[PROD. TAG] NSFW (18+), no real plot just pure smut drabbles lol, strong underlying theme of dacryphilia, p in v [suguru, toji + gojo], oral [nanami + sukuna], biting [toji + gojo], edging [suguru + gojo], petnames (baby, gorgeous etc.)
TOJI FUSHIGURO — DON'T ASK WHERE I PRACTICED, PUT YOU THROUGH THIS MATTRESS!
"hold your legs back f'me baby, yes just like that—want me to fill you all the way up, don'tcha?"
toji's voice was rough, lust lacing each word with an added grit, large palms pressing your knees into your stomach—your own hands spreading your legs even further, approving hum vibrating in his chest.
he didn't waste any time once he got you in the position he wanted you in, rough pads of his fingertips smearing the slick that had started to leak out from your entrance, using it to stroke himself once, twice and once more before lining himself up and pressing right into you in a single push.
that was how you liked it, loved it even, slight ache from the sudden stretch melting into a warm pleasure with each press of his hips against yours—wet sound of your skin against his getting louder, body bent underneath his own like pretzel as he leaned down even closer, thrusts getting shallower with your ankle hanging off his shoulder.
"...breathe for me gorgeous," he groaned, your hiccuped breaths only causing your walls to further constrict against him, slight curve rubbing right up against your sweet spot again and again and again.
"m'tryingggg!" and you felt your eyes glaze over, wetness pricking at your lashline from how good everything felt, the weight of him pining your legs back forcing you to really feel every last inch he was giving you—thick arms bracketing you in a way that meant all you could do was lay there and fucking take it.
"you gonna cry? my poor baby can't handle it?" he taunted, mouth moving over your collarbone to give you a light bite, pace so consistent you wondered whether this was what he was really training for when he spent all that time at the gym, black strands slicked down flat against his forehead as his lips ticked up in a small smile at the way you squirmed underneath him.
"s'okay..." he purred, lips brushing up against the column of your neck as your head fell back against the pillow. "you just lay there and be good f'me, hmm?"
and how could you argue with that, weak little nod only making him go even harder, vested interest in breaking you down into a sobbing mess being one that you found yourself also sharing—each press of his hips drawing out the prettiest, feathery moans as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to finishing.
"oh." he moved a hand from the crease of your waist to start rubbing tight circles over your clit. "you're about to make a mess all over me, aren't you?"
"mmhmm!" you hummed, pressing the heel of your foot into his back to get him to lean in further, get him to be even deeper.
"keep squeezing me like that and i won't be too far off... gonna let me do it inside, fill you all the way up?"
that shouldn't have made your walls grip him even tighter but it did, feeling the way his abdomen tensed before he spilled up inside of you, his drawn out groan bleeding into your own as you joined him—walls spasming against his length as he continued to shallowly thrust into you, warmth of your orgasm flowing through your veins making you feel like you were floating between the loose fabric of reality, only being brought back by the feeling of him pulling out.
"...i think we need to change the sheets."
SUGURU GETO — OH I AM COMMITTED... TO MAKE YOUR WATERS BURST!
suguru couldn’t help but tease you, the fat tears beading in your waterline reflecting the teasing smirk that was growing on his face.
“is it too much baby?” he cooed, sharp snap of his hips not matching his honeyed words—hand on your hip dragging you down onto him, forcing you to feel every inch.
you heard him groan as you dragged your fingertips down his forearms, conflicted on whether you wanted him closer or further.
“been waiting to see you like this for hours,” his pace slowed down slightly, the thick drag of his cock against your slick walls making you feel impossibly full. “wanted to just push myself into this pretty little ass every single time you bent over.”
it was late in the evening, maybe even now the early morning from how long he’d been building you up, each thrust slow and deliberate as you got progressively closer and closer to falling off that elusive cliff—his ability to read your body like a book only causing him to change his pace every time he felt you squeeze around him in that way you always did before you finished.
missionary was his favorite position, the only one that let him see you at your most vulnerable, open and bare to him—hand moving up to your face to wipe the stray tears that had finally fallen free, pressing a small kiss to the side of your eye.
"you want me to let you cum? treat my sweet girl for being so patient with me?" he murmured, body shivering under the warmth of his breath against the shell of your ear.
you whimpered into his neck, small nod being all he needed before pressing a hand against the base of your neck, drooling tip rubbing right up against your sweet spot again and again and again before you finally clamped down around him—so tight he had to steady himself on your hip to pull himself out and press back into you, tears now fully streaming down your face from how good the eventual release was, limbs shaking a little before you finally settled against the cool sheets, sticky from sweat, spit and cum as his silky strands tickled over your face before he pressed a kiss to your forehead.
"you did perfect baby." he hummed, still sheathed inside of you, shallow strokes making you shudder underneath him.
"...but, can you give me one more?"
SATORU GOJO — YOU WON'T CATCH A BREAK, HOW MUCH CAN YOU TAKE?
your eyes flitted up to look at the clock above the door on the wall, long hand having moved from the left side to the right over the time that had passed since your boyfriend had finally put his hands on you.
it'd been a while since the two of you had seen each other, busy schedules and the pressing work demands of being 'the strongest' being one that made for very little time with your lover.
he was sweet at first, extravagant bouquet of flowers moving out from behind his back as you opened the door to your apartment.
"you're here!" you placed the flowers in a vase before wrapping you arms around his taller frame, arms flexing to squeeze around you.
"in the flesh. you missed me?"
you rolled your eyes. "now?..not so much."
he smirked. "let's change that then."
he'd said that around two hours ago.
hands that had ruthlessly slaughtered numerous curses were now tracing along your upper half with a tenderness you were certain only few were able to see, fingers tracing up from your navel right to the underside of your breasts. your breath stuttered as he let his palms cover your chest, rough pads of his thumbs swirling over your nipples, teasing them into a peak.
"i missed you..." he murmured, taking his time to trace over you like he was reminding himself of how you felt, how you reacted to each touch and tease.
"mmhm, I did too baby." you breathed and he leaned into your hand's grip on his hair, gentle scratches oat his scalp making him shiver slightly.
that's how it started, a slow build up of light touch culminating in you being spread out bare against the sheets of your bed, legs wrapped tight around his torso as his cock all but kissed your cervix, slight curve making you shudder with each stroke.
you weren't sure who was more needy, eyes rolling into the back of your skull as a soft whimper snuck its way out from his mouth, feeling the way his cock throbbed inside of you from the sound.
“can’t t-take—anymoreee!” you choked out, grip around his cock so tight his hips stuttered, low hiss leaving his lips.
he'd been teasing you like this for hours, having missed the feeling of your warm walls around him so much he couldn't bring himself to let this end, alternating between long slow strokes and short sharp thrusts—head leaning down to capture your lips in a lazy kiss, tongue sliding over your own drawing out even more soft noises from you.
“m'sorry baby just—shit-don't want it to end!” he rasped and you could tell he was finally close himself, head drooped down into the crook of your neck as you felt him bite down lightly on the exposed skin of your neck.
you yelped, pain blending into a comfortable ache as he laved his tongue over the same spot, certain that there would be a fairly obvious mark left in the harsh light of the morning. you threaded your fingers into his hair pulling him to leave another one under your jaw.
the feeling of your nails scratching against his scalp seemed to be the cherry on top, feathery groan muffled in your neck—warm release painting your walls with every sloppy push.
"didn't mean to...before..." his voice had that deliciously broken tone it always did right after he finished, slight breathlessness making him pant a little as he continued to thrust up into you.
"c'monnn," he begged, slender fingers moving down to rub at your slick bundle of nerves.
"...give it to me."
and when he was begging so sweetly for you, how could you say no—low dip in your stomach bleeding out into a long awaited release, thick ring of your combined fluids gathering between where your two bodies were joined.
"m'never leaving again." he sighed, rolling the two of you over so you could lay on top of him. "no, nope, not happening."
"even if..."
"nope."
SUKUNA RYOMEN — I WANT YOU TO LEAVE A MARK, SCRATCHES ON MY ARMS!
your boyfriend was different from other guys.
he had pink hair, bold black tattoos from head to toe and an oxymoronic love for classical music.
...and he had four arms, two pairs of eyes AND a mouth on his stomach.
yeah, sukuna was not at all like the men you'd been with before.
but that came with its own perks.
"i see you looking."
it was late, cool night breeze making the linen curtains flutter slightly against the window. he was laid back against the expansive headboard, lower arms folded loosely as the upper ones scratched at his scalp.
"at what?" you had been curling into the firm ridges of his side, firm muscle softening just a little to let you snuggle a little closer.
he lifted his shirt up, long line of the mouth on his lower abdomen already curled up in a smirk, pointed canines pressing into the softness of it's bottom lip.
you blinked. "oh."
he reclined back further, upper set of arms folded back to rest his head on whilst the lower set pulled off his shirt.
"go on." he pointed at his stomach so there could be no chance for confusion.
"sit."
you choked on your spit at the sight of the wickedly long tongue that snaked out from it's mouth, muscle tapering into a thin point that curled up in a way that shouldn't have made you clench your thighs...but you did anyway. whore.
"are you...sure?" and his lower set of arms placed you right on his lap, a couple inches away from his mouth. well the other one. you know.
he raised an eyebrow. "you don't want to?"
you looked back down at the mouth, and a large palm cupped your chin to tilt your head back up.
"look at me."
his hands moved down to your waist, pulling down your underwear and shorts with a habitual ease that would've made you laugh if you weren't about to get ate out by a (maybe sentient?) mouth crevice on your boyfriend's abdomen.
your lower half was now bare, thick pads of his fingers moving to gather the wetness that had already started to leak out, giving your clit a few little rubs before getting you to sit back down on his lap.
"come on." and his hands pulled you up along the short hair of his happy trail to rest on the soft lips on his abdomen, mouth now seeming to want to behave, tongue safely trapped behind it's teeth.
he stopped once you were sat right on the mouth, hands still holding you steady at your waist.
then you felt it. the warm puff of air as the mouth parted, tongue poking out just a little to flick at your clit, your hands gripping the corded muscle of his lower forearms as the tongue continued to canvas your pussy—wet saliva dribbling down your inner thighs as it sloppily lapped at your outer folds, seemingly satisfied from just having the chance to taste you.
meanwhile, your boyfriend just looked down at you, quiet groan rumbling in his chest at the way you trembled on top of him.
"you want more?"
your eyes flicked back up to him, head already moving before your brain could impart sense, small nod being all he needed before the tongue twisted itself into a small point, circling the tight ring of muscle at your entrance before slowly pressing in, the sensation of which being both foreign yet welcome—shorter tongue in the mouth (the normal one) of your lover not being able to venture this deep inside of you, his palms lifting you up a little to give the tongue space to thrust itself in and out.
"'k-kunaaa!?" you mewled, unsure what you were asking for, fingernails drawing angry red marks into the pale flesh of the arms that were holding you, tongue so long and thick that it was able to simultaneously fuck you whilst the thicker flat of it rubbed up against your clit, essence from your walls and the saliva from his mouth making a slick mess against your thighs and his stomach. "feels so goooooood!"
"knew you would like it." was all your boyfriend had to say, not missing the way he shivered under the scrape of your nails against his arms.
then he pulled you off his mouth, hand moving to grip his length.
"you think you can handle both of us at the same time?"
KENTO NANAMI — I MISSED THE TASTE OF IT, AND IMMA WRITE MY NAME ON IT!
your husband was awful. a horrible, horrible man.
why you ask?
because he had you pinned underneath him, large palm pressing down on your thigh—the other hand three (3!) fingers deep inside of you, tongue lapping at the overwhelmingly sensitive bundle of nerves just above your entrance.
he hummed, lips curving up in a smile before tilting his head up.
"wish i could say i hate seeing you cry but when you look at me like that..."
and by that he meant with glassy eyes, tears already beginning to bead at your waterline, clumping your lashes together. your mouth was parted slightly, couple strokes of his fingers right up against your sweet spot forcing a drawn out mewl from your throat.
"d-don't tease..." you mumbled, back arching even more under his touch, mouth dipped back down to suck hard around your clit, fingernails tangling in his hair with a tension that made him groan right into you.
"i'm not teasing you my love. i'm just taking my time." and he scissored his fingers inside of you, pressing up against your walls with a pressure that made your toes curl.
"can you take your time—fuck-a little faster?" you pleaded, watching how his fingers dimpled the soft flesh of your thigh, pulling you close to him. he was getting greedy, grip tightening so that you couldn't squirm away—tongue laving over each fold and crease like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted, letting your hand lead him to exactly where you needed him the most, wet slick and spit mixing together to fill your bedroom with the most lascivious sounds.
he shook his head slightly, quiet hum making you pull his hair even harder—already so close to making a mess all over his face when he pulled back, lower half of his face glistening under the low light of your room.
"huh? why did you—" you leant up on your elbows, brow creased up in frustration.
then you heard the soft jingle of his belt buckle.
"need to feel you." he muttered, already half-hard and fully ready, hand fisting the slightly curved length with the wetness he'd gathered from your entrance.
"can i?"
a/n :: this album has gone platinum certified in my house istg every song is a bangerrrr
the concept of having sex with ur bf gojo with stone vision and he accidentally freezes you .
cw — magical au, female reader, kinda monster high inspired, reader is turned into stoned, small smut, sex accident, reader and gojo are some dummies,
divider creds @/honeyluvsw
He’s partially to blame. Well… ten percent to blame. You have 90 percent of the blame. But this was eventually bound to happen.
You and satoru were always careful. You especially always put his petrification powers into consideration with everything you guys did.
You wore glasses as a safe precaution and always took the extra mile because you loved your boyfriend that much and in return he did just the same for you with the circular black glasses he wore to conceal his stone vision.
Tonight though, that was out of the window. You and Satoru had stumbled and kissed your way back into in his apartment after going to geto’s house warming party. With you both being slightly tipsy and lustful emotions running high the last thing on your mind was the safety precautions and your glasses. It was vise versa for your boyfriend with how he just let you push him onto his bed.
You were too caught up in the eroticism with your hands on his chest as you grinded on him. Satoru snaps out of his sex daze when he feels your hand grab at his glasses and throw them into a corner of his room.
“w-woah babe!” His shakey voice calls out, his eyes are looking anywhere but at you to try and control himself but your movements on his pelvis make that impossible. “You forget about mm—mm!— t-the whole stone vision thing?” His head turns forward again and his eyes are squinted shut.
“Mm yeah..” You hum, but your lust drunk mind is very obviously not taking in a word he’s saying. “Buuut… your eyes are so pretty…” your hand grabs at his jaw. “And I wanna see your eyes when you cum.” You purr.
God. That got him good. It’s shameless how his eyes flutter open at that and you know when you say something like that to him he gives in to you. His eyes flutter open to look at you and for a brief moment it makes you sigh in awe. Those light blue pupils of his were always a pretty sight to behold. But once your window of time is done that high you’re given is finished, in an instance a beam from his eyes hit your body and petrify you into a frozen grey stone statue.. that’s unfortunately stuck on his pelvis.
“Ah shit…” He sighs and slaps his forehead in frustration at his dumb action that has him stuck to you.
Maybe he’ll call up shoko to help him out. Surely she has some spell to get him out of this.
i might say something stupid. | bucky barnes (18+)
⤷ tfatws!bucky x therapist!reader
⭐︎ warnings: pre-tfatws canon compliant, fluff, angst, unrequited love, inaccurate depictions of therapy, bucky yearning barnes, touch starvation, mentions of nightmares, loneliness, and anxiety. exchanging music is their love language, bucky say "i love you" without actually saying "i love you" challenge
⭐︎ word count: 8.4k
⭐︎ a/n: oh tfatws!bucky how i miss you so. i am not a licensed therapist whatsoever so please beware of inaccuracies. this is my second post for the bwat summer collab, be sure to check out the other writings in that masterlist! not so fun fact but i made a tfatws bucky playlist while writing this and (other than writing) exchanging music is technically my love language for you guys too, so.
synopsis:
While Bucky Barnes is back in New York navigating his feelings, love unexpectedly becomes one of them. It’s a beautiful, natural emotion—something a man like him never thought he would get to experience again. But he can’t. Not when the person he’s falling for is his therapist.
← previous fic | main masterlist
When Bucky was told he had to go through government mandated therapy sessions, it might as well have felt like being put back into a sterile Hydra room.
He wanted to avoid it as best as he could—the mere idea of therapy didn’t sound pleasant at all. White walls and in an enclosed space, ostensibly designated to make him feel safe—a place to open up about his past and get “well” enough to prove to everyone that he was no longer a threat. No longer the Winter Soldier, but rather just a boy from Brooklyn. He almost laughed at the idea alone. As if therapy could help with that.
He had been trying to avoid several things lately. Text messages from Sam and these therapy sessions were at the top of the list. But if given the choice of which to face first, he’d actually choose the therapy.
Now, Bucky sat in the quiet waiting room, manspreading as his left knee bounced anxiously. He was hunched over, hands between his legs like a cat with its tail tucked.
He should get up and leave—go back to being a hermit in his small apartment on Union Street, and do his best to dodge these sessions until he got a call ordering him to try again. Then rinse and repeat.
The door in front of him clicked open, and you stepped out.
You wore a soft cardigan, and your hair was a little messy. Not totally unkempt, but he wouldn’t call it professional, either. You looked more like a regular, frazzled woman he’d bump into at a grocery store than a specialist meant to mend broken people and their emotions.
“James Barnes?” you called out, glancing around the small waiting room.
There were only two other people in the room—a man and a woman sitting just a few seats away—but you still looked right at the super soldier first.
Bucky lifted his head, meeting your eyes before pushing himself out of the chair with a huff. Here goes nothing.
“I’m here,” he said, raising a hand. He offered a tight-lipped smile meant to be friendly, but it fell flat.
You smiled warmly. It was inviting, but far too rehearsed for him to accept at face value.
Pushing the door open with your back pressed against the frame, you stepped aside to let him in. He gave another forced nod out of politeness as he entered the room.
Standing near the entryway, he paused and took in the surroundings. The room wasn’t what he expected at all. The walls were colorful, warm string lights hung across them. Several plants were arranged neatly around the space—more so near the windows. A large couch sat on one side while a simple lounge chair faced it. Against the wall stood a shelf lined with books tucked neatly inside— self-help, fiction, and biographies.
But what really caught his attention was the turntable sitting on top of it, with no record spinning.
“Make yourself comfortable,” you said, flipping the ‘THERAPY IN SESSION’ sign to face outward and shutting the door behind him. “Whether you want to take the couch, the chair, or even lie on the floor—it’s all fine by me!”
Bucky huffed out a short laugh, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. “You have people who lie on the floor?”
You shrugged, removing your cardigan and draping it over the coat rack. “This is a judgment-free zone, James.”
You stood beside him with a smile, your hands folded neatly in front of you, and that’s when Bucky realized you were waiting for him to make a decision.
He eventually chose the couch, sinking into the cushions with a grunt, while you settled into the chair across from him.
“Have you ever been to therapy before?” you asked softly.
“No,” he replied—straightforward, honest, and flat.
You sifted through the papers attached to the clipboard in your lap, checking the records that were passed on by his psychiatrist. Bucky assumed the list of things wrong with him was longer than your weekly grocery list. You lifted your eyes back to him, noticing the obvious tension in his shoulders.
