demand. It makes it easier. Easier to melt into him and to follow the way his fingers map careful paths down your spine.

You barely register when he tugs at the hem of your clothes, when fabric slips from your shoulders, pooling somewhere unseen. His gentle fingers unclasp the comb in your hair, letting it fall down loose. He leaves the necklace on, though, the blue pendant just above your collarbone, reflecting his own blue eyes. They darken when he sees you like this. His hands are on your bare skin, and it’s different—more real, somehow. More intimate than anything else before this.

Satoru leans back, exhaling as he takes you in, eyes dragging over every newly exposed inch of you. His gaze is heavy, reverent in a way that makes you shiver. “You’re beautiful.”

Your breath catches. Heat pools low in your stomach, spreading through you in slow, curling tendrils. Then he’s pressing his lips to your throat, his hands gliding down your sides, settling on your hips. His touch is firm but never rough. Still, the anticipation builds.

Your skin feels too hot, too sensitive, aware of the way his mouth drags lower—over your collarbone, down the center of your chest, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Then, lower still. You shudder. “Satoru—”

He hums against your skin, one hand sliding beneath your knee, urging you to part for him. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

You hesitate for only a moment before nodding. That’s all the permission he needs. His hands settle on your thighs, parting them gently. His lips ghost over the sensitive skin, teasing and testing, before he presses a kiss where you’re already aching for him.

The first touch of his tongue is tentative—just a slow, languid drag against you, as if savouring the taste. Like he’s learning exactly what makes you tremble. You do tremble. A quiet, broken sound slips from your lips before you can stop it, your fingers tightening instinctively in his hair. Satoru groans, low and pleased, and the vibration of it makes your stomach tighten.

He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t overwhelm you. He simply moves with purpose, unravelling you piece by piece, lick by lick, until the pleasure builds into something unbearable. You don’t know when your eyes flutter shut and your body melts into the sheets. His grip tightens just slightly to hold you in place. When he drags his tongue over that one spot, when he sucks, slow and deliberate, pleasure licks up your spine like wildfire. You gasp.

“That’s it,” Satoru says, a tad proud. “Just let go.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, your thighs tightening around him as he coaxes pleasure out of you with maddening patience. The tension builds, winding tighter, higher, and when he rubs your bundle of nerves with his thumb, you moan. Warmth spills through your limbs; your breath catches and everything around you blurs, reduced to nothing but the feeling of his mouth, his hands, his name falling from your lips in a whisper. Satoru stays there for a moment longer, pressing one last kiss to the inside of your thigh before moving back up. He kisses you again, slow and deep, and the taste of yourself on his lips makes your head spin.

“How was that?” he asks.

“You talk too much,” you say, and slant your lips against his again.

Satoru pulls away, though reluctantly. Kneeling between your legs, his hands move to his belt. You watch, still dazed, as he undoes it and kicks his trousers off, then pulls his tunic over his head in one smooth motion. You swear you forget how to breathe.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you reach for him, pressing your hands against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. He shudders at the contact, and something about that—about the way you affect him—sends a thrill through you. Wordlessly, he leans back, watching you carefully.

You meet his gaze, and, slowly, slide your hands up, over the defined lines of his collarbones, over the faint scars that mark his skin. You take your time, tracing the firm places of his stomach, the ridges of muscle beneath your fingertips. He has a scar cutting through his torso, a jagged line that should look unseemly, but on Satoru it does not. You don’t think anything ever could. 

“How did you get this?” you whisper, running your fingers along the line.

“Failed assassination attempt on me,” he whispers back. You’re not even surprised anymore.

Satoru is beautiful. It’s a thought that strikes you suddenly, like a realisation that had been waiting for the right moment to surface. He’s all long limbs and lean strength, a body built for running and fighting and surviving. The sight of him, bare before you, makes something warm bloom in your chest.

“You’re staring,” he teases, but his voice is quieter this time, almost breathless.

You hum, letting your nails drag lightly down his torso, watching the way his stomach tenses in response. “Maybe.”

His breath comes out uneven. Then, as if he can’t help himself, he leans down, pressing his weight against you, caging you beneath him. The heat of his body is overwhelming, the feel of bare skin on bare skin sending a shiver through you. Even then, when he presses his lips to yours, he asks, “Are you sure?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He exhales sharply, his forehead dropping against yours. “You’re going to kill me.”

You laugh, breathless, tilting your head just enough to kiss him again. “Then die quietly.”

His answering grin is crooked. He nudges your nose with his, and his hand finds yours against the sheets as he laces your fingers together. Slowly, he moves.

The first press is slow, careful, an unfamiliar stretch as he eases himself inside you inch by inch. Your breath hitches in your throat, fingers tightening around his while your body adjusts to him. There’s a sting, a deep pull of discomfort that makes you tense, but he stills immediately, exhaling a shaky breath against your temple.

Satoru’s lips ghost over your skin, pressing soft kisses to your cheek, your jaw, murmuring quiet praises in between. “You’re doing so well,” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. “So fucking perfect.”

The ache fades gradually, melting into something warmer. You take a slow breath, then shift your hips slightly—just enough for him to move. His sigh is shaky, his grip on your hand tightening. 

He starts moving, and the world narrows to nothing but him. It’s slow at first, every movement measured, as if he’s trying to memorise every little reaction and gasp that spills from your lips. He watches you the entire time, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen it, like he’s seeing you for the first time. The pleasure builds gradually, a slow burn spreading through your veins. Each roll of his hips, each press of his body against yours sends another wave of heat through you, until the discomfort is nothing but a memory. Your legs tighten around him instinctively, pulling him closer, deeper. Satoru groans, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he curses under his breath.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice strained. “You feel—” He shakes his head, unable to finish the thought. His teeth graze lightly over your shoulder. His pace quickens slightly, pulling breathy moans from you with every movement. The pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your stomach, winding like a thread about to snap. 

And then he angles his hips just right, hitting something inside you that makes your vision blur. A broken sound escapes your lips. Your grip on his hand tightens, nails digging into his skin. “There?” he asks, voice thick with something you can’t quite place.

You nod, unable to form words, and he groans, pressing deeper, chasing every little reaction you give him. It’s overwhelming—the warmth of him above you, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress, the way he whispers your name like it’s something sacred.

When you finally reach that peak, when the pleasure crests and crashes over you in dizzying waves, your entire body shudders beneath him. The thread snaps, leaving you weightless and drowning in sensation as he follows soon after, his movements growing erratic. Satoru pulls out just in time, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as he spills onto your stomach, one hand gripping your waist as his body trembles above you. His breath is ragged, chest rising and falling rapidly; he takes in the sight of you beneath him—flushed, panting, utterly wrecked.

For a long moment, neither of you move. His breath fans over your collarbone, fingers fiddling with the silver chain around your neck. He presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, and his grip on your hand loosens just slightly, but he doesn’t let go. Eventually, Satoru shifts, rolling onto his back and searching for something to clean you up. He finds a wash basin with a cloth placed nearby; wetting it gently, he pads back to you. The thief—your lover, now, you suppose—is gentle, wiping you down with slow, careful movements before tossing the cloth aside. Then, without hesitation, he pulls you against him, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing his lips against your temple.

His fingers trace absentminded patterns along your spine, his touch featherlight. You feel his lips press against your hair, and the gesture makes your chest ache. You curl into him. He rests his chin on the top of your head. “Sleep,” he says.

You don’t say anything—just let your eyes slip shut, and let yourself sink into the warmth of him and the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

Satoru coaxes you out of bed with the promise of buying you a honey-dipped pastry from one of the vendors you’d been eyeing the day before. You grumble about his methods, saying he has an unfair advantage knowing your weaknesses so well, but truthfully, you don’t really mind. You dress quickly, smoothing your hands over the creases in your gown and pulling your hair back with the ivory comb, while Satoru lounges against the doorframe, watching you with that easy, lopsided grin of his. The sunlight catches in his hair, and when he tilts his head at you, something warm curls inside your stomach. You shove it down. 

The two of you leave the small inn just as the sun begins to rise, the golden light spilling over the rooftops. The streets are still mostly empty, save for a few vendors who’ve begun setting up their stalls. You walk beside Satoru, your hands brushing against each other now and then, though neither of you makes a move to pull away. He fills the quiet with his usual chatter, talking nonsense, teasing you about how you hogged the blankets, about how you snored (you did not). You roll your eyes and shove at his shoulder, but he only laughs, catching your wrist and spinning you in a quick, playful circle.

