unforgiving @ava1nae - Tumblr Blog

Mar 12

DARK NECESSITIES — PART 2. GOJO SATORU / M!READER

summary. you're not a good person. in fact, you're not a person at all. yet, satoru can't help how his gaze lingers on you when you tuck your long, draping sleeves back when you grab something, or when you reach up to comb your hair. something has to give.

wc. 11.8k

tags. smut | top reader, bottom gojo. heian era curse!reader, reader has inhuman features (eyes/teeth/tongue), sukuna appears once for funsies. reader goes from sub -> dom & is chained up for a bit. inappropriate use of domains, threat of exhibitionism/voyeurism, major size difference, gojo calls reader 'kitty' once, no prep, riding, missionary, mating press, oral & deepthroating, tongue fuck, multiple orgasms, untouched orgasms, come swallowing, blood/biting (once)

notes. INCREDIBLY OOC DONT SAY I DIDNT WARN YOU LMAO

[ part one ]

[ requested ]

Gojo Satoru has many qualities: he is the world's best teacher, the strongest sorcerer of the modern era, a pretty great cook, and is devastatingly handsome.

He is also no better than anyone else.

Despite his rebellious manner, Satoru still did what was expected of him. Rome wasn't built in a day, he reminds himself, but it's difficult to retain that mindset; regardless of his efforts, executions were only delayed, never revoked, and the yawning gape of loss grew ever darker.

He could rationalise all he liked, say 'I do this for them, not for you' all he liked, but there was no denying the fact that it was still done. Working to change the system from the inside had the unfortunate requirement of being part of the shitty system first.

Sometimes, in passing thought during fitful sleeps or groggy mornings, the only thing he wants is to do something for himself. Something selfish, irresponsible, and perhaps morally reprehensible. If only he could be wanted, not just needed.

An alarm goes off on school grounds. The presence of unregistered cursed energy has Satoru teleporting to its source in a flash. Maybe it's just Megumi summoning his shikigami in an argument with Nobara, or Toge pushing his technique further than strictly allowed, but instead, it's—

"You," he accuses, brows furrowing behind his blindfold. "Step away from the kid."

You glance up and lean back, seated on a stone garden bench beside Yuji, who's stiff as a board. The split of the mouth below his eye is twisted into a snarl, hissing expletives in your direction.

You smile sweetly, eyes crinkling, and wave. "Gojo-san! Good morning."

"Don't make me ask twice."

You hum, raising your hands in surrender, and scoot to the other end of the bench. "I'm not here to cause harm, Gojo-san. In fact, I was looking for you."

Satoru jerks his head in Yuji's direction, the sharp-toothed mouth growing more and more annoyed as you ignore him in favour of the white-haired witch. "Don't suppose that has anything to do with you, does it?"

You rise to your feet and step closer, dusting off your white sleeves. Satoru's hands twitch in warning, and you move slowly, more deliberately, with a placating smile on your face.

"I've caught up on current events. I was made aware that Sukuna's vessel was your student, and thought it'd be easiest to find the child with two souls to learn of your whereabouts – but it appears you've done all the hard work for me." You gesture at him, standing in front of you. "I have matters I'd like to discuss with you. May we speak privately?"

"Nope. We'll chat here." He steps towards Yuji, edging closer. "You're a high-priority case that had me chasing leads all over the city, you know? The higher-ups told me to kill you if you showed up again."

Yuji's eyes widen. "Kill him? Why? Is he a criminal?"

"Not quite," you confess as you turn to him, almost paternal in your gentleness. "I am a cursed spirit. Yes, Yuji – just like those you exorcise."

His eyes widen further and a dawning horror flickers across his features. He steps back. "No. You're lying. Gojo-sensei wouldn't let a curse like you live."

"It's impolite to kill someone when they've done nothing to slight you. Your teacher has manners," you say, amused. "My technique has many applications, some of which benefit sorcerers – hence my survival. Let me show you a trick. This..." You splay your hand, palm down, and a thousand slender gold strings shimmer translucently in the morning light, extending from you like a spider's web. "Is how I found you."

You touch a seemingly normal string, but as you come into contact with it, another shimmers, revealed out of hiding. Now the string is composed of two pulsing threads twisted together – or, rather, one is coiled around the other: rough, uneven, gnarled, like orchid roots to an oak. You lead it towards him, extending its visible length, and it ends at his solar plexus, vanishing a few centimetres away. You tap his chest almost affectionately, and you glow with pride under Yuji's unintentionally-awed gaze.

Satoru admits – it's flashy. But you've already got an ego, and he's not about to make it bigger by telling you so.

Carefully, you choose a thread and pluck it gently, lifting it across the bend of your index finger. "This one is yours, Gojo-san," you say. Your eyes glitter. "Looks just like the others, doesn't it?"

You're still mortal, you don't say, but he hears it anyway.

"Alright, enough with the show-and-tell," Satoru says, pushing your hands down with his own. Your technique disperses. He grasps Yuji's shoulder and pushes him behind him, his touch lingering for reassurance. "If I don't deal with you quickly, I'll have Yaga and the rest hounding my ass for your ass, so if you could so kindly vacate the premises and never return, I'd be much obliged."

"Never?"

"Never ever."

"That's a long time."

"It's sorta the point."

"Why?" You tilt your head, voice lilting innocently. "I've had a lot of time to think. What if I wanted to be good, this time around?"

Satoru laughs and pushes his hands into his pockets, gaze trained on the new hair accessory you're wearing. The gold of it glitters with the sway of your head, the same colour as the souls you weave. "You're a curse. You're never good."

"Good by curse standards, then," you relent. "If sorcerers can use their skills for evil, selfish goals, can't I do the opposite? I'm looking for a change of scenery."

Satoru chuckles. "It's in your nature as a curse. And you were a politician, so I double-can't trust you."

"Oh, but it would be just awful working with these modern curse users." You rub your forehead. "They have no manners, no order – not even a set waking time each day! It's ridiculous, Gojo-san, you should have seen it. I couldn't bear to stay. I don't want to waste my efforts corralling street dogs into line."

"Ah, I forgot how neurotic you are about procedural correctness. If you were a sorcerer, at least we'd get things done," he says airily, flicking a hand in the air. "Honestly, I'd love to bring you to the elders just to see their brains explode."

"I could do that for you, if you wish. Nothing would trace back to you – I'll bear the blame." Your eyes glitter as you step forward, your fingers brushing his arm. Infinity glimmers in the light. "Would you bring me to meet your family? I wonder if they'd disapprove."

"Oh, for sure. You'd be the bad-boy boyfriend I've always wanted. 'But I love him, mother!' kind of thing, you know?" He watches as you trail your fingers down his jacket buttons; your palm lingers half an inch over his chest. His Infinity is hard yet bouncy and almost cool to the touch, like magnets the wrong way around. He traces the markings around your eyes with his Six Eyes. They're foxlike, in a way, sharpening your gaze and edging it with a natural mischievous cleverness.

"Really? How sweet." You flick your fingers and twist the threads of his soul around your knuckles, and tug him towards you. He doesn't flinch away, staring up at you from behind his blindfold. Your grin widens, sharp and enthralled, and your slitted black pupils blow wide. "You're... not afraid of me?"