“It’s not as bad as they make it out to be,” you explained gently. “I won’t tire you out with the whole ‘what do you want to work on, why are you in therapy?’ nonsense,” you tried to say lightheartedly, waving your hand for emphasis. “I know that you’re only here out of a government mandate, but just know that I’m here to help you because there are people out there who care about you—”
A heavy, long sigh escaped Bucky’s nostrils before he could stop it.
You tilted your head with an innocent frown. “Is something the matter?”
Yes. There are a lot of things that matter—like how you’re saying your usual script for your other clients, claiming that you “care” when in reality, you care about dragging out the time until your pockets are full of green.
“No,” Bucky lied. “Nothing’s wrong. Go ahead.”
You knew he was lying, and you didn’t need to call him out on it to prove it.
After some awkward silence and being watched under your silent scrutiny, he eventually sighed and shifted awkwardly on the couch.
“It’s just… I doubt there are people out there who care about me, you know? Like…” he blew a raspberry, feeling like he was rambling now. “They couldn’t care less about what I do in a day.”
You set your clipboard aside. “And what did you do today?”
He blinked, not expecting that question at all.
“What did I do today?” he repeated with pinched brows. He shrugged. “I went for a walk at my nearby park, and then…”
He trailed off with a scrunch of his face.
Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t done much at all today.
“And then…?”
But for some reason, he didn’t want to seem as lame as he felt. So, he continued.
“I guess all my eventful stuff will be after this therapy session,” he explained. “I’m supposed to be having lunch with a friend.”
Your face lit up, and Bucky chewed the inside of his cheek. Your expectations for him were probably that low—you truly believed he didn’t have any friends to have lunch with.
“That’s great, James!”
Just wait until you find out that the person he was having lunch with is a man in his eighties with a son whom he had brutally murdered while he was the Winter Soldier.
“Yeah. His name’s Yori. We usually get sushi on Wednesdays.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m glad that you have a friend who’s close enough for you to find a routine with,” you said. Your eyes flickered to his gloved hand resting on his thigh. “Does he know?”
Bucky glanced down at his left glove. “I’m sorry?”
“Does he know about your arm, and about what you’ve done in your past?” you clarified in a gentle tone—well, as gentle as it could be given the subject.
Bucky flinched, and that action alone was enough to give you your answer. His eyes fell to the colorful patterns on your carpet, his left hand curling into a tight fist beneath his glove out of apprehension.
No. Of course Yori didn’t know.
He knew that being truthful to himself and to his therapist was the whole point of therapy—the whole point of getting better. But Bucky didn’t see the point in going into detail with the whole, “No, Yori doesn’t know, because then that’d mean I have to tell him I killed his son!” routine.
You frowned, leaning a bit closer. “If he doesn’t already know, you’re going to have to tell him.”
Bucky stayed quiet. The patterns on your carpet were stupid, but he couldn’t look away.
“Because if you don’t—if you continue to hide from someone who cares about you—you’re hiding a part of yourself,” you explained.
“It’s not that simple, doc.”
“Is it ever?” you asked with a small chuckle. “This is all about trust—not just for Yori, but for yourself, too. You have to trust yourself to find trust in others. And in order to trust yourself first, you can start with acceptance—accepting who you are and what you’ve done.”
“I can’t,” Bucky protested weakly. “If I tell him, everything will change. He’ll look at me differently and… and then we can’t have lunch—”
“—that’s the beauty of life, James. Change is a constant thing, and sometimes, it's completely outside of our control. Without change, there is no growth.”
Bucky stayed quiet.
You leaned back in your chair and suddenly asked, “Before everything that happened, what did you like to do?”
Bucky furrowed his brows. He had no idea where you were going with this, but he tagged along anyway—not like he had a choice in the matter, but just to get it over with.
“I liked listening to music.”
“Okay, okay,” you nodded, rubbing your chin. “What kind of music?”
“Forties music,” he replied.
“Has that ever changed?” you asked with genuine interest.
Bucky remembered the list of things Sam had told him to listen to before he ghosted him. Marvin Gaye was one of them. Had he listened to it at all?
“No,” Bucky answered.
It was like a light switch turned on in your head. You suddenly got up out of your chair, making him flinch, and walked over to where your record player sat. You crouched down, your fingers sifting through your large collection of records until they landed on one he didn’t recognize.
You pulled it out and revealed the record to him face-first with the brightest smile. It had four men walking across the street in flared jeans—and with hair too long for his liking.
“Abbey Road,” you announced, handing it to him. “The Beatles. Made thirty years after your time—but listen to it and tell me what you think.”
Bucky frowned, examining the cover. He wasn’t fond of your methods of getting accustomed to ‘change,’ but it could’ve been worse.
“Fine,” he sighed, pushing himself up from the couch as his session neared its end.
You led him out the door, holding it open for him. “I’ll see you again next week, and you can tell me what you think about it. And whether you like or don’t like it—just remember, change can be good, James.”
You pointed to the cover he held in his hands. “And personally, I think Abbey Road is very good,” you added with a grin.
Bucky, however, was surprisingly fond of how personal you were. He didn’t think that’d be possible with a therapist.
“Sure,” he said with a smile that felt just a tad less forced than the first one he had given you. “I’ll see you next week, doc.”
As he walked past your door and entered the waiting room, you also added with a shout that caught the other patient’s attention who were waiting, which could be seen as totally unprofessional:
“Oh, and if you’re grabbing sushi, order the fried tempura rolls!”
His back was already turned, and he made a face. Oddly enough, fried tempura rolls were something he’d never ordered before. Not only were you dictating his emotions, but now you were dictating his music choices and food as well?
He waved over his shoulder, letting you know he heard you, before disappearing around the corner with your vinyl in his hands.
Looking back down at it, he realized he didn’t even have a record player to put this on.
Shit.
Bucky had forced himself to do more things out of his comfort zone in the span of a week than he had ever since gaining his freedom in Wakanda.
Since his first session with you, he had gotten sushi with Yori and had tried the tempura roll. It was different from what he usually ordered—which was just nigiri and a beer—but surprisingly enough, he liked it. Even the waiter had raised an eyebrow when he pointed it out on the menu.
Then, after walking Yori home—who lived in the same complex, so it wasn’t much of a walk at all—he decided to stop by a music store just a couple of blocks away to listen to the vinyl you had given him.
The store had various music players that people could test, such as jukeboxes, CD players, radios, and record players.
Stepping inside, he was greeted by a friendly ding! from the door chimes. Bucky lifted Abbey Road in his hands. “Got any record players open?”
The boy behind the desk, who looked no older than twenty-two, pointed towards the back. “There’s one open, but it’s loud in here. Need headphones?”
Bucky furrowed his brows in confusion. “Headphones? For a turntable?”
The worker nodded with a shrug that was far too casual—it made Bucky feel stupid. “Yeah, we use headphone amplifiers for them.”
Bucky looked at the boy like he had grown a second head. The worker grabbed a pair of headphones from beneath the counter and nodded toward the other end of the store.
“Here, follow me.”
Bucky followed the boy’s lead to the turntable, which was far different than the ones he was used to back in the forties. Back then, turntables were usually in a small brown box, and the vinyls were never this size. The player in front of him was silver, sleek, and he didn’t even want to attempt to use it at the risk of making a fool of himself.
The boy, luckily, took charge. He grabbed Abbey Road from Bucky’s hands, popped it onto the platter, plugged in the headphones, and handed them to him.
“Enjoy,” he said, before walking back to his post behind the counter.
As Bucky slipped the headphones over his ears, he tried his best not to stare at the people around him. The customers in this store were young, with styles he couldn’t begin to comprehend. Piercings, colored hair, and tattoos.
It was different—but he liked it.
It was his next session with you.
Your hair was styled more neatly than it had been the last time he saw you, but your smile was still the same. Soft and welcoming.
“So,” you started with excitement. “What did you think of it?”
“It’s different from the music back in my day, but it was good,” Bucky said with a shrug that felt almost dismissive despite his honesty.
“What was your favorite song?” you pressed on.
His teeth caught his bottom lip as he tried to remember the one that stuck out to him the most. “The one with the sun, and how it’ll be alright?” he answered, though it sounded more like a question.
“Oh! Here Comes the Sun—that’s a popular one! One of my favorites, too!”
You sounded more excited over this than he felt. Your smile and enthusiastic energy were bouncing off the colorful walls and string lights—and Bucky couldn’t help but smile, too. It was contagious.
“Did you have a record player at home to play it on?”
Bucky shook his head. “No. I went to a music store down the block and played it on one of their players.”
Your smile grew wider and your eyes softened. You had planned for this to happen—for him to step out of his comfort zone and find a way to listen to the music.
“And how was it?” you asked.
“Not my kind of crowd, but it wasn’t terrible,” he explained. “It was loud in there. People were blaring all kinds of music I’ve never even heard of.” He made a face at the memory. “The kid who worked there had to give me headphones so I could listen.”
Your eyes widened in confusion. “Headphones? To listen to a turntable? That’s a thing?”
Bucky was caught off guard by your reaction. Even over something as small as headphones, he liked that he wasn’t the only one who felt out of the loop.
“Yeah, the kid was trying to explain it to me—something about disabling the phono preamp and using the input for an amp. I’ve got no clue. It’s all rocket science to me,” Bucky rambled.
You threw your head back with a laugh, and Bucky chuckled along. He hadn’t even realized he’d been smiling until then.
“I had no clue that was an option. I might have to try that one day.”
Bucky couldn’t stop staring at you.
Up until this point, he’d had to drag his feet just to get to your office. But now, sitting across from you, he felt like all the tension that had built up in his shoulders over the last week had finally eased. He was laughing and smiling more than he had in a long time—he probably looked stupid.
“Oh yeah, I also tried that thing you suggested I get for lunch yesterday,” he said, trying to remember the name. “The… fried tempura?”
You leaned closer, practically on the edge of your seat as you looked at him with wide-eyed anticipation.
“Did you now? How did you like it?”
He’d actually liked it a lot—but with the way you were looking at him, those sparkly irises fixed on him, he couldn’t help but want to tease you. Maybe it was just the playful instincts he had back in the forties kicking in again.
“Eh, it wasn’t really my cup of tea.” He shook his head, watching closely for your reaction.
Your expression shifted dramatically from delight to disappointment. The sparkles he loved seeing in your eyes dimmed just a little, and your lips pursed into a slight frown.
“Ouch,” you muttered, slumping in your chair. “Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.”
Bucky had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. You were too easy, and he was having fun.
“I’m kidding. I did like it.”
You blinked at him. “Oh, so you’re playing with me now?” You huffed a laugh, crossing your arms and legs. “Whatever happened to my lesson about being truthful and honest?”
Bucky wore a boyish grin. He felt like he was talking to a friend rather than a therapist.
“Hey, I was being honest... eventually,” he added, which received an eye roll from you.
“Well, despite you pulling my leg, you did really well this week.” A proud smile spread across your face. “I’m so happy for you.”
His grin faltered for just a second. He knew that tone of yours. It meant this session was closing to an end, meaning he wouldn’t be able to talk to you again until another week. He hated how disappointed he suddenly felt about it.
You pushed yourself out of your chair and wandered over to your large collection of records. “Since we’re almost out of time, I want to send you home with another album to listen to.”
You pulled out another vinyl—a black and white cover featuring a woman who looked like a ballerina witch and a man with a beard and a ponytail.
“Rumours,” you said, handing it to him.
Your hands brushed over his just briefly, and his whole body shuddered. Despite wearing a leather jacket, he felt goosebumps prickling his skin after your touch.
“Fleetwood Mac. It’s lighthearted and catchy—kind of like Abbey Road, but… not really.”
You watched as Bucky took the record, examining the cover closely. A small smile lifting across your face.
“Let me know what you think about it next time.”
It was the first time in a long time that Bucky felt like he had something to look forward to.
Going to the same music store no longer felt like a chore. Rather, it had become another stepping stone that brought him a little closer to you. The kid behind the counter already knew why he was there, handing him the same pair of headphones and all.
He slipped on the headphones, put on Rumours, and let himself get lost in the music. There was something special about listening to your favorite albums. It felt like a closeness he wouldn’t ever get to experience any other way. Music said a lot about a person, and with every track, he felt like he was learning a little more about you.
Suddenly, a finger tapped his shoulder.
Bucky turned around, pulling the headphones down around his neck.
Standing behind him was a woman—and a remarkably pretty one at that—wearing a bright smile that instinctively put him on edge. She pointed to the silver turntable spinning in front of him.
“Fleetwood Mac?” she asked.
Bucky glanced from her to the album cover, his mind landing on the most logical conclusion. She must’ve been waiting for her turn.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, stepping aside. “After this song, I’ll be right out of your way.”
The woman let out a soft laugh, taking a small step closer to him.
“No, no, you’re fine! Keep listening.” She smiled. “I just couldn’t help but notice, you know? A guy who looks like you listening to Rumours? That’s a rare find these days.”
Bucky frowned, looking down at his worn leather jacket.
What was wrong with the way he looked?
She leaned against the edge of the counter, her eyelashes fluttering as she looked at him. “And honestly,” she drawled with a honeyed tone, “I find it kind of hot.”
Now, Bucky was just confused.
His brows furrowed into a tight knot as the words failed him. This wasn’t the first time he’d been hit on, and it was just another one of those moments where he had no idea what to say.
“The, uh…” He cleared his throat. “The record doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to my therapist. I’m only listening to it out of recommendation.”
He figured mentioning the word therapist would be enough to lose her interest, but the woman only smiled wider, and somehow that scared him.
“And you care about your mental health?” she said. “Gosh, you’re like a man straight out of every girl’s dream!”
He had no idea what to make of that. If this random woman thought he was hot, he wondered what you would think of his appearance.
She ran a hand through her hair and looked him up and down, making Bucky stiffen. Did his hair look weird?
“But hey, if you’re looking for other recommendations… I know a really great bar that makes the greatest cocktails just down the street. They have an open-play turntable with fancy speakers on Thursdays. I’d love to show you sometime.”
He knew he should accept the offer. He was being given the opportunity to put himself out there and make friends. This was what you would want him to do. This was good for him.
“I can’t,” he mumbled weakly. You idiot. “Sorry. I usually have… a, uh, thing on Thursdays with a friend, so—”
He started to scratch the back of his head, and she took the hint to back off.
Well, not entirely.
She pulled a notepad and a pencil out from her tote bag. Bucky had assumed that everyone did everything electronically these days. She started to jot down something, then tore the page off and handed it to him with a grin.
“If you ever change your mind, you know how to reach me.”
She turned and walked away before he got another word, and Bucky stood there with the headphones wrapped loosely around his neck with a dumbfounded expression. He glanced down at the piece of paper.
It was her phone number.
“You managed to get her phone number? That’s incredible!” You beamed in your chair, clasping your hands together with excitement. “How does that make you feel?”
You were more excited over this than he was, and he found himself smiling. It wasn't because the memory of getting that girl’s number was a huge boost to his ego, but because he liked seeing you smile. He always missed it during his week away from you.
“I felt flattered,” he answered truthfully. “I was surprised that any woman in this day and age would be interested in a guy like me.” He leaned back on the couch. “Though, it’s usually the men who pursue the women… not the other way around.”
“Well, times are changing, Bucky!”
Earlier in the session, he had encouraged you to use the nickname he was fond of—the one he reserved for the people closest to him. He didn’t know why he hadn’t suggested it sooner, because he was already in love with the way it rolled off your pretty lips.
Bucky made a face that made you chuckle. “Is that why she gave me her number on a piece of paper instead of making me hand my phone over?”
You grinned. “I guess some ladies like to keep it old-fashioned.”
He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his words from spilling out—words that were far too inappropriate to say as a patient to a therapist who was only there to keep his emotions in check.
“Do you like to keep it old-fashioned, too?”
And yet, the words spilled out anyway. If he wasn’t staying silent, then he was always saying something stupid instead.
The way you looked at him made him want to open up the couch and let it swallow him whole. You went from smiling to a flustered, awkward mess. You chuckled—trying to save face—as you scratched lightly at your cheek to ease the tension.
“Probably just like any other woman,” you managed. “I like to get wined and dined. There’s nothing more romantic than keeping it classy.”
Bucky’s eyes studied the way you sat so neatly in your chair, one leg crossed over the other, your skirt draping softly over your knees. Your nails were neatly manicured, and your makeup was light enough to let your natural beauty shine through, doing nothing more than enhancing what was already there.
He couldn’t help but think that someone like you deserved nothing less than a classic kind of love.
The kind that received flowers for no reason at all. The kind of man that held doors open for you, or put his palm respectfully over your waist during a slow waltz, and remembered every little thing you ever mentioned. The kind of love from a man that made you feel cherished every single day.
Bucky silently wondered if he could be that kind of man.
You cleared your throat, sitting up straight and dusting off your skirt. “Anyway, enough about me. This is about you.”
Bucky’s frown lines deepened. He didn’t want to change the subject—he wanted nothing more than to hear about you and your interests. But even then, a dark feeling began to stir deep in his gut over the thought of you being wined and dined by someone else.
You tilted your head, trying to engage him back into the conversation. “Have you spoken to her since?”
“No,” he answered, his gaze drifting down to check for a ring on your left hand.
“Why not?”
There was no ring.
Letting out a subtle breath of relief, he met your eyes again. “I just don’t see the need to.”
“Then open your eyes, Bucky. There are a lot of opportunities you miss out on if you continue to keep them closed.”
There was a selfish part of him that didn’t like the fact that you were trying to encourage him to talk to another girl. If he were to find out that a man had given you his phone number, Bucky would be entirely against it.
Fuck. What was wrong with him? He tried to push those thoughts aside—those silly, inappropriate thoughts about his own therapist.
He knew the session was nearing its end, so he thought he’d change the subject—but that was just his excuse to get you to stop encouraging him to go on a date with this random woman.
“What’s the album for this week, doc?” He asked.
You smiled. “Marvin Gaye.”
Bucky remembered the list of things his old friend Sam had told him to check out—though Sam probably wouldn’t consider him a friend anymore, given how Bucky had ghosted him. It was a long list, a couple of items even carried over from the notes Sam had given Steve years ago. Aside from emphasizing how great Thai food was, Sam had insisted that he absolutely needed to listen to Marvin Gaye.
Yet, despite all of Sam’s efforts, all it really took for Bucky to finally listen was a recommendation from you—the only woman he cared about.
Marvin Gaye’s voice filled his ears, and Bucky could finally understand why Sam had been so insistent about it.
If love was an emotion too complicated for him to grasp, the lyrics explained everything. The gentle beats danced in his ears, and sweet melodies about love, devotion, and longing wrapped around him. Before long, he found himself closing his eyes and picturing you.
He imagined the way you smiled, the way you laughed so easily around him, and the way you made him feel like living was a beautiful thing and not something you dread.
Whoever Marvin Gaye had been singing to in Let's Get It On must have been someone deeply cherished—someone longed for so intensely that the only way to express it was through music. It was everything Bucky wished he could say to you, if only he were allowed.
A soft smile tugged at his lips at the thought of you.
Of course you liked music like this. The kind you’d slow dance to in the middle of the living room, one hand intertwined with someone else’s. The kind that sounded like old-fashioned love brought to life.
