🐈⬛: "welcome to our coffee shop. feel free to look around. my darling will assist you in a moment."
"greetings, customer! i'm cattleya (20-25) welcome to our coffee shop! i see you've met my husband. (quite the looker, am i right?) oh right! i should take your order! ah, before you proceed i should warn you that most of our beverages have dark ingredients."
dark content warning! ingredients prominent in our cup of joes: yandere, stalking, cnc, incest, stepcest, obsessive and possessive behavior (worship), x reader fics only, blurbs... minors/if uncomf DNI.
🐈⬛: "huh, so you are fine with it? alright then. i should warn you, we don't take refunds."
i write gender-neutral and female reader content, with fem reader being my default. male reader content is not something i write. i focus on genshin impact and SAGAU, so please specify if you want SAGAU in your request. other AUs are also welcome if specified.
i write character x reader only, not character x character.
no super specific reader to the point it's an oc.
i will delete requests that i won't accept so it wouldn't pile up. my sched is kinda hectic, it's hard to tell when i will finish a request but more often than not, i indulge them.
i write: stepcest/incest, harem, aphrodisiac use, yandere (worship), possessive and obsessive behavior, killing for love, "idc who i have to get rid of so i can love you all to myself", porn w/o plot and vice versa, dubcon, cnc, etc.
i don't write: omegaverse, abortion, miscarriage, self-harm, overt gore, catgirl/hybrid reader (with exceptions, ex: reader suddenly turns a cat for a day), pedophilia, necrophilia.
in terms of wc, idrc how long your req is going to be as long as it isn't too specific if yw im saying. it can be as short as "scara worshipping us on the throne while the rest of the acolytes are gone" or sth more detailed.
that's all! thank you for choosing our coffee shop!
your lips are needy, sloppy even, pressing wet kisses against the smooth skin at the nape of his neck that seeps with deep and rich cologne. and kisaki can’t help but grin under your desperate attempts to prove your love can be far more better than her’s; kisses trailing down against his collar bone, dipping below the beat of his heart before winding back up to his lips.
“if someone could do what you do for her but instead all for me,” the kisses you press against his temples are hard, breaking you mid-sentence, “i would be on my knees for them every second of the day,” your nails that rake up his abdomen, feel how his tie is still messily tore off against his chest, now pinch into his cheeks, “i would do anything for them, praise them, even worship them.” you can’t help it, he’s like an addiction, a drug.
a drug you can still taste on the tip of your tongue after mixing bubbly spit together for hours..
a drug you can still feel slide down your throat like those ring-covered hands do every time you pleasure him for his own greed..
loneliness..
a want in his chest he can’t seem to completely fill, so there he strives to try and fill it with you, knowing you do good enough for a while, for now.. but not the way he truly wishes, the perfect way, a way he knows that only one can deliver just right..
only she can..
“all that for me? chaos? mayhem? just for me?” you almost whine, “she’s not worth it, she’s wasting your time—!” your tearing eyes settle into his quickly; those pretty blue gazes, arcs of perfect greys, like the feathers of a dove swaying through each swirl in his irises.. those perfect blues are only dull but his lips are curled into a cocky grin, yet the reposed facade is there, feeling as if the tight grip on your hip wanting to move to your tongue and rip it out..
“i said, if you ever bring her up again, you won’t see me anymore, hun,” your heart squeezes against your ribs at his stinging words, “but, you’re lucky for tonight, because maybe, i do need you a little more..” he knows he’s lying, sickly through his teeth too..
but maybe each day when he leaves you on your knees crying, begging, while searching for her, you’ll always be there to fill in the gaps during his own addiction for when he comes back..
𝒞ospℓαყer!𝐵oყfriend (𝒮cαrαmouche & 𝐿ohen) x AFAB!𝑅eader ꒰ 𝑀ODERN 𝒜U ꒱
🕸️️๋࣭ ⭑ Summary: Your boyfriend looks exactly like Scαrαmouche in real life, and he's built a massive TikTok following from cosplaying him. One day, while he's filming, you see Lohen's burst animation leak and lose every functioning brain cell you have. He notices. So he does what any normal, well-adjusted person would do… fucks you in the Scαrαmouche cosplay until you forget Lohen's name. And when that doesn't fully work? He shows up in a Lohen cosplay you didn't know he ordered, in your bedroom, just to prove he can still be the one you fall apart for.
Warnings (cw) .ᐟ cracking in cosplay ꒰ roleplaying ꒱, blindfolding, degradation, rough sex, near-blackout from choking, creampie ꒰ a lot... ꒱ , oral ꒰ f and m receiving ꒱, mild cnc undertones ꒰ consensual roleplay framing ꒱, established relationship, manhandling, suspended 69 position, aftercare, lohen nation vs scaranation...
Word count .ᐟ 16k+
𖦹.`` ꉂ🕸️ Author's note: This is a concept I had for a fat while (like years, not just months) bcuz of those TikToks of ppl dating a cosplayer and they'd flex about it, and I finally, finally put a cosplayer x reader into writing. Thank you to my wonderful, smart, gorgeous bestest friend @vvalentiqq, who helped me with this, especially with the crazy ass sex positions, so props to her!! And this, as always, is cross-posted onto AO3.
"Ugh, quit blinking, you keep making me mess up, Kuni!" You snap, yanking your boyfriend by the jaw closer to you.
He opens his right eye, the one you already applied eyeliner on, and glares, his eye rolling before closing back again. "I'm not blinking, and I'm staying perfectly still. It's your fault if you mess up, not mine. Don't get mad at me that you're shitty at this."
You take a deep breath, repressing the urge to slap him hard in the face, because you know it's useless. Your boyfriend lives to ragebait the shit out of you. You don't say anything in response; you scoot closer to his standing frame, your feet dangling off the bathroom counter as you continue working on his left eye.
"Do you want the wing straight up or straight out?" You ask, pausing with one hand on his jaw, and the other on his cheek, with the eyeliner hovering right above his lashline.
Kuni opens both of his eyes this time, stares straight at you, and rolls his eyes at your question like it should be obvious, "Neither? Obviously." He narrows his eyes, crossing his arms as he adds, "When have you ever seen me with that? You're my girlfriend, you're supposed to know that it goes out slanted. Not up, not straight. Slanted."
You narrow your eyes back at him, tightening your grip on his jaw in retaliation, "How am I supposed to know when you're ultra specific about everything and change your answer every time I ask? Two days ago, you told me to make it straight."
He flicks his eyes to the side like he's side-eyeing some invisible camera, and his eyes look annoyingly perfect when he does it. With the base shadow on his lids and the dark smudge along his lower lash line, and the contacts he doesn't need to wear.
His natural eyes are blue, but he insists on wearing indigo colored contacts because it's "more in character", and you've learned not to argue with him about Scaramouche lore because you will lose. Every single time.
He glances back at you, his tone dry, "I told you that because last time was Xiao, not Scaramouche like today. Obviously. How many times do I need to say it for you to understand?"
You glance at him, copying his dry tone, "Just one more time, and I'll poke this pen through your eyelid. You wouldn't need someone to do your eyeliner by then."
He gives you a challenging smirk in response, "Do it, then. You wouldn't get that far to do any actual damage. I'll sue you and use the settlement money to hire someone who can actually do eyeliner."
You don't dignify that with a response. You tilt his head back with your grip on his jaw, angling it so you can drag the liner across his lash line in one smooth stroke.
You smile involuntarily when it comes out clean and matches the other side perfectly. It always comes out good when he stops being a little bitch about it… which is never, but today sufficed that never.
"The other side matches," you say, leaning back to check your work, watching as his eyes open slowly like he's unsure if you're done or not. "Perfect, like always, because I did it. Not you."
He scoffs, stepping back and moving toward the bathroom mirror, examining just what you're calling 'perfection'. You watch as he tilts his face to the left, then right, and as he leans in, he narrows his eyes.
The eyeliner is actually the last step of a much longer process. This part, the eyeliner, takes ten minutes tops. The puppet joints took an hour.
Every time he cosplays Scaramouche, Kuni sits in front of his vanity mirror with a palette of dark shadow and a thin, angled brush that he uses to paint puppet joints onto his own skin.
Knuckles first, every finger, dark, then his wrists, then his belows. He does his shoulders himself too, twisting in the mirror to get the angle right on the backs of them, and the concentration on his face while he does it is almost scary.
He's already head-to-toe in cosplay, minus the hat. As cringeworthy as it is to say, your boyfriend does look like Scaramouche reborn, and it's not just because of how good the clothes look on him, or how invested he is in cosplaying him. He looks exactly like Scaramouche would if he were real and not 3D.
The height… the weight… even his fingers match Scara perfectly. Skinny and long, the puppet joints make him look more biblically real.
He hates wigs, absolutely despises them, and as any person who finds their 'celebrity lookalike', or any 'lookalike' in general, he dyed and cut his real hair to match Scaramouches.
His hair is naturally black, and after an abnormally long hair appointment, the hairdresser was able to cut and style Kuni's hair to match Scaramouches without looking like some botched bowlcut.
"It's not a bowlcut," Kunikuzushi told the hairdresser, probably 4 times, just to get his point clear, "It's a mullet, mixed with a hime-cut in the front, and don't you dare forget the lighter colored streak in the back."
You remember being told that day to stick around, not in the waiting room, but in a chair beside the table your boyfriend was getting his hair done at. You had to get up at least 9 times to reassure Kuni that the hairdresser was getting the back right.
And after that day, after every time he put on his cosplay for this character that he's so obsessed with… he didn't look like your boyfriend anymore.
But you don't really complain.
"It's… acceptable," Kuni says to his reflection, the tiniest praise for the war you just went through, while doing his eyeliner.
You hop off the counter, tossing your hair back, while holding eye contact with his gaze in the mirror, "It's perfect, actually. You're welcome." You poke his arm from behind, giggling at the way he makes a disgusted face in response. "I love you too, you ungrateful man."
He doesn't respond to that; he just walks out of the bathroom and into his room.
He's already in the corner when you step in, adjusting his tripod and ring light, and you know the drill by now. Stay out of frame, stay quiet during takes, and entertain yourself until he's done being internet famous.
You grab your phone off his nightstand and settle onto his bed on your stomach, feet up, pulling up Genshin Impact. It feels like a chore to open this game up now, but you have to, for that stupid free constellation event where you have to complete your commissions and spend 120 resin.
You spawn in Nod-Krai, already moving your joystick to run towards the crafting bench, planning to craft your resin into condensed resin, but to your dismay, you already have 5 crafted resin from the previous days you tried this trick.
Domains it is.
You can hear your boyfriend in the background recording the same TikTok, over and over, trying to get the perfect take while you're teleporting to a random domain. It's annoying, and all you can focus on while you wait for people to join your world.
Once people join your world, and you start the domain, you move on autopilot. You don't really pay attention, probably fighting air every now and then, until a notification pops up from the top of your screen.
Even though you're in a co-up domain, your thumb his the notification before you can even finish reading.
The video loads, and it's what seems to be some sort of POV shot. It's like you're some enemy Lohen just knocked flat, because the view is from below, on the ground. His hand reaches down and grabs you, or the camera's face, dragging you to his height, and you spot his other hand raising a weapon, but you aren't even focused on the weapon… you're focused on the face he makes.
A grin with manic eyes, the expression of someone who doesn't just enjoy violence… someone who's aroused by it.
It happens so quickly that you watch it again, on loop. You watch the jaw grab again, the way he yanks whoever it is upward, the way his grin widens before the hit. You screenshot the maniac grin on the 4th loop… then watch it play through again.
Your thighs press together.
You scroll to the comments after the 7th rewatch, needing to see if everyone's losing their minds as hard as you are.
@scaramouchewho okay so we're all in agreement that lohen is what scaramouche COULD have been if hoyo let him be unhinged, right?
@kuniscaraworshiper everyone in the lohen tag better remember who paved the way. Scaramouche is the ORIGINAL unhinged short king… y'all are so disrespectful
@touchinggrassfearsme i just want lohen and scara to kiss… then me at the same time next… then they can kiss each other again after THEN THE SAME THING AGAIN
@mpreglover6769angie GET PREGNANT GET PREGNANT
You laugh seeing this comment, and when you tap on it, you're left with…
(This comment has been deleted.)
@lohennation BREED ME LOHEN. BREED ME. TEASE ME. USE ME. DEGRADE ME. oh and scara can watch ig… (yes i changed my user because of this video)
@wanderermybeIoved, you people don't know one thing about Scaramouche, and I don't want people talking about him when you clearly don't care about his character development or lore. He's more than just a "hot angry guy." Lohen fans (who just became fans of him less than an hour ago, mind you) wouldn't survive 5 minutes of scara's actual story because their reading comprehension is lower than a 4th grader's due to their goon-rotted brains.
@fatuiworshipper the way Lohen is just Scaramouche if he wasn't busy being sad all the time. he's happy to be evil… that's so hot
You scroll back up and watch the burst animation again. Your thighs squeeze together, and your bottom lip is caught between your teeth. You've watched this video at least 20 times now, and around the 10th time, your underwear became a wet, sticky mess.
"Hey."
You don't hear him, you don't even flinch.
"… Hello??"
Nothing.
"Did you actually die? Should I call someone or check your pulse first?"
You don't hear your boyfriend because you're still on that Lohen video, grinning at some dumb comment of yet another person leaving scaranation for lohennation.
"You've been ignoring me for like ten minutes," Kuni says from across the room, and you can hear the shift in his tone, the way it goes from casual annoyance to genuine irritation, "what is so interesting about your phone that you can't look up for even a second?"
You look up from your phone before he can accuse you of cheating, which technically, in some tiny way… You kinda were.
He's standing by his setup, ring light off, his phone in his hand with his arms crossed. His expression looks like he's in between choosing to be mean about it, or letting it slide. He looks annoyed enough that he won't let it slide, and 10 minutes is a long time, unless he was just exaggerating.
"…Hi." You say, sweet and innocent, still lying on your stomach, still with the phone in your hand as you glance at it just once, like a random comment, before looking back at him, not fully engaged.
His gaze drops to your phone in your hand, then lifts back up to your face. The corner of his mouth lifts with slow, unbelieving amusement, like your delayed little “hi” is almost too stupid to be real. "Welcome the fuck back. Where did you go?"
"Remember Lohen from that one quest in Mondstadt?" You don't wait for a response, voice breathier than intended because your brain is still stuck on that video, "His burst animation just got leaked…"
You watch as your boyfriend's face changes into reluctant curiosity that fights with the irritation of being ignored. He walks over to his bed and drops down next to you. "Really? Show me."
You sit up, holding your phone out, and he just takes it, angling the screen toward himself. You watch his face as the animation plays, how his jaw tightens, almost imperceptibly, and his gaze cuts back to you once it's over. "It's okay." He says, tone devoid of any emotion you can pick up on.
"Just… okay? Kuni. Did you see the grab, the way… the way that the angle is like a POV, like that's you, he's grabbing… the way he just, his hand goes like-" You mimic the way Lohen's hand, holding the weapon, goes from behind and towards who he's about to stab.
Kuni glances at your hand, then back at your face, your phone still in his hand. "Mhm. I saw the exact same video as you." His tone feigns nonchalance.
You drop your hand, continuing to yap while not reading the room, "And the grin… Kuni, the grin? It looks like he's about to-"
"I said I saw it." He hands your phone back, using his own to open TikTok, scrolling through his feed with such focused intensity that it doesn't do a good job of hiding how little he cares about this. "People are going to lose it over this."
"They already are, have you seen the comments?" You're already scrolling through them on your phone, looking for one that doesn't say anything about Scaramouche, but it's practically impossible. "Everyone's saying-"
"I know what they're saying, I don't need to see the comments to know." His thumb flicks through posts, and you can see his jaw working, yet again. "Same shit that infected my feed when Lohen was in that quest, and people barely had info on him. 'Scara's done.' 'We're switching.' Like their loyalty has a shelf life of milk."
He keeps scrolling through his TikTok feed, and annoyingly enough, every video that comes up is about Lohen. He's talking, ranting about character depth versus surface-level hype, something about Scara's arc having actual emotional complexity while Lohen is, "just a boy with a violence kink." He is making good points, but you aren't fully paying attention.
You're still scrolling through Twitter, lying back against the pillows, reposting mindlessly on fan art that already exists of Lohen, and trying not to laugh at the posts comparing Lohen to Scaramouche.
He turns his head to you, and he stops talking, because he notices your attention is elsewhere. You don't notice the sudden silence because your brain is so far inside your phone that the real world doesn't exist right now.
His lips touch your neck, a soft, tiny kiss with the warm press of his mouth against the spot below your ear, and he shifts closer. His hand lands on your thigh, his thumb drawing a slow line along the inside where the hem of your sleep shorts sits.
You tilt your head up slightly, giving him access without giving him your attention, as your gaze is still on your phone. Your body just responds to him on autopilot because of months of this exact pattern, him kissing your neck while you doomscroll, except this time you're scrolling through posts and posts of his… replacement.
His tongue touches the skin at your neck, a quick and wet drag followed by his teeth grazing that same area. His fingers itch higher under your shorts, pushing the fabric up your thigh.
"Kuni, not right now, I'm looking at something-"
He cuts you off with a "Mmhmm," not stopping at all because just a second after, he's sucking on your neck. His fingertips graze the edge of your underwear, tracing the elastic back and forth, back and forth. It's light enough that it could be an accident, but what he's doing to you is clearly intentional.
You're still scrolling even as your boyfriend, in cosplay, is practically making love to your neck, and his fingers… they slide down from the hem of your underwear, to where your slit is, through the fabric.
You let out a soft, quiet, "Mm…" moan, still not looking up. The only reply he gets is the little sound you make and the wetness between your legs.
His middle finger traces your clothed slit in a lazy back-and-forth, that's designed for teasing and nothing else. His mouth is still at your neck, and he bites softly at it while that Lohen video coincidentally pops up on your feed again. Involuntarily, your hips shift up against his hand while your eyes are still glued to the screen.
His fingers slide up from your slit, back up to your waistband. You let out the tiniest whine, but that whine turns into your breath catching when his fingers dip beneath your underwear and make direct contact through your folds.
"You're so soaked," he says against your neck. His tone makes your thumb pause just as you're about to click on the comment section. His cadence shifted into something that sounds less like your boyfriend and more like the boy he's currently cosplaying as. "And it's not because of me. It's hard to believe a pixel on a screen could make you this turned on… but I guess anything's possible with someone like you."
You feel his middle finger circling your clit, slow and teasing, not giving you anything that you want while you watch that video on loop, again. The pattern of it doesn't stop, but the desperation and need to have him stroke you properly makes your hips twitch, and your focus shifts from your phone to his hand, and only his hand, at an alarming rate.
"It must be embarrassing," he starts, the same condescending drawl Scaramouche's voice has, and it fits in his mouth uncannily well, "getting this worked up over a character animation. Over something that can never," the same index that was teasing at your clit pushes inside you, knuckle deep, and you clench around it, "touch you."
He's quick to add a second finger, his ring finger, because one isn't ever enough for you. He curls them upward, finding that spot he mapped ages ago. Your phone screen goes dark from inactivity.
He doesn't leave any achy part of your cunt unoccupied, especially if his thumb is currently being useless. His thumb finds your clit, and he rubs in circles while his fingers curl inside you. The dual stimulation makes your mouth fall open, and your phone falls out of your hand. Your phone hits the side of your stomach and falls down face-first beside you.
"There it is," he says against your skin, pressing a kiss to the mark he left on your neck. "Phone's finally down. Took you long enough."
He pulls his fingers out, and before you can even whine about it, he shifts on top of you, sliding down between your legs. You look down at him, and the visual of Scaramouche slipping under the covers and pulling at the waistband of your shorts is doing something to you that ten replays of Lohen's burst animation could never replicate. Because this is actually real.
He's sliding your shorts down when you mistakenly whimper out, "Kuni…"
He stops, hands pausing on the fabric at your knees. "Mm… no. That's not my name tonight." He pulls the shorts off completely, tossing them wherever without looking in his room, and his fingers hook into your underwear next.
"It's Scaramouche. That's who you're looking at… That's who's touching you. And, that's the only name I want to hear coming out of your mouth. Not Kuni, and definitely not Lohen. If you even try saying his name, I'm cutting your tongue out." He drags your underwear down your thighs, his eyes never leaving your face. "Scaramouche. Understood?"
You nod, too distracted by what he was saying to even realize you're bare from below, and you realize that the moment his mouth is on you.
His tongue drags flat across your clit, and you let out an involuntary, unfiltered moan at the contact. You'd care about his neighbors hearing if his mouth wasn't making you forget that other people exist.
It feels like he's reformatting your brain as he eats you out. Like every lick is deleting thoughts about Lohen and replacing them all with himself. His tongue works on your clit in patterns that make you let out dumb, uncontrollable moans. Two fingers slip inside you without warning, curling against your spot, and you can't help but grab onto his hair, that perfectly styled, dyed Scaramouche hair, and hold on.
Your hips twitch up, grinding into his face while your head tips back. "H-aah… f-fuck… Sca-"
He pulls back from your clit, fingers still working inside you, but at an even faster rhythm, "Louder than that."
You listen, brainless, doing whatever he says, "Scara… Scaramouche, I'm… hah… s-so close…"
He dives back onto your clit, mouth sealed on it, making you cum embarrassingly fast with his fingers curling inside your spongy walls. Your thighs shake around his head, and your grip on his hair tightens as you grind onto his face, clenching around his fingers. He goes slower once the aftershocks are over, and when you finally let go of his hair, completely out of breath, he pulls his mouth off your clit with a wet pop.
He wipes his chin with the back of his hand, the cosplay sleeve dragging across his face from his cosplay. The sight of that is so absurd and so hot that you almost cum again from that visual alone. The puppet joints look slightly faded on the two fingers he was fucking you with, and somehow that makes it worse.
He grabs one of the detached sleeves and slips it off his outfit. You watch him, brain still sluggish from the orgasm, fold it into a thick band, and you furrow your brows, confused. "What are you…"
"Scaramouche wouldn't let you see him lose composure." He slides up from between your legs, wrapping the fabric around your eyes, tying it behind your head before you can even protest. You can't see anything now, just darkness, and the sound of his breathing close to your face. "So you don't get to either."
You feel him move back and settle between your thighs, sliding them apart. You're still so sensitive from your orgasm that feeling his cock suddenly press against you makes an involuntary whimper slip out. He wastes no time slipping in, but he does it slow, stretching you open inch by inch, and you grab fistfuls of his sheets because the fact that you're missing one of your senses is making everything amplified.
"Oh my god…"
"Say my name," he says, and he feels deep enough inside of you that you can't tell how much more of him there is. You only know the stretch, the pressure, and how full you already feel.
A faint moan slips out of you before you manage, breathless, "Scara…"
"Yeah?" He says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, he knows you can barely think. "Too full to say it properly?"
Your fingers curl helplessly in the sheets. "Sc… Scaramouche…"
He starts moving, and because of the blindfold, every thrust feels amplified tenfold, so much deeper. His hands are gripping at your hips hard enough to bruise. You feel him closer, by your ear, voice still in character, "You think some new character is going to replace me?" He puncuates the end with a hard thrust, and your mouth hangs open with a gasp.
"Some battle maniac with a grin? Pathetic. I've been your favorite since 1.1," another thrust, and it hits you deep, he grinds into that same spot, "and no amount of leaked animations is going to change that."
"I know… hah… I know-"
He pulls back just enough that you feel the loss of him even though he's still inside. Your hips chase him up, a needy whimper spilling out because you don't feel him moving anymore, and you wonder why. You feel his hand leaving your hip to pull the blindfold off your eyes.
Light hits your pupils, and you squint, disoriented, and the first thing you see isn't him. It's your phone, held inches from your face, bright and open on the password screen. In a flash, your phone's unlocked from just your face, and just as fast as that happens, he turns your phone back to him.
"Wha… what are you doing?" You're still catching up, blinking through your vision that's trying to adjust, even more now that a phone was shoved up in your face. He's swiping through your apps with one hand while the other pins your hip to the mattress. His cock is still inside you, not moving at all, and it almost feels painful with how much you're craving him to.