"Nah. You wouldn't fight me. You totally like me." He shrugs with a smirk, hooking a slender finger beneath his blindfold. "What is it that has you looking at me like that? Must be the unique hair, right? Did you crush on my ancestors, too?"

You chuckle, stroking his soul with the pad of your thumb. He shivers – just barely. His cheeks flush lightly, easily visible on his milky skin. "I was under the impression that most humans would be upset if I admitted to a past relationship with a forefather. Are you just odd?"

"There's a difference between you romancing my dad and romancing a distant relative from a thousand years ago. You're magical, sexy, ancient-vampire age, not weird-uncle age, you understand?"

With mirth dancing in your eyes, you drop his soul and outline his pale cheek, admiring his fine features. He looks almost dainty when you place your fingers beneath his chin.

"You're strange, Gojo-san," you murmur, dipping in until your lips ghost his ear. His breath hitches: the first crack in his composure. "Your hair is lovely, but I'm much more curious about what you have under here." You tap his blindfolded temple twice, slow and teasing, like you're petting him.

"Never seen a Six Eyes user?" he huffs. You've moved on to other parts of him, circling him like a vulture and tracing the shell of his ear. "That's hard to believe."

"You are taller than those I knew," you muse, your gaze smoky, "and more slender. I daresay you might even be pretty – like a noble's daughter. You share their grace. But they say eyes are the windows to the soul, so being unable to see yours... It dims your beauty, like a moonless night veiling the soft swirl of snowfall."

"Huh," he murmurs. He jerks away then, as if abruptly realising that your noses are almost touching. He laughs, loud and bright. "Yeah, I see why you were popular with the ladies! That was cute. I liked that."

"I'm a romantic." You chuckle, leaning back. "Would you consider my offer, Gojo-san?"

"To join the side of sorcerers, be a turncoat?" His smile is wide, entertained. "I'll think about it. You're fun."

"Does this mean you won't kill me today?"

"Sure, if you leave right now. They're probably wondering why I haven't taken care of you yet."

You hum, stepping past him. You pause, shoulder brushing his – light, lingering, playing against his technique. "Will you take care of me some other time, then?"

He tilts his face towards yours, lips curved up with amusement. He repeats, "I'll think about it."

"I see you have a lot of thoughts to think. Oh, but before I go..." You reach into your sleeve and reveal an old yellowed scroll, the wooden centre dark and slightly shattered as if dropped from a height. You turn it over, tracing a familiar seal carved into one end, and hold it out.

"I believe this belongs to your family," you murmur. "Without my essence protecting it, it's begun to deteriorate. It'd be a shame to let such beautiful art go to waste."

He inspects it, intrigued, and reaches out. "Is this what you wanted to discuss earlier?"

"Partly, yes. But," you pull the scroll back, smiling playfully, "if I return this, you have to promise you won't put me back inside. Not yet, at least. I want to experience all the new kinds of tea humans have come up with. I just adore sweetened tea – the fruity ones are such a novelty."

"A man after my own heart, I see," Satoru hums. "Fine, I agree."

Your pupils dilate again as you step forward and hand it over with a chipper smile. He might find it cute if it weren't paired with the dictator personality.

"Very well – I'll leave you to it. Farewell, Gojo-san." Your smile broadens and you lift a hand out of your robes to wave goodbye over your shoulder. Your golden hair ornament shines in the sunlight, sparkling in the faint morning fog with a dewy lustre, and the thin dangling chains flutter as you retreat into the distance past the school gates.

Satoru's heart skips a beat. He gulps, pushing his blindfold lower over his eyes, and turns the painted scroll over in his clammy hands.

"Him?"

The voice is deep, disgusted, and appalled. Satoru turns back around just in time to see Yuji slap a hand over the mouth on his cheek, only for it to reappear on the back of his hand.

Honestly, he'd forgotten they were still there.

"Of course someone like you would go for a damn bureaucrat," Sukuna drawls, mouth curled into a sneer. "He's also far too old for you."

"Ugh, don't be such a Debbie Downer," Satoru huffs, placing his hand on his hip. "And stay out of my personal business, old man. What are you, my dad?"

"I'll kill you for that insult," he mutters darkly.

"Yeah, yeah, get in line." Satoru slings an arm around Yuji's shoulders, dragging him away from the edge of campus. "Let's stick closer to other people, Yuji! I know the gardens over here are super nice, but I don't want any more crazy curses distracting you, okay? You've got homework to focus on. Speaking of – have you started your science report? It's due on Thursday."

Yuji groans, planting his face in his hands. "Sensei, don't remind me!"

—

At the end of a tiring workday, Satoru slumps onto his couch in his apartment, limp as a noodle, with his head rolling over the back of the sofa. His eyes are closed behind his blindfold as he exhales a lungful of air.

The backrest cushion on both sides of his head dip with weight – two hands. A hot breath fans his cheek, and fingers flutter lightly against his Infinity.

He doesn't open his eyes. "You aren't allowed in here, mister."

"I excel at being where I shouldn't." You test his Infinity further down, moving as if to cup his tilted throat. "Long day, little dove?"

He makes a noise of assent in the back of his throat. "Yeppers. Same as always."

Your weight and presence moves away, and he hears your soft footsteps leading into his kitchen. His open-plan apartment means you don't have to raise your voice to continue speaking with him.

"You know that I could ease some of that burden. Have you considered my offer?"

"I already gave you an answer, YN." He mimes slapping a big button, complete with buzzer noises. "It's a no from me. Unfortunate, right?"

"It can't be from you if you think it's unfortunate, Gojo-san." Your voice is closer again, and Satoru opens his eyes to a tropical smoothie in a tall cup. You offer a straw in your other hand, torn open at one end, and Satoru accepts them both, sliding the straw from its protective sleeve. He jabs it into the top and takes a long, noisy slurp. He leans back with a satisfied hum.

"Please – 'Gojo-san' was my father. Call me Satoru." He pauses. A large, stupid grin crosses his face. "I've always wanted to say that!"

"Rather intimate terms for being less than co-workers, don't you think?" you ask, crumpling the straw's paper sheath in your palm and tossing it into his recycling bin at the end of the kitchen counter. He doesn't want to think about where you're getting your money from.

"Hey, I'm allowed friends outside of work." He pouts, sulking into his yellow smoothie.

Humming, you turn back to him. "Is that what we are? Friends?"

"Whoa, whoa – don't sound so eager," he teases, swirling his cup. Half of it is gone already. "Technically, you and I are 'mortal enemies' or whatever."

"Technically," you echo, and remove your golden kanzashi to reset it. A small thoughtful smile graces your features as you lift your arms to fix your hair, your sleeves slipping down around your elbows, and Satoru finds himself staring for longer than he should.

Irrefutably, you are built like a fighter, not like the diplomat you have made yourself to be. It's almost inspiring. You were made to be a monster and yet you defied your makers and peers, choosing – instead – to serve.

Of course, the jury's still out on whether you did so out of altruism or to crush the world into your idea of a utopia, but that's a question for another day.