His heart thrummed happily, his mind filled with giddy, hopeless thoughts.
He couldn’t wait until Wednesday morning, when he would see you again to talk all about it.
On Tuesday afternoon, his flip phone dinged with a notification from you.
Hi Bucky, I’m so sorry for the short notice, but something urgent has come up and I have to cancel our session tomorrow. I’ll reach out next week to reschedule. Take care!
Bucky stared at the message, his frown lines deepening.
Had something bad happened to you? Or had he scared you off with his question last week?
No. This is stupid, he told himself, trying to shake the sudden panic. There’s no point in dwelling on something like this. She’s just busy.
But as the hours ticked by, his mind began to spiral. He had nothing to look forward to for the rest of the week—just seven empty days without you. He stared at his phone, wondering how inappropriate it would be if he sent a simple, “Hey, how are you doing?” text to his own therapist.
He tried to push the thoughts away, but nothing he did could distract him. Frustrated and exhausted, Bucky decided to turn in early and end the day.
But as the sun went down and the moon rose, sleep brought him no peace. Instead of falling into a blissful rest, he was dragged straight back to his nightmares—except they weren’t like the ones before.
None of them were about his Hydra days or his past victims.
Every single nightmare was about you.
It was the most absolute terrifying fear of abandonment.
In the dream, he pushed open your office door, expecting to see the warm lights and your pretty smile. But the room was completely empty. The walls were cold, bare concrete, and your chair sat vacant in the center of the room. It didn’t look like the welcoming, colorful space with the warm string lights he knew—no, it looked more like the sterile Hydra rooms where he had been brainwashed over and over again.
He tried calling your name, but his words were stuck in his throat. He tried to scream, but it only strained his vocal cords, and nothing came out but a pathetic wheeze. He kept trying, over and over again, until he finally gasped hard enough to wake himself.
His eyes flew open as he bolted upright on the floor. His bare chest was drenched in sweat, his vibranium hand clutching the sheets so tightly the fabric threatened to tear.
He stared blindly into the dark corners of his empty apartment, his chest heaving. It took him a long time to realize it was just a dream, but the hollow feeling in his chest wouldn’t go away.
He just needed to see you.
“I think the saxophones were the best part,” Bucky praised Marvin Gaye with a gentle smile. “In Distant Lover, especially.”
“Excellent choice, Bucky. That one’s my favorite, too,” you returned the sentiment, leaning back in your chair. “So, tell me. Did you have any new, fun interactions at the music store again?”
Bucky shook his head. It hadn’t been interesting at all this past week—just seven days of solitude away from you.
“What about the girl who gave you her number?” You tilted your head. “Did you ever reach out to her?”
“God, no,” Bucky said with a huff of a laugh. “I actually ended up losing the paper. Pretty sure it went through the wash.”
You let out a soft gasp, placing a hand over your heart.
“Bucky! You threw away her phone number? Do you know how hard it is to get someone’s number the old-fashioned way these days?” A smile crept onto your face, matching the teasing look in your eyes. His favorite. “I’m guessing Marvin Gaye couldn’t convince you to be a little romantic, huh?”
Bucky looked down at his hands, both flesh and vibranium. He had stopped wearing gloves to his appointments. He fiddled with his fingers over his lap, looking almost sheepish.
“Guess I just haven’t found the right person,” he mumbled shyly.
“Sometimes it’s not about finding the right or wrong person. Just spending a few hours with someone can help you grow,” you explained. “If you cannot find peace within yourself, you will never find it anywhere else.”
Bucky rose a brow.
You grinned. “A quote from Marvin Gaye.”
“What a sap,” he joked, and you chuckled.
You adjusted yourself in your chair, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and Bucky’s breath caught in his throat.
“You haven’t brought this up in recent sessions, but I’m curious to know—”
A ring. Nestled on your left ring finger.
“—are you still having nightmares?”
It was shiny. The diamond was a respectable size—as much as he hated to admit it.
“If you don’t feel comfortable talking about it, we don’t have to.”
You had been proposed to?
Was that why you had to cancel on him?
“I just thought… as your therapist, it was important for me to ask, to see if you’re actually getting better—”
While he was having nightmares about losing you, you were out getting proposed to. He hadn’t even known you were being courted.
The warmth that he only felt inside your room turned to ice so fast it was hard to breathe.
Your lips were still moving, your voice as gentle and professional as could be as you continued to speak, but Bucky couldn’t hear a single word. There was a loud ringing in his ears, drowning out everything else.
His eyes were helplessly glued to your left hand. Every time you moved, the silver band caught the sunlight streaming through your office window, throwing a tiny, mocking rainbow light over his lap.
It was cruel. Someone else had asked you for forever, and you had given it to them. While he had spent his Tuesday night twisting in his sheets, choking on a nightmare about losing you, you were already out in the world, building a life that didn’t include him. A life where he was just an hour on your Wednesday schedule. A stupid, court-mandated file.
He wanted to pull his eyes away. His vibranium fingers were twitching to pull his gloves back on. He wanted to collect his things, and his feelings, and leave the room without looking back at you. But he knew he had no right.
All he was was your patient.
He was nothing to you.
“Bucky?” you asked softly, carrying such genuine worry that only made his feelings that much more complicated.
When he didn’t move, you leaned forward. Slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull away if he wanted to, you reached across the small gap between your chair and the sofa and gently rested your hand over his. Your touch was light, full of professional respect, but the warmth of your skin seared right through him.
“Bucky? Are you okay?”
He flinched slightly, his eyes ripping away from the diamond to look up at your face. You looked so kind, so concerned for him. It nearly broke him right then and there.
He swallowed hard, forcing the massive lump down his throat as he tried to find his voice. He needed to lie. He needed to put the walls back up before he spilled every pathetic, selfish thought in his head.
“No,” he whispered, his voice rough and slightly cracked. He cleared his throat quickly, pulling his hand back just a little to break the contact, though his skin immediately missed your warmth.
“No. No nightmares, doc.”
Time had passed since he saw the ring, and every day felt like a countdown to the ticking time bomb in his heart, ready to explode.
The walls of his apartment felt lonelier and smaller than ever before. Night after night, he found himself sitting on the floor, his head buried in his hands as he let himself drown in panic. He always had pent up grief and anger from his past to wrestle with. Now, he had to contend with something else entirely—the longing for you that clawed relentlessly at his heart.
It was the kind of emotional turmoil he was supposed to share with his therapist, but how the hell was he supposed to tell you everything when it was all about you?
He couldn’t go to his sessions and look at that ring anymore. He couldn’t sit there pretending to be the patient who was supposed to be honest about his feelings when he couldn’t even tell you a fraction of the truth.
Then came a bright Tuesday morning, the day before his weekly Wednesday session.
Bucky wandered aimlessly down a quiet street, his jacket collar pulled high against the breeze, when he saw you.
You were standing outside a local flower shop beneath a green awning, leaning over a vibrant display of fresh blooms. Your eyes were closed as you bent down to smell them, a soft, peaceful expression resting on your face.
You were probably looking for flowers for your wedding. The thought twisted painfully in his chest.
As if sensing his gaze, your eyes slowly fluttered open and found him across the sidewalk.
A warm, familiar smile spread across your face—the same smile he had grown to love, and the very one that haunted his dreams. But because you were his therapist, you kept your distance. You didn’t wave or approach him, preserving that professional boundary and leaving the choice entirely up to him: acknowledge you, or walk away.
He had every opportunity to turn around.
He should. He should walk away and never look back. But as he looked at you standing there among the flowers, so close yet completely out of his reach, he felt his resolve begin to crumble.
He couldn’t keep living like this.
If he was ever going to accept himself—if he was ever going to trust his own heart, just as you had spent these sessions trying to teach him—then he had to face the truth.
Sooner or later, his footsteps brought him closer to you.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, trying to force himself to sound cheerful, but the effort failed.
“Yeah,” you breathed with a smile, gesturing to the blooms. “I’m just looking at some flowers for the wedding.”
Another knife to his heart. He felt his face ache from how hard he was trying to maintain his smile.
“They’re beautiful,” he complimented the flowers, despite his eyes being stuck on you.
“I know! There’s so many to choose from. It’s kind of overwhelming,” you chuckled with a hand over your mouth.
Bucky’s heart was hurting so bad in his chest. The longer he stood in front of you, the less he trusted himself.
“Your fiancée is a lucky man,” he said. Fuck. “I’m happy for you.”
You blinked at him, processing his words. It confused you, but what confused you even more was the solemn expression he wore on his face despite saying he was happy.
He looked like a can of worms that were threatening to open and spill all over your hands, like a bomb that was ready to tick off with one wrong move or one wrong breath.
“Bucky,” you frowned, adjusting your bag strap. “Is everything okay—”
“I… I don’t know what to do,” he cut in, his voice trembling with pent up feelings he couldn’t contain for a single second longer. “I’m having the nightmares again. Every single night. But they aren’t about Hydra anymore. They’re about you.”
You stood there, stunned.
“Bucky, what—what are you saying?”
“I have… I have all these thoughts about you,” Bucky confessed, the words pouring out of him like a broken dam, his blue eyes left entirely vulnerable. “Stupid, selfish thoughts. It’s making me crazy. I know I’m your patient. I know I have no right to feel like this—”
He pressed his lips together. He should stop. No. He needs to stop—but he can’t.
“But you taught me to trust myself, and right now, the only truth I have is—”
“Bucky, slow down—”
“—that I’m in love with you.”
With the way you were looking at him, he might have believed he was in a nightmare already.
“I… I—” you stammered, clutching your bag so tightly.
You were usually so confident with your words, always knowing the right things to say in the perfect tone. But now, your words failed you completely.
A patient? Falling for his therapist?
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say—” you tried for a lighthearted laugh, but it came out painfully awkward. “I’m sorry—but you don’t love me. Y—you’re just confused—”
“I’ve had a lot of doubts in my life,” he insisted on adding salt to the wound, stepping closer in the small hopes of reaching you. “I struggle to navigate my feelings—I know that. But my feelings for you—that is the one thing I don't doubt.”
The look on your face was so solemn, so melancholy, yet you were still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
In no world would it ever be appropriate for a patient to fall in love with their therapist.
He knew what was coming next. He knew full well the consequences of confessing his feelings—of saying something stupid to the one woman he shouldn’t.
But he loved you so much, and as a result, he had to let you go.
“I’m so sorry, James.”
“Let’s hope you don’t fall in love with me next,” Dr. Raynor tried to joke in that flat, sarcastic tone of hers. Bucky didn’t even smile.
She jotted something down in her notebook, and the scratching of her pen made him deeply uncomfortable.
It was cruel, really. The moment the board found out he had fallen in love with his therapist, they stripped him away from the one person he actually cared about. Now, they had paired him up with a much older, entirely unenthusiastic replacement. It was a complete joke.
“Since then, have you tried reaching out to other people?” Dr. Raynor asked.
Bucky sat perfectly still on the sofa, his expression blank. “I… have.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “James, I’ve done this long enough to know when a person is lying. You hesitated.”
“You’re a cynic. I don’t know what you want me to do, doc—”
She clicked her pen with a sigh and started scribbling, making Bucky’s eyebrow twitch.
“Okay, fine. I haven’t reached out to anyone,” he admitted in defeat. “I know I should talk to Sam, but… I don’t know. It’s hard.”
“Have you tried reaching out to him?”
“No.”
“Has he tried reaching out to you?”
Bucky stayed quiet, and Dr. Raynor’s patience wore thin. “Let me see your phone.”
Bucky knew there was no point in fighting her on this. With a reluctant sigh, he shifted his weight to dig into the back pocket of his jeans and handed over his brick of a flip phone.
Dr. Raynor took it and began clicking through. “Several missed text messages from Sam, spanning back months. James, what are you doing?”
Bucky’s jaw clenched as he turned to stare out the window. Dr. Raynor’s office was completely different from yours. It lacked all the welcoming colors your walls had. There were no string lights, no carpet with silly designs he could get lost in, and most of all—there was no music.
Dr. Raynor tossed the flip phone back to him, and he caught it effortlessly.
“You’re punishing yourself,” she pointed out blatantly.
Bucky didn’t look at her. He kept his eyes down to his phone, his gloved thumb swiping over the screen. “I’m not punishing myself, doc. I’m doing myself a favor.”
“Bullshit, James,” she snapped, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees to force him into her line of sight. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, his gaze lifted up to her.
“I know what happened with your previous therapist. I read the file,” Dr. Raynor said, using that same tough love of a tone that only made Bucky feel like a child being lectured. “And I know it hurts. I know it feels like the universe threw you a bone, let you feel something real, and then ripped it away just to remind you of who you used to be. But isolating yourself in this empty apartment, cutting off Sam, drowning in your own head—that is the worst goddamn punishment you could possibly inflict on yourself.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened so hard, a muscle ached. “I cross lines when I feel things. I get confused. It feels safer like this.”
“No, you’re just a coward,” Raynor said, unfazed by the hardness in his eyes. “You allowed yourself to feel human for a minute, James. You fell in love. Was it appropriate given the circumstances? No. But it proved that the Winter Soldier didn’t kill the man inside. Now you're treating a normal, heartbreaking human experience like it’s a… a Hydra relapse.”
Bucky made a face.
For a therapist, Raynor was terrible with her allegories.
“Solitude isn’t keeping you safe. It’s just a slow suicide. You want to honor what she taught you? Stop. Hiding. In. The. Dark.”
Raynor checked her watch, clicked her pen one final time, and stood up.
“Our time is up. Call your friend.”
After his session, Bucky found himself walking through a nearby park just a few steps away from his apartment.
Children were running around together. Families were eating on picnic blankets. Couples walked hand in hand. And funny enough, there was even a couple getting engaged just a few feet away from him, surrounded by friends laughing and cheering.
He finally found an empty bench to sit on and pulled out his phone, desperate for a distraction.
Bucky couldn’t remember how many times he had brought Sam up to you in your previous sessions. Every single time, you had encouraged him to talk to him. At the time, Bucky had you—he hadn’t seen the need to reach out to anyone else for friendship when he already had you.
But now that you were gone…
With a sigh, he pressed the phone to his ear and let it ring.
“Sam Wilson. Who’s this?”
Bucky’s throat suddenly felt like it was coated in sand. “Sam.”
There was a dead silence on the other end. Bucky shut his eyes, waiting for Sam to hang up on him. He deserved it after having the audacity to call after nearly a year of silence.
“… Bucky?” Sam’s voice came out breathy and surprised. “Man, I—wow. Are you alright? Why are you calling?”
Bucky winced. He knew Sam probably didn’t mean for it to sound accusatory—or maybe he did. Either way, he had earned it.
Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes drifting up to the sky. He inhaled deeply, letting the fresh air in. He thought of the warm string lights, the colorful walls, the beautiful laugh and the gentle advice of the woman he had been forced to leave behind.
Sam sounds like a wonderful person, you had told him once. You should talk to him. You need someone like that in your life.
He was going to try.
For you, he was going to try.
“Yeah. Uh. I just wanted to tell you, I finally listened to Marvin Gaye. Think you got some time this week to catch up?”
There was another pause, long enough to make Bucky’s anxiety spike. Until finally…
“Marvin Gaye, huh? You know, I thought you’d never ask.” Sam said with a light laugh that made Bucky feel a little less tense. “And I don’t want to hear a single thought about it unless we’re talking over a couple of beers. How does Friday sound?”
For the first time in what felt like ages, Bucky genuinely smiled.
“Yeah, okay. Sure.”
It still hurt, knowing that he didn’t have you to look forward to anymore. He had messed up the one good thing he’d had going for him since Hydra—but he had allowed himself to feel. To fall in love. To open his heart to someone else, even if it hadn’t been the right person.
He had to learn to move on. Marvin Gaye was a sap, a man who sang of fantasies entirely out of reach for someone like Bucky. But the man was right.
“It’s good to hear you again, Sam.”
If you cannot find peace within yourself, you will never find it anywhere else.
“It’s good to hear you too, Buck.”
me when i might say something stupid (but the fic is actually buns so this entire fic is just me saying something stupid) i've always wanted to write a tfatws!bucky healing fic of some sort, and what better way to do that than by making the reader his therapist, someone he hopelessly falls in love with which actually plummets his mental health even further! thank you to @houseofhyde and @iamthatonefangirl for beta-reading ily guys
if you've made it this far, i hope you enjoyed, and thank you so much for reading! while you're here, might i suggest taking the opportunity to check out the rest of the bwat summer masterlist that this fic is part of here!
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The manager of the Egyptian Relief Committee in Gaza, Mohamed al-Wahidi, was assassinated by an IOF air strike this afternoon in Gaza City. So far today, at least 7 martyrs have ascended from these attacks in the Gaza Strip.
The Egyptian Relief Committee in Gaza provides humanitarian aid and on-the-ground support to the Palestinians of Gaza. Al-Wahidi was one of the first humanitarian organization directors to implement a plan to clear the rubble in Gaza, ensuring that families could at least partially move around the Strip on cleared roads.
Under Al-Wahidi's leadership, the Committee had been setting up public screenings of World Cup matches for displaced families. Al-Wahidi was killed just an hour before the Egypt-Argentina game began.
FIFA and other global institutions are not expected to make a statement. (caption via ig/: palestinianyouthmovement)
the soft click of the front door closing is the only warning you get before satoru is instantly making his presence known.
you’re sitting on the living room rug, leaning against the edge of the couch with a notebook open in your lap, when a massive, heavy weight suddenly drops down right behind you. two long, familiar arms wrap securely around your waist, pulling you backward until your back is pressed firmly against his broad chest.
"you're home early," you murmur, leaning your head back against his shoulder with a soft smile.
"i missed you," satoru groans into the crook of your neck, his voice a deep, lazy rumble that vibrates right through you. his sunglasses are already discarded somewhere on the entryway table, leaving his striking blue eyes completely uncovered. "the meetings ran short, and all i could think about was getting back to you. look at me."
you twist slightly in his embrace, turning your head to look at him. the moment you do, satoru leans down and immediately captures your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. it’s warm and slow, tasting faintly of the sweet iced coffee he always buys on his way home, and it instantly melts away whatever stress you had accumulated throughout the day.
when he finally pulls back a fraction of an inch, his eyes are crinkled at the corners, filled with a gentle, affectionate warmth that he only ever saves for you.
"satoru," you laugh softly, reaching up to frame his face with your hands. "let me finish this page first."
"nope," he says simply, a playful grin tugging at his lips. "the page can wait. i haven't seen you in eight hours. that's basically a lifetime."
before you can argue, he leans in again, but instead of going for your lips, he shifts his target. he plants a soft kiss right on the center of your forehead, his soft white hair brushing against your skin. then, he moves down, peppering light, rapid-fire kisses across your eyelids, the bridge of your nose, and the apples of your cheeks until you’re giggling out loud, trying to swat his hands away.
"hold still," he murmurs against your skin, his voice muffled by your cheek as he kisses his way down to your jawline. "i'm making up for lost time."
his hands move from your waist to gently cup your face, his long, warm fingers stroking your cheekbones with immense gentleness. satoru can be loud & entirely dramatic to the rest of the world, but in the quiet space of your apartment, he is nothing but incredibly soft. he kisses you with a quiet & patient devotion, taking his time as if there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.
he presses a warm kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another one right on your chin, before finally pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. his gaze wanders over your face, completely captivated, a tender, soft smile resting on his lips.
