synopsis: Gojo Satoru could have anyone, but somehow he keeps coming back to you. One night at a party, one drink turned into two and he had you in his arms. After that night, you meant more than you should’ve to him. He says he loves you and says you’re his. But his pride and ego won’t let him have you properly. So you’re stuck somewhere in between wanted…but never chosen.
You told yourself you were done with Satoru Gojo. You promised Shoko you'd never speak to him again—so why?
Why were you on his bed, staring at the ceiling of his dorm, feeling completely spent?
You had convinced Shoko to attend the party Sukuna was hosting after Gojo hurt you for the millionth time. You swore you were moving on—at least, until you saw him at the party. One thing led to another and you ended up back here: in his bed, with him hovering over you, looking like he'd won the world.
Was it your fault? Maybe.
"Are you okay, love?"
That stupid nickname. You hated the way your heart fluttered despite everything. "Yeah, just tired.." you whispered, turning onto your side to meet those piercing blue eyes—the ones that haunted your dreams and your nightmares alike.
You loved them. You loved him. He met your gaze and offered that lopsided grin, the very one you'd fallen for in the first place.
"You can stay over," Gojo said, his voice a low drawl. "Geto's not coming back tonight."
"Isn't staying over what couples do?" The words slipped out before you could stop them. He looked at you, his gentle expression shifting into something unreadable. "You know I don't date, (name)."
You bit your lip, pulling away. It was always the same. Noticing the shift in the room, Gojo frowned. "Come on, pretty..don't be like that. You know I'm not into anything serious." He leaned closer, reaching out to touch your face.
You pulled back and sat up, scrambling off the bed. "Yeah, I get it. I can't stay over. Sorry."
Without waiting for a response, you grabbed your clothes and dressed in silence while Gojo lay there, watching you. His expression remained unreadable as you walked out the door.
He refused to acknowledge the sharp, unwanted pang in his chest as he watched you go.
You should have known better. He was Gojo Satoru. Everyone knew he didn't do relationships—so what made you think you were the exception?
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"You promised." Shoko glared at you as you finished explaining the night's events. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, ashamed of your own weakness. "I didn't mean to! I regret it. He's an ass. I promise you, I'm genuinely done with him this time."
Shoko looked at you, clearly unconvinced. "You said that literally two nights ago!"
"Well, it's not my fault! I thought he really loved me. I guess I was wrong. Maybe he thinks I'm ugly and only cares about the sex.." A frown deepened on your face—doubt, cold and heavy, beginning to settle in.
Shoko softened. She grabbed your shoulders, forcing you to meet her eyes. "Okay, listen to me. He's an ass. You are absolutely not ugly. Hell, I bet half the guys in this school want you! You just need to realize it."
A determined look crossed her face. "I'm going to prove it. We're going out tomorrow."
You looked at her, stunned. "Sho..I know you want to help, but how can I ever get over him? It's Gojo. There's literally no guy hotter."
You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation, but Shoko only grinned. Without a word, she grabbed her phone. "Are you calling someone?"
Shoko didn't answer. Her eyes lit up. "Choso! Hey, remember that party you're hosting tomorrow? I'll be there. And I'm bringing a friend, bring one too yeah?" She smiled as she hung up.
"What the hell are you doing?" you asked, confused. Shoko hated parties—you were usually had to drag her to them. "I'm showing you how to move on," she shrugged.
A small smile finally broke through your gloom. You were so lucky to have a friend who cared this much. "Thanks, Sho." You leaned in to hug her.
"Of course," she murmured, hugging you back.
"Tomorrow we'll get outfits, yeah?" she added.
Your eyes lit up. "Shopping? Hell yeah!"
"Shopping freak," Shoko rolled her eyes, though her smile widened. She was about to say more, but your phone buzzed, followed immediately by another. You reached over to check the notification, and Shoko peered over your shoulder.
Toru ♡ 11:54pm: "Hey, are u still awake?"
Toru ♡ 11:55pm: "Sorry for earlier. You know I didn't mean it, right, love?"
Your heart stuttered. Shoko groaned as she read the messages. "Nope. No way. He does not have the audacity!" She snatched the phone from your hand.
"Hey, wait, Sho! Let me respond first." Shoko narrowed her eyes. "No! He has you on a leash, literally. You're going to sleep now. Tomorrow? Class, then shopping. No Gojo."
She shut your phone off and set it aside. Your lips parted to protest, but she silenced you with a single, sharp glare. "Ugh, fine. Night, Sho." You moved to your side of the room, climbing into bed. "Night (name)."
As Shoko turned out the lights, you lay there in the dark, your mind racing. Is there anything you can do to make him want to date you? Does he really only care about the sex? Why are you never enough?
You bit your lip, squeezed your eyes shut and tried to force your thoughts into silence until sleep finally took you.
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"Satoru, what's gotten into you? You never go to Psychology class. Like, ever." Geto walked behind Gojo, who stopped just outside the lecture hall.
"It's time for a change, Suguru," he shrugged, stepping inside. Geto shot him a look before sighing and following his friend. Gojo's eyes immediately scanned the room, ignoring the professor entirely. They landed on your figure near the back, completely engrossed in your notebook. He grinned.
"Satoru and Suguru! This is the last time I will tolerate you two being late and interrupting my class!"
"Yeah, yeah, we're so sorry, Miss," Geto said with a wink. The professor's face flushed a deep red as she turned away, trying to hide her reaction.
Gojo made his way toward you, watching the moment your eyes met his. For a split second, he swore he saw a flicker of emotion in your expression before it turned cold and unreadable.
He slid into the empty seat beside you. "Hey, love. I texted you last night."
"I know."
He frowned at your attitude. "Uh, well..what are you doing later?"
"Why do you care?"
"I wanted to take you out. There's this party—" You looked up from your book and his heart skipped a beat. "Gojo, just don't. I'm going to another with someone else already."
Gojo's eyes darkened. Someone else? "Who?" he snapped before he could stop himself. "None of your business. Now, if you don't mind, I'm trying to pay attention."
You turned back to your book. Gojo kept his gaze fixed on your profile, shocked by the sharpness of your tone. A gloomy, bitter sensation coiled in the pit of his stomach. Did you really have a date? Was it someone who wasn't him? He gritted his teeth, refusing to call the feeling jealousy.
The bell rang, signaling the end of class.
"(name)..why are you being so bitchy?" he asked.
"What—you know what? Fuck you Satoru."
You packed your stuff and stormed off. He watched as you walked away without looking back. "Shit, she looks mad as hell," Geto noted, stepping up beside him.
"Shut up," Gojo muttered.
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"Sho, I felt so bad," you whined, sitting with her on the bleachers. You had just recounted the psychology class confrontation.
"Why would you feel bad?" Shoko asked, taking a bite of her sandwich.
"I was so rude to him! I was this close to cracking and apologizing." You showed her the tiny gap between your thumb and index finger.
Shoko rolled her eyes. "Oh, please! You don't think he talks to his friends about you like that? Besides, he didn't even apologize for his behavior last night."
You frowned, pouting. She was right. You shouldn't be pitying him. But you did.
"Uhm..well, I lied," you admitted quietly. "I told him I had a date to the party."
"It's not a lie. You have me," Shoko shrugged. You laughed, rolling your eyes as you leaned back. "Sure. Be my guest."
"Okay, seriously though," Shoko said, her expression turning serious. "I need to find you a real date."
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The party was everything you expected and better. The music was heavy, the crowd was massive, and the bar? The bar was actually well-stocked. To be frank, this was a massive upgrade from Gojo's usual parties.
You sat on the couch, punch in hand, feeling a bit adrift. Shoko had abandoned you fifty minutes ago the second she spotted Geto. You sank deeper into the cushions. It was the definition of a "good time," so why were you so bored? Your mind kept drifting to Gojo, which annoyed you. Unsurprisingly, Gojo hadn't shown up at all—which is expected considering he hated Choso.
"You look lonely."
You looked up, your eyes meeting Toji's. He sat next to you, his massive frame making the couch cushions dip heavily. You've seen him a lot of times around campus but up close, he was even more intimidating—broad shoulders straining against a black compression shirt, a faint, jagged scar at the corner of his mouth and those sharp green eyes of his. In reality, he was hot—like really hot.
"Uh..yeah. A little," you admitted, swirling the punch in your cup. Toji leaned back, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch behind you. He wasn't touching you, but the proximity felt deliberate. "Choso throws the best parties ever and you're over here lonely?"
You let out a laugh. "Fair enough."
"Name's Toji. You are (name) right?"
"Yeah."
"Ah. You're the one always running around with Shoko." You raised an eyebrow. "You've noticed me?"
Toji shrugged, taking a slow sip from his own drink. "I notice a lot of things. Especially when it's someone as beautiful as you who looks like she'd rather be anywhere but here."
You blushed at his compliment, a small smile taking place on your face. "Thank you."
Almost easily, you both fell into conversations quickly. You told him about the cycle you were stuck in with Satoru—for some reason, letting it out felt much better than expected. Toji listened without interrupting, just nodding occasionally, his expression never pitying you.
"Sounds like you've been dealing with a jerk," he says after you finished. "Guys like that are all the same. Think the world spins for them. They take until you've got nothing left to give."
You bit your lip. "Yeah..I guess so."
Toji's voice dropped, turning gravelly and serious. "Stop choosing him. It may not be it's easy, but staying stuck? That's worse."
You laughed softly. "You make it sound so easy."
"Cause it is," he replied with a lazy grin. "You just have to commit to it."
You guys spoke even more as he began talking about his own life. To your surpise, he did underground fighting matches to gain extra cash. Even more—you were surprised to find out you were actually enjoying listening about him.
"You're really easy to talk to," you said after a while, surprised by your own honesty. Toji chuckled at your words. "Don't tell anyone. I've got a nonchalant personality to maintain."
"Oh shut up." you smiled at him as the conversation continued. Eventually, the party started thinning out. Toji turned fully toward you, his green eyes locking onto yours. The teasing smirk softened into something more genuine.
"Look, I'm not gonna bullshit you. I like talking to you. You free this weekend? Let me take you out. A real date."
Your heart skipped a beat. Well he was certainly straight-forward. But for some reason, it felt different. Way different. You smiled, "Yeah..I think I'd like that a lot."
Toji pulled out his phone, his smirk returning. "Give me your number before you forget yeah?"
You both exchanged numbers the same time Shoko came back from wherever. You finally stood up to leave and he walked you and Shoko to the door, his hand resting lightly at your back.
"I'll text you later about the details," he said. "Don't make me wait, princess."
"Okay." You walked away with the biggest grin on your face. Shoko nudged your shoulder, a knowing finding her face. "Okay...that was smooth. And he's hot. Tell me everything!"
You laughed at her teasing, for the first time ever you realized, you had not once thought about Gojo. "Okay so..."
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Unsurprisingly during the weekend, the news spread faster than expected.
Gojo was sprawled on the couch in his dorm, scrolling through his phone with one hand while Geto made coffee. Some guy had sent a message in the group chat earlier, casually mentioning how Choso's party went.
That's when Geto spoke. "Hey uh...your girl kinda hit it off with Toji at the party. Seemed really intense." Geto said casually. "Sho told me they were going on a date too..like..today."
Gojo froze mid-scroll. His usual grin dropped instantly. "Toji?" He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "That walking fool? She's going on a date with him?"
Geto shrugged. "Sounds like it. They exchanged numbers and everything. Choso said Toji seemed actually interested, which is insane since he's usually never.
Gojo sat up, jaw tight. That same ugly feeling clawed at his stomach—heavier this time. He stood up abruptly, grabbing his jacket.
"Dude, where are you going?" Geto asked, already knowing the answer.
"To remind that asshole who she belongs to."
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Toji had just finished working out. He places the towel around his neck while checking his phone. A smile finding his face when he sees a text from you.
Princess 10:34am: hii:) I just got ready! Can't wait to see you.
Toji responds immediately, telling you he's sure you looked beautiful. Toji turns to leave when he sees Gojo walking towards him, Geto trailing behind looking worried.
"The fuck do you think you're doing?" Gojo snapped, stopping right in front of him.
Toji raised an eyebrow. "Leaving the gym? What does it look like Satoru?"
"You asked her out?" Gojo's voice was sharp, eyes flashing filled with rage. "You really trying to move in on what's mine?"
Toji's expression darkened as he realizes what this is about. Geto flashed Toji an apologetic smile.
Toji tossed the towel aside and crossed his arms, muscles flexing.
"Yours?" he laughed, low and mocking. "Last I checked, you told her you don't do relationships. Not only that—she's a person, not your damn toy."
Gojo stepped closer, chest bumping against Toji's. "Stay the fuck away from her Fushiguro."
"Guys, come on this is really silly—" Geto trails off helplessly.
"Yeah? Or what?" Toji smirked, tilting his head. "You gonna cry about it?"
That was the last straw.
Gojo swung first, punching Toji in the face. A surpised laugh slips from Toji, blood dripping down his nose.
"Oh, you wanna go down that path?" Toji growled.
He grabbed Gojo by the collar and shoved him hard, slamming him back against the brick wall of the gym. Gojo grunted but recovered quickly, driving his knee into Toji's side. They wrestled each other to the ground until Geto and a couple of other guys rushed in, pulling them apart before it got worse.
Toji wiped the blood from his lip, breathing heavily. "You're pathetic. She deserves better than some insecure little shit who only wants her when you want your dick wet."
Gojo glared at him, chest heaving. "This isn't over."
"Yeah? Tell that to her while she's on a date with me," Toji shot back with a smirk before walking out.
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You've been waiting for twenty minutes for Toji who seemed to forgot. You sipped on a cold drink and checked your phone to see if he sent any messages. The waitress had already come by twice, asking if you wanted to order anything while you waited—which you politely declined.
A small pit of disappointment was forming in your stomach as you wait. Just as you were about to stand up to leave you spot Toji.
Toji jogged up the sidewalk toward the café, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone. His lip was slightly swollen and there was a fresh cut near his cheekbone. His black shirt looked a little rumpled too. He spotted you immediately and his expression softened.
"Shit..sorry I'm late, princess,” he said as soon as he reached your table. He pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, leaning forward You stared at the cut on his face, frowning as you look at him. "Toji..what happened to you?"
He touched his split lip and gave a lazy smirk, like it was nothing. "Nothing important. Gojo didn't like hearing I asked you out."
Your eyes widened. "You fought Gojo?"
"He started it," Toji shrugged. " Don't worry about it, I'm here now yeah?"
"I'm sorry," he said again, more seriously this time. The sincerity in his green eyes made your chest feel warm. You smiled at him.
"It's okay, don't apologize. I'm just glad you came."
Toji's smirk returned, softer this time. "Good. I've been looking forward to this since Thursday."
He waved the waitress over and ordered for both of you. You guys spoke for almost 2 hours. It wasn't your fault really, who wouldn't wanna talk to Toji?
He was straightforward and really funny. He teased you when you got shy, made jokes about campus life and actually listened when you opened up about stuff. You laughed more than you had in..forever with him. He had this thing about him that made you feel safe.
At one point, he leaned back in his chair, watching you with half-lidded eyes. "You've got a really pretty smile, you know that?" he said casually.
"Smile more often it suits you." Your face heated up at his words, feeling like a teenage girl all over again. Toji chuckled at your reaction, loving how easy it was to get you flustered.
After your date he took your hand leading you outside. "C'mon. I wanna show you something before I take you back."
You raised an eyebrow as you followed him outside. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
He led you back towards the older part of town—a place you normally heard criminal stories about. You got closer to him out of instincts as the streets got narrower, the buildings more run-down. "You're not killing me right?"
Toji laughed at your words. "Nah. You're too pretty for that."
Eventually, he stopped in front of an old abandoned warehouse with a faded metal door. He turned to look at you. "This is where I fight sometimes, the underground ground ring I told you about? I want you to show you..if you wanna of course."
Your felt your heart beat a little faster. He took you to his scared place? You nodded with a grin. "Are you kidding? Of course I wanna see!"
Toji's lips twitched into a smile. "Good. Stay close."
He squeezed your hand and led you inside. The air was thick with sweat, smoke and loud music. A large makeshift ring sat in the center under harsh lights. People were shouting, money was exchanging hands and two fighters were already going at it in the ring. Toji kept you close to his side, one arm protectively around your shoulders as he guided you through the crowd. Your eyes widened in amazement as you scanned the area around you.
A few guys nodded at Toji in respect. One older guy with a scarred face grinned when he saw him. "Toji! You fighting tonight or what?"
He found a slightly elevated spot near the back where you could see clearly but safe enough from the chaos. The fight in the ring was chaotic—the crowd even worse. You watched with wide eyes as Toji leaned down, lips close to your ear so you could hear him over the noise. "This is how I let everything out," he said. "You scared yet, princess?"
You looked up at him. The colorful lights from the ring reflected in his eyes. He looked rough and masculine in the most delicious way possible standing there. He stared at you in such a way, you felt butterflies in your stomach.
"Nope." He grinned at your answer. "Good."
After the fight ended, Toji decided not to stay long, especially with you there. He said his goodbyes to some people and led you back outside. Once you were outside, he stopped and turned to you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
"Was it too much?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
You shook your head. "No..I think it's pretty cool actually."
Toji's expression softened at your words. He loved that you were honest and didn't judge him for the person he is. He leaned down and kissed your forehead.
"Alright princess. Let's get you back to your dorm."
He walked you all the way back, hand in yours the entire time. When you reached your building, he stood infront of you. "Next Saturday. I have a match, do you wanna come?"
You looked up at him, biting your lip to hide your smile. "Yeah. I'll be free."
As you turn to enter your dorml, he caught your wrist. "Hey, I really enjoyed today."
A warm feeling spreads through your chest as you hear those words. As you looked at him, the biggest smile finds your face. "Me too. Thank you."
"Of course princess."
Toji waited until you were inside before finally leaving. As you enter, still smiling you were greeted with your best friend's gaze.
"Oh my god! You guys went on a date (name)! It's getting serious?" Shoko questions excitement clear in her voice. Your smile only gets wider.
"I'm not sure..I mean he invited me to his fighting match next Saturday."
"Girl? Are you serious? Toji never, and I mean never invited a girl there before—Choso told me all about it."
"Are you joking?"
"Uh..no!?"
You stared at Shoko, completely surpised. Learning this new fact about Toji made your heart flutter. You were the first girl he invited to watch his match? "See, I told you, getting over Gojo would be easy."
Right Gojo. He hadn't ran through your mind the entire time you were with Toji, nor the previous day. The mention of him now was the first time you ever actually thought about him. "Oh right. He got into a fight with Toji, can you believe that?"
Shoko laughed in disbelief, looking surpised. "No way? Tell me everything!"
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A few days later you were lounging on the couch. Shoko had gone to visit family for a few days and Toji had been a bit busy. Just then, your phone buzzed. Picking it up you frowned at the message you saw.
Toru ♡: Hey love. I've been thinking about you. Come over? Just a movie night at my dorm. I miss you. Please?
You stared at the message for a long time. A part of you knew this was a bad idea—especially now that Toji was in your life, but the familiar ache in your chest won. Gojo had always been your weakness—even if you hated it.
You: Okay. Just a movie though.
Toru ♡: That's all I want. Door's open for you <3
When you got to his dorm, Gojo opened the door with that bright, charming smile—the one that always made your heart flutter even when it shouldn't, except this time there was nothing there. Not a spark or flutter. "See? Told you it'd be chill," he says, closing the door behind you.
"Whatever..let's just watch the movie."
"Sure, love."
For the first minutes of the movie, it was actually nice. You enjoyed the movie and Gojo kept his hands to himself. Was he finally changing?
However, just as you begin to think he had gotten better, his hand slid onto your thigh, squeezing lightly. Then it got higher. He leaned in, lips brushing your neck as he murmured, "You look so good love..I miss having you in my bed."
"Satoru.." you shift away, pushing his hand away. "I just wanna watch the movie."
Satoru however got bolder. He pulled you closer, hand slipping under your shirt, fingers tracing your waist as he kissed along your jaw. "The movie's boring anyway. Let me make you feel good. You know I can."
His touch grew more insistent—palm sliding up to your breasts, lips pressing harder against your skin. You felt yourself melting in his touch as guided you to lie back on the bed, hovering over you with that cocky little smirk.
"I missed this body," he whispered, voice husky as his hand moved lower. "Missed how you sound when I—"
You pushed against his chest. "Satoru stop."
He paused, but his eyes were dark with want. "You came over here wearing that..you knew what this was. Don't act like you don't want it too."
You frowned at his words. Usually, his boldness would really get you going but for some reason, all you could think about is how wrong it is. You had Toji, even though you weren't dating..it's Toji.
You sat up, pulling your shirt back down. "I came to watch a movie, not have sex with you. I'm trying to move on, Satoru."
Gojo sat back, running a hand through his hair. His expression twisted from frustration to something meaner. "Move on? With Toji?"
He laughed bitterly. "That's cute. Real cute. You really think he's gonna stick around for you? Some clingy bitch desperate for love and attention?"
Your breath caught. He'd never gone this low before. You and Gojo had your fair share of arguments but it never once got personal. He doesn't stop, instead he kept going, his voice getting meaner.
"You're so fucking attached, (name). Your dad dies and suddenly you need everyone to fill that void? That's why you keep coming back to me. Because I give you just enough to feel wanted, Toji can't give you that?"
Tears burned your eyes and your chest tightened painfully at his words. Years of pain you struggled so hard to bury began resurfacing.
"And be real with me," he continued, "Toji wouldn't want an insecure girl like you, always asking if you're good enough. Maybe that's why you spread your legs so easily—it's the only thing guys actually like about you.”
The words hit like knives. You raised your hand, slapping him across the face. "You're an asshole Satoru. Fuck you."
You stood up fast, grabbing your jacket with shaking hands. You slammed the door behind you, tears streaming down your face as you practically ran back to your dorm. The walk felt endless. Every cruel word replayed in your head on loop. Were you really only good for sex?
As you reached your dorm, you were a mess. You collapsed on your bed in tears. For years you've struggled with your body and father's death and he knew that—hell he comforted you. To have it used as a weapon by the same person who comforted you broke you even futher. You end up falling asleep from crying for so long.
Gojo on the other hand couldn't handle you leaving him properly. He sat on the floor of his room, surrounded by empty cans and a half-empty bottle of vodka. The argument played on repeat in his head—the way you looked at him before you left. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you with Toji. Every time he did, he drank more. Gojo had never gotten this bad before. He loved you. Of course he loved you, you were the best thing in his life but he just couldn't do it.
"Fuck this," he muttered, taking another long swig. The alcohol burned, but it numbed the ugly knot in his chest. A few hours passed and he had drank at least 4 bottles of alcohol. His hurt twisted into rage—hot white rage.
He opened his phone, having only one thought in mind. If he couldn't keep you to himself, he'd ruin you for everyone else. He started with texts in group chats—the ones that included half the campus.
Satoru: You all think (name) so sweet and innocent right? Lol she's a whore and has been riding my dick for months and still begging for more like a desperate bitch.
Satoru: Dead dad and she still needs someone to fuck the sadness out of her every night.
Satoru: Dumb bitch went on to Toji next thinking he'll pity her too.
He went into the hidden folders on his phone, finding photos you had sent him months ago. Half-naked selfies. One in just his shirt, another in lingerie you'd bought just for him and aa few more photos where you were topless or completely naked.
For a moment he paused, he wondered if he would be going too far but the thought in head kept saying: "She sends all of these to Toji. You're not special to her anymore, pathetic."
In his drunken haze, he doesn't hesitate.
He posted everything onto his story. Gojo laughed bitterly as he hit send, then passed out on the floor, phone still in his hand.
By morning, it had spread like wildfire.
The screenshots were everywhere. Group chats, Instagram stories, Twitter—someone had even saved the photos and posted them on a campus confession page with your name attached.
Each comment underneath the posts were brutal and mocking. Your phone was blowing up—waking you in a confused haze.
You checked your phone to see dozens of notifications. Unknown numbers sending the photos. You frowned as you opened one message. There you were, an unknown number sent you a picture of your naked body. The caption underneath it saying: "Are you that easy? If I tell you you're cute will you let me fuck lol."
Your heart dropped. You felt sick as you checked the groups you were in, photos and messages of you filling each groupchat.
Their words were even worse than the photos. You saw Gojo's story, each one another exposed photo of you. You ran to the bathroom, feeling sick, everything you ate from the previous day found it's way back up.
You were a mess, you sat against the bathroom wall after throwing up, crying and shaking at the horror. Years of built up confidence, acceptance and self-worth came crashing down as you sat there. The dark thoughts you hoped to once gotten rid of found its way back once more as you began drowning in hate.
Now you knew for sure, all your chances with love..or with Toji were ruined. He would never want a girl like you, not anymore. You were all alone.
Shoko was still gone for the day. You had no one left by your side as the dark thoughts began taking a hold of you.
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Toji was in the middle of his class when his phone started blowing up. First it was Choso, then a couple other guys he was acquainted with. Toji got annoyed by the notifications and finally checked them. Opening Choso's chat, he expects to see something dumb, but instead what he saw made his blood run cold.
There you were, a half-naked picture of you being plastered everywhere with disgusting captions. Toji's grip on his phone tightened until the screen nearly cracked. He saw red. There was only one person he knew would do this.
"That fucking piece of shit..."
Without a second thought, he got up and left the class. Ignoring the professor who repeatedly called his name. He found himself at the Psychology lecture hall where he knew Gojo had class that morning. The professor was mid-sentence when he slammed the door open.
Toji's eyes immediately found Gojo sitting near the back, looking like complete shit. "Sir you can't just—"
Toji ignores the professor, "Gojo." Toji's voice was low and filled with rage as he marched down the aisle. "Get the fuck up."
Gojo smirked at first, but it faltered when he saw the pure rage on Toji’s face. "The hell do you want?"
Toji grabbed Gojo by the collar and yanked him out of his seat, slamming him against the desk hard enough for the wood to creak. "The hell I want?"
"You leaked her nudes. You posted her fucking body and mocked her dead dad? After everything you already did to her? You pathetic fucking parasite."
Gojo tried to shove him off, but Toji's grip was strong. Gojo laughed, his breath smelling like alcohol. "Whatever. Why do you care? You just want to fuck her too—"
Toji's fist crashed into Gojo'a face with a sickening crack. Gojo's head snapped back. Blinded by rage, Toji punched him over and over, despite the screams of the others.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Toji sneered. "She trusted you, you worthless piece of shit!"
Gojo tried to fight back, landing a couple weak hits, but he was no match for Toji, especially not in his drunken state. Geto and a few others finally rushed in and pulled Toji off, but it was already too late. Gojo was slumped against the desk, his face as bloody mess.
"If I see you near her again Satoru I'll kill you."
Then he stormed out, pushing past the security with only one thought in mind.
You.
He arrived at your dorm within a few minutes, not bothering to knock. He opens the door, calling out your name. He frowns when he got no response.
He heads towards your bedroom when he sees the bathroom door slightly open. He paused, opening it wider and stepping in. Toji froze for half a second when he saw you on the floor with the blade. "What the...?"
In an instant he was on his knees in front of you, taking the blade from your hand and tossing it across the room. He looks down at your wrists, faint marks already there from earlier pressure.
"Fuck—hey, look at me princess," he said, voice cracking as he cupped your face with both hands. "I'm here. I've got you..it's okay. You'll be okay."
He pulled you into a hug, gently whispering words of comfort to you. You began crying the moment he hugged you. Your body shook as he gently strokes your hair. He didn't leave.
He came for you.