When you finally reach Nanami’s bookshop, it looks the same as it did the day before—quiet and unassuming, its worn wooden sign creaking slightly in the breeze. You push the door open.

Nanami is at the counter, as usual, a book open in front of him. But you can very quickly tell something is off. He doesn’t look up right away. His hands are still, fingers pressed against the page, unmoving. When his gaze finally lifts, it lingers on Satoru first, then flickers to you. He exhales and gives you just the faintest shake of his head. A warning. Leave.

You blink at him, confused. Satoru, oblivious as ever, only grins. “Morning, Nanami,” he sing-songs, stretching as he strolls further inside.

Nanami doesn’t answer. You hear footsteps, slow and heavy—the sound of hard boots against wooden flooring. Not from the entrance. From the back of the shop.

A man steps into view. Tall, with broad shoulders, his dark hair pulled into a high knot, leaving a few loose strands to frame his face. His clothing is different from the soldiers you’ve seen before—black and deep blue, his vest embroidered with the sigil of the royal family. But what strikes you most is his expression: Blank and unreadable; the kind of stillness that feels dangerous without needing to try. His eyes, dark and steady, scan the room methodically before resting on Satoru. He’s flanked by two soldiers on either side of him, standing in metal-plated armour with their faces hidden by the visors on their helmets.

“Ah,” the thief says. “So that’s why Nanami was looking at me like I was already dead.”

The room is still. Satoru doesn’t move. Neither does the man at the back of the shop. Nanami, ever composed, keeps his fingers pressed against the pages of his book, though you can see the tension in his shoulders. He knows exactly who this man is. You don’t.

“You’ve gotten sloppy,” he remarks, as if he was simply commenting on the weather. “I had multiple reports of you wandering throughout the city yesterday. You weren’t even subtle about it.” A small pause, and then: “Frolicking, they said. With a girl.”

His eyes slide towards you. Your stomach tightens. You don’t recognise him, but something about his presence makes your skin prickle. It’s the way he carries himself—the way his posture is lazy, the way his voice is even and smooth, but not emotionless. He reminds you of Satoru, but less flamboyant and raucous.

“I should introduce myself,” he continues, “to our friend here who appears visibly confused. Geto Suguru, captain of the Royal Guard, at your service, madam.”

Satoru merely shakes his head. “You really ought to pay your soldiers more,” he drawls. “Imagine sending them on a wild goose chase to find me. Surely there are more pressing matters to attend to—but I am flattered about the attention you’re very generously bestowing upon me.”

The man hums, unimpressed. “They do their jobs well enough. Unlike you.”

His gaze flicks to a low table pushed to the side. To the crown—the crown that was supposed to be tucked underneath your mattress back in your cottage. Your pulse quickens. Satoru follows his gaze. “Hm,” he says, like it’s all very unfortunate, “I suppose that’s how you found us.”

“You’re different,” the man says. “You never used to be this careless.”

Familiarity bleeds into his tone when he says it. They have a history, the thief beside you and the soldier opposite him, that much is clear. Your fingers curl into your palm.

“Is this the part where you tell me I’ve gone soft?” Satoru grins but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Captain Geto lifts a brow. “If the boot fits.”

Satoru snorts. You stay quiet, your mouth drying up. You don’t know how deep their history runs. You’re not sure if you want to, anymore, even though, earlier, your curiosity about Gojo Satoru knew no bounds.

“You found me, Suguru,” Satoru says simply, grin vanishing.

The captain inclines his head. “You always make things difficult,” he says, lifting a hand.

The soldiers step forward. Satoru doesn’t fight when they grab him. He stays motionless, doesn’t even flinch as they wrench his arms and wrists, twisting them behind his back. He doesn’t move, but you do. “Satoru—”

He turns his head towards you, and you swear you see something shutter in his expression. But as quickly as it comes, it goes, replaced by a grin that looks more like a sneer.

“I assume you won’t struggle,” the captain says.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain Geto,” Satoru says.

You open your mouth, but before you can say anything—before your brain wraps around what’s happening—Suguru turns to you. His dark eyes sweep over you, assessive. “You’re from the villages, aren’t you?”

You freeze. His voice is calm—not unkind or threatening. Just certain. There is nothing that suggests immediate condemnation about the way he says it, but it sends a prickle of something cold down your spine. You force yourself to square your shoulders and look him in the eye when you confirm his question.

Suguru nods at your reply, something thoughtful about the way he regards you. “Then you have a choice,” he says.

“A… choice?” Your pulse thunders against your skin.

He tilts his head once more, slightly, and for a moment, you could almost call him composed—gracious, even. His words are anything but. “Either you come with us, as his accomplice. Or you return to your village and pretend this never happened.”

The words drop between you like stones. Your throat tightens. You know what he’s offering. A way out. A chance to walk away and go back to the life you left behind. You can let these past few weeks become nothing more than a bitter memory, something you can tuck away and bury deep. But if you leave—

You find yourself looking at Satoru. He grins at you, looking for all the world like he doesn’t have a care. Like he isn’t standing there, bound, with soldiers at his back and chains ready to be locked around his wrists. But you also see the way his shoulders have gone taut, the way his fingers twitch, just slightly, like he wants to reach for you. Before you can think to answer, Satoru cuts in.

“I lied to her.”

Your heart hammers in your chest at his sudden declaration. Captain Geto raises a brow, waiting.

Satoru’s grin widens, careless and easy. “She didn’t know who I was. She didn’t know about the crown or any of this. I played her the fool, and charmed my way into her good graces. Can you blame her?”

You feel like the ground beneath you has vanished. He’s lying. You know it, Suguru knows it, Nanami knows it—but he says it anyway, as if willing it into truth, daring Suguru to challenge him. 

“You never change,” the captain murmurs.

“Nope,” the thief agrees, popping the ‘p’ sound.

There’s a silence; a slow, quiet sigh. Suguru shakes his head. “Take him.”

The soldiers move. You react on instinct, lurching forward, reaching for him—but rough hands seize your shoulders, pulling you back. Nanami, you realise. His sturdy arms—too muscular for a simple bookseller—hold you in place no matter how much you squirm in his grip.

Satoru, on the other hand, merely presses his lips together when they fasten the iron cuffs around his wrists. You feel the sharp sting of panic rise up your throat. “No—” Your voice cracks, but no one is listening. Your limbs feel useless, weak, as the soldiers push past you. “Wait—”

Captain Geto steps forward, blocking your path, his presence an immovable wall of black and blue. His dark eyes settle on yours, calm and resolute. “We found the crown at a cottage.”

His words feel like ice water down your spine. You swallow hard. Suguru doesn’t look triumphant, doesn’t even look like he’s enjoying this. He states it as an inevitable fact. “The entire village was searched,” he continues, measured and unhurried, like he’s laying out the pieces of a story so that you understand. “We found the stolen heirloom hidden there. And if it was there, then that means whoever lives in that cottage—” 

He pauses. You don’t dare to breathe.

“—was harbouring the kingdom’s most wanted criminal.”

A leaden weight settles in your chest. No. No, that’s not true. I didn’t know. But the words don’t come. Because you did know, right from the start, when you stole the crown from him.  It was already too late, then, and it is too late now, because now—now, you know the shape of his smile, the sound of his laugh, the calluses on his fingers. Satoru was protecting your secret, and the realisation burns. Your nails bite into your palm. You want to say something, to fight back and demand an explanation from Geto Suguru. Satoru turns his head towards you.

The soldiers pull him to the door, and you watch, your throat tight and your breath shallow. Your feet won’t move, your body feels frozen, like some part of you believes this is the last time you’ll see him. Like some part of you is already mourning. Satoru’s grin doesn’t slip. His white hair falls over his eyes, and for a brief second, you swear you see something there—something reassuring. He’s telling you it’s going to be okay. He’s telling you not to follow.

“Gojo Satoru,” the captain announces, “as the Captain of the Royal Guard, as per the First Commander’s decree, I hereby arrest you for the cases of looting, thievery, causing bodily harm and injury, failure to repay your debts to the capital, stealing the royal family’s most precious heirloom, and betrayal to the Royal Crown. Do you object to any of these claims?”

“No, Captain,” Satoru says.

“Very well. Your punishment for the following acts of treason is death. The execution will be tomorrow, at sundown. Do you have anything you wish to say?”

His blue eyes find yours. “No, Captain,” he repeats, quieter this time.

Your vision blurs. Gojo Satoru, the menace, the thief you’ve journeyed with, the man who knows you more intimately than anyone else, smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the corners, as the guards lead him away.