He pulls up Twitter, looking at your feed first before checking your reposts, because of course, the first thing that comes up is someone reposting that Lohen burst animation for the millionth time, like people haven't seen it already. He scoffs, tapping on your profile picture on the side, and looking through your reposts.
"This one says," he starts, scrolling with his thumb, his tone almost bored as he reads your reposts out loud, while he finally starts grinding into you, but it's slow, painfully slow. "I would let Lohen degrade, breed me, use me, and rearrange my insides until I pass out… You liked that one, reposted it from the same account that has your face on it. How dense can you be?"
You face heats up realizing just how embarrassing that is, only after doing it a while ago, "That's… that was just a joke-"
"Let's go to your replies tab and see if you did anything other than mindlessly repost whatever you saw," you watch as his thumb moves across your phone, he shifts his hips forward in a slow grind that makes your breath hitch, "Oh, so you did comment on something… that's it? Three fire emojis and a fucking… crying emoji? That's your contribution to the discourse? Really? Was your brain rotting that badly that you couldn't even type words?"
You don't even try to come up with a coherent response for that, and he doesn't wait for one. He throws your phone somewhere on his bed and leans down, propping himself up on his forearms on either side of your head, and the closeness of him in full cosplay makes your breath catch in your throat.
"You know what's funny to me?" His eyes never leave your face as he rolls his hips, still a slow grind that drags his cock against your walls in such a way that keeps you in between being able to think and not. "You have a cosplayer. An actual, real person who dresses up as your favorite character and fucks you in it. And instead of appreciating that… you're reposting about a character that doesn't even have a release date yet."
A weak protest slips out before you can stop it. "I do appreciate-"
"Do you?" He thrusts hard this time, and it makes your back arch, your hands flying up to grab his shoulders as he continues at the same deep pace, watching your face change with every thrust. "Because I'm literally inside of you in a Scaramouche cosplay right now, and 20 minutes ago you were eye-fucking a burst animation while I was standing 12 feet away."
Your face burns, "That's not…" You swallow, trying to gather a thought that doesn't sound pathetic, "That's not fair, he's just a character, you're-"
"I'm right here." Another deep thrust, his hand slides up to cup the side of your face, tilting it so you're looking directly at him. At the eyeliner you did for him, the contacts, and the hair you even helped style. "And I'm the closest thing to a fictional character you're ever going to get. So maybe," he grinds into your spot, and your eyes roll, "act like it."
Humiliation and want feel like they're tangling so tightly that you can't separate them anymore. You can't even form a proper response for that, only being able to muster out a, "F-fuck… Scara…." as your fingers curl harder into the sheets.
"Mm." He keeps the angle, keeps rolling into that same spot, watching as it makes you go stupider quicker while his thumb traces your cheekbone. "You know what you should repost? A video of this. Me, in cosplay, between your legs. See how many likes that gets compared to a leaked animation."
Your brain decides this is the moment to let something slip. Completely irrational. "A lohen cosplay would probably get more likes because he's… trending." You don't even mean it as a dig; you say it in the normal, supportive tone you always give when he talks about content, while getting dicked down.
And the second those words leave your mouth, everything goes silent. He stops, completely. Cock buried inside you, and his hand on your face tightens. His thumb presses harder into your cheekbone. His expression doesn't change, but his eyes do. It's this flat, cold look you can see even with the contacts, and the silence stretches long enough that you realize what you just did.
You scramble to backtrack, "I didn't mean-"
"No, don't backtrack now," he cuts in, voice eerily calm, tilting his head like he's studying any new reaction you'd make, "You sounded very sure of yourself a second ago. I want the same answer you gave before you realize I didn't like it."
You sink back into the pillows, head shaking, "Scara, you know that's not what I meant…" but you stop at the end when you see the look in his eyes darken.
He lets go of your face and pulls almost all the way out to slam back in, both of his hands gripping on the backs of your thighs, pushing them apart. He's fucking into you at a new pace that's faster and rougher than anything before this, every thrust feeling like a point he's making without words.
"He's an animation," he says between trusts, his voice strained, but he's still in character. "He doesn't feel like this…" A thrust so deep it pushes you closer to the headboard. "He doesn't sound like this." Another one, harder, and the sound that comes out of you is almost unrecognizable.
"And he doesn't know that if he hits this angle," he shifts his hips and nails your spot dead-on, and your vision whites out at the edges completely, "you make that exact face."
Your legs are shaking around his grip, your hands grasping at anything, his shoulders, his arm, the sheets, the only thought in your mind is him, the body between your legs trying to prove a point with his entire being.
Then, your phone lights up next to your head. It's a Twitter notification, something about Lohen, and the timing is so cosmically cruel. He sees it, and before you can even squint to see what it's about, he scoots back, letting your head fall off the pillow. You look at him, confused, completely innocent to the change of position that's about to happen.
His hands leave your thighs to grab at your hips, and in one inhuman motion, he lifts you off the bed almost entirely. Your back leaves the mattress, the entire room feels like it's tilting as he hauls your legs over his shoulders, your full weight being suspended against his body. His hands grip the front of your thighs, your arms scrambling for anything, and they end up gripping at the backs of his thighs. Your head is still on the mattress, and your arms, but everything else is up in the air.
He's about to fuck you upside down.
You yell out of panic, "Wha… SCARA-"
"You were about to check your phone." He says, voice unbothered like he isn't holding you in the air with his dick buried inside of you. "While I'm inside of you… While Scaramouche is inside of you." He adjusts his grip, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs, and slides his hips back before slamming into you hard, forcing himself so deep that you see white. "Do I not have your full attention?"
Even as full, and thought empty as you are, you still try to defend yourself, "You do… hah… You do, I wasn't-"
"You were reaching for it," another hard slam, and you cry out, your nails digging into the backs of his thighs. "Your hand almost moved. Almost. You were going to look at a notification while im fucking you."
He fucks into you, over and over, your legs dangling on his shoulders, the angle hitting something so deep inside of you that your body doesn't know how to process it apart from going completely boneless.
You're limp, even being fucked upside down. Your muscles gave up, and now you're just a body he's holding in the air and fucking into.
Your weight being nothing to him, your pleasure being everything.
"Scara… Scara, oh my god, I can't… f-fuck… I can't-"
"Can't what?" His voice is annoyingly steady, controlled, even though he's holding you up and thrusting into you with a force that should effect both of you, but it seems like you're the only effected one. Moaning sounds that aren't even words anymore, just vowels and air. "Can't think? Good. You shouldn't be thinking. The only thing in your head right now should be my name, and the fact that no pixel on a screen," he thrusts up, sharp, and the sound you make is practically a scream, "has ever made you feel like this."
Even with your mind blank, you can process his words enough to know that he's right. Because he's here, and real, and holding you in the air and fucking the coherence out of your skull. "SCARAMOUCHE- fuck, please… please don't stop-"
His pace only grows faster, his grip on your thighs tightening in such a way that you know it will end in bruises when you wake up tomorrow. You cum with the lower half of your body, suspended in the air. Your body locks up, ankles rolling, feet clenching around his shoulders as the orgasm rips through you in waves so intense that you can't even keep your eyes open, can't even suppress or care for how dumb you sound.
You can do anything except convulse around him while he holds you through it like you weigh nothing.
He cums exactly five seconds after, the way your walls clench around his cock not letting him pull himself back any longer. He buries himself deep with one final thrust up that pins you against his hips. You feel every pulse of it, hot and thick, filling you up as his fingers flex on your thighs.
There's so much that your body can't contain it, even in this position, you can feel some of his cum leak around where he's still inside you, dripping down between your ass cheeks.
He holds you there for a moment, catching his breath and you still catching yours, and then he finally sets you down. He moves back, lowering you, and you bounce back on the sheets, still out of breath, gasping, legs shaking, cum pooling more properly between your thighs now that you aren't in the air.
He's already pulling at the cosplay before his breathing even levels out.
"Finally," he mutters, yanking at the chest piece with the urgency of someone escaping a straitjacket, "I can take this stupid fucking thing off."
The outer layer comes off first, and he gets out of bed to toss it onto his desk chair without looking. Then the arm pieces, what's left of them, since one sleeve is still tied in a crumpled blindfold shape somewhere in the sheets. He pulls the one he's wearing off and throws it on top of the outer layers on the chair.
He's left in the sleeveless undershirt, the tight black one that sits flush against his chest and shows the puppet joints he spent way too long on at his shoulders. The shadow has smudged from the sweat, the edges bleeding where the lines used to be clean.
"I was literally cooking alive in that," he says, working at the fabric that sits on his hips next, "do you know how many layers this cosplay has? About four. Four fucking layers in a room with one fan and a broken AC because Ei cares more about being at work all the time than actually caring about a home she's barely at."
You don't respond because you are, at this moment, a puddle of a human being with no functioning brain cells and shaking legs. You're lying exactly where he put you down, staring up at the ceiling, legs still open because closing them feels like an exercise right now.
He glances at you once the majority of the cosplay is off, just the undershirt and shorts, and he gets quieter. He disappears into the bathroom that's connected to his bedroom and comes back with a warm, damp towel.
He sits on the edge of the bed and pushes your thigh to the side, wiping between your legs without saying anything. His movements are careful, clinical, almost, like the same precision he gives his cosplay goes into this too.
He cleans the cum off your inner thighs, the crease where your thigh meets your hip, folds the towel to the clean side, and gets the rest.
You flinch at the contact, still sensitive, and his other hand presses flat against your lower stomach to keep you still. "Stop squirming."
"But… It's sensitive," you say, finally, voice weak.
"I know it's sensitive. I'm the one who made it sensitive. Stay still."
He tosses the towel onto the bathroom floor when he's done, then goes to his dresser, pulling out a sleep set and underwear that are yours. A cropped top and matching shorts that somehow migrated into his drawer because you're here more than your actual house.
He comes back and slides the underwear up first, lifting your hips with one hand to pull them over your ass. Then, the shorts come next, doing the same motion he did for the underwear. He grabs the top next, and this part requires sitting you up, and you're not cooperative.
You're practically dead weight.
He pulls you up by the arms like a ragdoll, gets the shirt over your head, and guides each of your arms through the sleeves. You keep going limp on purpose, and it's irritating him. "You're not helping," he says, which isn't a helpful remark on his part.
You can't do anything but let out a tired, annoyed sigh, voice moving slowly as you say, "I can't feel my legs, Kuni."
He pauses as he's trying to pull the top down, giving you a sideways look, "That's a you-ca n't-help problem, that's a you-won't-help problem. Your arms should work fine."
You give him a fake, straight smile, shrugging at a languid speed, "They don't, actually. You broke those too when you held me upside down, and I had to hold onto your thighs for dear life."
He scoffs, dropping you back against the pillows, and you sink into them, boneless, dressed, clean, happy that you've trained him well enough to do this much after sex, because it pays off every time.
He pulls the covers out from under you, and this time you actually scoot to give him space to tuck them over your body. He grabs both of your phones and plugs them in, then walks to his closet to take the top off and replace it with a plain black t-shirt, and tugs on a pair of grey sweats. When he's done, he always backs toward the bed to get into the covers beside you, but you stop him.
"Kuni, can you please get me water?" You ask, with a tiny pout.
The exhale he lets out is so deep it could qualify as a controlled breathing exercise. He stands there for a full three seconds, covers still bunched in his hand, staring at you with the expression of a man who wants to only pass out in bed and rot.
"You couldn't have said that before I walked toward the bed?"
You look up, pretending to think, mouth curling up when you glance back at him, "I wasn't thirsty before you walked toward the bed."
He rolls his eyes, his hand coming up to rub his fingers at his temple in annoyance at all of this, "That doesn't even make sense."
You clasp your hands together, pouting, again, putting on a sweet expression just to mess with him further, "Please?"
He drops the covers and leaves the room. You hear his footsteps down the hallway, and they're loud enough that you know he's being loud on purpose.
Because Kuni doesn't make noise when he walks unless he wants you to know he's annoyed.
His house is massive; you spend 99 percent of your time in his room, so you actually get jumpscared every time you leave it. The hallways are long, or probably longer than an apartment floor in general, with marble flooring and clear walls with art on them that his mother picked out and he's never looked at once.
The kitchen is insane. Countertops that stretch for what feels like miles, a center island bigger than your own bed, and appliances that look like they belong in a once luxurious restaurant. Every surface is spotless because the housekeeper comes three times a week, and Kuni is already a clean freak on his own, so the combination creates a kitchen that looks perpetually unlived in.
He opens the cabinet, grabs a glass, fills it from the filtered tap, and when he turns around, his mother is sitting at the island.
She's been there the whole time, apparently.
Ei is on a barstool at the center island, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of red wine in her right hand and her phone in her left. Her hair is long and ink-black, pin-straight, falling over one shoulder, and in the dim kitchen light, she looks less like a person and more like a portrait someone painted and forgot to hang.
She looks up from her phone at the sound of the glass filling.
Her eyes move over him, at the messed-up hair, the contacts he forgot to take out, and the faded puppet joints still visible on his knuckles.
And also the fact that he's getting a glass of water at one in the morning in a post-sex haze that he thinks isn't obvious but is extremely obvious.
"You're still awake," she says, her voice carrying that same low, unbothered tone that makes everything she says sound like an observation.
"You're home," he replies, matching her energy beat for beat, turning off the tap without looking at her. "When did your flight land?"
"Three hours ago." She takes a sip of wine. "I didn't want to interrupt."
The silence that follows is loud. He knows what that means, she knows that he knows, and neither of them will say it directly because everyone in this family treats emotional honesty like it's some disease.
"Right." He grabs the glass and turns to leave as fast as possible.
"Kunikuzushi."
He stops, but he doesn't turn around, his grip on the glass tightening.
"Eat something tomorrow. The fridge is stocked." She pauses to take a sip before continuing, "And take your contacts out before you sleep. They'll irritate your eyes."
He stands there for a second, then another, then another, then walks away without responding. And his footsteps down the hallway are quieter this time. Not on purpose.
He gets back to his room and shuts the door behind him with his foot. He walks up towards the bed and reaches over to hand you the glass. You take it, sitting up slightly, drinking half of it in one go while he stands there watching you like you just made him walk a marathon for a cup of water.
"Happy?" He asks, pulling the covers back.
You roll your eyes and hand him back the glass. He sets it on the nightstand and gets into bed, lying flat on his back. You immediately roll onto his chest like a magnet, your cheek pressing against the cotton of his t-shirt, and you can hear his heartbeat, still a little fast, coming down.
His hand finds your hair, starts that absent, repetitive thing he does, threading his fingers through the strands over and over. You press closer to him, tangling your legs with his under the covers, and his arm tightens around your back.
You close your eyes, and his fingers never stop moving through your hair.
He doesn't tell you he loves you; he never does first. But his thumb traces a slow circle against your scalp, and his breathing evens out underneath you, and he doesn't move even when your weight goes fully dead against his chest.
That's how you know.
You're in your room today, not at your boyfriend's house like you usually are. You do like being in his room and hanging out with him constantly, but it's also constantly exhausting. Some days, you'd just prefer to be… alone.
Your room is the complete opposite of Kunikuzushi's aesthetic. Light beige walls so you can hang up cute pink miscellaneous things on your wall without them clashing. A fluffy, soft, pink bed that used to be a canopy until you woke up to a fat spider next to your face, as if it was their bed too. Plushies… lots of them, on your bed, some kept on a large shelf you bought to store the expensive anime figures Kuni always buys you. Long story short, the general vibe of your room makes you seem like someone whose entire personality is soft and sweet.
You're lying on your stomach on the bed, phone in hand, scrolling through the fallout of the Lohen leak from 3 days ago. The internet has still not calmed down… if anything, it's worse.
@scaranation4LIFE scaranation we STAND. Every character had their tiny moment of fame… our show lasted four years. FOUR. We were even on the news… lohen's gonna last one patch and you're all going to be crawling back
@lohenxscarabeliever i don't want lohen OR scara… i want them BOTH to ruin my life SIMULTANEOUSLY. Why is this so hard to understand
@wanderersfavoritebuttplug scara… I’d never replace you for that sadistic twink (maybe) (we’ll see)
The comments are always talking about the same thing, at least every comment section under a Lohen Twitter post, as the diehard simp, the one who wants Lohen and Scara to fuck each other, the one who wants to cuck Scara in front of Lohen, and the very few actual loyal Scara fans.
… You feel like you're a bit of both.
You're deep in the comments, simultaneously looking at edits of Lohen on TikTok, then taking a Twitter break, then TikTok, when at some strange point, your bedroom door opens.
You don't look up, you assume it's Kuni because your parents aren't home, and you gave him the key ages ago. "Hey, Kuni," you say, still scrolling, legs swinging behind you, "if you're here to yell at me about using your newest Flower Knows palette before you did, it's not that big of a deal-"
You stop because when you look up, what you see is something you'd never, ever expect from a surprise visit from your boyfriend.
Kunikuzushi is standing in your doorway in full-on cosplay. But it's not Scaramouche, or some other male in the game… It's Lohen.
Your phone hits the mattress.
The character you've been losing your mind over for 3 days, the one you've seen on your phone screen a genuinely convincing number of times, is here, in real life, standing in your pink bedroom doorway.
"When did you-" your voice comes out strangled, your mouth feeling dry, and your throat feeling so tight that you cut yourself off. Your eyes scan the cosplay, again and again, confused at why he didn't tell you about this. Especially ordering a unique cosplay of a character that hasn't even fully come out. "When… when did you order this??"
He grins, a toothy, sharp-eyed grin that looks nothing like Scara's smirk. It's so strangely similar to the expression Lohen would make, and you wonder if he's spent the last 3 days practicing for this.
"I've been tracking you all day," he says, and his voice is different than normal, more confident, louder, less… restrained on what's deemed as good. "You've been hard to pin down."
He crosses the room, and your body does something it doesn't do with Kuni. It tenses out of something close to fear, but closer to not knowing what's coming next. His hand grabs the front of your tank top and yanks you off the bed. You yelp in a way that's higher, more startled, more genuinely caught off guard than anything Scara has gotten out of you in months.
"Nervous?" He questions, his grin widening, and his fists twist in your shirt, pulling you closer, until your chest is against his. He can feel your heartbeat… at least you assume he can, because you can hear it going haywire through your ears to the point that you'd believe it's audible even if he wasn't this close.
You deny because you hate admitting things to him when he's acting smug, even though anything you could say would be utterly pointless, as your face and the way you're barely moving prove his point way too well. "I'm not nervous…" You try a distraction, any, "Are you really wearing a wig, Kun-" but it gets cut off quicker than you can even finish the last word.
"Your heart feels like it's about to explode out of your chest." He leans in, his mouth next to your ear, and his voice drops, but he still keeps the edge of it in character, "What's different? You let Scaramouche do whatever he wants to you. But Lohen shows up and suddenly… You can't even talk?"
You knit your eyebrows, staggering to say anything that sounds like you're not any less dumb, "That's… it's different, you're usually-"
"Usually what? Predictable?" He pulls back to look at you, and you glance up and down at his cosplay once more, and it's even more annoyingly perfect up close. You seriously don't know how he does it; he even looks good in a wig, even though he hates them. "You know every move Scaramouche makes before he makes it. You're comfortable with that, and that's boring." He says it like an insult, and his grin drops suddenly, his eyes not leaving you once as he says, "I'm not comfortable. Are you scared of me?"
You answer a simple, "No." But the way you still haven't moved on your own since he appeared at your door proves without words otherwise.
"Liar." He shoves you, and you fall back before you can catch yourself on the bed, bouncing on the pink sheets, your tank top riding up slightly in the process. "Your voice had the tiniest crack in it."
He's on top of you before you can sit up, his knee between your thighs, his hand going to your jaw… and he does it.
The burst animation.
His fingers close around your jaw as he lifts your face toward his, slow, and the grin is right there, a perfect replica of the video you've watched on your screen more than 100 times.
"There's my favorite prey," he says, holding the pose for three seconds, and instead of reaching his arm back and stabbing you, he leans in to kiss you.
It's violent, that's the only word to describe it. Non ceremonial, just teeth, tongue, and a lot of force by him. His hand is still gripping your jaw, controlling the angle, and also making sure you don't pull away so soon. You make a sound into his mouth that's between a moan and a whimper, that's even more vulnerable than anything you've made during sex when he cosplays as Scaramouche.
He pulls back, unbuckling one of the belts on the cosplay, a strap that's a part of Lohen's design, and he wraps it around your wrists, binding them above your head against the bed.
"Every battle maniac needs a sparring partner," he says, tying the knot with one hand while the other shoves your tank top up above your breasts. "And you looked at me like you volunteered."
He strips your shorts, then your underwear, and he doesn't bother about being sweet with it. He yanks them down your legs and throws them somewhere behind him, and then his hands grip the backs of your thighs, and he pushes them up toward your chest.
Mating press, that's what he's doing.
Your knees are at your shoulders, your hips are tilted up, and he's on the bed, kneeling over you. His weight is driving your thighs down, folding you in half. Your wrists are bound above your head; you're just completely open and trapped.
"L.. Lohen…" You whimper out in the voice of both someone in awe, and in the tiniest fear of what's coming next.
"Hmm." He unzips his pants, frees his hard cock from his underwear, which he slides down just enough, and positions himself at your entrance, and he pushes in.
The first thrust is the full length of him burying himself deep inside you in one stroke; the angel of the mating press makes it feel deeper than it should. His cock presses against your cervix, and the sound that leaks out of you is closer to a sob than a moan.
"AH- oh fuck oh fuck oh-"
"Too much?" He asks, and his grin, that fucking grin, is right there, his face inches from yours because the mating press puts him on top of you… over you, covering you entirely.
"N-no, just- hah-" You get cut off with the way he pulls back and slams back in, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, before just fully closing.
"Not convincing." He pulls back, again, slamming into you harder than the last one, like he's powering up his thrusts, and your back tries to arch off the bed, but his weight is pressing you flat, and you have nowhere to go. You feel his hands at your face. "Your eyes are watering."
You open your eyes back up to look at him, head shaking, even though you do feel something hot and wet sliding softly down your cheeks. "You're lying, they're n-not-" You're studdering from the way he's repeditely fucking into you, especially hitting your deeper spots on purpose when you try speaking, but he cuts you off anyway.
"They are." He leans down and licks a tear off your cheekbone. The act is so different from the way he's currently fucking into you, brutally, and you're turning incoherent faster than ever, moans spilling out uncontrollably as the sound of his hips plaping against your ass fills the room.
"You cry for Scaramouche because it feels good. You're crying for me because you don't know what I'm going to do next." Both of his hands leave your face; one goes back onto your thigh, the other finds your throat. "And that scares you… Doesn't it?"
His fingers close around your neck, and he doesn't choke you the same way Kuni does during normal sex. This version is different, new, something you've never felt before. Lohen's choke. His fingers press into the sides of your throat, squeezing the muscles, not your windpipe, but the tissue around it. The difference, the way this feels new, is because it feels like it's designed to hurt, not to just cut off air. The pain is sharp, and you can still breathe, technically, but every inhale aches, and the compression makes the blood rush to your head in a way that amplifies every sensation that a blindfold never could.
You can't move your hands, even as they itch to grab or instinctively hold at his wrists, you're reminded that they're bound together by his belt. Your moans just get more amplified thrust after thrust after squeeze, "Nghh- Lohen… hah…"
"You can barely even say my name." He squeezes harder, his thumb pressing into the hollow of your throat, and the pressure pushes you right to the edge of too much. "Scaramouche gets full sentences out of you… Full moans… Full 'please'. But me?" He thrusts deep, grinding, holding himself inside you while his hand tightens on your throat. "I get syllables… Half-words… or just plain denial over anything I say. You're so nervous you can't even beg for anything properly."
He fucks you into the mating press until your thighs are shaking against his hands, and your voice is hoarse from the sounds he's pulling out of you. His hand stays on your throat. The pressure of his squeeze fluctuates a lot, from him tightening when he thrusts hard, loosening when he grinds slowly, a cycle of both pain and relief that keeps you permanently on the edge of too much without ever crossing into too much.