"there," he whispers, his thumb gently wiping away a stray speck of ink from your thumb. "now you have my full permission to finish your page. as long as i get to stay right here."
you let out a quiet sigh of contentment, leaning your head back against his chest as his arms wrap tightly around you once more, anchoring you in place. "deal."
egypt nt coach: football is not fair. they want to keep messi here. they want to keep the champions here. but we did our best. and i told my players not to be upset. because this wasn't their fault. there are things influencing the results outside of the pitch in this tournament. anyways, thank god and im happy with the work my players did and im proud of them. it's been an honor to get to this point and i thank everyone who supported us. and im sorry.
૮꒰ྀི ྀི꒱ა asking BEST FRIEND!CHOSO to degrade you!
"you want me to what?"
"c'mon, cho, please," you pouted, arms folded across your chest as you begged your best friend-with-occasional-benefits to satisfy the latest filthy two am idea you had.
his mouth pressed into a thin line, nose scrunching up and making the thick tattoo across the bridge wrinkle as he rubbed the crease between his brows.
"jus' don't cry."
you had huffed at him, rolling your ideas that your sweet choso could be anything other than the cuddly puppy dog who usually ended up cumming five seconds after he buried his dick inside you and still fucked you past the brink of his own overstimulation.
but no, thirty minutes later, fat tears were rolling down your cheek as you desperately humped his thigh, humiliation burning your cheeks while he just yawned.
"pathetic," he dryly muttered, your tongue practically hanging out and totally incapable of forming a protest as you dragged your soaked cunt up-and-down in a desperate attempt for friction.
"s-shut up," you tried to hiss, whimpering against your will as he lightly bounced his thigh up, the friction from your fabric rubbing against your neglected clit pure torture.
"you asked for this," he reminded you, dark eyes narrowing as he pretended to be interested in the tv behind you like you couldn't see the subtle pink blush on his own cheeks. "humping my leg like a bitch in heat."
it shouldn't be hot.
no, you should hit him, but the embarrassment just made the need in your stomach coil tighter, the rubber band holding the last threads of your dignity threatening to snap as he dragged his lazy half-lidded stare back to your squirming form, exhaling like it was beneath him to indulge you. assessing you with those quietly observant eyes, watching the way your lashes fluttered and your body trembled as you rubbed yourself against his thick thigh.
"you like me calling you a dog?" he grunted, all gravelly and low.
"no," you lied, like you weren't throbbing around nothing just from the sound of his voice.
"bark if you want to cum," he dared, irises almost totally swallowed up by his pupils as you rode him harder, hips grinding down as you stifled a whimper.
"m'not gonna," you started, but then he cut you one of those looks like he was trying to remind you that he was playing along. gritting your teeth as your nerves started to burn, fraying further the longer you went without any real release. "fuck."
maybe this was a mistake.
but with your best friend's calloused hand squeezing your side and his gruff voice replaying in your head, you felt yourself crumbling and caving into your own lust. absorbed as he sat up more, leaning in to let his mouth graze against your throat. "what's it gonna be?"
"woof."
you didn't know which one of you was blushing harder, your thighs trembling and shaking when he finally moved to rub rough circles against your clit through your panties, calling you more nasty names and mocking you in that husky voice of his that you were his obedient girl, stars dotting across your vision as you pulled at his messy hair.
the full weight of humiliation didn't hit you until after you finished, clarity only hitting you as you blinked and realized what a fucking mess you made on his jeans as you looked down.
"dick," you muttered, as if he hadn't done exactly what you asked.
you readjusted to reach for his zipper and return the favor anyway, tugging it down only to discover the damp patch on his boxers, glancing up only for him to hold up a hand in front of his face to hide it.
"did you cum in your pants?"
reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated <3
૮(◞ ‸ ◟ )ა ;; your husband, satoru gojo, who can’t help but pout at the fact that his newborn baby girl sobs whenever she’s placed into his arms! ── ✦⋆🍼.˚
it’s been weeks of this — weeks of satoru tenderly trying to lift your frail newborn daughter from your arms, his tall frame hunched over her and his touch agonisingly gentle, only for her to burst out into tears. he just can’t comprehend it!
“it isn’t fair,” he mumbles, slumped over on the couch after yet another failed attempt at picking her up. “i mean, she has my eyes! in fact, she has all my genes, yet she won’t let me pick her up!”
his tone is scandalised, a hint of betrayal seeping into it; but beyond the usual dramatics, there’s a subtle sense of vulnerability in it too. it’s barely there, hidden behind the light-heartedness of his voice so that you almost miss it.
that’s the kind of skill that satoru has mastered by now: being able to feign confidence in the form of borderline obnoxious mock-arrogance. or rather, being able to divert any concerns you may have with a kind of ease and fluidity that’s got to be at least a little bit concerning.
but you don’t miss it this time. not with the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he stares at the floor, lost in thought. not when he looks so worn down, eroded of his usual playful demeanour, an unfamiliar tiredness written all over his body.
you can see the way his shoulders are lowered a fraction in exhaustion from the situation, and even despite his joking demeanour, you both seem to have noticed the way his voice lacked its usual charm earlier.
“hey, toru..” you murmur, sliding onto the couch next to him. your daughter is still clinging to your shirt, having only just been lulled to sleep by you. she’s finally finished bawling her eyes out at the sight of her own father. “don’t be like that…it’s nothing. she’ll grow out of it.”
“no, you don’t get it sweets! she must know something…” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “i mean, whenever she looks at me with those huge blue eyes, it’s like she’s staring right through me. she must know something i don’t!” with that, he drops his head into his hands with a groan.
you’d laugh at the irony of his words if it weren’t for the defeated look on his face. of all things, you’d never expected to hear satoru gojo complaining about the unsettling nature of the piercing-blue eyes that she’d inherited from him. nonetheless, you gently move your free hand to stroke his back, your voice soft as you rub soothing circles.
“hey, no…she’ll come around soon enough.”
“but what if she doesn’t?” he looks up, pouting once more. “what if i’ve done something wrong? maybe i messed up my first impression or something!”
“…toru, don’t be silly, i don’t think newborns care about first impressions.”
he sits up slowly, assessing your words as his eyes fall once more upon the baby in your arms. her snowy eyelashes flutter slightly as she snoozes, tiny hands curled up against her body. one of her chubby cheeks rests against you as she snores, her tiny chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale she takes. tentatively, satoru brings a hand to run over her small leg, fingers running over the soft fabric of the fluffy bear socks on her feet courtesy of his impulse buying.
he snorts sadly at that, remembering the way he had been so excited to spoil her. he’d ran around, desperate to find only the very best for his sweet daughter: bags of baby toys, soft socks, cute baby outfits and pacifiers. he’d spent hours researching the quality of each, scrolling through reviews, diligently ensuring that his daughter would receive only the best — only for her to sob at the mere sight of his face.
it’s a kind of irony satoru can’t bear. because ultimately, in the eyes of the newborn in your arms, he’s no longer satoru gojo. he’s simply…nothing. stripped of being the strongest, stripped of his usual defence mechanism of feigned-confidence, stripped of his ability to win her over with expensive toys and clothes. he’s left vulnerable, stuck with the discomfort of it all. maybe he isn’t cut out for this. maybe he isn’t cut out for fatherhood.
you study his face, frowning at the way his brows are pinched and his features have melted into something much more vulnerable, tired. he looks deep in thought, barely registering the fact that one of his legs is tapping anxiously. he just stays sat there, eyes absentmindedly resting upon your daughter, zoned out.
your heart aches a little. it’s a strange sight, to see your usually-bold husband reduced to this unfamiliar state, hands tensed in his lap like he’s not sure what to do with himself.
so, you decide to take action yourself.
tenderly, you lift your daughter and quietly place her into satoru’s arms, silently willing her not to wake just yet. you’re not quite sure how you or your poor husband will cope if she does — and the idea of having to lull her back to sleep whilst simultaneously looking into satoru’s face of pure disappointment is one you’re not particularly fond of.
the second the baby is in his arms, satoru tenses up, thrown off-guard for a moment at the sudden action. however he then slowly begins to pull her closer to his chest, arms cradling her more securely now. it’s a bit awkward at first, because for once your poor husband hasn’t had a chance to prepare himself to hold her: no half an hour pep talk in the mirror as usual, no rubbing vanilla baby lotion into his hands before attempting to hold her — after all, apparently the scent of vanilla is soothing to young babies. hours of extensive research and a couple of youtube tutorials on how not to make your newborn daughter cry have taught him that much, at least.
much to his surprise, though, despite his total lack of preparation this time around, she seems to warm up to his touch immediately. despite being fast asleep, she nuzzles her tiny cheek against his chest a little, angling her head just a fraction inwards towards his warmth.
sure, maybe they’re just baby steps, if you can even call them that. but for the first time since his sweet daughter was born, satoru has actually been able to hold her without being subjected to sobs and screams. he tries to fight a tiny smile, and your heart flutters at the sight.
he stays stood there in silence, eyes crinkled in fondness as he peers down at the sleeping girl in his arms, cradling her like she’s precious. and after a few minutes of standing like that, a single, tiny tear begins to form in the corner of his eye, not quite falling yet. it stays there for a few seconds, clinging to soft dove-white lashes before the salty water finally rolls down his face, just barely brushing over the edge of his cheek.
with a tiny sniff, gojo quickly manages to recover his composure, letting his typical confident grin return back onto his features and simultaneously trying to pretend that his eyes aren’t currently going blurry with the threat of fresh, brand-new tears.
“ah— i knew it, so you do like me..!” he chokes out a weak laugh as he addresses the sleeping newborn, his voice half-subdued in a poor attempt at being quiet so as not to wake her. he dramatically crooks his head downwards, his ear right up next to your daughter’s face as though trying to ensure he can hear her better before he speaks up again. “…soo, this means that i’m the favourite parent, right??”
the nerve of him!
a/n: filler post sorry if the writing quality is poor i just wanted to post something💔
the idea came to me thanks to a dad sukuna fic i saw so creds to them!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
taglist: @nonchalantfiend @mochiakun @rielovesphel @yujismissingfingers @megumigooner @vanillaascented @megumisrighttoe @catgvrl @hearts2vivi @mariisagb @renrenrenren17 @bowiesprettieststar2 @733164 @palanggaaa @megssleepygirl @rengoatku @hangenism @yujisdreamgirl @nonamedreams @ivankinnieclatter @sugerfilled @silverstar111 @dreamyreadinglover @v4mp1r3b4tzz @dev1lw4arsprada @megantheestallionswife @magicalpeenpoo @qrxswan @silverwfern @luvhza @rozzaa0scentzz1 @azizxxxah @eyayur @strawberrychansora @qrxswan + join!
divider creds @/dividers-are-us and @/cursed-carmine!
explicit content
Leon experiences a moral shock when he realises just how badly he loves teaching you to touch him. In bed and outside of it—every woman he’s ever been entangled with knew more than him, and he learned how to touch women through their hands. How to pet their hair back, how to kiss too-sensitive places. How to coax a woman into his lap, and nip her throat, and make her shudder.
You know nothing. He’s your first boyfriend, lover, partner. You’ve never been touched, which is his own private agony, and a delight at all hours of the day as he gets to be your first kiss, your first fuck, and your first cuddle. He teaches you how to open your mouth and use your tongue, how to take what you need from him and anything else you want, too. He teaches you how to relax when you’re against someone, and how to draw shapes down their back. He shouldn’t find it so achy. He’s never been like this before. The hesitant way you tuck hair behind his ear as you lean up to kiss his cheek has him stirred and quickly useless, your hand tumbling down his back to tickle him like a damn slap. He shivers when you scratch his scalp and says, That’s perfect, bub, with enough condescension to hide his sincerity. He’d love you if you knew everything there was to know, want you without introductions, but he loves being trusted so deeply by you, and he loves the way you smile when his patience exceeds your expectation. He doesn’t get mad. Doesn’t ever laugh at your shy questions. He’s putty in the palm of your trembly hands.
The worst of it is that you know. Not that you like it, being led and taught and told, commanded around with a gentleness he can’t fake, no. The worst part is when you wait to be told what to do, after a hundred kisses and hours upon hours boiling up in his lap. Like this? you ask into his neck, your teeth dull at his pulse and your tongue hot.
Leon grabs you by the thighs and yanks you against his front every time, a poor picture of restraint, praising his baby through gritted teeth. Yeah, honey. You listen so well.
stealing your husband’s chocolate and finding out it was laced with an aphrodisiac!
[content: MDNI, crack smųt, a very unserious piece of work, piv, hair pulling, use of aphrodisiacs, sukuna’s sour but then he’s sweet]
Never in your life have you been so horny it hurt.
“Kuna, please—harder,” you cry out.
“I’m going as hard as I fucking can, you little slut,” he snaps, each thrust matching every harsh word that gets spat through his teeth. “THIS IS WHY YOU DON’T EAT RANDOM. CHOCOLATE. ON. THE. COUNTER.”
“I’m sorry! Fuck!! I didn’t know!”
“There was a note saying DON’T eat it—you just didn’t give a shit because you’re a thief and a glutton. A liar now, too,” he continues to scold you over the chocolate bar he was going to give to Jin so he’d stop groveling over his ex. It’s been 6 fucking months, he’s tired of having to listen to him go on and on about Kaori. Enough is enough—he needs to go out and sleep with someone.
And now Jin’s never going to shut up. Sukuna doesn’t even want to look at you right now—let alone reward your behavior with dick.
“And now you’re cryin’ like it’s my fuckin’ fault.” It’s him who should be crying right now. “It’s simple: Leave my fucking snacks alone. I always get multiples of each so you’d keep your grubby little hands off them. Why can’t you just be normal and go in my wallet?? Fuck—Arch that back some more.” He cracks his palm over your ass. “Yeah, hike it up nice and high.”
“I can’t!” It feels like it’s about to break with all the weight he’s putting on it! Both of his hands pinning you down, burying every last inch of his cock inside of you.
He scoffs, nudging for you to close your thighs, then planting his knees right next to yours so they stay that way. “Do you want to cum?”
“…yes,” you whimper.
“Then fucking arch it.”
You sniffle. “Okay.”
He breaks character and huffs out a laugh as he watches you continue to helplessly stretch and squelch around him, making a creamy mess all along his shaft. He straightens his back, big hands now firmly grabbing your hips as he picks up the pace.
“Yeahh—stay right there,” his chest rumbles as he lets out a low, drawn-out groan. The smack of his hips growing louder, driving himself right into that little spot that won’t stop screaming for his attention.
It has his attention now.
The new angle had you whining into the pillow, absolutely reeling from how good he was at this, despite his complaints. He knows how to be rough. Nearly lifting you off the bed once he starts pulling your hips back, heavy balls smacking against your sensitive clit as he makes you meet each and every rough thrust he delivers.
“F-fuckk!” you choke out, barely able to form a coherent sentence as you start babbling out a bunch of words.
“So fuckin’ spoiled.” He complains, but just barely. “C’mon brat—you’ve been working me like a fuckin’ dog, give it to me already.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t believe you. You sound like you’re in heaven right now. “Mmhh—I love you so much.” His scowl deepens. “So, so much—you’re so fucking big.“
“Tch.” He grabs a handful of your hair, then yanks you back until you’re up against his chest, lips grazing your ear while muttering in it. “I don’t want an apology. What I want is for you to cum on my fuckin’ cock already. Or should I just stop?”
“No, no don’t! Please! I’m trying, I swear,” you begin to plead with the man.
“Try harder.” Then he smiled, because he felt you squeeze around him. “Jesus Christ—you need to me talk you through it too? The chocolates supposed to make you horny, sweetheart. Not useless.”
“It’s not my fault,” you whimper, and squeeze around him again, pulling a condescending huff out of him.
“You poor thing,” he hums. “Probably spent the whole day waiting for me to come home so I could make you feel better, huh?”
His breath tickles your ear and you nearly moan. “Mhm—I thought about it all day.”
“Well aren’t you sweet,” he mutters, tone as condescending as ever. “You got what you wanted, too. I’ve been taking care of you for a while now. How many times have I cum in you now?”
“I… I don’t know—“
“Of course you fuckin’ don’t.” He cuts you off, unamused by your answer. “Want me to do it again? Fill you up, make you feel all nice and warm?”
“Please.”
“Give me what I want then. If these sheets aren’t soaked by the time I’m about to cum again, I’m pulling out and finishing on your face,” he lets go of your hair and begins to laugh. You don’t get much of a chance to react before you feel the pads of his fingers on your clit, pulling a gasp out of you once he starts rubbing little circles on top of already fucking you. “Heh—let’s see if playing with this cute little clit saves you.”
And he knows you don’t deserve it—any of it, honestly. Unfortunately, he can’t help himself, not with the reactions he gets out of you. He married you for many reasons—getting to spend the rest of his life with a squirter was one of them. The moment your breathing grows labored and you sound like you’re gonna start to cry, his lids grow heavy and he starts saying all the things he told himself he wouldn’t say today.
"Yeahhh, that’s it, baby—fuuuuck—takin’ it so good.” He is fucking gone. Voice thick, filled with nothing but lust and awe as he presses against your lower belly. “C’mon, you want it here, right? Yeah, you know what to do—don’t let some fuckin’ asshole finish on your sweet little face.”
Yes. Your husband just degraded himself. And you just egg him on without meaning to. You were already whining about how it was too much, the incoherent “want it inside,” just made it better worse.
“I will, I’ll give you so fuckin’ much if you just give me one—just one. Easy. Shit—I’ll fill you up as much as you want afterwards.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, but that doesn’t matter when it’s what has you crying and trembling and finally gushing around his cock.“Yeah, that’s it. That’s it, that’s—fuuuuck yeah. Good job, sweetheart—good fuckin’ job. Fuck.”
Funny enough, he came right after you, which was a relief because that meant his job was done and he was finally able to give his dick a fucking break after hours of feeling like he was working for free, when he had already worked a regular eight hour shift prior. The biggest relief of all was seeing you lie limp in bed, after slightly worrying if you ever actually would.
He leans over you with a smug smile, already having forgotten how much you pissed him off earlier as he moved some hair away from your face. Checking to see if you’re actually asleep or not, then feeling a deep sense of peace when seeing that you are. He presses a kiss against your cheekbone, and in the most loving way hopes you stay that way because he cannot do that again. Then finally, he gets up to use the bathroom.
The peace is only lasts four steps until it’s completely shattered again when he hears your weak voice.
it's easy to fall in love - and perhaps even easier to fall out of it when you discover the penpal who captured your heart might not be the man whose signature is on his letters
synopsis: a poor princess. a playboy emperor. and a devoted duke at his aide. heavy is the head that wears the crown - and heavier is the hand that wears the ring binding them together. what happens when you're up for the role of a bride? or the future empress?
pairing: emperor!gojo x princess!reader, duke!Geto x princess!reader
content: mdni, angst and smut and fluff, royal fantasy sort of au (any sort of historical accuracy is thrown out the window here lol), she falls first, he falls harder, gojo is a spoiled brat at first lol, gojo getting brutally humbled, Geto trying to steal reader from him, falling in love, heavy pining/yearning, hurt/comfort, accidental voyeurism, oral (f! receiving), kidnapping, mentions of murder/injury/torture, handcuffs, character growth, possessive geto, political schemes, unprotected piv sex, light breeding kink, fingering, loss of virginity, multiple povs and positions, creampie, backshots, marriage, making out, extremely protective gojo, proposals, confessions
Satoru Gojo was born lucky.