"I saw what he did." he whispered against your hair. "I dealt with it. But princess, I need you here...Shoko needs you here, we all do okay?
Toji stayed there with you on the bathroom floor as you cried your heart out, thanking him for not leaving too.
"I'd never do that princess. What kind of man would I be?"
.
.
.
Shoko came back the exact day she received the messages. She stayed by your side every single day, slept next to you, sat on the toilet while you showered—even took notes for you.
It has officially been two weeks since Gojo leaked everything for you. Even with Shoko and Toji there, the first few days were the hardest for you. You barely ate or slept. Every time you closed your eyes, it felt like you were reliving the day all over again.
Thankfully, you weren't alone—ever. Choso showed up with snacks one day when Toji had to take care of an issue. He sat with you and watched whatever you wanted to. Once it helped to distract your mind from those hateful thoughts.
Geto's first visit surpised you. Afterall, he was Gojo's best friend. He apologized on Gojo's behalf and helped with whatever you needed.
Your biggest supporter however was Toji. Toji was there every single day—well almost. He never pushed you to talk unless you wanted to. He stayed by your side throughout it all, he even managed to get every single picture of you taken off the internet—of course he doesn't tell you how. It didn't matter. The fact he was there for you and did that was enough.
For the first time sinfe then, you were outside sitting in the park with them.
Shoko and Geto sat next to each other, debating which was the better lover. Choso sat across from you, sharing a bag of chips with Yuki who tagged along and Toji sat right behind you, his legs stretched out so you could lean back against his chest.
You felt at ease. You were eating regularly again. The dark thoughts had subsided once more and you did therapy twice a week (thanks to Shoko).
"You know," Shoko began, looking at you, "you're glowing (name). I'm so proud of you."
You smiled at her words. "I couldn't have done it without you guys. Seriously, I'm beyond grateful."
Choso shrugged with a small grin. "We got you, especially now that you're Toji's girl." He winks.
Toji's arms tightened around your waist from behind at Choso's words. Although neither of you had confessed yet, everyone knew there was something there—it was painfully obvious. Ignoring Choso's words he looked down at you.
"You're strong princess, don't ever forget that."
You leaned your head back against his shoulder, feeling safe in his warmth. "Thank you."
You excused yourself for a moment, wanting to take a small walk. You headed towards the lake, watching in awe at the swans you saw. That's when you saw him.
Gojo was seated on a bench near the lake, a spot you both used to meet. He looked horrible. You headed towards him, sitting next to him.
"You got my message, I'm glad. Can we talk?"
You hesitated for a moment. "Okay."
Gojo stared at his hands for a while before speaking. "I fucked up," he started, voice cracking. "I know that's not enough..of course it isn't but I need you to hear this."
"What I did to you, leaking those photos, saying all that shit about your dad, your body...it's unforgivable. I was drunk and hurt and jealous, which isn't an excuse, especially knowing I violated your trust."
He looks up at you, tears in his eyes. You kept silent. He surpised you. When he texted earlier wanting to meet, you expected something really bad. Not tears and sincerity. "I was scared. You were actually moving on with Toji and I was losing the one person I truly love and I didn't know what to do. I never deserved you. You gave me everything and I took advantage of that because I'm a coward. I'm so fucking sorry (name). I really am, for everything."
Silence stretched between you. You stared at him, not knowing what to say to him. He loves you. A month ago, hearing those words would have been the best thing that happened in your life. But now, it's not. It could never be.
"I hated you for a while," you whispered. "When everyone saw everything about me, those hateful comments..I really wanted to die. I almost did too."
Gojo's eyes widened at your words. You wanted to die? Because of him? His heart sank as he listened to you.
"But I'm better now," you continued. "Thanks to Shoko, Choso, Geto and Toji. Toji especially. I really do love him Satoru, he makes me feel seen..cherished..everything you haven't."
You took a deep breath before standing. "I forgive you, Satoru."
His head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise. Tears streamed down his face at your words. He lost you completely.
"Thank you." he whispered, voice breaking as he stood. You smiled at him. "Well, I need to get back, take care Satoru."
"You too (name), he smiled sadly. "You deserve the world, I'm sorry I couldn't give you that. I hope Toji can."
"He does." You tell him honestly. "And it's time for him to know how I feel."
.
.
.
Shoko decided to stay the night at Geto's. Toji didn't want to leave you alone and decided to stay with you. You two had been watching a movie on your laptop, but Toji couldn't pay attention. He tried—he really did.
But you were curled up against his chest on your bed, his arm wrapped around you. He couldn't pay attention, all he could think about was the fact he loved you. He knew he did since the moment he met you—but now? You needed to know that.
He paused the movie and closed the laptop. He shifted so he could look at you properly. "Hey..come closer," he murmured, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap. His big hands settled on your waist, thumbs gently rubbing circles over your shirt. Your hands rest on his shoulders instinctively as you stare at him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," he said quietly. "That's the thing, princess."
"These past few weeks..seeing you hurt, almost losing you, it fucked me up a lot," he admitted, voice
filled with sincerity. "I've never cared about someone this much before. I thought I was just looking out for you at first, but it's more than that."
His hands tightened slightly on your waist as he meets your eyes. "I love you, (name). I love how strong you are even when don't know it, I love how beautiful and honest you are, I love how you're just you. I'm not good with this romantic shit, but I want you."
Your eyes filled with tears at his words. Your heart felt so full you worried for a moment it could possibly explode. This was the best thing you've ever dreamt of.
"I love you too," you whispered, voice trembling. "I love you so much. You stayed when I was at my lowest. You saw all my mess—yet you still stayed, made me feel safe again.."
Toji gently wiped away your tears, being so gentle with you. "I'd never leave you princess. You're too good to me."
He pulled you into a kiss. It started slow and tender but the longer it went, the more hungrier Toji got. His hands slid under your shirt, caressing your skin like he was memorizing every inch. You tugged at his shirt and he helped you pull it off, revealing his toned, scarred torso. You ran your hands over his chest as he kissed down your neck, gasping in pleasure.
"Do you want this, princess?" he asks against your skin, making sure you're comfortable before he goes any futher.
"Yes," you whimpered. "I want you."
Toji was patient with you. He kissed every part of you—worshipped every inch with his mouth and hands. Both of you were soon stripped naked by each other, completely lost in passion.
"You're so beautiful," he growled softly between kisses. "Every fucking part of you."
He finally pushed into you, it was slow and gentle, making sure you could adjust to him before moving further. You moaned, gripping his shoulders as he filled you completely. Toji buried his face in your neck, groaning your name, pleasure filling him at your tightness.
"M-move..please, I need you." You begged desperately, your cunt gushing around him. The rhythm Toji chose was gentle, but he quickly grew impatient, his thrusts becoming meaner. His hips rolled against yours, hitting every spot that made you moan. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
"Fuck—I love you," he whispered again, voice strained as he thrusts into you, his tip hitting your cervix each time. "I love you so much."
"I—hah—love you too!" You cried out as pleasure built, tears of overwhelming emotion mixing with the sensation. Toji held you through it all—praising you for taking him so well. His fingers found your clit, rubbing in circles to drive you crazy. You came first, clenching around him with a broken cry, your back arches as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. He doesn't last long however, following right after, burying himself deep and groaning as he cums inside you.
Toji stayed on top of you, holding you as you both caught your breath. His fingers stroked through your hair gently as he slowly pulls out, admiring the mess you both made.
˚ ༘ 🍼𖦹⋆｡˚ a pledge to keep series masterlist ˚ ༘ 🍼𖦹⋆｡˚
summary: getting knocked up by your older brother’s fratbro wasn't exactly apart of your five year plan. least of all with notorious fuck boy ryomen sukuna.
pairing: frat!kuna x reader
content: everything in this series is considered 18+ so not minor friendly! contains mature content such as rough sex, breeding, spanking, spit play, lactation kink, descriptive child birth, postpartum depression, probably more
dividers by: @petalpxl | series moodboard | art by lorinmower
chapter one: how you met \ chapter two: of course it's yours, you fucking idiot!
chapter three: meeting the itadori's \ chapter four: hospitals and hot dad walks
chapter five: fratuncles \ chapter six: more than co-parents
chapter seven: graduation \ epilogue
series oneshots/drabbles:
1. stinky feet bandit ❀ 2. late night feeds ❀ 3. daddy's little poop monster ❀ 4. baby carrier experiment ❀ 5. yuji loves his baby cousin
'Till death do us part, hah,' your number one top fan! Satoru Gojo can't help but stroke his thick, veiny cock as he recites those vows he'll have for you soon, blushed tip just dripping all that milky pre cum drippin' from that little hole on the head.
Oh, he'd say them very, very fucking soon indeed.
You, the pretty OF star on his screen, bent over and giggling right at him, he swears it. You're surely not looking at any of these other losers' names, no, you must be looking at his.
'Gonna f-fuck...' Satoru's stroking his cock faster, whimpering out as you glide that dildo he bought you in and out of your pretty little cunt, stretching it out and whining as you take it.
Well, it was a direct replica of his cock, so of course you couldn't stuff it all. But don't worry - when Satoru gets you finally, and he folds you in a mating press, fingers pressed into the backs of your thighs? Oh, he'll have you take all of him.
'Till I can see my print inside,' he's chuckling again, lost as he takes some of that messy pre and licks it, moaning and gliding it across his lips. He's fucking his fist in time to your sad attempts at fucking yourself with his veiny replica, he can't help but smirk, using one hand to type.
Having trouble takin' cock, sweetheart?
Well you are indeed, you've never had something so big and long trying to fit inside you - in fact, this was the first time you've used more than a cute little plug or a wand on your pussy on cam. Yet, when it's from your top fan, you can't help but want to show off for him.
Your puffy lips are pathetically trying to fit around it, no matter how wet you are, you can't even get half - the tips are just rolling in, but none like him - like DigiMaster89.
truly -what a fucking name. Yet you know that he loves when you spread wide, and you truly want to be a good girl for him.
Even if you don't even know what he looks like, you'd love to make him proud, taking more and more of that cock and shaking, thighs trembling as your cunt is spasming, begging for a little reprieve with how full you're stuffed.
'Ngh!' You're crying out now, as Satoru leans forward, remembering his vows.
he got distracted.
'Oh, where was I?' he caresses the screen, before spitting down his cock again, letting it slip to the base. 'Ah, I remember. To fucking cherish that slutty lil' cunt. Ah, baby I solemnly swear and all that sh-shit....'
White locks fall across a brow as you squirt all over for the first time on camera, clear fluids just gushing out, just in time for his white to squirt right on the screen, right against his future wife, some of it even smattering against his glasses. He can't help but whimper out your name, hand just trembling, taking his glasses off to lap a bit of his sticky mess.
God, imagine when you're squirting all over his glasses?
Satoru can't wait to finally have you all to himself, don't you know you're already his future fucking wife?
olderbf!nanami who never rushes you, no matter how impatient you get. you’re standing in front of your closet, frustrated, pulling out dresses and tossing them onto the bed.
"i have nothing to wear," you groan. he’s sitting in the armchair by the window, his tie already loosened, watching you with that calm, steady gaze.
"we have forty-five minutes," he says, his voice low and even. "take your time."
you huff, turning to face him. "you’re always so patient. it’s annoying."
he smiles, small and fond. "i’ve waited forty years to find you. i can wait forty-five minutes for you to pick a dress."
olderbf!nanami who always makes sure you eat before you leave the house. you’re running late, your heels clicking on the kitchen floor as you grab your purse.
"we’re going to be late," you say, already halfway to the door.
he steps in front of you, a plate in his hand—toast with avocado, a soft-boiled egg, sliced fruit arranged neatly. "eat first."
you stare at him. "nanami, we don’t have time—"
"we have time," he interrupts gently, setting the plate on the counter. "you’re not leaving this house on an empty stomach. sit."
you sit. you always do. because when he looks at you like that—like taking care of you is the most important thing in the world—you can’t say no.
olderbf!nanami who never raises his voice, even when you’re being difficult. you’re arguing about something stupid—where to go for dinner, maybe, or whether you should cancel plans to stay in—and your voice is getting louder, your hands gesturing wildly.
he just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you. "you’re not even listening!" you snap.
"i am," he says quietly. "i’m listening to every word. and when you’re done, we’ll talk about it calmly. like adults."
you deflate, your anger fizzling out. "you’re too kind to me," you mutter.
he steps forward, his hands finding your waist. "you’re worth the kindness."
olderbf!nanami who takes his time undressing you, like every layer is a gift he’s unwrapping. you’re in his bedroom, the lights dimmed, and you’re already reaching for his belt, impatient, wanting him now.
"slow down," he murmurs, catching your hands. "we have all night."
you pout. "i don’t want to wait."
he leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "i know, baby. i know. but i’m going to make you wait. because the longer i take, the better it’ll feel when i finally touch you." he undresses you slowly, his fingers working each button, each zipper, until you’re standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear. he steps back, his eyes raking over you. "beautiful," he says. "now lay down."
olderbf!nanami who eats you out like it’s a meditation, like he could spend hours between your thighs and never get bored. you’re on your back, your legs over his shoulders, and he’s taking his time, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes.
"n-nanami—please—" you gasp, your hands fisting the sheets. he looks up at you, his mouth glistening.
"patience," he says, his voice calm even as he slides two fingers inside you. "i’m going to make you cum. but i’m going to do it my way." he curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes your vision blur, his tongue circling your clit with agonizing precision.
you’re moaning, your hips rolling, but he holds you down with one hand on your stomach. "stay still," he orders gently. "let me take care of you."
olderbf!nanami who fucks you slow and deep, his hips rolling in a rhythm that has you seeing stars. you’re on your stomach, your face pressed into the pillow, and he’s behind you, his chest pressed to your back, his cock buried so deep you can barely breathe.
"nanami—h-harder!!—" you beg, trying to push back against him. he stills, his hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck.
"no," he says, his voice firm but kind. "you take what i give you." he starts moving again, each thrust deliberate, each roll of his hips dragging against your walls in a way that makes you sob. "you feel that?" he murmurs against your ear. "that’s me. all of me. and you’re going to take every inch, just like this. until you can’t think about anything but how full you are."
olderbf!nanami who makes you ask for what you want, his voice low and commanding. you’re straddling him, his cock inside you, but he’s not moving.
he’s just watching you, his hands on your hips, his thumbs stroking your skin.
"p-please, i.... i can't—" you whimper, trying to roll your hips. he holds you still.
"use your words," he says. "tell me what you want."
"i-i want you to move," you gasp. "i want you to fuck me."
he smiles, small and satisfied. "good girl. now ask nicely."
you bite your lip, your face burning.
"please fuck me, nanami. please."
he rewards you with a slow thrust upward, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes you moan. "that’s it," he praises. "that's my girl."
olderbf!nanami who holds you after, his arms wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. you’re lying on his chest, your body still trembling, your mind fuzzy with pleasure.
he’s stroking your hair, his lips pressed to the top of your head. "you did so well," he murmurs. "so beautiful. so perfect." you nuzzle closer, your eyes already drifting shut.
"you’re too good to me," you whisper. he kisses your forehead.
"no such thing. you deserve everything. and i’m going to give it to you for as long as you’ll let me."
olderbf!nanami who wakes you up in the morning with his mouth between your legs, because he’s not done taking care of you yet. you’re half-asleep, your body warm and heavy, when you feel his hands on your thighs, spreading you open.
"nanami—" you start, but then his tongue is on you, and you’re gasping, your hands flying to his hair. he looks up at you, his eyes dark.
"good morning," he says, his voice rough with sleep. "lay back. let me love you." and you do. because when nanami wants to be patient, you let him. every single time.
olderbf!nanami who never rushes you, no matter how impatient you get. you’re standing in front of your closet, frustrated, pulling out dresses and tossing them onto the bed.
"i have nothing to wear," you groan. he’s sitting in the armchair by the window, his tie already loosened, watching you with that calm, steady gaze.
"we have forty-five minutes," he says, his voice low and even. "take your time."
you huff, turning to face him. "you’re always so patient. it’s annoying."
he smiles, small and fond. "i’ve waited forty years to find you. i can wait forty-five minutes for you to pick a dress."
olderbf!nanami who always makes sure you eat before you leave the house. you’re running late, your heels clicking on the kitchen floor as you grab your purse.
"we’re going to be late," you say, already halfway to the door.
he steps in front of you, a plate in his hand—toast with avocado, a soft-boiled egg, sliced fruit arranged neatly. "eat first."
you stare at him. "nanami, we don’t have time—"
"we have time," he interrupts gently, setting the plate on the counter. "you’re not leaving this house on an empty stomach. sit."
you sit. you always do. because when he looks at you like that—like taking care of you is the most important thing in the world—you can’t say no.
olderbf!nanami who never raises his voice, even when you’re being difficult. you’re arguing about something stupid—where to go for dinner, maybe, or whether you should cancel plans to stay in—and your voice is getting louder, your hands gesturing wildly.
he just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you. "you’re not even listening!" you snap.
"i am," he says quietly. "i’m listening to every word. and when you’re done, we’ll talk about it calmly. like adults."
you deflate, your anger fizzling out. "you’re too kind to me," you mutter.
he steps forward, his hands finding your waist. "you’re worth the kindness."
olderbf!nanami who takes his time undressing you, like every layer is a gift he’s unwrapping. you’re in his bedroom, the lights dimmed, and you’re already reaching for his belt, impatient, wanting him now.
"slow down," he murmurs, catching your hands. "we have all night."
you pout. "i don’t want to wait."
he leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "i know, baby. i know. but i’m going to make you wait. because the longer i take, the better it’ll feel when i finally touch you." he undresses you slowly, his fingers working each button, each zipper, until you’re standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear. he steps back, his eyes raking over you. "beautiful," he says. "now lay down."
olderbf!nanami who eats you out like it’s a meditation, like he could spend hours between your thighs and never get bored. you’re on your back, your legs over his shoulders, and he’s taking his time, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes.
"n-nanami—please—" you gasp, your hands fisting the sheets. he looks up at you, his mouth glistening.
"patience," he says, his voice calm even as he slides two fingers inside you. "i’m going to make you cum. but i’m going to do it my way." he curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes your vision blur, his tongue circling your clit with agonizing precision.
you’re moaning, your hips rolling, but he holds you down with one hand on your stomach. "stay still," he orders gently. "let me take care of you."
olderbf!nanami who fucks you slow and deep, his hips rolling in a rhythm that has you seeing stars. you’re on your stomach, your face pressed into the pillow, and he’s behind you, his chest pressed to your back, his cock buried so deep you can barely breathe.
"nanami—h-harder!!—" you beg, trying to push back against him. he stills, his hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck.
"no," he says, his voice firm but kind. "you take what i give you." he starts moving again, each thrust deliberate, each roll of his hips dragging against your walls in a way that makes you sob. "you feel that?" he murmurs against your ear. "that’s me. all of me. and you’re going to take every inch, just like this. until you can’t think about anything but how full you are."
olderbf!nanami who makes you ask for what you want, his voice low and commanding. you’re straddling him, his cock inside you, but he’s not moving.
he’s just watching you, his hands on your hips, his thumbs stroking your skin.
"p-please, i.... i can't—" you whimper, trying to roll your hips. he holds you still.
"use your words," he says. "tell me what you want."
"i-i want you to move," you gasp. "i want you to fuck me."
he smiles, small and satisfied. "good girl. now ask nicely."
you bite your lip, your face burning.
"please fuck me, nanami. please."
he rewards you with a slow thrust upward, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes you moan. "that’s it," he praises. "that's my girl."
olderbf!nanami who holds you after, his arms wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. you’re lying on his chest, your body still trembling, your mind fuzzy with pleasure.
he’s stroking your hair, his lips pressed to the top of your head. "you did so well," he murmurs. "so beautiful. so perfect." you nuzzle closer, your eyes already drifting shut.
"you’re too good to me," you whisper. he kisses your forehead.
"no such thing. you deserve everything. and i’m going to give it to you for as long as you’ll let me."
olderbf!nanami who wakes you up in the morning with his mouth between your legs, because he’s not done taking care of you yet. you’re half-asleep, your body warm and heavy, when you feel his hands on your thighs, spreading you open.
"nanami—" you start, but then his tongue is on you, and you’re gasping, your hands flying to his hair. he looks up at you, his eyes dark.
"good morning," he says, his voice rough with sleep. "lay back. let me love you." and you do. because when nanami wants to be patient, you let him. every single time.
Synopsis. A jester marrying a princess? Not even in the most terrible joke.
Gojo Satoru has loved you ever since the first time he made you laugh, he’s loved you since you appointed him as your personal jester—and he’s loved you even when your royal engagement was announced.
But if only a prince can marry a princess…maybe a jester can wreck it.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!princess!reader, jester!Gojo, royalty AU, forbídden Iove, yearning, PLOT, hurt, best friends to Iovers, betrothaIs (not to Gojo), he’s so siIIy, and so in Iove, sad backstorìes, vìoIence and bIood (not to or from Gojo), rhymes, pranks, Naoya’s awfuI, hidden schemes, makeovers, masquerade baIIs, masks, somewhat CindereIIa-Iike, oraI (fem rec.), tongue f, fìngering, he’s PÚSSYDRÚNK, p taIking, pínching, bíting, spítting, ínappropriate use of the jester hat, he’s FÉRAL, raw, matíng presses, first times (for both), he’s BlG, making it fit, talking you through it, pushing down, dirty taIk, rhymes whilst he’s INSIDE, creampíes, cúmpIay, royal weddings, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 16.8k
A/N. TO THE LOVELY BABYGIRLS THAT HAVE BEEN BEEEEGGING FOR THIS TROPE- and inspired by the very talented @/karolineprihodko on Tiktok <33
“A fool may sleep. A fool may sneer. A fool may ask why the princess is crying here?”
It’s so sudden that it stops your tears.
Crouched in a small passageway near the royal court. Between the gleaming armors upon display of Gakuganji the Great and Kashimo the Fierce. For a brief moment of madness; you think you must have imagined the lilting voice—almost melodic. Marvelous.
It’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever heard - even more so than the music wafting from the open doors of court, brought by the travelling circus that your palace was entertaining.
And then you’re hearing him again.
“Sob sob sob—for my princess is a crier. Dear Gojo here, shall set Yaga’s stache on fire—!”
That makes you finally lift your head out of your arms, with a laugh that is full-chested and unabashed. For the first time in a long…long time.
“What might your name be?” You ask the boy with the bright blue eyes, and an even brighter smile.
And that was the story of how you met Gojo Satoru - when you were eight, and he’d been merely ten. Though he didn’t look ten—he might’ve looked even younger than you.
White hair. Winks of dimples upon each cheek. His face was chalk-white from the make-up typical of jesters, even young ones, supposedly.
He was drowning in a faded red and blue jester outfit that looked as if it’d been dragged through multiple shows a night. It looked far too big to have been his originally. Even through the patched-up collar, his collarbones showed, and from the too-wide sleeves; his pale, near-skeletal limbs stuck out oddly.
His face was pretty, however, with eyes too large for his head.
Gojo’s cheeks were sunken in, yet his smile wasn’t the slightest bit smaller. That, too, looked too large to be his.
And you…
Crying outside the royal court, after your parents had declared you far too young to see the travelling circus. The acrobats. The sword-swallowers. And one little jester…that had gone missing during the processions.
Though, in time, Gojo took delight in weaving in additional parts of fighting off dragons and two haunted knight armors—enraptured courts that clapped and laughed as he sang of a white-haired fool and his crying princess. He’d whisked you off your feet and made you swoon in ways a princess utterly shouldn’t - and then produced you before your horrified father, His Majesty, as the sole suitor that made you laugh.
At least according to him.
Though one thing was true from that fairytale: Gojo had been the only person to make you laugh. The only one.
Previous jesters and palace acts wavered between confusing you with their overly long ballads, or enraging you - all because they assumed some little princess couldn’t handle humor. And maybe that was why - Gojo hadn’t underestimated you - that you’d gone right up to your father in the middle of a particularly splendid fire-breathing act, stood in the center of the lavish floor, and declared—
For Gojo to be released from the circus to become your personal jester.
As a royal jester he would be clothed, bathed, and tutored alongside you - so long as he kept you entertained with his rhymes (to which you had no doubt that he wouldn’t falter).
Not minister nor royal guest should lay a hand on him. He was to be treated as an equal member of the court, and should have titles bestowed upon him in due time—but for now, he will grow up as your best friend. Your only.
And whilst declaring this in about as much royal haughtiness as you could have managed, you looked over at Gojo. You don’t remember for what reason. You don’t remember what you were looking for.
All you remember is that Gojo’s eyes seemed brighter in that moment, like the night’s cloak of stars. There were tears in his eyes.
And he flashed you his crooked grin.
You grinned back.
His Majesty and the advisors didn’t take long to mull over the thought before asking the circus master to name his price for the boy. And Gojo had been small then - oh-so-small - a mere waif of a boy. He was clearly the youngest amongst these adults, and the circus master hadn’t even remembered he was part of the troupe.
He’d demanded two crowns and a bag of wheat.
To which The King had obliged with a simple wave of his hand—before freeing the other circus members, as well. He was merciful…most of the time.
And you’d been so overcome with joy that you ran to the jester and took his hands then and there.
Had it been in the little passageway where you’d met, then you might even have embraced him.
But perhaps you’d given the ministers enough conniptions for the day?
“Follow me.” You breathlessly whispered to the little jester that seemed far too shocked for words. “I shall summon the royal tailor whilst you take your bath- we have every fragrance in the land, and more than enough botanical springs.”
But the longer he stayed speechless and unmoving, the more self-conscious you grew.
Your fingers loosened around his, “That…that is if you wish to-”
“I do.” He stopped you from slipping away - he clasped your hands even tighter. Tight enough to nearly hurt—but you didn’t stop him. “I-I’d be honored, Your Highness.”
“You shan’t have to call me that.”
And though a few eavesdropping court ladies and gentlemen gasped at the destruction of long-held social etiquette, Gojo had merely smiled and nodded. And then you’d been the one to whisk him away.
You.
Gojo shared little about his upbringing that first day in the palace, and even less over the years. You knew that he’d been born into an average family just a kingdom over - Gojo itself was a fairly used name - but tragedy struck and his parents both passed away—although you never asked how, and he never shared why. It almost…seemed as if he didn’t remember. A part of him that had scrubbed out most of those years, like a bloodstain.
And he’d lived in the same lifeless home as them for five days. Trying to wake them.
No one listened.
No one arrived.
No one helped.
No one helped.
No one helped.
Driven by hunger and loneliness, Gojo finally left the house after those five days. And just his fortune, he hadn’t walked long before encountering the travelling circus—so many jugglers and jesters and acrobats and fire-breathers. And one master leading them from the front.
He’d been both enraptured and scared.
And hungry. So…so hungry.
Even the smell of the lion food was appetizing to him.
One acrobat passing by had spotted the boy watching wide-eyed from the side of the road, and seeing how desperate he was, shared her lunch and invited him to join. It was the biggest act of kindness he’d felt in five days.
And so he taught himself to rhyme. To joke. To smile.
And two years later was when you saved him- you told Gojo that it wasn’t so much as saving him than him saving you. But he denied.
“Thank you.” Gojo had whispered to you, almost fearful, during his first night in the palace. The Princess’s jester had been granted quarters right across the hallway from your own chambers—and yet, the first night was always the scariest, wasn’t it?
He’d given you quite the fright sneaking into your royal chamber after all the candles had been snuffed and your attendants had left. Soundless as a mouse—and looking just as unwelcome inside the gilded bedroom. But eventually, you welcomed him onto the lavish mattress far too large for even two.