Because Kuni knows your body, he knows how much it can take. He pushes you close enough to passing out that your vision darkens at the edges, your mouth falls open, your eyes lose focus, and then he loosens his grip and lets the blood rush back.
And the gasp you take is almost an orgasm on its own. "Please- hah… please, I can't… too much-"
"You can handle it, you just don't know it yet." He squeezes your throat and fucks into you hard enough that a plushie falls off the bed. The grin on his face is still, still beautifully intact, and it's the most terrifyingly perfect thing you've ever seen from this close.
"You know what's funny? You were scared when I walked in. Nervous. Couldn't even talk to me." He leans down until his lips brush yours, his hand still on your throat. "But you're not trying to stop me, are you? Your hands are tied, your legs are pinned, and we have a safeword you could've used at any point, and you won't, because you and I both know this is exactly the type of 'too much' that you crave."
You cum with his hand on your throat and his cock buried so deep you can feel him in your stomach. The orgasm hits different in a mating press, so much more intense. Your walls clench around him in rhythmic pulses that you feel in your entire pelvic floor, and he fucks you through it, his pace not slowing, his hand not loosening.
And by the time the aftershock fades, you're boneless, twitching, and making sounds that are barely human.
He cums inside you, you feel the heat of it, thick, pulsating, his hips pressing flush against yours and staying there while his cock throbs. His hand finally loosens on your throat, and his forehead drops against yours.
His breathing is ragged, and it's the first time you've ever heard him lose the composure of the character, and for one second, between the last pulse and first exhale, it's just Kuni.
Then the Lohen grin slides back. He stays inside you for a moment more, his cock still twitching with the last of it, before pulling out in one motion that makes your body clench around nothing.
You feel the immediate emptiness, the warmth of his cum already starting to leak, but you don't get to process that because his hands are on your hips and he's flipping you.
Your stomach hits the mattress, your face presses into your pillow, and the shift of his cock inside you during the rotation makes a wet, obscene sound that you both pretend not to hear. Your wrists are still bound with the belt, and they're now pinned beneath you. You feel him reach under you, fingers finding the leather, working the buckle loose with one hand, while the other grips your hip to keep you from sliding forward.
The belt falls away from your wrists, you roll them instinctively, flexing your fingers, and before you can even appreciate the freedom, you feel the belt loop around your neck instead.
He pulls it taut from behind. He doesn't choke you with it just yet; he just lets it sit snug against your throat with his fist gripping the trailing end like it's some sort of handle.
"Ass up," he says, and you barely get your knees under you before he gives up on waiting and pulls your hips back toward him.
He slams in at a rough, fast, punishing pace. The sound of his hips against your ass is echoing off your room in a rhythm that makes your plushies at the edge of the bed vibrate, causing a couple of them to fall.
He uses the belt as a way to anchor his thrusts while he rails into you with a force that has your fingers twisting in your sheets, and your neck being forced to arch back.
"Fu- oh my g-god, Loh-" You can't even finish his name, it just dissolves into a broken moan as he hits your spot from this angle. The deepness of the backshots makes your toes curl against the bedsheets.
He keeps going, his pace not slowing down at all, and you're too far gone that you barely register it when his rhythm stutters for a second, especially when you hear him mutter something under his breath that doesn't sound like Lohen.
"This stupid fucking…"
Your brain is somewhere between your legs; the only sound that's audible and coherent to you is the sound of his hips against your ass, and your endless moans.
He thrusts hard, and you let out a whimper, your fingers flexing on the sheets, and your feet coming up, clenching, then dropping again. But between the next few thrusts, you catch pieces of something that doesn't match the character he's trying to play.
His voice sounds like it's shifting, not into Scara like it's some muscle memory he has, but into Kuni, your boyfriend, sounding genuinely irritated about something that has nothing to do with sex.
"I swear to god, it keeps sliding," he mutters, and his grip on the belt loosens for a second as his other hand does something behind you that you can't see. He does another hard thrust, and your face falls against the pillow now that he isn't yanking on your neck. But he doesn't pull you back, choke you, or do whatever you expect him to do.
He complains.
"This is the last time I'll wear a wig. The last fucking time. I told you I hate these things and you always ignore it and tell me to suck it up when it's a character that isn't him-" a thrust that makes your spine arch, "and now I have gross, synthetic hair scratching at my face, and I'm going to lose my mind."
You're barely processing any of this, still, it all sounds like fragments to you that don't make sense because of the thick haze of being fucked into your mattress.
He grunts, clear frustration, and you hear something that sounds like a clip, or whatever mechanism that's keeping his wig attached to his actual hair, and his pace slows down enough that curiosity overtakes the pleasure for one stupid second.
You turn your head.
And it's Kuni behind you, one hand still on the belt at your neck, and the other holding the Lohen wig that he just pulled off his head. His real hair is back, dark indigo, messy, slightly matted from the wig cap he also tore off. He hasn't noticed you looking yet; he's too busy glaring at the wig with genuine contempt.
He's out of character, fully, completely, for once mid-fuck. He never breaks character, and something comes over you… Maybe it's the absurdity of the visual, maybe it's because you're fucked stupid enough that impulse control is just completely gone.
Maybe it's because the opportunity is just too perfect to pass, and you've seen that TikTok audio one too many times.
You gasp, loud, dramatic, your voice coming out in that exaggerated, scandalized tone that you know he's going to hate, "he's BALD. He's bald, and he's torturing people who have HAIR!"
The silence that follows lasts exactly one and a half seconds.
His eyes snap to you, and you're looking at him over your shoulder, half of your face pressed into the pillow, and you're grinning. That kind of stupid, shit-eating grin that you know is about to have severe consequences.
His expression goes through several stages in rapid succession. Disbelief comes first, processing it comes second, then recognition of the reference, and on the last and final stage, something dark and focused appears that makes your grin falter just slightly.
He throws the wig, and it hits your vanity mirror, sliding off somewhere that you don't care to watch, and his now-free hand shoves your head back down into the pillow. It's not gentle. His palm is flat against the back of your skull, pressing your face into the fabric, and your giggle gets muffled by cotton.
"You think that's funny?" His voice drops back into Lohen's, but it's rougher now, meaner, the edge of genuine irritation soaking through the character because you made a dumb joke while he was inside of you. "You think you're clever?"
You're trying to respond, but your face is pressed into a pillow, and his hand is keeping it there. What comes out next is a muffled, "Mm srrhyy-" that dissolves into a yelp when he slams into you so hard your knees slide forward on the sheets.
"Every prey animal thinks it's funny right before the teeth close." He fucks into you at a pace that's brutal, and way faster than anything before. Each thrust is showing you further into the mattress while his hand keeps your head pinned, and the belt around your neck pulls tight from the motion. "You want to make jokes? I'll give you something to scream about instead."
His other hand leaves the belt to grab at your hip, yanking you back onto his cock with every thrust, and the force of being pushed down and pulled back simultaneously has you making sounds into the pillow that are just broken, raw sounds. Your hands claw at the sheets above your head, your back arching down, while your ass stays up, and you can feel his fingers digging bruises into your hip while the belt drags against your throat.
"Mmph- wait, f-fuck, I'm sorryyy, I was k-kidding-" you manage between thrusts, your words slurring against the pillow, saliva starting to collect at the corner of your mouth because your jaw won't close properly. "Loh-hen, please, 'm sorry, I didn't m-mean-"
"You have a funny way of apologizing," he grinds out, and his hand on the back of your head shifts, his fingers curling into your hair and pulling your face just barely off the pillow, enough that your moans aren't muffled anymore. "Usually, people apologize without laughing. You're still smiling about it, I can hear it in your voice."
He's not wrong. You are still smiling, with tears in your eyes, getting absolutely destroyed because the image of your boyfriend ripping off a wig mid-sex with that look on his face will live in your brain rent-free forever. "Liar… 'M not smiling-"
"You are." A thrust so deep your smile actually drops because your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open around a moan that's more of a wail. "There… fixed it."
His other hand releases your hair and goes to his own head. You can feel the shift in his movements, slightly distracted, one-handed thrusts that are still devastating but less focused as he runs his fingers through his real hair, fixing it through the vanity mirror on the far side of your room.
Because even while he's railing at you, Kunikuzushi will not be caught dead with bad hair.
He's multitasking, fucking you into the mattress with one hand on the belt, and styling his hair with the other… the worst part is, he doesn't even slow down.
He pulls the belt back just enough that you're forced to arch your spine, the pressure on your throat lifting your chest slightly off the mattress, and the angle change makes his cock hit differently, shallower but dragging against your front wall with every stroke, and the sound that comes out of you is embarrassingly close to a squeal.
"Ah ah AH, oh m-my god, oh my god, right there, don't- nghhh don't move from that, please plea-hease..." Your words are tumbling out in a slurred mess, your brain is completely out of your control, and your hips are pushing back against his on their own because the angle is too good.
He cums with a groan, pressing into the back of your shoulder, biting down on your skin through a moan he clearly didn't want to let out. You feel his cock pulse inside you, the heat spreading, and his hips grind forward in small, lazy rolls as he empties everything. His hand goes slack on the belt, and his forehead drops against the space between your shoulder blades.
He stays there for a second, breathing, then he pulls back, letting go completely of the belt, and you fall forward because he was the one pulling your practically limp body against him. Your ass is up in the air, and you feel him slide out, and the gush of cum that follows is immediate. It's thick, warm, spilling out of you and down between your thighs.
He sits back and watches it, you know, because you hear the sheets shift, and you can tell by the way he doesn't move or speak, just watches the mess he made ooze out of you.
His thumb presses against your entrance at the rim, and more cum leaks out around the pressure, sliding down in a slow trail toward your clit. "Look at that," he murmurs, his voice back in character for Lohen, in an amused, fascinated tone. "You can't keep any of it in."
His other hand comes up and spreads you open with his thumb and forefinger, holding your folds apart, and you can feel the cool air hit the mess inside you. You feel more of his cum spill out from being exposed. You bury your face deeper into the pillow because the visual you can't even see is somehow still the most embarrassing part of this entire night.
"Lohen, don't just… stare at it-" You mumble into the pillow, voice a bit pitchy as your thighs try to close, but his knee is in between your legs before you can even try to hide.
"Why not?" His thumb traces through the cum leaking down your folds, collecting it, spreading it in a slow circle around your clit, and your hips jerk at the contact because you're so overstimulated. "It's mine, I put it there, and I'll stare at it for as long as I want."
He leans down, and you feel his breath warm against your swollen, sensitive skin. Then you feel his tongue, a single slow lick from your clit up to your folds that collects everything in its path. You let out a sound that's halfway between a moan and a sob, your fingers crushing at the sheets. His mouth seals around your clit and sucks one, hard, before pulling off with a wet pop that's so loud it echoes.
"Ahh- hhah, that's... you c-can't just do that and stop..." You whine, your hips chasing his mouth, but he's already sitting up, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
"I can do whatever I want." He says, like it's a fact, and his thumb pushes inside you lazily, scooping cum out and watching it drip off his finger before sliding it back in. "And right now I want to watch you try to keep it together while I play with the mess I made."
He does this for longer than is reasonable. Sliding his finger in, pulling it out with cum on it, pressing his thumb against your clit, watching you flinch and twitch and moan into the pillow while your body can't decide if it wants more or if it wants him to stop.
When you finally lift your head enough to look back at him, your vision is blurry, and your cheeks are wet, and your hair… let's not talk about that. But his hair, however…
It's perfect.
His actual hair, styled in Scaramouche's cut, falls over his forehead in a way that makes him look like a character rendered by someone who accidentally released him into the real world. He fixed it while he was fucking you, which means at some point of the most brutal backshots of your life, your boyfriend was simultaneously running his fingers through his hair to make sure it looked good.
And it does, it looks like Scaramouche wearing Lohen's clothes, the dark blue and silver of the cosplay framing his face differently than Scara's outfit does, and the combination of his real hair with Lohen's costume is somehow hotter than either one on its own.
"Your hair…" You start, breathless, head tilting, staring at him.
"I know." He doesn't elaborate, and for a second you did forget just where his fingers still are, but then you get instantly reminded when his thumb circles your clit again. His expression is annoyingly smug for someone who was complaining about a wig 4 minutes ago.
He slides back into you without warning, and you gasp, your head dropping back down, because you're still so unbelievably sensitive. Even though he did slurp some of it out, you still have his cum inside of you, and the re-entry just pushed every bit of the leftovers deeper. He does exactly two, slow thrusts from behind, enough to hear the wet sound of it, and enough to feel you clench around him involuntarily, and then he moves.
His hand wraps the belt tighter around your neck and pulls backward toward him. Your upper body lifts off the mattress as the leather digs into your throat. And at the same time, as if he's some pro multitasker, his other hand hooks under your thigh, and hauls you up.
The room tilts as he rearranges your body like you're a doll getting repositioned on a shelf.
He sits back on his heels, then further, his legs extending toward the foot of the bed, and he pulls you down onto his lap with your back against his chest. His cock is still inside you, and the angle of his cock in your folds shifts as gravity does the work of seating you fully onto him. Your weight pushes him impossibly deep.
"Oh my- f-fuck..." Your head falls back against his shoulder, your mouth open, eyes unfocused on the ceiling. You can feel him everywhere. The depth of this position, your full weight on his lap, is the kind of full that makes your brain actually go blank.
The belt is still around your neck. He grips the loose end in one fist, his other hand settling on your hip, and he snaps his hips up.
It's different from behind, and the mating press, and just any position he's ever tried with you. Every thrust pushes up into you while your own weight pushes down. The collision of both forces means he's hitting your cervix with almost every stroke. The belt pulls at your throat in time with his rhythm, and it's like a constant tug that keeps you slightly alert. He's using it as a leash while he fucks up into you.
"Lohen… Lohen, oh my g-god, that's so… hhh…" Your hands grip his thighs behind you for leverage, your nails pressing crescent moons into his skin through the dark fabric of the cosplay pants. Every thrust forces a sound out of you that you didn't choose. The sound ranges from breathy moans to hiccuped whimpers to full, unfiltered whines that bounce off your bedroom walls.
"Mm, good girl… Keep saying my name just like that." He says against the shell of your ear, his grin pressing into your hair, and his hips don't slow down at all while his free hand leaves your hip to cup your breast, squeezing it through your bunched-up tank top.
Then, suddenly, the pace changes. It slows like someone pressing on the brakes. The frantic upward thrusts melt into something grinding, deliberate, circular. His hips roll instead of slamming. His hand on the belt adjusts, and you can feel the leather pulling higher on your throat, the pressure shifting from the side of your neck to the front, directly on your windpipe, cutting your air down. It makes the room tilt and your head go light.
"Lohen is fun. I'll give him that."
Your walls clench around him so hard that you feel his breath catch, a tiny fracture in his composure that he covers immediately. The shift from Lohen's energy to Scara's is like someone swapped an entire soundtrack mid-song, same instruments but a completely different vibe.
"But fun is temporary." His hips roll in that slow, calculated grind that's purely Scaramouche. The one that doesn't just find your spot but sits on it, presses into it, with the exact amount of pressure needed to make your eyes cross. "Chaos without control is just noise."
He thrusts so deep that your vision goes white at the edges and your mouth opens around a shameless sound you can't hold back. "I'm not noise." He pulls the belt tighter, your air growing thinner as your head feels floaty and warm. "I'm the only voice in your head that stays."
"Scara…" It comes out of your mouth before he can ask for it, before he can demand it, your body just defaulting to the name it knows and has moaned out more times than you can count. Just the same as muscle memory.
"There she is." His voice sounds satisfied in a way that Lohen's never was. It's settled, fully sure, like something just got confirmed that he already knew. His thumb traces the edge of the belt for exactly one second.
Then his pace goes feral, the leash yanks tight, and you can feel the grin return against the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin. The whiplash of Scara's controlled grind slamming into Lohen's chaos makes your entire body jerk against his chest.
Then he goes back to Scara, slow, precise, the belt adjusting to hit your windpipe just like before, and your vision goes soft and dreamy.
Then Lohen, again, fast and reckless, the belt pulling to the sides, sharp and painful. Your vision snaps back, too clear… too much.
Then Scara.
Then Lohen.
The switches accelerate, and you're caught between two different rhythms that you don't even have time to get used to either one before it switches back and forth, and you're left shaking, trembling, your thighs quivering helplessly on either side of his.
"You feel so fucking good-" you can hear Lohen's signature grin in his tone, his hips snapping up hard enough that you bounce on his lap, "You think you can handle more?"
And then, like a light to a switch, Scara's back, his thrusts slowing into a grind that feels torturous. "Of course you can't… You never could. You just pretend."
"Mm… mmnhh, I c-cant, it's too much," you're babbling, the words coming out in disconnected fragments that don't form a single coherent thought, "both of you at the s-same time… I can't… my brain… can't…"
Your body is trying to process two characters and one cock, and one belt on your throat that keeps changing how tight and how rough it's being pulled, and the gravity pinning you down, and his hands on you everywhere. "Please jus- hha, pick one, p-please, I can't think when you keep switching, I-"
"No." It doesn't sound like either character he's playing as he says that, almost himself. "You don't get to pick, you get both."
You cum on the fault line. On the exact millisecond where Lohen's chaos collides with Scara's control. The two rhythms are crashing together inside your body like a wave hitting a wall. The orgasm rips through you so hard that your vision actually blacks out for a second.
Your walls seize around him in rhythmic, violent clenches, your back arching against his chest, the belt pulling taut as your body contorts, and the sound you make is raw, unformed, the kind of noise a person makes when their brain short-circuits.
He cums with you, his groan is buried in the crook of your neck as his teeth bite down on your shoulder. The belt goes slack in his hand, and his hips stutter up as he fills you again. You feel every pulse of it, hot and thick, and his hands grip your hips hard.
His breathing is ragged against your neck, not in character, just Kuni, just like before, catching a breath he doesn't need to catch because the adrenaline is still making his body do human things.
He lets go of the belt and unloops it from your neck. The leather slides off your skin, leaving a warm, raw line that you'll see in the mirror tomorrow. His hands settle on your hips, gentle, all the urgency gone.
He turns you around, rotating you by your hips without pulling out. Your legs swing around until you're facing him, straddling his hips. When your eyes meet his, it's your boyfriend looking at you, Kuni, with his makeup smudged, his real hair messy and falling into his eyes, wearing another character's clothes with his own face underneath.
He grinds up into you, slow, not thrusting, just rolling his hips with his cock still inside you, his cum still inside, and the wet sound fills the quiet room.
He kisses you, a slow kiss where his hand cups the back of your neck. His tongue slides against yours, and your hands find his face, holding his jaw the same way you hold it when you do his eyeliner. Your fingers on his cheekbones, your thumbs at the corners of his mouth… the grip is so familiar that your chest aches with it.
He pulls out, the gush of everything between you spills onto his thighs, and you whimper at the loss, your hips chasing him involuntarily, still kissing him, before settling.
He leans back, lies flat, and looks up at you. "Sit on my face." He instructs, his hands already going for his bottoms, shoving the waistband down with both hands, lifting his hips, and kicking the pants and underwear off in one motion that sends them somewhere on the bed. He settles back onto the mattress with his cock resting against his stomach and the rest of Lohen's cosplay still on his upper half.
You're still on top of him, and you start to move toward his face, swinging your leg over to straddle his chest, and just as you're about to lower yourself down facing the wall, he stops you.
"Other way." His hands catch your hips, holding you in place before you can settle. "Face my cock, not the headboard."
You turn, shifting on your knees so you're facing his legs instead, and the second your thighs are on either side of his face, his hands pull you down. He doesn't ease you into it, his fingers dig into your hips and yank you flat on him. His mouth meets your cunt like he's been starving for it. His tongue is on you immediately, flat and broad, licking through the mess of his cum and yours that's still leaking, and the groan he lets out against your folds vibrates through your entire lower half.
"Ah- oh my god, Loh-" Your hands brace against his stomach, fingers splaying across his chest, your body jerking at the contact because you're still so overstimulated that even his breath against you would be too much, let alone his entire mouth sealed to your cunt like he's trying to milk you dry.
He doesn't let up; his tongue pushes between your folds, lapping at the cum he left inside you, alternating between long drags up your clit, and pointed flicks that make your thighs clamp around his head. His hands keep your hips pinned to his face, and every time you try to lift yourself even slightly because it's too much, he pulls you back down harder.
You look down past his stomach, past his lips, and his cock is right there. Hard again, flushed at the tip, twitching every time you moan. It looks helpless, which is a stupid word to use for a dick, but that's what it looks like.
Just lying there… hard… neglected, pulsing at nothing while his mouth does all the work on you. The visual of that all, combined with the way his tongue just circles your clit makes your mouth water and your body move on its own.
You lean down, lips pressing against the tip, soft, barely any contact, and you feel his hips twitch upward at even that little touch. You open your mouth wider, about to take him in, settling your weight forward onto your forearms on either side of his hips, and then his hands move.
They leave your hips, and you feel them slide down your back, his arms wrapping around your torso, his palms pressing flat against your shoulder blades from behind, and before you can even register the shift in grip, he lifts you.
Your knees leave the mattress, your thighs slide up his shoulders until they're hooked over them, his arms anchored around your back. You aren't straddling his face anymore; you're suspended above him, upside down, your entire lower body held up by his arms, and your upper body hangs between his legs with his cock directly in front of your face.
"KUNI- what the HELL-" Your hands scramble for something to hold, and the only thing available is his back, his sides, your fingers digging into whatever part of him you can reach. "Stop putting me upside down!! How are you even this strong??"
He ignores you, his mouth is still on your cunt like the position change was nothing, like rearranging your entire body didn't interrupt the rhythm of his tongue.
Your thighs are wrapped around his shoulders, your calves pressed against the sides of his head, and his arms are locked around your lower back and hips, creating a cage of muscle that keeps you from falling. Your stomach is pressed against his chest, your breasts squished between your body and his, and your face is hovering directly over his cock with your hair hanging down.
He doesn't pause to let you adjust; his tongue pushes inside you from below, curling, and the moan that rips out of you vibrates against his inner thigh because your mouth is right there, inches from his cock, and you can't even hold back the sound.
You take him in your mouth because his cock is right there, hard, flushed, leaking from the tip, and this is the only logical response you can think of.
Your lips close around the head, and you can hear, feel, his groan vibrate against your clit from below. The sensation travels through you, making your thighs tighten around his shoulders, and you take him deeper in response, your jaw stretching as you slide down his shaft.
His hips start moving, and he's fucking up into your mouth with thrusts that push his cock past your tongue and into the back of your throat. The angle of being upside down makes your gag reflex hit differently, sharper, your throat constricting around him with every push.
"Mmph-" You gag around him, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth and running up toward your nose because gravity is working against you, and your eyes water as he pushes in deep enough that your lips press flush against his base.
He pulls your hips down against his face at the same time, grinding your cunt onto his mouth, and the dual sensation of his tongue on your clit and his cock in your throat creates a never-ending loop.
Every sound you make around him vibrates through his cock and makes his groan against you, and every groan he makes against you vibrates through your clit and makes you moan louder, and the cycle just keeps building on itself until neither of you is making sounds that qualify as human.
Your hands grip the backs of his thighs, nails biting into his skin, your only anchor while the rest of you is suspended in the air, getting destroyed from both ends. His arms tighten around your back whenever your body jerks too hard, keeping you steady, and the strength required to hold you like this while simultaneously eating you out and thrusting into your mouth is something you'll think about later, when you have brain cells to think with.
His tongue circles your clit and then seals over it, sucking hard, and your entire body arches in his grip. Your moan around his cock is muffled and obscene, a wet, gargled sound that would be embarrassing if you had any shame left, and the vibration of it makes his hips stutter up so hard you choke.
"Mmngh-" Spit drips down your chin, or up your chin technically because you're upside down, and his cock slides out of your mouth for a second while you cough and gasp, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his shaft.
He doesn't give you a break. His mouth doesn't leave your cunt, his tongue pressing harder, faster, relentless, and your mouth finds his cock again through the haze, taking him back in because even choking on him feels better than the alternative of not having him in your mouth.