Beautiful and blessed. The sole heir to an empire that spawned over centuries, more wishes and wealth than any man could dream afforded to him before he could even walk.
Anything he wanted was his.
And if he didn't want it?
"I don't like her," Gojo complained, glaring through the stained glass at his afternoon play date, a potential bride - although at age twelve, he was still at least a decade away from dealing with something as dreadful as marriage.
"Please be nice," His attendant reminded him, fixing the collars on his shirt and huffing as she hurried to fix a stray strand of hair. "She's a princess too, you know."
"She's strange," He muttered under his breath, watching you sit politely at the table, hands folded in your lap, only occasionally smoothing out the skirt of your dress.
It was too big on you, probably passed down from a sister or some other family member. Frayed at the helm, like it'd been worn quite a few times before.
Some princess you were.
You'd been clinging to the shadows his whole life, attending bi-annual balls with your family just to cling to the background like a piece of art no one bothered to look at. He wouldn't have noticed, really, but your attention was annoyingly always on him.
He promised to be on his best behavior before they shooed him out to greet you, rolling his bright blue eyes the second they turned around and sticking a bug in your tea ten minutes into your so-called date just to see you squeak.
You pushed off the table trying to stand up, but it just made your cup spill in your lap instead - bug included.
It was almost cute to watch you panic, brows pushed together in a frustrated pout as you desperately tried to clean yourself, maids and attendants rushing out to see the commotion and their young master responsible for it.
But somehow, you were the only one who got scolded for it. Watching you get the blame made him feel bad, a harsh stab of guilt pricking at him, but he was quick to push it down.
Just the perks of being a prince, he supposed.
You were the unlucky one here.
Gojo always got his way - so why should he marry you?
He didn't even have to complain this time - whatever distant family member that brought you to the palace caught some grave illness, and you returned with them to whatever impoverished kingdom you came from.
Occasionally, he'd receive letters from you over the next handful (or two) of years, time passing while they went unopened, shoved off on his aide while he busied himself with politics and parties. Going from a prince to an emperor while you were gone after his father passed. Geto halfheartedly scolded him for not replying to you, insisted he should maintain a positive relationship even if he wasn't going to marry you, but what was the point of listening when he was supposed to be the man everyone listened to?
You didn't attend the balls anymore, but your letters grew more frequent, at least two a month left in the stack on his desk before Geto snatched the pile to reply for him.
"Why is she sending so many?" Gojo groaned, picking up one and squinting at the neat script on the front of the envelope, the ornate wax seal carefully stamped on. He reclined back in his office chair, legs sprawled out as he traced over the ink splotches on the ivory.
"Hm?" Geto murmured, too distracted with whatever form he was filling out to look up. Despite being his aide, he was a Duke too, technically in the line for the throne and with people of his own to manage and business to attend to.
"Our favorite princess," He dryly replied. You'd become something of a joke, more with himself than to Geto. A constant that was never even there, a shadow that followed him despite the years and distance that separated you. A running gag of a girl who couldn't take a hint.
He caught a whiff of a surprisingly intoxicating perfume, blinking a few times before realizing it must be from your letter. Geto noticed what he was holding a second too late, but Gojo was already cutting the envelope open and pulling the papers out.
"Wait-"
"It's addressed to me, isn't it?" Gojo teased, standing up and walking over to the sun-lit window to read it.
And the first line in its pretty cursive and swirling letters had him laughing already.
"My dearest Satoru?" He repeated incredulously, glancing back over his shoulder at his very much guilty friend.
"Look," Geto started, dark eyes narrowed as he let out a sigh.
"Is she under the impression I'm the one writing to her?" Honestly, before this moment? He'd never considered what Geto did with any of yours letters after he received them. Perhaps just polite replies?
Nothing that would make you comfortable enough to call him that.
"Yes," Geto curtly answered, his face still stoic, unreadable as Gojo gaped at him.
"Suguru, seriously-" He scoffed, returning to reading the letter once more as he shook his head.
He wasn't sure really what he thought he'd find in it.
Something to laugh at? A few short paragraphs somehow still stammering about something random.
Not your sincere words, asking him questions and inquiring about his health and the last set of reforms he rolled out, as if you were genuinely interested in all of it. Casually writing about something that happened back near your own capitol, dropping names he didn't know and discussing the possibility of adapting similar laws there too.
"She's rather sweet," Geto murmured, standing up and brushing off his uniform as he walked over to snatch the letter back.
Gojo wasn't done reading though.
He scampered away, holding up the letter and squinting at the last paragraph, skimming over it just to freeze. "She's coming here?"
"She is an Empress candidate," Geto bluntly reminded him, his lips pushed together in a tight frown before he tugged the letter free from Gojo's hand.
A handful of women would be showing up this week for him to officially meet, despite knowing half of them for most of his life anyway. People were starting to get impatient with the way he was dragging his feet to the alter, rumors swirling and complaints piling that he hadn't picked a bride. Even internally, the staff was starting to get annoyed picking up the slack from the duties an Empress would typically take care of.
It made sense you'd be included. A princess from an ally kingdom, no matter how impoverished, was still a princess. Trained and molded for the role of a ruler from birth.
How could he pick a bride when no one held his attention? Was it just meant to be a boring business decision for everyone else's benefit but his?
"What? Am I supposed to pretend I'm the one who's been writing to her this whole time?" Gojo groaned, trying to imagine how that would even go.
Perhaps it would be like when you were kids, back when the last time he'd seen you was a fucking decade ago, and you were too shy to stutter out more than a few syllables.
Or maybe you'd changed so much that he wouldn't even recognize you.
"I will inform her myself that it was me," Geto grunted, smoothing out the letter and returning to his desk.
"No, just," Gojo paused, sighing as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just let me read over her letters and I'll take care of it."
"I would prefer-"
"It's fine, I can handle it," Gojo insisted.
If he was going to let you down gently, wasn't the least he could do was learn a little about you first?
✧
He still hadn't meant to stay up all night reading the letters Geto had saved.
Sweet couldn't cover it.
You were a mystery book he thought he'd solved just to get proven wrong page after page.
The shy wisp of a worm that would so rarely return has stare had morphed into a bright butterfly, speaking so comfortably in perfume-soaked letters, flower petals you dried added between the pages.
Your prose would go from soft to snarky, telling stories of your home, shaping tales of holidays and the hard months in-between of managing your family's estate and fulfilling the duties expected of you on a tight budget. Barely speaking of yourself, but painting him a picture of the world that surrounded you in pretty stokes, always devoting a page to asking about him, bringing up the details Geto must've given you.
It wasn't polite. It was intimate.
Real and raw in an odd sort of way, more than casual concern or anything close, carrying a weight he was unaccustomed to when you finished a letter off with the wish he'd be in your dreams that night.
And strangest of all?
Gojo found he didn't dislike it. Not one bit.
Rather, a faint flame of regret had been born, small and quiet in the pit of his stomach as he poured over your pretty cursive and wondered if perhaps he should've been the one responding all this time.
It might've been his face your first fallen for, these words were for Geto.
Would you still have replied so often it had been him?
Shared your adoration so ardently? Or would you have gotten sick of his humor? His bluntness and overbearing tendency to kill the joke before he'd finished telling it?
He spent the rest of the week reading them again and again once he retired back to his room, like some strange bedtime story.
He'd fallen asleep with the last one still in hand, the corner crumpled under his grip when he woke the next morning to the harsh sun.
Yawning as he rolled out, the palace in somewhat of a frenzy for today's guests, a commotion he could hear even from upstairs. And honestly?
His heart had worked itself in a frenzy too.
Would you be arriving today too?
What would you say when you saw him? Would you throw your arms around his neck or kiss his cheek?
So what if Geto happened to be the one who wrote you back?
Gojo felt like he knew you too. Knew the names of your family members and what the weather was like back home. Had memorized enough lines, etched the swirls and sweeps of your penmanship into his brain, the way you signed his name and how you dotted and crossed your letters. Studied up on your kingdom in his spare time, shame creeping in that he'd never bothered to before.
He padded across the room barefoot, stretching his long limbs and snagging a silk robe from off his armchair, tying it loosely around his waist before walking out to the balcony.
Carriages were pulled up in front of the open gates, luggage being unloaded onto the maintained path.
And as luck would have it, you were there.
He wasn't sure how he knew, or what even caught his eye, a familiar flash of your hair color, a glimpse of your face, but he knew. And fuck, you were gorgeous.
Pretty in a way he never paid attention to before.
An idiotic idea took shape in the back of his brain.
Who wouldn't be honored to have the Emperor personally come out to greet them?
ᡴꪫ
The palace was precisely how you remembered it.
Sprawling and sun-bathed, all the colors warmer, brighter than the rest of the world. Deep green grass and blossoming flowers lining the paths, vines climbing up the sides of the walls.
"Can you please send my bags ahead to my room? I'd like to look around the garden first," You smiled at the attendant, trying hard not to pick at the nails you'd spent so long painting last night at the inn you'd spent the night at. Bathing and exfoliating, waking up far too early to prepare for today. The first time you'd see your Satoru again.
The attendant curtly nodded, carrying your bags and hurrying up the path, and you wondered what else you might find here.
You weren't delusional enough to think Satoru would actually choose you when there were other more capable options. Women with more wealth and finer families, prettier too.
But he was your friend at least, wasn't he?
And sometimes, some people fell in love with their friends, right?
You walked down the weaving side paths, heading for a fountain you used to toss coins in as a child, wishing for the man you might marry now.
The stone sculpture sitting atop it was weathered, cracked and worn by rain and age, but the water was still a crystalline blue, coins littering the bottom and the sun bounced off the surface. You sat by the edge, fingers skimming over it and sending ripples across.
You didn't have any coins on you today.
What would you have wished for this time?
"Oh? It's bad luck to steal those, you know," A playful voice called out, starting you as your head snapped to the sound of it.
Satoru Gojo in the flesh. And uh, a robe.
Nothing else.
You blinked, blushing at the sight of his broad chest on display, his robe tied low enough you could fucking count his muscles, his hair mused and messed up like he just rolled out of bed, blue eyes still hazy with sleep.
"I wasn't planning on it," You wryly muttered, averting your gaze back to the fountain to stop yourself from staring, suddenly embarrassed. Still, there was a slight sense of familiarity, the way he smiled so easily at you, his knee brushing against your leg when he strolled closer.
"You're not excited to see me, princess?" He teased, plopping down next to you on the edge.
"It has been a while, hasn't it?" You tilted your head to the side, studying his face, the barely-there dimple by his smirk, the thick lashes framing his eyes. They looked ever more beautiful than you remembered, the sky and the reflection from the water reflecting back in them.
"I should apologize for my truly terrible behavior back then," He chuckled, not entirely sorry at all, but confident enough you'd forgive him for it anyway.
He'd never been hated in his life.
Even at his worst, you couldn't crush the feelings that'd sprouted in your heart when you were younger and only bloomed with each letter he'd sent.
"Apologize then," You dared, something about his presence bringing out a boldness in you.
He leaned in a little closer, and you couldn't help the way your eyes flickered down to the soft pink of his lips as they formed the words. "I'm very sorry."
"Okay," You shrugged, feigning far more nonchalance than you felt.
"Do you forgive me?" He pouted, sticking a flower he must've plucked on the way here in your face.
"Did I say that?" You rolled your eyes, grabbing the flower and carefully examining the petals of the bright orange lily. "I suppose you must not know much about flowers."
"They're pretty," He hummed. "Like you."
"This one symbolizes passion," You murmured, picking a petal off and setting it afloat on the water. "Or hatred."
It was bad luck back home.
He laughed, leaning in closer while you picked off another petal, playing a crude game of he-loves-me-not in your own head while he watched.
You were on not when you heard someone approaching.
"Your Imperial Majesty," A cold voice called out, and you both turned to see a shrewd blond man pushing a thin pair of glasses up his nose.
"Nanamin, have you met-" Satoru grinned, slinging a muscled arm over your shoulder.
"You were supposed to meet Mei Mei half an hour ago," The blond man interrupted with a scoff, glaring pointedly at your host.
A flicker of jealousy shot through you, pierced your heart at the reminder you were just one of several women he was meant to entertain in the coming weeks.
"She'll live," Satoru dismissed with his hand, yawning as he shifted, spreading out his long legs like he was content to stay all day.
"Please don't make preferential treatment a problem on the first day," Nanami muttered, exasperated. "Even if the princess was was penpals with your friend."
"Satoru?" You glanced over at him, confusion probably scrawled over your face. But he was just wincing, well-aware of whatever he meant.
"It's not," He hesitated, jaw pulled tight. "I mean-"
The horrifying realization set in, all the hope draining from your body.
"Were you not the one writing to me?" You bluntly asked.
"Well, no, but-" Gojo admitted, and you suddenly felt ill. The breakfast you'd barely been able to get down threatening to make a reappearance, but a hot lump formed in your throat, and you couldn't swallow it. Choking on the idiotic dreams you'd had of him actually coming to like you at all. "I, I read your letters and-"
"I apologize if my letters were an inconvenience on your time," You politely said, switching on your manners before you shouted obscenities at him.
"I read them," He insisted again, as if that made it much better.
"You have a meeting to go to. Don't let me keep you," You coldly replied, holding your head high and tossing the rest of the flower in the fountain. You should find your room anyway, collapse into a real bed to cry in.
"Can we talk for a few moments? I don't want to end-"
"Your Imperial Majesty," You curtly cut him off, brushing off your skirt to stand. "I have no interest in your pity."
"Could you give me a chance?" He stood up after you, but you refused to give him so much as a second glance.
Your letters didn't deserve a reply. Why should he get any answers now?
✧
"What am I supposed to do?" Gojo groaned, head in his hands.
"Leave her alone?" Geto casually suggested, flipping through a newspaper and reclining back in an oversized armchair.
"She refuses to even speak to me at meals, ignores all the gifts I send her, I mean, what girl doesn't like flowers?"
"What do you want me to do?" Geto grunted.
"I dunno," Gojo shrugged, rubbing his eyes. He'd barely been sleeping, rereading your letters and struggling to understand why he was so stuck on whether or not you liked him.
It shouldn't matter.
It shouldn't bother him that you wanted nothing to do with him. It should make his life easier, really, one less person for him to pick from, one less person to disappoint.
Although he didn't really want to pick at all, desperate for another excuse to postpone the whole marriage charade.
"You'll be expected to dance with her at the banquet tomorrow night," Geto dryly muttered, probably just annoyed he'd also have to be in attendance too.
Gojo had been dragging him around everywhere he went, using him as a shield to keep the more forward women somewhat at bay. Most of them could be sorted in two groups. The ones that wanted what was under his clothes. And the ones that wanted what was on his head.
Mei Mei was the worst offender, making crude and cruel jokes disgusting by a glittering smile, always trying to threaten her way into the seat next to him, aiming for his throne next.
Money hungry and greedy in a way that gold still didn't fully suffice. She wanted everything.
Gojo would rather die than slip a ring on her finger, despite her influence on the other court ladies, despite her already substantial wealth and ties to some of the more powerful lords and merchants.
What power was theirs compared to his?
You stayed clear of the rest of the candidates, but Gojo kept dragging you back in to every event planned, your clipped voice and cold exterior only making him try harder to squeeze himself between the cracks in your armor.
Making a fool of himself by convincing the chefs to prepare cuisine from your kingdom just for you to politely decline and shut your bedroom door in his face. Consulting the gardener to get fresh cuttings for a bouquet of all the flowers you'd ever sent him, even rare strains from the conservatory, but you'd only grabbed the bundle before shutting the door on him again. Asking if you'd care to accompany him to tea when you bumped into each other in the hall just for you to decline.
He could probably count the number of real conversations you had on both hands, when you were stuck sitting next to him and he asked question after question, desperate for something he couldn't even name. Forgiveness? Your favor?
You were the most frustrating woman he'd ever met and he couldn't shake the feeling he wanted you to frustrate him for the rest of his life.
Every sharp sentence and pointed glare just dragged him deeper under your spell, pushing his head underwater just by rolling your eyes and scoffing his way, drowning in his own despair and desire.
"You think she'll let me?" Gojo murmured, sitting back down at his desk and pulling a clean sheet of paper from a drawer, snagging a pen.
"Probably not," Geto dismissed, grabbing a book from the shelf and heading for the door, only glancing back once before he pulled it open. "I wouldn't get your hopes up."
Gojo would just have to try anyway.
ᡴꪫ
You hated Satoru Gojo almost as much as you used to love him.
He was nothing like the letters. Not suave or smooth, no words layered with hidden meanings for you to unravel and savor. He didn't say all the right words or know what would soothe your hurt. In fact, everything he said was wrong.
Abrasive, blunt, cheeky, you could probably assign an adjective for every letter of the alphabet to him and still not run out of words. Even worse?
He was cute - in the most annoying way.
His persistence in persuing pestering you had started to grow on you, more like a mold than a flower. But still, you'd found yourself searching for him in the corner of every room, waiting for him to show up and slide into the seat next to you.
Asking an absurd amount of questions, always pinning his focus precisely on you like there'd be a quiz on your answers.
Every time you'd get close to having fun, you'd remember what you'd forgotten.
He could've asked you any of it in a letter.
So yeah, you loathed those pretty blue eyes that haunted your dreams, glittering and gleaming with freedom you'd never have. You could feel them on you even now, skimming over you with silent appraisal. Judging if you were up to his standards.
You hadn't been before, had you?
He had never bothered to put a pen to paper to personally write you back until now, a single sheet slipped under your door while you were getting ready for this insufferable banquet.
Save me a dance? - S
Was that the most he could muster?
You were such a fucking idiot for thinking someone like him would ever fall for someone like you.
"Mind if I join you?" A honeyed voice snapped your attention away from this evening's third glass of wine.
"Why not?" You shrugged your shoulders, glancing over to find the dark-haired man Gojo was usually with.
Was there something in the water here?
He was nearly as handsome as Gojo, just in a different way, his features sharper, more sweeping, his intense stare warm to disguise how calculating it really was, pretty lips curled up in a deceptively kind smile.
Still, your recognized him from the long hair alone. He was a Duke, a knight too if you recalled correctly, but really, it was his association with Gojo that had you so wary.
"I'm Suguru Geto," He introduced himself anyway, his eyes flickering down to your hand as he waited for you to offer it to him.
"I'm aware," You forced a tight-lipped smile, glancing around the room for some other empty corner to slink off too. Gojo was watching both of you, probably displeased that his friend was infringing on his favorite joke? Pastime?
You weren't positive what box Gojo had put you in.
But then Geto grabbed your hand anyway, gracefully bending down to kiss the back of it. Sturdy fingers pressing into your palm and soft lips on your skin as your cheeks flushed with heat.