Let alone two children.
Laid a fair distance apart, you faced each other.
“I forbid you to say those words again, Gojo.” You smiled. “And just for the one night, I trust?” You meant the bed-sharing; should your attendants walk upon this in the morning, then Gojo would be thrown into the dungeons faster than he can rhyme.
Gojo nodded, somewhat flushed. “Just for the one night.”
.
.
.
“Satoru-”
“Mmmm, puff pastries and wagashi.”
“Satoru.”
“Huh? Ohhh, sweet cheesecake.”
“Sato—” The exasperated call of his name doesn’t land before the kick does - square in the middle of Gojo Satoru’s broad back.
Sometime in the last few years, after he’d taken up training with General Yaga to keep himself fit for his dances, Gojo had started sleeping without his upper garments on.
And you couldn’t deny that it was a sight for sore eyes; his sun-freckled sun, the dips and curves of his muscles shifting as he did. The roundness of his deltoids. The sensual curve of his spine. The patterns of his scapulae, and lash marks that he wouldn’t explain. They moved like waves of an ocean, and they peaked and fell just as much. Some mornings you dared to trace every single one—just with your eyes, of course.
But of course, he was just your best friend - socially, your jester, at that.
Which is exactly why you’re kicking him off the bed the second you hear your morning attendants heading down the corridor. As soon as he’s out of sight, the double doors to your bedroom open—and they’re floating inside with steaming-hot trays of breakfast and new fragrances for your skin.
One of the attendants sets the breakfast tray down on your bedside table, and you sneak him a few of the blueberry-spotted pancakes. Though have to slap Gojo’s hand away from swiping the syrup, too, before one of them sees.
“Such a beautiful day, isn’t it, Your Highness?” Your head attendant, Utahime, trills as she throws the curtains open to let soft morning sunlight flood inside. “The perfect morning.”
“It is.” You’re nodding. You slap Gojo’s hand away from the syrup again.
“And we have no more than an hour to get you ready, Your Highness. So I beg you to finish your tea quickly.” Another attendant hands you your morning tea - just how you liked it. It smelled of something floral that reminded you of the royal gardens, and something else so utterly appetizing that you could feel Gojo huffin’ and puffing about beneath you.
Served him right for sneaking in again, you think.
You slap Gojo’s hand away again. Utahime continues speaking onwards obliviously, “—prepare for the guest.”
“A guest?” That piques your interest.
This time, Gojo steals the syrup. And it creates a loud clatter that draws the attention of all the attendants sweeping and scurrying about to pick out your gown for the day—you’re unceremoniously coughing to cover it up. You’re not sure it works.
Utahime crinkles her nose, “Nasty little ailment, isn’t it?” Her intelligent eyes dip down to the bed - though she keeps it discreet. Utahime, as well as being your head attendant, was one of your closest friends as well.
Close to you in age, you’d hand-picked her to be what was essentially your right-hand woman.
And she knew of the rather…close friendship that you and Gojo had; perhaps improper for court etiquette, but just right for the two of you.
From underneath the bed, Gojo snickers.
You bounce on the mattress, whilst Utahime kicks the bed post.
“Ah…this ancient bed.” You’re commenting once the other attendants look at you with raised brows, “Honestly, sometimes I believe it to be haunted.”
“Wake up to a mysterious figure at your bedside, do you?” Utahime eyes you. You avert your gaze from hers. “Well, we should do well to rid your chambers of that before the Prince arrives, Your Highness.”
“The Prince?”
“Prince Zenin Naoya, of course.”
Gojo knocks his head on the bed frame.
.
.
.
Prince Zenin Naoya possessed many titles; the latest one being the most unpleasant royal you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.
Which was saying rather a lot.
You’ve met many a-princess that were appalling to her attendants, and many princes that boasted their numerous wars. Your father himself fell into the latter group. And many, many more dukes and duchesses and marquis—and whatever other title had surfaced over the last few centuries and gotten latched-onto with rabid, golden-ringed claws. Had it not been for your duty to maintain a peaceful political climate, you would have forgone those social gatherings altogether.
Though your father was particularly careful not to repeat the border strife that had occurred not too long ago in your kingdom…some violence-seeped dispute over power.
And so you lifted your head and plastered a smile.
You managed to clamor through even the most painful of social obligations.
But this one…this one might just force you to rewrite all the royal rules that had been drilled into you since you were younger.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” You nod in acknowledgement as the Prince bows. His coronet was made of pure gold; a simple band with a blood-red ruby in the middle.
It flashed at you menacingly.
And so did his pearly-white smile.
“The pleasure is all yours, Your Highness.”
You’re taken aback at his choice of words. You meet Gojo’s eyes a little ways away from the court- and his read the same confusion. He shakes his head imperceptibly. Then Naoya turns to the King seated on the throne beside you instead. His smile leers, “My utmost gratitude for this invitation, Your Majesty. My parents send their regards.”
“Good people, good people.” Your father nods, “Their assistance during…those times of trouble shall forever remain in my memory.”
“Who are we if not united against the face of the radicals, Your Majesty?” Naoya graciously bows once more.
“Well said.” And then the King makes a sweeping gesture in your direction. “And in the future, it seems we shall be united once more.”
Naoya throws his gaze at you again, and the way he looks at you…it makes you hug your arms to yourself.
You’re unsure why your gaze had been upon Gojo at that very moment - they always did seem to find him - but you watch as his expression darkens. Darkens. Darkens. In a way you’ve never seen before, and then it’s hitting you—
“Father?”
But he ignores you, “Satoru—!” In the years that you’ve brought Gojo to court, your father had become rather fond of his rhymes and riddles as much as you were. So it wasn’t exactly surprising that he had been called upon, and Gojo’s expression switches instantly into one of foolish mirth. “Why don’t you share one of your amusing rhymes with our guest?”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” He bows deeply. As he makes his way to the middle of the court, where Naoya and his entourage were gathered, the bells upon his blue-and-white garments jingle.
And before you know it, Gojo clasps onto Naoya’s shoulders and ensnares him with his words. “Naoya o’ Naoya, with your great riches and gait.” The corners of his lips twitch - something sharp. Gojo covers his mouth in a faux-whisper, though his words reach every single corner of the vast chamber. “Every lady here knows you take potions to compensate~”
Naoya’s face turns green then red. A furious red.
As if fearing the Prince would swing, Gojo jumps back- just in time for the hay-blond man to whirl around. “But oh, no potion shall make Prince Naoya’s rooster big—the most you ladies get will be the size of a fig~”
The jester laughs maniacally, and so does much of the court; you yourself can’t stop from letting out a startled laugh or two.
Your best friend never did hold back - perhaps because he was the only one allowed to do so without fearing the threat of the dungeons.
And Gojo watches as a giggle slips past the hand you’d brought up to cover your mouth- and his grin widens as he takes it as a challenge. Dancing around Naoya, he continues—
“Naoya is hated by the ladies of the court. Naoya is hated in his medical reports~” He trills gleefully, darting a hand out and knocking Naoya’s coronet off. “And all the ladies and all the healers, have never seen a cock this short~”
Red face now turning almost…a sickly yellow, Naoya attempts to fist-fight the jester. Though Gojo was far more agile than he looked, and he was dodging each hit with ease.
“Oh—have I offended you, Your Highness? Perhaps a change of pace…” Gojo crows. “For all Naoya hates women, he might as well court men-”
“You- you—”
“Easy, son.” Your father chuckles to himself as well, “You should do good to familiarize yourself with the Princess’s jester if you are to marry her.”
Gojo stutters- and his rhyme pauses. His eyes widen.
You feel the red, red carpet give out beneath you.
.
.
.
“I simply must…apologize for Sato- my jester, Your Highness.”
The clinking of silverware fortunately masked the waver in your tone. It was insincere and unapologetic.
Naoya maintains an expression as if he’d just smelled something unpleasant, perhaps as if it was on his very plate. The Prince cuts into his bird with far too much force than necessary, “Apology accepted.” Rather short.
Though you yourself didn’t care—you shoot a look at the ministers that were currently attempting to meld into the royal portraits on the wall.
With nervous smiles, they urge you to continue.
It was a poor imitation of a romantic dinner - as romantic as a political marriage could get.
The royal dining room had a table that sprawled nearly from one end-to-end. Polished mahogany. Intricately-carved legs. So thick that they didn’t buckle under the hundreds of dishes piled on top: soups to puddings to heart-shaped wagashi to those you couldn’t even name. Woven in-between were flickering candles and vases of red, red roses—sprouting confessions of love.
Some of those petals were even scattered across the floor.
Though the dining room could seat about four-hundred guests, right now it only seated him and you. You and your future husband.
Your future husband.
Your future husband.
Your future husband.
It still hadn’t sunk in, and you didn’t want it to.
Zenin Naoya takes a bite of his roasted bird and spits it back out. From his entourage, one of the Zenin ministers darts out with a dish to collect it.
You wrinkle your nose in distaste.
Two courts were watching this fallacy of courtship.
From your side, it was the entirety of your court save for some of the outer ladies-in-waiting and some gents, and your parents. From his side, it was Naoya’s entire entourage at his every beck, call, and swallow. Just waiting for the opportunity that their beloved Prince didn’t like anything.
Which seemed to be…everything.
You yourself can only pick at the delicacies on your plate - they’d done well to include favorites of both you and His Highness. And yet…
And yet, in the past eighteen years you’ve never sat through a dinner without Gojo at your side.
Always at your right-hand seat. Always chomping through his dinner with overexaggerated noises that made you laugh, and the ministers grimace.
How could you feel so alone surrounded by so many people, and yet lacking one?
You’re biting back a sigh.
“Pssst.”
Confused, you look up at Naoya- but he seems just as morbidly indulgent in his food as he was before. He was spitting out even more.
And so you look around—but none of the ministers nor advisors catch your eye, either.
“Psssssst.”
There it was again. Somewhat irritated and feeling your confusion growing - this dinner certainly hadn’t put you in a good mood - you’re about to excuse yourself from this social hostage-situation. Someone must be attempting to make a fool out of you. You’re resting your hands on the polished table and about to push off—
When you feel something…touch your wrist.
You’re about to scream-
“Tamper your screaming, please.”
Oh, well if they asked so nicely…
Wait-
Who?
Without making too much of a spectacle, you slide your fork off the edge of the table.
Naoya grumbles at the metallic ringing—and muttering a dainty apology, you’re leaning down to pick it up. Or so it seems.
Instead, you’re crouching yourself down and lifting the tablecloth ever-so-slightly. It’s a purple velvet, one of the finest in the land, and it opens up to reveal one of the greatest treasures this palace held. At least, in your opinion.
Gojo Satoru brings a finger up to his lips and winks. His make-up crinkling handsomely as he did so, “Do you frequent these parts?”
“I should ask the same from you.” You hiss, glancing around to make sure that no one was looking. “Satoru, what do you think you’re doing-”
“Exercising my culinary skills, my princess.” And he raises up a little velvet packet in one hand, shaking it around tantalizingly. He answers your question before you can voice it, “Just a little horseshoe, just a little wool from Yaga’s sweater, and perhaps the Prince that swallows this shall be a little sweeter~”
Your jaw drops. “You cannot be serious-”
“Never in my life have I been more serious.” Gojo replies solemnly, then with an innocent flutter of his lashes- “Forgive me for not sharing, my princess. But perhaps you would favor it as well?”
“It shan’t suit my palate.” You answer firmly.
“It’s far more palatable than what I did to the wine, trust me.” Gojo smirks.
“You rouge.”
He opens his mouth as if to say something more, but Naoya’s tone grates through the little bubble of mirth you’d formed—in less than a minute, no less. “Wife- wife.”
You and Gojo stare at one another in shock.
Wife?
One of your ministers coughs pointedly, and with a final glance at Gojo, you’re straightening in your chair. “Were you perhaps addressing…me, Your Highness?” And any smart man would have quickly backtracked at this opportunity to change their answer.
But you never claimed that Zenin Naoya was particularly smart. “My eyes don’t perceive any other woman here?” He scoffs, taking a bite of a chicken leg and then immediately spitting it out—“As for the engagement plans- eugh.”
You’re biting back a laugh as he drags out a string - seemingly from a wool…sweater…of Yaga’s - from his mouth and looks at his ministers in bewilderment.
“Th-the chef must have been in a state of pioneering.” You cough out.
Another bite he takes.
And another wad of wool he spits out.
You bring a hand up to your lips, “Perhaps you should wash it down with the wine, Your Highness? It had been brewed specifically for this occasion.”
And so he does - eyeing you all the while.
Naoya takes a big swig of his goblet and—shrieks as he finds half of a shoe inside.
One of Gojo’s very own.
That shriek is loud enough to make the walls of the dining chamber rattle; and Gojo shoots out from the side of the dining table, unable to keep his laughter in control, and dances away. “Twiddle dee, twiddle doo—Naoya coughed up a shoe~” Those double doors are still swinging as it sinks in what just happened- and your ministers and guards take a menacing step towards where the colorful intruder had disappeared.
You raise your hand to signal them to halt.
“This insolent—” Naoya was spitting with fury- unable to even formulate words. His mouth is a downturned slash, and he shoves the plate off the table. It shatters vociferously.
You notice that he’s turned a little green in the way he only seemed to do when Gojo was nearby. “My first order as King shall be to rid this incompetent kitchen-” He spits. “-and that godforsaken jester-”
Your fork clatters to the floor once again. “What’s wrong with Satoru?” You didn’t care if you sounded rather too offended by such a question. “Is it the practical jokes? I shall request that he ceases such-”
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Naoya cackles to himself. “Woman, what is there not wrong about that goddamn fool? He’s- he’s—a fool.”
“For that is his duty, is it not?” You narrow your eyes at him.
“I suppose.” Naoya leans back in his chair, “But his duty is to the crown, and when I am King-”
“His duty is to me.” Before you know it, you’re standing. You’re breathing hard. You’re ignoring the ministers that attempt to hold you back. “He’s my best fri—jester.”
And you repeat…though you don’t know whether it’s more for yourself, Naoya, or the boy with the blue eyes that was once underneath the table.
“He’s mine.”
Those words fall like the blade of a guillotine.
Naoya’s eyes were spitting fire. “He’s…yours, is it?” He throws his cape back and stands, “Your Highness…I fail to understand why you entangle yourself with a mere jester?” Though the sentence itself wasn’t one particularly barbed, his distaste bled through every syllable.
“He- he is my best friend-”
“He is a jester.” Naoya says with a tone of finality. He pushes back, letting the chair clutter behind him- the brings up a palm to stop his ministers from righting it. “And a jester can never be anything to a princess. Never.”
Those footsteps of his resound louder than your heartbeat. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
On the way to making his exit, he stops before the entrance and speaks. “We are to be engaged in six moons, and when you are my wife, I expect you to act like one.” Naoya’s gaze is deadly as he grips the door open, “My family earned our titles bringing down entire households- a mere jester is nothing to me.”
Another guillotine: this time, it’s the closing of the dining room doors.
“Your Highness-”
But you’re following Naoya out, and tears burn behind your eyes.
Just as luck - or perhaps fate - would have it, who else had been standing behind the doors listening to every word? None other than Gojo Satoru.
Though his face is downturned, and you can’t make out his expression, your heart soars at the sight of him. He’s pressed against one of the walls closest to the doors, and he clenches his fists at his sides. And you’re just about to reach out- to tell him that Naoya’s words didn’t matter- to tell him that Naoya didn’t matter—
But before you could, Gojo sharply turns to you and bows. Those bells atop his hat jingle as he does so, and he stays bowed as he asks, “This fool begs to be dismissed, Your Highness?”
Your Highness? “You…you may…” Your brows furrow, fingers trembling towards him. “But Satoru-”
And yet, he’s gone.
And you didn’t get a single look at his expression.
You wondered what you would see. You wondered what you would be hoping to see.
But no matter what it was, you knew that all you wanted to see - whether anger or mirth or irritation - was Gojo himself.
Your engagement was in six moons.
.
.
.
To your dismay, Gojo Satoru was avoiding you.
You should have realized that something was off that moment after the disastrous dinner—or perhaps when he didn’t join you to sleep, or perhaps when he hadn’t joined court in the following days. According to one of the palace staff, the jester was ill, but every attempt at a visit to his quarters ended up with you being rebuffed or diverted.
And how many opportunities for diversion there were.
The palace was a-flush with florists, and bakers, and candle-makers, and mask-designers—and orchestras upon orchestras practising for your engagement waltz.
One of those times you’d been dragged away to floral-picking for the grand engagement ball - the one that would announce your union to the entire kingdom. Another time it had been to pose for a portrait with Naoya (a particularly taxing endeavour). And another time it was to pick out the colors for your mask- this was to be an extravagant masquerade ball after all. And another time it had been to get fitted for the ballgown you’d be wearing for the night—like exactly right now.
This time, you’d gotten just past the guards stationed upon either side of Gojo’s chambers (both on his word, and to prevent the Princess from getting into any…scandalous affairs before the engagement).
And you’d cracked open the door - ever-so-slightly - only to find that what was inside…made you halt.
Gojo’s room was completely and utterly empty.
Not just of himself, but of his literature books, his shoes, his bells, his flower vases. Anything and everything that made the chamber so utterly Gojo’s, was gone. Even the braid of friendship you wove for him when you were twelve - that he kept at the very top of his jewelry box - and the flower crowns you made for him that he dried and hung from his windows—you made them rather often, before…Naoya.
He had intruded upon your idle dance between love and friendship - and you were still feeling bitter and confused as Utahime fitted you. As she wound up the hip springs of your corset- and tightened, and tightened—
“I just fail- hah, fail to understand.” You’re muttering, slightly out-of-breath.
Utahime looks up from the knots of your corset, “Your Highness?”
The royal tailor had just stepped out to aid in bringing the imported silk and cloth of gold up to your bed chambers, and in the meantime your attendants were helping tighten your numerous layers underneath. Your ballgown - engagement dress, more precisely - would be fitted on top of the base linen undergarments and the crinolines.
Tonight, you will be engaged.
And to a man that has never made you laugh once-
“Your Highness?” Utahime repeats, snapping you out of your little reverie.
“Oh- forgive me.” You nod at her in acknowledgment. “What I meant to say was, I just fail to understand what he’s thinking.”
She nods back - you didn’t have to specify who. “It is precisely as I have told you, Your Highness.” Utahime tightens a few more knots- knocks a few more breaths out of you. “That ol’ nuisance has not a single thought in his mind. You must not worry yourself too much about him.”
“Oh, but Utahime…how can I not?” You’re sure the flurry of other attendants surrounding you were listening in - smoothing down your layers, preparing your jewelry. But you didn’t care at the moment, if you did say so yourself.
“I believe it is just a little ailment, Your Highness. I fear I am not blessed enough for such a thing to prove fatal to that jester-”
You gulp. “I believe Satoru may be avoiding me.”
At that, even Utahime’s brows furrow. “Pardon?”
“His chambers have been emptied of even the flower crowns, and I haven’t even the faintest glimpse of him these past few days.” Speaking these words aloud seems to make them too real. “I believe I told you of how he overheard the conversation between Naoya and I?”
Utahime nods.
“Naoya had uttered some things- balderdash, if you ask me—” Your fists threaten to clench, but two attendants were working on your nails. Another was double-checking the measurements for your mask. Mask. “Yet I fear Satoru may have misconstrued some things…and I haven’t laid eyes on him ever since.”
There’s a silence.
Her fingers finish their final knot.
And then Utahime stands to look you squarely in the eyes. “This is Gojo Satoru we speak of, is it not?”
Slowly, unsure of where this was going, you nod.
“Then you have naught to worry about, Your Highness.” She flashes you such a beautiful smile, looking over your corset for imperfections - of course, there were none. “It is most likely that he’s skulking about these palace walls, looking for a minister to scare or a prince to embarrass.”
You’re letting out a soft huff of laughter.
“Or even…a princess to adore.”
Your eyes widen- and you’re snapping your gaze to hers. There’s a knowing expression that Utahime wears - one she often gets whenever she notices Gojo hiding in your room, or watches the two of you sneak out during royal balls.
This one, in particular, was about to be the most crowded and convoluted yet.
And you’re meeting her smile, eventually. “I thank you, Utahime…” You then look down as you hear the doors of the dressing room fly open, “But adoration cannot stop a royal engagement.”
Three sharp claps sound as the tailor gets the attention of your attendants.
“That will be all, ladies. Thank you.” And his own attendants and apprentices flood the room to take over the fitting stage—Utahime squeezes your shoulder as she leaves.
Though she doesn’t reach her bed chambers for a much-needed rest, as she might have wanted to. Instead, she’s halting right outside the entrance-
“You.”
And making sure you were occupied by the tailoring, Gojo bows dramatically. Holding his little bells so they don’t jingle- “At your service, Madam Sour-face.”
“Cease it.”
“No, I said Sour-face-”
“Forget it.” Utahime could feel a migraine coming on already at the mere sight of his impish grin.
“Sour-face Utahime with her pressure so high, one more joke and she’ll make me cry~”
Why - oh why - couldn’t the universe take as kindly to her and forbid her from seeing this man, too? She continues, “First, enlighten me as to why you’ve been giving Her Highness the cut?”
A too-innocent expression crosses his face. “Pardon? I fear I have no recollection of ever-”
“I will kill you with my bare hands and feel no ounce of guilt.”
Gojo clicks his jaw shut.
“I…” And it’s under the pressure of her unwavering glare that he finally cracks- letting out a deep sigh and dropping his head. “I plan to leave the palace.”
“Pardon?” Even she sounds utterly shocked. “When-”
“Tonight.” Gojo has never sounded more serious to her. “I have spent the past few days gathering my possessions, everything…she gifted me. As the ball starts tonight, I shall take my leave.”
“But your duties-”
“I have informed His Majesty of my decision. It seems though he shall miss the rhymes, he is keen for an amicable marriage between Her Highness and Prince Naoya. A jester can be replaced, trust in a marriage cannot—especially not one of political nature.” Utahime is almost shocked at this simple foresight, but then again- everyone always did underestimate the fool.
She watches his reaction, “And…the Princess?”
Which seems to make him flinch - as though struck. Perhaps a part of him was. “…I shall leave her a letter before I depart. Her Highness does not deserve to see such cowardice-”
“And yet you still remain.” Utahime’s words make his blue eyes snap to hers. She crosses her arms in front of her, and lets a smug smile take over her lips. “For what reason were you spying outside Her Highness’s fitting, if not to see her?”
“I—” He takes a desperate step closer. “It was simply in passing-”
“For what reason did you empty your bedroom of the flower crowns Her Highness made especially for you? Surely they shan’t prove themselves too useful on the road?”
Gojo’s eyes widened. “I…the memories-”
“For what reason have you waited until the last minute to leave? Until the last minute she shall not be yours, and yours only?”
He snarls, “She was never mine.”
“Because you believe the Princess does not deserve to base herself- being the lover of a fool yes?” When Gojo does not answer, she continues. “The fool seems to believe he knows what the Princess deserves. But does the fool know what he deserves?”
There’s a prolonged silence—of which is only punctured by the awed gasps from inside the dressing room, as the tailor and his apprentices comment on your beauty.
Gojo has the sudden, mad thought to open those doors just a little wider and see you for himself. Just one last time.
One last time.
What was he thinking?
He laughs to himself bitterly, “A jester can never be anything to a princess. Never.”
“But a princess can be everything to a jester, yes?” Utahime asks. “More importantly- who are we to dictate what a person is to another person?”
The answer was as obvious as it was painful.
Gojo Satoru loved you.
Loves you.
Something of it must show on his face, because Utahime throws him a pitiful look she’s never shared before—“You may leave if you please, I shan’t stop you.” And then she reaches out and presses a hand against the doors- they part, unlocked. “But if you wish to stay and stop acting a-fool…then follow me.”
She brushes past him.
Meanwhile Gojo looks inside and catches a glimpse of you - and he’s never seen anything more beautiful.
He runs after Utahime, bells jingling.
.
.
.
“You look…”
“How odd.”
“How startling.”
“What a change!”
Utahime crinkles her nose, “The only thing this proves is that your face is more tolerable when it is covered.” She turns to the brown-haired woman next to her, “And that my Shoko is a goddess when it comes to handiwork.”
Shoko smiles sweetly, “I have much practice making death masks.”
“I’ll say.”
As the other few attendants pendulate between laughing to themselves, and admiring Shoko’s quick work - she’d been requested just a few hours before to make a mask befitting a royal ball, and she’d finished it just in time - Gojo leans closer to the mirror.
He reaches his trembling fingers up to touch his face, “This is surely…me?”
“Unfortunately.” Utahime sighs, and she gets elbowed by Miwa.
Utahime had gathered the most trust-worthy attendants she led: Miwa, Momo, and Kugisaki from tailoring. Along with the impeccable royal healer, Shoko, who she knew would be the only one that would be able to create a mask for the ball with her expert hands. And they’d gotten to work fixing up perhaps their most difficult case yet—none other than Gojo Satoru.
The royal jester was rather fussy at first- insisting that the powder puffs and cloth wipes tickled.
Before Utahime put her foot down and announced that they weren’t going to present a ‘half-assed’ (forgive her language) marriage-wrecker to the Princess just yet.
That reminder of you kept him quiet for the rest of the make-over.
And Kugisaki had even commented, “Perhaps we ought to invoke the Princess’s name every time we need to keep the jester in line?”
“Do not tempt me.” Utahime had replied.
Gojo had shuddered.
But it really was true: he sat through the rest of the next hour or two without so much as a single rhyme or peep.
Not even when they told him to ‘pucker up’ in order to douse him in rouges and lip stains. That likely saved five years from Utahime’s life…
Gojo himself helped them scrub off his stark-white jester’s make-up. The vampiric base. The teardrops of black paint. The red, red lips—a few of his little troupe openly stared as they’d never seen the Princess’s jester without his make-up.
And Gojo himself knew that he wasn’t all that bad looking - he had noble features. A strong nose. A high set of cheekbones. A pert, pretty mouth that always looked to be on the verge of saying something he shouldn’t.
Or, at least, that was how you described him.
You were the only person that got to see Gojo without his court-deemed make-up; and you always did say he was handsome. To which he’d always bat his long, white lashes dramatically and compose you a sappy sonnet about your eyes. He supposes he knew he was decent, but…handsome?
He never saw it.
But these girls seemed determined to make him.
Cloudy hair. Delicate features. Blue eyes like a painting.
They replaced his make-up with something simpler. Gone was the cast of white, instead replaced by just a bit of rouge and shimmer. His pale brows were tamed and so was his hair - braided to the side using fragrant rose oils, with a few pieces falling handsomely over his face. All thanks to Momo, of course.
Kugisaki had dug up something from that ol’ tailor’s trunk—a snow-white cloak and doublet, along with the associated tights he often made fun of. It was a suit fit for a prince.
And it was exactly the type of suit he’d made fun of a prince for.
But here he was now - not a single difference between him and them. Or at least physically.
Gojo’s training sessions with Yaga had kept him fit; and he fit the suit perfectly. His broad shoulders were outlined against the clean cut, and his trim waist fit snugly into those damn tights—even through the suit, it was obvious he was well-built, in a way those baggy jester’s outfits never did show. Polished shoes. Silver buttons. Silver belt. Heavy silver chains and pendants that arrived with the robes.
He might even have passed for a battle-hardened Prince like this…
Momo helped him into his equally as white gloves - it seems they were sticking to a theme for him. All the better to help his eyes and his crown stand out.