His hips roll up in longer strokes now, less frantic but deeper, and you can feel the tension building in his thighs, the muscles tightening under your fingers. His arms squeeze around your back, pulling your hips down harder against his mouth, and his tongue works your clit in tight, focused circles that are designed to break you.
Everything builds at the same time. His cock pulsing heavier against your tongue, your walls clenching against his mouth, the pressure in your core climbing toward something massive, and his breathing getting faster against your cunt, his groans getting louder, less controlled, desperate in a way he only gets when he's close.
You cum first, barely, by maybe a second.
Your walls seize, and your thighs clamp around his shoulders, and the orgasm crashes through you in a wave so intense your jaw locks around his cock. The constriction of your throat, squeezing around him, plus the vibration of your moan, plus the way your entire body shakes in his grip, is what sends him over.
He cums in your mouth with a groan so deep you feel it in your spine. His hips push up one final time, his cock pulsing thick against your tongue, and you swallow around him because there's nothing else to do in this position, the cum sliding down your throat (or up, gravity is still confusing) while his tongue works you through the last aftershocks.
His arms loosen, not all at once, because if he did, you'd drop violently onto the bed. He eases the tension gradually, lowering your hips back toward the mattress, and you let his cock slip from your mouth with a wet sound that you're too brain dead to be embarrassed about.
"Put me down," you mumble against his thigh, your voice wrecked, your arms shaking. "Please, Kuni, put me down before I die in this position, and you have to explain it to my parents."
He lowers you down carefully, his hands guiding your hips and legs until your back is flat on the mattress beside him. Your head is at the foot of the bed, and your feet are near the pillows, but you don't really care because you're horizontal and alive, and that's enough.
He sits up, looks at you sideways on the bed, completely destroyed, and he doesn't say anything. He just moves you, his hands sliding under your back and your knees as he repositions you properly to put your head up against the pillows where it belongs.
He's quiet when he cleans you up this time, zero commentary about you squirming, no dry remarks about sensitivity, just the warm cloth from the bathroom, careful movements between your legs while his other hand stays on your hip to keep you still when you flinch.
He brings new clothes from your dresser, a pair of underwear, which goes on you first, slides up your legs, then shorts, then a top he pulls over your head and feeds through your arms without asking for your cooperation because he's already learned you won't give it.
He doesn't talk the whole time, which is unusual, because Kuni always has something to say, always has a complaint or a remark or a correction. But right now he's just doing it quietly, focused, tucking the hem of your top down with his fingers before standing up and walking toward your closet.
He changes into the pajama pants and black shirt he keeps in your drawer, and he pulls the Lohen cosplay off in pieces as he does it, dropping each part onto the chair by your desk.
"I'm never wearing that thing again," he says, pulling the top layer of Lohen's outfit off his shoulders with a grimace, his tone flat and final. "Whoever designed this character hates the human body. It feels like it's over 6 layers, especially with the long-sleeve, the cape thing… everything." He drops the last piece and kicks it under the chair. "Scara's cosplay isn't even that heavy because Scara was designed by someone with common sense."
You watch him from the bed, half-lidded, sinking into the pillows, your body so heavy that you feel like you're melting into your own mattress.
He walks back and pulls the covers up, sliding in beside you without ceremony. The second he's horizontal, you're already moving toward him, pressing your face into his chest, your hand curling into the front of his shirt, and his arm wraps about your back.
He kisses your forehead, soft, and then the bridge of your nose when you lift your face up enough, then the corner of your mouth. It's small, quiet presses of his lips against your skin that feel nothing like Scaramouche or Lohen. These are Kuni kisses, the ones he gives when no character is being performed.
The ones he probably doesn't even realize he's giving because they come out of him the same way breathing does.
He tips your chin up with his finger, and his eyes are just blue. Not indigo contacts, not the ones he wore for the Lohen cosplay, just his natural, stupid, annoyingly pretty blue that you fell for before you even knew that you cosplayed.
"Who do you want?" He asks, his voice low, and it's the softest you've heard it all night.
You look at him, at the messy hair, at the body who dyes his hair for a fictional character and hates wigs and complains about having to style his hair everyday and who buys you an abmormal amount of primogems, and probably would get you c6 r5 Lohen the minute he drops because he does that for every character, even when he gets jealous when you simp for a character that you don't just ask him to cosplay like any other logical person dating a cosplayer.
"Kuni," you say, and your voice is small and sure. "Just Kuni."
His mouth twitches, and you can see the shape of a smile trying to form before he catches it and pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin and pressing his lips to your hair.
"Good answer," he murmurs into your scalp, so quiet that you almost miss it.
You close your eyes, your face against the fabric of his shirt, and you're asleep before you can respond. He stays awake for a minute more, his hand moving through your hair in slow repetitive movements. He stares at the ceiling fan, and he doesn't say anything.
He doesn't need to.
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In fact, usually it was him that got jealous. You remember all the nights where you had to assure Scara that it was really him, the imperfect divine puppet, that you want.
Something has been irking you recentently though.
Your partner that you've been together with for literal years, that has been with you through everything just like you have been there for him, has been whaffling on about some woman.
Not only has he been rambling about this woman, he has been way too nice with his words, and sometimes even straight up wrong.
Your eye twitches each time he calls Haypasia "his first follower" when you have clearly been by his side for way longer. She wasn't even there yet when the first prototype of his soon-to-be archon form was constructed. And she cetrainly wasn't when he desperately needed someone to hold together the pieces of his delicate self.
So pray tell you why has he been talking about her this much?? What does she have that makes her oh-so loyal to the point where he seems to forget about how you have been there with him all along?
It can't be the hideous green hair, that's for sure.
You sigh as he adds another point his current ramble. Can't he tell that you're agitated by all this? It's like he's barely been paying attention to you ever since she came into the picture.
Your relationship is not so fragile that a mere scholar from sumeru can ruin it, right...?
And yet you're somehow worried about bringing this up to him. You know you should.
"Haypasia said something interesting today"
"She looked into my consciousness and saw my past"
"My first follower is so devoted, it's precious, really"
Devoted.
Precious.
What a joke. You feel your eyebrows twitch downward.
A dead cold grip catches your wrist. It's not painful, but it snaps you back into the moment. You were fidgeting.
Scara is staring at you. Unblinking. He's long stopped masking his puppet mannerisms in front of you.
"Where did your mind wander off to this time?", he asks flatly. "I was speaking."
Your mouth opens, but out comes only an illegible stutter. The idea of a reply that got stuck on its way.
You clear your throat and say, "I'm listening."
"No", his fingers tighten around your wrist, it's like he wants to shake you back into reality, "You're not."
The pressure of his stare and insistency make you crack.
"I am", you snap, irritatedly adding before you can stop yourself, "I just don't like hearing you go on and on about how amazing she is."
He stays silent for a moment. Then shifts slightly.
"...Her?" He sounds near incredulous, hard to believe considering his endless praise of that woman.
You roll your eyes. "Yes, Haypasia. It's like you're being dull on purpose."
He's still quiet, for a second you think you went too far.
Then Scara lets out an exhale through his nose. He's amused (relieved).
"You're jealous", he realizes with the smuggest, most self-satisfied grin ever.
Your face errupts in flames.
You sputter, before admitting, "Okay so maybe I am—"
"Maybe??", he laughs in disbelief at the sheer audacity to downplay this. Not only do your feelings matter, he also gets to witness you being jealous for once? And you're trying to undermine this? Yeah good luck with that.
"Shut up", you glare.
He keeps laughing.
"And you even called me dull, how cute", he covers his mouth, yet you can still see his grin, "I should make you jealous more often."
You repeat, this time slightly more agitated, "I said shut up."
"You've been sitting here drowning in your own thoughts for 10 minutes, you think I couldn't feel it?" The question is serious despite his amused tone.
You cross your arms, looking at him accusingly. "You didn't seem to feel it when you were still talking."
"Believe it or not, I did", he shrugs, before adding smugly, "Wouldn't have guessed that my precious Doll of all people would get jealous though."
"Your 'precious Doll' has feelings too", you frown. He is taking this seriously in his own way but that alone doesn't make your uncertainty disappear.
"Yes but there's nothing to worry about for you", he says in a more sincere tone.
"You called her your first follower", you point out.
He raises a brow, confused. "Well she is?"
"What, and I'm nothing?"
"You're my equal."
You pause. He did always make a point to talk about Haypasia like she's below him. You have just been too busy focusing on the fact that he was talking about her at all.
You feel a cold hand on the side of your face. It's soft.
"You weren't listening earlier", he says with the same resolute softness that adorns his hold, "Comparing yourself to her is insulting. A god has hundreds of thousands of devotees. Her being the first to realise my divine greatness doesn't make her any different from the rest to come."
You blink. Him reframing it like that does shift your perspective. You lean into his hand as he continues to talk.
"She saw my past but she wasn't actually there when it mattered", he says, leaving out the obvious. It was you who was there.
───❝I DON'T CARE MUCH ABOUT YOU, BUT I WOULDN'T MIND IF YOU LIKED ME TOO...❞
ノㅤ﹕ft. self-aware!Wanderer x gn!readerᆞwanderer's name is never mentioned, think of it as the one you gave him!ᆞmight be oocᆞfluff/sfw only !!
Phew... man that world quest was long! And now you're pretty parched. A good drink and snack break would reeeeaallly hit the spot right now.
Your bed lets put a soft creek as you step off of it, leaving your phone on it with genshin opened up.
On the screen stands an adorable man with a large hat, letting out a small huff when he realizes you've left the room.
How annoying. He patiently waited all day for you to come home and play—while he wouldn't dare entertain the thought—was it really so much to ask for your attention?
What's taking you so long anyway? Your home can't be that large that it takes you an hour to walk from your fridge to the bedroom! Come back already! (He misses you) (It hasn't even been five minutes)
His face twists into a small frown. Well if that's how it's going to be, then so be it! If you won't come back to focus on him, he'll just make you!
And oh boy, here it starts...
"Hmmmphh.. hmmm.. hm... hmm? Sigh..."
"There's no such thing as pure freedom in this world, even the wind cannot blow on forever."
"Uuughhhhh—hmm... Relax! Pffftt! Hehehe..."
You can hear him and his idles all the way over in the kitchen. You sigh, closing the fridge. These voicelines were so cute when you first got him, but now that you've had him for over three years... yeah, he's still adorable—but you bacically know most of his voicelines off of the top of your head now.
Best you go back and continue playing, that quest won't finish itself, and babygirl over there won't shut up untill you get back.
So, snack in hand, you return to your bedroom. You flop back onto the bed and grab your phone, those primogems won't earn themselves!
You stop your little cutie mid idle, back to work for him. It might be your day off but it sure as hell isn't his. It's a bit weird though, you could have sworn that the cute little smile that served as his resting face was not there for a brief second, what was there was the cutest pout imaginable!
You giggle to yourself as you go into the next combat section of the quest, and your sweet boy would have to hold back his sigh of relief. Who knew the default camera position being as his back would help him so much? It perfectly hides his blushy face. Damn you and who gave you such a pretty voice, and an even nicer laugh...
Hello, hello! Here's a promt from that poll I did a while ago, to celebrate my babygirls (very belated) b-day! Sorry that it's a bit short (ヽ´ω`)
Funfact, I used to be a massive Wanderer/Scaramouche girlie. Mained him all the way untill i pulled Lyney, and then pulled Wrio on his rerun. I'm very normal about all three, pinkie promise!!
As always, hope you enjoyed reading this! Any and all feedback on how to improve is really appreciated!
(a/n: i had a couple requests where the boys push the reader away who’s been openly trying to pursue them but then they start to miss them so i decided to write for it! i’m not gonna lie that title is absolute shit but i didn’t know how else to label it😭
anyways all are written in the timeskip :)) enjoy y’all💞)
oikawa
you figured a direct approach was the best one to take with oikawa tooru
the two of you had been friends for quite a while after highschool, ending up in argentina at the same time
before, you’d seen him as a friend, but your feelings had progressed
you’ve been trying to pursue him for months, but he’s only ever teased you flirtingly, never going anywhere past that line
but one day, his team wasn’t doing so hot, so you came to visit him after practice
“hey, did you maybe wanna go out for some food? you look tired.”
he’d been silent, so you pressed further
“maybe going out for a little would do you—”
“could you fuck off for two seconds, y/n? you’re really fucking annoying, you know that?”
it became clear to you that he would never return your feelings
you left that night feeling empty and numb
when tooru calls in the morning, you sigh before declining it. he calls again. you turn your phone off.
on oikawa’s end, he’s feeling frantic. he hadn’t meant to snap at you last night, but like always, he’d just let his emotions get the best of him. he wants to find you and apologize for what he said, but you won’t answer your phone and he has no idea where you are.
days go by and you don’t respond to anything he sends you.
hey
please pick up the phone
i’m sorry
please forget what i said to you
i didn’t mean it
goddamn it y/n pick up the damn phone
please
fuck
as much as you ache to tell him that you forgive him, you know you need to move on. before, you’d been holding on to that little sliver of hope: maybe one day he’d turn around and realize that you made him feel the same way he made you feel. but now you understand that you’re a nuisance to him; a burden. why would you want to keep pining after him when he would never feel the same way?
what you didn’t know was that oikawa did feel the same way, even more so. but he was terrified that you would figure out that he wasn’t as great of a person that he pretended to be and leave, and that frightened him. he never made a move because he was so scared of losing you.
but now you’re gone and he doesn’t know what to do. he misses you like crazy. he can barely sleep, up in the late hours of night thinking about you.
today, he’s getting ready to go out for the night, when he opens the door. he gasps softly, stepping back.
you’re standing right in front of him, hand raised reluctantly to knock on the door, and you’re wearing the same expression as he is.
“tooru—”
he cuts you off, throwing his arms around you tightly and gasping into your hair, relief flooding his nerves so fast he can barely breathe.
you hadn’t meant to show up at his place, but somehow your feet moved on their own, and now you’re in his arms. it feels better than you could’ve ever imagined. it feels too good. and you know you’ve made a mistake.
you push him off you gently, stepping back. his expression drops with hurt and confusion.
“i shouldn’t have come here,” you mumble, looking downward, before starting in the direction you came. he looks at you, startled, and runs to catch you, grabbing your wrist.
“wait! don’t go,” he pleads. you stop in your tracks, tears pricking at your eyes. “you— you haven’t been answering my texts,” he mumbles guiltily. “i mean, i get why, it’s just...” he trails off.
“i missed you.”
you gasp softly, heart breaking, and pull your wrist out of his grip sharply.
“fuck you, tooru!” you blurt, turned away from him. “you can’t just say things like that and string me along when you know how i feel! god, how could you do that to me?” frustrated, involuntary, angry tears stream down your face uncontrollably. you’ve always hated how you cry when you’re mad.
he blanches, opening his mouth to say something.
“y/n—”
“i can’t do this anymore,” you cut him off. “i can’t sit here and pour my heart out to you over and over again while you don’t even care.”
“Y/N—!”
“i can’t be your ‘friend’ if that’s all this is gonna—”
but you don’t finish, because he’s tugging you towards him in half a second and his lips are on yours, pressed firmly against you. his hands are in your hair, cradling you gently. you pull away.
“i’m not stringing you along. okay?” he mutters, breathless. “i didn’t mean what i said to you that night, and i couldn’t stop regretting it. and then you wouldn’t talk to me and i felt terrible without you and i just really, really need you,” he whispers, desperate.
“do you mean that?” you ask, hope swelling in your heart. he nods.
“i love you. so much,” he exhales against your lips. “and i’m never letting you go again.”
sakusa
you can’t remember a time where you haven’t been completely in love with sakusa kiyoomi
you’ve always loved to put it on display, hoping that it’d make your feelings less serious to avoid rejection
kiyoomi usually tolerated it; it became a part of your dynamic honestly
but one night, the jackals had lost their game, and he was frustrated and angry
you figured he could use a pick-me-up
“wanna go out for drinks?”
as he said nothing, you went on and on about how he shouldn’t beat himself up, your arm linked around his bicep, and he’d had it with you
“why don’t you go throw yourself at some other guy? god.”
he shoved you off his arm and walked away
as you walked home alone, you figured that maybe he was right
if you were going to throw yourself at someone, it shouldn’t be the man you’ve been unrequitedly pining for for years
when sakusa wakes up, his head hurts, and he rubs his eyes tiredly. it’s already 11:26, according to his watch.
he sits up, memories of last night flooding in. he cringes when he remembers the things he said to you. he remembers the look on your face when he pushed you off of his arm and walked away.
last night had been rough, but it wasn’t his place to take it out on you. he pulls out his phone and dials your number. it rings a couple times. no response.
he tries texting you. you always reply in less than 10 minutes, but the chat box is empty. guilt swims in his lungs, making it hard to breathe properly.
he spends the next few days wallowing in self-pity and shame, waiting for a response that never comes. when the guilt becomes too much to handle, he decides to go out and find you himself.
he looks around your apartment complex, not seeing you anywhere. but when he turns his head, he finally sees you walking down the street. you’re wearing a coat and heels, the attire a little too nice for a walk in the night. he runs to catch up with you.
“h-hey!” he stammers, watching you turn around in alarm. familiarity flashes across your face before hurt takes it place. kiyoomi’s heart sinks guiltily.
“hey,” you whisper, voice tiny. you’re looking around warily, as if you’re hiding something. he picks up on your behavior, but he’s too focused on making things right to say anything.
“i’ve been meaning to see you,” he mutters. “i wanted to apologize for the way i acted the other night.”
you sigh, checking your watch. “it’s okay, kiyoomi. look, i need to be somewhere right about now...” you trail off, dismissal clear in your tone.
“oh,” he mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. “where do you need to be?”
you shift on your feet awkwardly, and the tension between the two of you is uncomfortable.
“i’m,” you start, looking away. “i have a date.”
kiyoomi’s heart stops in his chest. when it finally registers your words, it begins to ache painfully.
“you,” he murmurs. “you what?”
you try to smile up at him but the gesture looks weird and out of place.
“i have a date. my friend actually set us up,” you explain, false excitement lacing your tone.
something bitter bubbles up in sakusa’s chest, filling his body with an indescribable feeling of jealousy. he glares at you.
you stare back at him, confusion and irritation contouring your features.
“what?”
“seriously, y/n? a date?”
you scoff. “what’s wrong with that?”
“i don’t think you need to be dating right now,” he argues bitterly.
“you know what?” you whisper angrily. “you don’t get to act like this when you’re the one who told me to throw myself at some other guy!” you yell, frustrated tears blurring your vision.
“fuck!” he grits out, fists clenched helplessly. “you don’t get it, do you?”
“get what?!” you ask, exasperated.
“i’m in love with you!” he blurts, face dangerously close to yours. there’s visible frustration in his eyes, and you feel like you can’t breathe. “fuck.”
“what?” you whisper.
“i want it to be me. you should be with me.”
he looks down, the expression on his face just lost and a little confused at the way he’s feeling. he looks slightly embarrassed, and your heart begins to swell at the sight.
“you really feel that way?” you ask, baffled. “all this time...”
“just,” he tries, flustered. “be with me instead, okay?”
you sigh against his lips. “anything you want.”
atsumu
you were always very obvious about your feelings for atsumu
whether or not he picked up on them or not, you didn’t know
but you’d always flirted with him and teased him about everything
he was your best friend, and you held onto the hope that maybe one day he’d see you as more
he was having a terrible day, and you were the last person he wanted to see
nonetheless, you showed up
“hey, tsumu, you doin okay?”
he’d grunted in response
“hey, talk to me—”
“why are you here? i don’t fucking want you! so just leave me the fuck alone, will you?”
and with that, all the hope you’d clung to had dissipated
somewhere, deep down, you’d known he would never love you the way you did him
but hearing it just felt even worse
the set is perfect, and atsumu can see it happening in slow motion. the spike, the way the ball hits the other side of the court, everything. it’s practically perfect.
when the crowd roars, he sighs, exhilarated and a little out of breath. he looks toward the stands, searching for your face in the crowd. he can’t seem to find you. he deflates a little.
they’re probably in there somewhere, he tells himself.
the jackals win the last set 25-21, and atsumu’s never felt so elated in his life. he can’t wait to see you to celebrate the win with you!
but as atsumu waits just outside the gate, searching for you, he starts to get anxious. you’ve never missed a single game. why wouldn’t you be here?
he knows the things he said to you the other night were uncalled for, but you know him. you know he didn’t mean them. right?
but as the time passes, atsumu realizes that you didn’t come. his heart sinks.
atsumu doesn’t realize how badly he hurt you that night. you spent the entire night sobbing, the realization that he was completely right stinging painfully. it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t feel the same way. but it hurt terribly all the same.
so you’ve been avoiding him. he probably hasn’t even noticed.
but atsumu feels like something is off. you’ve never missed one of his games.
to investigate, he shows up at your door, knocking three times. when you open the door, his mind goes blank. you’re in his sweatshirt, the fabric stretching over your thighs and hanging off your frame adorably. he swallows.
“h-hey...” he stutters, nervous. you shrug.
“what’s up?” you respond, awkward.
“oh. uh, right. you,” he mumbles. “you didn’t come to my game today.”
you scoff. “why would i?”
the words sting in his chest.
“what?” he whispers.
annoyed, you glare at him. “you can’t tell me to leave you alone and then get upset when i do.”
guilt starts to prod at his heart. “i know, but...”
“besides, you were right. i should get over you.”
he looks down, shameful.
“but,” he mumbles helplessly. “i don’t want you to get over me.”
you gape at his audacity.
“what, so you can string me along for the rest of your life? what the hell is wrong with you, atsumu?”
he grits his teeth in frustration.
“you don’t understand! i,” he sighs, exasperated. “i’m in love with you, okay?”
you freeze.
“and i fucked everything up and i hurt you but i just really fucking missed you,” he spills, emotions going haywire. “and i want you to be mine.”
you’re staring at him, eyes wide.
“you—” he looks at you, helpless. “you’re my best friend.”
you stay silent.
“so. uh, i guess i,” he stammers. “i understand if you don’t—”
you don’t give him a chance to finish his thought, pressing your lips against him before he can say another word. his hand immediately comes up to cup your cheek, thumb rubbing circles into your skin.
you pull away, lips swollen and breathing heavily.
(a/n: ok so i got a couple requests for a second part of this prompt but i didn’t wanna post them separately so i compiled them here!!
there were different character requests so i’ll definitely keep that in mind for future reference :)) for this prompt, i wrote all of them in the timeskip if anyone needed clarification💞 anyways thank you guys so much for requesting; i hope you like it!
this is not my best work; i wrote this when i was really tired :( but i’ll try to make it up to y’all later hehe)
kenma
your boyfriend is pretty lazy himself honestly
he doesn’t like to go out and do stuff all that much
but at the same time he is pretty busy at home
most of the time he’s just gaming
even though he does most of his work at home, you don’t get to spend that much time with him
but today kenma was in an even worse mood than usual
he was irritated, tired, and felt like he was going out of his mind all day
but you hadn’t seen him at all today, so you’re not aware of this
you walk into his work room with some food (he hadn’t eaten all day) and sneak into his lap, pressed against him tightly, as you usually do
you talk about your day, rambling about random things and combing your hands through his hair, untangling the knots
you ask him if he has any laundry for you to clean, and he doesn’t respond
you poke at him
“kenma? babe? were you paying attention to—”
“fuck, y/n, can’t you just leave me alone for a day? i’m in a bad mood already, and i don’t need you smothering me. you always do this, y/n. i don’t need you to take care of me; i can do everything by myself.”
you hadn’t realized how annoyed your clinginess was
so you disentangle yourself, muttering an apology under your breath, and leave, closing the door behind you
the next day, kenma wakes up feeling a lot better than he did yesterday, despite having fallen asleep at his gaming desk.
for once, he’s actually hungry, since he refused your dinner last night. he feels a little bad about what he said to you, but you probably know that he didn’t mean it. sometimes he gets in these moods, and you know them better than anyone.
he gets up and goes to the kitchen to see what you’ve made for the both of you. surprisingly, you’re not in there, like you would usually be, and there’s no delicious aroma or evidence of use at all. maybe they left it in the fridge? he thinks. but the refrigerator is empty, too.
now that he thinks about it, the apartment is a little more out of shape than usual. some of his clothes lay wrinkled on chairs and his mangas are scattered where he left them, instead of in his work room where you always put them. strange, he thinks.
he sees you on the couch and brightens. he’s missed you, and he wants to ask you if you’d like to do something together today. it’s been so long since he’s been able to just be with you.
but when he approaches you, you just smile at him and get up, retreating into your room and closing the door. he stands there, confused.
he doesn’t understand why you’re acting so strange today.
but on your end..
his words from yesterday stung. you really loved to care for your boyfriend; it was one of your favorite ways to show him you loved him. but he didn’t see it that way, because he expressed that he felt smothered; that he could take care of himself. so you’ve decided to back off a little bit.
kenma is working in his room when he hears the door open. he sits, up, setting down his controller and waiting for you to settle on his lap like usual and cuddle him for a little while he plays. but instead, you creep in warily, like you don’t know if you’re allowed to be there. you see his eyes on you and freeze before slipping back out like you were never in there to begin with.