"Is it alright if I confess I know you too?" You froze, still staring down at the gorgeous man holding your hand and grazing his lips over your skin, the rest of the room forgotten.
"You do?" You breathed, too unsure to even move.
"I was the one replying to your letters," He admitted, and the flicker in his eyes held a fire you'd never seen directed at you.
"Oh?" Your voice pitched a little too high, sounding more like a squeak than seductive.
He chuckled, standing up straight but not letting go of your hand. He stepped closer, and you noticed how tall he was, probably the same height as Gojo, hovering over you all broad and strong, his frame well-built from years of training.
His stare was too intense to meet, your eyes flickering away just to notice a white-hot glare directed your way. Or, well, his way.
Gojo's stare was glued to the two of you, obviously jealous and jaded in a way you hadn't conceived he might be capable of. A thrill ran up your spine, sucking in a shallow inhale as Geto's other hand found your waist.
"Would you care for a dance?"
✧
Gojo was seething in silence.
He knew he was staring, he knew other people were probably staring at him. But he couldn't manage to tear his eyes away from you.
You looked almost ethereal, makeup and hair carefully styled by the maids he'd sent over, subtle and soft and glowing. You were wearing a gown he'd custom ordered last minute, a pretty shade of silver that was supposed to match the medals and pins adorning his own outfit. Meant to be a pair.
And yet, there you were, being swept off your feet by Geto, his hands on your waist and yours crossed around his neck. Grinning at something he was saying, having fun.
Jealousy tasted worse than he ever imagined.
Acidic and sour, unable to focus on the conversation surrounding him, too absorbed in the way your face lit up when you laughed.
He was approaching before the song even ended, pawning his drink off to a passing waiter, the crowd naturally parting for him until he approached you and your dance partner.
"I trust you're having fun?" Gojo greeted, putting on his best smile to hide the fact he was fuming inside. Geto's hand lingered on your back, just a little too low to be proper and polite.
"If I say yes, will you return to your harem?" Your smile was barbed with thorns, hurt and humiliation still burning under its surface.
"I'm a one-woman man," He protested with a pout. And sure, he had a bit of an, um, unsavory reputation for being a flirt, but he was technically still a virgin.
Having sex when just a single slip-up could carry repercussions for the rest of his reign was a bit of a turn-off.
"Oh, I'm sure you're much too busy to entertain women when you have someone else handling your matters for you," You coolly replied.
"Would you allow me to apologize to you properly then? Over a dance?" He asked, trying to ignore the way Geto stiffened, his fingers digging a little harder into your side. "Just one and I'll leave you alone for the rest of the night."
"Fine," You relented, glancing up at Geto with a look he wished you'd give him instead. "Perhaps we can finish this conversation afterwards?"
"Of course, Your Highness," Geto murmured, clearly teasing judging by the way your lips curled up in a smile at the cheek tone he used your title.
Taking his place by your side, Gojo pulled you close, a hand on the your back as you reluctantly slipped your much smaller hander in his, wishing you weren't wearing gloves so he could feel the warmth of your palm.
You matched his steps, your focus always just past him, refusing to meet his eyes as he lead you through the dance.
"Sincerely, I am sorry, I should've just replied to your letters myself," He murmured, hoping you could hear it in his voice that he meant it. "I don't have an excuse."
"I shouldn't have expected you to write me back, I suppose," You sighed, swallowing hard.
"No, it's my fault," Gojo admitted. Sure, Geto usually read through his letters and decided what to pass on to him anyway, but still, he'd seen your name, had made the decision himself to let Geto take care of it.
"Am I supposed to beg to be your bride now that you've graced me with an apology?" You wryly said, and the way your lips curled up in the faintest smirk when you mocked him made his heart stall in his chest.
How was he supposed to say he was starting to consider begging you to be his bride?
"I wouldn't be entirely opposed," He tried to joke back just for you to stomp on his foot. It was worth the pain to see you smile.
"Oops," You shrugged, and he just squeezed your hand, pulling you in closer by your back before dipping you down low.
And fuck, he wished he could capture the enthralling expression on your face forever.
The way your lips parted in a surprised gasp, your eyes going wide and lashes fluttering while he held you. It felt like someone had knocked all the air out of his chest, unable to catch his breath when you looked at him like that.
"Mind if I cut in?" Mei Mei purred, grabbing his arm before Gojo had even brought you back up to your feet.
"Be my guest," You murmured, a little dazed as your gaze flickered from him to her. Resigned.
"Wait a moment," Gojo started, spit looking in the back of his mouth.
"Have a good night, Your Imperial Majesty."
"The song's not over yet," He pleaded, a hint of panic seeping in at the last few seconds he'd get to spend in your company this evening. Geto was watching with a drink in hand, an annoying smirk curled up on his lips. A snake waiting to strike.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
✧
Would it be so bad for him to behead a bitch?
She just wouldn't stop talking, and that was coming from him.
"I really must return," Gojo interrupted her story, glancing around the deserted part of the garden Mei Mei had dragged him to. The moon was hanging high overhead, stars dusting the sky, thin clouds threatening to cover them up.
It was dull, really.
You were prettier.
Was this what falling in love felt like?
Finding you in the stars and in the flowers, a song that never left his head and made his heart ache, your laugh a melody stuck on loop in his mind.
"Is that so?" Mei Mei hummed, unamused.
He blinked, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. But she didn't leave.
"Has your mind already been made then? On our next Empress?" She slyly asked. Not on his bride, or his wife. Just who would get the title.
"Excuse me?" Gojo still feigned innocence.
"It's obvious who has your favor," Mei Mei simply said, a razored edge to her voice.
"I haven't made my decision," He shrugged, like it wasn't just because he was pretty sure you'd say no if he asked. His time was running out though, only a few days left until he was expected to make an announcement or extend everyone's stay.
"Well, I suggest you reconsider," Mei Mei chided, barely even bothering to disguise her threat. She disappeared down a path, not stomping, but clearly displeased.
Gojo ignored her, folding his arms and watching a cloud drift by lazily above, wispy but just enough to conceal the moon anyway.
Would you still be inside? Or had you slipped back to your room at the first opportunity?
He was planning on keeping his promise to you, but he'd prefer it if you stayed even if he could only stare from afar.
And would it be completely delusional to believe tonight was progress?
He glanced back up at the stars, thanking them silently for sending that headache of a woman away when he heard it.
Your laugh.
His head whipped around, searching before he spotted you. With Geto.
You were leaning back against the railing of a nearby balcony overhead, giggling at something he was saying to you, head tilted to the side as you nodded along.
Gojo wasn't really thinking, brain unfortunately utterly blank as he stepped closer.
"Does your silver tongue typically work on women?" You were teasing Geto.
"I've never tried," Geto purred back. Liar.
"Oh?" You didn't believe him either.
"Is it working on you?" He inquired, and Gojo wanted to shout or scream to stop the seconds from slipping by and your heart slipping away with them when he saw the smile on your face, the subtle way your stare drifted over his friend before you shrugged.
He wasn't sure how it happened, only catching Geto's mouth moving before your own parted, surprised and unsure before you hesitantly nodded. Then Geto was leaning in for a kiss, a calloused hand cupping your face and adjusting it just slightly so he could kiss you how he liked.
You kissed him back.
Gojo knew he should leave.
Pretend he hadn't seen a second of your private exchange.
But just as quickly as his lips were pressed to yours, they were ghosting down your throat, leaving a trail of delicate pecks as Geto's other hand hiked up your dress.
Getting down on his knees and holding your hips steady while he left love bites across your thighs, sharp teeth sinking into your soft flesh.
But Gojo's gaze had already shifted back to your face, the way you leaned your head back as your fingers sifted though his silky strands of black hair, tugging Geto closer when two of his own fingers hooked over the thin band of your pretty lace panties.
He almost wondered if Geto had anticipated an audience, set the stage with you as an unwitting performer, your eyes fluttering closed and a gorgeous gasp escaping when he did, in fact, prove just how effective his tongue could be.
Gojo dismissed the thought, dissolving back into the shadows as he forced himself to follow the nearest cobbled path as far away from this evening's show as possible.
It felt like a declaration of a cold war.
Who was Gojo to turn down a challenge?
✧
Conceiving a new strategy was harder than he thought.
He's stayed up half the night creating plans just to crumple up the paper and toss it in the trash.
You were cold and considerate and could probably break his heart in a million different ways, but he was tempted to just glue it back together for you to break again.
Eventually, he'd requested for Geto to come to his room the next morning, halfway debating dropping hints that he'd seen his risque rendezvous before deciding to just pretend he was oblivious to whatever was brewing between the two of you.
"You called?" Geto murmured.
Gojo fixed his own shirt collar and noted his friend's reflection in the mirror, the long, dark hair tied off his neck in a low ponytail, bangs sticking to his forehead and uniform wrinkled from wear.
"Would you mind arranging breakfast with her?" He heard himself ask, knowing he didn't need to specify who and studying Geto's expression in the mirror, the drop of hostility that disappeared just as quickly as it flashed over his face. "In the conservatory?"
"I'll go by her room and request she join you," He nodded, a sharp jerk of his head. Sweat was still sticking his bangs to his forehead, worn from an early-morning training session Gojo had missed.
Geto left before Gojo could ask for anything else.
Was it jealousy?
Did he just not want Geto to take something he thought was his?
He almost wished it was, almost wished he could pin the blame and point a finger at some shitty side of himself for the growing feelings stirring in his chest.
It was need.
The pathetic kind that festered on his denial, that grew more the harder he fought it.
He'd been handed everything his whole life, and you were the first he was painfully aware he'd never deserve.
He had a chance and fucked it up.
You weren't exactly the most forgiving type.
Wouldn't bend to his will or beg him for affection. And for some bizarre reason, it just made him crave yours all the more.
He had a feeling even if you did show him an ounce of it, if he was actually lucky enough to be showered in your adoration, he'd be still chasing you for more until he was bones, buried somewhere and probably bound to follow you even into the next life.
Gojo found himself double and triple checking the plates and utensils in the conservatory, rearranging the placemats and adjusting muffins on trays to stop himself from anxiously glancing over to the entrance every five seconds.
Did you decline?
Feign an illness or fake an accident just to avoid him more?
When the doors finally opened, it wasn't you. It wasn't even Geto.
A panicked cluster of his staff and a few guards, hurrying over to him with nervous expressions. He spotted Nanami amidst all the chaos, a deep crease between his brows as he bypassed the rest of his companions.
"Your Imperial Majesty," Nanami coldly greeted with a small bow. "There seems to be an issue."
"What kind?" Gojo was grinding his teeth, icy dread seeping into his blood, veins freezing over while he examined the panic in everyone's eyes.
"It seems the princess is not in her room this morning," Nanami bluntly said.
"Or in the palace," One of the guards nervously added.
"I don't understand," He simply said. "Where is she?"
"W-we're not sure, Your Imperial Majesty, we've searched and-"
"Search again," Gojo commanded.
You couldn't be missing. You promised him. Okay, perhaps not promise. But you said you'd see him tomorrow. And it was tomorrow. You were probably curled up in a hidden nook of the library, or perhaps taking an early morning nap in some unused corner of the garden. Fuck, he'd even rather you be sleeping in under Geto's sheets than just gone.
They just weren't searching hard enough, right?
ᡴꪫ
The rest of the world was dark.
You tried to move, but your hands were tied behind your back, ankles ensnared together and after a few panicked seconds, you realized that there must be some kind of blindfold covering your eyes too.
The harder you tried to wiggle out, the tighter the bindings felt, and a fresh wave of terror immobilized you. If you screamed, would someone here and come to save you? Or would it bring whoever kidnapped you back?
Fear for the latter forced you to freeze, only subtly feeling around for anything nearby once you realized you were laying on your side on something soft. You tried to roll over, but you only dropped down to land on the cold wooden floor of what you guessed was a cabin, hitting your cheek hard on the solid ground.
Your memory was hazy. There was the banquet, dancing with Gojo before Geto walked you back to your room and dragged you out to the balcony. His hands on your body and his warm mouth dancing over your skin. But he'd kissed your forehead good night after it was over, suggesting you sleep well before and leaving while the moon was still high. Afterwards, you vaguely recalled getting ready for bed, changing and drinking a cup of tea before last night? Two nights ago?
It wasn't like you had any way to know how much time had passed.
You were a unfortunately starving though, throat parched and lips cracked.
Would anyone bother looking for you?
Satoru was probably busy picking his future bride, a position you'd been a fool to think you could ever fill. You barely knew Suguru, despite the letters and the longing you'd felt in his stare. Not nearly enough to come to your rescue and risk himself.
If it was about a ransom, your family wouldn't pay it.
Winter would be there soon, and feeding the mouths of many were more important than the life of one. You weren't an exception.
You didn't know how long you laid there, listening out for the slightest sounds and trying to make judgments of where you could be and why they'd even bother taking you.
"Should we feed her?" A guy grumbled, his voice muffled and hardly audible, separated by at least a wall.
"No," A woman's huff, haughty and irritated.
"But what if-"
"He's going to make the announcement tonight. He can't delay it any longer," She condescendingly scolded, and the voice clicked. One of the other candidates. Mei Mei. Just another misfortune in your life with Gojo to blame at the helm. "We'll let her go afterwards."
"A-alright," The guy probably responsible for guarding you grunted.
"Just dump her somewhere she'll be found after midnight," Mei Mei instructed, and then there was the sound of heels clicking, a neigh of a horse in the distance, a carriage probably waiting to return her to the palace.
They wouldn't bother investigating if you were recovered safely after all. No point wasting resources on a poor princess who'd be leaving without a ring soon.
Just so Mei Mei could claim her new crown.
A burning stake of indignation stabbed through you. She'd gone through the trouble of kidnapping you for what? As if Gojo would've ever actually chosen you.
All you'd shared was a handful of awkward conversations and a slow dance.
You couldn't decide what you thought of this current hin. His easy smiles and burning eyes. The way he wore everything he felt on his face when he was around you, like he was just as conflicted as you.
Who was he really? A spoiled man who thought a sorry could did everything? Or was there sincerely in those pink lips?
You supposed it didn't matter.
He wouldn't come for you.
✧
"I'm not announcing shit," Gojo growled, ripping up the fourth letter slid under the crack in his door in the past thirty minutes from impatient advisors and worried maids about whether or not they needed to set up the ceremony hall.
"It's unfortunate, but-"
"Unfortunate?" He scoffed, interrupting Geto mid-sentence. "She's clearly been kidnapped."
"And she'll be returned," Geto calmly explained. "It has to be someone associated with one of the other candidates. Mei Mei would be my guess."
"So let's arrest her," Gojo whined, boots squeaking as he paced the floor.
It'd been three days.
Three long days of looking everywhere, organizing searches and setting up shifts to find you. Rumors had started to spread that perhaps you'd run away, hiding somewhere and pretending to be a peasant just so you didn't have to marry him.
Gojo refused to believe that. Not when there was the slightest sliver of a possibility you needed his help somewhere.
"What if she decides to get rid of the evidence then?" Geto argued, attempting to be the voice of reason while Gojo's panic ran free.
Would Mei Mei get rid of you?
She was clearly fucking crazy enough to kidnap you.
"What do you suggest then?" Gojo grunted, struggling to reign himself in, to keep himself collected enough to have the same objectivity.
"Proceed with the announcement as planned," Geto murmured. "They'll probably leave her for us to find at some village or town close to wherever they're hiding her at. Just pretend you don't know anything and we can arrest Mei Mei for her part in it once we have proof."
Gojo guessed it made sense if Geto's suspicions about their motives were correct. It would give him a reason to re-do this whole fucked up charade of choosing a wife. Give him a second chance to prove he was going to pick you. To convince you he cared.
He still felt absolutely useless now though.
What good was power if he couldn't use it to keep even just one person safe?
"What if they don't?" His strong shell was cracking, broken bits and jagged edges revealed with every frustrated word.
"I'll keep looking for her anyway," Geto reassured.
It didn't make him feel better.
It was stupid and selfish, but Gojo wanted to be your hero for once, play the knight who swept in at the last minute to save you from someone evil. Show that he could love you too - if you just let him.
"Go look," Gojo muttered, running his fingers through his hair and swallowing hard, the regret growing roots in his guts already.
He might not be the man of your dreams today.
But he was a better one than yesterday. Learning to be the kind of guy who'd let someone else take the spotlight if it meant you'd be safe.
To know you're okay.
And maybe?
He still had a chance to be yours someday.
ᡴꪫ
You never actually expected to be rescued.
Or, at least, you hoped that's what the commotion was outside. Swords clanging and the gross sound of squelching through the door before it swung open with a creak, banging into the wall as the floorboards groaned.
You flinched and something sharp grazed against your skin. But then you felt warmth, a large hand grabbing your arm before you heard him.
"Stay still for me," Geto murmured, holding you in place while he cut off all your bindings. You tried not to move, relief flooding through you once all your limbs were once again free, and he tugged the blindfold off.
It took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the light, blinking as he helped you to your feet just for them to collapse from underneath you. He hurried to remove his cloak, covering up your torn and tattered nightdress with it with a quiet chuckle, picking you up and cradling you against his warm body once he sheathed his blood-stained sword.
"Sorry it took so long," He hm-ed, his voice honey in your eyes, soothing over your injuries and soaking into your skin.
You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing would come out, your throat too sore to form words. He pulled out a leather waterskin with his free hand, unscrewing the top and bringing it to your lips.
You only managed a few short sips, just enough to dull the ache before he brought it back down to his belt.
There were other voices, men you couldn't see, talking amongst themselves, fellow knights you guessed. Your heart felt a little strange at the thought Gojo had actually sent more than one person to search for you - that he hadn't just given up.
Or was it all Geto's doing?
"We have to head back now," He murmured, brushing your hair away from your face with a soft sigh. "We're running a little late."
Late for what, exactly?
"No," You managed, shaking your head and clinging to his shirt harder. What would await you there next? Being dragged to the altar? Or forced to watch Gojo announce he belonged to someone else?
"No?" Geto echoed, amusement reflecting in his dark eyes.
"Can't we go somewhere else?" You croaked, voice cracking every couple words. "Your estate?"
Would that be considered a scandal? One of the Empress candidates ditching Gojo for a Duke instead?
You wanted to believe that maybe that wouldn't be so bad. You'd be safe. Secure.
He wouldn't make your stomach flip or your heart ache. Wouldn't weigh on your soul the way Gojo did, wouldn't claw his way into each waking thought no matter how many times you scratched him out.
A quiet love that grew over time. One you could live with.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," Geto slyly said, leaning down to kiss your forehead. "I'll take care of you."
✧
"I'm glad you came to your senses."
Gojo was just glad he'd be able to throw Mei Mei in a cell and toss the key down a drain in two hours.
But first?
He just had to make it through this fake announcement, plastering on a polite smile and put on a show in front of his people to promise he'd found their next Empress.
Even if standing next to someone who made him sick.
Mei Mei kept edging closer, leaning down to probably murmur another mocking assessment of the situation before the wide double doors swung open to the ceremony hall, whispering and gasps erupting from the crowd as everyone turned around.
Seeing you in Geto's arms with another woman clinging to his was a kind of cruelty Gojo had never known.