Oh yes…the girls had somehow bribed Yaga into letting them sneak down to the royal treasure. For just a few minutes.
All the spoils of war and generations of wealth—and they’d come out with a crown.
It was Utahime who’d dug this one out, deciding that that would make him stand out far more than the usual hats.
Made of pure silver; the design itself was rather simple, or so it seemed at first. Only when one looked closer…when one ventured further…could you see that what seemed like a simple band was actually a wreath of silver branches and floral vines twisted into one, with sapphire-studded flowers blooming along it. One more thing had been taken from the treasury - a signet ring with a ‘G’.
“It felt proper.” Miwa, who had found the ring, beamed. “Names and titles are lost to time. And though I may not know what the ‘G’ once stood for, at least for tonight, it can mean ‘Gojo’, can it not?”
Gojo felt it getting slid onto his left hand, and he stares at the ring with furrowed brows.
He stares and stares.
He’s never felt more worthy of you.
By the time they had finished, the strings of the orchestra had started playing their opening sequence - the ball was commencing.
Utahime turns to the rest of them, “We have done well.” Then, ultimately, back to grumble at him. “…You have done well.”
And though Gojo could make up a rhyme to rile her up, though Gojo could comment that they could have done better and bask in the ensuing chaos, though he could do his mask and his mask—
He simply looks at each and every one and smiles. Sincerely. “Thank you.”
They smile tenderly back.
The final component of his outfit for your engagement ball was the mask. Though there was no set theme, Shoko had gone above and beyond to craft his in the shape of the upper-half of a snow leopard’s face. The feline gaze. The sharp ears. The faint outline of rosettes against the white mask. It was mastery.
Gojo dons it and smiles to himself. He really did feel handsome, as you had always said.
His blue, blue eyes twinkle from behind the mask.
.
.
.
“You look absolutely riveting, Your Highness.”
“I thank you.”
This was a royal ball that looked gilded. There was no other word to describe it—gilded.
Polished floors. A thrumming orchestra. Golden chandeliers had every single candle lit; and they crept halfway down to the ballroom floor as if gifted from the Sun itself. Just for you.
And that was in addition to the numerous other decorations that made even the most high-titled of guests gape in awe: the shimmering fountains that looked as if they were sprouting liquid gold, golden-dipped gardenias wreathed around the hallway, and the long table of foods were most lovely. All sorts of sweets and champagnes in honor of the union.
Guests upon guests upon guests being announced as they entered. They were dressed to impress, and there were more aristocrats gathered for this one ball than you’d seen in your entire life, perhaps.
Had Gojo been here with you, then you two would’ve had the most amusing time coming up with stories for each one.
There was Sir Gakuganji who held a secret liking for abstract dancing, here was Lord Todo whose son had fallen in love with a thousand-year-old portrait. No one would be spared. The two of you would have tucked yourself into some alcove and watched as the lavishments flew by, and when everyone was appropriately drunk you’d sneak out to the stables or to star-gaze.
Your heart clenches.
Satoru…
You attempt to shake your head free of him.
It most certainly was a beautiful ball. And if you imagined that this was one of no particular purpose, then you really could see it.
The ball was decorated to match your dress, you see.
Floor-length silk. Gold-threaded bodice.
Celestial layers upon layers.
Your uppermost skirts had gold dusting atop it; and they dazzled as you floated across the ballroom.
Your attendants had decided that going for a more simple look with the jewelry was appropriate - it would accentuate the simple gold circlet atop your head. A single sapphire embedded into the middle of it.
Naoya had sneered at the choice, of course. When doesn’t he? But this time, he was particularly offended at the presence of a sapphire rather than the Zenin family’s signature blood-red rubies.
You refused to make your attendants change it. You donned your cat-like mask with pride.
Perhaps that’s why he seemed keen on ignoring you in favor of a group of other beautiful court ladies in attendance—though you honestly couldn’t imagine anything different happening had the two of you been married, as well. You sighed inwardly.
You’re nodding in acknowledgement as Prince Okkotsu Yuta nears with a man beside him.
He looked older - about your father’s age, if not a few years older. Tall. Toned - in the way of someone that had one been corded with muscle, but had since lost it to age. Bearing an ice-white beard and a row of silver medals proudly lining his chest—he stands before you in his off-white uniform and bows. It was obvious that the man was rather handsome, drawing eyes from around the ballroom.
But what catches your eye the most were his eyes.
Summer-sky blue eyes.
They reminded you of—
“My uncle, Michizane, Your Highness.” Yuta introduces him. “This is his first time in the palace since…”
Your voice drops into something hushed. “I understand.” Turning to the general, you’re half-bowing once more. “I am rejoiced to welcome you into my home, any troubles that we may have had in the past-”
“Have naught to do with the present, Your Highness.” Michizane graciously nods at you. “And most certainly have naught to do with the beloved princess.”
You manage a smile.
“And if you can excuse my being so impudent…it is precisely what I sought this occasion for, Your Highness.” He looks over the bustling crowd, now getting ready to waltz- and seemingly catches the eye of your father. Your father who now looked as though he’d just seen a walking dead man. “I hope to bury the misunderstandings between my family and your father, and understand what happened to my younger brother and his family. It had proved itself to be both a blessing and a curse that I had been on an excursion during those troubled times. And I seek a resolution for the sake of my inner peace, if nothing else.”
You’re nodding in agreement. “It is most tragic what happened. For the sake of borders…nothing is worth so much. And I cannot ask for your mercy enough-”
“It is not something I shall ever be able to forgive. But you are not at fault, dear princess.” Michizane smiles conclusively, but not unkindly.
“And yet, I have been wracked with guilt ever since.” You ultimately reply.
Though you hadn’t met Michizane previously, you had learned that the history between your families was a long and bloody one. His family had been of a royal bloodline, of kingdoms now lost and eviscerated into neighboring ones - including yours. And you knew it was partly the fault of your kingdom. And although royal tutors justified and justified away your father’s actions—you could see past them
“Perhaps…” Michizane is the one to break through your whirlwind of thoughts. He reaches his gloved hand out, a silver signet ring on his middle finger. “-a dance to commence the burying of our animosity?”
“But of course.”
As the orchestra starts up a lively tune, Michizane whisks you away onto the dance floor. Much to the horror of some of your elderly ministers, of course, who gaped at the mere presence of the man.
And at the fact that your first dance wasn’t with the Prince.
But laughter bubbles to your throat as Michizane twirls and swirls you—sways you smoothly around and around the dance floor. He was one of the best dancers you’ve ever encountered, and you’re smiling appreciatively at him once the song comes to a close.
From the corner of your vision, you spot the black-and-red-clad Naoya storming his way over to you. And you hurry to beg a second dance when-
A title is announced - louder than all the rest.
A prince.
Prince…you don’t hear the name.
But you don’t need it.
Because you’re looking up at the grand staircase from which guests made their entrance, hand-in-hand with their partners or followed by their entourages. This one had neither. This one was one of the most beautiful men you think you’ve ever seen.
He looked like something from a story.
Snow-white mask. Snow-white suit. He was tall and clearly toned - but there was something in his demeanor that made him seem almost…dainty. He gripped the balustrade of the landing and looked over the glistening ball- barely even breathing, it seemed like. And he looked content to remain there in awe, before the chief butler reading out the named coughs- pointedly.
The man startles.
He looks over at the chief butler, and then nods jerkily to himself. In self-assurance.
Cautiously, he makes his way down to the ball.
And the closer he gets, the more of his details you’re taking in: like the traces of signature silver on his suit, and the way his fingers trembled ever-so-slightly.
He looked just like the princes you’d read about in fairytales - the ones you imagined as a child before you happened to meet a real-life prince.
Curls of white could be seen behind that snow leopard mask of his. They contrasted oh-so-beautifully with the blue, blue sapphire atop his crown.
Just like his eyes.
Your breath hitches-
“I believe I may have been monopolizing you, Your Highness.” Michizane whispers as the Prince nears.
“Pardon?” You look at him- but he merely smiles.
Before you know it, the mysterious guest has neared enough to give the two of you a jerky bow. His tone tremors ever-so-slightly as he asks, “P-permission for the next dance, Your Highness?”
Michizane nods at you reassuringly.
“I would be delighted.” You breathe, and then he’s taking your hand in his—gently. A touch even softer than the fabric of his tender, tender gloves.
“I bid you a good evening, Your Highnesses.” Michizane tips his hat, “And do take care of the lovely princess…” Before turning to the younger man…his brows furrow the longer he looks-
But a lady-in-waiting taps Michizane’s arm for a dance—and he’s made to turn away.
And you’re left alone.
With him.
Naoya stuck with some other lady-in-waiting as you put your hand…tentatively on the other man’s right shoulder. He lets out a shaky breath, as if your mere touch was replenishing his soul—and he doesn’t move away. Then you let your second hand get grasped - gently - in his own.
Backward with your right foot.
Sideways with your left foot.
Backwards.
Sideways.
Backwards.
Sideways.
It’s halfway into the song, pressed closed to his thundering chest, that you finally break the silence. “The crown suits you…Satoru.”
Gojo flinches, “You discovered-”
“You did not seriously think you could fool me?” You smile. He mirrors it- albeit sheepishly. “Gojo Satoru, how could I possibly be gulled? You have been my dearest friend since I was eight-”
He twirls you in the middle of the ballroom.
And you continue. “-and the one I hold closest to heart.” Looking deep into his blue, blue eyes.
Gojo sighs, “Words cannot describe how beautiful you are, my princess. The least this fool can do is but dress to impress.”
“You look particularly dashing this evening as well, Satoru. You always do.” Surprise makes his lips part—and you’re leaning in. Though they do not touch, you hear gasps from the onlookers. “You look like a Prince.”
“And you look like my dreams.”
The two of you dance for a second song, and a third, and a fourth. Without letting Naoya gain any entryway between you two - that non-existent space - you two dance the night away—dizzy with nothing but the proximity.
The realization that you could be so…close as long as no one found out. That you couldn’t be closer.
That you could.
That you needed to.
By the time that most of the guests had well and thoroughly indulged themselves in the bubbling champagne and wine, the clock had struck midnight—and you and Gojo disappear into the night once no one’s looking. Through the small passageway where the two of you had first met, then up a few flights of staircases, breathless and giddy, you’re lucky there were no guards stationed outside your bed chambers as the ball raged on.
And you’re opening the door and falling into the vast bed with him.
Your hands on his lapels. His hands on your waist.
You’re both letting out synchronized grunts as your back hits the springy mattress, and Gojo’s letting out a scorching breath that fans your face. That sets your skin searing.
“We ought not to…” You whisper- and then you’re pressing your lips down his neck. Illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the windows.
“I am of the same thought.” He responds, in an equally hushed tone - as if anything louder would shatter this fragile dream. It most certainly must be a dream, yes? This was all you’ve ever wanted- and him. “And yet—”
And yet, Gojo places a hand on the back of your neck, and guides your mouth to his.
He kisses you loooong and deep- and inexperienced. You both are.
You’re chuckling as you tug his lips open with yours - letting Gojo’s sultry tongue slide inside your wet cavern. He drags his tastebuds inside and moans—
And after kissing you and kissing you as if starved for eons—
Until your lips were buzzing.
Until his hot hips were crushing into yours.
—you let your fingers fall to his silver buttons. Rapidly undoing them.
“My princess.” The jester wrenches deep from his chest - guttural and gone. There was a crazed hint in his tone already. “Allow me…”
And before you know it, he guides your hips to rest back on the king-sized mattress. Sapphire eyes boring deeply into yours- Gojo hands you his crown to hold, as he hovers himself down and unravels the first few layers of your gown.
His fingers are quick- nimble.
And it takes him far shorter an amount of time to rid you down to your undergarments than it takes your careful attendants. Desperate. Depraved. Soon enough, you’re feeling goosebumps prickle across your skin at the bite of cold midnight air; your chemise and undergarments were much too thin.
And soaked.
Utterly, utterly soaked.
But Gojo’s face flushes - almost hard enough to warm your skin through sheer proximity. He admires your sopping cunt through your panties, he leans down and presses his nose right where your clit would be. And then he sniffs—
“Fuck.”
He almost jolts. Reaching in and tearing through your undergarments with his teeth.
“Fuh-fuck.”
The noise that expels from him is almost unbidden- and its primal tone is enough to make your toes curl. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, he stares at your swollen folds. He stares at your glossy slit.
He stares and stares as slick beads out of you in a pretty stream—and before Gojo’s own mind seems to register, he’s muffling a hot moan between your naked legs. Immediately shoving himself nose-deep.
His chin thwacks! the top of your sopping slit, and his tongue wastes no time darting inwards.
Your entrance is so wet that he has no trouble easin’ his thick muscle inside- despite its impressive girth. And then immediately zig-zagging his sensual inches fucking in—aaaaaaall along your walls and driving the curvaceous tip of his tongue into every little ridge and cranny. Fat. Trembling with need.
“Yes, my princess.” Gojo’s managing between husky breaths- each scorched out against where you were most sensitive. “Yes, my princess-”
“S-Satoru—” Your hand’s reaching down to twist your fingers into his snow-white locks.
You’re giving him a particularly hard pull and he groans-
“My princess…” That ocean gaze of his is half-lidded and hypnotized, flickering right up to bore into your eyes as he gluttonously propels his tongue even deeper. “I cannot live if I do not make you mine.”
Your feet plant on either side of his shoulders- a steadfast pedestal. For you to buck your hips and shove your drivelling cunt against his mouth, “Then what deters you, jester?”
Gojo’s chuckle is dark and deepened with lust. “Nothing, Your Highness.”
He’s moving his tongue in and out of your hole at such a frenzy.
This was the night of your royal engagement, and you’re here getting eaten out by your jester—
“Does it vex you that this lowborn jester has finally gotten his hands on the princess’s pretty pussy?” He gurgles out into your arching core, the wads of your sap slipping between his lips—and then back out as he licks. “Perhaps not you…but surely those godforsaken ministers that must have hoped for a more…royal touch….”
And licks and licks and licks—“Y-you keep running that mouth, Sato-”
“Jester, remember?” He grins. “Pray tell, Your Highness, am I the first?”
He must know the answer. He surely must- he’s been at your side for the past eighteen years…and you yourself were aware that you were his first, too.
Yet you find your lips moving before your mind does. And you whimper, “Y-yes…”
“Pardon, my princess?”
“Yes-”
Gojo drags the doughy patches of his fingertips across your clit.
“Then you grant this lowly fool the deepest and most precious honor.”
It was an honor.
An honor to eat your pretty core—to press his puckered lips against your folds in such a sensual kiss- one that would make even the most scandalous of court ladies faint. To part those tender pussylips and dive his tongue inside- every single inch that thrusts away at a vigorous pace. Stuffing you from the hilt of his tastebuds, to that flexible tip that swirled to n’ fro-
Gojo had his face pressed up so closely - so deeeeep - that parts of his features were rubbin’ red. Covered in slick. Dripping with it.
And yet he was only scouring deeper- deeper- fucking deeper until your pelvis was crushed against his hungry maw. Crushed. “And this fool is grateful- so very, utterly grateful.” His tastebuds were going in nearly till those sweetened soft spots you loved so much in those solitary moments in the privacy of your baths, yet he flares his tongue till he’s stretchin’ you out even more. “I shall do anything for you, my princess- anything—I live to serve you-”
Gojo’s honed canines nip at your clit.
“And this pussy.”
And serving you, he is.
With every fibre of his being. With every part of him that could reach you—he’s eating you out like such an animal, as if he was going fucking frenzied on your cunt.
The tip of his nose massaging your clit. That left hand of his fastening to your waist and dragging you right back n’ forth even deeper.
“And th-this fool deserves not such a privilege-” He whispers, mostly to himself. Though his wide, lust-glazed eyes maintain contact with yours, “This fool deserves nothing. And yet…yet, I care not if they happened to enter this chamber right now- I would gladly get thrown in the gallows for this greed, for a second taste.”
Wide-eyed - almost crazed - he tugs his wet tongue uuuuup the middle of your slit, and almost up to your navel. “In fact, I beg of it.”
And his other hand…
Oh, Gojo’s other set of fingers smear the puddle of slick that spreads from your core- all along your inner thighs and making its way down your calves. He collects it all.
Every single drop.
And then, like the most precious of mead, he brings those wettened fingertips up to his mouth and sucks. Savors. Gojo’s eyes flutter closed and his Adam’s apple bobs with ecstasy - “She tastes like she yearns for more.”
“You understand?” You’re asking, half-bemused.
“I speak seven languages, Your Highness.” Gojo replies, “One of which is pussy—” Then with his flattened tongue, he laps up the rest of the satiny ribbons escaping you- before flicking his eyes to the mountain of pillows piled behind you. “My princess, might I request that you procure a little treasure I have left underneath your favorite pillow?”
“A little treasure…?” Almost dazed, you reach underneath and your fist closes around something soft and bell-decorated. One of his jester’s hats.
“A long, long night beside the princess left this poor fool forgetting—the hat bestowed upon me by the princess, I should be getting~” Gojo trills- whilst he still lavishes his heated, horny lips across your swollen cunt. “But if the princess puts it upon my head, she can be as pushy- as she wishes as I eat this royal pussy~”
Your jester is speaking rhymes between your legs?
“Oh, sometimes your mouth is overworked.” You’re harrumphing at the overjoyed jester - once you’re unceremoniously dumping the cap n’ bell onto Gojo’s head.
Grinning, he bites down on the expensive tip of his right glove and tugs it off.
He makes quick work fastening that behind his ears, before nudging your hands to grasp onto the floppy ‘ears’ on top. Your sole source of balance as he leans in and eases one of his long fingers inside- then two—then teasin’ a third.
As he shovels in oblong inches into your sopping cunt, pushin’ apart your tender folds and letting his padded tips find their way inside. And inside.
In and out.
“Please-” You breathe heavily as he quickens the pace after a few squelching thrusts. His middle finger was the longest, and it was spreading you apart the deepest—fuck, it was just so soft inside. So welcoming. So tight that you were clenchin’ around him almost hard enough to make his poor digits snap- and the mere thought makes Gojo hard enough in his trousers that he wants to cream them right away-
You’re clamoring onto your elbows suddenly, “Y-you cannot be serious, Satoru…”
Oh, had he said that out loud? It seems he’d said that out loud. And yet, without even a hint of regret in his grin- Gojo hums. “A jester shan’t ever lie to his princess.” Those kiss-bitten lips of his purse with a wad of spittle that lands gently between your pussylips, “Or his pussy.”
“Your pussy?” You ask- before the breath’s suddenly knocked out of you as he starts driving a third finger in this time. Properly.
Stretching you out to the maaaaaximum.
The globular ends of his fingers edging in, in, in—he doesn’t just remain pistoning them vertically. Gojo’s rude in the sense that he’s hooking them right below where you needed him the most.
Throbbing, thumping; your g-spot was most certainly aching for him.
But that was exactly the problem- and Gojo’s smile grows wicked as he keeps thrusting his three fingers into your cunt. “J-just the slightest bit…fuck, to the left, jester.”
“If the princess may still utter a sentence, then this poor jester must go harder on her entrance~” He croons. Swabbin’ into every good spot except for that one - your favorite - he suckles on your sensitive nub. “What deters you from claiming what you seek, hm? Use me, Your Highness.”
Your teary eyes snap open. When had you even closed them? “Use?”
“Use me.” Less of a demand- more of a live-saving plea. Gojo was so far gone by this point that his hardened hips were ruttin’ against the luxurious mattress with every swipe of his tongue, “Claim what you wish. Use me- use me—”
And as he wishes, you’re lightly tugging on the points of his jester hat to keep him pressed against you-
But that wasn’t enough for him.
“I beg of you—this lowly fool begs…” As his right hand shapes out the tight, tight channel of your cunt - Gojo reaches his other hand up to grasp your own- to make you clutch his cap n’ bells even tighter. Hard enough for his fingernails to leave marks- and he needs you to be just as rough. “Fucking use me like the princess you are. The princess that saved me.”
He ruts even more suddenly- he must be painfully hard now.
“Claim my lips. Claim my tongue- claim every fibre of my being to be used by you…” A low snarl snatches from the back of his throat. “-just claim me as yours, as I have claimed you, my princess.”
And then you’re knocking that stupid little hat off his head- and fisting your hands in his hair once more to crush Gojo’s pretty, pink lips against your cunt. Arching off the mattress, you were just bucking and bucking your treacly pussy all over his face.
Stringing yourself through the shockwaves of pleasure that kept pouring up your legs - like warm water. Gojo was just salivating in-between them.
He doesn’t even have the time to breathe—and you’re getting the distinct feeling that he didn’t want to. Couldn’t even make himself think of anything else but dragging four - now four - fingers between those swollen-shut lips and thud-thud-thudding into your g-spot. “Good princess.” He hisses between clenched teeth, “Gooooood princess-”
“Keep quiet, jester.” You’re feeling yourself get slowly overcome by primal desperation.
“As you wish, mistress~” And Gojo’s never been happier- lashing and lashing those ridged tastebuds inside until your walls buzzed with the texture. “Mmmm.”
And soon enough, you’re feeling your legs start to twitch- in the way they did whenever you had your fingers stuffed deep in the baths- “Oh.” By this point, Gojo was aiming to intrude four fingers and his slippery tongue between your pussylips.
Swirlin’ and swirlin’ it—tap-tap-tapping it over that first tight ring of muscle.
His greed sickened you- and made you even wetter. And with a forceful tug of those angelic strands of his, you’re staring deep into Gojo’s eyes - fluttering desperately as he fights not to detach himself with your wet pussy. He doesn’t.
And he’s accelerating his fingers hitting the bullseye—
“I-I feel I shan’t last very long, Sato- jester.” You’re hissing, eyes threatening to shut as the white-hot pleasure keeps wracking through you.
With his spit-glossed lips wrapped around your clit, he hums. “Mmm?”
“Oh.” You hunch into him. “Repeat that.”
“Mmmmm—” Gojo elongates his nearly-feline rumbles, and then his lips quirk up- into a grin you recognize as being a signature of when he gets a devious idea.
One sure to ruin courts and leave you amused - though you’re sure that you’re the sole one being ruined right now.
He’s nuzzling his face ever-deeper against your cunt, then muffles out an entire sentence - what you assume to be a rhyme - whilst he keeps his mouth sucklin’ on your clit. Making the sensitive bursts of pleasure explode twofold behind your eyes- you’re seeing stars as he repeats it—again, and again, and again and again and again—
Gojo often did love repeating a joke if it managed to make you laugh exceptionally hard.
However, now you were all but crying out for mercy. Your chin trembles as you keen out Gojo’s name in a lingering echo, “I-I really shan’t- oh…” No matter how many years of royal diction or elocution you’ve endured, it couldn’t mask the way your voice cracks on the tail end of your sentence.
Almost pathetically so.
And soon enough, Gojo’s finding his witty mouth stuffed full- fucking you through your high.
Tongue flicking in and out. Teeth grazing over your clit.
He alternates between letting his tastebuds enter your pussy as well—and then letting his doughy digit take over as he suckles on your clit. Like the sweetest thing in the world. “Mmmm.” Repeating his little rhymes over and over- interrupted only by the noisy slurps! of him sucking on your nub- and the embarrassing little whimpers as he was wrenched by you.
Side-to-side. Up and down.
You’re moving him wheeeeeerever you wanted- and he was in heaven as pain sears from his scalp.
You grip onto his braid, and another lock of his hair, as handlebars to prolong your wave of pleasure. The bliss stabs through you white-hot as he presses deeeep into your g-spot. “I haven’t felt anything like this- hah, before, Satoru…”
“Your jester aims to please.”
Your orgasm makes you shiver. It rattles past your walls - where the pounding was most prevalent - and then up your spine to make your head pound with pleasure—the curling of your toes, the fluttering of your lashes, the way you’re letting escape the sweetest soft moans; sweeter than any orchestra downstairs. Gojo memorizes it all.
Through peak after peak.
Through thrust after thrust.
And as the crescendo comes to a close, he parts with your pussy—a pointed squelch! emanates from the connection. “Though the back of this Princess’s pussy I did knock, Her Royal Highness still yearns for the jester’s cock~”
Your mouth gapes, “Do not tell me that was the rhyme you have been repeating this entire time?”
“As you wish, I shan’t.” He grins. And then Gojo’s raising himself to his haunches- shrugging off his cloaks and his coats. “Perhaps another? From all the princes and lords to pick, our beloved Princess yearned for the jester’s di-”
“Another word and you shall be turned out.” You warn him, albeit half-heartedly.
“Now that doesn’t rhyme, Your Highness.” Gojo faux-pouts. With a few more tugs and pulls - he really didn’t understand how you aristocrats wore this on every occasion - he’s ridding himself of his upper garments and his trousers.
Though you’ve seen the royal jester shirtless time and time again, his perfectly-toned body made your eyes bulge.
And then finally the linen undergarments that presented him—Gojo Satoru’s long cock, hot and rock-hard.
He was engorged till he looked fit to burst - with his mushroom-curved tip blushin’ an angry red, and his veins popping out down his shaft. So prominent that you could almost count every throb-throb-throb!
Gojo’s tip glistens wetly with precum, capping the top of his cock and just oozing like a lacquer down every inch. Almost eight inches, if you’re mentally counting correctly.
He wraps a single hand around his thickened base- rustling the soft curls decorating his pelvis. Spreading out in an alluring pattern—Gojo then uses his other hand to nudge your thighs apart. Hamstrings stretching. Toes curling. Making sure they’re pinned to the springy mattress before he inches his red-hot cock closer.
There’s a resounding squeeeeelch! as he smears the very first, readied inch down your opening crevice.
“Easy there, Your Highness.” Gojo’s breath hatches with a moan. “Easy- hah…”
“I am no steed, Satoru.”
“You speak the truth, my princess.” He shoots you a ravishing smile- hungry. He really did look ready to eat you. Ready to shovel his entire length in.
Ready to break—himself. Fuck.
He was breaking himself.
A mere few inches are entering past that first ring of muscle-
And you’re arching your back into his chiselled chest. “Oh h-heavens…” It leaves you and mixes with the broken grunts n’ gruffs that were leaving Gojo just as equally, just as desperately, as he keeps your hips pushed into the bed and siiiiinks his cylindrical length inside.
It’s like nothing your royal tutors had lectured you upon - down to the fact that all those awkward anatomical lessons were for your wedding night with a prince, no less.
You feel a pearl of red escape you—and you embrace him with weakened limbs. “Satoru-”
“H-heaven is correct.” Gojo hiccups out. Was he still stuck on that you’d uttered earlier- had he even heard anything more? And were there…tears twinkling at the edges of his lashes?
Before you can finalize an answer, you’re mewling at the slight resistance of your cunt. Gojo’s cock was oh-so-girthy—more than you might have expected, and seemed to be throbbing even bigger with every second he was mazin’ himself inside you.
And he feels the shift immediately- he’s affected by it immediately.
His handsome jaw grits. His chest caves with a sudden groan. He turns his half-lidded eyes downwards, and using both overlarge hands he grips each of your asscheeks.
Those pretty, princely features of his twist into something agonized- as Gojo arches his sculptured back and drives his cock inside. “Please-” Your best friend pants out. “Please, please, please, please—h-haven’t I served you well, Your Highness?”
“You would be correct…?” You’re answering him- head foggy because of the sudden flurry of semi-thrusts.
In and out. In and out. He was buried just a few inches past his sensitive slit - and the small tremors of your cunt meant that he was thrown to ecstacy every few split-seconds.