“y/n, wait—”
you’re already gone though, and now kenma’s actually concerned. he gets up and ventures out into the bedroom, where you’re huddled up on the bed. he sits down next to you and attempts to pull you in, which you refuse.
“baby, what’s wrong?” he whispers. “why are you being so distant today?”
there’s tears in your eyes, and you’re attempting to smile for him, but it just looks wobbly and wrong.
“isn’t that what you wanted?” you ask shakily. “y-you said i was smothering you, so i just thought—”
he cuts you off with a kiss, pulling you in sweetly and firmly, and you sigh.
“i’m sorry for lashing out at you last night,” he apologizes. “i didn’t mean anything i said to you, okay?”
you look up at him with teary eyes.
“i love the way you do things for me and tell me about your day and cuddle with me. i know i’m absolute shit at expressing it, but i really like it when you take care of me.”
he nuzzles your nose with his, pressing short and sweet kisses on your lips between sentences.
“so what you’re saying is.. cuddles?” you ask, hopeful. he stares at you, golden eyes half-lidded contentedly.
“whatever you want.”
osamu
you love everything about your relationship with miya osamu
the dates, the food (oh my GOD the food), the everything
but more than anything, you LOVE cuddling with him
he’s always warm and soft and snuggly
but yesterday, you and osamu got in a fight
you argued that he was spending so much time managing the restaurant that he was forgetting about you
he thought you were being absolutely ridiculous
“y/n, you’re overreacting. stop being over dramatic.”
“over dramatic? is that what this is? okay, sorry for wanting to have a moment alone with my fucking boyfriend!”
“it’s not my fault that you’re so fucking clingy?! don’t put this on ME. always forcing your dumb affection on me when it’s CLEAR that i don’t want you to!”
ouch😐
even after the both of you apologized and called it quits, you thought about it all night
maybe he was right
you went to bed and drifted into a fitful sleep
today is osamu’s day off, and he’s looking forward to having a day to relax with you.
after the fight the two of you had, he’s just happy to have the whole day to make up and spend some time together.
when he wakes up with you next to him, he nudges at you affectionately. you’re already half awake, and you smile back at him. he waits for you to take the cue and snuggle into his side like usual, so that the two of you can continue resting together, but you turn around on your side. he frowns.
later in the day, you’re watching a movie, and he tugs at your sweatshirt, hoping you’ll settle into his lap and give him some kisses. instead, you sit next to him, a little bit of space between you, and don’t look at him again.
then, the both of you are making dinner, and he comes up behind you, to which you dodge him skillfully. he almost whines; desperate for some affection. you’re not giving him anything today, and he’s getting touch-starved.
“baby, is something wrong?” you ask at his frown.
he shakes his head and continues chopping vegetables.
the two of you have gotten ready for bed and are laying under the covers when he crawls over to you and lays his arm over your torso. you push him off gently, only for him to put it on you again. you sigh.
“babe—”
“why won’t you let me cuddle you today?”
honestly, you want nothing more than for him to cuddle you all day, holding you in his arms. but clearly it’s annoying, and you’d like to avoid fights like the one you had last night at all costs.
“last night.. you mentioned that i force my affection on you. and i realized that you were right. and i’m just working on it, okay?” you look away.
osamu’s heart sinks. you’re still on this? he thought he’d made it clear that he truly didn’t mean anything he said during the fight, but he realizes that insecurities don’t just go away.
“baby..” he whispers, pulling you into his lap. you won’t look at him. “look at me.” you shake your head, so he brings your chin up with his hand.
“you don’t ‘force’ your affection on me, okay? i love how affectionate you are with me. i like that you can feel safe in my arms and that you like being close to me all the time. it’s the way you express your love for me, and i think it’s perfect.”
tears well up in your eyes, so you bury your face in his chest to hide it.
“i love you so much, ‘samu,” you whisper, sniffling.
he smiles softly down at you, and pulls you in even closer, flush against him.
“and i love you.”
suna
suna is a very lowkey, chill person
this applies to basically everything in his life
but when he gets angry it’s very easy for him to lash out
yesterday, suna had a terrible day
he was just getting irritated by everyone and while he wanted to come home and rest, he didn’t want to deal with your questions
but you didn’t know about how his day went, so you asked him questions anyway, hoping to find out how he was feeling and if he needed anything
but his annoyance was growing, and you weren’t picking up on it
you laid a hand on his arm, and that’s when he finally lost it
he shoved your hand away, irritated
“can’t you just leave me alone? i don’t want to talk to you right now, and you being clingy isn’t helping.”
you reeled back, stung, but decided you’d leave him alone
you slept on the couch, afraid to upset him even more
suna wakes up to the sun filtering through the blinds, and slides a hand over to your side of the bed, expecting to find you lying next to him, but comes up empty. he frowns, missing your warmth.
he gets up and moves to the living room, finding you lying on the couch. he nudges you gently to wake you up.
“good morning, baby,” he whispers against your lips, and you don’t even smile at that, just grabbing your blanket and relocating to the bedroom. he’s confused by your mood, and follows you back into the bedroom.
“you wanna cuddle?” he offers, slipping into the bed next to you, only for you to hmph petulantly, rolling over on your side, away from him.
that’s weird, suna thinks. y/n almost never refuses my cuddles.
you do wake up later, seeing rintarou in the kitchen, and take out a snack from the pantry, ignoring his own offers to make you food.
it’s not that you’re mad at him, because you’re really not, but you’re still a little hurt at how he treated you last night. you know he was just having a bad day, but now you don’t want to receive his affection, scared to come off as annoying again.
“baby, are you mad at me?” he asks when the two of you are in bed. you shake your head, eyes still glued to your book.
rintarou tries again to cuddle you, but you push him away again. he sighs, unsure why you’re acting this way. he takes your book and closes it, inciting a reaction from you.
“hey, you didn’t even bookmark—”
you stop short at seeing his gaze locked on you and shrink back.
“then why aren’t you being affectionate with me?”
you sigh, not wanting to get into this now.
you do anyway.
“you called me annoying, rin. excuse me for not wanting to be affectionate when apparently that behavior is irritating,” you mumble.
suna stops short. annoying? how could you have ever been— oh.
suna had completely forgotten about last night. he never apologized for lashing out at you.
ignoring your protests, rintarou pulls you into his chest and noses at your hair.
“‘m sorry,” he mutters into your hair, breathing you in and basking in your warmth. you still, and he pulls you close. “i’m sorry for calling you those things, okay? please don’t stop being affectionate with me; i miss it,” he admits, and you finally look up at him.
“i’m not annoying?” you ask, voice tiny.
“no, baby. i love your cuddles and your kisses and how adorable you are when you’re sleepy. i just love you.”
you’re speechless at his honesty, so you just nuzzle at his collarbone and breathe his scent in instead.
“you know, you acted like a child today,” he teases.
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??
✎ yandere! mean boy who's one of the most popular guys in the entire university. he's hot, smart, rich... he was perfect! ...but of course, he had a bad side to him as well. a side that you knew too well but others didn't. have i mentioned that he's only mean to you?
✎ yandere! mean boy who makes your university life as hard as he can. from minor inconveniences like bumping into you, to trying to ruin your reputation by gossiping about you to his friends. you're starting to wonder if he likes you? i mean, why else would he do this? you're not even in the same major! spoiler alert, he does like you. wow, who knew 🤯 ps, his friends are annoyed whenever he brings you up because once he starts talking about you he can't stop 💀
✎ yandere! mean boy who is very obviously in love with you. yeah, sure he might try to ruin your life but... he also spoils you! i mean, don't you see those gifts he left in your room? the new outfits in your closet? or the way your grades suddenly rose? that's all him! so... you should fall for him too now, right? boy is delusional 🔥🔥
✎ yandere! mean boy who's completely obsessed with you. unfortunately, poor fella doesn't know how to process his feelings and only shows disdain to you openly. if only you knew of the way his heart quickens every time you glance at him, or the way he jerks off to you to the numerous pictures he secretly took which are plastered on the walls of his mansion... he's such an idiot! when all he wants to do is worship you, he insults you instead :( not to worry... he'll be openly worshipping you soon enough. soon...
"watch your step."
he hisses as he glares at you. you only roll your eyes, continuing on your way to your lecture hall as you text your friend. seriously, this day was already bad and he just had to be here to worsen it? what luck you had.
you quicken your pace, trying to get to your location faster which only resulted in the university's mean boy (correction, he's only mean to you, so he's a secret mean boy) scowling and stomping right over to you.
"i said, watch your step!"
he yells out, grabbing your shoulder roughly as he turns around to face you. his hands shake slightly, still gripping onto your shoulder as his cheeks brun red. was it from anger or embarrassment? you'd never know. all he ever shows you is his disdain after all.
you stare at him with an irritated expression, eyeing him up and down before apologizing half-heartedly.
"sorry."
you then try shrugging his hand off you, clearly more annoyed than worried as the male continues to stare at you with an unreadable expression. cheeks flushed as he roughly takes his hand away before stomping off like an angry child. you merely shake your head at his actions. what a drama king he was.
jeez, he really is weird. always targeting you, and you only... what did you even do to get on his nerves? all you wanted was a peaceful university life! with good grades and a nice set of friends, and maybe even a lover if you were lucky! but no, he just had to have it out for you every. single. day.
and yet, he always seems to have a red flush on his cheeks whenever he does so. and the multiple times you've passed his friend group he always seems to be talking about you. is he bipolar? does he secretly like you? is he a tsundere?
you grumble slightly as you quickly rush off to your lecture. damn, he made you late. what an annoying guy.
meanwhile, your secret mean boy was struggling to contain his screams as he hid behind a wall after stomping off. with laboured breaths, flushed cheeks and hearts for pupils, he giggled like a patient from the mental hospital.
ah..! you touched him! touched him! if he imagines hard enough, he can pretend you're gently carressing him! that you're looking at him just like he looks at you!
he shakily stares at the hand you swatted away, smile errily wide as soft giggles escape him. ah, you're so cute when you look at him like that... when you look at him in irritation... would you look like that when he exposes the fact that he loves you? or when you're married and he accidentally burns his food? would you push him away and quickly cook up another meal?
he giggles like a high school girl in love, breathing growing increasingly erratic as he places both his hands over his chest.
I was wondering if you could write headcanons for the yandere senpai where he gets jealous of all the time you are spending with you’re friend and not him
Thanks for the attention and have a great weak!!!
Is this referring to my old post? [🌧️😤♥️] This one? Because if so then HELL YES!! (but also, if it isn't I'm sorry, I would totally be down to write about a more sweet senpai, cause this guy is mean-)
My favorite flavor is "the senpai actually does like the mc", thank you for requesting this. Have a great week too, boo! I hope you'll enjoy the newest menu addition, Opera Cake! I'll make a profile for him later on X'D
TW/Tags: He can be a bit of a jerk, be patient with him // delusional/in denial // anger issues // light cursing because the author has an dirty vocabulary // bad communication (from you and him lmao) // dangerous jealousy // mentions of stalking // very controlling // sorry for the long ass wait
🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭
Bitter Coffee [Yandere-Tsundere!Male!Senpai! x GN!Reader - Headcanon]:
🎇 Let me set the stage for a quick sec! 🎇
(This is not a continuation nor a prequel, but it does involve the same idea of the post I've mentioned before, which by the way, is old and has some cringey text!)
Christopher was many things, including socially unaware, or at least socially awkward. Yes, the guy was smart, handsome and that edgy grumpy aesthetic could be pretty charming- He looked like a half-dead, lanky librarian with a bad eyesight and that was probably why a lot of people flocked to him.
The man wasn't goth, but he was gothic, ya know? The man was built like a tree and somehow, people just seemed really interested in him! He never really understood why, he just wants to be left alone!! Please!!
He hates having people surround him constantly and talking way too loud, way too close to his face all the time- Seriously, they won't get a kiss doing that? (Which by the way, ew?! Ew. Is what he would think).
He is a very distant person, and he seems to purposefully push people away from him, but he tends to not do that with you- Most of the time.
You were a stalker, it was quite simple, even if he DID make an effort you would still follow him, wouldn't you?!
You were annoying, frankly he knew all about your… "Admiration". Seriously, you're not being sneaky, sugar cube. You were more persistent than the other ones, which was probably how you managed to weasel your way into his life.
… No, that's not true, although he is as friendly as a cactus to everyone including you, he really appreciates your company. You weren't really all that bad at all, but you had a way to make him frustrated that he didn't know how to describe.
So when he sees you avoiding him recently he feels like you're just trying way too hard to make him worried for you- Frankly, he thinks your game of cold-shoulder is dumb and should stop right now!-
Chris didn't think you were doing it on purpose at first, well, to be honest at first he was glad to have his own space for a few days! Especially since he was already busy studying, he could be a smart person but he studying was a focusing nightmare to him-
Then later, after the test week, you still seemed very distant… He thought you were finally focusing on your education like you always complained about, hell, he even came to you one day and told you how proud he was! Even inviting you to study in his house!! He never does that!
Oh… But you didn't understand why he was so happy, and he didn't understand why you rejected his offer… He was wrong on his assumption, then? Or did you really not want to spend time with him?
"As expected, I don't even know why I assumed you would be studying, let me guess- You were too focused on another random piece of media this week? Do I know it? We could talk about it on the way out, like always right?" He wasn't the best with words, and neither with his tone. Yet he was genuinely expecting you to talk to him about it, like you always do!... You didn't. You answered in a hurry and scurried away.
Maybe you were just in a hurry, maybe if he was lucky he'll be able to catch you to walk with him home.
You didn't, but worse than not finding you was seeing you walking around with one of your so-called friends. Mylo, was it? Well, it could be worse… Annie was a LOT more annoying to deal with.
Always so possessive of you, it didn't seem like a healthy friendship at all yet you never took his words seriously… Always so protective of you, as if a leaf couldn't fall on your head that you just break under pressure! [Y/n] is their own individual, ANNIE!!
Says the mf following you two-
Mylo was a lot less direct about his discomfort regarding your crush, well… Your friend had his own motives, and of course he would NEVER do anything to hurt his best friend! But he couldn't bring himself to be mean towards Christopher, maybe he just simply couldn't be mean to anyone perhaps…
So interactions between these two were often civil, polite, yet very not pleasant. Chris never understood how you could be friends with those two, they were clearly obsessed with you.
Wait… was.. Was that why you haven't been able to spend time with him at all?! Because of GODDAMN MYLO?!
"HEY!!" He yelled out as he made his previously hidden presence known, acting as if he just came close to you know and that he hasn't been following you two for a long time now-
Despite your clear confusion since technically the route is fairly different from the one you usually take to go home- He brushed it off by simply placing his right arm above your shoulders and around your neck, being in the middle between you and Mylo.
Who, by the way, noticed it but didn't even try to change the situation.
"Ah, I missed walking around like this! [Y/n], why didn't you tell me you were going this way before? I was planning on going to that ice cream shop you always told me about- Where have you been lately, by the way?"
He is very not subtle about this, he is trying but he can't lie about how his true intentions here is trying to deviate you from walking with your friend. Oh, you were going to his home to play games? So he'll come too, obviously, and if Mylo doesn't want that then too bad! Guess Game Friday will have to be another day!!
Oh… Mylo doesn't… think it's a bad idea to have you two over… That wasn't really the plan, especially since Chris doesn't like to be in someone's house that he doesn't know well enough.
".....ffffffFINE!! Great even!!" He was fuming, it was very obvious how displeased he was with the situation, but he would be damned if he backed down now!
→ Christopher Hill:
He is a dumb-dumb, he'll take a long time to realize he is jealous and then proceed to do everything in his power to make it everyone else's problem.
He doesn't even know he likes you so much, or that all the bad things he says about your friends could be attributed to him.
He finds them possessive and obsessed with you, but he goes out of his way to insert himself on your little "friend hangout" even if it pains him to no end. In this scenario, I mentioned Mylo who isn't very confrontational, and actually is very interested in hanging out with your crush (he is very curious about why you like this twig of a human being so much… maybe he understands it a little bit…).
Annie is almost the complete opposite, she finds Chris's game of cat and mouse with you really unhealthy and wishes you could fall out of love for this guy already- I-It isn't love!! It's just a stupid crush on a stupid guy that never treats you how you deserve to be treated! Annie is very likely to start arguing with Chris over the smallest of things (but never addressing the actual issue in your presence, you don't need to see them at their worst like that…).
Christopher is very awkward with his words, and part of him knows he'll end up losing you for his own condescending tone and overly grumpy attitude- So he doubles down on his bad traits to try to protect himself from the inevitable. But the other part of him thinks you're just playing around, trying to provoke these reactions out of him on purpose, trying to make him jealous because you're so obsessed with him you want to see him be in your shoes for once, is that it?!
Sugar cube, you have NO idea how aggravating it is to suddenly not be in your spotlight, to be ignored without a warning. And for what- Your weird friends?! Oh it just brings out the worst in him.
In the case he gets to spend time with you even in your friend's presence (I'll use the previous scenario for example) he'll be attached to you like a bug, all those previous annoyances with your sudden touch seem to jump out of his mind- He becomes very clingy especially since your friends are very touchy.
Game Friday Night won't be the same with him there, and that goes to every other special friend time you guys may have- He isn't subtle, he doesn't know how to, but he does know how to make you feel guilty. You haven't talked with him in so long! What were you thinking?!
But of course, he won't be AS obvious about it as he doesn't mean to put the blame entirely at you, because it's not your fault, right? It's Mylo's fault, and Chris just needs to get back to the previous schedule-
Where it should be just you and him, the two dummies in their "will they won't they" FRIENDSHIP!! He just needs to take their place, you want game nights? Why not play with him in his house? His bedroom is a lot bigger than yours and Mylo's combined- But if luxury isn't the problem then maybe you'll appreciate the variety of things you two can play.
If he finds your friendships to be really taking a toll on your life (if you continue to ignore him) he might have to turn his offers from demands to orders, sugar cube! Of course he would never do anything to hurt you, but he is literally doing this for your own good, and if you continue to be so childish he might think you've been completely influenced by your friends.
Christopher is a lot more demanding and controlling than the other characters, not above being brutish with you if it means you'll actually listen to him for once! The initially petty, stubborn jealous man can turn into a controlling, raging angst if you don't be careful enough.
summary: You thought no one could see you blush in the dark. You were wrong.
The Going Merry had many secrets. Nami's hidden cartography tools. Usopp's poorly concealed explosives. Zoro's ability to get lost in a straight line.
But the hottest secret on the Grand Line lived in the crow's nest.
High above the main deck, tucked into the shadows behind the storage lockers and the folded fishing nets, there was a small alcove. It was barely large enough for two people. A coiled rope served as a cushion. A single porthole let in moonlight.
No one ever went back there. Not even Zoro, who preferred the open center of the circular room for his weights.
It started, as most things with Sanji did, with food. You'd wandered into the galley late one night, unable to sleep, the storm outside rattling the portholes.
That night, Sanji had been polishing a glass. He looked up, and his usual flirty smile softened. He knew how painfully shy you could be. A blush was your default expression, and you spoke so softly that Luffy often leaned in, cupping a hand to his ear. At that moment he didn't see a target for a pickup line. He saw you, trembling slightly from the thunder, wrapped in an oversized sweater.
"Couldn't sleep, love?" he'd asked, his voice a low, gentle rumble.
You'd just shaken your head, hugging your arms. He didn't push, he just made you hot chocolate. Thick, rich, with a dollop of whipped cream and a single cinnamon stick. As he handed you the warm mug, your fingers brushed. You flinched—not from fear, but from the electric shock of it.
He noticed. He always noticed.
"You're shaking," he murmured, stepping closer. The kitchen was small, the storm loud. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "I don't think it's because of the cold, is it?"
You looked up at him, your eyes wide. For once, the shyness didn't make you step back. It just made your heart pound.
That was the first time he kissed you. Soft. Questioning. He tasted like mint and smoke. You answered by grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer. The hot chocolate was forgotten, growing cold on the counter.
That was three months ago.
Now, the crow's nest was your sanctuary. The alcove behind the storage lockers was where Sanji went to lose his mind.
"S-Sanji… someone will come up here…" you whispered, your back pressed against the curved wooden wall.
He was on his knees in front of you, his hands sliding up the outsides of your thighs. His suit jacket was discarded on a barrel of fishing nets. His tie was loose. His blonde hair, usually immaculate, was falling over his forehead. He looked utterly, devastatingly undone.
"Let them," he breathed against your stomach, pushing up your skirt just an inch to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the skin there. "Let the whole damn sea hear you."
Your fingers threaded through his hair, a choked gasp escaping your lips. It was always like this. In the common areas, you could barely hold his hand without turning the color of Chopper's emergency hat. But the moment that alcove swallowed you both, a switch flipped.
His passion unlocked yours.
He kissed you like you were the last source of oxygen on a sinking ship. Deep, desperate, searching. His hands were respectful in public, but in here? They were explorers. They traced the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist, the sensitive skin behind your ear that made you whimper.
"That's it," he murmured, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth. "There's my girl. Don't hide from me."
He stood up, crowding you against the wall. A coil of rope squeaked beneath you. He lifted you easily—he was strong, far stronger than the chef let on—and your legs wrapped around his waist. The position was scandalous. The friction was heaven.
You buried your face in his neck, shy even now, moaning softly as he rolled his hips against yours. "I can't… it's so much…"
"Look at me," he commanded, but it was soft. A velvet demand. When you reluctantly met his eyes, they were blown wide with desire, but there was a fierce, trembling tenderness there too. "You are exquisite. And for the next hour, you are mine. Let go."
And you did: clothes pushed aside just enough, frantic whispers of "please" and "yes" and "don't stop"; the alcove became a universe of two. Fishing nets rustled. A loose button rolled across the floor. Sanji's hands cupped your face as if you were holy, even as his body moved against yours with a rhythm that stole your breath.
He always finished with a smirk, breathing raggedly. "I'll make you dinner," he'd whisper. "And you'll blush at me across the table. And no one will know that ten minutes ago, you were saying my name like a prayer."
The problem was, everyone knew.
The Straw Hat crew weren't just pirates. They were a family, which meant they were nosy, insufferable, and biologically incapable of minding their own business.
It started with Luffy.
You and Sanji emerged from the crow's nest ladder one afternoon, slightly disheveled. You were fixing your hair, your cheeks flaming. Sanji was re-tucking his shirt, a smug, satisfied smile on his face.
Luffy was sitting on the barrel next to the mast, chewing on a leg of meat.
"Oh, hey," he said, mouth full. "Are you done kissing?"
You froze. Sanji lit a cigarette with a shaking hand.
"Done what, Captain?" Sanji asked, a vein throbbing in his temple.
"Kissing," Luffy said simply. "You do it up there every day. The rope is all twisted now. It wasn't twisted before."
You wanted to die. You physically turned and walked into the mast.