You wander towards him on the couch. He's thrown spread-eagle across the length of it, a pink heart-shaped cushion beneath his head, and you press your hand against his thigh to get him to make a space for you. You don't get through his Infinity, don't attempt to, but there is something adorable in the way he obliges regardless, folding his long legs up against his chest. He tucks a hand under his head, and the other places his smoothie on the wooden coffee table.

"What do you think of us, Gojo-san?" you ask inquisitively, picking up his current book on the coffee table and leafing through it casually. Science fiction – with gravity wells, lasers, and galactic space fleets. "Do you... value my presence?"

He lifts his head abruptly, a finger hooking into his blindfold as if he's about to pull it down. "What? Actually, no, don't answer that. Answer this one. Are you asking me if I like you?"

"Perhaps. Do you?"

The question lingers in the air.

"Perhaps," he parrots eventually with the beginnings of a smirk. "Are you sure you haven't messed with my soul to make me crush on you? You curses probably like to lie."

"You would notice if I altered your soul," you hum, flipping to the front of the book and beginning from the first chapter. "Most don't realise because they don't know what I can do. I was responsible for a number of religious revelations in politically-ambitious second and third sons, but who would point at me for it? It was their fathers who were accused of 'sending them away'." You turn the page. "You know your own soul, no? You'd feel the change."

Satoru considers it, then shrugs. "Guess so." He rolls onto his side. This way, it's easier to keep you in his sight. "Did you buy dinner or just the drink?"

"Just the drink." You glance sideways at him, the hint of a smile playing at your lips. "Why? Would you like me to buy dinner for you?"

"I mean, it'd be nice, since you're basically couch-surfing and drinking all my tea while you're at it," he mumbles, kicking your side lightly to get your attention off the book. You oblige, placing your finger between the pages as a temporary bookmark. "I thought you were good at the whole ass-kissing thing."

"I am – but I imagined you'd be tired of it, given what I know of your upbringing. Would you like me to kiss your ass, then?" He knows you're only repeating his words, but his cheeks flush hot anyway. You say it too casually, too much part-of-the-sentence, and it feels like more of a statement than a turn of phrase.

He curls up a little more on the sofa and scoffs. "Please. As if you'd ever do that to me."

"You speak as if you know me," you reply, amused. "How can you be so sure?"

He lists off on his fingers. "Number one, I know what you are, so you don't have to pretend to be a simple run-of-the-mill aristocrat where it's expected behaviour. Secondly, you have literally nothing to gain from being a suck-up. Doesn't seem like a very efficient use of your precious time and effort to me."

You hum. "I wouldn't say an alliance is nothing."

He sits up, legs stretched out in front of him, and he tosses them over your lap. "But we don't have one. You and me – absolute foes. Total archnemeses."

You set down the book without marking your place, and Satoru wonders if you'd been reading it or simply acting like it. He doesn't have long to think about it before you're sliding closer to him, one arm resting over the sofa's backrest and effectively caging him in. You tilt your head and blink at him, slow and curious like a cat.

"You really think that, Gojo-san?" You voice is soft. "I thought I was your secret bad boyfriend."

"Bad-boy," he corrects. "There's a difference."

"Isn't that what I said?"

"No, the term is 'bad-boy boyfriend. Separate words." He taps his lips. "How can I explain this? A 'bad boy' is what you call someone rebellious, possibly dangerous, and who does what he wants when he wants, regardless of what's considered proper. You know what a boyfriend is?"

"Well, yes. A male partner to whom you are not yet engaged."

It's almost cute how concentrated you look. He claps. "Correct! So, altogether, it's a cool, rebellious guy you like who you wouldn't bring back to your parents. Or bring to meet the emperor, maybe. Does that make sense?"

You chuckle lightly, brushing your hair out of your eyes as you rest your temple against your hand. Your gaze doesn't leave him. "I can see why you became a tutor. You have a patience few possess. Now, if I am to be this... bad-boy boyfriend," you say carefully, brightening at his approving nod, "then I'd benefit from more lessons, yes? I want to be a reliable ally in these strange times. The more I understand, the better."

Satoru raises a brow behind his blindfold, a smirk tugging at his lips. "So, you want me to spend more time with you – which is against the rules, might I add. But how do I know you won't stab me in the back? Binding vow or something?"

You lift your hand to his face. It hovers just off his skin, his Infinity tingling against your palm. You trace the shape of his cheek, leading down his neck and shoulder. "I will be honest with you. First, I sought to lead. Jujutsu society has long been ruled by the weak and underserving, and if they will chase me to the ends of the earth even if I kill nothing and hurt no one, I have no choice but to turn around and fight. But then I met you – the Gojo child chained by the very people he tries to help. They fear power even when it is on their side. You intrigued me, so my goals have changed. What I want has changed."

"And what do you want?"

"I'll be frank." You place your hand on his chest. Infinity glimmers, warping the light. "You."

His breath catches in his throat.

You watch him closely, expression slightly smug, slightly coy. You wear it well. Your rich clothing and prideful, almost lazy gaze makes him feel like he's been approached by the emperor to become his concubine.

His heartbeat pulses hotly in the palms of his suddenly-clammy hands. Despite it, he grins widely and throws his head back to laugh, wicked and sharp. "So you do have a crush on me! Knew it."

"You are headstrong, powerful, and bright and beautiful as the dawn," you hum, smiling when he scoffs and rolls his whole head instead of just his eyes. A habit, perhaps, for expressing himself to his students. "I think we would be good together."

"Oh, really? What makes you think you're my type? Maybe I like guys who aren't crazy soul-bending egomaniacs."

"If you didn't at least find me amusing, I'd be dead right now. That you eat out of my hand like a kitten is another fact I cannot ignore."

He scoffs. "Please. If anyone's eating out of someone's hands, it'd be you. You're drawn to power like a moth to a lamp."

"True," you concede, inspecting your nails. "It has a certain charm to it."

"Is it charm?" Satoru mirrors your posture, arm resting on the back of the couch and body turned towards you. He snickers as he leans in. "Or is it the feeling of surrendering control to someone stronger?"

"You're not stronger than me," you correct immediately with casual dismissiveness, though you don't lean away. "Don't be absurd."

"You sure?" he asks playfully. He flexes an arm and kisses his knuckles. "We should totally arm wrestle to check."

You blink. "Did you kiss your fist?"

He corrects himself by kissing his bicep. Your face splits into a blinding grin and you can't hide your laughter at the absurdity of it all. Satoru watches with an adorably lopsided smile. Isn't it strange, the way your company makes him feel? The way he loses the air in his lungs and gets nervous about how his hair looks whenever you meet his eyes? The apartment feels warmer. He feels less alone.

"If only you were human," he murmurs as your laughter dies down. He glances away when you tilt your head, a questioning look in your eyes. "You, uh, would be a good asset to have on our side."

You shuffle closer until your thigh touches Infinity and you lean in, resting your temple against your hand. You chuckle. "It'd make me more trustworthy, wouldn't it? Alas and alack. I haven't even killed anyone since I was released. You would think that counts for something."

Satoru lifts his eyes. "Oh? What about that curse you were hunting? As far as I remember, you wanted to kill him."