“There’s a history, isn’t there?” You cross your arms over your chest. Nanami and Utahime—who had arrived almost as soon as Nanami had sent word—look at each other. “Between the captain and Satoru, and—and you two and Satoru. Tell me.”

It’s been two hours since Satoru was arrested. Two hours of restless pacing, your mind running in frantic circles and your hands clenching and unclenching as you tried to come up with a plan—any plan—that didn’t result in you standing at the end of a sword. 

Nanami had stopped you before you could even try to follow the captain and his soldiers. “That’s suicide,” he had told you, his voice low but firm. “You wouldn’t make it past the castle gates.” He had barely convinced you to stay. But the truth was, you wouldn’t have made it far. Not when Geto had given you just one day to gather your things, buy what you needed from the capital, and leave. Leave. The word itches under your skin. You had nodded shakily when Captain Geto had told you as much. But even as you agreed, you knew. You’re not leaving—not while Satoru is to be executed.

Nanami sighs. “It’s not something you need to involve yourself in.”

“That’s not your call to make,” you snap.

Utahime shifts beside him, arms crossed. “You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“I don’t care,” you argue. “Satoru is in a cell somewhere, waiting to be executed, and you’re acting like it’s already over.” You take a step closer. “But it’s not, is it? Because if it were, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Fine,” the tailor says. Nanami opens his mouth to protest, but she gives him a look and he stays silent. She leans against the table, fingers drumming on the wood, and takes a deep breath before she starts:

“We were all soldiers once. Me, Nanami, our friends Shoko and Haibara, Geto, and Gojo. We trained together. We fought together. We thought we’d die together. And some of us did. Haibara—he was the youngest of us. Too kind, too trusting—” her jaw tightens— “and he shouldn’t have been sent on that mission. Gojo and Geto were the best of us. The strongest. That strength made them invaluable, but it also put them close to the former captain of the Royal Guard.”

“The First Commander?” you ask.

Nanami nods, his expression darkening. “After Haibara’s death, Geto and Gojo… They changed. Geto became more distant, more dissociated from all the blood and the killing. Gojo became more reckless. At first, we thought it was just grief. Losing Haibara—it did something to all of us. But Geto and Gojo… they were different. They knew something we didn’t.”

Utahime shifts uncomfortably. “They spent more and more time with the First Commander. We didn’t think much of it. He was a brilliant strategist, and they were his best soldiers—it made sense that he’d favour them. Then, one day, while we were busy sparring at the training grounds near the east wing, Geto and the First Commander came up to us. They said—they said that they’ve entrusted us with a new mission: To find and kill Gojo Satoru.”

Your blood runs cold. “...What?”

“We didn’t know why,” Nanami says, grimly. “We still don’t. But we didn’t have a choice, so we played along. We followed his trail, but we never got too close—we made sure of it. Geto was the only one who really cared; the rest of us couldn’t stomach killing our friend.” He lets loose a breath, shoulders slumping. “Eventually, we got sent away for being too incompetent. I took over my father’s shop. Utahime became a tailor. Shoko moved to another kingdom to practice medicine.”

“And Satoru became the kingdom’s most wanted criminal,” you finish for him.

“Yes.” The man sounds tired, resigned when he says it. “The former captain of the Royal Guard became the First Commander—he is the current king’s elder brother, after all—and Geto rose in the ranks to become the new captain. The late queen passed away, and the king’s health deteriorated rapidly, until the First Commander was forced to rule in his name.”

Your head spins with all this information. There must be more to this story—there has to be. Satoru couldn’t have become a notorious thief for no reason. Geto Suguru couldn’t possibly have still been hunting for him if there wasn’t something Satoru knew. Something invaluable. How does the crown tie into this? Satoru must have stolen it for a reason. What could he gain from stealing the royal family’s most priceless heirloom, other than a grand amount of money? You know Satoru wouldn’t have stolen the crown just for the fun of it. 

You’re missing something. Something crucial. You just need to figure out what. But first, you need to save the thief who showed you the world beyond the borders of your village.

Nanami exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. His expression remains blank, but there’s something tense about the way his fingers curl into a fist before he forces them to relax. Utahime has her arms crossed, her fingers gripping the fabric of her sleeves. They had hesitated before, unwilling to speak of the past, but you are nothing if not determined and stubborn.

“Do you guys know your way in and out of the palace?” You shift on your feet. The words leave your lips with urgency, and you don’t dare let yourself hope.

Utahime answers without hesitation. “Of course. I couldn’t forget it even if I tried.”

The certainty in her voice makes your chest loosen just the slightest bit. You chew on your lip, mind racing. The execution is set for tomorrow at sundown. The timing isn’t a coincidence—if your hunch is right, Captain Geto has chosen to use the lantern festival as a veil for the event. A celebration of light and joy to mask the bloodshed. 

Your fingers twitch at your sides, the beginning threads of an idea weaving together in your mind. It’s reckless and dangerous, but what other choice do you have? “I have,” you say slowly, “a horse and a cat waiting for me outside the capital.”

Nanami’s brows furrow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

You allow yourself a small, wry smile. The plan forming in your head is far from perfect—it’s borderline absurd, really—but the best distractions are often the ones no one expects.

“What better way to cause a disruption at a crowded event,” you say, leaning forward slightly, “than by letting a massive warhorse go rogue?”

The lanterns haven’t been lit yet—there are still hours to go for that—but the festivities begin with pomp and affair, much like the evening before, when Satoru and you had danced in the town square. Laughter rings out in waves, warm and unrestrained, carried through the crisp summer air laced with the sweet scent of spiced cider and roasted chestnuts. Music swells from the centre of the town square, a lively melody played by nimble hands on well-worn strings, and for a moment, the festival feels untouchable—like something out of a dream.

Until a scream splits through the dusk. The first crack in the revelry appears as festival-goers stumble back, their joy crumbling into confusion, then alarm. The cobblestone streets tremble beneath the furious pounding of hooves, and the festival—once so bright and golden—erupts into chaos. 

Like a demon birthed from light and flame, the beast arrives. A massive white warhorse, his snowy coat gleaming beneath the lamps’ glow, surges into the square, his reins flopping about his sides with no one there to ride him and his mane whipping about with the force of his gallops. His powerful frame barrels through the market stalls, hooves kicking up a storm of dirt and debris. A merchant barely dives out of the way as a cart of oranges topples over, spilling fruit across the street in a surge of gold and tangerine. The scent of crushed citrus only seems to amplify the panic.

Sukuna. Warhorse, menace, and a walking natural disaster. He rears up, hooves cutting through the air, and lets loose a shrill, defiant neigh that sends festival-goers scrambling. Children clutch at their mothers’ cloaks. Guards—once lazily stationed at their posts—snap to attention, hands flying to their weapons. Merchants abandon their wares, shouting frantically instead.

From the alleyway, you watch, heart hammering against your rib cage. The plan was simple. Let Sukuna loose. Create a distraction. Slip into the palace unnoticed. You were not, however, expecting this. Your eyes drift to where Nanami and Utahime stand, safely behind a water fountain, observing to make sure no real harm is caused and no one is actually injured. Utahime looks mildly shocked, while Nanami looks a little green.

Sukuna swings his massive head to an unfortunate vegetable vendor, plucks a perfectly round cabbage from the wreckage, chews it once, twice—and then hurls it full force at the nearest guard’s nether region. The cabbage makes impact with a resounding thud. The man crumples instantly. You slap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, holding Megumi tightly against your chest with your other one. You’ve replaced Utahime’s gown with your tunic and trousers from before and a pair of sturdy boots; it’s easier to move and hide the cat against your chest by covering him with your cloak. Your pack rests against your shoulders, filled to the brim with all your supplies. 

The horse pivots, tail lashing as he sends a stack of pastries flying with a single, well-placed kick. Cream-filled tarts arc through the air, and one particularly unlucky festival-goer takes a hit directly to the face, stumbling backwards in stunned silence. The panic spreads like fire through dry brush. Flower stands topple as people shove their way through the square, knocking over barrels and baskets in their desperate attempts to flee. Musicians abandon their instruments, their once-lively tunes now replaced by the erratic clang of an overturned drum.

You press further into the shadows, gripping Megumi a little tighter. “Alright,” you whisper, gaze darting to the now-abandoned palace gates. “This is our chance.”

The cat flicks his tail against your arm, but doesn’t resist when you set him down. He slinks forward, paws silent against the stone. You take one last glance towards the town square—where Nanami and Utahime are watching Sukuna with the expressions of a duo questioning every single life decision they’ve ever made—before slipping out of the alley.