Then there was Nami. The navigator cornered you while you were hanging laundry. She didn't say anything at first. She just looked at you, then up at the crow's nest visible above the deck, then back at you. She raised a single, perfect eyebrow.
"So," she said casually, folding a shirt with expert precision. "Sanji."
You swallowed hard. "Wh-what about it?"
"Nothing." Her smirk was devastating. "Just wondering if you've noticed how much quieter he is lately. Less of the whole 'my love' 'my darling' 'my angel' routine." She paused, her eyes glittering. "Almost like he's getting all his... expressions of affection... out somewhere private."
Your face erupted in flames. "Nami—"
"I'm not complaining," she interrupted, holding up a hand. "It's actually a relief. I can eat breakfast without losing my appetite. So, really." She patted your shoulder, her smile wide and knowing. "Thank you for your service."
You buried your face in the laundry basket and seriously considered throwing yourself overboard.
Zoro was the worst.
The swordsman didn't tease with words. He teased with presence. He'd be napping on the deck, and as you and Sanji walked by—not even touching, just walking—Zoro would open one eye.
"Oi, Cook," he'd grunt. "You've got rope burn on your pants again. From the 'crow's nest'."
Sanji's leg would twitch. "And you've got a sword up your ass, you moss-headed bastard. Want me to remove it with a kick?"
"At least I don't need a lookout tower to get a date."
The ensuing brawl was legendary, but as Sanji was being dragged away by Usopp, he shot you a wink. A secret, just-for-you wink. And despite the mortification, your heart soared.
Vivi was more subtle. The former princess had a smile that could disarm armies. It was warm, friendly, and absolutely lethal. She cornered you on the deck while you were reading, her blue hair gleaming in the sun.
"____," she said sweetly. "Can I ask you something?"
You tensed. "Y-yes?"
"The crow's nest." She sat next to you with practiced precision. "Is it comfortable?"
You blinked. "Is it... comfortable?"
"For... activities." Vivi's smile never wavered. "I only ask because I've noticed you and Sanji disappear up there quite often. And you always come down looking... relaxed."
Your soul left your body.
"I'm not—we don't—there are no activities—"
Vivi laughed, bright and genuine. She reached over and squeezed your hand. "Relax. I'm not judging. I think it's wonderful that you and Sanji have found each other. He's never been this happy." Her eyes softened. "Just maybe check the rope next time. It's starting to look a little... overworked."
You stared at her.
She winked. "Consider it diplomatic advice."
Chopper, bless his innocent heart, was the only one who didn't understand. One night, he climbed up to the crow's nest to get a blanket, worried he'd smelled a fever (it was just the heat of your flushed skin). Sanji had answered, shirt untucked, hair a mess.
"Is ____ okay?" Chopper asked, big eyes full of concern. "Their heart rate is very elevated!"
Sanji, with the straightest face you'd ever seen, said, "They're just afraid of heights, Chopper. Go away."
As the little reindeer trotted back down the ladder, you smacked Sanji's chest. "Afraid of heights?!"
He grinned, pulling you back into the dim, warm darkness of the alcove. "Would you prefer I told him the truth? That I was kissing you senseless and you forgot how to breathe?"
You buried your face in his chest, groaning. "I hate you."
"No, you don't," he whispered, tilting your chin up. His thumb brushed your swollen bottom lip. "You just get shy when they're right."
And then he kissed you again, soft and deep, and the sound of the crew laughing on the deck faded away. The teasing would continue tomorrow. Luffy would ask if you were going to the "kissing tower." Zoro would make another snide remark. Nami would thank you again for "calming him down." Vivi would smile knowingly from across the deck.
You pulled Sanji closer and decided that a little embarrassment was a small price to pay for moments like this; none of it mattered. Not when he was looking at you like that.
You are happy. You have a good life, the perfect husband, and everything you have ever wanted, there's nothing more you could ask for! But everything seems to be threatened when someone from your past shows up to settle things with you. It’s up to you to decide how you will handle everything.
Tw/Tags. yandere, toxic relationship(s), pregnancy (mentioned), kidnapping, past suicide attempt, obsessive, emotional dependence, non-consensual touching, manipulation, mention of murder/attempted murder, angst, drugs, suggesting content. Pronouns are neutral, but the reader is implied to be AFAB, also they are a bit emotionally unstable. Let me know if I missed any.
Word Count: 18296
Art credits: xupi_ty & tosil_080 on Twitter
Your knees sink into the mud, and the blood running from your open wound mixes with the wet earth, staining everything around you red. You cry, but your sobs barely stand out against the heavy sound of the rain.
What have you done?
“This isn’t love, this is obsession!”
The words echo in your mind, making your crying grow louder.
“You ruined my life... I should’ve let you die that day!”
It was in that moment that you finally understood. You took his freedom, took everything he had. How could you expect him to love you after everything you did to him?
You try to wipe your tears, but your fingers are covered in mud and blood. They only smear the dirt across your face, mixing with the cold water running down your skin. Amid your pain, you don’t notice the quiet footsteps approaching.
Your crying stops when the rain no longer hits you. When you lift your face, you see a man holding an umbrella over your head, his gentle face marked by a worried smile.
“Hey, what happened to you? You’re covered in blood, and it’s cold out here."
You hesitate before answering.
“I…I did something horrible.”
Your eyes are slightly unfocused as you stare at the ceiling, lost in thought. Your fingers idly play with your husband’s hair, running through the softness of each strand.
Earlier you were observing his features, but you stopped when you realized it was just getting in the way of your concentration. Today is a special day, and you need to think about every detail so everything goes according to plan.
Your daydreaming is interrupted when you feel his head shift beneath your touch. A soft murmur escapes his lips, revealing the comfort he finds in your affection.
“What are you thinking about? You’re not usually this distracted in the morning.”
You jerk back, quickly removing your hand from his hair. "When did you wake up?! Sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late... I’ll make breakfast right away.”
He laughs at your nervousness and gently pulls you back. “I feel guilty for you always waking up early to take care of me. Let me help you this time.”
“But you work so hard every day. It’s the least I can do..."
“So what?” He yawns, rubbing an eye with the back of his hand. “You know what day it is. Sadly I have to go to work, but I’d like to spend as much time with you as I can.”
You stretch, trying to shake off your sleepiness. "Alright, you can cook with me, but let me handle most of the work.” You get up, already thinking of which tasks to delegate to him.
Isaac gets up with you, following behind. “I’m at your service, my love.”
And he truly was.
Even though you insisted on giving him the easiest tasks, he refused and insisted on doing the hardest ones with you. He seemed to have a natural talent for it, even more than you. You believe that if he followed the recipe by himself, he could do better than you.
“I’m having trouble cutting this strawberry into a heart shape. Can you help me?”
“Let me see what you’ve done.” You approach and examine the strawberry. The shape looks more like a square than a heart. “You’re struggling again? Are you sure you don’t want me to do it for you?”
“No way! Am I bothering you that much?”
“No, of course not!”
The muscles in his face seem to relax at your words, but still… You’re afraid he really thinks he’s bothering you.
He opens the cutlery drawer and takes out another knife for you. “Please, sweetheart? Sorry for giving you so much trouble.”
You accept and grab another cutting board, placing it next to his. “No... I’d teach you a thousand times if you needed me to. Here, I’ll show you again…”
You begin giving him step-by-step instructions, showing him exactly how each motion should go. You get the feeling he isn’t really focused on the task, but you keep going anyway.
And you were right. His eyes were completely focused on you: the way your fingers moved, the way your lips suddenly pressed together as you thought of a better way to explain something, the synchronized movement of your eyes. Everything about you was beautiful to him.
“Got it? Want me to stay close while you do the rest?” you ask as you tilt the board slightly, letting the strawberries slide into the bowl. With the knife, you gently push the ones stuck to the surface, helping them fall in. You show him the bowl and wait for his confirmation.
“I got it.” He places his hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You explain things so well.”
You feel your heart pick up slightly, but try not to show it. “I’ll stay close in case you need help.”
You both continue cooking. While he slices the fruit, you watch him out of the corner of your eye. This time, his cuts are precise, and for a moment you wonder if you misjudged earlier. Maybe he really was paying attention.
Either way, you don’t care.
The sound of silverware fills the room, blending with the chatter between you two as you eat breakfast.
“I’ll be home later than usual today. I need to stop by the pharmacy.”
“But you already get home late most days...” Your voice is low, concern evident in your tone. “Wouldn’t it be better if I went this morning? I don’t like the idea of you walking around at night, Isaac.”
Your husband shakes his head in disapproval. “You know I don’t like it when you go out alone. What if something happens to you? There’ve been a lot of kidnapping cases lately. Haven’t you been watching the news?”
You haven’t, but it’s best not to let him know that.
“Still, I think it’s better if…” You begin to argue but stop mid-sentence. You don’t want to start a fight. “Okay, but why? Are you feeling unwell?”
“No, I’m fine. I just need to buy your new medication. The doctor changed the prescription, remember?”
You pause, trying to recall the appointment, but can’t clearly remember anything. “He did? I don’t remember that.”
“You’re so forgetful.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin and sets the silverware down on his empty plate. “What would you do without me?”
Even though he’s joking, he’s right. You used to have a good memory, how could you forget things so easily now?
“Don’t make that face, you know I love taking care of you.” He kisses your cheek before getting up to clear the dishes.
“Wait!” You run to him and grab his wrist, pulling him away. “Leave it, I’ll wash them! I don’t want you to get tired.”
He hesitates for a moment, then slowly places the dishes back in the sink. You can tell he still wanted to insist. “Alright, but call me if you need help.”
You nod silently and turn on the faucet. The cold water runs over your fingers as you rinse the silverware. He walks away quietly, and when you glance over your shoulder, he’s brushing his teeth in the bathroom.
As you wash the dishes, your mind returns to the earlier conversation. You really don’t remember the medication being changed. You never used to have trouble remembering things, but now it feels like small gaps are starting to appear in your memory.
It's probably the effect of the medication, but... It shouldn't be that bad, should it?
Well, what matters is that you need them. If the side effect is that bad, it must mean it's made from something resistant. There's no need to think too deeply about it.
Once you finish, you grab his briefcase and wait in the living room, looking out the window.
It’s cold outside, colder than usual. Maybe it’s a good idea to add another coat, just in case.
You open the briefcase and carefully tuck the folded coat in between the other items.
“What are you doing? I’m already dressed warm enough,” he says, entering the room while adjusting the sleeve of his jacket.
“It’s really cold out. The forecast says it might snow soon.” You hand him the briefcase.
He takes it and nods in thanks. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’m heading out…”
Before he can open the door, your eyes fall on a detail that’s become almost routine. “Your tie’s crooked again…” you murmur to yourself, stepping closer.
He stops where he is. His body stays still, as if he already knew you’d notice. Gently, you undo the poorly tied knot with both hands. The tip of the tie is tucked inward, so you smooth it out with your fingers. He patiently waits for you to finish.
“Am I cleared to go to work now?” he asks when you step back, assuming you’re done.
You analyze him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, you can go.”
“I’m off then. Take care, and as always, don’t open the door for anyone.” He gives you a quick kiss on the lips.
“You too. Please text me when you get there. I love you.”
“I love you too. See you later.” He closes the door behind him, and you head to the window to watch him leave.
Once his car disappears from view, you run to the bathroom, lift the toilet lid, and carefully pull out the plastic-wrapped paper hidden inside. The list is safe.
You let out a sigh of relief. The bathroom is the only room in the house without cameras, the perfect hiding place. You tuck the list into your pocket and head to the bedroom to get ready.
After bundling up, you grab the shopping basket, lock the door, and begin walking down the road toward town. The house is isolated, nestled in a quiet corner between trees and fields, but still close enough to reach the town center on foot. You used to think Isaac was the type who would live in the city, so it surprised you to find out he lived somewhere so remote.
But you kind of like it, this way, it’s just you and him.
As you walk, you avoid shallow puddles and pass low fences surrounding empty lots. Slowly, the town starts to reveal itself, first the houses, then the narrow sidewalks and subtle shop windows with few decorations.
The first store that comes into view is the wine shop. The display window is decorated with old bottles covered in a thin layer of dust and a delicately embroidered cloth hanging with charm.
Your first stop is there. The interior is small and cozy, with a subtle scent of aged wood and cork. The owner, a woman with a soft voice and constant smile, greets you as soon as you walk in.
“Good morning! Planning something special today?”
You smile politely. “I’d like a bottle of white wine.”
It’s a simple answer. Over time, you’ve learned that the fewer details you offer, the better. Even with people Isaac is fond of, caution has become a habit.
After picking the bottle, you head to a nearby delicatessen. As you enter, the place envelops you in a comforting aroma of aged cheeses and soft hints of old wood. You approach the cheese counter, eyes scanning each block carefully before choosing a creamy brie, a mild gouda, and a generous piece of blue cheese.
With your basket beginning to fill, you stop by a specialty store for imported goods. You grab dried fruits, nuts, and a jar of fig jam to go with the cheeses. As you place the jar into your basket, you pull out the list and begin checking off the items.
“Nuts, check. Cheese, check. Fruit, check...” You cross out each item you’ve grabbed. Everything you need is already here, but you still want to add more snacks.
You turn toward the produce section. As you walk, you write the new item on the list, and it’s precisely in that distracted moment that you bump into someone.
The collision makes you stumble, and you grip the basket tightly to keep from dropping it. But the person in front of you drops the fruit they were holding.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t...” The words get caught in your throat when you see the man’s face, and your own face pales. His hair is messy, dark circles under his eyes, and his expression is a mix of surprise and a kind of horror.
Your own expression must mirror the same emotion, though you hope it’s for different reasons. You compose yourself, set the basket on the ground, and quickly begin picking up the fallen fruit, your hands trembling as you place them back on the stand.
“I wasn’t paying attention, I shouldn’t have done that, I’m really sorry...” You keep apologizing until the last fruit is returned. “I’ll go now, I’m sorry again!” You don’t wait for a response and quickly walk away.
No, it can’t be him. Why would he be here now, of all places?
You grip the basket tightly in your hand and try to keep your pace steady, dodging people in your path and muttering rushed apologies when you bump into someone.
Is he here for revenge? Did he find out you're with Isaac? What if he comes after you now? You try to convince yourself it was just a mistake, a coincidence, maybe it wasn't him. But the way he looked at you... It didn't seem like that. It was like he knew exactly who you were.
You try to push the thoughts away, but they keep coming, all at once. If it really was him, what should you do? Pretend you didn’t see him? Warn your husband? Your heart sinks at the thought of telling him.
You’re just about to decide what to do when you feel a firm hand on your shoulder.
“Hey, hey!” The hand grips you tightly, forcing you to stop abruptly. “You almost ran into the candy shelf. What’s going on?”
You look at the man in front of you, hesitation in your voice. “Mr. Francisco... Did you see what happened?”
He frowns, confused. “What? No, I didn’t see anything. Are you alright?”
You force a smile. “I’m fine. Could you ring up my groceries, please?” you say as you start placing the items on the counter.
“But what happened? It’s also rare to see you shopping without Isaac.” he says as he rings up your items.
You move to the other side, putting the bagged items back in the basket. “It’s kind of embarrassing… I got scared by a cockroach. Please don’t tell anyone!” Your laugh comes out awkward.
“So that’s what it was? No need to be embarrassed, my granddaughter’s terrified of cockroaches too.” He laughs sincerely, and you feel the atmosphere lighten a bit.
“Your granddaughter is 9 years old, Mr. Francisco.” This time, your smile has a hint of real humor. You hand him the money. “I’m leaving now. Thank you, and sorry for worrying you!”
You leave the store, and only when you turn the corner do you finally exhale the breath you’ve been holding. Mr. Francisco is a close friend of your husband’s and was the one who sold you your house. Even so, he’s always been a bit nosy.
Your thoughts return to what happened earlier. Now, with a calmer mind, you can think more clearly. Why did that man show up on such an important day? You know you can’t let this shake you today.
You grab your list again with a huff. You still need baguettes and arugula leaves. You better hurry, you want everything ready before he gets home.
You keep walking, but now with much more caution, throwing discreet glances behind you. Maybe your disguise isn’t as good as you thought, because everywhere you go, you end up running into people Isaac knows. It almost feels like they’re making sure you’re okay.
Well, you won’t be rude.
You lock the door behind you and lean against it, releasing a deep sigh. The entire morning has passed, and your shopping took longer than expected. Ever since leaving the store, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about what happened there.
It would be better to tell your husband, but not today. You absolutely don’t want to ruin this day for him.
The silence in the house is so heavy that you turn on the TV just to have some background noise. The channel is airing the news. You don’t feel like hearing about tragedies right now, but for some strange reason, it seems to be the only channel available.
As you tidy the living room, the anchor mentions another kidnapping case, and your eyes fix on the screen. You feel like you’ve seen this news before, why is it airing again?
You notice the date, it’s from the day before yesterday. Why is the TV repeating the same report?
Feeling distracted and uneasy, you turn it off. It’s better to talk about this with your husband later.
You start preparing the food, slicing the cheeses and carefully arranging them on each plate, making sure every piece is the same size. Then you set the utensils beside each dish. When everything is ready, you place the food in the fridge, wash your hands, and grab your phone. It’s lunchtime, Isaac is probably able to talk now.
[You]: “Did you eat? Was the food good? I don’t understand how you prefer reheated food over getting something fresh.”
“If you don’t want to spend your money, you can spend mine.”
[My Addiction ❤️]: “I refuse to eat anything not made by you when I have the chance.”
“How are you? I hope you’re eating too.”
[You]: “Not yet… I slept in today.”
“I’m going to cook something now.”
[My Addiction ❤️]: “If I had known you planned to rest, I would’ve sent lunch from a new five-star restaurant that opened last week.”
“You can’t take your meds on an empty stomach.”
You sigh. He’s always been strict about that. You used to understand his concern, but your psychiatrist says you’ve been improving since the treatment started, so you don’t think there’s a need to be so strict anymore.
[You]: “I’m making something now, I’ll be fine. By the way, I have something to tell you.”
Just as you’re about to talk about the issue with the TV, a new notification pops up.
[Unknown]: "hello"
The number is unknown to you, and Isaac usually lets you know if a coworker is going to message you.
[You]: “Who is this? Are you a service provider?”
As soon as you send the message, you leave the chat, but the reply comes almost immediately.
[Unknown]: "i can't believe omg you replied!!"
"you usually block numbers you don't recognize, i thought this wouldn't work… i'm so happy... is this how you felt when i replied to you for the first time??"
"i didn’t think it’d be this easy to get someone’s number, i figured out the technique you used to get other people’s numbers!"
"are you proud of me? :)"
You grip the phone tightly. You feel like you know who it is, but his behavior doesn’t match his personality.
[Unknown]: "can't you talk right now? why are you taking so long to reply?"
You block the contact before they can send anything else. If it really is him, this must be a tactic to deceive you.
Still, you don’t want to deal with this right now.
[My Addiction ❤️]: “What was it you wanted to tell me?”
You tap the notification from your husband. Oh right, you were going to tell him something.
But what was it again?
You try to recall it, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t remember.
[You]: “I love you.”
[My Addiction ❤️]: “Something tells me that’s not what you were going to say, but I’ll take it.”
“I love you too.”
“I’m bringing you something special today. Wait for it.”
You turn off the phone and press it to your chest. Your lips ache from smiling so much. You can’t help it, he means everything to you!
Well, time to get back to preparing things.
It’s time.
Your legs swing slowly, overcome with anticipation. Your eyes don’t leave the door. Everything is ready, the candles carefully placed throughout the house, the scarf you sewed yourself, the ambiance designed with every detail just for him, the clothes chosen in hopes of pleasing him... There’s no way he won’t like it, you hope.
You try to pretend you’re not bothered by the time, but impatience grows each time you look at the clock and see the minutes haven’t moved.
He must be arriving soon.
You grab the scarf and stand from the couch, moving to the door and positioning yourself beside it. You wait in silence until you hear the familiar three knocks.
“My love, are you awake?”
You open the door just enough for one of your eyes to see him. There he is, smiling at you.
“I brought a present.” He raises an elegant package.
“How sweet of you.” You step back and open the door wider so he can come in. He enters and gently places the gift in your hands.
“Sweet? Today’s the day we met. You should’ve expected this.” He pauses, observing the room. “So that’s where that lovely smell was coming from… With the lights off, I thought you were asleep.”
“You should also know I wouldn’t let this day pass unnoticed.” You position yourself in front of him and bring your hands between the two of you, holding each end of the scarf.
“Do you trust me, Isaac?”
He tilts his head toward your hands, closing his eyes. “With all my heart.”
Your shoulders relax at those words, and you gently place the scarf over his eyes, tying it tightly behind his head. After the final knot, he takes a step back, and you grab his hand, starting to guide him through the quiet hallways of the house.
With each step, he turns his head, trying to catch the aromas in the air. First a sweet scent, then something more woody, followed by a citrusy freshness from another candle. The smells seem to awaken something in him, a mix of curiosity and anticipation.
When you reach the table, you position yourself behind him and place your hand on the scarf covering his eyes. You mentally prepare before undoing the knot.
You step back, holding your breath as he slowly opens his eyes, scanning the sliced cheeses, aligned wines, and carefully organized appetizers on the table…
Isaac approaches the table in silence. He picks up the wine bottle with one hand, removes the seal, and twists the cork until he hears the soft pop. Then he grabs a glass and pours the wine halfway. When he’s done, he gently swirls the glass by its stem, as if testing the aroma, then lifts it toward you.
"Won't you sit down? This isn't just my night, it's ours."
There’s a warmth in his voice, too sweet to be just playful. You slowly step closer, your fingers wrapping around the glass carefully.
Now that you’re so close, you can better see every detail on his face. His smile is wide, and his eyes shine with a happiness that’s impossible not to notice. He looks so happy!
Instead of bringing the glass to your lips, you set it down on the table. He frowns in confusion, but says nothing as you raise the red scarf again with a challenging gaze.
“How about we play a game?”
His face loses its softness, replaced by a firm and teasing expression. Isaac sets the wine bottle beside his glass and adjusts his tie.
“Refusing you is never an option for me.”
You nod and move to his place, pulling the chair out for him to sit. He settles in, and you push the chair back in. With the scarf in hand, you gently place it in front of his eyes.
“Ready?”
The anticipation in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed. He turns his head just enough to meet your gaze. “More than ever.”
You wrap the scarf around his eyes again and, after tying it, crouch in front of him, bringing your face close to his. “What do you see?”
“You know the answer. Nothing.”
Your hand slides back to the scarf and lifts it slightly. “And now?”
He raises his hand and squeezes yours, which rests on the fabric. “Now I see the love of my life.”
You laugh softly and lower the scarf again, adjusting it around his eyes. Once you’re sure he can’t see anything, your attention returns to the feast before you.
“Let’s see…” Your eyes land on the strong-smelling cheese placed at the corner of the table. You reach out, spear a piece with a fork, and bring it to your husband’s mouth. “Let’s start with this one.”
He takes a deep breath and tilts his head back slightly. "It smells sour... You're making it easy for me." Despite the comment, he leans forward and eats. You take the opportunity to take a piece for yourself. "After all, you already let me see the table."
You taste your own piece before answering. “I wanted you to see everything I prepared for you…” You pick up the wine glass and guide it to his fingers, helping him hold it steadily. “So? Can you tell which cheese it is?”
He slowly swirls the glass between his fingers before responding. “I think it’s… Limburger?”
And the game continued.
You offered a piece, he tasted it and tried to guess the type of cheese. Sometimes he got it right, other times he missed on purpose just to tease you and lighten the mood. You took the chance to comment on each answer with some information or curiosity about the cheese. The night went on relaxed and fun.
“In total, you got…” You remove the scarf from his eyes and point to the table, the plates arranged in two rows, the correct ones on one side and the wrong ones on the other. “Fourteen out of twenty, congratulations!”
He looks at the arrangement of the plates for a few seconds, then grabs the glass and drinks the rest of the white wine in one gulp. “Well, that’s more than half.” He puts the glass back on the table. “I’d say I’m a winner.”