Gojo seemed to be growing longer than you remembered seeing him.
Gojo seemed to be pulsing even thicker-
“Th-then…shan’t this lowly fool be rewarded with a single inch…?” He mumbles- sounding utterly drunk. And it wasn’t just his slurring tone and his tapering sentences that gave you that impression - but Gojo had his face pressed into the crook of your neck, and his hot tongue gliiiiiding up your sweaty neck. “A mere inch, my princess-”
You buck- and even that seemed far too much for the pussydrunken jester.
For he’s digging his crescent-shaped nails into your soft flesh and dragging you back into him - hitting his hips with a resounding thwack! “No- no, please don’t leave, Your Highness.” He begs—fucking begs.
“I-I am not—oh.” Another blustering thrust that leaves your deepest innards probed.
“If you wish me to cease- then just say the word. And I shall heed every syllable.” Gojo murmurs, his sapphire eyes threatening to shut with the hypnotic squeeze. With his pure need. With the urge to feel himself from the outside- and considering how big he was, he’s sure he’d manage to. “But please- please, do not leave me. Th-this pussy has been my deepest, darkest desire ever for f-far too long.”
Your eyes widen, “How long…exactly?”
Those plump, rose-pink lips of his graze yours as soft as a feather. “Ever since I knew what it was…and I woke up with quite the ah- rock-hard situation. I had never left your chamber faster, Your Highness- what if the attendants witnessed it?”
You moan as one of his hands lifts off your ass to thumb aside your sultry pussylips. Lovingly full.
“What if they were aware how feverishly I desired you?”
They were just glued with sap- it makes him break off a moan.
“What if- hngh, what if they could see through me—a lowborn mutt- eager to dirty the precious princess?”
Gojo stares so long and lovingly at your slightly-ajar cunt—so lovingly, that his mouth ends up watering. He continues, “To dirty you…to corrupt you.” A stream of spittle leaks from the corner of his lips, and it ends up dapplin’ over your folds.
“To- hah, fuck you.”
Your jester roves his hips closer - smearing the translucent liquid using his hips. Aaaaaaall over as he nudges and nudges his rounded, reddened tip deeper inside - taking over your cunt little by little.
Stars flash behind your eyelids, and in that opportunity, Gojo had reached over to take the crown that he’d donned for the ball. Your engagement ball. And he was promptly caressing the top of your scalp with it, placing it atop your beautiful head—you suited his colors.
Gojo lets out something that sounded more like a prayer: “To fuck you with the crown on, has always been this fool’s most embarrassing wish.”
He’s finally bottoming out.
Finally. And it’s a sensation like none other.
Gojo’s cock was stretching you out in ways you’ve never felt before; managing to mold your channel to his measurements. And his hammers were just so sensual—slow, semi-thrusts so that he can fit himself inside. “Please-” Inside and inside. “Please, please- this lowly jester knows every secret and preference of yours, my princess.”
Your heels are digging into the gorgeous dimples at the base of his spine. “Yes, oh…”
“Every- single- inch—” And you’re being propelled in short jerks upwards- those ancient royal bedsprings protesting. As much as you were begging for more. Your hands drag down his creamy-white back, leaving bloodied marks- and that only leaves him pulsating even harder inside you. Gojo’s blossomed tip had contentedly filled you up till your cervix - “In ways those ministers would- hah, wring my neck over.”
“I would never let them.” You’re spitting out.
“And yet…” Gojo leans down to whisper. “That only made this fool yearn for it- more-” A few more pressurized thrusts, and every prominent vein of his massages your spots oh-so-perfectly. As he pushes n’ pushes he continues babbling, “Please let it fit inside-” His lips tremble with a whimper. “Please let it fit inside—”
Shock strangles your words, “S-Satoru, you’re already inside.”
“P-pardon?” He almost stutters his hips - before he likely realized that your syrupy-sweet cunt was far too heavenly for him to merely linger. And he’s thrusting away like an animal.
Nodding, “Satoru, I promise—” Eyes scrunching together at the incredible sensations of him stretchin’ you out, hitting into your every nook, letting his velvety tip glide across your tenderest area - that g-spot. “You’ve succeeded your fantasy.” Your legs tighten around his slender waist, “Promise.”
Gojo’s chin hits his chest.
And he’s staring down at where the two of you glossily connect—“O-oh…” Gojo’s mouth looked so delicious like this - you almost wanted to bite him - as an expression of cute surprise takes over him.
And all of a sudden, it’s as if he’s simply melting…
Into your arms. Into your cunt. Gojo’s honey-dipped tip probes into your cervix, and instead of even ramming away - he’s merely draaaaagging and swirlin’ the bulbous edge of him around. Again and agaaaaain. The texture of his flared ridge was something incredible, and it knocks n’ grinds against hidden spots of nerves. “I finally have you, Your Highness.”
You’re feeling your heart pound at his confession - oh-so-tender. Even when he was fucking you deep into the plush mattress.
“You have never not, my jester.” You’re admitting back up at him.
The most beautiful smile graces his face- and Gojo’s feeling quite unfairly about all this. So he’s slitherin’ his right hand between your legs and spankin’ your neglected clit.
Those slight brushes of his bushy happy trail weren’t enough—now he was twiddling and turning such dizzying patterns atop that sweet, sweet nub. Watching your every minute expression, he hums. “Beautiful through anger, happiness and shock, yet the Princess looks prettiest on my cock~”
“You fiend.” You’re swatting his chest.
Only for him to gather up those weak legs of yours and bend you into a mating press- a mating press. Muscular thighs against your thighs. Your knees against your tits.
Gojo keeps his forehead pressed against yours as he drills away, “Though this lowly fool may be poor with the manners of a pig, aren’t you happy to have a cock that’s actually big~?”
And that…you have to admit that that one actually draws a laugh out of you.
And just as soon as the bubbling noise emerges from your lips-
Gojo’s body seems to collapse. His hips seem to falter. His cock thunks at the back of your womb, sending your teeth chattering, and lets out a throb-throb so hard that you feel it louder than your own heartbeat.
Your eyes shoot open, “S-Satoru…?”
“I-I am quite alright, Your Highness. Naught to worry about.” Though there was something thoughtful behind his eyes, “It is simply…”
And only after a few more thrusts—after a few more rub-a-dubs of his thumb…fingers now so jittery on your cunt that he’s teasin’ you with his silver signet ring, too.
The smooth metal makes you keen-
“For all the horses and all the men, could not pull the fool out of his princess again.” He near-tentatively utters. It could be heard only slightly above the smacking of skin-on-skin, of his hips practically plastered onto yours, and you can’t help it - you’re startled into a laugh.
“P-pardon?” You speak through both moan n’ giggles.
“Oh…” Meanwhile, Gojo was absolutely shattering. He was drooling. He was—fuck, he was tearing up. And great globules of tears were hitting the edge of your shoulder.
Gojo’s rubbin’ himself raw- he’s wracking his brain a mile a minute just for a new verse to come up with.
Something that will make you laugh.
Something that will make you squeeze your tremoring thighs ‘round him.
Something that will make you clench—and it’s such a startling, tight sensation that damn-near sends him hurtling straight into his high. But he can’t cum before you - of course, he can’t. What good jester possibly ever could? Before his princess no less?
Gojo accelerates his hips until tears start clinging onto his long lashes, and his cocktip starts twitchin’ out of pure oversensitivity.
And so he keeps on repeating—rhyme after rhyme, botched whimper after whimper. Each one more ragged than the last. Your jester was making you whine with laughter as he fucked you- whispering in your ear in aaaaaall the dirty ways one perhaps shouldn’t to a princess.
He fucks you like an animal.
It’s the final note you’re hearing - ‘—no prettier princess than thee.’ - as your sudden high takes you by surprise. Legs shaking. Back arching. You’re squeezing him tighter than ever as the white-hot pleasure courses through you.
Thrumming your every vessel and vein.
Thrusted deeper into you with every one of his- they seem to burst pretty fireworks inside your now-emptied head. Nothing but lust inside it.
And it doesn’t take much for Gojo to topple into his orgasm, as well. He shakes- he stutters…“C-cumming…” Breathlessly. Large tears were puddlin’ at the crook of your neck, dampening your skin more than your perspiration. “And I cannot think of a more appropriate home.”
“Should you sire an heir, they shall have your head.” You’re whispering to him - a smile on your face.
“But you forevermore have my heart.”
“Rake.”
“For you only, my princess.”
That bawling divot atop his shaft keeps floodin’ out a constant stream of cum—hot-white and lacquering your insides. Every single burst of cum made him twitch- letting out the prettiest erotic whines. “My princess—solely for you.”
“More.” You murmur gutturally. “More- more.”
“More…deep inside.” Lovingly, he’s patting at your bloated pussy. “Just for my princess.”
Until your walls were almost heavy with the condensation of his sap, and after only a few thrusts of his shaft- it was pouring out of you almost like a waterfall.
Between the crevice of your puffy pussylips, you feel it drip-drip-dripping out of you. Eventually formulating a little froth of creamy white ‘round Gojo’s swollen base - a few globules that he’s smearing with a thumb and pushing right back into you. A thumb stuck right between your folds. “A-and where do you believe you are putting your hands, Satoru?”
“Simply giving my princess everything she deserves…” He leans down to nibble on your soft ear lobe. “And right on her engagement night, as well.”
You’re moaning as he tugs on your clit a few more times.
“Happy engagement, Your Highness.” The jester speaks, as he fucks his cum into you harder than ever.
You end up babbling for a few minutes longer, before the sudden sparks of your high start bating- and Gojo himself starts finally slowing his hips down.
“Mmmm…” You reach up and clasp him by the back of his neck, sweaty, with his hair curled at the name. You whisper into his mouth, “My greatest pleasure, to be engaged to you, Prince Gojo Satoru.”
There’s a long stretch of silence - still thrusting - before he mutters.
“I really do wish I could marry you…” Summer sky-blue eyes shuttering into the kiss—
“Satoru.”
“—my princess.”
.
.
.
“Zenin Naoya.”
The young man whirls around - and his nose crinkles in distaste as an older man enters the royal guests’ quarters.
No union had been announced.
The engagement ball had long since ended, and you had even long since disappeared with some prince- some jester, as he had discovered through ballroom gossip.
The fucking jester.
Naoya knew he should have gutted him after that dinner.
But alas, once he arrived outside your royal bed chambers to finish off the job- he’d been blocked by your personal guards from entering. That damned General Yaga had threatened that a single step closer could constitute an attempt at treason- treason?
Accusing him of treason? Did he not know who Naoya was?
General Yaga hadn’t budged. And thus, Naoya had no choice left but to retire to his own guest’s quarters.
Alone and angry until morning arrived.
He had just settled with the thought of enacting his own taste of justice today- he shall lure some of the ministers to your bed chambers, perhaps falsifying an ailment you’d befallen under, before Gojo can escape. And once they discover that that lowborn jester had sullied the Princess- dungeons it is for the fool.
And oh-so-generous Prince Zenin Naoya shall agree to marry even a ruined maiden.
Then comes the crown. Then the titles, the land, the power.
The woman shan’t be too bothersome, either, at least you were easy on the eyes. Even if the jester had gotten his hands on you first.
And ah…perhaps he shall throw out this court and your father along with it? That’s if he was in a good mood - and it was the original plan, after all…
Or perhaps he shall stage a coup of which your father had ‘led’ and enact justice as King- yes…a royal hanging should seem righteous enough. The jester shall be first.
This was justice.
Naoya had just been in the middle of writing a letter to inform his father of this change of plans, when a knock-knock-knock thundered from the door. The broad, bearded man on the other side of it hadn’t waited for him to answer before coming inside.
“May I…help you?” He stands. Had this seemed like any old guard or minister, then Naoya would not have hesitated to draw his sword- but this was clearly someone of high status. Of numerous battle accomplishments.
And his eyes dip down to the silver scabbard at his waist…
This was clearly someone potent.
“I have arrived with a proposition.” The bearded man invites himself to sit down on the very chair that Naoya had been at work at.
Naoya’s eyes narrow, “Of what kind? Do I look like an errand boy to-”
“Of the kind I am aware your family is quite expert at.” Those words held such a dark weight to them—and he doesn’t take his eyes off of the Prince for a single second as he utters. “To be frank, I must request the ah…removal of Prince Okkotsu Yuta from the throne.”
That makes the royal straighten. “Find yourself a common mercenary-”
THUNK—!
From underneath his coat, the visitor pulls out a hefty bag - so large that Naoya wonders just how it had remained obscured for this long. There is a weight to it that makes the polished desk rattle, papers flying. There is an overabundance of its contents—so that the burlap rim threatens to burst open.
Naoya gulps as he eyes the - albeit alluring - bag. “D-do you believe the Kingdom of Zenins to have plummeted so far that we hold the need for a single sack of gold?”
The other man chuckles, “Gold?”
And with a single flick at the rim—it’s opening to reveal…sapphires.
A miniature mountain of it.
Such a rare beauty. Naoya had never seen so many in all the treasuries he’d ransacked combined - and his hand it darting out to grasp it—
“This is, of course…merely the advance.” The man places his hand on top of the bag, and slides it discreetly away from the Prince. His fingers twitch towards it, but Naoya can’t do anything with the other man here. “Trust me when I claim that your kingdom will have no shortage of sapphires for the next hundred years. I simply request that you prove your abilities to me.”
That snaps the Prince out of his constant eye-contact with the expensive bag. “Prove?”
His now-client nods. “Prove it. I should hope that the eradication of Prince Yuta shan’t prove too daunting- and for that, I wish to know what other…deeds you have accomplished, Your Highness.”
“The burning of the Inumaki kingdom’s crops.” Naoya immediately blurts out—before he lists off his family’s proud accomplishments as though he was listing off a market list. The other man nods with an unreadable expression. “The…displacement of the Cursed rubies, the demotion of the Ijichi household, the framing and eradication of the Gojo family-”
“Oh?” At that last one, he looks more alert. “Kindly elaborate on that final one, it seems to have ah…piqued my interest.”
Naoya hesitates- before a single glance at the sapphire sack makes him talk once more. “It was prior to my birth, thus the details might not be as adequate. Essentially what happened had to be done- the Gojo royals were advancing their economy in leaps and bounds—far too rapidly, far too soon.”
As he continues, an almost proud smile twitches at his lips.
“It was ingenious- really.” He hums, “Just a few forged letters, just a single meeting with His Majesty-” Naoya gestures vaguely at this palace. “And he became convinced that the Gojos were planning battle over the borders.”
Naoya spits.
“Borders? Pah- what borders?” He’s pacing now, hands clasped behind his back—back turning to the other man as the Prince stares into the licking fireplace. “Come dawn, the palace was painted in red. Ministers. Mongrels. That King and Queen- the cowards begged for mercy, were you aware?”
Silence stretches.
It seems like an eon passes before the man’s answering - in a rough tone that punctures the silence. “I…I was not aware, no.”
Naoya huffs out haughty laughter.
“And what of their son?”
The Prince looks at the other man over his shoulder, brows pinched in confusion. “They had no son.”
“No.” The sword is pulled out of his scabbard. “They hid Gojo Satoru well.”
It embeds deeply in the junction between Naoya’s shoulder and his neck—and his scream is silent. Expression twisted into shock as those final words registered - Gojo Satoru. Even in death, he hears his name.
Much louder than Naoya’s scream was the impact of his cold, dead body hitting the carpeted floor - and almost instantly, Prince Okkotsu Yuta enters the chambers. “I have recorded the confession, uncle, and the troops are storming the Zenin palace as we speak.”
“Good.” Michizane pulls his sword out and watches as blood creates a painting across the brick fireplace and floor. He wipes it off using what would have been Prince Naoya’s engagement robes, and places it back in his scabbard.
Yuta takes a step closer to offer a clean wipe to his uncle, “Should I summon a court meeting at once?”
“No.” Michizane takes it and dabs at the beads of sweat on his forehead. Then he nods at Yuta to collect the bag of precious sapphires, “I have a far more important affair to attend to.”
.
.
.
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!
Both you and Gojo startle awake- and a single glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows reveals sunlight filtering in. A soft breeze rustles the sheer curtains…and Gojo’s beautiful locks right beside you.
It wasn’t the first time that you were waking up next to him.
But it was the first time it was…in such a manner.
You’re tugging on the satin blanket- of which you were wearing nothing underneath. Bare. Barely holding yourself back from him. And Gojo smiles to himself as the thought seems to occur to him, as well, reaching over to kiss you—before wincing at the red, red nail marks that twinged with movement.
You’re leaning in as well—
But then two things occur to you:
It must have been at least midday.
Someone was at the door.
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!
More insistent this time.
The two of you look at each other.
Then at the door.
Then at each other.
Gojo jumps to his feet, throwing off the blankets and attempting to dive underneath your bed- but you’re raising a hand to stop him. Shaking your head imperceptibly. “No…”
“My princess?” Gojo asks.
“I believe there comes a time where one must stop running.” You’re speaking, more to yourself. And in a quick fashion you cross the room to don your satin robe—Gojo manages to bunch up a few blankets that cover his bits. You shake your head and scour for one of his casual night garments from underneath your bed - throwing it at his head.
“For all the princess in the land-”
“Oh, perhaps I ought to hand you to the guards.” The guards that were surely outside. Perhaps waiting to accuse you of treason for shattering the Zenin union. Perhaps ready to embarrass you and your jester in front of the royal courts.
Whatever it shall be - whatever the price may be for loving Gojo Satoru - you’re raising your head high and taking it like a ruler.
You open the doors, and outside stands…
Michizane?
He looks just as startled as you, though he manages out a rough smile. “May I see the ring?”
You’re unsure what he means—and you’re considering telling your guards to escort him away, when Michizane peers inside your bedroom and locks eyes with Gojo. Gojo who seems to startle the instant that blue, blue gaze meets his. Perhaps…
And then he’s stepping forwards- pushing the door open ever-so-slightly further open.
And presenting his left hand - with the silver signet ring still upon it. A hollowed gasp leaves the older man, and he’s clasping Gojo’s hand in his own trembling, timid ones—holding it as though it was the most prized treasure in this world. Buried for eons.
Gojo’s voice sounds scratchy, “I-it is not my possession to don-”
Michizane shakes his head.
“I believe…” He looks between the two of you, bright eyes twinkling with tears. “-that there is much we need to speak of.”
.
.
.
There was to be a royal wedding.
There was to be a royal wedding.
There was to be a royal wedding.
The union between yourself and the long-lost prince of the Gojo kingdom.
After Michizane had explained to you both - let alone an astounded court - that he was the uncle of your beloved jester, that he was titled royalty, and that Gojo himself…was the sole survivor of a gruesome attack that the Zenin family had orchestrated…Gojo didn’t believe it. Not at first.
Not that someone knew his life before this life.
Not that someone had come to…save him. Because Michizane didn’t - to Gojo, it had been you. And it forevermore shall be.
But you could see the fearful hope - almost unwelcome on his face - as Michizane explained that he hadn’t known about the status of the Gojo heir, his nephew, before the engagement ball. He was so young, he must have forced himself to forget such a traumatic ordeal. Thus, it had always been assumed that he had perished along with his brother and his wife—though Michizane couldn’t find a small body amongst the carnage.
And so he had always hoped…always, always…
And it had been the signet ring (looted by the Zenins and gifted to your father, no doubt) that roused his suspicions. Then those eyes. That hair. That smile, like his mother’s.
It had to have been him.
Fearing such an attack, had the late Gojo royals not kept the birth of their son a secret, then his features would have gotten him poisoned before he even stepped foot into the royal court. The cap n’ bells masked more than one would think.
The scheme to expose the Zenins had been planned beforehand - being the only reason that Michizane even attended the ball in-person. And he’d thought that perhaps finding his late nephew’s look-alike had been a good omen.
Had been…
Oh, he just had to confirm it for himself. Especially after Naoya had affirmed that the Zenin’s hadn’t been aware of any son.
Michizane could see the Gojo name in the boy. And so he was right.
Acceptance had taken long hours cooped up in the numerous palace libraries—poring over history books, and rewriting ones that misunderstood.
During this time was when you’d iron-handed your ministers into changing the law that ‘only a prince shall marry a princess’. Of course.
Long days and longer conversations.
Gojo had finally accepted that he was the sole righteous heir to the throne of Gojo by the time he’d ascended to the throne. It had occurred during a coronation too grand for words - of which you were the honored guest, of course.
Michizane had accumulated vast sapphire mines during his time away, and the Gojo kingdom’s infrastructure was soon able to recuperate their losses. Though not all of it…certainly some wounds would take time.
But the first time that Gojo stepped through those familiar palace walls, he cried as if it were a dream. And he’d said as much—“I had believed it was a dream- oh, I believed this was all a dream. This is my home.” As he embraced you in the middle of the royal lobby, you could agree with the sentiment. “You are my home.”
The first portrait that one saw when they entered the palace - moved by Michizane from Gojo’s former chambers to the main hallways - was one of his mother, his father, and Gojo himself.
Just an infant with bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile.
He had his father’s eyes, but his mother’s smile.
After Gojo’s crowning, the borders of the Gojo kingdom were reestablished - all territories and citizens that surrounding kingdoms (as well as yours) had absorbed were handed to their rightful ruler.
His kingdom was new…but building. And fast.
Then Gojo had gotten to work helping right all of the Zenins’ wrongs. He aided in expanding the Inumakis’ agricultural lands, he returned the Cursed rubies that had been embedded in Naoya’s coronet to lord Sukuna, he promoted the Ijichi household’s titles twofold.
And he rebuilt his own family.
Of course, the Zenins themselves met their rightful fate. Prince Yuta had attacked their palace and numerous fortresses, causing those family members to be impounded. Some fled but were quickly caught—in part due to General Yaga’s tireless assistance.
Gojo had insisted that the children grow up in his palace. And though you’d been befuddled at first - most certainly you wouldn’t allow them to be hurt…but as for raising them yourselves over placing them in noble homes - you quickly registered that Gojo simply didn’t want history to repeat itself.
Above all, he took in young Fushiguro Megumi as a ward.
The trials for the other family members were currently ongoing.
But, recently, there was a new event that shook your kingdom.
The wedding.
Not one of political nature…but rather love. No matter the class, position, or power the two of you held—you would always be his princess, and he your best friend- oh alright…your jester. But solely because Gojo still loved to act a-fool to make you laugh.
Your father had no choice but to approve your wedding to such a powerful young King. Why would he risk such strong political ties? Why would he risk your abandonment?
Your people throw snow-white petals of gardenia as the wedding carriage passes through the streets- on its way to a honeymoon voyage before setting down in a newly-built palace between his kingdom and yours. Megumi would live there, too, and of course you’d convinced your most-trusted attendants—Utahime and everyone else that had readied Gojo that night of the engagement ball - to reside there, as well.
Not as servers, but with titles. With General Yaga as your head of guards.
You couldn’t be happier.
Gojo holds your hand. Wedding band on his left ring finger, the Gojo signet on his middle.
Faces beamed and cheers soared as you two passed by in your dream-like carriage—upon a cloud. And though the kingdom had been decorated until one nearly couldn’t spot a single roof, Gojo only had eyes for you.
He’s unabashed as he leans down to publicly kiss you.
Now that he finally could, the boy that had once been jester.
“Satoru.”
“My queen.”
A/N. Ugh had just finished watching the animated Sleeping Beauty before I wrote that ending, can you tell??
not realizing you’re talking to your ex-boyfriend!sukuna while drunk !
you were way too drunk and the sigma chi house was spinning.
the music thumped through the walls and your head felt light and fuzzy, but you were smiling anyway, red cup dangling from your fingers as you leaned against the wall for balance. your friends had disappeared ages ago and you didn’t really mind.
that’s when you saw him.
tall. pink hair. tattoos crawling up his arms. he looked really familiar but your drunk brain couldn’t connect the dots. you just knew he was stupidly hot standing there by the stairs with his arms crossed.
you stumbled over with a bright smile.
“hi,” you said, voice soft and sweet. “you have the prettiest eyes. like… scary pretty.”
sukuna looked down at you and his eyebrow raised, but he didn’t move away. the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.
“yeah?” he asked, voice low.
you nodded, stepping closer until you were leaning into his space. he smelled so good. warm and a little sweet, just like someone you used to know.
“mhm. my ex had eyes like yours,” you mumbled, resting your forehead against his arm because the room wouldn’t stop tilting. “he was mean looking but really nice to me. i miss him a lot actually.”
sukuna stayed quiet, one big hand coming up to steady you by the waist so you wouldn’t fall.
you kept talking, words spilling out easily now that someone was listening.
“we broke up because i thought he didn’t care enough but… he used to do the sweetest things. like bringing me coffee before class or letting me play with his hair even when he acted all tough about it.” you sighed softly. “i think i messed up. i still wear his hoodie to sleep sometimes.”
his grip on your waist tightened just a little.
“you’re drunk,” he murmured.
“super drunk,” you agreed with a little laugh, tilting your head up to look at him again. “but i mean it. he was the best. made me feel safe even when he was quiet and scary. you kinda look like him, it’s weird.”
sukuna let out a quiet breath that sounded almost like a laugh. he guided you through the crowd with a hand on your lower back, taking you upstairs without saying much. you didn’t even question it. his room felt familiar but everything was blurry.
he sat you on the edge of his bed and grabbed a bottle of water, crouching down in front of you so you could drink it. his hand rested gently on your knee the whole time.
“you’re really nice,” you whispered, eyes half closed. “my ex was nice like this too. when nobody else was looking.”
he didn’t answer right away. just brushed some hair out of your face with careful fingers and helped you lie down. when you reached out and grabbed his hand he paused.
“stay?” you asked softly.
sukuna sighed, but it was the soft kind. he sat on the edge of the bed and let you keep holding his hand, thumb rubbing slow circles over your knuckles while you drifted off.
“yeah,” he said quietly, watching you fall asleep in his bed again. “i’m not going anywhere.”
what do you do when you think a werewolf is stalking you? have sex with him, of course!
synopsis: you tried to live a normal life on your family's farm. until a werewolf bit you as a child and no one seems to believe you when the same one starts to follow you for years. branded an outsider and browbeaten towards an arranged marriage, you start to think that maybe you are going mad - until a certain werewolf shows up to wreak havoc again!
pairing: werewolf!sukuna x f!reader
wc: 8.0k
content: mdni, angst + smut, porn with plot, werewolf sex, he's hairy and has fuzzy ears + tail for it, unprotected piv sex, knotting, breeding kink, creampie, marking, biting, bonds, sukuna is lowk a yandere and VERY obsessed with reader, reader is an awkward loser, toxic family/environment, a sprinkle of violence against an asshole, kissing, oral sex (f!receiving), scratching, feral lovemaking, happy ending
a/n: the sukuna art is by @winterrbluess ! this was a super fun commission for the lovely @martianzmars <333
There were beasts in the woods.
Creatures the townsfolk whispered about in hushed tones out in the market, a tight hand on their children’s wrists to keep them tugged close as they ushered them back to the safety of their cottages. Monsters made into bedtime stories your mother warned you about before tucking you into sleep at night.
Stay on the trail. Never go out by yourself.
But hunger makes people do stupid things.
And you were no exception.
Just a clumsy child yourself, tumbling over roots and avoiding breaking any twigs as you snuck through the brush, going to check a trap you carefully crafted yourself after listening to your parents complain about not having any meat to preserve for the coming cold days. Not when all your livestock were going missing lately. Stolen or slaughtered by the predators lurking unseen.