The plan had been reckless from the start. Nanami had called it suicidal. Utahime had looked moments away from smacking you when you first suggested sneaking into the palace alone. But when it became clear you wouldn’t be swayed, she’d relented, pressing a map into your hands and tracing a single, hidden path with her fingertip. 

“The old passageway beneath the garden wall,” she had told you. “Hardly anyone remembers it exists—except for Geto, maybe, but he won’t be looking for you. It leads you straight through the kitchens and towards the prison underground.”

From this distance, the palace looms like a beast sleeping beneath the stars, its many towers and arching spires silhouetted against the deep blue of the sky. The golden sconces hanging from its walls cast a warm glow, creating long shadows that dance across the stone. Behind you, beyond the square, the festival rages on despite the commotion Sukuna caused. With a population this big, a simple horse won’t stop the people from celebrating—no, Sukuna had done his job well. You don’t hesitate in front of the palace. Hesitation means death.

The main gates are impossible—too well-guarded and exposed. But Utahime had spoken of another way, a smaller side entrance used for deliveries that leads you straight to the garden. It’s tucked away in the farthest corner of the palace grounds. The guards stationed there have been pulled towards the chaos in the square, just as planned. Still, you move carefully.

The shadows are your only ally as you press yourself to the outer walls, each step as silent as you can be. Megumi slinks beside you, nothing more than a wisp in the darkness with a half-torn ear, his sharp green eyes scanning for movement. You follow the curve of the stone wall, past ivy-covered archways and gushing marble fountains, until—

There. A wooden gate, half-hidden behind overgrown vines. You reach for the iron handle, fingers curling around the cool metal. You push against it with your shoulder, and it gives. The gate swings open just enough for you and Megumi to slip through, and then you’re inside the palace.

The palace gardens stretch before you in a maze of hedges and stone pathways. White roses bloom in the moonlight, petals pale as ghosts, their sweet scent thick and cloying. Marble statues of forgotten kings stand in silence, their hollow eyes seeming to follow you as you move. Somewhere beyond, you hear the distant murmur of voices—guards perhaps, manning the main halls. But here, amidst the leaves and the flowers, you are alone. 

You weave through the bushes, careful not to let your cloak catch on thorns. The path Utahime described had been clear in your mind before, but now, with the pressure to get Satoru out as quickly as possible increasing with every beat of your heart, the details feel hazy. A fountain, an old tree, and then the passage.

The fountain comes first, its water glimmering like molten silver under the moonlight. You crouch low, pressing yourself against its cool stone base, scanning the area. There’s no one around. A few paces ahead, a twisted oak rises from the ground, its gnarled roots stretching across the earth like reaching fingers. Its bark is scarred, and its branches are half-bare despite the season—just as Utahime had said.

Your pulse quickens. At the base of the tree, partially covered by weeds and wildflowers, a patch of stone juts out at an odd angle. Unlike the rest of the carefully arranged stone tiles in the garden, this one looks out of place—covered by dirt and worn by time. You drop to your knees and press your fingers against the surface. There is a slight shift, a breadth of space where there should be none.

This is it. With a careful push, the stone gives way, revealing a dark opening beneath the roots. The air that rushes out is humid and damp, as though it has not been stirred in years. You glance at Megumi. “Well,” you whisper to no one in particular. “There’s no turning back now.”

You drop legs-first into the hidden passageway. The moment your boots hit the ground, the world above seems to shrink away, muffled by layers of soil and stone. The darkness here is absolute. It presses in from all sides, thick and mawkish, the kind that swallows light and sound alike. For a moment, you do nothing but breathe, your fingers braced against the rough tunnel walls. The air is damp and stale, carrying the scent of moss, old stone, and something faintly metallic—like rain-soaked iron.

In front of you, Megumi lands soundlessly, his lithe form slipping into the darkness easily. You hear the soft thump of paws against dirt, then nothing. If not for the glint of his sharp eyes, or the way he presses his body against your leg, he might as well have disappeared.

Your fingers find the small lantern strapped to your belt. You turn the wick as low as it will go before striking the flint. A tiny ember flares, then blooms into a soft, flickering glow, just enough to illuminate the path ahead. The tunnel stretches forward, curving out of sight, its ceiling low enough that you have to crouch slightly to keep moving.

The walls here are old—older than the palace above, maybe even older than the kingdom itself. Stones worn smooth by time line the passage, their edges softened by centuries of damp air and creeping roots. In some places, cracks have formed, letting in faint sounds from the world above—the distant echoes of music and cheering from the lantern festival. Each sound feels impossibly far away, as if the tunnel exists in a world entirely separate from the one above.

You move forward carefully, your steps light on the uneven ground. Megumi pads ahead, his tail lifted in the air. The path narrows, forcing you to squeeze between the crumbling walls, and then widens again.

The passage spits you out into a vast, cavernous room, its ceiling arched and lined with thick wooden beams. Dust floats in the lantern’s dim glow, stirred by your arrival. Wooden barrels sit stacked in rows along the far wall, their formerly pristine surfaces marred by age and neglect. Bottles of aged wine and forgotten casks of ale sit upon the rotting shelves, relics of a time when this place had been used for more than secrecy. You drag your fingers across one of the barrels as you pass, feeling the rough texture of splintered wood beneath your touch.

Somewhere above, a faint creak echoes through the ceiling—a floorboard shifting beneath weight. Your breath stills. Someone is walking the halls above. You and Megumi freeze in place, listening. Silence.

Whoever it was is gone now. But the reminder is clear: You’re inside the palace now. You are running out of time. Exhaling slowly, you move to the far end of the cellar, where Utahime had said the servants’ door would be. The wood is warped with age, but when you press your shoulder against it, it gives way with a quiet groan. Beyond it, a narrow stairway spirals upwards. At the top lies the palace kitchens—and beyond that, the key you need to free Satoru.

You unsling your pack, shifting it in your arms, and step cautiously into the palace kitchens. The air is thick with the scent of past meals—roasted meats, cinnamon, and something rich and spiced. The massive hearth smoulders with dying embers, glowing orange. 

The kitchen is deserted, just as Utahime had said it would be. Most of the palace staff must have gone to watch the festival, or—more conveniently for you—to see whatever disaster Sukuna had caused in the square.

Still, you don’t take any chances. You straighten your back, undo the strings of your pack, and heft it in your arms like a sack. Striding forward, you lift your chin as though you belong here. Megumi flits past your feet, disappearing underneath one of the heavy wooden tables.

The ruse almost works—until just as you near the door leading out of the kitchen, footsteps sound from the far hallway. You freeze for only a moment before forcing your limbs to loosen. With a quick breath, you throw a mild look of annoyance onto your face, shift the pack higher onto your hip, and march forward. The door swings open and you nearly collide with a harried-looking cook. He’s a broad-shouldered man with a walrus moustache, apron stained with what looks like a day’s worth of work, and he stops short when he sees you.

“You—who are you?” His moustache quivers. His eyes flick to the open bag in your arms, filled with a hastily gathered of carrots, leeks, and a single sad-looking turnip. 

You let out an exasperated huff. “Finally,” you say, injecting the right amount of irritation into your voice. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to get these here?”

“What?”

“The town square’s a disaster! Some lunatic set a warhorse loose! I had to take the long way around the outer walls just to get here, and by the time I arrived at the usual gate, no one was there to let me in.” You shake your pack for emphasis. “Thought I was going to have to eat these myself. You’re lucky I even bothered.”

The cook eyes you suspiciously, but your complaint sounds mundane enough to be true. He rubs a hand over his face, sighing heavily. “The gods are testing me tonight. Fine, fine, put them on the table. But be quick about it.”

“Yes sir,” you mutter under your breath, making a show of stomping towards the long wooden table in the center of the kitchen. You set your pack down with a decisive thud, dusting your hands afterwards for good measure. The cook is already distracted, grumbling to himself as he turns towards the fire. You take the opportunity to scan the room, eyes landing on a rack of pots and pans hanging next to the hearth.

A weapon. Your fingers itch. It’s not that you’re planning to hit someone, but it’s always good to be prepared. And you wouldn’t exactly be the first person to use a frying pan as a last-minute means of self-defense; you’ve heard of tales of the princess of a neighbouring kingdom escaping her tower where she was kept imprisoned with nothing but a chameleon for company and a frying pan for safety.