“Definitely.” You fold the scarf carefully and leave it on the table. “Although this night was supposed to be a gift for you… I really enjoyed myself.” The last words come out almost in a whisper. “Did you… like it?”
You look away, nervous, while bringing your hand to your neck, trying to find the right words. He never liked it when you left without telling him, and now you don’t know what to expect.
“I really tried hard and…” Anything else disappears when you feel his touch on your cheek, you hadn’t noticed he had already come so close.
“All this was done for me…” He gestures around the room, as if genuinely admiring every detail. “How could I not like it? Everything you do for me, even the simplest things, reminds me every time why I fell in love. I can’t imagine my life without you by my side.”
You pull his hand away and hug him, squeezing him tightly against you. His body stiffens in surprise at first, but soon relaxes and wraps his arms around you as well.
“Isaac… Nothing makes me happier than calling you my husband.”
Your murmurs sound loud in his ears, and each word of yours seems to move his heart as much as his words move yours.
You hold each other for a moment until he steps back just enough to look at you. The warmth of his body is still present, and you feel his breathing slightly faster. “Since I won the game, don’t I deserve a reward?”
Surprise takes over your face before you push your husband away lightly, laughing. “Ah, you’re drunk! I should have suspected, you wouldn’t put down the glass while eating.”
“That way you hurt my feelings, dear…” He takes your wrist and gently pulls you towards him; you make no effort to stop him. “And I think you deserve that too.”
Your breath falters as he kisses the tips of your fingers, the way he looks at you stirs something inside you you can’t explain.
“All right, but only because you deserve it…” Your lips capture his before he has time to react. At the same moment, he returns the kiss with the same intensity, as if every second away from you had built an urgency that needed to be desperately satisfied.
The world around seems to shrink until only the warmth of his touch, the shared breath, and the racing beat of your hearts remain. He rests his firm hands on your hips, drawing you closer, as if your bodies were made to fit perfectly.
Your fingers reach the nape of his neck, holding gently as the kiss deepens, adopting a slower rhythm. Suddenly, one of his hands moves away from your hip and slides back, impatiently pushing the utensils off the table to make room.
The movement breaks your concentration, and you part your lips from his. He takes the chance to catch his breath, sliding his hand back to your hip and gripping it firmly to support his weight as he lifts you, resting you on the table. Without wasting time, Isaac dives back into your lips.
He bites your lower lip, causing a shiver that runs through your whole body. You respond with a gasp, sliding your tongue to meet his. The moment they touch, a wave of intense heat invades you.
When you feel the air completely leave your lungs, your hand that was on his neck rises to his hair, pulling it back. Your husband lets out a protesting grunt but doesn’t resist your grip and allows himself to be taken. His lips curve into a smile when he sees that you’re as messy as he is.
You release his hair as your breathing returns to normal. Isaac takes advantage of the moment to lean in, bringing his face to your neck.
“You look so pretty tonight…” He rubs his lips on your skin, and your head instinctively tilts back, exposing more to him. “Sometimes I can’t believe you’re really mine.”
“And only now you decided to tell me that?” Your hand returns to his hair, but this time only to caress it softly. “I’m impressed how shy you still are with me…”
Isaac snuggles closer, burying his face in your neck as if seeking refuge there. You embrace him and pull him nearer, letting him hide in the space between your skin. Unfortunately, the moment is broken when the doorbell rings through the house, shattering the intimacy that had formed, and you both turn toward the hallway, tension suddenly filling the air.
“Someone’s at the door.”
“I wonder who it could be…” You step away and get down from the table. Your husband says nothing more, but concern is clear on his face. “Don’t worry, I’ll see who it is. I’ll be right back.” You give one last squeeze to his hand before heading to the hallway, each step echoing in the silent house.
When you reach the living room, you press your lips, irritated by the interruption. It’s probably just another lost traveler who needs help finding the way to town. You hold the bunch of keys and take a deep breath, forcing a smile before reaching for the doorknob. “Good evening, how can I hel…”
The words die in your throat.
The man’s face before you is unmistakable, clear as crystal. The image you kept of him at the market, with messy hair and deep dark circles, has changed completely. Now, his hair is neat and combed, showing evident care, and his clothes, once wrinkled and sloppy, appear clean and well-fitted. He’s not wearing anything luxurious, but his appearance shows obvious care.
The world seems to stop as you stare at each other. Your legs freeze on the floor, and your body feels heavy as if unable to move. Your heart races so strongly you feel every beat. The surprise on his face is different from the horror on yours. You don’t react immediately when he holds your two hands firmly between his.
“I knew it... I found you! I finally found you!” Henry’s voice overflows with euphoria as he intertwines his fingers with yours with an intimacy that makes you shiver. He leans closer, and his warm breath reaches your face, making you instinctively pull back. “When I saw you today… I thought I was dreaming. I followed you here, but I couldn’t show up like that... I was a mess…”
“…Let me go…” You murmur, but he doesn’t react. It’s as if he didn’t hear or chose to ignore you. His eyes are fixed on yours, completely oblivious to your discomfort.
“There’s so much I need to tell you. I just realized everything now, I realized that…”
“I told you to let me go!” Your scream echoes through the room. You struggle, trying to break free from his grip. For a moment, you feel him loosen, but he doesn’t let go.
He pulls his head back confused, as if he doesn’t understand your reaction. “W-What’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy to see me…”
You barely manage to open your mouth before being suddenly pulled backward. Henry is pushed away, and instantly a larger body positions itself in front of you in a protective stance.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Your husband’s voice explodes in the room. It’s so loud and aggressive that even though it’s not directed at you, it makes your body shrink immediately. “If you touch them again, I swear I'll rip off all your fingers one by one.””
Henry leans against the door, surprised, staring at your husband. “You... Who are you?” The coldness in his voice is so intense it seems like a different person, unlike the one who spoke to you earlier. He turns to you, and you clutch your husband’s arm. “[Name]…” He seems to hesitate before your trembling form trying to hide. “We’ll see each other later.”
And then he disappears through the door, walking away. Did he really give up that easily?
You can’t believe it. Even watching his silhouette disappear into the night’s darkness, doubt still lingers inside you. What was his intention? To kill you in the middle of the night?
That side of him scares you. The last time he was kind, it was just to deceive you, to lower your guard and stab you in the back. Does he want to get close to you and your husband just to destroy you both?
That thought terrifies you more than the first.
You feel an arm carrying you to the couch, and when you sit down, a warm hand starts caressing your hair. It brings you back to reality.
“Isaac... Are you okay?” Those are your first words to him. You admit to being surprised; he was never impulsive or reactive before. This is the first time you see him so upset. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t like this kind of situation, I should have prepared better…”
“I’m the one who should apologize.” He holds your hand. “I’m sorry, I should have come with you. No man would let his partner take a risk by answering the door to a stranger.”
“Don’t worry, silly.” You reassure him, forcing a smile. “Let’s end the night, okay?” You say as you get up and lock the door; the sound of the bolt seems louder than it should. He still seems restless, as if wanting to resume the subject, but he holds back for now not to upset you more.
“All right… I’ll tidy the table then. Can you make the bed for us?”
“Sure. Anything you need, just call me.”
You would normally ask to do the heavier work, but this time you let him take over. Hopefully, it would be enough to distract his thoughts from what had happened. You knew deep down this day would come, but you didn’t expect it to arrive so soon.
“...” Your movements stop when you notice a crease on the sleeves of your clothes, probably caused by Henry’s grip.
Henry…
He ruined your night with your husband.
You close your fingers tightly around the bedsheet, feeling anger rise slowly. None of this should have happened, it was supposed to be a perfect night. Why did he have to show up today of all days? It can’t stay like this. You need to make sure he never comes between you “You seem tense.” Isaac appears at the door, placing a tray of medicines on the dresser next to your bed. He sits carefully, trying not to mess up what you just tidied. “Try not to think too much about what happened. I’ll find a way to recover the camera footage and report him.”
“…Recover the footage?” His last words catch your attention, and you position your pillow in place before lying down on your side of the bed. “What do you mean? Weren’t the cameras recording?”
“They were yesterday, but it seems they stopped working during the morning.” He adjusts himself beside you, looking at the ceiling. You notice how tired his eyes are, his eyelids seeming a little heavy. “Tomorrow I’ll notify someone to fix them. It doesn’t seem to be a physical problem, so they should be able to configure the cameras without coming here.”
He breathes deeply, and silence fills the room. You feel a tightness in your chest, a mixture of worry and guilt for everything happening.
“I’m sorry about that.” You wrap an arm around his neck and pull him close. He doesn’t resist and nestles against your chest. “I didn’t want to ruin our night.”
You feel his chest rise with a soft laugh. He takes your hand and rests it on top of your hair. “That was one of the best nights of my life, don’t apologize for it.”
You don’t respond while you begin to stroke his hair, your gaze focused on nothing. Isaac takes the opportunity to bring up the subject again.
“…Who was that?” He murmurs, as if the question were more to himself than to you. When you hesitate, he understands it as a sign that the question bothered you. “You don’t seem like someone who has enemies, [Name].”
And indeed, you don’t. Who would even pay attention to someone like you?
“He’s someone from the past.”
He lifts himself a little to look at you, waiting for you to elaborate.
“…Remember when you first found me? It’s him.”
At first, he doesn’t move, but in the blink of an eye, he’s completely upright, with his hands resting on each side of your body. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?!” His voice rises, full of anger that, although not directed at you, he couldn’t help. “I would’ve taken care of it! This is serious, I’m going to…”
You stop him by pulling him back into your arms. “Don’t be like that, you know I’m the only one to blame in this story.”
He snorts and hugs you tightly, as if venting his anger on your body. “I don’t care, you were broken in the past. You didn’t deserve this.”
Broken.
In a way, you kind of agree. But can you really say you’re “fixed” now? In the past, it seemed like you barely existed among people, an almost invisible shadow. And when someone finally truly saw you, it was you who ended up hurting them.
What changed? Today, no one but your husband seems to notice your presence. And someone from the past has come back, perhaps with the intention of destroying you completely.
You think you heard your husband say something to you, but you’re too lost in your own thoughts to pay attention.
Well, you're fine now. You don't need anyone else's company besides Isaac. Your life is good, your husband is perfect, and you don't feel lonely anymore. You're loved now, what more could you ask for?
The only problem would be... him. You can't let him ruin your life now, not when you're finally happy. Even if you deserve it, it's okay to be selfish, isn't it? You've been through enough. You don't have to think about what might happen to anyone else but Isaac.
You grab your phone after making a decision. Your fingers slide across the screen until you open the messaging app. Finding the contact doesn’t take long, since, aside from your husband, there are only a few spam messages. When you find what you're looking for, you unblock him and spend a few seconds thinking about how to start.
[You]: “Hi.”
“We need to talk.”
Regret hits you the second the message is sent. Maybe that was too impulsive?
[Unknown]: "MY ANGEL!!"
"I can't believe you unblocked me, I thought I’d have to buy another number tomorrow."
"Are you okay? I’m sorry about earlier, I didn’t mean to scare you! I wanted to beg for your forgiveness the moment I saw your expression, but you seemed upset with me, so I didn’t want to make it worse :("
"Yeah, I should've approached you the way you did. The way I went about it, of course I was going to scare you by showing up like that… You're still just as clever as ever, angel!!"
You don't bother reading his messages again. It’s too late to take it back now.
[You]: “Can you come here tomorrow afternoon? My husband won’t be home at that time..”
“I’ll prepare us some afternoon tea while we talk. It'll be good to catch up.”
[Unknown]: "Yes!! Of course I can!!"
As soon as you get the confirmation you needed, you turn off the phone. You put it on silent before placing it to charge, afraid the vibrating notifications might wake your husband. Before you can turn off the light, you notice the pills Isaac left on the nightstand.
For the first time, you're glad to take them.
You swallow the pills in one go with water and switch off the light. While the effects don’t kick in, your mind begins rehearsing what you'll say tomorrow. It doesn’t take long before you drift off.
The sound of quick typing fills the silence of the house, joined by the steady noise of printed pages being released. You carefully examine the documents, checking if every bit of information is correct.
After reviewing each word, you organize the papers into one of the hospital folders you keep, hoping they look convincing enough. Then, you store the folder back inside the small cabinet in the living room. Despite how well-executed everything is, you still can’t shake the restless thoughts crawling through your mind. What kind of partner invites another man into the house, besides their own husband?
It was hard to act normal that morning. You had to hold yourself together with everything you had to keep from falling apart in front of him, begging for forgiveness for talking to someone else without discussing it with him first. Even with that thought, your desire to protect him is stronger. This is for his sake.
The sound of the doorbell echoes through the room. He's here. You mentally review the lines you rehearsed last night before opening the door, doing everything you can to force a polite smile. "Good afternoon, you're right on time. Please, come in."
Henry seems to be trying not to smile more than he should. "I-It’s good to see you too, [Name]! Thank you for..." He cuts off, like trying to remember what he was going to say. "...welcoming me into your home." His voice, once trembling with restrained excitement, now sounds calmer.
He's not very good at this.
"I’ve been waiting for you. Let me take you to the table so we can talk." Even before you motion for him to follow, he’s already right behind you. As you walk, you watch him closely, one hand resting on the pocket knife hidden in your pocket.
Henry doesn’t seem nearly as cautious as you. He's just looking around as if memorizing every corner of your house, like he’s on a school tour. Though he appears relaxed, you don’t dare to lower your guard.
"The table looks amazing! Did you do all this for me?" He sits in the chair, and you sit across from him. When you don't answer, he turns toward you, giving you his full attention. It’s time to settle this.
You both sit in silence for a while, unsure of what to say. When you’re about to begin, Henry speaks first. "Can I go first? I think I owe you more of an explanation... Unless you’d rather go, I don’t mind!"
"I don’t mind. Go ahead." You cut him off gently.
He takes a deep breath. "I... I’m sorry."
The surprise hits your face before you can hold it back. You don’t have the courage to interrupt him this time.
"I didn’t understand back then. I thought you were just some messed-up person trying to hurt me, control me, steal my freedom... But no, you just wanted to protect me." His voice softens at the end.
…What?
He leans slightly toward you, and your whole body freezes, except for your hand, gripping the blade tighter in your pocket.. "You were scared of others hurting me, so you had to take extreme measures. I get it now. You were right. I only need you. No one else. Just you."
What is he saying?
You don't notice his hands approaching yours on the table."When I ran from you, I thought I’d finally be happy. I thought I’d be free… But I was wrong. Everyone around me, they were all awful. They all left me in the end. I should’ve listened to your wise words, [Name]. You were the only one who ever cared."
He's scaring you.
"I’m back now. I want to apologize for everything. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. You were just trying to help me. Even after everything you did for me, I hurt you, abandoned you, betrayed you. But I’m willing to do anything to make it up to you. I’ll be exactly the way you wanted before, you still want to keep me with you, don’t you? I want that too. I trust you. You always knew how to take care of me, even when I didn’t deserve it. Thank you for showing me what love really is." His hands finally reach yours and squeeze them, firm enough to remind you who you’re dealing with.
He finished speaking, but you haven’t processed all of it yet.
This isn't Henry. What happened to him while he was gone? Has he lost his mind? His words terrify you. He reminds you so much… of who you used to be. And you hate it.
He hasn’t taken his eyes off you once, studying your expression. You’d better speak soon.
"Well..." You pull your hands away and rest them closer to you. He doesn’t protest, but his smile fades. "Before I answer you, I want to tell you my side of the story." Henry leans back in his chair, giving you his full attention.
"You know I'm... married now, right?" Something on his face seems to shift, but you continue. "When you left me that day, a man found me, and I've been with him ever since. Because of him, I finally managed to move on. I realized all the mistakes I made with you, I got the treatment I needed... I'm still in treatment, but I’ve been feeling so much better, like a completely different person."
You stand up and walk to the small cabinet in the room, pulling out a folder of documents. "I’ve been able to change, thanks to what you told me that day. I found something out during my last visit to the doctor, something I haven’t even told my husband yet." You sit down and spread the test results on the table, placing the main document in the center. "I had a blood test and... I found out I’m pregnant."
Henry can't hide the horror that invades his face. You hold yourself back from smiling more than usual.
"I know it sounds strange, I didn’t believe it at first either. The doctor said I’m going through a silent pregnancy and that I was lucky to find out this early." You notice his hands clenching into fists, squeezing hard. "All of this is thanks to you. I never imagined this day would come. If it weren’t for you making me see how sick I was back then, I wouldn’t be where I am today. Thank you so much for everything." When he finally looks away from the papers, you begin putting them back in the folder.
"You weren’t sick."
You don’t stop what you're doing until he speaks again.
"It broke my heart to hear that from you, [Name]." You can’t see his face now, but if you didn’t know him better, you’d think he was crying. "I’m not mad at you. I get it, you felt abandoned after what I did, so you went looking for someone else to fill that void. You don’t need him anymore, you can use me!" He suddenly stands up. You’d better calm him down before something happens.
He goes quiet when he feels your warm hands on his shoulders, pushing him gently back into the chair. "You're getting too agitated, Henry. I’ll go make us some tea, okay?"
Henry doesn’t say anything in response, but you notice his breathing seems to calm a little. You go into the kitchen and take the kettle off the stove, pouring the hot liquid into two cups. With the tea ready, there’s only one thing left. You take a small plastic bag of powdered arsenic from a secret compartment in the kitchen cabinet.
You’ve had this bag for years, but you don’t even remember what happened the first time you used it. You were so thrilled to have removed an obstacle between you and Henry that you didn’t even bother to see the result. Stupid you.
You’re just one gesture away from ending it all, but you can’t do it. Not for his life, but for what your husband would think. If you go through with it, wouldn’t you be proving to him that you still need treatment? That nothing has changed, even after everything?
No. That can’t happen. You don’t want him to still think you’re sick and keep giving you pills. All your effort, and his, will be for nothing if you do this.
Prove it, [Name]. Prove to him that you don’t need to hurt anyone to fix your problems.
You throw the bag in the trash and pick up the cups carefully, so you don’t spill anything. You just hope your story is convincing enough for Henry to leave you alone.
"I'm back. Sorry it took so long." You place one cup in front of him and the other on your side of the table. "I’m just going to put the documents away, then I’ll sit with you. No need to wait to drink."
You hear him quietly compliment the smell as you return the folder to the cabinet. You sit back down in the chair and take a deep breath, letting the scent soothe you. It helps you collect your thoughts. "Henry, look... I think, just like me, you should consider getting help if this is how you feel. This isn’t normal, and you know it. I’m sorry. I’m probably the one to blame for all of this." You raise the cup to your lips.
"Please don’t say things like that." He lowers his own cup back onto the table. "What did that man do to you? I spent so, so long looking for you... I kept blaming myself all this time, I thought you were dead! I felt like I’d lost a part of myself, but while I was going through hell to find you, you were with someone else?!"
You almost choke on your drink and lower your cup too, your hand moving to the pocket knife in your pocket again. "Henry, please, you need to listen to me, this isn’t healthy..."
"He’s messing with your mind! Don’t believe anything he told you!" He stands up and slams the table, hard enough to knock over the cups and spill their contents everywhere. "You’re better than this, [Name]! You weren’t like this! I guess I’ll have to make you see that."
You get up and back away from Henry, ready to pull the knife from your pocket if he tries anything. "Don’t talk like that about my husband, you have no right. We’ve talked about everything we needed to, now please leave my house."
He seems to calm down in response to your defensive stance, lowering his voice into something strangely soft. "If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it already." He walks toward you slowly, and with every step he takes, you grip the handle of the knife even tighter. "I thought you’d pull the same trick you did back then, but you didn’t. You didn’t have the courage."
In one quick movement, he lunges at you and grabs your wrist hard enough to make you drop the blade. He snatches the knife and throws it away. "That can only mean one thing, you still love me deep down. You’re just afraid to admit it."
Maybe from the shock, you’re starting to feel dizzy. "You’re delusional. If you don’t let go of me right now, I’ll..." A throbbing wave of pain floods your mind, and you reach for your head with your free hand. What’s happening to you?!
Henry’s grip vanishes from your wrist, and you take the chance to pull away and lean against the wall. Your breathing is now ragged. The man in front of you laughs at your condition, he looks proud for some reason.
"I can’t believe it actually worked." You try to push him away as he approaches again, but you can barely lift your arm. Your knees nearly give out, and you fight to stay on your feet. "Doesn’t this bring back memories? You used the same trick to take me to your house."
Your vision is the first sense to go. Henry uses the moment to steady your body against his. "Let’s go home, my angel. I’ll take good care of you, just like you took care of me."
The last thing you feel before blacking out is his lips pressing against yours.
You wake up somewhere comfortable, too comfortable even, though not enough to make you forget the unbearable pain pounding in your head. Your body feels numb and you are still a little drowsy. It is hard to move, but you manage to sit up. The drowsiness disappears the moment you realize you don’t recognize where you are.
No, this can’t be happening.
The memories from before you blacked out flood your mind all at once. That gives you the impulse to try to stand, but as soon as you put pressure on your body, your legs fail and you collapse back onto the bed. What kind of drug did he give you?!
Even so, you won’t give up.
This time, you try to lean on the headboard. Although it requires some effort, you manage to get up. If you use the wall and nearby furniture as support, maybe you can reach the door to examine the lock.
The journey to the door isn’t as difficult as you expected. The doorknob looks like a simple wooden model, easy to break. When you turn it, you are surprised to see the door is open. Is he really that careless?
You don’t waste time and open the door. The hallway is dark, but a light at the end reveals an L-shaped staircase. The way there isn’t long, just a little complicated because of the low visibility.
When you get to landing, you finally see where all the light comes from. Before you continue, you take a break to observe. On the right, there are some stacked boxes. On the left, it seems that a living room is being assembled or something similar.
“Angel, you’re finally awake! You are...”
A familiar voice comes from your right. You recognize it immediately, but the shock is so great your legs fail. You try to steady yourself and grab the railing, but your body is still weak.
That gives Henry enough time to reach you and pull you tightly to his chest.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I got too excited... I should have been more careful...” Each of his words is accompanied by an even tighter hug, to the point your feet barely touch the floor.
You let out an impatient sigh, hoping he will stop. When he doesn’t let go, you try to push him away.
Only then does he pull back enough to look at you. “You are having trouble walking, aren’t you? Do you want me to help?”
You press your lips together, feeling a mix of anger and fear growing inside you. “Stop trying to be nice. It’s your fault I’m like this. Who drugs a pregnant person? Aren’t you afraid I might lose the baby or die?” you reprimand him.
What really seems to affect him is the idea that something might happen to you. “That was careless of me, I-I know...” he murmurs, disappointed in himself. “Let’s sit on the couch, then you can tell me how you’re feeling.”
You don’t complain when he puts his arm around your waist and helps you get to the couch. It’s better not to upset him if you want to leave here as soon as possible.
As soon as he sits next to you, you ask, “What did you give me? Is it already night? Did I sleep the whole day?” You almost doubt your own question. Less than 24 hours shouldn’t be enough for your legs to be this weak.
“A-Actually...” He can’t look you in the eyes. “You have been asleep for a whole week.”
A whole week…?!
You can’t believe the words you just heard. What could have happened during all that time? Isaac must be going crazy looking for you!
The heavy silence between you makes Henry visibly tense. Your silence scares him so much he feels the need to justify his actions. “I couldn’t find the drug you used on me back then, so I bought another to replace it. I didn’t expect a single dose to make you sleep for a whole week.”
“Liar.” That’s the only response you give him.
He opens his mouth to argue, but your stare shuts him up. He knows there’s no argument that could convince you.
“To my knowledge, there’s no medicine that makes you sleep for a whole week. At least... not if you only take a single dose.” You don’t hide the accusation in your tone.
He shrinks in his seat and lowers his head in surrender. “There really is no way to argue with you, [Name]...” He murmurs before summoning courage to look at you again. “I swear I didn’t mean to upset you or anything! I-I just hadn’t finished preparing our home when I brought you here, so I had to do that so you wouldn’t wake up in a mess...”
You raise an eyebrow. “Preparing the house? What do you mean?”