They wouldn’t approve of you sneaking out in the woods, but if you brought back any animal, you were sure they’d forgive you for it. You were tired of being just another mouth to feed, something fragile to keep an eye on who’d yet to contribute much to the farm.
So you just huffed and held your tears in rather than start to bawl when you hit the rough forest floor and scraped your knees up, messing up the patched-together trousers your mother just mended last week, a hand-me-down that probably wouldn’t last to make it to another kid.
Biting your tongue as you made it past a familiar trove of trees, steeling your nerves with the thought that at least your trap was close – and then you heard it.
The whine of an animal.
Your hand reflexively reached for the battered hunting knife sheathed tucked in your pocket. You had to steal it from your father’s drawer this morning, but he should be too busy tending to the crops to notice your little theft.
Had it truly worked?
Did you really snag yourself an animal to bring home and brag about?
You swallowed hard, barely containing your anticipation as you struggled to stay silent the rest of the way. Too distracted in your own excitement to realize all the bugs and birds had gone quiet too.
Of course, even if you had, you still never would have considered the cause being what you caught. Who you caught.
Peeking beneath a branch to get a glimpse of your prize only to discover a pup.
And not the cute, fluffy kind the boy down gravel road had.
A werewolf pup. Somewhere between human and wolf, caught between two different forms and completely, totally feral.
With scraggly pink fur and searing red eyes, barking out a low growl at you as he struggled to get out of your trap. There was…something in there with him. A small animal you must’ve snagged before he tried to steal it, only tufts of brown and orange left of it and bits of bone.
But when you looked back at his face, the shape of his quivering mouth and the way his eyes widened with pure panic, you couldn’t help but feel awful for him. He was even smaller than you, scrawny and starving, his fingers trembling as he fought to break free.
“It’s okay,” you tried to soothe him, swallowing hard to quell your own fear. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
You pulled out your knife, moving slowly to not scare him as you showed him the blade. From what you’d pieced together from your parents late-night hushed conversations over the town’s werewolf problem, they were intelligent. Had families too. Made their homes in caves rather than out of wood and stone.
Was he your age? Maybe a year younger?
Did he have parents out there waiting for him to return to them like yours were?
“I’m just going to cut you free,” you half-whispered, careful to keep your tone even as you started to dismantle your own handiwork.
You didn’t know if he could understand you.
But his growling had turned into low huffs.
If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think he was impatient.
You worked faster, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you nervously stole glances back at the pup, hesitant to even think of him as a beast when he was so…scraggly? You’d always thought werewolves were vicious, too smart to get caught by a silly contraption like yours, strong enough to bust their way out of it if they did.
“Okay, there you-”
You didn’t even get to finish your sentence, the second he’d been released, that scraggly body of his was launching off the ground – and on top of you. Knocking you onto your back, all the air forced out of you as you let out a sharp gasp, trying to shove him off only to get the knife knocked out of your hand.
And your wrists pinned by your head just a moment later, his claws digging into your skin as his iron grip bit into your bones.
You were sobbing before he had even leaned in a little, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you squirmed and attempted to roll out from underneath him. “Pl-please don’t hurt me, I-I-”
Blubbering like a baby, shaking your head desperately as fear struck a dagger of its own straight through your core, primal terror setting in as you began to sweat. Your whole face felt wet, your lip wobbling as you tried to stammer out another desperate plea for your life, as you realized what a moron you were for having pity for him.
Starving dogs would always bite.
He was growling, barring sharp teeth as his canines glinted in the afternoon light, ready to sink into your throat and tear it out. You had a momentary surge of strength at the thought you really might die, managing to almost wrestle free as you screamed for your family, one hand slipping out of his grasp only for him to lunge forward, his teeth sinking into your wrist to stop you as a flash of white hot pain shot up your arm and-
Stopped?
His eyes snapped up to meet yours, squinting almost accusingly before the hurt morphed into a relaxing tingle, like your body was being bathed in warmth, shivering at the strange connection in his locked stare. All the apprehension disappearing, your anxieties melting as if you weren’t in danger, as if you weren’t surely seconds from death.
And then he was letting go, recoiling away from you like he tasted something rotten, nose scrunched up before he started to sniff the air.
Blood was dripping down your wrist, leaving red splotches on the plants beneath you as you scooted backwards, breathing hard and heavy as you debated on trying to make a run for it now, weighing the risk of if he’d pounce again. Feeling for where the knife landed, unable to bring yourself to break eye contact with him.
His mouth opened again, not in a snarl this time, but before he could bark or speak, there was the rustle of branches behind you, your parents calling out your name with worry in their voices. You glanced over your shoulder, just for a moment, but by the time you looked back, he was gone.
Disappeared deeper into the forest, into the safety of the thick brush.
Leaving you with a wounded wrist and a funny flutter in your chest as you stumbled to your feet after grabbing the knife, stumbling back towards the sound of your parents shouting for you.
You made it out of the woods with your life.
A story that got you scolded for years to come too, not to mention a scar that made the townsfolk sneer at you for doing something so foolish.
And a werewolf who just wouldn’t stop coming around.
Although, it had taken you until your teenage years to figure out that you were being stalked by the creature you made the mistake of saving as a child. You found his fur on your family’s porch, tufts of pink left behind in the mornings your family never seemed to notice. Scratch marks etched against the walls, grooves left in the wood from claws that were meant for slicing through flesh.
You caught glimpses of him. Sporadic at first, spread out between months and weeks. A flash of sharp teeth through the treeline. A phantom stare that seemed to constantly trail after you as you carefully kept your distance from the forest during the days while you tended to the farm. Hair pretty much perpetually raised on the back of your neck as you pretended you didn’t feel like you were being watched the second you walked outside.
The livestock had stopped disappearing, at least.
No more waking up to missing chickens or goats left with gashes strewn across the yard.
Your parents thought that all the werewolves in the area had moved somewhere else. Retreated deeper into the woods or somehow all slaughtered each other, victim to their own instincts, their own aggression.
You knew better. Kept waiting for the beast lurking and lingering around to…well, do something.
Not just watch.
You wondered if he was hoping for your guard to slip. If maybe he liked to play with his food before he scarfed it down.
Every time you’d step foot into the forest, he would seemingly be there. One hand on a silver dagger, not that you thought it would be much use if he’d been able to pin you down back when you were still bigger than him, especially now that he had a massive frame that lumbered between the trees, too big to be stealthy if he tried. Yet, not a single other person had seen him.
But you didn’t really have a choice. Someone had to collect herbs, had to get fresh water from the river, had to bring back branches and berries.
And no one believed your stories of the pink werewolf who just stood there and stared without ever attacking.
Everyone in town thought you were just a crybaby who called wolf.
“Stop staring and hang those clothes up,” your mother huffed, an elbow digging into your side snapping you out of your daze. Daydreaming about a world where they all listened to you instead of ignoring every word that left your mouth. “The neighbor’s boy will be by soon.”
Of course.
You wouldn’t be their problem much longer anyway.
Soon you’d be married off, sent to be the bride of the farmer’s eldest son next door. Most people married their daughters off the second they came of age, became adults who were too much of a burden to keep around, but your reputation had bought you a couple extra years.
No one wanted to wed a woman who weeped about creatures the rest of the folk were desperate to forget about.
Except for the boy with the bad temper you whispered to through the fence.
You had only started speaking to him a handful of months ago, back when you were hanging the sheets on the line and overheard a rustling sound through the rotting wooden planks separating your family’s land from the neighbor’s.
“Hello?” You called out, glancing over your shoulder anxiously, picturing a mass of pink on the other side. Considering the chance that you had gone crazy, cringing as you realized your paranoid mind might just be playing a trick on you. “Is someone-”
“Hello?” A man’s voice had echoed yours, equally uncertain. It came out all gruff, like someone was dragging a wooden rake over gravel, a rough rumble to it you automatically liked.
He didn’t try to sound smooth or honeyed. No pretending, nothing pretty or pompous.
And more important than anything else, real.
“Oh, um, my apologies,” you awkwardly cleared your throat, not sure what to say to him, belatedly realizing it had to be the boy your parents kept bringing up as a potential marriage prospect for you. “I just heard a noise and-”
“Did I scare you?”
“A little,” you admitted, laughing it off as you stared at the wood blocking him from your sight. “There’s a werewolf that roams around here.”
You waited for him to mock you for suggesting it. To dismiss your claim the same way everyone else did.
“Oh?”
He didn’t.
You informed your mother that night you wouldn’t mind marrying him after all.
And before long, you were confiding in him about everything. Sitting by the fence whether the weather was warm or cold, picking flowers while you poured out the years you’d spent looking over your shoulder, scared that you wouldn’t make it through another season.
He never told you your suspicions were stupid.
But he did tell you that if the werewolf hadn’t attacked you yet, there might be another reason it was there. Suggested one drizzly day that the object of your fear might actually be protecting you, that he could’ve scared off all the others that used to wreak havoc on your family’s farm.
You had never considered it before him.
But he made a point you were doing your best to talk yourself into believing.
It had helped calm some of your nerves. Turn your nightmares into something more…managable. They weren’t scary anymore, just, well, strange.
Your werewolf was still there.
But your body no longer tensed with terror when he came close and crouched low. Your heart still thrummed, pounding against your chest as you reached out a hand, but the beast who occupied so much of your brain had begun to let you pet him in the scenes it conjured up. Stroking his surprisingly soft fur as his mouth parted to purr, sharp teeth hidden behind his curled-up lips.
You had told your future fiancé about it, excitedly recounting the details as he gruffly hummed along. You asked about his dreams too, tried to return the favor he’d done you by easing your fears by getting to know him.
But he avoided that altogether, always redirecting the conversation back to your day. What you had for breakfast or what chores your family would be making you do later.
He didn’t flirt, never made any kind of crude suggestions of sneaking over the fence to spend the night — despite the rather unsavory reputation you heard he had around your village.
When you got close, your knees pressed to your chest while you rested your cheek against the wood, sometimes you could almost swear you felt some invisible string tying you to him. A natural pull you had a hard time resisting, reluctant to ever end the conversation or step away when your heart wanted to plant itself on the spot. Fingers itching to pry apart the boards so you could see his face, touch his skin.
You told yourself that it was a pretty fantasy.
Something your mind was weaving to keep yourself from actually going crazy from sheer loneliness.
Despite all of your stolen conversations, the minutes you snuck away to speak to him, you had never met him in person.
Until today.
You hurried to hang the clothes per your mother’s request, hands trembling as you worked and your head snapping over your shoulders as you hoped to hear his voice.
“Are you there?” You called out, aware that you’d look as crazy as everyone said you were if you got caught. It was a miracle in itself that you hadn’t before now.
But you didn’t get a reply.
Brief disappointment burned through you, but you shut it down.
Ignored the way it stung as you finished up, casting a wistful look back before returning to the house, stepping over trampled wild flowers and dying grass until you were climbing back up the stairs to your porch.
Your head hanging low, mulling over what you’d actually say when you got to see him.
“Ahem,” your mother cleared her throat, and your stare snapped up to find her waiting for you with-
Oh.
Your shallow disappointment immediately deepened into a lake you could drown you.
“Hi,” you breathed, struggling not to let your dismay show for the man in front of you. He wasn’t awful looking. No, he was attractive, you guessed, in his own way.
But he didn’t fit what you had in your head. He was too…clean? Normal?
His eyes weren’t filled with the warmth you dreamed they’d have. They were cold. Slipping over your frame cautiously, as if he was calculating what he should make of you.
You didn’t feel that tug towards him, no spark or gravity drawing you in. You didn’t feel anything for him.
“I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” he greeted, nodding as his stare dipped from your face to your chest.
He didn’t even sound the same either.
Could a piece of wood really change the quality of his voice that much?
“I’ll leave you two to it,” your mother chirped, disappearing back inside like she wouldn’t be watching through the window.
“You don’t have to pretend like you don’t know me,” you said once you were sure she at least wasn’t eavesdropping. Telling yourself that you were surely just overthinking everything, trying to claw back some comfort in your one safe person. “Speaking to you has often been the highlight of my days these last few months.”
He looked at you incredulously, mouth curling up in a sneer you’d seen so many times before.
It was the one you usually got in the market from the townsfolk who thought you were mad.
The delusional farmer’s daughter.
“We’ve never spoken before.”
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀
Would you be mad at him for murdering your fiancé?
Sukuna mused on how hard it would be to catch that imbecile off-guard and slice through his throat as the idiot scoffed and sneered at you.
He always knew it was a matter of time before you figured out your future groom wasn’t the man on the other side of the fence.
But he thought he had a little more time.
To warm you up a little more on the whole werewolf thing.
He heard the fear in your voice when you first talked about the pink beast stalking you through the woods without realizing it was the creature you were so terrified of that you were crying to.
It wasn’t like he wanted you to think he was a fucking creep.
But the longer he stayed away, the harder he fought and resisted the bond tying you to him, the more of a monster he became. Slowly becoming more animalistic, giving into the primal parts of him, pain scorching through every muscle and limb and threatening to melt his mind when he strayed too far from your side.
Werewolves needed their mates.
And you were his.
Bonded from the moment he bit you, his heart claimed to only beat for you from that day forward. Most werewolves had packs to keep them sane. Families they counted on to maintain their control on the monstrous parts of them that would go unchecked without that connection.
He had been an orphan. An abandoned pup who figured out how to survive on his own.
Lone werewolves, the ones like him, eventually became more wolf than man if they never found their other half to hold onto. Too aggressive to ever come close to someone that could tame them.
Sukuna had learned to make due with what he had.
You’d gotten good at avoiding him, running from him the second you caught so much as a glimpse, which honestly, was rather rude if you asked him.
Forced to creep up to your house at night, prowling around your porch to protect your farm from any other predators that might come sniffing around. Sleeping beneath your window at night just so he could stave off transforming into more of a beast, telling himself that he wasn’t being weird as long as he didn’t peek through to watch you dream and drift off in your bed.
He only ended up talking to you through the fence out of impulse.
Creeping along the other side of it to stay close to you and keep his instincts at bay, knowing those morons next door barely tended to their fields enough to notice him even during the day, caught off guard by the sound of your pretty voice calling out to him.
A single conversation was enough to have him hooked though.
And he was nothing if not addicted to the tiniest tidbits of your attention.
Desperate to feel the faintest warmth of your affection.
Sometimes, he was tempted to burst through the rotting wood, rip the whole fence down until he was face-to-face with you, shake your shoulders and beg you to see that it was him, that every part of him belonged to you.
Humans didn’t feel the bond the same way werewolves did, but he wanted to believe you could sense it too.
You had kept coming back.
And now you were standing on your front porch, frozen with a different type of fear that he could feel from here.
Your emotions seeping into his, curdling with his own shame for screwing everything up with you from the start.
He couldn’t hear what you were saying, but he could tell you were stammering, your lips quivering just for the man in front of you to laugh. Reaching out to pat your head condescendingly before jutting a thumb back towards his own property.
Sukuna was silently begging you to shake your head.
To keep your feet firmly planted on your porch.
You were too soft. Too trusting.
The sort of girl that set him free. Let a wild wolf pup loose with no regard for your own safety. And apparently you never learned your lesson judging by the way you began following that fool back to his house.
Clueless that his own family had conveniently left it empty for him to have his way with his future bride.
Sukuna had listened to your complaints about the way you were treated by everyone else. How no one else ever seemed to see what you did. No one else cared to believe you when it was more convenient not to.
You had trusted him.
And now you were putting this faith in that man because he hadn’t told you the truth?
Sukuna knew what would happen if he let you go inside with him, snarling as his claws started to grow, the bones in his fists cracking and popping as they formed a fist, creeping just deep enough to not be spotted as he trailed after the two of you until you crossed over onto his property.
He kept hoping you’d turn around. Tell him that you weren’t sure this was a good idea.
But you didn’t.
Even if the look on your face was nothing short of sharp discomfort as you walked up a winding path to his house.
Shit.
Sukuna was really going to scare you this time, wasn’t he?
But he wasn’t just going to let you stay there alone with an even bigger predator.
One who wouldn’t hesitate to bruise your skin or make you bleed for his own pleasure.
He stepped out, his canines barred as his chest quickly began to rise and fall with heavy breaths, aware that there really might be no going back from this as he waited for just one of you to look back. But no, that asshole just slid his hand down the small of your back, attempting to grope your ass through your dress and ignoring the way you were recoiling from him as you tried to politely brush his arm off.
Rage ripped through him in one hot burst, spilling over and souring any chance of his sanity winning out.
Only half-monster this time, pink fur sticking out across his back as he lumbered forward. He didn’t have a real plan. Or any plan.
Just the deep-seeded instinct to protect you at any cost. To not let another man lay a finger on you.
Your husband-to-be never saw him coming.
Blood splattering across the grass as he hit the ground from just a shallow scratch, whining in pain like a baby before Sukuna delivered a swift kick to his skull.
It wasn’t particularly powerful, but he supposed humans really were just that much weaker given how fast it seemed to knock him out.
“Sorry,” he growled, glancing over to you, expecting you to scream at any second, give him away. But you were stuck in place, those big eyes that had haunted him in his memory for so long finally locked onto his. More tears welling up in them, your shoulders shivering as the explanation on his tongue died.
Your hand reflexively reached for your wrist, the scarred skin there still raised from where he’d clamped down on it as a child, and he flinched, guilt curdling in his stomach.
He hated that he hurt you. Hated that he was terrifying you now.
The bond burned, being so goddamn close to you, able to feel all your fear, all your messy emotions tangled and twisted together, your heart racing so fast he could hear the wild thumps as he tried to force his body to revert back to his most human form.
“He was going to hurt you,” Sukuna defended himself with a low growl, kicking his limp body on the ground for a second time, like it would make himself feel better. A man like that would only waste your life. Force you to work the fields for him, bear his children and still pretend you were the burden.
You blinked, sucking in a broken breath as you stared at him. The terror that had been radiating off of you fading faster than he expected as your pretty lips parted, as if you pieced together the rest of who he was on your own.
“You’re-” You started, unable to finish the sentence.
“I’m protecting you,” he grunted, before you could come to any other conclusion.
You’d given him this life. He was devoting it back to you.
“Why would you do that?” You whispered, unsure of whether or not to stay or sprint as far from him as you could. Your stare quickly shifted back to the body on the ground, biting your lip when you realized he was, unfortunately, still breathing.
“You’re my mate.”
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀
The werewolf you’d spent well over a decade running from had declared you were his mate – and the man you thought you’d marry was bleeding in the grass.
Great.
You were blinking back tears, torn between twisting away and taking a step closer. Your blurred vision started to clear as you hastily wiped away the damp streak from your cheeks, starting to see the werewolf in front of you as what he might have been this whole time.
Your protector.
Were you a moron that misread everything?
Maybe.
Or were you once again a fool about to fall for his trap?
He’d done it to you before, hadn’t he?
A small voice in your head suggested that you were thinking about it wrong. You had set him free. And now he was repaying that favor by saving you from spending the rest of your years chained to a stranger.
“What did you mean about him hurting me?” You tentatively asked, jaw tensing as you stole another peek at the man bleeding onto the already dead grass.
“You’re not that naive,” he scoffed, his mouth twitching when he looked too like he was tempted to kick him a third time.
Your mouth pressed together in a thin line, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you replayed the way he tried to grab you despite how derisively he laughed at you before. How he commented that he didn’t really care if you were crazy before glancing down at your cleavage.
But you had still walked with him anyway, starting to think that maybe you were losing it, that you were simply so lonely, you’d made up all those long conversations. Convinced that some jerk who just wanted you for your body was the best you’d be able to get.
“So it was you? This whole time?” You asked, trying to make the pieces fit together in your mind as you pictured him on the other side of that fence. Listening to you complain about him. “You never said-”
“Can you blame me?” He grunted, shrugging his massive shoulders up like it didn’t bother him.
“I called you a creep, like, a thousand times,” you pointed out, bottom lip quivering as you found yourself teetering on the verge of an apology you couldn’t decide if he deserved or not.
“Yeah,” he grimaced. “If I stay too far away from you, it’s hard to stay human.”
Your heart lurched.
Eyes lingering over him as you realized that he could almost pass for human.
Disarmed by how different he looked up close. His broad chest outlined with defined muscles, bulky and thick with scars and markings crisscrossed and etched deep into his tanned skin. There were sparse spots of fur that appeared to almost…shrink the longer he stood in front of you.
And not a scrap of clothing to cover his rather large cock.
You’d never seen one in person before. But you had overheard some of the girls gossiping about the men they were seeing in the market, comparing sizes to fruits and giggling about how they rarely seemed to make good use of them.
Were werewolves just more well endowed?
Heat coiled in your stomach, more enthralled than you should be as you got distracted by the shape of it, the way it curved a little to the left, a thick vein running along the side of it as your breath got stuck in your throat.
His tail wagged behind him as he stepped closer, something irritatingly familiar inside you instinctively aching to move towards him too.
That invisible string pulling tight, tensing up at the proximity of his presence, trying to draw you into his space as you felt what little resolve you had to resist him crumbling by the second.
You didn’t want to stay here.
Didn’t want to spend your life as the wife to an asshole or be the disappointment of a daughter your family treated you like.
You were already an outsider in your own village.
Why not give being a werewolf’s mate a try?
It wasn’t like your situation could get much worse.
“So,” you started, clearing your throat as you dragged your stare back up to his face. “What now?”
“Would you run away with me?”
In a strange way, his serious grumble felt romantic, his hand outstretched and all those sharp claws retracted waiting for yours as his red eyes pried apart and pierced through your soul.
Somewhere deep inside you, you knew that you were never going to say no.
That your path was always going to wind back to him one way or another the moment you slid your palm into his.
Still, you kind of thought he’d be taking you back to some poorly-constructed hut in the forest made out of twigs and branches – not an actual cottage of his own.
Buried deep within a twisted grove of trees tightly-spaced, tucked away far enough you doubted any hunters or folk from your village would ever discover it on their own.
It was old, vines sprawling over the walls, the thatched roof freshly-repaired as he pulled you through the front door. The inside was nice, a little small, but comfortable. Furniture mix-matched, most of it either roughly handcrafted or well, stolen, you supposed.
“This is yours?” You asked, stepping inside as he shut the wooden door behind both of you. Slipping off your shoes, not sure if that was considered polite or not in werewolf culture.
“Uh-huh,” he wryly nodded, not even glancing around when his gaze was focused solely on you. Looking at you sort of like you might be his next meal. “
“And I’m your mate?” You continued, mostly just wanting to hear him say it again. Confirm whatever this funny feeling inside you was. The connection that seemed to just intensify with each passing breath, each step he took closer.
“You’re mine,” he murmured, bridging the distance in just two long strides. He didn’t touch you. Not yet. Just let his calloused palm hover above your cheek like he was considering it – and using every ounce of his restraint not to cave in and caress you. “And I’m yours.”
“Do you want to be?” You swallowed hard, finding it hard to hold yourself back too. To not feel how firm his chest was, to not skim your fingers over his defined jaw. “Or is it just part of your werewolf-”
“I want to be,” he shook his head, like he didn’t even want you to entertain any other idea. “I want you. I think I’d want you even if we weren’t bonded.”
Enough to sit there and resist the bond between you for months while you whined and whispered about your boring life.
Enough to stop you from being sent off in an arranged marriage.
You got up on your tiptoes, letting your fingertips ghost over his cheeks as you pressed your lips to his in a timid kiss.
It was meant to be soft and slow.
But the second your mouth connected with his, it was like someone had set your skin on fire. Pleasure you hadn’t planned on racing through your limbs, across your body in one massive rush. Shuddering at how sensitive everything abruptly was, abruptly aware of the breeze in the air, the pressure of his hand as he grabbed your waist and pressed your body up against his.
As if it hurt for there to even be an inch between his chest and yours.
His tongue danced across your bottom lip, asking for entry you quickly granted, exploring your mouth with a flattering fervor.
Your thighs were already pressing together, warmth pooling as your walls clenched around nothing. But in between the heat, you felt a funny throb starting to build, begging for attention.
“W-what’s your name?” You asked, belatedly realizing you still didn’t know it.
“Sukuna,” he muttered, fingers sliding around to splay possessively over your spine, his steps guiding you back as he kissed you again.
His tongue slipped back in your mouth as his hand travelled over the rough fabric of your dress, pausing to tch at how it rubbed against your skin.
Sukuna was quick to pull it up over your head, throwing it down on the creaky wooden floorboards as he pushed open the door to his bedroom.
You had a brief flash of contemplation, wondering whether or not you were really about to offer your virtue up to the beast that had been haunting you for well over half your life.
But then you gave him another onceover, felt that fierce tingle travelling straight to your core, and you were committing to the animal inside you too.
He pinned you to his bed in a flash, although it looked more like a nest. A few of your clothing items, shawls and dresses that had gone missing over the last couple years you assumed your mother had thrown out were all bundled up on the surface along with a tattered blanket, the warmth of his own scent mixed with your sweeter one striking you the second your back hit the thin mattress.
“Are those-” Your voice died in your throat at how alarmingly cute the sheepish expression that crossed his face was.
“I’m sorry,” he begrudgingly grunted an apology, jaw tense as he paused on top of you, his hands on either side of your head, hesitating like you might slip out and make a break for it.
“What else did you steal?” You tried to tease, fingers loosely running over your old shawl close by.
“Nothing,” he grunted, not particularly believable as your lips curled up in a smile.
Was it morally questionable?
Yes, but when you’d wasted so long thinking that no one would ever like you, finding a man obsessed with you was too intoxicating for you to second guess it.
You leaned forward and kissed him again, trying to match the frenzy behind his lips, a fever of your own starting to make all your thoughts feel loose, fuzzy.
Limbs relaxing as your cunt started to ache, your fingers brushing through his soft hair, feeling his furry ears as his tail thwomped against the bed fast.
His cock was digging into your thigh, throbbing and twitching with every little move you made.
“You smell so fucking good,” he groaned, moving down to leave a messy trail of kisses down your jaw, over your throat as he began to sniff you.
Sucking in deep inhales, grunting as he ran his tongue in sloppy circles over your nipples, lapping over your exposed skin with no real rhyme or reason. Skimming his teeth over the sensitive peaks, letting out lewd noises like he was the one being driven mad with his mouth.
Nipping at you lightly, travelling lower until he was hovering over your pussy.
“Jus’ need a taste,” he breathed, and before you could even fully spread your legs for him, his tongue was pushing inside you.
It felt like he was trying to devour you.
Lick up every single drop, dragging his tongue against your walls in messy strokes, dipping in-and-out at a mind-melting pace.
Nails clawing at anything on his bed for grip, gasping for air as he lifted your hips off the bed so he could dive even deeper.
None of the girls had ever talked about this.
His thick digits were digging deep into your thighs, keeping you there as he worked his tongue in and swirled it with a devotion you were struggling to handle.
You were losing it.
Unravelling at a rate you never expected, wiggling and whimpering at how good it felt. How right it was to run your fingers through his soft strands.
And despite it all, you were still greedy for more.
Aching for him to stuff you with something bigger than his tongue.
“P-please take me,” you whined, ruffling his hair as you peered down at his position between your soft thighs.
His dark eyes widened, pupils completely blown, just a thin ring of red left as he processed what you had said.
You didn’t take it back.
Lips parted as you sucked in a shallow breath, silently daring him to do it.
Before you blinked again, your thighs were being pressed up against your chest, squished and squeezed as he lined his leaking length up against your entrance.
“Yeah?” He huffed, eyes narrowing as he saw the sweat starting to drip down your forehead, the way your thighs tensed and trembled before he even slid in. “You want me too?”