Without hesitating, you grab one from the rack, testing its weight in your hand. It’s sturdy. Heavy enough to knock a man out cold if necessary. You slide it under your arm, keeping it close as you edge your way towards the door. 

“Oi.”

You stop. The cook is watching you again. You lift the pan slightly. “Borrowing this.”

His moustache quivers again. “For what?”

“To use,” you say vaguely. “Surely I deserve it after having brought you your vegetables despite all the trials and tribulations I faced along the way.”

“You know what? I don’t want to know. Just get the Hell out of my kitchen.”

You don’t need to be told twice. With a slight nod, you make your way towards the hall, Megumi slipping out from his hiding place to follow at your heels. The moment you’re out of sight, you tighten your grip on the pan and let out a slow, relieved breath.

You’ve done it. You’ve infiltrated the palace.

The halls stretch before you, long and gilded, lined with tapestries and portraits. The marble beneath your feet gleams even in the dim torchlight, and the walls are carved with intricate patterns of swirling gold, catching the flicker of flames like veins of molten fire.

It really is beautiful. A shame you don’t have the time to appreciate it.

Satoru had spoken of this palace with an almost begrudging sort of fondness, describing the soaring ceiling and the endless hallways. He’d said that it was too grand and gaudy, but his voice had betrayed him. Maybe, if things were different, you’d have let yourself stop for a moment; might have run your fingers over the carved archways or peeked behind the heavy velvet curtains just to see if what he had said is true.

But right now, Satoru is locked in a cage beneath all this finery, and if you didn’t move fast enough, he’d stay there. 

So you force your gaze away from all this grandeur and press forward, Megumi keeping pace beside you. The entrance to the underground prison is right where Nanami had explained it would be—tucked away at the end of a long corridor, next to the life-size portrait of the late queen. A single guard stands watch, leaning lazily against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

It’s almost insulting. You’d expected some kind of resistance, but clearly, the festival is a grander affair than you thought it’d be, given the fact that the entire palace is mercifully empty. (Take that, Gojo, you think. It’s not just some stupid, fucking dream.)

The guard is young, barely older than you, and his helmet is tilted back on his head like he doesn’t expect to actually need it. A ring of keys hangs from a nail on the wall beside him, just out of his immediate reach. You exhale slowly. It has to be fast.

You step forward, letting your footfalls become just loud enough to catch his attention. The guard startles, straightening as his hand drifts to the sword at his hip. “You’re not supposed to be—”

You don’t give him a chance to finish. Before he can react, you swing the frying pan. There’s a thunk as the cast iron connects with his temple, and his expression shifts from alarm to blank surprise before his knees buckle beneath him. He falls to the floor, out cold before he even hits the ground. For a moment, you just stand there, blinking down at his unconscious form.

“Okay,” you mutter. “That actually worked.” Megumi lets out an unimpressed meow. 

You shake off the momentary shock and step over the fallen guard, reaching for the keys. They’re cold in your hand as you lift them from the nail, heavier than you expected.. You kneel, looping a thin cord you’d kept in your pocket through the keyring before carefully tying it around Megumi’s neck. The metal dangles against his dark fur, catching the light as it sways with the feline’s movement. Megumi flicks his ears.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, scratching behind his ears in silent apology. “You’re the only one small enough to slip through the bars. Go save Gojo, yeah? I’ll let you use him as a mattress for the rest of your life if you do.”

You glance toward the heavy wooden door leading to the prison. You can already feel the cold draft seeping through the hinges. Satoru is waiting—and you’re almost there.

The moment Megumi slips through the prison door, you press yourself against the cold stone wall, every muscle in your body coiled tight. Now comes the hardest part: Waiting.

The silent stretches, suffocating. The distant echoes of the lantern festival feel like they belong to another world entirely—one where people are laughing, dancing, reveling underneath lantern-lit skies. But here, away from all the joyousness, in the belly of the beast, the air is still. You tighten your grip on the frying pan, the only weapon you have, though you’re not sure how much use it’ll be if someone really finds you. The minutes drag, each one more agonising than the last, and you fight the urge to start pacing.

What’s taking so long? Did Megumi make it inside? Did Satoru get the keys? Did something— A sudden, ear-splitting clang echoes from the prison depths—and then, footsteps. Heavy, fast, running. Before you can brace yourself, the door bursts open.

Gojo Satoru is a blur of white and shackles and laughter, stumbling forward as if he can’t believe the oxygen he’s breathing is real. Megumi bounds after him. The thief’s hair is a mess, his clothes rumpled from captivity, and the iron cuffs that once bound his wrists now dangle uselessly from one hand with the lock wrenched open.

He stops, just for a moment, breathing heavily, and then— “Oh.”

He reaches for you. Strong arms reach around you, lifting you clean off your feet before you can protest. He spins you once, laughter bubbling from his chest, the sound bright and alive and so him that your heart lurches.

“You’re brilliant, did you know?” he says, breathless, grinning into your hair. “My beautiful, clever girl.”

Heat rushes to your face, but before you can come up with anything resembling a response, he pulls back just enough to look at you. His hands settle firm at your waist, fingers pressing into you as if he needs to ground himself, needs to believe that you’re real. 

“You actually did it,” he murmurs, voice softer now, as if the realisation is still settling in. His eyes—so much brighter now that he’s not sentenced to imminent death—roam your face, searching. “You came for me.”

“Of course I did,” you say, and there’s a conviction to your voice that you didn’t know you were capable of. “What, did you think I was going to leave you in there?”

Satoru lets out a breath that could almost be a laugh. His fingers tighten just slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. “Nah,” he says. “You love me too much for that.”

You would have smacked him for that, but Megumi hisses in warning, and—

A slow, deliberate clap shatters the moment. The sound echoes through the empty corridor. Satoru stiffens. You twist in his arms, and there, standing at the entrance to the corridor, framed by torchlight, is Geto Suguru.

He is calm. He is composed. His uniform is pristine, untouched by the madness of the outside world. Something about the way he stands—the way his eyes glint—tells you that he had been expecting this.

“Oh, my,” Geto says, dark amusement curling at the edges of his voice. “What a touching reunion.”

He doesn’t lunge, doesn’t rush—simply tilts his head, fingers shifting ever-so slightly around the hilt of the sword sheathed at his waist. But that is enough. Satoru reacts immediately.

“Time to go,” he says, and before you can even register it, his hand grips yours and pulls.

You break out into a run, Megumi bounding alongside you both. Your feet barely touch the polished marble floors as you tear through the hallway. Satoru’s grip is firm, unyielding, tugging you forward even as your heartbeat roars in your ears.

The palace corridors blur past in streaks of gold and shadow. The vast, open walls, formerly filled with the hum of courtly affairs and the soft shuffle of silk-clad nobles, now echo with the rhythm of your own footsteps. The grandeur, the impossible opulence—none of it matters now. The only thing that does is putting as much distance between you and the man behind you.

Geto does not rush, but you feel him there, just beyond the edges of your vision. He moves like inevitability, his steps unhurried, the soft tap of his boots against stone barely audible over the breathless pace Satoru sets.

Left. Satoru veers sharply, nearly yanking you off balance as he takes a turn down a narrower passageway. The walls here loom closer, lined with paintings depicting long-forgotten wars and rulers whose names history has nearly erased. Megumi races ahead, his black fur a blur against the dim light, navigating the twisting hallways with a hunter’s instinct.

“Where—” you barely manage, lungs burning— “are we going?”

Satoru doesn’t answer immediately. His grip tightens around your wrist, fingers warm despite the chill in the air. Then, finally: “The throne room.”

You nearly stumble. “The what?”

“Best place to corner him.” He doesn’t sound the least bit winded, despite the speed at which you’re moving. “No exits. Just him and me.”

“That’s a terrible plan!”

“Oh? Got a better one, beautiful?”

You don’t. Not one that doesn’t involve getting caught. Another turn. Another impossibly long hallway. The walls here are different—sleek, dark stone rather than marble, lined with towering pillars that stretch high into the vaulted ceiling. This is the heart of the castle, you realise. The oldest part. The place where power has been passed from one ruler to the next, where history has been carved into the very foundations. The entrance to the throne room looms ahead. Twin doors. Impossibly tall, made of dark oak reinforced with gold filigree. The sigils of the royal bloodline are carved into them, worn smooth from centuries of rule.

Megumi reaches it first. He doesn’t slow—just slips through the narrow gap left ajar. Satoru doesn’t stop running, either. He shoves against the heavy doors, and they groan open, the vast chamber beyond yawning wide to swallow you whole.