"I was debating it," you correct. "Unfortunately, my head's been a mess since I woke up in your world. I made some... questionable decisions."

"Good or bad?"

"I can't say yet. But can I admit something, Gojo-san – Satoru?"

The way his name rolls off your tongue sends shivers down his spine. It's easy to imagine you in a royal court, slinking your way through politics with a flash of your silver tongue.

He shrugs. "You've already invaded my home. Go ahead."

You smile. "I promised I'd let him live if he became my... companion. Regarding cursed techniques, his echoes mine. You can imagine my excitement at such a revelation. I let him live, but after getting to know him? I think I much prefer your company."

"So you'd replace him with me? That's callous." He snickers. "Okay, so if I thought it sounded fun and agreed to it, what would even, like, happen? You can't teach me soul tricks. I doubt you need me to teach you how to throw a punch, either."

"I look for a different sort of companionship with you." Steadily, you hold his gaze beyond his blindfold. "One more... intimate."

He stares at you. You glance down at his lips, lingering there, before dragging your eyes back up and offering a coy smile. He goes slightly pink.

"Humanity is largely hedonistic, pleasure-seeking," you hum, leaning infinitesimally nearer. "Sex is the one thing that benefits."

His fingers twitch slightly. His heart rate is measured, but you can sense the concentration behind it.

He licks his lips. "Really?" he asks in a purposely airy tone. "And what experience do you have with that? You said you never slept with the women at court."

"No, I didn't."

You say nothing else – simply stare, expectant.

This time, his cheeks explode with heat he can't control. He flutters a hand over his face, a fruitless attempt to hide his red cheeks and pout. "Stop talking. Right now."

"I didn't say anything." Smoothly, you glide forward, one hand against the backrest and the other by his hip – his gaze trails up as you move. The shadow of a smirk plays at your lips. "Why? Not interested?"

His brows furrow, and the way you can see them shift under his blindfold is endearing. He crosses his arms and huffs. "Ugh... Not not interested... But here I was, thinking you had more grace than to tell me about all the pretty noble sons you've bedded. Big faux pas, bee-tee-dubs. Don't talk about exes with a potential partner. Bragging about how many side pieces you've had no longer gets people swooning – we value loyalty these days."

"Hm. I'll keep that in mind." You tilt your head, gazing at him in a way that makes him wonder if he truly is impenetrable. Your voice softens. "The way I could listen to you speak for days on end..." You trail off, then chuckle, dragged back to the present by the shift of his thighs against yours. "Satoru, I think your teachings deserve gratitude. May I?"

His breath hitches as you bring your hand up to his cheek, teasing his Infinity. Despite the barrier, he still shivers, haunted by your closeness – he can see the flecks of colour in your eyes, count every eyelash. His fist tangles in the front of your traditional wear.

He doesn't say a word. Just grabs your collar, drags you down, and smashes his lips against yours.

He's warmer than you imagined, you think as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Perhaps you were being too judgemental – his snowy hair and sky-blue eyes lent themselves to a wintry palette, and some instinctual part of you thought he'd feel the same.

He pulls back to breathe, panting softly against your lips. His fists loosen as he lifts his head, tongue darting out over his lower lip as if savouring the taste of you.

"You lowered your Infinity," you say, unable to mask the surprise in your voice. "Why?"

"I can't kiss you if it's up. Obviously."

"You trust me enough for that?" A delighted smile brightens your face. "If I had a heart, it would be racing, Satoru."

The tightness in his chest feels dangerously like affection. He swallows, pulling away with his pulse pounding in his ears.

"You should probably go," he sighs eventually, glancing aside. "It wouldn't do us any good if people found out you were crashing at my place." He hesitates. "Thanks for buying me that drink. Wish I could return the favour."

You tilt your head with a soft smile. "You're welcome. Will I see you again, Satoru?"

After a moment's thought, Satoru leans in and presses a lingering kiss to your lips, tracing your jawline and cupping your cheek. He parts with a soft smack, blushing slightly as you gaze at him with patient, half-lidded eyes.

"I really hope not," he whispers, dropping his hand. With one final, lasting glace, he stands and retreats into his bathroom, shutting the door with a soft click of the lock.

The message is clear. You were never here.

—

As it turns out, you are exceptionally good at not listening. Satoru stares down at you, expression dumbfounded, as you shift in the bolted-down chair, testing the chains around you. They are fortified with cursed energy. The room is dim, candlelit, and covered in the strongest paper seals available.

"YN, you... let yourself be captured? Why?"

He sounds so genuinely baffled that it brings a smile to your face. You lean back in the chair and flick your hair from your eyes with a casual toss of your head.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you, Satoru," you reply. "I wanted to see you again. I wasn't content with how our last conversation ended. This seemed to be the quickest method of reaching you."

"They almost killed you for it."

You scoff, lips curling in distaste. "They came nowhere close to that, I promise. I had that sorcerer by the throat until he promised to let me talk to you – I'm positively thrilled to be in this position, so please, rest easy. Concern doesn't suit you, especially not over a lowly curse."

Satoru eyes you behind his blindfold, calculating yet intrigued. From what he gathered from the archives, an arrogant play like this is right up your alley. If anything goes sour, you can bring out Ol' Reliable – your silver tongue – and simply talk your way out, maybe aided by a flutter of gold threads behind your back if you grow impatient. It seems to have happened before in at least one attempted assassination.

Unfortunately, Satoru is aware of your tricks.

"I'm curious," he begins, stepping closer. "You value your life over all else and won't hesitate to throw someone under the bus to protect yourself. But you know jujutsu society isn't like what it was – so why risk it all just to talk to me? For all you knew, they could have sealed you away again or just exorcised you on the spot. Regarding deals and promises, sorcerers are no longer as honourable as they once were. Consequence of modernity."

In return, you simply smile, eyes tracking his figure smoothly like a cat with prey. He comes to a stop right in front of you, legs an inch away from your knees, and stares down at you. You tilt your head back to meet his blindfolded gaze, challenging and subservient all at once.

"You're worth it," you purr, voice like silk. "You and I could do so much together... if only you stopped deferring to those ridiculous elders of yours. Even I can recognise when order and propriety do more harm than good."

His brows furrows as he places his hands in his pockets. "What do you even get out of this? What are you trying to manipulate me into?"

"Oh, Satoru, I'm not trying to manipulate you," you sigh, exasperated. "When I mentioned I wanted to be good this time, I was telling the truth. Maybe for the novelty of it, or perhaps I truly am good and virtuous and only buried myself in dirty court politics because it kept me out of sorcerer hands. I'm still working on understanding it myself. I don't particularly like humans, but I don't feel superior to them simply because I'm a cursed spirit. I know I'm better because none would, if they were me, serve as I have. However, humans created me. It's only right to extend them a certain respect – like parents."

You were more and more baffling by the day.

Satoru scratches the back of his head, lips twisting in a confused pout. "Sooo... You're like, what, a class traitor? But for curses?"

"I'm not betraying anything. I only serve myself and my own interests." You smile, gaze raking his body. "And I am currently very interested in you."

He says nothing for a long while, simply observing you as you get comfortable, pleased with yourself.