“I do,” you nodded, feeling almost like you were making a vow you wouldn’t be able to take back as he pushed the first few inches in.
The pressure seared.
Your stomach twisting into knots as your walls desperately squeezed down around him. He had to go slow, not desperately rutting or shoving, just slowly sliding into your warmth, his saliva and your slick making it easier for him to enter.
“You’ve been keeping this from me this long?” He asked, his voice raw and reverberating through you as you found yourself looping your wrists around his neck. Thick tendons straining and flexing as he unclenched his jaw, your thighs straining from the way his fingers dug into your supple flesh.
“I thought you were going to eat me,” you argued, pouting as he tilted his head back, using every ounce of his focus when his cock slipped in deeper, starting to rub against all those sensitive spots you had a hard time reaching yourself.
Your own hand was nothing compared to him.
“I might,” he chuckled, low and gritty.
Tension thrumming thick in the air as you looked down and realized he still hadn’t bottomed out, your lips parting as you stared at the connection between your bodies.
That intoxicating tingle you’d felt when he kissed you back had returned, your body squeezing and clenching and…changing?
It finally struck you what was happening.
His cock was literally molding you around him.
The bond working its weird werewolf magic to make sure you’d be able to accommodate him not just comfortably, but pleasurably. So you wouldn’t be in pain as he pushed you to your limits.
“Is this normal?” You gasped, not sure if you should be grateful or freaked out as he slipped another thick inch in.
“You’re my first,” he shrugged, the lump in his throat bobbing like he was currently too preoccupied just by the way you were wrapped around him to think straight.
“And werewolves don’t have multiple mates?” You questioned, lips pursed as you felt his cock prod that soft, spongy place in the back, your back arching up off the bed just for him to press you right back down.
“You can’t be serious right now,” he froze, his cock twitching in time with his mouth.
“I’m just asking,” you frowned, but he was quick to fuck your pout off, pounding back into you as you saw something in his face shift.
Crack.
Coming undone as he struggled to slow down once he started, his pace just picking up as he kissed you to wipe away your silly assumptions.
“You’re it for me, got it?” He grunted, the taste of you on his tongue as he kissed you again.
How were you supposed to not fall for that?
Not turn to putty for him to play with when his calloused hand slipped down the inside of your thigh, the tantalizing tips of his claws lightly tracing over your skin to tease you.
Swirling the tip of his fingers over your clit, toying with the bud there too as he ruthlessly rutted into you like an animal in heat.
Was that all the two of you were now?
“M’sorry,” he moaned, his mouth right next to yours as you sucked in a broken breath. “I can’t hold back.”
“You don’t have to,” you whispered back, your voice all airy, half a pitch too high right as he rolled his hips forward, forcing the last few inches in. Your eyes rolled back in response, a whimper ripped from the back of your throat.
Perhaps you should’ve asked Sukuna to reign it in a little.
Because moments later, the base of his cock that already barely fit started to get bigger.
He was knotting you.
And somewhere in your lust-addled head, you liked it. A primal voice in the back of your brain begging to be bred.
For him to fill you up and never let you go.
“It’s-” You started, struggling to get any coherent words out when it didn’t feel like you had any room left in you for anything.
“Too much?” He grunted, starting to slip back out, to release you before it was too late.
But you pulled at his hair, squeezing your thighs and sorta wishing they were wrapped around his waist instead to stop him.
“No,” you spat out, straining to shake your head as he stalled there. “I need it.”
You needed him.
The idea of being apart, separated just a little suddenly seemed hellish, like it would be sheer torment to not feel the full force of him lodged inside of you.
His knot stretched you out, your nails raking mean scratches down his massive back as the base of his cock continued to swell. Unable to so much as squirm, stuck in place as he split you open on his thick length.
And truly?
You wouldn’t trade him for any farmer’s son.
Wouldn’t want to be anywhere other than here, in this cozy cottage being fucked stupid by a werewolf.
He might be a beast, but at least he was wholly yours.
His fingers returned to rubbing soothing circles over your swollen bud, coaxing you towards a climax as he staved off his own. Lips leaving kiss after kiss across your face, your thighs still held against your chest by his weight alone, folded and straining as he fit all of him inside of you.
“You don’t know how crazy you make me,” he growled into your throat, and you were starting to think you had an idea.
Infected with his intensity, itching for release as he dragged you to higher and higher peaks of pleasure.
Sukuna rocked into you hard and fast, those pointy teeth sinking just above your collarbone to claim you, hard enough that you were sure you’d bleed, but it just heightened the bliss still burning beneath your skin. Unlatching just to drag his tongue over it in warm licks, his sniffing not stopping even as he sucked and kissed the sore spot better.
“Make me wanna put pups in you,” he continued, half-delirious and drunk on you alone as his hips smacked rudely into your skin.
“Do it then,” you half-whispered, so close yourself as his thumb pressed down delectably over your clit, the thin string in the pit of your stomach holding you together ready to snap right there with him.
Sukuna’s head snapped up to you for just a second, the fading light of the day casting shadows across his face as he let out a ragged little laugh like you didn’t know what you were requesting of him.
He looked softer somehow, shoulders more relaxed, his thrusts slowing as he stared, becoming more steady as you felt blinding need warping what little sense of reason you had remaining.
You were digging at his shoulder blades, thighs trembling as you leaned up to kiss his throat this time, craving even more of him. Tearing at his skin as you started sucking on his collarbone, leaving lovebites that made him grit his teeth and groan your name while he fought the parts of him that made him so different from you to start with.
“I’m gonna cum, fuck,” he hissed, barely holding on as you nodded along.
His fingers roughly massaged into you faster, to make sure you came right as he did, your body shaking as you broke down for him, pretty little stars splashing across your vision as you scrunched your eyes shut and probably left a fresh set of scratches across his skin, feeling him shudder and shake on top of you as he called out your name again.
You let out your moan, something that was supposed to sound like Sukuna but just came out strangled, too stuffed to really care about anything other than the size of him still filling you up so entirely.
Unable to move back or forward, feeling something wet on your face as the scent of sweat and sex and something sweet invaded your senses.
You let go of his shoulder blades, blinking a few times as you went to rest your arms over your head instead – just for him to snag your wrist and flip it around to examine the scar his old bite had left there.
“I guess I’m your problem forever now, hm?” You asked, the bond between you feeling a little less like a thin string and more like a heavy chain tying you to him.
Unbreakable.
“You’re not a problem,” he wryly muttered, not quite as amused as he tenderly dragged his thumb over the marred skin. “Just a brat.”
Like he wasn’t the one whose cum was plugged up inside you thanks to his still-throbbing knot. Keeping him locked in place as you blinked up at him with damp eyes, tears of pleasure streaked down your cheeks this time.
Sukuna cleared his throat, his pretty jaw tensing as he stared down at the narrow space between your bodies.
Enjin who doesn’t like your boyfriend - Gojo. He’s too fuII of himself, he’s too tall, he’s too rich, he’s too handsome- nevermind, he’s too yours—Enjin should be the one dating you. Enjin who doesn’t know how it happened - one too many confessions - but suddenly ends up sandwiched between the two of you n’ stuffing you full trying to prove he’s the better boyfriend. And why does that weirdo seem to be enjoying seeing it?! Enjin who ends up with two partners, it seems.
୧ ‧₊˚ 𝐁𝐎𝐗𝐄𝐑 𝓖.𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 and his very fragile girlfriend... ⋅ ✰
everyone fears the monster satoru gojo is in the boxing ring. no one sees how gently he holds the girl he loves.
MDNI ✰ nsfw headcanons below the 18+ divider ✰ overall, very fluffy
art creds to @/thatsallitchief. all dividers by @/uzmacchiato and @/pixopix
a/n :: this might not be relatable for everyone, but i made the reader deeply empathetic and prone to bruising because i am too 🙂↕️♡ hope you enjoy
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა is incredibly gentle with you from the very beginning. He knows how easily you bruise, so even when he pulls you into a hug after a long day, he wraps his arms around you like you’re made of glass. His large hands rest feather-light on your back, and he always checks your expression first to make sure he hasn’t accidentally squeezed too hard.
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა never lets you near the boxing gym during heavy sparring sessions. The sound of gloves hitting pads and the raw aggression in the air overwhelm your senses, so he sets up a small quiet corner in the back office with noise-canceling headphones, your favorite blanket and a book for the rare times you want to visit.
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა After every fight, no matter how exhausted or banged up he is, Gojo comes straight to you. He lets you fuss over his split lip or bruised ribs while he melts under your soft touch. The empath in you lets you feel how much the violence weighs on him, so he finds peace when you quietly hold his hand and let him decompress in your calm presence.
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა banned himself from giving you playful punches or even light taps. One time he jokingly poked your arm and a faint bruise appeared the next day. He felt so guilty he bought you a ridiculous amount of arnica cream and swore he’d never do it again, even for fun.
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა loves showing you his training routines but always tones down the intensity. Instead of full-power punches, he’ll demonstrate slow-motion technique so you can see the beauty and discipline in boxing rather than the violence. Your quiet admiration makes him train even harder when you’re not around.
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა keeps a secret stash of your favorite snacks in his gym bag. After rough training days, he’ll come home and present them like trophies, knowing physical gifts help when words feel too heavy for your sensitive heart.
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა is very aware that his post-fight adrenaline can be intense, so he always takes a few minutes alone to cool down before seeing you. He doesn’t want his heightened emotions to bleed into you and cause you discomfort.
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა Your nature actually helps him outside the ring. Before big matches, he’ll seek you out just to sit quietly with you because your peaceful energy helps him regulate the chaos in his own head. You’ve become his good-luck charm in the most gentle way possible.
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა secretly loves when you trace his scars and calluses with careful fingers. You never flinch from the evidence of his violent profession, and instead offer quiet acceptance. It makes him feel truly seen beyond being “the strongest boxer.”
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა is obsessed with the contrast between his rough, battle-hardened body and your soft, easily-bruised skin. He loves leaving hickeys and fingerprints on your thighs and hips, but he’s strict about aftercare—ice packs, arnica gel, and gentle massages right after so you don’t wake up covered in too many marks.
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა is surprisingly dominant but extremely controlled. He’ll hold your wrists above your head with one hand while fucking you slow and deep, whispering filthy praise about how well your tight little pussy takes his cock despite how fragile the rest of you is. The power difference turns him on immensely.
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა has a massive breeding kink he doesn’t hide. While buried inside you, he’ll groan about filling you up and how pretty you’d look carrying his kid. He always finishes deep, then keeps you plugged with his cock or his fingers afterward so nothing spills out.
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა Because you bruise so easily, he’s developed a ritual: rough sex followed by incredibly soft aftercare. He’ll eat you out gently afterward, soothing any soreness with his tongue while telling you how perfect you are for taking everything he gives.
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა loves when you ride him. Seeing you on top, trying to take his thick cock while your thighs tremble, drives him crazy. He’ll grip your hips (light enough not to bruise too badly) and guide you, praising you the whole time: “That’s it, baby. Use me. Fuck, you feel so good.”
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა Public hate on you days usually end with him fucking the frustration out in the bedroom. He’ll have you on all fours, pounding into you from behind while growling about how those fangirls could never satisfy him the way you do. The rougher days are always followed by hours of cuddling and pampering.
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა When the online attacks get to you more than you admit, Gojo gets soft-dom. He’ll edge you for hours, bringing you to the brink over and over until you’re begging, then finally let you come while telling you how much better you are than any of those jealous girls.
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა He’s vocal as hell during sex—lots of dirty talk about how no one else gets to see you like this: spread open, dripping for him, marked up by the strongest boxer in the game. Your moans are his favorite sound after a victory.
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა Post-sex, he becomes the clingiest man alive. He’ll pull you on top of his chest, wrap those long muscular arms around you carefully, and fall asleep with his cock still inside you, content knowing you’re safe and thoroughly his.
૮₍ boxerjo ⑅₎ა No matter how hard he is in the ring or how filthy he gets behind closed doors, Gojo Satoru is impossibly soft for his girl. He’ll come home after knocking out opponents in front of thousands, covered in sweat and adrenaline, and the second he sees you, all that brutality melts away. He becomes the gentlest version of himself — speaking in that low, warm voice only you get to hear, carrying you to bed like you weigh nothing, pressing the softest kisses to your bruises (the ones he left and the ones the world tried to give you), and whispering how you’re the only person who ever made the strongest feel weak in the knees. His fans see the cocky champion. You get the man who would burn the entire world down just to keep you safe and loved ♡
5 times sukuna was heavily yearning + 1 time you finally noticed.
oblivious, lonely reader who’s used to doing things alone x downbad!sukuna. jealous!sukuna. gn!reader. reader wears glasses. uncle!sukuna. sukuna calls reader angel. he’s so down bad bro. ooc sukuna as usual. mentions of nsfw contents.
— ☆ —
1. movie nights.
you had a specific, detailed, high maintenance routine for watching movies. you had slowly perfected the process— a mental to do list popping up every time a new movie dropped that you needed to watch.
first, you needed to be in your designated ‘movie night pajamas’, the most comfortable you owned. your favorite blanket had to be there, along with your favorite pillow for support. you liked watching in your home more than cinemas, because you disliked the idea of not being able to pause the movie for whatever reason. who decided to make bathroom breaks that short, anyways?
for snacks, chips poured into your favorite bowl, your favorite niche flavor. a chocolate bar sat beside it just incase the movie got intense enough for you to crave it. your favorite drink was set beside them in a thermal cup, allowing you to drink it as slow as possible without it melting too quickly.
your phone had to be on dnd, blocking out every notification. the room had to be cold, and you avoided any distractions because pausing the movie on piracy websites meant three minutes of closing ads to turn it back on.
tonight, everything was perfect.
you were perfectly wrapped in your blanket, eyes wide as it watched the screen perfectly, chips tasting perfect, drink perfected, everything absolutely perfect—
bzzz.
you immediately groaned. who could possibly be showing up? you hadn’t ordered food. no one was invited over. it was late. what could possibly be urgent enough to prompt someone to ruin your little routine?
you paused the movie (which took three minutes of pressing ‘x’ on ads urging you to ‘text hot, single ladies in your area’, and ‘ai bots who can make you cum in three minutes!’), pushed the blanket off, and pulled the door open with a soft pout you didn’t even register, just to pause when you saw sukuna standing there, eyebrows furrowed, frowning.
you and sukuna weren’t that close, really. you were in the same friend group, but you always felt nervous around him. he was intimidating, scary, too cool for you. he always stared at you blankly, and you decided he was judging you for… everything. you were awkward, nervous, a little odd.
so, him showing up to your home at midnight was a little… nerve-wracking. his red eyes slowly scanned your comfortable, worn out pajamas, messy hair, tiny pout that faded as your eyes widened, before he blinked blankly. “sorry for showing up unannounced.”
he didn’t sound apologetic. at all. his tone was monotonous, almost unamused.
“can i come in?”
you slowly blinked, before realizing how dumb you must look. you grimaced internally, stepping aside, letting him in. immediately, his eyes landed on your little set up, and he arched an eyebrow. “movie night, huh? watching part two of your little movie series?”
“how did you know?” you mumbled, genuinely confused. much to your surprise, his lips twitched up in something that looked like admiration, amused, and it was the closest you ever got to see him smile.
holy fuck, he was so gorgeous it felt unfair. now that you were actually focusing on the man towering over you, dressed in a black shirt and gray sweatpants, tanned skin peaking from under his clothes, muscles on view—
“it’s your favorite series, and it just dropped. i can recognize the sketchy ass website because you hate netflix. you have your little movie night routine, pajamas, chips, and drink.” he murmured casually, nonchalantly, as if it was normal that the guy you thought disliked you knew this much about you. “i listen, you know.”
your jaw was slack, eyes wide. he only snorted, arching an eyebrow. “don’t tell me fucking gojo was right and you really think i hate you.”
you paused. “well…”
“are you serious?” sukuna scoffed. “you’re my fucking favorite in the group, dumbass.”
“what?” you mumbled back, more confused. “you always glare at me. you never talk to me. i was starting to think you didn’t even know my last name.”
he stared at you, almost as if you were insane, then sighed. “you really are oblivious, huh?”
“hey—“
he shook his head, still looking mildly amused. “here’s the notes suguru said he would drop by to give you and forgot. i know you like studying early.”
“oh. you didn’t have to—“
“i wanted to.” he immediately stated, face serious. “‘ll leave you to it, can’t have someone ruining your perfect night. goodnight.”
with that, he was out, leaving you even more flabbergasted.
what. the. fuck.
2. hangouts.
you were still getting used to the idea that sukuna told you that not only did he not hate you, but that you were his favorite in the group. to you, the idea was unbelievable. flabbergasting. maybe even a little more scarier than being hated by him for some reason, but you managed pretty well.
at least you were more comfortable hanging out with your group now.
however, you had a tiny little habit. you hated the coffee at the place your friends loved, so often, you just walked away to the place next to it to buy your own coffee. it provided you a break, making the little pit of your stomach that grows when having to be around people, even your best friends, for too long reset, and you just get a chance to catch your breath.
today wasn’t different. in the middle of the hangout, you grabbed your wallet and slipped out, enjoying the tiny walk in fresh air before you stepped into your favorite cafe.
the familiar barista immediately lit up at the sight of you, boredom fading from his face. he was your age, friendly with a cute grin that grew whenever you two chatted— something that made you feel at ease when ordering.
“my favorite customer,” he immediately greeted, grinning. the bell at the door chimed, and you both didn’t pay any mind to it. “i wonder what you will order this time.”
you snorted. you both knew you ordered the exact same thing every single time. “yeah, i wonder too.”
he chuckled, eyes flickering to the screen. you could feel a figure stopping behind you. “well, you know your total.”
you hummed, about to pay, when the familiar scent of sukuna’s signature perfume finally registered in your mind as he moved to step beside you, eyes narrowed, jaw slowly twitching. “make it two.”
you slowly glanced up. the barista looked up in surprise, before he nodded calmly. “of course.”
before you could register it, sukuna’s card was pressing against the machine, paying for you both. your jaw went slack for the second time this week, flabbergasted once more, but sukuna was already pulling you out of line so that the people behind you could pay.
and, more unfazed that he should be by his own actions, he casually held out the receipt. “here. you take the code and collect points on their app, right?”
“…how the fuck do you even know that?” you mumbled, utterly confused. “why are you here? how did you find me— did you even know what you ordered—“
“easy there, angel.” he murmured, calm. “you always carry the receipt and i see you type something from it on your phone often. ‘m here because the coffee in the other shop is ass. you always come here, so i figured i would try my coffee with you. i know what i ordered because i know your order.”
you openly gaped at him. he only reached over, grabbing both drinks, arching an eyebrow. “are you gonna gape at me forever or drink this sweet shit?”
“…did you just call me angel?”
his amusement immediately faded, ears turning red as he shoved your drink your way, looking away. “absolutely not. hallucinations. let’s go.”
that was what he chooses to deny? not that he knew your movie night in details? that he knew your exact drink? that he knew you secretly collected points from your favorite coffee shop?
you let out a tiny chuckle, amused, following behind him. that somehow managed to make his ears even more red, a scowl pulling on his pretty lips.
fuck. he was gorgeous, and adorable.
how horrible for you.
3. aquarium.
you laid face-down on shoko’s bed, face showed between the pillows, eyes shut in pure horror. “‘m so screwed.”
she sighed for the nth time from where she sat on the ground, studying. “you quite literally could not be more not screwed.”
“i have a crush on him, shoko. i never have crushes. and now i have one, on fucking sukuna. the guy once punched a guy for breathing ‘his’ air. he fucking hates people. i am so utterly fucked. he will kill me.”
she glanced up, as if she knew something you didn’t. “he won’t kill you. kiss you? maybe.”
“stop being delusional.” you mumbled, voice muffled as you buried your face into the sand further. “‘m so fucked.”
she sighed. “you’re delusional too if you don’t realize what’s happening. anyways, isn’t it the twenty seventh? your monthly aquarium night?”
you jumped up, gasping. “it is! fuck!” you quickly grabbed your phone to check the time, before opening the aquarium’s instagram page just in case there were any updates.
and, unfortunately, right there on their instagram story, posted twelve hours ago, was a simple statement.
‘couples only day!’
“oh, fuck my fucking life.” you mumbled, eyes on the story, shoulders drooping. “shoko, be my aquarium date.”
“couples only, huh? if only these weren’t the conditions,” she mused, almost flirty, before tilting her head.
“yes.”
“ask sukuna to go with you.”
you blinked once, twice, before pulling up your phone, nodding, serious. “good idea. ‘m asking gojo or geto.”
“that is quite literally not what i said.”
“you’re a genius.”
you sent off a quick text to geto and gojo, jumping off her bed to head to your own apartment to get ready. after dressing up all cute for the sake of your loved marine animals, you glanced down at your phone, where a vague text from gojo said he couldn’t, followed by maybe three million crying emojis (which was maybe because he had begged before to accompany you said no. aquariums were a single, you-only trip), and geto sent back a simple ‘he’s almost there’, and a thumbs up.
what kind of reply was that? you frowned, sending five questions marks, about to ask who the fuck ‘he’ was, when your doorbell rings.
you pulled the door open, and freeze when your eyes landed on the one and only sukuna. he glanced at you, eyes blank, and nodded once. “let’s go.”
“…where?”
he raised an eyebrow. “the aquarium. date night. let’s go.”
“…are you sure?” you immediately mumbled, voice uncharacteristically low. “‘m, uh, kind of enthusiastic about this. nerdy. geeky. um, annoying.”
his lips twitched up into an endeared smile that he immediately pushed back. “i know what ‘m getting into. let’s go.”
you grabbed your jacket, eyebrows furrowing. “suguru could have just said he couldn’t come. i’m sorry he sent you instead.”
“oh, he could come.” sukuna stated blankly, stepping into the elevator behind you. you glanced up at him, confused, and he stared back blankly, as if waiting for you to collect dots you didn’t even see. he only sighed after a few minutes, shaking his head. “this is both cute and infuriating. so, which stupid creature is your favorite?”
you expected a night with sukuna to be awkward. tense. uncomfortable. a night where you had to hold back so you don’t become labeled as talkative, or annoying, or too much.
you didn’t expect for him to be a good listener. nodding at whatever you said, asking questions at first to keep you talking until you were comfortable rambling. you didn’t expect him to hold your things so you could comfortably get closer to the glass, or stay longer at your favorite animals, or ask you about ones that seemed interesting, his eyes soft and lips twitching upwards just the slightest. you didn’t expect him to disappear at one point and come back with a few limited-edition items from the small gift shop either, dumping them in your arms wordlessly as you two were walking out.
“thank you for being my fake date for the night, kuna.” you mumbled as he was dropping you off, sleepy, eyes soft and voice slurred. he paused at your words, lips twitching into a frown before he eyed how sleepy you were and only sighed.
“of course, angel.” he muttered, reaching over and nonchalantly pressing a kiss to your forehead before he turned around, walking away. “…sleep well, goodnight.”
gaping at him seeming like a new routine, except this time, your sleepy eyes were set on his back as he left, almost getting distracted by his muscles showing through the fabric. oh, you were so, utterly fucked.
4. the beach.
you sat quietly on the sand, wrapped tightly in a towel, eyes ahead as you watched gojo, geto and shoko shoving each other in the water. choso was on a towel beside you, deeply asleep and snoring. toji was playing around with megumi and nobara and yuji, who was yapping about how his uncle dropped him off and disappeared. everyone was enjoying themselves.
you were freezing.
you had gotten there earlier, having known they would all show up too late. you liked swimming alone with no eyes on you, so with too much sunscreen, you stayed in the water under the sun in what you knew was the perfect time for you. by the time everyone else arrived, you were already drying in the shade.
oh, how you wished you had a dry towel—
a dry towel dropped into your lap before the thought even finished. you froze, glancing up at the sky, before immediately closing your eyes again and wishing for a million dollars just in case.
“don’t stare at the fucking sun.”
ah. your genie.
you peaked through your lashes at sukuna, who glared at you, a hand going to shade your eyes from the sun. he was dry, holding a small bag which you assumed was for his wallet and phone and car keys and towel, the sun kissing every spot on his perfect body, as if purposely teasing you.
fuck. how could someone be so pretty?
he sighed, pulling a cap out of the bag. he pushed it on top of your damp hair, shading your face, and slumped beside you. “switch towels. mine is dry.”
“hi.” you mumbled dumbly, blinking a few times to snap yourself from the daze seeing his beautiful red eyes in the sun put you through. his lips twitched, face softening, and he only pulled the cap down further. you finally remembered how to think. “don’t you need your towel dry?”
“‘m not going into the water this late.” he stated. his eyes flickered to choso asleep, and he rolled his eyes, standing back up. you watched shamelessly as he effortlessly pulled the heavy umbrella so it was covering the sun kissed stoner, sighing, voice lower. “that dumbass.”
“i spray him with sunscreen every two hours. flipped him once.” you mused, taking the chance of sukuna being distracted to switch towels, sighing in relief once the warm, dry, soft towel wrapped around you. “thank you, kuna.”
“don’t mention it.” he grunted, then frowned once he registered your words, “you rub sunscreen on him?”
“oh, no, it’s a spray.” you hummed, pulling it out. “isn’t it cool?”
he glanced at the spray bottle, shoulders slowly relaxing. “mhm. it is. can you spray me?”
you nodded, moving to stand up, immediately stumbling in the towel. firm fingers immediately steadied you, and you deeply hoped he couldn’t feel the warmth radiating off you from being flustered as he slowly let go.
you slowly sprayed him, the sunscreen leaving a shiny coat that made him look even more beautiful. after making sure every part of him was covered, you slowly sat back down. “try to rub it to make sure it’s even.”
he hummed, eyes shut, slowly spreading it out, spreading it out on his tan skin.
what a fucking sight, really. he was so, unbelievably gorgeous. you were so fucked.
“…you went early, huh?”
“…yeah.” you mumbled, eyes still on him, hoping he keeps his eyes closed.
“tell me next time. ‘ll go with you.” he sighed. “these idiots always come when it’s already too cold.”
you nodded slowly as he finally finished, slumping next to you on the little beach mat gojo had gotten, so close that his thigh was pretty to your covered figure. he frowned. “your lips are pale. still cold?”
you grimaced. “‘ll be okay. thank you for the towel—“
he sighed, an arm wrapping around your shoulder before he was pulling you towards him. you missed the way his body relaxed, lips twitching into a repressed grin, the face of a man finally achieving one of his long lost goals.
holy fuck. you were pressed to his side, his body oozing warmth. he smelled great, and you could feel his muscles every time he shifted. as you stared ahead, trying to pretend like you weren’t malfunctioning, your eyes landed on shoko, gojo and geto staring back at you guys from the water, jaws slack.
well. at least it wasn’t you this time.
5. studying.
as much as it seemed otherwise, studying with gojo actually helped you. you both kept each other in check— you stopped him whenever he started yapping, and he distracted you whenever you were spiraling. you both were a team when studying— having been one since the first semester, when you both met.
during breaks, however, was when you really liked studying with gojo. you both sat with thirteen expensive pastries in front of you, gojo’s treat, and he grinned excitedly. “oh, this will be so good. you go first.”
“you don’t have to tell me twice.” you mumbled, picking one up. you immediately moaned in delight, holding the rest to gojo, who reached over and took the rest from between your fingers. “fuck. this is so good.”
gojo let out an even louder moan. you both ignored the disgusted glares from the people around you, happily chewing. “oh, these are fucking godsent. thank you for being my taste buddy.”