The throne room is silent. No guards. No nobles. Just tall stone columns, high windows that cast fractured moonlight against the polished floors, a row of swords hanging on the far end of the wall, and the lone, empty throne that sits at the far end of the chamber. Your stomach drops when you see what’s placed on the throne’s seat.

The crown. Geto Suguru has expected this to happen—had planned for it, even. All for what?

Satoru releases your wrist just as the doors slam shut behind you. The sound of approaching footsteps makes you whip around so quickly, you nearly lose grip of the handle of the frying pan. Satoru turns, unhurried, a smile curling at the edges of his lips even before Geto steps into the dim light.

“How predictable,” the captain drawls. His fingers roll the hilt of his sword idly, his gaze sweeping from the empty throne to Satoru, to you. “Well played, Satoru. But I’m afraid this game is already over.”

He doesn’t move in a rush—not in the reckless, desperate way of a man eager to end a fight—but with slow steps. The grip on his sword remains loose, casual, as if he’s hardly concerned. As if this is nothing more than a simple conversation. Satoru backs up, just as measured, retreating step by step towards the far wall where the swords hang in an orderly row. You stay still, carefully stepping away, Megumi hiding behind your legs. This is not your fight to partake in; you know this because the captain barely glances your way.

“You’ve always been stubborn,” Geto says, tilting his head as his boots click against the floor. “All those years, running in circles, chasing shadows. Looking for something that was right in front of you the entire time.”

“I don’t know,” says Satoru, almost lazily. “I think I was more preoccupied with avoiding your assassination attempts.”

Geto chuckles. “Come now, old friend. I gave you plenty of warning.”

“Oh, sure. That time you nearly poisoned my drink?” Satoru grins manically. “Tell me, was that your idea, or were you merely using the First Commander as inspiration?”

Your breath hitches. The First Commander? 

The laughter in Geto’s expression doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I was doing what I had to do. Look at me now, Gojo. I’m the Captain of the Royal Guard, while you’re just a fugitive with no place to call home. This could’ve been your position, had you not decided to be so fucking righteous.”

“Right. It’s my fault for finding out that the First Commander murdered the late queen.”

Everything clicks into place. Nanami had mentioned that the First Commander was the current king’s older brother—the current king, who has been severely ill for the past decade, who hasn’t been seen in the public eye ever since, because he was supposedly on permanent bedrest. Your heartbeat quickens. Just how much rot is this kingdom hiding behind the rubies?

“Ah,” Satoru continues. “I’m forbidden from speaking of it, aren’t I?”

The captain’s jaw ticks, but his smirk remains. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The thief scoffs. “Of course. Because it wasn’t you who told me to shut up about it instead of confronting the old man. To turn a blind eye, to let it happen ‘cause it was—what did you say?—bigger than us.” He laughs, sharp and humourless. “How’s that working out for you, Suguru?”

“Still so naïve.”

“And you’re still so blind,” Satoru throws back. He reaches behind him, grabbing the nearest sword from the wall, and swings it down. “What was it, again? The commander deserved the throne because he was older? Because the king was too soft? Because it was for the good of the kingdom?” His voice drips with mockery. “Come on, Suguru. Give me that speech again. I loved that speech.”

Geto’s fingers shift on the hilt of his sword. “You never understood.”

“Oh, I understood perfectly,” Satoru snaps. “The commander couldn’t sit on his hands and wait for fate to hand him what he thought was his. So he took matters into his own poison-stained hands. And you let him.”

Silence stretches between them, thick as fog, pressing against the walls. You swallow hard, watching the way Geto’s jaw sets. 

“We’ve had this conversation before, right before you decided to rat me out,” he continues. “We both knew. We knew he was killing them.”

Geto’s eyes flash. “And what was I supposed to do, Satoru? Fight back? Get myself executed like you nearly did? The commander had already won the moment the queen died.”

“The queen,” Satoru seethes, “who had a son, Suguru. The trueborn heir to the throne. The very thing the commander feared most.”

Geto’s lips part—then press into a thin line. There. There it is. The missing piece, the lock to the key.

Satoru takes a step forward, lifting the sword in his hand. “That’s what broke you, isn’t it?” His voice is softer now, but not kind. “You could stomach the poison. You could stomach the lies. But when he tried to kill the baby, that was when you hesitated.”

“I thought you were dead,” Geto says, almost conversationally. “When you ran. The first few months when they declared you a fugitive, I thought you wouldn’t make it. And yet, here you are.”

“I am very hard to kill.”

“That, you are.”

They move at the same time. Steel clashes in a burst of sparks, the force of the impact ringing through the cavernous throne room. Satoru twists, parrying the next strike with ease, but Geto presses forward, forcing him back towards the dais. They circle each other, two hunters hunting each other. You tighten your grip on the frying pan—though it might be rendered useless given the situation.

“You were so convinced you could save him,” Geto murmurs, keeping his blade pointed at Satoru’s chest. “That you could find the heir, put him on the throne, and somehow make this kingdom right again.”

“And you were so convinced that I wouldn’t,” Satoru says. “It took a while, but I managed to steal the crown, didn’t I? The late queen—may she rest in peace—was clever. It was tough trying to figure it out—that the clue rested upon what belonged to the true heir.”

“Clever, indeed. But not clever enough. You see, I’ve already figured it all out.” Geto lunges again, blade flashing. Satour meets him mid-strike. They push against each other, each testing the other’s strength, neither giving way.

“You think you’ve won just because you found the crown?” Geto taunts. “Because you figured out the queen’s little riddle? It changes nothing.”

“No, Suguru. It changes everything.” Satoru grins, eyes alight with someone reckless. He shifts his weight, twisting free of Geto’s grip, and swings his sword in a sharp arc. Geto blocks it, but just barely—his foot skids slightly against the polished marble, his balance momentarily off. Satoru seizes the opening, pressing forward with quick, calculated strikes.

The clang of their swords echoes, the only sound save for your own shallow breaths. You inch closer to Megumi, keeping him shielded behind you, even as you cannot tear your eyes away from the fight.

“You were there that night,” Satoru bites out in between strikes, “when the commander told us of his plan for the queen’s son to be killed.” His blade swings, forcing Geto another step back. “You heard the order.” A sharp clash. “You almost let it happen.” Another blow. “And you knew I wouldn’t.”

Geto parries the next attack with more force, forcing Satoru back. “I told you to let it go. I told you it was too late.”

“And I told you to go fuck yourself!” Satoru fires back. He dodges another strike easily, as though his years of training as a soldier have not left his body despite the disuse of sword-fighting.

“You should’ve joined me,” he says. “We could’ve risen the ranks together. Fixed things together.”

“Fixed things? You wanted to erase the truth. I wanted to bring it back.” Satoru’s eyes narrow. “That’s why you never killed me, isn’t it? Because some part of you—some part of you—wanted me to prove you wrong.”

A flicker of something crosses Geto’s face. A hesitation. A second too long. Satoru moves. His blade sweeps low, and Geto barely has the time to block before he’s forced back again, this time nearly stumbling. His boot scrapes against the first step of the dais, right in front of the empty throne—mere paces away from where you’re standing, clutching your frying pan like it’s a lifeline. Satoru stops, standing just a few feet away, his own sword lowered slightly, his breathing steady.

Geto exhales slowly, eyes shadowed, and then—finally—he laughs. Low; amused; dark. “You always were the best, Satoru,” he says. “I’ll give you that. But I’ve figured it out too. The queen’s secret. The heir’s true identity.”

Satoru’s expression doesn’t waver. “Oh?”

A slow smile spreads across Geto’s face. “Okkotsu Yuta is his name,” he says. 

You take a step forward. Geto continues, “The last remaining royal—”

Another step. “—was raised as—”

Another step; this time, you raise your arms over your head. “—a low-life peasant on the border between our kingdom and the next.”

CLANG!

Geto Suguru’s mouth slackens. His eyes go cross-eyed before he crumples to the floor, unconscious. Satoru blinks. His eyes dart up to meet yours.

You stand over the captain of the Royal Guard’s stupefied body, the frying pan gripped so tightly in your hands, the handle digs into your palms. “...Oops?”

Satoru exhales—a sound caught between disbelief and sheer delight—before throwing his head back with a bark of laughter. “You,” he says, stepping over Geto’s unconscious form, “are fucking amazing. And here I was, thinking I’d have to duel him for longer.”

You lower the frying pan, shoulders sagging slightly as the adrenaline ebbs. “Yeah, well, you were taking too long.”