The way your cheek was pressed against Geto's chest, fingers holding onto his shirt like he was your savior made Gojo's breath hitch in his throat. He was halfway down the first steps when his fake bride-to-be grabbed his sleeve to stop him.
Your wrists were raw, you lips parched, a bruise on your cheek making it apparent to anyone with eyes you hadn't just run away. A cloak draped over you like you were in something indecent under it, hopefully just a nightgown instead of something worse.
"Are you ok-"
"Don't come closer," Geto called out, and there was the soft clink of someone reading for their sword. It wasn't him, but the guards by his side.
"What?" Gojo almost laughed, blinking hard like he was waiting to get the joke.
He was flanked before Geto even got to the punchline.
"You're under arrest for treason," He coldly answered, and Gojo was too stunned to put up a fight when they put him in heavy iron cuffs.
How the fuck could he commit treason?
He was the emperor, the sun and the stars and the sky. He supposed he'd failed to consider it meant little if he didn't have support, if the pillars upholding him crumbled and cracked.
The sky had fallen. His luck has run dry.
"For the murder of your father, the previous Emperor, as well as-" Geto listed names like a death sentence, family members he'd never spared a second thought for when they passed, all accidents or early illnesses he hadn't even considered suspicious.
His most trusted advisor, his closest friend, was fucking framing him.
Had he been set up from to start?
Chained up like some animal while Geto delivered the charges stony-faced with you clutching his clothes and watching the scene unfold. Mei Mei was being cuffed too behind him, read off her own offenses for orchestrating your kidnapping. Or had that been apart of Geto's plan too?
This wasn't a mistake or misunderstanding.
This was a coup.
Judging by the hurt in your eyes, the pretty part of your lips as you stared at him in disbelief, you were just as confused and clueless as him.
He'd forgotten happy endings were typically reserved for children reading fairytales.
He wasn't prince charming. Wasn't the guy who got the girl.
Was it even destiny or was Gojo was just damned to be the villain in your story.
ᡴꪫ
Something was wrong.
A certain heaviness in the air, the strained looks cast your way every time Suguru took you somewhere new, a bakery to buy you fresh pastries or the seamstress designing your wedding gown. Somber and grim, like they knew a secret you didn't.
Gojo had ruled with strength, sincerity.
People were just scared of Suguru.
You supposed your rushed marriage was a sign in itself, the diamond on your finger a collar of a different size. Getting married in a month was fast even by royal standards.
But Suguru insisted. It was important to seal the union between your family's kingdom and the already oversized empire he'd stolen from under Gojo's nose.
Stolen wasn't the correct word, you guessed.
But that's what it felt like, didn't it?
Blindsided and burned by his most trusted ally and dragged to the dungeon to wait for a trial that kept getting delayed.
The accusations were hard to accept.
The idea that the same guy who showed up to your door with big bouquets and offered to share his dessert with you during meals, asking approximately a hundred times if everything was to your taste, desperate for the smallest bit of approval could also be a stone-cold murderer? Serial killer if what Suguru was saying was true?
You couldn't picture him poisoning his own father.
Setting up hunting accidents or pushing someone off a high ledge.
But what else were you supposed to believe when Suguru had suggested marriage just two days after they locked Gojo up? Swearing it was for the stability and safety of both of your people. Promising that he'd loved you long before he met you. That somewhere in between all those letters he'd been longing for you all this time.
But the weeks had only brought growing unease about the entire situation, walking into hushed conversations and asking questions just to get shut up with firm kisses and a hand up your dress.
So you kept your suspicions to yourself.
Let him show you off and concealed your thoughts in your letters back home to a family whose only replies concerned how your future would benefit theirs.
"You're distracted," Suguru commented, peppering kisses across your collarbone while you stared at the window of what you supposed was previously Gojo's office.
"Just a little strange, I guess, everything moving so quickly," You absentmindedly replied, gasping when his canines scraped suddenly against the thin skin over your tendons.
"It'll settle down soon," He reassured, the hand on your back pulling you closer, readjusting your position on his lap.
You just weren't sure if you'd like what you'd find after the dust settled.
Someone knocked.
Quick and quiet, waiting for Suguru to call back out before coming in. You recognized the man, Nanami, the same one from the first day you arrived, but the most you'd seen him since was nose-deep in paperwork, always someplace to be and something to do.
"My apologies for interrupting," He stoically delivered the words, deliberately avoiding addressing Suguru since his title had yet to be changed.
The coronation wasn't scheduled until after your marriage.
"It's fine," Suguru murmured, dismissively waving his other hand while the other discreetly slipped lower down to your thigh.
"Do you have the documentation and ledgers for the trial?" Nanami asked, removing his glasses and cleaning the lenses off on his clean and tidy shirt, pushing them back up his nose with a bored expression.
"Sure," Suguru muttered, pulling out a drawer to grab a short stack of papers, all bearing the same name.
Satoru Gojo.
"Evidence of him purchasing the herbs he used on his father," Suguru tsk-ed, sliding them across the desk to Nanami.
Your stomach churned. There was just one small problem.
The signature was one you recognized well. You spent years memorizing it after all.
So you could say for certain it didn't match the only note the real Satoru Gojo had ever left you.
ᡴꪫ
The dungeon was cold, the stone floor freezing as you hurried to pad over as silently as you could to the cell at the end. You guessed you only had about five minutes before the guards would return from the change in rotation.
Iron-wrought bars stretched from the floor to the ceiling, only a small window allowing a sliver of moonlight in, a cruel reminder of the outside he couldn't reach.
This was an awful idea.
One you might even be risking your life for.
But wasn't Gojo's on the line already?
"Am I lucky enough to get a good night kiss, angel? Or is it goodbye?" Gojo wryly teased once he saw you through the dark, his sense of humor unfortunately still in tact. It was bitter, the sound of a man that'd been betrayed.
"Quiet," You hissed, glancing over your shoulder down the corridor. "I'm not supposed to be here."
Suguru might be looking for you already.
You'd excused yourself from dinner early, feigning a headache and pretending to sleep through the three different maids periodically peeking in to check on you before you guessed he believed you really did feel ill. But who knows if he'd still send another? Suguru was the only person more paranoid than you.
It was getting increasingly more difficult to act normal around him. What if you were apart of some plan or next on his list?
He clearly had no problems deceiving you.
Honestly, the longer you thought about it, the more you found wrong with him. How he'd taken over Gojo's life so seamlessly. How convenient it was for him to find you right on time to make his grand entrance. How rumors had started spreading that he'd taken Mei Mei's tongue just so she couldn't even confirm if he had any part in the scheme.
"Yeah?" Gojo chuckled, softer now, pushing off the grimy ground to stand, his hands still cuffed and a heavy collar around his throat chained to the wall. Not even afforded the smallest freedom here. They knew he wasn't going to escape. It was about humiliating him. Shrinking him down to some humble size. He managed to take a few steps closer, stopping just short of the bars between you. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company then?"
"Are they feeding you?" You whispered.
"Occasionally."
You tugged out the loaf hidden inside your cloak, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you hesitantly stuck your hand through the slats, stretching your arm so the tip was grazing against his lips. You had to sneak into the kitchen to steal it, a few candies you'd been saving also tucked into your pocket.
"You must be hungry then," You mumbled, refusing to meet his eye as he took the first few nibbles.
"Why'd you come?" He grunted through hungry bites, and you could feel the way those brilliant eyes sized you up, refusing to dull even after who knows how long without food.
They were treating him like a feral mutt, something that'd snap his jaws around your throat if released. But he looked more like a puppy like this, tilting his head the side and eating out of your hand. If only his collar was lined with gems instead of made from heavy metal.
"You didn't do any of it, did you?" You asked, even if just forming the words felt like a betrayal to Suguru.
"My only crime was trusting my, ah, your friend," He corrected himself with a huff, like his attitude could hide how much he was hurting. Bruises littered his face, his fancy outfit filthy. "Or is he your fiancé now?"
You didn't answer, but his eyes flickered down the the engagement ring perched on your finger.
He made a noise, half a grunt and half a laugh.
"Of course."
"I don't think I have much choice in the matter," You excused. You hadn't wanted to believe that at first, but the past couple days had you considering how much of your control was just a carefully crafted illusion.
What would Suguru have done if you said no to him? If you insisted on going back home?
You swallowed hard, meeting Gojo's sharp stare, squinting at you with more sadness than suspicion.
"You should leave," He finally said, as if he was telling you to take the last life jacket on a sinking ship. Trying to convince you to save yourself.
"I have a duty," You murmured, unsure of what it even meant anymore. Raised to rule correctly, to be just and fair in all matters. To put everyone else before yourself.
It wasn't a risk of Suguru retaliating if he discovered your deception - it would be a reality. For all you knew, you could be locked up right next to Gojo just for being here.
But for some stupid reason, you just couldn't let this go.
Couldn't stay silent while Suguru condemned him to death or a miserable life locked in a cage.
"You don't. Not to me," Gojo frowned, ignoring the rest of the bread. Freeing you from the burden of his fate. "So go. Get as far away from him as possible."
You wished you could.
"I'm going to get you out of here," You promised, hating yourself for giving him hope you were hardly confident in. You tucked the bread back under your arm, snagging one of the sweet candies from your pocket and unwrapping the shiny gold paper.
"I won't hold you to that," He chuckled, his voice raspy.
The man you thought he was didn't exist anymore. Maybe never had.
Even here, he was hellbent on making you second guess and get stuck on every word that left his lips.
So you pressed the candy to them instead and they partied for you naturally, letting you place the drop on his tongue. His lips were probably soft before, now cracked as they grazed over your fingertips.
Funny how it felt like a kiss.
Funnier how you were thinking about it still sneaking back into bed an hour later, carefully hanging your coat back up and hiding the last of the bread to discard later.
You had to come up with an excuse to scribble on a note to Suguru the next morning, claiming to need a few final addresses for wedding invitations to approach the one man you suspected could assist you.
He certainly hadn't expected you, the only evidence you had hidden in your dress when you stepped into his office.
"I need your help."
✧
Your promise lingered in his brain like the taste of candy on his tongue.
Really, you owed him nothing. No kindness. No assistance.
You were risking everything. Your kingdom, your chance at being Empress, even your own life just to help him.
The fact you didn't expect anything from him made it worse.
No debt you wanted him to owe or reward to be received.
Was that what the duty you spoke of was? To do the right thing at the cost of yourself? Why were you so willing to pay it?
Waiting in the dark and the grime with no distractions. His only company the guard dropping by once in the morning to release his cuffs and offer his lone meal for the day and the second one in the evenings coming back to bind his hands again.
They never removed the collar.
All the old wounds of people passing ripped open again. The harsh truth of being left and only that had scarred over his heart split open and needing new stitches.
He understood why Geto did it. For the power. The control. Having the world at his whim and word.
Gojo just didn't understand how he could do it to him.
Geto had helped him plan the funerals, easing the burden and bringing him food when he forgot to eat, promising to handle the paperwork and take some of the pressure off of him. Knowing damn well what really happened.
Now he was mourning all the lives lost - including his own.
The pale light from the window cut into the stone to mark the passage of time, but it only reminded him of his miserable conditions more.
The barren cot and blank walls, the toilet in the corner for him to use. Nothing to compare to his lavish bedroom just a few floors away.
Was Geto using the suite now? Taking you to his bed, your plush thighs pushed to your chest and your dress discarded on the thick rug or wooden floor somewhere? Hair splayed out across the silk sheets as your head tilted back on his pillows, letting out some lewd moan?
God, he'd rather just get executed now if that was the case.
Days passed without your return, occupied only by the thought of your face, the way you smiled at him, just that once, the crinkle by your eyes when you laughed after you stepped on his toes.
Another morning had come.
Today's guard was particularly smug, a crude grin on his scarred face when he barked orders at him to turn around so he could remove his cuffs.
Except, the second the heavy weight fell away, his left ring finger was grabbed, and in two short seconds crushed, a sick snap echoing in the small chamber. A gutteral sound escaped Gojo, strangled and pained.
"Big day," The guard mocked, letting go and walking away without another word.
For a second, he wondered if this was it. If they had bypassed a trial entirely and he'd been sentenced to his death without a second thought. But then he looked down at his hand, clutching his broken finger as he bitterly realized what the brute was hinting at.
He didn't want to believe it.
But the movement over his head, the busy bodies and voices filtering through the ceiling from the floor only reinforced the idea.
A royal wedding.
Geto was going to marry you.
Take his place in every way possible.
Tighten your leash too, pin your fate to his to prevent you from coming to Gojo's rescue.
The hope he'd been holding onto had faded, only left with the heartache of knowing he was stuck. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go.
Trapped in a stone tomb.
He wasn't sure how long he stood. Lead limbed and broken in more places he could count. But the ache in his heart was all you.
Trying to imagine what how you felt. If you were wearing a white dress. How a tiara would look sitting pretty nestled on top of your hair. Or maybe a custom crown made to match the one he used to wear.
If he was granted a final wish, he hoped it'd be your forgiveness, or maybe that goodbye kiss.
Footsteps approached, and he wondered if the guard had come back to break another finger. And honestly, he was thinking about just letting him if it meant his mind would be torn away from thinking about you.
But the man in front of him removed his polished silver helmet to reveal the last person he expected.
Who would've guessed Nanami would be his knight in shining armor?
"Shut up," The blond preemptively scoffed before Gojo could get a joke out, key in hand as he hurried to unlock the heavy door, careful to push it open slowly so it wouldn't creak.
"Where is she?" Gojo hoarsely asked, throat sore and aching from the limited water he'd been living on lately.
"Getting married," Nanami muttered, brows drawn together in a deep scowl as he flipped through his keys for the right one to unlock the collar around Gojo's throat, the skin rough and raw when he finally yanked it off.
"Over my dead body," Gojo gritted his teeth, as Nanami removed his armor as quickly as possible, passing him pieces for him to quickly get dressed in. A clever disguise to get out of here unnoticed.
"Geto would certainly prefer that," Nanami sarcastically sighed as Gojo tugged on the silver helmet at the end.
"What's the plan?" Gojo asked, out-of-breath already, his body not used to the exertion.
"Remind the people who their real emperor is," His former secretary tsk-ed, as if it should be obvious to him. "I'll handle the proof."
Sneaking out was easier than he expected, the guard that was supposed to on-duty passed out drunk when they walked by. Gojo guessed Nanami had somehow slipped sleeping pills in his bottle.
Gojo stole his sword and sheath as he stepped over him.
His finger ached, swelling up under his glove. But he gripped the handle tighter, refusing to switch it to the other hand if not for his own proof of the pain Geto so casually inflicted.
He only sheathed it after Nanami brought up it might blow their cover.
Nanami led him through corridors he hadn't even been in before, back hallways that connected and bypassed the heavily-traveled ones, but the chatter kept growing closer as they approached the ceremony hall.
Were you already in there? Had you walked down the aisle? Was Geto's hand in yours just waiting for you to say your vows? To bind your soul to his?
"Can you walk faster?" Gojo impatiently huffed, jaw clenched.
What if they didn't make it in time?
What if-?
They made it to the an open door, Nanami giving the guard by the side entrance a curt nod as they found a gap just big enough in the knight's scattered formation for them not to stand out.
The priest was going on a long drone about commitment, consideration, the connection between hearts in love. Gojo wasn't sure if Geto even had a heart anymore.
His sharp blue eyes focused on you, drowning in your wedding dress, the corset cinched too tight on purpose to push your chest up, the skirt a ridiculous pouf of fabric below the waist, covered in a shimmery fabric that glittered every time you moved.
Something to distract the crowd from noticing your face, your forced smile painted pink and the eyeliner and mascara smudged around your tear line like you'd been crying.
You were still the most beautiful bride he'd ever seen, his chest straining and heart jumping into his throat to choke up his breathing.
"If anyone objects to this union, speak-"
"I object," Gojo stepped forward without a second thought, his focus solely on you, watching your eyes widen the second they met his.
"Satoru," You breathed his name, shaky and sincere and hopeful.
"How the fuck is he here?" Geto hissed to the closet knight, stepping in front of you to block your body from his sight.
You pulled away from him, trying to rush past him but his arm caught you by your waist, pulling you back into his chest. Gojo was moving forward on instinct, panic surging through him at the sight of Geto putting his hands on you, only hesitating to draw the sword in case he might hurt you. But you hurt Geto first, elbowing him just hard enough to catch him by surprise and slipping away before he could catch you again.
Your heels were giving you trouble, nearly stumbling as you tried to slip between the confused crowd, already whispering between themselves as the slow realization started to set in at who was under the helmet.
Gojo met you halfway, a hand protectively pulling you up, but you were clinging to his armor the second you were close enough.
Whatever happened, you were in this together.
Gojo took off his helmet, tossing it to the ground, a collective gasp breaking out at the disgraced former emperor wedding crashing.
"You murdered my family, framed me, and now what? Trying to marry my lady?" You would probably slap him for that last line later, but it made the impression he wanted in the audience, redirecting all the suspicious stares back to the man left at the alter.
"You're pathetic," Geto cooly dismissed, glancing back to the knights guarding the doors he'd just came in through. "Seize him. Careful with the princess, it looks like the former emperor has used some kind of witchcraft to convince her of his lies."
Feeding into the hysteria of magic and conspiracy with a slimy lie, coming up with whatever excuse he needed to get Gojo back in jail and you back under his thumb.
But Nanami stepped out of the shadows, pulling out a stack of papers and a slip of a note.
The knights approaching hesitated, unsure if they should really follow Geto's command. Nanami was intimidating in a different sort of way - commandeering a certain respect an authority without trying.
"Arrest the Duke. More evidence has surfaced to suggest he's the suspect behind the crimes we're currently investigating," He somberly instructed, gesturing to Geto. "The signatures on the documents he provided were forgeries."
"You know me," Geto called out to you, not really a plea, but like he wanted you to understand. Like he wanted you to think this was for you.
"I don't think so," You swallowed hard, and you were physically shaking next to him.
"He's not what you need," Geto's voice was harder this time, shrugging off the few knights that had dared to approach him.
It happened in just a few seconds.
His former best friend stealing a sword from the closest knight, the silver catching the sunlight streaming in from the grand stained windows, and then coming down swiftly.
Gojo was just faster.
Stepping in front to shield you, drawing the sword and meeting Geto's with a loud clash. The crowd was scattering back, a few surprised shouts and screams echoing in the large hall.
His muscles screamed at the extension, underworked and starved for weeks. But the idea of losing was inconceivable.
Geto had already embarrassed him enough in front of you.
The second swipe of Geto's sword nearly landed, narrowly avoiding getting skewered at the last second, pushing you back enough to land in an annoyed Nanami's arms.
Gojo sucked in a sharp breath, steadying himself and getting ready to strike just for something to smack Geto in the face, a heel clattering to the floor by his feet.
You had thrown your fucking shoe at him.
Gojo seized the opportunity, the single second Geto was still stunned to knock his sword hard enough to send it skittering to the floor out of reach.
The knights hurried to grab him, no handcuffs prepared this time, one taking each arm as they took Nanami's word for it.
Geto didn't say anything.
No big proclamation or sudden profession. Just held his stare, not sorry in the slightest as they lead him down the same path Gojo walked a month before. Down to the recesses of the dungeon.
His only regret was probably not covering his tracks properly.