Abruptly, Satoru laughs, fanning his face dramatically as he turns away. "Oh, stop it, you! You're such a flirt. One thing you should know about me before you commit is that I'm territorial. If you want to be with me, you can't traipse off to meet those curses I helped you find – never ever, understand? Or I'll have to break things off and things will get ugly. 'Broken-plates-and-cops-called' kind of ugly."

His voice is flippant and teasing, but the warning beneath it is crystal clear. He's allowing you to indulge in him – he won't hesitate to bring you down if you so much as think about jumping the line.

Luckily, Satoru is far more interesting than Mahito. Stronger, too. Just your type.

"I understand," you reply, watching as he swaggers closer and leans down, resting a palm against the back of your chair. "Does this change our relationship to one of equals, Satoru? Or, at least, as close as you'll allow me to be. I am only a simple spirit, as you know well."

He stares down at you, scrutinising. Then he grins. "Ha! Whatever, sure. I like my men humble – and if you talk me up, that's a bonus."

"Unfortunately, I'm not so humble as to accept my position in these chains. Would you release me?"

He wanders in a slow circle around your chair, trailing his fingers over your shoulders. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, gazing at you with the hint of a smirk. "Hm... But you look so nice in them. It'd be a waste to destroy them that quick."

"Oh, dear – what a poor unfortunate soul I am, then," you husk, feeling his cursed energy crackle dangerously close to your throat, not quite breaking skin. "I am at your complete," his fingers brush your jaw, "and total," he grabs your hair and yanks, forcing your gaze up, "mercy."

You smirk up at him, tongue darting out to wet your lips. You twist your wrists against the chains.

"Say that again," he murmurs.

"Which part?" You bat your lashes at him. "Mercy?"

His grip tightens in your hair.

You suck in a breath, expression tightening in either pain or pleasure. He supposes it's all the same to you. You settle down again in your chair, legs shifting, and your smile widens as you feel his cursed energy wash over you. He's checking the room and the area around it.

"Find anything?" you hum, feeling him remove your kanzashi. "Be careful with that, please. It's bespoke."

He sets it aside on a small square table pushed up in the corner. "There are two sorcerers outside this door," he replies, tilting his head in its direction. "And one at the end of the hall. How much do you value your privacy?"

"More than the average human would, I'd wager. I'm quite traditional, you understand."

"I do." He turns, pulling his blindfold down. He opens breathtakingly brilliant blue eyes, and lifts one hand. He crosses his fingers.

"Domain expansion." His lips barely move, pulled into a smile. "Unlimited Void."

You think you're going to die.

Perhaps you miscalculated. Perhaps you got greedy. You can only rely on your looks and charisma to get so far, and Satoru isn't like the nobles you used to toy with.

Those victories made you confident – too confident. The corners of your lips turn down into a slight pout. Well, at least you'll finally be able to tell if those sorcerers who sealed you were correct – they feared your death would suspend the souls of every living thing indefinitely, cleaving them from their bodies. You'd been on the verge of dying exactly once – when you were very, very young – and it shredded every soul in a growing radius until they hastily set you free.

You liked the idea that you might be the only thing holding them together – it made you vital to their survival despite their hatred of you, and it did nothing for your ego.

The chair crumbles like ash beneath you and the seals burn away as easily as tissues. You collapse, your loosened hair falling over your eyes, and the deep velvet of space and knowledge stretches infinitely before you. Dancing around you are swirls of gold and blue and purple and white, every galaxy containing multitudes of memories that rush into your head relentlessly like a broken dam.

A cool hand lifts your chin, and your mind untangles as if swept clear by a soft breeze. Satoru presses his lips against yours.

You gasp as he pushes you to the floor – or what passes as it – and he throws one leg over your hips, his hands gliding up your arms to pin your wrists above your head. His lips move hungrily against yours and you groan his name as he loosens your clothes with expert precision.

"This – what is this?" You shudder as he leans down and kisses your bare chest, licking a hot stripe up the cleave of your pectorals.

"Insurance," he replies with a lopsided grin, kissing lower and lower. "It'd be real embarrassing to die with your dick out, yeah? So don't do anything silly."

Your throat bobs harshly as he laps at your stomach, tracing the muscles and unwrapping the layers of silk garb as if you're a piece of candy. When he pulls your cock out, he moans, back arching as he stares down at it in his hand, eyes wide and delighted.

"Don't worry," he hums, spitting on his palm and stroking your length from tip to root. "Nobody will hear a thing. It's the perfect soundproofing – aren't I so smart?"

"You're mad," you breathe, voice trembling ever so slightly. You're still recovering from his domain – the taste of his power is intoxicating. Satoru's grin only widens.

"Oops," he says charmingly, and presses your length flat against his stomach. He measures it, giggling to himself as he tugs off his clothes. "Wow, you're big! I was hoping you would be, but this is something else... Actually, why do you have a dick?" he asks with a curious pout, tapping his lips as he polishes your tip with his thumb and swipes the slit. "Can you have babies? Do you have even have genes and chromosomes? Like, what's it for?"

"It's for whores like you," you retort, your hands remaining above your head where he left them. "A survival adaptation to keep your hands off my throat."

He chuckles, shimmying down until he can press a kiss to your shaft. He licks it with a soft moan, blinking slowly up at you through his thick lashes as his tongue swipes over the tip. "You're lucky you're cute. I don't normally let people call me a whore, but I guess you really are the exception."

"Is it an insult if it's true? Look at you, lapping me up like a little bitch. All that strength, just to sit at my feet with my cock in your mouth... What would your superiors think if they knew their most powerful asset can be swayed by simple lust?" You prop yourself up on an elbow, staring down your nose at him. You spread your thighs and he chuckles, pressing his nose to the junction between your thigh and torso. He breathes in deep and his eyes flutter shut, a long moan reverberating at the base of his chest.

"You're so cocky! Shockingly dirty-mouthed, too," he drawls. He kisses your shaft and grins, lopsided. "But fuck, you smell good."

Satoru's lips part and he closes his eyes as he swallows your cock, tongue poking out and curling against the veins on the underside. He rubs the tip with his fingerpad, smearing the precome along the tapered tip; he giggles slightly, nibbling on his lower lip as he gazes at the beading slit.

"Wonder how this'll feel inside me," he whispers, sliding your cock between the V of his fingers and suckling on the tip with a playful string of wet kisses. "I know you haven't gotten laid in literally a thousand years, but try not to come too quick, 'kay? I wanna enjoy this before I have to exorcise you."

"Oh, but haven't you heard? The last time humans tried to kill me, I tore the souls out of everyone around me and would've taken more if they didn't stop. It wasn't by choice, mind you, but at least they died quickly."

He huffs as he sits up and plants himself on your lap, messily kicking off his trousers. It seems as if your warning did nothing to dampen his arousal. If anything, he appears more excited.

"Tore them out, huh?" He wraps his arms around your shoulders and wiggles to get comfortable, his bulge grinding against yours purposely. "Where'd they go after that?"

"You're dangerously interested in my technique, Satoru," you murmur, dipping your head to brush your lips against his. He leans in to finish the kiss, moaning softly as he rocks himself down on your lap. Your silk robes lay puddled around you, hanging from your forearms as your hands slide under his top. "My death could spell the end of every human in the country – perhaps more. Are you really willing to test that, all for a world that doesn't care for who you are or what you've sacrificed?"