He drops the sword; it falls to the floor with a resounding thud. You grimace. Satoru wraps his arms around you, melting into you as though drained of all his energy. You lean against him, as well. It’s not over yet—the First Commander is still alive, the king’s health is still failing, the heir is still unaware of his royal lineage, and the kingdom’s fate is uncertain.

“Hey,” he murmurs after a while, after Megumi weaves about in between your legs. “We might be able to catch a glimpse of the last bit of the lantern festival if we’re lucky.”

You pull back slightly, brows knit together in a frown. “Aren’t you tired? You should be resting!”

“Nah.” He grins. “What sort of man would I be if I brought you all the way to the capital and didn’t let you see your dream?”

“But—”

“Tomorrow. We’ll figure it all out tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You give in. How could you not?

The river glows with the reflections of a thousand golden lanterns, each one a drifting star against the darkened water. Somewhere beyond the riverbanks, the kingdom rejoices, but here—adrift in a tiny wooden boat, far removed from the noise and the world—it is quiet. It is just you and Satoru, bathed in the warm glow of floating light. You trace your fingers along the delicate paper lantern in your lap, the thin parchment almost translucent beneath your touch. Satoru watches you, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Make a wish,” he tells you.

You let your lips turn upwards, closing your eyes. The lantern lifts into the air. It floats upwards, joining the sea of golden light that drifts towards the heavens. Beside you, Satoru releases his own, head tilted back to watch it rise, the glow reflected in the blue of his eyes. For a long while, you don’t speak. The world has never felt so hushed, so suspended in time. 

Then, he turns to you, the shimmer of the lanterns casting his face in soft gold. “I think,” he says, “I have a dream too.”

“Really? Tell me.”

He leans in instead, and his lips press against yours—warm, certain, like the promise of something endless. Overhead, the lanterns continue their slow, drifting ascent, rising higher, higher, until they are nothing but distant constellations in the dark.

It feels like stardust.

⇢ a/n: @mahowaga & @admiringlove, you both know who you are. thank you, as well, to kae, @ylangelegy, for beta reading this fic, giving me invaluable feedback, and letting me ramble about this fic to them; i appreciate you endlessly. and, of course, thank you, dear reader, for reading this behemoth of a fic :) i hope you have a wonderful day! sidenote: due to tumblr’s paragraph limit, several paragraphs that were written as separate word blocks had to be combined into one in order to make it fit in one post. to read it with the original formatting, as it was written in my google docs, ao3 would definitely offer you a better experience!

Margin for Error (Fushiguro M x F!Reader)

My first post ahhh 👉🏾👈🏾 pls be kind

When you're observant enough to know your crush likes you but you're emotionally stunted and you keep second-guessing yourself 😩 poor megumi. Thankfully, Gojo is there to help!

Warnings: None!

Enjoy! xx

-♡-

"Oh, it's you," Megumi says, trying his best to sound apathetic as he cracks the door open a little wider for you to slip inside. 

"Try not to sound too excited," you laugh, ruffling his hair as you waltz past. He gets a whiff of smooth caramel and sweet vanilla as you pass and swallows, trying to calm the wild thumping of his heart. You always smell like a candy store and freshly baked cookies. He's never been a fan of overly sweet things, but he's developed a sweet tooth since meeting you.

He watches you lean against his desk, casually perusing the books and notes scattered across it, "Do you even need to study? You're smart enough anyway." 

Megumi drops into the office chair in front of you, rolling an inch or two away from you. He needs to create distance between you before his heart punches through his chest.  

"Of course, I need to study," Megumi scoffs, "If I don't want to be a bumbling idiot like Itadori, that is." 

You laugh and poke his shoulder playfully, "He's not that bad, Guro!" 

Megumi glances away, heat rushing to his cheeks. He both loves and hates when you call him that.

You push yourself up onto his desk and fiddle with the dog-shaped stress ball you bought for him in Tokyo. He watches how your legs dangle off the edge of the desk, how your skirt hitches up over your knees, revealing smooth skin he's only ever dreamt of touching. 

"So why are you here?" he asks, averting his gaze from your legs, "To annoy me?" 

A hint of playfulness to his tone is barely noticeable, but you pick it up straight away, and a teasing smile grows across your face. 

"What? I can't visit my second best friend?" 

Megumi snorts, "'Best friend' is a bit generous." 

"Oh yeah? And what would you call us?" 

Megumi glances up at you, his gaze snaring at yours. He can feel heat bloom beneath his cheeks again, but he can't look away, not when there's a glimmer in your eyes and a smile on your lips, those lips that he wants to do unspeakable things to. 

Finally, he clears his throat, his voice a little husky, "Classmates." 

You laugh, undaunted, nudging his leg with your toe, "Oh come on, we're at least acquaintances, right?" You nudge him again when you see the slight smile trying to worm its way onto his face, "Right?" 

Megumi rolls his eyes, "Fine. You didn't answer my question, by the way." 

You give the stress ball another small squeeze, "Well, Gojo-sensei is taking us out tonight, and I'm supposed to use my womanly charms to persuade you." 

Megumi rolls his eyes at Gojo's antics. He can't turn his sensei down if you're the one inviting him because it would mean turning you down, and Megumi can't find it in himself to refuse you. So Gojo is using you as a pretty little courier bird, exploiting his feelings for you. What a clever little trap Gojo's set. 

Megumi glances at his books, stacked neatly beside you. He wanted to finish some extra study tonight, but a few hours with you is far more intriguing than any textbook he could ever find. 

"Okay," He shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant. 

Your brows shoot up in surprise, "Really?" 

"Really." 

"Just like that?" 

Megumi arches a brow, and you throw your hands up in defence. 

"I was just expecting more pushback." 

Megumi shrugs again, "It'll be fun if you're there." 

This time, it's your turn to blush. You wear every emotion beautifully, but Megumi thinks bashful is his favourite. 

"Cool!" You chirp excitedly, "Well, that was easy. Does that mean I can add you back to the group chat?" 

Megumi makes a face, and you laugh again. 

-♡-

The Karaoke Bar in Tokyo is loud and crowded, but Gojo manages to secure a private booth in the back, which Megumi is grateful for. He's not particularly fond of crowds, and he hates shouting over some tone-deaf drunk trying to sing along to Britney Spears.  

Sitting on the couch next to Nobara and Gojo, Megumi watched with a small smirk as you scream-sing the words to 'I Want it That Way' with Itadori. Itadori laughs every three words while you perform a silly, uncoordinated dance, twirling the fringes of your dress. You look beautiful, beaming at Megumi now and then, your hair out and your eyes shining with amusement. He can't take his eyes off you. 

Nobara is cheering you on, clapping and hooting, while Gojo sprawls out on the couch, grinning. He'd forgone wearing his blindfold for sunglasses instead, and there's something in the way that Gojo's eyes dart between you and Megumi that irritates the latter. 

"She looks cute tonight, doesn't she?" Gojo remarks casually, though there is a teasing lilt to his voice that Megumi doesn't like one bit. 

Megumi shrugs, still staring at you while Nobara shimmies up to you. 

"Why don't you ask her out?" Gojo suggests, "I think she'll say yes." Megumi slants a disapproving glare over his shoulder at Gojo, who stubbornly persists, "It's obvious that she likes you. Sometimes, the way she looks at you makes me wonder how you haven't noticed." 

Megumi looks away, and Gojo tilts his head to the side, observing how Megumi's throat bobs. 

"Or you have noticed, but something's stopping you from asking her out?" 

Megumi stares at his glass of coke, fingers flexing around his trousers. 

"Every time I try to ask her, I second guess myself. It's stupid… I'm pretty sure that she likes me, but there's always the possibility that I might be wrong, a margin for error that keeps getting bigger and bigger the longer I think about it." 

Gojo hums in understanding. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and stares at Megumi with a level of sternness that is so foreign, so unlike the Gojo he knows, Megumi thinks he's imagined it. 

"Don't overthink it," Gojo encourages, and his mouth ticks into a smile, "You're your own worst enemy sometimes. But that girl is crazy for you, and I know you're crazy for her. So ask her up to the rooftop bar and go for it before someone else does." 

Megumi arches a brow, "There's a rooftop bar?" 

"Yeah," Gojo leans back again, all seriousness draining from his expression "It's pretty romantic up there." 

A sneaking suspicion Megumi had since he'd arrived explodes into complete awareness as he stares at Gojo. 

"Did you…organise this whole night so that I could ask her out?" 