“thank you,” you mumbled, grabbing another one. “you’re the one spoiling me with these. you’re, like, my dream man right now.”
gojo let out a loud laugh, before pausing, shivering in horror at whatever he imagined. “do not let sukuna hear you saying that. he’ll have my head.”
“why would he have your head for that?” you mumbled, mouthful, and distracted by the heavenly taste of these. you weren’t even a fan of pasteries, but these were on another level. you tried another, and immediately groaned. “fuck. try this one.”
you immediately extended your hand out to gojo. he, as usual, ate half of it off your fingers instead, and dramatically melted in his seat. “ten out of ten. perfect. stunning. i will marry whoever made these.” he swallowed, and quickly ate the rest off your fingers to. “and he will because he’s, like, in love with you.”
“you flipping liar.” you mumbled, unamused with the obvious fake news. “he doesn’t. he’s just a good friend.”
“he’s not a good friend,” gojo snorted. “he almost shoved my head into the toilet bowl yesterday because he was bored. he likes you.”
you did not believe him the slightest. “uh-huh. wanna try the red one?”
“yes, please.”
later that night, you were curled up in bed— going over everything you had studied earlier to lock the information into your mind. the groupchat was blowing up after choso was caught kissing someone (you already knew the news. choso blurted about his ‘secret’ crush to you before when he was high, and forgot.) and you just shot back a sticker laughing, said you were studying and you needed more caffeine to deal with this, and shut your phone off completely.
you really needed caffeine.
everytime you shut your eyes, all you can see is a cold, cup of your favorite coffee from your favorite shop. the condensation running down, the inviting taste, everything—
fuck. you needed one so bad. you frowned, turning your phone on to glance at the time, and paused when a notification stood out from between the ones on the groupchat.
sukuna: pick u up for coffee in five?
you stared at the message, then slowly glanced down at the sweatpants and oversized hoodie you were in, your hair messy, broken glasses on because you were too lazy to get these specific ones fixed and you lost the other, before sighing. you needed caffeine too bad to worry about how you looked in front of him right now.
you: please :c
a car honked downstairs a few minutes. you quickly grabbed your wallet and your half-dead phone, rushing downstairs, grabbing an oversized jacket on the way so you could tug it on top of your thick hoodie, grimacing at how much of a mess you looked. you slid into the passenger seat, and sukuna only stared at you, eyes slowly taking in your appearance, lips softly pulling up.
“don’t say anything.” you immediately mumbled. his smirk widened, but he didn’t speak, immediately resuming to drive, eyes ahead. “‘m so sleepy.”
“uh-huh. let’s get some caffeine in you.” he murmured, turning more serious. “don’t overwork yourself tonight. did you have dinner?”
you nodded, ignoring how your heart felt like it was twirling in your chest. “i did. ate and drank and slept well.”
he hummed. “good.”
in the coffee shop, he got the same as you, paying despite your complaints. once the drinks were out, he grabbed both, wrapping yours in tissues to keep your fingers from being cold before handing it over, humming.
you were looking over notes in your phone, too tired to register his actions. you only quietly took the cup, immediately sipping, shoulders slowly rolling down, tense muscles relaxing. “thank you, kuna.”
he clicked his tongue. “don’t mention it.”
in the car, you focused on sipping the coffee, and he cleared his throat. “gojo said you two were on a study date this morning. pastries and shit. said you called him your dream man.”
you snorted. sukuna glanced over, utterly unamused, almost pouting. “i love gojo.”
his lips immediately formed a scowl. “you love him?”
“not like that,” you snorted. “he’s just… he was the first person who was nice to me in university, you know. the first person who made sure i never felt like a burden. he means a lot to me, platonically.”
he was silent for a while, then nodded, pulling up in front of your building. “good. you deserve to never feel like a burden. you… mean a lot to me.”
was he trying to kill you? you immediately shuffled out, heart beating like it was trying to escape your chest, cheeks burning. “you mean a lot to me too, kuna. um, goodnight. thank you for picking me up.”
“don’t mention it, angel.”
+1.
against your will, you were dragged to a party.
you would have been enthusiastic, really, if finals hadn’t just ended— leaving you too sleep deprived that you couldn’t even walk straight. gojo had came over to force you out and picked your outfit out for you, keeping in mind your pleads for it to be something warm, and you ended up in the passenger seat of his car, asleep soundly, vaguely aware of his whining about you needing to be awake as he drove you there.
you could only remember little snippets between your tiny naps, really.
gojo having his arm around you as he dragged you in.
you slumping down beside choso, immediately falling asleep on his shoulder.
sukuna crouching down in front of you, concerned, eyes worried.
sukuna covering you with a blanket.
sukuna sitting beside you, pulling your head into his shoulder instead.
geto replacing choso. you shifting, head falling into his shoulder because he was warmer.
sukuna immediately pulling you back towards him, an arm falling around your waist to keep you close, bickering with geto.
after that, you drifted into deep sleep— the kind that only came after a week straight of pulling all nighters. and, when you woke up again, you were wrapped in a blanket, on the roof, on a tiny couch with your head on sukuna’s lap and a cigarette between his lips.
the second he registered you awake, he pushed the cigarette into the ashtray, eyes soft, fingers on your shoulders to help you sit up. “you okay, angel?”
“mhm. sleepy.” you mumbled, blinking slowly, still half asleep. you yawned, rubbing your eyes. “thank you for watching over me, kuna. you’re, like, my angel.”
“…don’t mention it.” he whispered— although, it sounded more like a pained whimper. “i… yeah. don’t mention it.”
it was silent for a few minutes. you both stared up at the sky, lost in thought, before sukuna cleared his throat.
“…the stars are pretty.”
“mhm.”
he paused, before speaking again. his voice was low, soft, but it was laced with quiet frustration that you could tell wasn’t pointed at you. “we’re, uh, done with the semester.”
“…mhm.”
he clicked his tongue, and sat up, like he’s restarting. “…we’re good friends.”
“we are.” you mumbled, still dazed from your delicious, needed nap. he let out a small groan, face buried into his palm.
“fuck.”
“…kuna?” you murmured, voice soft, sleepy. his eyes finally flickered up, frustrated and almost disappointed in himself, and you only gave him a small, sleepy smile. “i like you too.”
and finally, it was his turn for his jaw to go slack, eyes widening, before he turned to you quickly. “you’re not fucking with me, right? you like me?”
you nodded, sleepy, but focused. “i like you.”
he didn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees in front of you, eyes soft and almost pathetic. “say that again. please.”
“i like you, kuna.” you repeated, quieter, softer, more serious.
he let his head drop, face pressed against the blanket covering your thighs briefly, voice muffled when he spoke. “…you have no idea how many years i have been dying to hear this, angel. fuck.” when he lifted his head back up, his red eyes were almost glossy. “‘m marrying the fuck out of you one day.”
that managed a sleepy laugh out of you. “take me on a date first, at least. we haven’t even kissed yet.”
his eyes lit up at the mere thought— before you watched him visibly holding himself back, trying to appear more relaxed, probably to not scare you off, despite his reddening ears at the idea. “right. dates. i will date you so fucking good, i promise, you will never think of anyone but me again. not even that stupid barista who clearly wants you so bad. only me.” he nodded, serious, scowling, before his eyes softened again. “best dates of your life. where do you want to go? dinner? coffee? aquarium? your little movie night routine at my place? do you want me to make it a surprise? i will be the best boyfriend— wait, fuck, not that yet—“
you reached over, softly pressing your lips to his,
he froze, eyes probably wide, then immediately melted the second your fingers gently cupped his face to pull him closer, letting out a soft, little sound into the kiss that had his face flushing further.
once you pulled away, your eyes met his dazed ones, and he slowly sucked in a deep breath. “….fuck.”
“dinner sounds good.” you whispered back, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, and he shut his eyes, as if it took visible effort not to groan. “next week?”
“you think ‘ll make it to next week?” he let out a sharp laugh. “you have me fucking kneeling for you, angel. tomorrow. 8. please.”
“okay.” you murmured, voice soft. “now, come back up, i will want to continue napping on you.”
aang, in all his avatar glory, is not above tongue-fucking his cum right back into your quivering, convulsing pussy. his wide, stupefied eyes glow white as he licks and scoops and sucks with relentless obsession, lithe tongue sweeping across your folds with striking precision only a master of the four elements could possess. powerful arms pin your thighs against the mattress while roughened hands palm over your lower stomach, cradling the skin above your uterus with something almost reverent in their touch.
“it has to take. . .” he’s mumbling to himself, practically incoherent, but you can still hear the raw desperation threaded through his guttural chanting. “has to, has to, has to—!”
“a-aang, mmph! what’s wrong? did something happen on your trip—?” you whimper through the haze of overstimulation, hands scrambling against his shoulders as you search for something to ground yourself with. he’s been at it for hours, ever since he returned from his home air temple. had stormed into your shared bedroom with the doors rattling against the walls behind him, barely a greeting leaving his mouth before he was climbing over you, frantic hands shoving the hefty layers of his robes and beads from his body like they’ve suddenly become unbearable.
in mere seconds he had you striped and flat on your back.
then on all fours.
and then on your side and everything else in between.
the room is in absolute shambles— feathers spilling from torn pillows and swirling through the air in frantic, whirling currents. the bed barely remains intact beneath you, headboard split apart and canopy hanging in splintered ruin, all of it unable to withstand the force of him as the elements hum beneath his tortured skin.
“aang, honey, are you— hah!— okay? talk to me, baby. please.”
what new revelation could he have possibly had for him to suddenly fold you into a million different positions?
and you tried to run, to tap out after the nth round, but did you really think you could escape the hold of an avatar in his avatar state? a handsome, beefy, six-foot-five, one-hundred-something kilogram man so utterly desperate to revive an entire bloodline, yet far too in love to want to do it with anyone else but you?
aang’s voice comes out rough, wrecked with pathetic want. “need to get you pregnant,” he finally admits, lips never leaving your twitching clit. “need it right fucking now.”
his sharp, unfamiliar words send a shiver down your spine.
he begrudgingly sits up, one hand keeping you spread for him while the other drags down his chiseled abs, ghosting over the twin downward arrows that curl just above his v–line. he fists his burly cock in slow, measured strokes as he readies another thick load, bright eyes trailing from your flushed face to your heaving breasts, tongue-in-cheek.
your heart jumps. you know that look. “aang, i know how much reviving air bending means to you, the duty you have to your people—” you start in an attempt to soothe.
because when he gets like this you tend to wobble for weeks.
he cuts you off with a dry, humorless chuckle. “you think that’s what this is about?” he tilts his head, eyes narrowing.
you could only gulp in response.
then, he’s rising above you, broad, muscular shoulders boxing you in as he settles between your thighs. the heavy heat of his dick presses against your sensitive, aching entrance, his incandescent gaze dragging over your face like he’s trying to memorize every expression, every shaky inhale.
as if he was mapping out your features to store in the forefront of his mind. to painfully revisit over and over again.
the realization that had struck him back at the temple as he looked at every mural, every worn painting and towering statue of the air nomads. they all looked like his people. familiar faces, familiar smiles, familiar eyes, familiar powers.
but none of them resembled you.
none carried the curve of your lashes or the little furrow in your brow when you worried. none had your laugh, the unique slope of your nose, your warmth, your favor for sour over sweet, your gentleness for children and particular bugs. and suddenly, the grief that sat in his chest for years changed shape entirely. because what would be the point of preserving the world he lost if, in doing so, he lost every trace of the person he loved most within it?
“this—this isn’t about me reviving airbenders or a duty to save my dying culture. this isn’t about avatar sonam or tagah or monk gyatso or anything that has to do with bending. this is about you and me and me wanting to start a family with you,” he states with that heavy, solid avatar voice of his. firm and sure, thumb brushing along your jaw, “this is about me making sure that a part of you will always exist in a world where the avatar exists. that your lips, your eyes, your soul. . . live on for eternity. so that every time i look into this world through the eyes of the new avatar, i can still see you. see you in our grandchildren, in our great-great grandchildren, in the people that will come to exist because we loved each other. . . to know that you’ll always be in my life someway, somehow.”
“aang. . .”
“i realize now that there will come a day when airbending returns, whether in our lifetime or long after we’re gone.” he presses his forehead against yours, tone softer despite the ache in his words. “i know that i’ll get to see that vision through the eyes of the avatars who will come after me. and if i keep chasing impossible answers, impossible resolves— if i keep throwing myself at a future i can’t force into existence— i’ll lose you in the process. i’ll waste the little time we’re given together. with our friends. with our children. the thought of losing you to time. . .”
it killed him.
you feel it. the shift in him. the sincerity behind every broken word, every trembling breath. the sheer despair that claws through him at the thought of you leaving nothing behind of yourself, of the love the two of you share. the regret he’d forever live with if he only prioritized the revival of air-bending or the kids that would inherit it. and the fact that he still hasn’t left the avatar state only makes it worse, every emotion stripped raw and vulnerable beneath glowing eyes and tattoos and shaking hands.
“so i vow now that i will never neglect your life or your culture for the sake of mine. whether we have airbending children or not. . . that is up to the universe.”
his hands cup your cheeks gently as he leans in, drawing you into a slow, sloppy kiss. you could only gasp softly when his tongue slips past your lips, kissing you like he’s trying to seal his fate with yours.
he slowly pulls away, thick fingers easing you open as he makes room for himself. “i can live without other airbenders. i can make due with the acolyte family we’ve founded. what i cannot live without is you. what i cannot imagine not ingrained in this world beyond my lifetime is you.”
aang smiles for the first time tonight, like the image in his mind was far more beautiful than anything he could’ve ever imagined. he sinks inside, massive and overwhelming, drawing a raspy breath from your lungs at the sheer stretch of him. still, you pull him closer, wanting nothing more than to feel the slow, heavy drag of him inside you.
“so for now,” he whispers, breath warm against your lips as he begins moving slowly, in and out, “all i want is a child with you. one that embodies everything that you are. one that will carry on your memory, your curiosity, your strength, your traits.” gone was the glow of the avatar state, the white fading slowly from his eyes until they were simply his again, fixed on yours with a tenderness so deep it was almost unbearable. “so i’m begging you. . . give me a baby that looks just like you.”
you cry out helplessly as he buries his face into your throat, holding you impossibly close. every stroke is long and deliberate, driven far less by hunger and more by an emotion too large for words. the slick of your arousal coats his balls as you helplessly grind against him, cunt fluttering around the girthiness of his base. you could feel all the veins that line him, tracing your walls as he fucked you like he needed you to breathe.
you blink back the tears threatening to spill. “b-but i do want our baby to be like you. i do want to help you—”
he shakes his head fervently, fingers tightening around you like he’s afraid you still don’t understand. “no. no,” he rasps, “i don’t want this to be some duty you carry for me. i want this because it’s us. because it’s the life we chose together. no obligations. no sacrifices.”
you feel the dampness at the corner of his eyes as he clings to you, hands roaming your body in a worship-like trance, as though he was reassuring himself that you were real and here and present and his. to have and to hold and to sink himself into when the world is in chaos.
“please,” he croaks hoarsely into your neck, voice cracking around the word, and the raw vulnerability in it makes your chest ache more than anything else ever could. “say you’ll give me a baby, sweetheart. say you’ll give me this one thing. even if they come without air-bending.”
a broken sound leaves your throat as you cling to his shoulders, nodding desperately against him, back arching into his warmth. “yes,” you breathe out shakily, fingers curling around his nape. “yes, yes, yes. of course, i will.”
the words—your defining proclamation—undo him entirely. he groans into the curve of your neck, holding you so tightly it almost hurts, every breath hot, cold, then hot again against your skin. he cums in thick, long spurts, coating your insides pearly white as you cream on his cock, legs caging him in. his tattoos begin to faintly glow once more as he shivers, hips still pumping his seed into you, forehead pressed beneath your jaw, as though he can’t bear even an inch of distance between you.
when he finally pulls back, his eyes have returned to their natural state, shining with something far softer than desire.
devotion, perhaps. a need to always keep you safe. to give you—and your children—a world that offers everything and takes nothing in return.
“i love you,” he murmurs softly, brushing the damp strands of your hair from your face. he rests his forehead against yours again, eyes slipping closed as his heart, for once, is at ease. “thank you.”
your lips tremble into a tired smile, fingers curling weakly around his head. “you never have to thank me for loving you.”
though your words alone could never truly capture the depth of everything you’ve given him.
୨୧ — You knew exactly what game you were playing- the sideway glances, brushes against Sukuna's thigh at breakfast, the way you bent over in that flimsy excuse for a skirt, ass practically begging for his handprint.
The final straw was the coffee shop, it had been calculated, deliberate- the way you'd pressed your tits against the counter, the sultry drop in your voice as you addressed the young barista who always served you. Sukuna stood rigid beside you, one massive hand wrapped around your daughter's tiny fingers, watching with murderous intensity as you let your fingers caress the barista's wrist like a fucking promise.
“Awh, you're wonderful,” you'd purred, “you always make the best coffee. I don't know how you do it.”
The barista had flushed, clearly imagining things he had no right to think about... Clearly oblivious to the death sentence being written in the crimson eyes boring into his skull.
Sukuna's hand had tightened around his daughter's, not enough to hurt -he was always careful with her- but enough that had her squeezing back with all her might. She had looked up at her father, giggling, “Papa doesn't like that man,” she'd announced plainly, loud enough for nearby customers to hear, “His face gets all scary when mama talks to him.”
Sukuna's lip had twitched, the barest hint of approval at his daughter's observation. He'd crouched down to her level, eyes softening just for her as they always did, “Smart girl,” he'd murmured, ruffling her hair gently.
Two fucking days without him- two days of him handling “business” that left him coming home with blood under his fingernails. Two days of an empty bed and pent up need that had you resorting to these dangerous games.
Now, with your daughter finally asleep, you hear him stalking down the hall. You're in the bathroom, dressed in nothing but his white t-shirt, bent over the counter in a pose that's anything but innocent. Pretending to pluck your eyebrows.
The bathroom door whumps against the wall hard enough to rattle the medicine cabinet. You freeze, tweezers hovering near your eyebrow. In the fog streaked mirror, his reflection looms like a nightmare carved from granite- jaw clenched, veins snaking down his neck. “Think you're fucking clever, don't you?” His voice is dangerously soft, “Teasing me in front of our own kid, knowing i wouldn't act up in front of her.”
“I don't know what you're talking abou-“
The lie earns you exactly what you wanted- one massive arm snaking around your neck in a controlled chokehold. His other hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise, yanking you back against his rigid cock, “You've been asking for it since I got back. Teasing me, flaunting yourself at that pathetic barista.”
“Two days,” you gasp, “You left me alone for two days.”
His laugh is a dark thing against your neck, “So you decide to pull this shit?”
“Y-yes,” you managed, voice breathy and tight as his chokehold tightened fractionally, enough to make your vision blur, enough to remind you of his absolute control over your body in this moment.
“You know there are better ways to get my attention than flirting with some worthless shit who makes coffee for a living,” he growled, his free hand moving to your breast, squeezing roughly through your shirt. “Ways that don't make me want to drag you out of a public place by your hair.”
“This is s'more fun,” you gasped as his fingers found your nipple.
Sukuna's eyes darkened dangerously in the bathroom mirror, “Fun?” he growled, his other arm snaked around your neck in a vicious headlock, his tattooed bicep crushing against your throat as he twisted your nipple between his fingers, “You think playing with fire is fun, woman?”
His free hand abandoned your breast, dropping to yank up the t-shirt -his t-shirt- that barely covered your ass. He exposed your bare cunt to the cool bathroom air, your puffy pussy lips already drenched with your slick.
“No panties,” he observed, voice deadly calm, “Walking around my house, taking care of my kid, dressed like a fucking whore with your cunt ready to be split open on my cock.”
His large hand came down on your ass with a resounding crack. “Two days,” he mocked, delivering another sharp slap, “Two fucking days handling business, and you act like a bitch in heat the minute I'm back, practically drooling over some coffee boy's dick...”
“I- I missed you,” you admitted breathlessly, grinding your ass back against his hardening bulge.
“Missed me?” Another devastating smack landed, “Or missed getting your needy cunt stuffed full of my cock?”
His fingers roughly parted your folds, finding you embarrassingly wet, “Fucking soaked,” he hissed, plunging two fingers knuckle-deep without warning, "Look at you dripping down your thighs just from being manhandled. What would that barista think seeing what a desperate cumslut you really are?”
Your walls clenched around his digits at the degradation, pussy practically weeping as he fingerfucked you just got you liked it. “P-lease,” you mewled, “m’need-”
“Please what, whore?” he demanded, curling his fingers to hit that spongy spot inside that made your knees buckle. “Please wreck your pussy? Please put you in your fucking place? Please remind you who this cunt belongs to?”
“Yes!” you sobbed, grinding shamelessly against his hand, “All -ohfuck- all of it!”
Sukuna's arm tightened around your throat, cutting off just enough air to make you lightheaded before releasing you only to fist your hair instead, wrenching your head back at a vicious angle.
“On your knees,” he ordered as he withdrew his fingers to unbuckle his belt.
You dropped to the cold tile without hesitation, spinning to face him as he pulled out his cock- thick as your wrist, veined, the swollen head already leaking precum. Your mouth practically watered at the sight of it.
“This what you been thinking about while I’ve been away?” he asked, fisting his length and slapping it across your cheek, smearing his precum on your skin. “This fat cock that you'd risk pissing me off for?”
“Always,” you admitted shamelessly, eyes locked on his, tongue darting out to taste him.
“Show me,” he demanded, pressing his cockhead against your lips, “Show me how much youve missed this- missed me…”
You parted your mouth obediently, taking him as deep as you could in one gulp. His fist tightened in your hair, holding you in place as your throat convulsed around his girth.
“Fuck,” he grunted, the first crack in his control, “Look at you choking yourself on my cock like you were born for it. World’s prettiest mom on her knees acting like a whore on a corner.”
Tears streamed down your face as you struggled with his size- even after all these years you still weren’t used to his sheer size… but you didn't pull back. Instead you hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard while working your tongue against the thick vein on the underside. Knowing it would drive him insane and earn you a roses blush on his face~.
“That's it,” he praised, mouth hung open as he pants, “Use that pretty mouth for what it's good for.”
His hips began moving, small thrusts that gradually deepened until he was fucking your face, watching your makeup run and spit drip down your chin. You moaned around him, the vibrations making his thighs shake as he hits the back of your throat. His whole idea was to punish that mouth of yours for running it earlier, but he can’t stop thinking about fucking you- spilling inside you filling your womb… Yeah, he needed that. Now.
“Get up,” he ordered, yanking out suddenly, leaving you gasping and drooling- hauling you to your feet by your hair.
Before you could breathe, he bent you over the counter again, shoving your face against the cool surface. The position forcing your ass high, completely exposed and vulnerable for him to use you as he pleases.
“Look at yourself,” he commanded, one hand gripping your neck to pin you down.
You looked into the mirror best you could- flushed cheeks, mascara streaked, lips swollen and glistening. Behind you, Sukuna's tattooed form dominated like some ancient war god claiming his sacrifice.
“Who owns this pussy?” he asked, his cockhead pressing against your entrance but not entering.
“You do,” you gasped, trying to push back only to be held firmly in place, “Only you, Sukuna. No one else.”
“And who's the only one who gets to wreck it?” he continued, rubbing his length through your syrupy folds without giving you what you and he needed.
“You,” you repeated desperately, “Sukuna, Please- I need your cock inside me! I’m so sorr-“
“Not until you admit what a manipulative cocktease you've been today,” he snarled, delivering another spank to your reddened ass.
“I teased you!!! I teased you on purpose because I missed this- flirted with him to make you jealous-“
A smile curved his lips, “At least you're honest” he murmured, positioning himself again, “Now take what you've been begging for.”
He slammed into you with one thrust, splitting you open on his cock. The brutal stretch tore a scream from your throat that echoed off the walls. Sukuna's arm immediately locked around your neck in another chokehold.
“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed against your ear, his bicep crushing your windpipe, “Unless you want to wake our daughter and explain why mommy's getting her brains fucked out...”
When another moan escaped your lips, his arm tightened around your neck viciously, cutting off your air until black spots danced in your vision and your struggles grew weak.
“I said quiet,” he growled, his other hand gripped your hip with bruising force as he maintained his punishing rhythm.
His pace was relentless, each stroke hitting your cervix and that spongy spot inside that had your eyes rolling back. Every time you got too loud his arm flexed around your throat until your legs started to buckle.
“Gonna flood this tight cunt-,” he muttered, pace becoming erratic- his cock dragging against your walls, rubbing your gummy insides raw, “put another baby in your womb so that barista knows exactly who you spread your legs for.”
The image sent you hurtling toward the edge- you pregnant again, belly swollen with his child, undeniably his in every way possible.
“Yes-“ you agreed in the barest whisper, “d-do it, wan’it- want you to put another in me-“
His free hand found your clit, circling it until a frothy white mess of your cream formed around his base as he destroyed you.
“Come on my cock,” he ordered, his arm loosening around your throat.
It hits like a fuse- white noise, bright shards behind your eyelids, knees threatening to give. You don’t make a sound, not this time, your lips part on a silent cry, the mirror catching the moment you dissolve, your body seizing and fluttering against him until you’re boneless, breathless, trembling.
He follows a heartbeat later, the fluttering of your walls triggering his release- hot spurts of cum flooding your womb as he buried himself impossibly deep… driving you into the counter with one final, possessive grind. “Fuck-“ he groaned, as his body covered yours completely, his arm still locked around your throat, his breathing ragged…
For several long moments, neither of you moved, the only sounds your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the building's heating system. Finally, Sukuna straightened, carefully withdrawing before turning you to face him.
To your surprise, there was something almost tender in his expression now, the earlier fury burned away by release. One large hand came up to cup your face, thumb gently wiping away a tear you hadn't even realized had fallen.
“You don't need to pull that shit to get my attention,” he said quietly, crimson eyes searching yours. “I know two days is too long. I'll figure something out.”
The sudden vulnerability in his admission caught you off guard. This was the side of Sukuna no one ever saw- the man beneath the monster, capable of genuine emotion despite his best efforts to suppress it.
“I missed you,” you murmured, leaning into his touch. “Not just... this. You.”
Something softened in his gaze, “Could have just said that instead of eye fucking some random barista in front of our brat.”
A small smile curved your lips, “But then I wouldn't have gotten bent over the bathroom counter.”
Sukuna snorted, but there was amusement in his eyes now, “Manipulative little thing, aren't you?”
“I learned from the best,” you countered with a playful wink, wrapping your arms around his neck.
He lifted you with ease, carrying you out of the bathroom toward the bedroom. To your surprise, he didn't head straight for the bed, but made a detour down the hall, pushing open your daughter’s door with his foot.
The nightlight cast a soft glow over your daughter's sleeping form, her tiny chest rising and falling with peaceful breaths, one small hand clutching the stuffed duck Sukuna had won for her at a festival last summer.
Sukuna stood in the doorway, still holding you against his chest, something unreadable in his expression as he watched over his little girl.
“You really meant it?” he finally asked, voice barely audible, “About another one?”
The hesitation in his tone -so at odds with his usual confidence- made your heart skip a beat.
“Yes,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to his jaw, “i want that- another baby with you… Have for a while now, but… You and her have something so precious.”
Relief and satisfaction flickered across his face before he schooled his expression back to its usual impassive mask. “Good,” he said simply, pulling her door closed again before carrying you to your bedroom. “Because I wasn’t kidding about going back and showing that punk who knocked you up.”