Thinking you were the type of girl who cared about wearing the crown in the first place.
Gojo wasn't sure which domino fell next.
Tossing his sword. The people surrounding him. The cheers. Crying that they'd never believed the lies as if he hadn't been there when they stayed silent.
But it was still his people. The ones he'd been born to protect and serve until his last breath.
He tried to smile, wave his hand that every swivel of his wrist didn't send sharp pains up to his broken finger, laughed and grinned like he was happy to be back.
But when he turned, he only caught a glimpse of your dress, the glitter of it and your hobble as you hurried into the hall.
It seemed chasing after you had become second nature.
"Wait," He called out, forcing his way between people, rushing to get to you before you could disappear out of sight.
He could've grabbed your hand again, but simply?
Gojo was too excited.
Once you were withing reach, he was grabbing you and pulling you into an almost crushing hug, squeezing your waist and burying his face into your hair.
"Thank you," He murmured, sharp nose nuzzling against your neck without meaning to, mostly just trying to stop himself from sniffling.
He half expected you to shove him off, to scoff and dismiss it as your duty again.
Bur you hugged him back, arms tentatively wrapping around him.
"You smell awful."
ᡴꪫ
His bath, however, smelled like sugar and roses.
You shouldn't know that. Yet, you stayed anyway.
Let Gojo lead you back to his chambers, insisting he needed the company and didn't want anyone else. You just didn't want to admit you didn't want to leave him either.
A maid delivered fresh clothes at his request, laying them out neatly on the bed after promising to be discreet when all three of you knew the rest of the palace would know by the end of the day.
He unlaced your wedding dress for you, a nervous flutter in your stomach at how nimbly he freed you from the too-tight corset. You still shoved him in the bathroom so you could finish stripping, a heap of shimmering fabric left on the floor as you traded it in for an almost as embarrassing gown that looked more like lingerie.
Anxious, you knocked on the door to the bathroom, leaning in to listen to the sound of running water.
"I'm finished, um, Gojo?" You weren't sure what to call him now. He would have to be coronated after getting stripped from his role. Did that make him a prince again?
"I like it when you call me Satoru," He hummed inside.
"Well, Satoru, should I fetch food, or perhaps a doctor for you?" You chewed on the inside of your lap, looking around for something to cover yourself up if you were going to leave the room.
Everything was rich and warm in here, funny little glass animals on shelves and expensive tapestries on the wall. His huge four poster bed carved with intricate woodwork, silk sheets and luxurious blankets spread over it. Well-worn and well-loved.
What would your life be like, you wondered, if it'd always been him from the start?
"Could you come in first? I can't reach the soap," He called out.
You pushed the door open, peeking inside shyly to find him already submerged in the tub, water up to his chest and bubbles concealing everything underneath. He shut off the faucet, another reminder of just how wealthy he was to have one of the few rooms with heated water in the whole estate.
His head was reclined back on the porcelain rim of the tub, white hair freshly washed. His face still had a few flecks of dirt on it, his cheeks and jaw far sharper than they'd been a few weeks ago, and still, he was so handsome it hurt. But it was the raw skin where the collar had rested that caught your attention, the once smooth complexion pink and irritated.
He turned to look over, cracking open a single eye just to freeze and immediately open both when he saw what you were wearing. Another day you probably would've laughed at how hard the lump in his throat bobbed before he tried to pull his charming mask back on.
"Are you just going to stare?" He teased, throwing a frustratingly cute lopsided smirk over at you. "I don't mind, I mean, I'm flattered-"
"Does it hurt?" You blurted out, your hand returning to your own neck as if you could feel it. But that just reminded you of the engagement ring still on your finger, and you hurried to take it off, embarrassment pricking at it as you glanced at the diamonds glittering in your palm.
"I'm fine," Gojo said, soft now, blue eyes narrowed as he watched you with concern. "Are you?"
"Yeah."
Perhaps you were both just liars.
You left the engagement ring on the sink, half hoping it'd fall down the drain before grabbing the soap and the basket of washcloths from the wall. Getting down on your knees next to the bath and looking to him for permission he gave you with a surprised nod.
Damping a washcloth before scrubbing his smooth skin, weeks of grime washing off with a little work. He closed his eyes, letting you gently get him clean again, humming a song you'd never heard before.
He'd lifted his hand up, about to comb through his hair with his fingers when you noticed one crooked and swollen. A choked-up gasp escaped you, surprised at his injury.
"Hey, don't worry," He soothed, wiggling it even though it made him wince. "I'll get the doctor to set it when I get out, okay?"
You let him comfort you. Let him tell you stupid stories so you could remember what it felt like to laugh. Let him hold your hand and squeeze softly to remind you where you were.
It was nice.
This small comfort, this idea of intimacy where you didn't need to speak or ramble to know you were appreciated. The closeness in knowing he'd protect you - and you'd do the same for him.
Maybe he'd write you back when you left this time.
ᡴꪫ
Satoru insisted you stay another month.
You obliged him. You weren't even sure why. What would you have to go back to now anyway?
A family who never bothered to write now that you wouldn't be Empress? Wouldn't have a husband with the kind of power or connections they want?
Maybe you could find a quiet cottage somewhere warm - somewhere you'd just have a piece of land and a serene place to sleep. It sounded a little unfulfilling, a far cry from the dreams you once again deemed out-of-reach.
But you guessed it was better than being unwanted.
The world's most gracious host has given you a frankly absurd amount of gifts anyway, more dresses and jewelry than you could pack or even conceivably wear. If you sold enough, you could certainly scrounge up the funds you'd need for it.
He was too busy to notice, buried under a mountain of paperwork and planning to reinstate himself as emperor, juggling duties he'd previously neglected on top of settling the trail with Suguru. You hadn't seen the sentencing. Hadn't asked.
Only written out your testimony against him, claiming it'd be too much for you to be in the same room as him.
Satoru was quick to put his seal on that document, apparently as anxious as you were about you seeing Suguru again.
His finger was still crooked. Might be forever. You'd accompanied him to his last doctor's appointment where they'd suggested breaking it again to try setting it again. Gojo declined.
His throat had mostly healed, faint scars left that he'd been hiding under high collars or cloaks unless he was with you.
Gojo always stopped his paperwork to search for you at least once or twice a day, hunting you down in the library or gardens or convincing you to have to take a break and have tea with him.
No bugs this time.
He'd sneak into bed with you at night sometimes, too late for any nosy attendants to pay attention, rubbing his tired eyes and murmuring about nightmares before he clambered under the blankets next to you.
It was stupid to allow him in. When he made your heart stutter and stop every time he pulled you into his body in his sleep, stroking your hair softly and making promises under his breath.
You needed to move on.
The bond you had was rooted in something you weren't even sure was romantic. He hadn't tried to kiss you, although there had been a few times you thought he would. Nights where you'd be so close your noses would almost touch, mornings where you'd wake up in his arms.
Sometimes you considered just kissing him to know what it felt like. Just a single second to see what you'd spent so long dreaming about before you shelved it entirely.
But Gojo was preoccupied with his own dreams.
You woke up to an empty bed the morning of his second coronation ceremony, the scent of his soap and shampoo still on your pillow when you rolled over, tracing your fingers over the faint indent his body had left.
A note has been left on your nightstand, accompanied by a pretty white flower cutting of heliotrope, probably just picked because it was the same shade as his hair and swelled sweet. You still smiled, rubbing the corner of your eyes before reading the note.
See you later, S
You saved it. Changed clothes and slipped it into the pocket of your dress, something you were sure you'd have every inkblot memorized of by the time you were four hours away this afternoon.
And who knows?
Maybe you would see him again some day.
✧
His crown was once again perched on its proper place, gold and gems glittering on top of his moon-white hair.
The crowd cheered louder for his second coronation than they had for his first.
But the only face he hoped to find wasn't there. Showered with praises and poems, returned to his rightful status while he mourned the future he was meant to have before.
One where maybe he had the decency to open your first letter and replied his damn self. One where he'd married you and his best friend was the best man instead of stuck in the same cell he'd just spent a month in. Might've spent the rest of his life in if it wasn't for you.
Too busy missing the signs and making mistakes he would be paying for until he was buried.
He was terrified he'd made another one without realizing it.
You hadn't left yet, had you?
He slipped away from the party, not offering explanations or excuses to anyone who attempted to stop him, scratching his neck around the collar of the stupid fur cloak they'd insisted on dressing him in and hurrying through the hall until he found your room.
Gojo paused, holding his breath before twisting the knob, his stomach curling at the realization it was unlocked before he pushed it open.
The bed was neatly made, the balcony curtains drawn to let in the sun, light bathing the room that refused to warm his skin without you there. The note he'd left, the flower he handpicked for you, had both disappeared, taken too.
You were gone. He walked in, touching every surface like he was searching for some sign of you. There wasn't even a note.
He paused, glancing through one of the pretty stained glass windows overlooking the front garden, the cobbled path to the street packed with carriages outside.
And you.
Handing over a suitcase to the driver, glancing past your shoulder and shielding your eyes to look over the palace one last time.
His legs were moving for him, ripping open the balcony door and calling your name.
You didn't hear him.
He didn't bother judging the distance, or even looking down at the drop. It was only the second floor after all.
And then he was jumping over the railing, landing in a bush and losing his cloak in the process, branches and leaves getting stuck to his outfit as he scrambled to get free, his ankle aching as he broke into a jog to catch up to you. It was a miracle his crown hadn't fallen off. Sprinting down the street and shouting to you like he was fucking crazy, and he supposed he really might've lost it when he watched you climbing in to the carriage and the door shut behind you.
The driver saw him first, freezing and squinting at him before gawking the second he realized who this stranger was.
Already starting to bow his head before Gojo was begging him to wait, fumbling through an explanation that he needed to speak to you.
You must have heard something, the door opening back up and your cute face scrunching in confusion when you peeked out.
"Satoru?"
He couldn't let this be the last time you called him that.
Gojo wasn't sure what he was doing, didn't have a single fucking clue, really, but he was down on both knees before you could get another syllable out.
"Don't go," He murmured, a desperate plea shining in his eyes. "I just, I know I'm a mess and I've put you through enough, but fuck, I can't lose you, okay? I love you, and I-I need you, and you're just-"
"I'm what?" You asked, soft and surprisingly sincere when he half-expected you to shut the door on him while he rambled.
"You're too good for me," He confessed, blunt and broken in a way he didn't know if he'd be able to put back together on his own. "If I was a better man, I'd let you leave and never look back, but I'm selfish and stupid and-"
You grabbed him by his collar and tugged him inside the carriage, shutting the door behind him with a slam.
"I'm sor-" He started to apologize again just for you to huff and shut him up with a kiss.
There was nothing soft about it.
It was hard and hungry and heated, your hands on his face and your lips between his, the taste of mint lingering on them as he desperately kissed you back.
He was grabbing your waist, awkwardly maneuvering until you were straddling his lap, soft thighs spread over his sturdy ones, squeezing you every few seconds to make sure you were real and this wasn't some incredibly long dream he'd been having inside his cell still.
"Is this-" He stammered, barely breaking away just to breathe in your skin, the perfume on it and the smell of his soap on your body. "Are you sure?"
"Kiss me again and find out," You murmured, fingers tracing up over his collar one and getting tangled in his hair, careful not to mess up the crowd he'd forgotten he was still wearing.
His mouth found yours again, hungrily sucking on your bottom lip when your hips suddenly rolled down on the growing bulge barely concealed by his pants.
Gojo's fingers felt clumsy when he fumbled for his crown, taking it off just to delicately place it on your head between kisses, grinning at the way you pulled back just to giggle and smile at him.
"Oh?"
"It's yours," He promised. It wasn't much for a proposal, but he needed you to know he meant it. He'd give you the palace on a platter if you wanted it.
"I'll think about it," You teased.
And hey, that wasn't a no.
You tilted your head to the side, and he took that as permission to leave more proof of his affection down your throat, littering the skin with bites and sucks. You moaned, just barely audible at his teeth nipped at you, and his cock practically jumped, throbbing to be touched.
He felt his jaw stiffen, trying to hold himself back, kissing you softer to keep himself together.
"Satoru," You said his name, and it was only when your smile subtly curled up in time with his cock twitched again that he realized you knew what you were doing, knew what effect you had on him.
"Princess," He breathed, struggling not to stutter when you readjusted on his lap, your hips moving just right, the pressure and friction making his already hazy head more lost in you.
"Do you really want me?" You asked, blinking a few times, lashes fluttering and eyes begging him to say yes. Offering him a vulnerable sliver of yourself.
"More than I've ever wanted anything," He answered truthfully.
"Then take me," You shrugged, maybe to make the moment feel smaller, like it was something you could contain.
He kissed you again, starving every second his lips weren't on you.
"Not here," He murmured.
You huffed at him, letting your canines graze a little too harsh against his bottom lip, but he couldn't help but hope you'd bite, leave his lip bruised and swollen so everyone could see your claim on him.
"Where then?"
He had you splayed out in his bed twenty minutes later, carrying you over his shoulder like a piece of game or grand trophy he'd won, ignoring the cheers and congratulations of staff members he passed by and the flustered few who tried to shout at him to return to the after-party. You were giggling the whole way there, keeping the crown on your head with one hand.
Gojo took his time peeling off every layer you were reveling in the softness of your skin and the shape of your body, tracing over the dimples and curves, holding his breath when he finally pulled your panties down your thighs.
"Are you just going to stare?" You mimicked him, but he could see the uncertainty in your own face, nervousness betraying you.
"I've never, um, y'know," He awkwardly began to admit, but he was sure his touch made it obvious, the tender way he skimmed over your breasts instead of immediately groping them.
"Had sex?" You scrunched your face up, like you really never guessed.
"Yeah," He muttered, still fumbling for the buttons on his shirt, pulling it off and discarding it on the floor by your dress. "Have you?"
"No," You shook your head, biting down on the inside of your cheek, a little embarrassed yourself. "I've done, other stuff but um, never this."
"Just tell me if it's too much," He murmured, getting out of bed to stand and properly take his own pants off. The way you watched him made him self-conscious, aware of the scars and his body still too lean for his liking. He'd resumed morning workouts and eating as much as he could to makeup for the days and weeks stuck in a cell, but he'd been in a better shape before.
"You're so attractive it's annoying," You confessed with a soft sigh, your eyes trailing down to the v of his hips, lingering on this pink and aching cock beneath the thick patch of his happy trail.
"You think so?" He hm-ed, not realizing his badly he needed the reassurance.
"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. Now come here," You impatiently teased, just as needy as him.
He climbed back in bed, but he laid down next to you, pulling you up on his chest so your back as reclining on him, one hand slipping between your thighs while the other found your breast, toying with the nipple while he dipped two fingers inside your entrance.
Slick and soaked just for him.
"W-what are you-" Your voice broke, shattered like glass as you suddenly gasped when he pushed past that first tight ring of resistance, your walls clenching around his fingers.
"That feel good?" He hummed in your ear, lips grazing against the shell of it when you shivered under his touch, twitching when he rolled his thumb over your nipple.
"Mm, mhm," You nodded, craning your neck up to make eye contact with him, your stare glossy, full of something he hoped was love rather than just lust or longing.
Pumping his fingers faster, crooking them in deeper just to watch the way your lips parted with pleas of his name, studying the shape of your mouth when it formed the syllables.
His cock was painfully hard, throbbing with every moan, desperate for some release stuck between your back and his abs, barely able to keep his hips from bucking up.
He wasn't even sure if he'd be able to last more than two seconds when he was actually inside you.
So he tried to focus on your pleasure, stretching you open with a third finger, barely able to slot it in, watching the tears prick at your lashes.
"P-please, S'toru, need you," You whined, shuddering and moaning when his thumb ghosted over your clit.
He had you flat on the mattress in two seconds.
Back arching off the bed, his hands on your hip to hold you up while he pressed the tip of his leaking cock to your entrance. You gasped, silently nodding at him to put it in.
"Fuck, my pretty lady needs me?" He gritted his teeth, jaw clenched as he used every last drop of self-control in his body to ease his way in, watching inch by inch of his thick cock disappear into your warmth, veins pulsing as you sucked him in.
He felt like he might pass out.
Seeing the way your body connected with his, feeling your hips under his hand, the way you melted into a puddle in his palm, peering up at him the same way he'd pictured in his head so many times.
You made a sound, trying to speak and stuffed too full to get the words out.
And fuck, he was right there with you when he bottomed out, tip pressing into what he guessed was your womb, pleasure burning through him in hot flashes.
"I love you," He groaned, leaning down to kiss you, his cock throbbing when he refused to move, refused to budge, showering your face in kisses while you wrapped your wrists behind his neck and crossed your legs behind his back.
The closeness of all of it was too much.
You felt like his.
"Promise me," You murmured, inhaling hard between heated kisses.
"I promise," He easily repeated, pulling out his cock and pushing back in for the first unsure trust your chest rising and falling like he'd knocked the breath out of you. "Forever."
"Even if the next life?" You lightened up, your teasing once again turning into a whine when he buried himself down to the hilt inside you.
"Every life."
He made sure to fuck you like it.
Demanding thrusts, claiming you inside and out, his cock pumping in-and-out, his grip bruising on your hips and his lips leaving hickies all over your neck. Drawing moan after moan from your mouth, flipping you onto your stomach to keep going, pushing your back into that pretty arch for him and splitting you open on his cock with borderline mean pumps.
"Mine," He muttered, trailing kisses back up your spine to the nape of your neck, brushing the hair away and groaning at how hard you squeezed him, trying to milk him for all he had. "Tryin' to make me cum, princess?"
"M-maybe," You huffed. Your voice was a broken whisper, strained from the strangled noises he kept ripping from you.
The heat in his chest was building, skin damp with and loose strands of hair stuck to his forehead as his muscles burned and tensed.
He slipped a hand underneath your body, finding your clit and rolling it between two fingers, your body shuddering, pressure building in your own stomach at the friction.
"Breathe, baby," He teased, and you tried, your cries muffled into the mattress when you unraveled beneath him, cumming hard right as his own tension snapped, abs briefly pulling taut as he painted your insides white.
Cum leaking down your thighs by the time he pulled out, mesmerized by the way it slowly dripped down onto his silk sheets. His tip was still swollen, resting on your ass and dripping more as he sucked in a sharp breath, tracing over your skin with adoration before pushing his cum back inside you just to hear the filthy squelch.
"Did so good f'me, princess," He praised, not quite able to steady his breathing still as you rolled over to face him, your own chest heaving.
"Just princess?" You hummed, limbs weak and exhausted as you grabbed his hand and tugged him on top of you.
"Would you say yes if I asked you to be my Empress?" He asked, running his thumb over your lip before leaning down to get another taste of you.
"Perhaps," You smiled, soft and sweet and everything he'd been dreaming about for months.
And the idea of it being his, of you smiling at him like that every day, was irresistible and intoxicating and absolutely addicting. Imagining you with him all the time, in his office and on his throne, waddling around with his baby in your belly or cradling an infant in your arms, he wanted all of it.
The good days and the bad, every broken and bent piece of you and all the best ones too.
Truly the luckiest man on earth just to exist in your warmth for however many moments you allowed.
"Hey, baby?" He yawned, leaning down to rest his head against your collarbone while your soft palms slid up his back.
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