Gojo's small smile splits into a wicked grin. 

-♡-

Megumi has to admit that his sensei has taste. 

It is, indeed, very romantic up on the roof, with the night sky overhead and the glittering Tokyo city before him. The atmosphere of the rooftop bar is also very warm and relaxed, with golden fairy lights strung up above him. Despite the ambience and the beautiful views, Megumi's stomach ties itself into a triple-tied sailor's knot, and he can't stop drumming his fingers against the balcony railing. Why did he let Gojo talk him into this? This was stupid, insane even; he can't risk jeopardising his friendship with you because of some stupid, teenage hormones––

"Hey, Guro! You wanted to talk to me?" 

Megumi turns around, sees you, and firmly instructs himself not to flee. 

You look radiant. 

Cheeks flushed, hair out, eyes glittering, smile beaming. You look vivacious, full of life, like sunlight on the first day of spring. 

He can't do this. 

"Actually, no - I mean - no, that's what I mean't…no." 

He's not prepared for the look of disappointment that spills into your eyes. 

"I've never heard the word 'no' used so much in one sentence," you quip, but your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes. 

Megumi stares at his feet, defeated. He feels like a coward. He probably looks like one, too. 

"There's a first for everything, right?" 

"Yeah, I guess. It's a shame, though, because I thought you'd asked me up here so you could admit your feelings for me," Megumi's eyes snap back to you. You look hopeful and nervous as you continue, "Feelings that I share."

"You mean you—?!"

"Yes," you breathe, stepping closer to him, staring up into his eyes, "Yes, Megumi, I like you. A lot."

Megumi's throat bobs. You're so close. He's drawn in by every fleck of colour in your irises. 

"I-yes, I did invite you up here to-to tell you I like you. But I didn't expect you to—" 

"—Megumi," you whisper, and he swallows again. The way you say his name turns his spine to butter. 

"—yeah?" 

"Kiss me." 

"Okay."

Craning his neck, Megumi leans down and finally, finally kisses you. 

It's…a little awkward if he's honest. This is his first kiss, but it's evidently not yours, and as you guide him through it, Megumi finds himself melting into it. His lips move against yours, slow and sweet, and when you tilt your head a little to deepen the kiss, Megumi sighs. You taste sugary and smell sweet, and your body is warm against him, soft and small, and he reaches out for you to pull you closer. You link your arms around his neck and moan, and Megumi feels like he's floated into a dream. Except it isn't. You, him, and the chaste first kiss that is rapidly becoming a make-out are real, and he cups your cheek with his hand to prove it to himself.

Your feelings for him are real. That's all that matters. 

i cant let them go yet apparently

Christmas with the Sano siblings

(As Shinichiro’s girlfriend)

Author's note 📝: It's missing Shinichiro hours😿 for me at least.

Warnings ⚠️: Sano siblings! Mikey and Izana not getting along so curse words and violence, If I have missed some please let me know~

❥  Shinichiro had invited you spend Christmas with his family after hearing about the fact that you couldn’t go home to your own family.

❥  You had stayed over the night before the Christmas day because Shinichiro had whined to you about how much you weren’t going to pay attention to him the next day. Tired of his sulking you gave your dork of a boyfriend a peaceful night with you.

❥  Grandpa Sano already treated you like you were apart of the family so no one batted an eye when you had walked out of his room for breakfast. Mornings were the most quiet and comfortable in the Sano household as all 3 rowdy brothers were still half-awake throughout the morning. Meaning no teasing Mikey, no bratty Izana and no whiney Shinichiro.

❥  Emma was incredibly grateful to have you around the house. And most of the time, she was the reason your time with your boyfriend got cut short. Not that Shinichiro could complain, he was glad his little sister had a female figure to keep her company.

❥  She’d drag you around the house, chasing away any male presence that was hovering outside her door as she continuously asked you what a blossoming teenager would usually ask. Questions ranged from how to do your brows to what do people in a relationship do together.

❥  Emma truly felt like a little sister to you. She was such a delight that you didn’t mind spending time with her more than Shinichiro.

❥  Mikey and Izana were gone most of the time, but that didn’t mean you weren’t as close with them. Being gang leaders and all, it was expected to have them come home bloodied and bruised. The first time that happened you were so surprised but nobody gave it a second thought.

❥  Their attempts of patching themselves up were so pitiful that you had step up and help them or else they’ll just end up with a few gauze pads and toilet paper hanging around them as a bandage.

❥  And now you wordlessly take care of them whenever you were around. They saw you as a doting sister, closest to how a mother would feel like so best believe they acted like behaved dogs around you.

❥  They’d never let anyone harm you but would never bring you up or introduce you to anyone of their respective gangs. Though there were a few instances where you met them in the streets or just outside, in some scenarios they were lucky, but for the most part you’d always give them a glare if they were causing trouble, or a light tap if you were near.

❥  Shinichiro, who was busying himself by wrapping the gifts you were both giving to the kids, was stuck inside the house with Grandpa Sano as you and the others went grocery shopping.

❥  He wanted to come, but before he could grab his coat, his siblings had already dragged you out of the house in fear of both of you being all “gushy mushy” (Their words not mine-) with each other while shopping. Emma thought it was cute but the boys found it irritating.

❥  The stress you have to deal with the boys coming along though. Both Izana and Mikey would be fighting the whole time and would sometimes verbally throw punches against each other which would cause all of you to be kicked out of the store.

❥  Emma would be complaining about how loud they were but would also talk to you about how she planned on getting Draken to spend his Christmas with you guys as well….it involved a rope.

❥  While you were deadpanning at Emma’s words, you hadn’t noticed the two boys at the back beginning to roughhouse once more. But after hearing some objects getting shattered or broken, you had to resort to the last trick in your sleeve to get them to stop. Which was threatening them with your baked goodies.

❥  Please. The way they immediately act like nothing ever happened was always so funny.

❥  Now back at the house, you and Emma would immediately start cooking while the boys would be decorating the whole house. You could tell it was going to be a mess if you left any of them in charge so you had politely asked Grandpa Sano to make sure they work.

❥  By nighttime, everything was set up and done. Mikey and Izana were finally getting along...by napping on the couch, Emma would be dressing up along with you. And Shinichiro would be making sure nothing gets ruined.

❥ A quarter past 9 and the Christmas atmosphere was felt by everyone. Mikey would be sneakily trying to open the presents, Izana would be there encouraging him until they got hit in the head by their Grandpa.

❥  Shinichiro and Emma would be hyping you up, telling you how pretty you are in a dress that fit the party and of course Grandpa Sano would be snacking on the Cookies that were supposed to be for Santa (Courtesy of Mikey who still wants to believe in Santa)

❥  Now it was half-past 10 and you were doing the dishes while the kids were finally getting to open their presents. Shinichiro, who couldn’t even spend 5 minutes alone with you during the day, thought of a very cliche but cheeky idea.

❥  “Y/n! Come here for a sec!” You heard him call you. You grabbed a nearby cloth and wiped your wet hands before curiously heading over to where you heard the sound. But as soon as you walked past the door...you could see a very mischievous smile that Shinichiro could only have when he’s being a sweetheart(Dork)

He pointed upwards. “Mistletoe” Shinichiro smiled at your expression, watching you roll your eyes but with a smile on your face. He walked closer to you, hands roaming to your waist as you tilted your head and smiled at him.

His hug felt warm and you could even smell the lavender fabric softener you told him to use. At first he complained about how ‘unmanly’ it was but saw the way you always clung to him whenever he wore it so instead, he made sure to only use those lavender scented body soaps or cologne.

He embraced you tightly, hands wrapped around you like he was never letting go. Pressing a soft chaste kiss on your forehead before one of his hands slid up to your cheek. He gently pushed your face away from his chest. Caressing his thumb on your eyes to make you open them.

But as soon as you did, he closed his. Lowering his face until he could feel the soft breaths you let out. Unable to hold back any longer, he pushed his lips onto yours. Soft and pillowy, he felt heaven just by getting to hold you like this.

Being able to feel your calm heartbeat, your warm hands wrapped around his waist, the way your hair slightly tickled but also gently bother him. Oh how he wished this moment would never end. The hands on your face and back tightened, kissing you harder. He could feel the outline of your teeth. Even as he felt himself getting needy of oxygen he didn’t stop. Holding you tighter when he tried to pull away.

You tapped his chest, then and only then did he stop.

“When did you learn how to kiss like that?”

“Did you think I would kiss somebody else?”

“No. I’m asking what youtube video you watched-”