"I don't do it for the fame," he whispers. He shimmies his briefs off and reaches down to stroke your cock, placing it at his hole – tight, warm, hungry. "I do it because it's right."

"Are you doing this because it's right?" You cup his ass and spread his cheeks, your tip slipping past his tight rim. He whimpers slightly, jolting forward. "Are you, Satoru?"

He gasps as he sinks down on your length, nails digging into your skin as he works his way down inch by inch. He bounces shallowly, cheeks red with heat and want. "Stop that. You said you weren't trying to manipulate me."

"It's only a question, darling."

Shuddering, he squeezes his eyes shut and shoves you to the ground, wrapping his hands around your neck. Your pupils blow wide as he slams his hips down onto your cock, swallowing the whole thing in one solid motion. Your head tips back and a sharp, drawled groan escapes your lips as his wet, tender walls hug your dick, flexing and squeezing irregularly as he grows accustomed to your size.

He places a shaky hand on his stomach, feeling the bulge move against his palm whenever he does. He can feel it shift inside him with every breath, thick and deep and hot. The tapered head of your cock glides against his deepest places whenever his ass meets your thighs – you slick him up with an unholy amount of precome, and he shudders.

"Stop chatting," he pants, "and jus' let me fuck you."

You smile up at him despite the hands around your throat. You drop your arms, grabbing his waist, and you groan freely as he rides you, rough and impatiently needy.

"Or what?" you taunt. "I'm of no use to you dead."

He leans in, eyes dark and lidded with desire. "I don't have to kill you to punish you," he whispers, rolling his hips sinfully. He laughs wildly, breathlessly. "A-Ah, shit – bet you just feel so proud, huh? You and your pretty face, your pretty words... I don't even want to kill you anymore. You're too much fun. D'you know how dangerous that is?"

"Perhaps we should find out," you murmur, voice smooth and tantalising. Even in his own domain, a place where he should have total control, your words caress his ears and sink into his brain like fingers into jelly. You're like a drug, every word another hit. He shudders as you kiss his neck, sharp teeth grazing his jugular. "You and me, a time and place. Somewhere open. Don't worry, Satoru – I will stay with you even if you lose."

Satoru kisses you messily, short and hot and with clashing tongues. His hands caress your jaw and cup the back of your head, gently pulling you into his sweet breath.

"You aren't stronger than me," he breathes, grinning as he pants and bounces harder in your lap. His Six Eyes are trained on you, tracking every twitch and pulse of pleasure. He traces your warm lips. "Such a silly kitty."

In response, you nip at his fingers with your canines – he tugs his hand back with a playfully frightened gasp, but not without giggling and diving in for more kisses. He seems to like them, the way you lean roughly into him in a push for dominance.

You would rather die than say this aloud, but you don't mind if he wins. Satoru is gorgeous, powerful, and knows what he wants – you do not mind serving a master with such... conviction. And if this master allows you to indulge in his strong, lithe body, allows you to feast on him like a beast without trying to shackle you, then you have found no greater purpose.

"Satoru," you purr, his name like a prayer. Your hands move to his hips, resting on the cusp of his ass, and he shivers and moans as you trail your fingers up and down his spine. "Oh, Satoru..."

His teeth sink into his lower lip, quivering at the way his name curls in your mouth, taut with bliss. He can feel you inside him, throbbing hot and achy and far thicker than any human. You push his hips down, quickening his pace for him, and he can't bring himself to care. It feels too good. He curls his arms around your head, tugging your into the nook under his chin. His white lashes flutter as his head tips back, a drunken, bitten smile tugging at his plump lips.

Your lidded gaze trails down his body, the smooth ridges of his toned torso deliciously smooth and sweet. He shudders and moans as your tongue trails down his neck to his pebbled, blush-pink nipple, your lips wrapping around it and sucking lightly. His back arches as his fingers twist in the baby hairs at the nape of your neck, his rocking hips growing sloppy and rough.

"How could you ever win when you unravel so easily for me, little dove?" you murmur, tongue circling his perky bud. He lets out a soft groan, sweetened by a pout – somewhere between pleasure and petulance.

He tugs your hair, making you pop off with a wet suck, then pushes you to the other side of his chest like the brat he is. You smirk, canines peeking out, and obediently lower your head to his chest. His hips stutter as your hand pinches and rolls his other hard, wet bud between his fingers. You flick it at the same time you give a hard suck and he whimpers, chest arching against your mouth. Dragging a rough hand through his hair, he moans, his fingers fluttering over your bicep as he twitches on your lap.

"Mmh – I'm letting you do this, so shut up! 'S not my fault that I have pretty moans 'n' like it messy," he whines, a particularly delicious grind of his ass making an involuntary groan hiss through your teeth. "I wanna come just as much as you want me to, so 'm not gonna hold it 'n' blueball myself. 'S hard to, anyway, with the fucking size of this thing." He simpers, reaching down to stroke your thick base – he gasps in shaky awe as the slick heat of it swells under his touch. "W-What – oh my god, are you getting bigger?"

"Do I taste nervousness, Satoru? Am I too much for you to handle?" You nip at his throat near his prominent Adam's apple, ensuring he can't hide it with a simple upturned collar. He'll need to put in more effort. Does this categorise you as a high-maintenance lover?

"Stop that. 'Course I can handle you," he rebuts immediately, fingers gliding over the thick, pulsing heat of your cock. When he meets your eyes, they're dark with need, like an ocean in the middle of winter. He licks his lips as your nail guards dig into the dimples above his ass, his palm tight and warm around your base as he rocks shallowly on the first few inches of your cock.

He glances down at your body, fascinated. "All your fancy words and expensive clothes, and you still have a cock like an animal. What's your opinion on nature versus nurture?"

You bare your teeth at him with a growl, eyes narrowing. He does it back, showing off small blunt incisors, and giggles. He lets go of your cock and takes it in as he can, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and sinking his soft ass all the way to your base. His tight hole tenses and twitches around you.

"It's okay," he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck as you prop yourself up on one hand, the other kneading his ass. "I prefer you as you are. You don't have to pretend."

"Who said I'm pretending?" You bring your palm down hard on his ass, making him jolt into your chest and mewl. His wet, oil-hot walls flutter against your dick, hugging every ridge and throbbing vein. "Just because you put on a mask every day doesn't mean I do as well." You consider him, lazily watching him bounce haphazardly on your cock without rhyme or reason. You click your tongue and roll your eyes, grabbing his waist and throwing him down onto what passes as the floor. Around him, space ripples like impermeable black water at the impact, but he doesn't break the surface.

His breath hitches as you hover over him, your strong body forcing his thighs open to accommodate you between them. His eyes are wide – watching, half-cautious – as you lean down until your hair tickles his cheeks. Your breath is hot and velvety, and against his will, his eyes flicker down to the threat of your lips. They curve into a sharp smile.

"Be a good little sorcerer and take it," you whisper, arms braced beside his head. You grind deep inside him, and he chokes on a moan, thighs trembling. "You'll be whining and crying on my cock in no time. Then you can tell me again who the real animal is."

You draw back and slam into him with an echoing slap. The meat of his ass ripples with the impact, a shocked cry yanked out of him as the thickest part of your cock shoves past his tight rim. He scrabbles against your chest, nails raking tingling lines of cursed energy down your skin, and you catch his ankle before he can kick you with a flailing leg. With dark, predatory eyes, you push his leg higher and kiss up his ankle to his knee, your scarlet tongue peeking out between your lips to taste his skin. He twitches, lips parted to gasp and pant, as you drape yourself over him and kiss him deeply.

He cries out into your mouth as you fold him in half, his calves resting over your broad shoulders. His asshole spasms around your thick cock and he whimpers with your tongue down his throat as the fat bulb of your cockhead plugs him up and stretches him wider than he ever thought possible.

"Ah, hah – mm, wait," he whines, gasping as you swallow his words and press deeper into him. Thick and heavy, your cock bulges in his flat stomach above his belly button, revealing just how deep you are – how small he is to you. Even in his domain, he's still just human, and a wicked grin stretches across your lips as all the fight and confidence seeps out of him from your cock alone.

"W-Wait," he whimpers, wide and shiny blue eyes staring up at you. They flutter shut as you interrupt his next words with a heavy kiss. "I-I'm not – mmph—!"

You grab his white hair and pin him to the ground. He gasps, one hand shooting up to grip your wrist, as you curl over him and bury your nose in his neck. Your cock drives hard and deep into him, over and over again with wet slick sounds. Somehow, sound seems to echo and get swallowed up at the same time. Satoru hiccups in an adorable little panic as your tip constantly pops past his tight puckered rim, opening him up like a flower.

"Mmh, mmph!" His spine arches, a little bridge, as you slam into his guts with the full length of your cock, making him sob and moan as his hole squelches with your precome. Despite his writhing and weak attempts at kicking you away, he doesn't stop touching you – he keeps you nice and safe within the realm of his domain, unwilling to let you go.

His own cock, largely forgotten, bounces against his stomach, dripping like a broken faucet. It curves up, dusky pink and darker at the shiny mushroom tip. He reaches down and grabs it, humping his fist, but you tut and yank his arms above his head. It makes him cry out in distress.

"You'll come from your ass or not at all," you whisper, fucking into him so hard tears prick at his fluttering eyes. "Good birdie."

He wheezes softly as you yank his hips towards you, tossing his other leg over your shoulder and gripping his unblemished alabaster thighs. Obediently, he leaves his hands right where you left them above his head – he makes no move to fight back as you take and take and take his pleasure from him, your wet cock dripping inside his silky hot hole.

A plump, blissful smile decorates his flushed expression, dumb and whorish. You lean down, this time taking both his legs with you, and lick at his lips until he turns his face to you and lets you claim his mouth, your long tongue gliding over his teeth and twisting with his tongue. Saliva drips from the corner of his mouth as you pull his face towards yours, and his expression tightens in pleasure as your tongue pushes down his throat.

His eyes roll back as you practically fuck his throat. He jolts and shudders, tears blurring his vision as he tries his best to suppress his gag reflex, but you're so insistent and demanding that he can't do anything but mindlessly accept everything you offer.

Your cock fucking his guts and your tongue claiming his throat feels impossibly good. His legs hook limply over your elbows, his balls aching and dick straining as you use him up like a toy. His hole doesn't even resist you anymore – he feels it push in and out without much fight, just a wet sucking pop every time it pulls out as if even his ass misses it.

He feels so sinfully full from both ends. The solid slapping of your hips against his ass sounds far too loud – it's all he can think about. What does he look like, he wonders, whining and blushing and speared on a curse's fat cock?

He has a dangerous half-thought about dropping his domain and letting everyone watch him get split open by the very things they're supposed to destroy.

Satoru's cock throbs, the pleasure bubbling up from so deep that it almost hurts. His balls are tight and heavy. Jets of clear precome shoot across his stomach, dripping into the smooth ridges of his muscles. He drools as your dick ruts against his achy prostate, hot and swollen with the constant rubbing from your veiny cock.

Your thrusts quicken, rough and deep. You pull away to admire him, and he immediately protests with a whiny cry, his lips parting and his tongue lolling out before he can stop himself. With a chuckle, you lean in to kiss him and suck on his tongue, and he eagerly hooks his arms around your biceps and cries out in a sharp staccato that crescendos into a constant stream of desperate, echoing moans.

Your tongue slides wetly against his. It's so much longer and more dexterous than his, and it's all he can do to stay awake.

He buckles under the weight of your desire. He's not usually so... submissive. Fleeting curiosity always turned to disinterest no matter how many times he revisited the idea. He's the strongest, after all; it's only natural that submitting control to anything would feel strange and unnatural. But you turn everything he thought he knew upside down – he just can't get enough of you, of the heavy hand twisted in his sweat-damp hair.

You break the kiss to graze your teeth against his jugular, soft and warm. His heartbeat throbs through the delicate skin, quick like a rabbit's. One look at his expression tells you he's too far gone to care about faking his feelings.

"Ohh, don't stop," he whines breathlessly, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and burying his face into your neck. He breathes in deeply – you smell like petrichor with a hint of something fresh and floral, as if you'd tucked a wildflower behind your ear and left it there for a day. Your sharp canines dimple his skin with the slightest pressure, and he shudders as your tongue sweeps over his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, every instinct screaming in protest as he lets his head loll to one side and offers his pretty pale skin as a canvas. "'M gonna come! Oh fuck, oh, fuck, 'm coming, don't fucking stop!"

"I won't." You smile against his milky skin, fist tightening in his hair. To Satoru, it feels like a death roll, a python's constriction. There will be nothing left of him when you are done.

He shouts your name as his back arches suddenly, his body locking up and his toes curling as he sobs and unravels. His nails cut bloody crescents into your shoulders and rake across your sides and back, his lithe body convulsing violently as your pace slows to a rough, slow fuck, every thrust accentuated with a disgustingly deep grind of your hips that has him hiccuping and spurting violent ropes of come across his stomach. Each time your thickened base pops past his rim, he can feel his walls moulding around it, hugging it tight as you carve through him mercilessly.

His heartbeat pounds in his ears, his head buzzing. Your teeth sink into the soft meat of his shoulder, and despite his whimpers and blubbered half-words, he doesn't move to stop you. Not even when you trail your bloodied lips up, up, up – and press a lingering red kiss to the corner of his mouth. Your tongue slips between his lips and his cock jerks with a thick spurt as you offer to him the iron taste of his own blood.

"Good little birdie," you murmur, voice like velvet as your eyes slide closed – perhaps for the first time since you laid eyes on him. You tuck your head into his shoulder, your thrusts quickening and growing less restrained – you fuck him so hard his ass stings and ricochets with the contact, and you no longer have to worry about how he'll fit you. He's dripping so much come and pre that one swipe of your palm over his stomach would serve you fine for a whole night.

Your brow furrows as you drape your body over his, almost completely engulfing him until only his limbs and his fluffy white hair are visible past the bulk of your body. His feet poke up over your shoulders, his nails rake tiger stripes along your ribs, and he's got a thick creamy mess trickling down his sides. The white curls at the base of his cock are sticky and hot. You drag your golden nail guards roughly through his tangled ghost-pale hair, and Satoru sinks his teeth into his pillowy lower lip to silence the pleas that threaten to break through.

With a wanton moan that peaks high and whorish at the end, Satoru's aching thighs tremble viciously, his half-softened cock still straining to spurt what little come he has left.

Your balls, warm and heavy, smack firmly against the swell of his reddened ass with every calculated thrust. Your gaze bores into him, using the minute changes in his expression and body language to turn him into a brainless doll that takes cock as if he were born for it.

"You're—" he giggles dreamily "—mm, you're s-sooo big... Ah—!"

You cup his chest, rolling your thumb over his peaked dusky pink nipples. His body jolts hard, unable to decide between pulling away or leaning in. Your voice is ragged and rough with lust when you speak next, a rare change from your usual velvety voice.

"I know, dove," you rasp, inhuman eyes tracking him freakishly smoothly. He swallows harshly, biting back groans that are embarrassingly needy.

Look at him, being stupid and selfish. Never in a million years would he think he'd enjoy the company of a curse outside of battle. He's a horrible person.

But you're just so… bizarre. Entertaining. You don't care for sorcerers unless they interfere with your lifestyle, and you interact with them as little as possible so you can lord happily over your herd of sheep in peace and quiet. Yet, you seek him out. Yet, you offer your services in exchange for your life.

Yet, you tell him, "Satoru, kiss me."

Without thinking, he does. You're an unfortunately good kisser and he melts into it easily, his fraying morals melting away into nothing. You kiss him as if you love him, deep and slow and soft with just the right amount of dominance that has him arching into your body.

He barely has to do anything – just lay there and take it and come his fucking brains out. It's nice to not have to think for once. He whimpers against your lips when you drop his legs and wrap them around your waist, pulling him close and cradling his head to kiss him. He gasps into your mouth, eyes fluttering as his throbbing dick drips, glazed in layers of milky white.

You growl softly, a low rumbling sound that feels good against his chest. You pull him closer, his frothy messy hole squelching with precome. You shove your face in his neck and slam straight into his hypersensitive prostate violently, making him wail and come abruptly like a truck.

"Where?" you huff out, voice low and breath hot against his jawline. Your grip tightens on his hip. "Where, birdie?"

He mumbles out a pitiful, indistinguishable sentence, unable to glue his thoughts back together. With hot palms, he pushes you away slightly and meets your shark-black gaze. The annoyed huff you exhale dies when he parts his lips and sticks out his little pink tongue, fingers pushing into his mouth as he gasps and stutters and stares pleadingly up at you.

"Fuck."

It's the first curse word he's heard you say. He had little time to preen, however, because you pull out with a sudden rough pipe, half yanking him down with the motion as the ridges of your tip catch on his rim. He whines, jaw dropping as his hole clenches and his thighs shake, and then there's a cock stuffed in his mouth and flooding his gullet with thick, hot seed.

Satoru's eyes roll back as his nails dig into your thighs, clawing you closer. Your base presses against his plump lips and his back arches as you yank his head up towards your hips, your knees on either side of his shoulders. He jerks and drools, throat working constantly to avoid choking.

You're too big to fit completely in his jaw. Instead, he lets it rest on his tongue, the tip of it flicking against your base and curling beneath it. You grab him and wrap his hand around yourself, squeezing, and he moans around your length as he feels you pulse and throb against his fingers. Every throb sends a deluge of come down his throat. He can barely swallow it fast enough, gasping and panting between wet slurps as he jerks off what he can't suck.

With a low groan of pleasure, you press down into him, and his legs kick out as you fuck his throat. Your hand twists in his hair, keeping him still.

"You're doing so well, pretty thing," you coo, and he whimpers as his cock jumps against his stomach. You stare down at him with a soft smile, almost loving, before fisting his hair and crushing your cock down his throat. Your head tips back as Satoru gags, choking wetly, and he can barely breathe, saliva and come dripping down the corners of his mouth and down his chin in filthy sticky strings.

His hips jerk. He comes again, completely untouched, and you laugh cruelly when you notice it, making him flush three shades darker as he squirms and thrusts up into nothing.

Finally, when he sags to the ground and struggles to keep his throat from convulsing around you, you let him go, dragging your spit-slick cock past his lips. He gasps and coughs, expression flushed and hair a mess, and lazily thrusts his hips up into your palm as you stroke him and let him come all over your fist. You lean down to kiss him, and he moans as you scoop the remnants of your own come onto your tongue.

Right, you've got an ego problem. Of course you'd like the taste of yourself – which, Satoru admits, is the perfect mix of salty and sweet.

You part with a slick smack of lips, and Satoru stares up at you with lidded eyes and a fat, blissful smile, chest heaving as he catches his breath. You don't need to do the same, but you stay quiet regardless, one of your hands cupping his head for support as he leans towards you with a raspy chuckle.

"Dumbest idea ever," he whispers, his hole twitching and clenching around nothing. He reaches down to circle his rim, gaping and unable to close. He licks his lips. "Shame that I hafta kill you."

"You won't." Your eyes narrow.

"I will," he counters. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his embrace, and his domain dissolves around you and disappears into the corners of the room. "Just... maybe later."

You chuckle, hands travelling over the curves of his body to trace the marks you've left behind. "Then I still have time to change your mind. I will kneel for you," you murmur, and he tilts his head with a pleased, cocky grin. "I have been told I look wonderful on my knees."

"I could see that," he whispers, giggling as you lift a golden pendant over your head and place it around his neck. He grabs your wrist before you can pull away, tugging you closer as he leans in, smile coy. "Maybe you should show me so I can make sure you're telling the truth, politician. Would be a shame to only appreciate it once, yeah?"

"Only if you promise to stay quiet," you hum, watching as he plays with the necklace newly resting against his chest. "Not just anyone is allowed to see me that way."

His face splits into a giddy grin as you lift him off your lap and hover over him on your knees, your loosened hair falling around your shoulders and shadowing your eyes.

"No promises," he whispers as he grabs the heavy gold pendant, round and flat with an insignia carved into it which he doesn't recognise. His cock twitches in anticipation as you press a kiss to his inner thigh, lips curved into a smug grin. "Guess you'll just have to shut me up, huh?"

"That is easier said than done," you scoff, leaning down to take his cock into your mouth. His giggles peter off into a string of low moans as you take him easily to the root, your mouth hot and wet as you hollow your cheeks and suck hard.

He cries out, hips jolting, and slaps a hand over his mouth. You look up at him through your lashes, amusement dancing in your gaze; Satoru almost comes right there at the sight.

Oh, damn it all, he thinks as his head tips back, your obscenely long tongue gliding along his veins and curling around his tight, aching balls. Saliva drips down his taint and he moans into his palm, thighs tensing around your head.

Ugh. He watches through unfocussed eyes as your head bobs between his trembling thighs, your hot tongue curling around his length and stroking him together with the silky heat of your lips. He really doesn't want to kill you.

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