“It wasn’t my plan to bring you here yet, it was more of an impulse...” He admits, scratching the back of his neck. “My intention was that when I found you, we would build a place together. Just like you wanted before. What I didn’t expect was that someone else had their hands on you, so I had to do what I did...”
You laugh scornfully and roll your eyes. “You brought me here without even doing the minimum? That doesn’t look like following my footsteps at all. I would never have made such a basic mistake in the past.”
“But I was desperate, just like you!”
You turn your back to him. He doesn’t deserve your anger.
“My angel...” He wraps his arms around your body, gently pulling you closer. “I’ll do better, okay? But all I ask is for your cooperation. Please, stay with me.”
You admit you feel strange. His words remain as sweet as ever. If you were still obsessed with him, you would fall for them without thinking twice.
Your dissatisfaction shows clearly, and he notices. So he tries again.
“How about we go out tonight? It’s a little late, but it might help you relax! Look how beautiful the moon is tonight!” He suggests, gently turning your face toward the window.
You didn’t expect him to let you out so easily.
It’s strange. He must be very confident... or maybe this is a trade. If you give him what he wants, he’ll give you what you want.
Alright. Let’s play his game.
“I think...” The hand that was holding your chin slowly slides down your chest to rest on your stomach. “The baby would like that, don’t you think? A walk will also be good for your legs.”
Putting aside how he has been acting toward you, he hasn’t changed much inside. Henry has always been like this, using others’ weaknesses to get what he wants.
“Okay, fine.” You give in and turn to face him. “But I don’t know how you expect me to walk after being drugged for a week.”
He thinks for a few seconds, then a smile lights up his face. You don’t like that kind of reaction.
“How about I give you a massage? I know how! I trained a bit in the past, now I can show you what I learned!” He approaches, trying to show enthusiasm. The idea of being touched by anyone other than your husband makes you uncomfortable, but it will be good for you. The less dependent you are on him, the better.
“I’ll accept.” You say while adjusting yourself. “But on one condition, you can only touch my legs. Understood?”
He quickly nods and stands, going to the drawer under the TV. “Whatever you want, angel. Do you want to lie down or sit?”
“I heard lying down is best.” You reply as he comes back with oils, creams, and a small towel. He puts everything on the floor and sits beside you, then puts his hands on your shoulders, gently pushing them back. “P-Please lie down and stretch your legs for me.”
You obey, but as soon as you look at him from your position, you regret it. It’s a bit embarrassing, but what didn’t he go through to earn your trust in the past?
Henry shyly looks away at the jars under the sofa. “D-Do you prefer oil or cream?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never had a massage like this before.”
He looks up, surprised, while taking the oil and spreading it in one hand. “Really? Seems like that man really wasn’t for you.” He quietly mocks as he spreads some viscous liquid on one of your legs. You bite your tongue so hard you taste metal. How dare he?
You take a deep breath and close your eyes.
Just pretend it’s your husband in front of you and you’ll feel better.
Henry warms the oil between his palms, rubbing until the liquid is warm and silky. He starts with your right leg, placing his hands just above the ankle. With long, firm movements, he spreads the oil, leaving your skin shiny and soft. The sensation of his touch combined with the warmth of the oil makes the tense muscles in your leg slowly relax. His fingers travel every curve, pressing and gently kneading the knots of stiffness, alternating between firm pressure and lighter touches, in a steady rhythm.
When he finishes, Henry wipes his hands on the towel beside him before grabbing the jar of cream. He opens the cream and scoops a generous amount, starting to spread it on the left leg. The texture is thicker, softer, and cold at first contact, creating a contrast with the right leg where the oil warms and slides easily. His fingers make slower, softer circular motions, requiring a bit more effort to spread the cream, but without losing the lightness in the touch.
The sweet scent of the cream fills the air as the difference between the two sensations becomes clear. The right leg, covered by oil, slides under Henry’s hands, while the left leg needs friction and extra care to absorb the cream. You feel the skin being hydrated and the muscles releasing stiffness with every movement as the massage dissolves not only physical tension but a part of emotional discomfort.
Lost in your own world, you don’t notice the soft sighs, sounds of pleasure, and murmurs slipping from your lips. Henry, hovering above you, feels his body respond immediately to each of those sounds. The desire inside him grows with every movement you make, causing his breathing to quicken and his heart to pound faster. Despite trying to control himself, he can’t hold back the excitement that overtakes him. His eyes catch every change in your expression, every sigh, every murmur, feeding the fire burning within him even more. The heat rises quickly, making it hard for him to stay calm. His hands stay firmly on your legs, but inside he feels an intense urgency, as if every sound you make is an invitation impossible to refuse.
"[Name]... A-Am I doing good?" His voice barely rises above a whisper, so soft that for a moment you wonder if you even heard it.
The enchantment of the moment fades as reality comes rushing back to your mind. You’re not in your bed, next to your husband, listening to soft music while he cracks jokes that draw a light laugh from you. You’re here.
"Ah, yeah..." You part your eyes slightly. "Yeah, you’re not bad at this." Although your words are meant to boost his ego, they aren’t exactly untrue. "I’m feeling much better now. You can stop, thanks."
He seems disappointed when you stand up, but you pretend not to notice. “Anything for you, my angel.” He picks up the items from the floor and walks over to the drawer. “I’m just going to grab a few things for us to take before we leave.”
“Wait.” You stop him. “Aren’t I going to get dressed?”
“No need.” He answers without turning fully, just glancing back over his shoulder. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”
You frown but say nothing.
“Sandwiches, pies, fruit, cakes…” You name each food item you find in the basket. “You really put a lot of effort into this…”
“It’s my first date with my angel in a long time, so I gave it my best.” He says proudly as he turns the car key in the ignition. “And you must be starving after everything.”
You put the food back into the basket. “Actually, no, and that reminds me…” You cross your legs before speaking. “I really hope no stranger touched me.”
“...What do you mean?” His voice is heavy with concern.
Sitting in the back seat, the front seatback partially hides their face. “You know very well,” you reply firmly. “You can’t leave someone unconscious and unsupervised, especially someone who’s pregnant.”
His hands tremble on the wheel, his body tense. He’s so predictable.
“I trust you.” You lie, turning your gaze to the window. “I’m sure it’s someone you trust.”
You wait for his response, but all you get is a shy “thank you.” You thought you might get some information from him. He probably doesn’t trust you enough to talk about others…
Too bad. You can cross the plan of asking for help off your list.
You rest your head against the car window, watching the city streets. With the windows closed and silence all around, you feel trapped and anxious. Whenever you were with Isaac, he kept the windows open and talked nonstop, you never had time to get bored.
Maybe it’s better this way. You don’t want to seem suspicious on your first day, after all.
The city slowly fades away, and the streets give way to forest. Trees line both sides of the road, and the pavement turns into dirt. You say nothing and keep watching the scenery change.
You don’t know how much time passes until Henry parks the car.
“Are we there yet?” You ask confused, trying to get a better look through the window. “I don’t recognize this place…”
“I thought this place would be familiar to you.” He says as he gets out and opens the door for you. “But it makes sense, your memories of here aren’t good.” He holds out his hand.
You raise an eyebrow and place your hand in his. “Then why would you bring me here?”
“Because I want to change that.” He pulls you out of the car, locks the doors, and gestures toward the trail ahead. “Let's walk from here. I think the walk might help you remember.”
You try to ignore the fact he hasn’t let go of your hand and start looking around. It looks like any ordinary forest.
That’s what you think before you look closer. Every detail reminds you of a specific place, one you never expected to visit again. The benches covered with dry leaves, the broken and dry birdbath, the signs so faded you can barely read them... And the sound of flowing water growing louder with every step you take.
“We are here.”
You turn your face to look down the path ahead. Even after all this time, the lookout hasn’t changed.
Your hand slips from Henry’s as you start walking toward the fence.
The ground is damp and slippery, covered in wet leaves. The fence looks more fragile than you remember, the wood dark and worn by time, with some parts broken or crooked. You stop in front of it, hesitate for a moment, then carefully place your hands on it and lean in to look.
The water crashes down hard, hitting the rocks below with a loud splash. The fall raises a fine mist that rises into the air and touches your face, leaving your skin slightly wet. The air around you is fresh and humid, filled with the characteristic scent of clean water and nature. The breeze that stirs your hair is refreshing, and you breathe deeply.
The view of the waterfall is beautiful, as always.
“Be careful.” Henry says as he covers one of your hands with his. “The fence isn’t as sturdy as it used to be.”
“Seems like it...” you whisper more to yourself than to him.
It’s exactly like that day, except you were alone.
Or so you thought.
The path is silent, only the sound of your footsteps can be heard. You’re wearing your best hairstyle, your best clothes, your best shoes, and your backpack, which holds all your favorite things. It’s been so long since you dressed up that you don’t even remember the last time you did.
You want to look around as you walk, to observe this place one last time, to engrave every detail in your memory. But you feel that if you take your eyes off the path ahead, you’ll lose your courage.
The sky is already brightening, the sun starting to rise. You feel a slight warmth behind you, or at least you think you do.
You can’t turn around to check. There’s no better opportunity than this, don’t risk losing it, [Name].
Your steps stop when you reach the lookout. It’s a shame no one else is here, they’re missing a wonderful view. Well, that just makes things easier for you.
Taking a deep breath, you sit on the fence and look down. The sound of the waterfall relaxes you, the way the water plunges soothes you in the best possible way. It gives you the courage to look back one last time.
The sun is like any other day, but… You feel like it’s special now. It will witness what you’re about to do. Smiling to yourself, you stare until it’s strong enough to make you close your eyes, this will be the last thing you see now. Although the waterfall view is your favorite, you feel you’d hesitate if you saw it one more time.
You turn your head forward. Don't open your eyes, [Name].
Your grip on the fence weakens and your breathing grows unsteady, but you try to ignore it. You feel your body moving forward until you’re no longer touching the fence.
You’re falling.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
A desperate voice shouts behind you, making your eyes snap open immediately. You’re falling, you really are!
The fear is interrupted by a groan of pain from you as you feel yourself being abruptly stopped under your arms. Something is pulling your backpack, or rather, someone.
Your gaze breaks away from the landscape below you as the person above you shouts, “Give me your hand, I can’t hold the weight of your backpack and you together!” He reaches toward you, but you look away. This man ruined everything!
“N-No… Let go…!” You try to scream, but your voice comes out more like a trembling whimper. You feel tears starting to fall from your eyes.
“Are you crazy?! I’m not letting you go! Give me your hand before I fall with you!” He removes his hand from the fence and reaches toward you. His body seems to slide down with you, which pushes you to grab his hand, and he immediately pulls you up. When your feet reach the fence, you lean on it, giving him the leverage he needs to pull both of you up to the ground.
The only sound between you is heavy breathing for a moment. When he recovers, he sits to look at you.
“Hey!” The man exclaims. “That’s not how you solve things! You know what would happen if…” He stops when he notices the tears you tried to hide with your head down.
You lift your head just a little to look at him, but he’s looking at your backpack, which is half open, visibly uncomfortable. When he turns back to you, you lower your gaze.
“I… I didn’t mean to snoop, but…” His voice is soft and low now, so soft you barely hear it. “You seem to have some really cool stuff in your backpack. Do you mind showing me?” He gently moves one of the hands covering your face and replaces it with a handkerchief, wiping your tears. His touch is so warm…
“They do look pretty cool, especially that book there, or is it a notebook? I don’t know, but its cover is very pretty.” The man seems to be running out of things to say, your silence isn’t helping him.
No one ever cared about your interests before… It would be rude to refuse after what he did for you, you think.
Your voice trembles as you talk about each of your favorite things. You stammer as you explain the story behind each one, but as time passes, you calm down. His reactions encourage you to keep going, and you manage to forget what happened minutes ago.
You feel warm inside. He’s smiling as he talks with you, so that must mean he feels the same, right?
No one ever cared so much about you before… You like this feeling.
You don’t want to stop feeling it ever.
The memory is still fresh in your mind. It’s a little funny to think that a memory once so important to you is now one you want to erase as much as possible.
“That’s why I brought you here.” Henry takes the basket from your hands. “I want us to make new memories in this place. Good memories. So the old ones stay behind… And your smile will never disappear when you come here again.” He unfolds the waterproof tarp and spreads it over the wooden floor.
Good memories… That would be nice. When you escape, you have to bring your husband here.
You kneel beside him, helping to organize the picnic. The silence between you is heavy, weighted by his words. And although the contempt you feel for him is hard to ignore, the words slip out before you can hold them back.
“Thank you for saving me that day.”
If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have met the love of your life. All the pain ended up being worth it in the end.
“I think I’m the one who should thank you for trying something so absurd.” He sits next to you. “From that moment on, we began to belong to each other. Even if I didn’t realize it at first...”
You try to ignore what he said.
The picnic was... strangely peaceful. You sat away from him to avoid any physical contact, and he respected that. You talked about many different things, ordinary things. You don’t like it, why is he acting like this is a normal couple’s date?
You feel like you’re experiencing firsthand what he felt when you took him to your house. What a bad feeling.
“Time passed quickly..”. Henry looks at his phone. "It's already pretty late. Are you feeling tired?"
"No." You shake your head. "After days of sleeping, I doubt that’s enough to tire me out."
"Then how about we go down there?" He suggests, putting away what’s left of the picnic in the basket. "It’s a bit chilly, but I think it’ll be nice to dip our feet in the water."
The excitement in your eyes says it all. "Now I get why there were some towels at the bottom of the basket!" You smile, standing up and following the trail leading to the river. "This place looks abandoned for years… There must be plenty of fish for us to catch."
“O-Oh you wanted to fish? Sorry…” He replies, surprised, starting to follow you carefully, watching his step not to slip. “I didn’t bring any fishing rods, and...” He stops noticing you’re already far ahead. “W-Wait! Don't go so fast, angel! You might fall!”
“I can get down this with my eyes closed!” You shout impatiently at his slow pace. “Fishing rods are for the weak! Don’t be so slow.”
Without waiting for an answer, you go straight to the riverbank and crouch down. Your eyes try to peer through the water surface, where some strange movements break the calm of the river. Something is there, but you can’t see exactly what it is.
Henry approaches and crouches beside you. “By the shore, fish are usually small...” He slowly reaches out, trying not to scare the creatures swimming nearby. “The water is less cold than I expected.”
“Can you shine the light on the water for me? I think I see a big fish.”
He silently obeys, turning on his phone’s flashlight, casting a beam on the surface. “You’re right! But it’s a bit far.”
You take off your shoes and slowly dip your feet into the river, feeling the slippery ground beneath your skin. The cold makes your body shiver, but you don’t lose focus. Henry watches you curiously but doesn’t interfere.
You slowly approach the spot where the big fish is moving, lit by the flashlight. When you’re close, you lunge to try to grab it, but it disappears too fast, escaping before your hands can touch it.
In the attempt, your clothes get wet, cold water touching your skin and making the fabric stick to you. The chilly wind blows, and you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to keep warm. It’s freezing!
You feel a coat placed over your shoulders. “Are you okay, angel? Want me to get a towel for you?”
“No.” You take off the coat and hand it back. “Keep it. Let’s try to catch a fish together.”
You step deeper into the water but don’t hear him coming after you. When you look back, Henry is there, standing in the same spot, with a huge smile lighting up his entire face, almost like a child who just got an unexpected gift. He shakes his head in disbelief at himself, as if he can’t believe he’s really there, living this moment.
“I-I won’t let you down, you can bet on that! I’ll catch as many fish as you want! Seriously, as many as you want, I’ll catch them all! Leave it to me, I-I won’t let you down!” He punches his chest with a closed fist, trying to convey all the confidence in the world, even though the nervousness still shines in his eyes.
He’s slightly out of breath, as if the excitement itself took the air from his lungs. His eyes dart around, looking for some approval on your face. It’s almost funny to see someone so determined about something so simple. But still, there’s something genuine about his effort that makes you hesitate to ignore him completely.
You weren’t paying attention to what he was saying, and the sound of his voice wasn’t helping.
“You’re going to scare the fish if you don’t stay quiet! Here, stay by my side!” You reached your hand out to him, and he grabbed it immediately. You pulled him close. “Help me spot them.”
And that’s how you ended up there for a long time. Henry was incredibly fast. You would spot the fish and point with a simple gesture, and he’d catch them almost instantly. He used his own shirt as a net to hold them.
The shirt, now wet and heavy, swayed with every movement. The fish struggled inside the fabric, but he kept control. As the pile grew, so did Henry’s smile, satisfied with each little catch. You watched him from the side, surprised by his efficiency.
So fast... Any plan that depends on reflexes can be discarded.
You feel a sudden light touch, like a pinch against the skin of your leg. Looking down, you see a small but agile fish swimming near your ankle. Without thinking twice, you reach forward to grab it. For a moment, you manage to hold it firmly between your fingers.
But an unexpected pain in your foot makes you drop the fish immediately. Looking down, you realize you stepped on something sharp among the river stones, a pointed rock or maybe a broken branch hidden in the murky water. The cut starts to bleed, and the fish quickly disappears into the depths.
“Oh God! Angel, what happened?!” Your pain didn’t go unnoticed.
You click your tongue and notice the blood spreading in the water around you. Better get out fast before it attracts something dangerous.
“I think I stepped on something sharp.” You complain unhappily, it looks like you’ll have to settle for what you caught. “It’s nothing serious, don’t worry, I’ve hurt myself many ti—”
“Of course it is!” He wraps one arm behind your shoulders and the other behind your knees. “What if it gets infected? I’ll carry you to the shore so I can check it properly.”
You raise an eyebrow and cross your arms. “Since when do you care about that? You always said it was nothing when you got hurt and I took care of you.”
“I know, I know...” He gently sits you on the riverbank. “But now it’s my turn to take care of you.”
Now that he's no longer touching you, you realize how warm his body was. Makes sense, after all, you were underwater longer than he was.
Henry carefully holds your foot and begins examining it. You don’t dare interrupt his focus. When he pulls away, he looks relieved. “It’s not deep, but it will need treatment at home.”
His concern is like your husband’s, but what you find cute in your husband, you find annoying in Henry.
“See?” You pull your foot back. “I told you, I’m used to hurting myself in places like this...” The last words come out almost in a whisper because you notice he still hasn’t let go of your foot, and his eyes are fixed on you. More precisely, on your stomach.
“That was me, wasn’t it...?”
Following his gaze, you realize how see-through your shirt has become against your body, and the scar stands out the most.
A surprised sigh escapes you as you feel his hand slide under your shirt, lightly caressing it. It’s so gentle you barely feel the contact, only the warmth of his fingers.
After sliding his hand over every inch of the scar, he whispers again. “I’m so sorry, so very sorry...” His palm presses a little harder against your skin, fingers moving slowly, massaging the area carefully. “I mistreated your body so much... You didn’t deserve this...”
You feel your muscles tense under his touch, even though his movements are gentle. It’s uncomfortable, but you try not to show it. When he pulls his hand away from your stomach, you finally exhale the breath you’d been holding without realizing it.
But your calm doesn’t last long. “I know now what you truly deserve.” Both his hands are now on your body, roaming over your torso. The heat from his skin seems to transfer to yours, and you feel his fingers moving as if trying to memorize every part of you. “You deserve to be worshiped. Every limb, every part of your body… deserves all the attention and love possible.”
You hadn’t realized how close he had gotten until you feel his warm breath against your ear, making you flinch. After what feels like hours adoring your torso, he moves to your legs.
“Are you still mad at me?” He asks while squeezing the back of your thigh. Your leg moves back reflexively, but he holds it firmly, not letting you pull away. “I understand... words don’t compare to actions. If you want, you can...”
You feel his other hand wrap around yours, placing something metallic between your fingers and tightening your grip around it. “...do the same to me.”
It’s only when he pulls back a little that you realize what you’re holding. Your pocket knife. Pointed directly at his stomach. The same spot where your scar is. “Would that make you feel better?”
“I know nothing can erase all the pain you’ve felt...” He loosens his grip on your hand and slowly lets go, noticing you’re frozen. “But I want to spend the rest of our lives worshiping your body.”
“You will never feel alone again. I promise.”
You're back in your “home” again. Henry treated the wound on your foot, and to end the night, he decided to make popcorn so you could watch a movie together. Remote in hand, you flip through the channels mechanically, not really paying attention to what’s on.
Frightening.
Your mind won’t stop replaying what happened earlier. What’s wrong with him? He needs help. How can someone love a person they haven’t seen in years? Especially someone who’s hurt them so badly? His devotion to you is terrifying. You can’t make sense of it.
At least, not anymore.
Your train of thought breaks when you hear your name being said from somewhere. More specifically, from the TV. You scroll back through the channels until you land on a news report.
Wait... is that you?
A missing person report flashes on screen. Your photo appears next to the headline, followed by images of familiar places. They talk about the last time you were seen, the ongoing investigation, the lack of leads. It hasn’t even been that long since you vanished. How are you already being declared missing?
By the end of the segment, your husband’s face appears. He looks pale, worn down, his eyes full of quiet suffering. His voice trembles as he speaks about how hard everything has been without you. How much he misses you. How he’d do anything to have you back.
Your chest tightens so painfully it almost feels like it might burst. It’s as if something deep inside you is cracking open. You’ve never been away from your husband for this long.
How dare you enjoy yourself while he’s in so much pain? Your husband has no one but you. He must be so disappointed. Someone like you should’ve found a way out by now.
His absence feels like a part of you was ripped out by force.
"My angel! Look, I brought a few things…" But your eyes stay locked on the screen. Once he notices what’s playing, he drops everything on the couch and rushes over to the TV, switching it off manually. But it’s too late. You saw it all.
He seems disoriented, unsure what to say. "You must have a lot of people who care about you. I didn’t think it would cause such a stir. It’s already on the news." There’s barely concealed nervousness in his voice. It’s clear he wasn’t prepared to face the consequences of keeping someone here against their will.
Your chest aches so deeply it’s hard to breathe. For you, it’s only been a day, but for your husband? It’s been seven. Seven. Six times longer than what you’ve felt. And here you are, relaxing. How selfish. He must believe you’re dead. He’d never imagine you might be with another man.
"Do you miss him?" A cold voice asks from your side.
No… Don’t tell the truth.
Don’t ruin this, [Name]. Make this pain mean something. Turn the weight in your chest into leverage.
"Yeah... But not exactly him." You hadn’t realized you were crying, but now you use it to make your voice tremble. "I miss having a partner. Not just a boyfriend, but a husband. Someone to share everything with. Body and soul." You try to wipe your tears away, but before your hand reaches your cheek, Henry pulls you into a tight hug that steals your breath.
"P-Please don’t cry, my angel!" He runs his fingers through your hair like you’re a frightened child. "We have all the time in the world. I’ll take care of you better than he ever did. I’ll be the husband you deserve. I’ll be everything you want, and more."
You’ll never be better than him.
"You promise?" You force yourself to hug him back, wiping your face on his shoulder.
"I promise!” His other hand slowly slides down your back. "Maybe you’re feeling this way because you’re used to taking a lot of medication every day. I bought some new pain meds to replace the ones you used to take. They’re simple, harmless, and I’ll let you decide if you want them. Doesn’t that sound good?"
Putting the deception aside, he’s probably right. You must be emotionally unstable after going so long without your medication. The fear of your treatment regressing haunts you.
"It does. Thank you."
...
You need to get out of here. As soon as possible.
How much time has passed?
Ever since you started trying to earn his trust, you did your best not to stay aware of how many days had gone by. You made sure that not a single day was wasted, and little by little, you managed to get him to treat your relationship as something normal. The only thing you couldn’t get was the freedom to leave. Not that you were expecting it, of course. You wouldn't take the risk either if your loved one had thousands of missing person posters out there.
You tried to gain weight without him noticing. It would be suspicious if your body went too long without even small changes, especially after you started refusing in-person visits from your doctor and settling only for remote consultations through messages. Your plan was risky, but still... Henry didn’t seem to care about it at all.
The only time he seemed to care was when he came offering strange pills, saying they were for pain, nausea, and cramps. You refused immediately, thinking he might be testing you. He didn’t push, and left the pills in the cabinet, telling you to take them whenever you wanted. It was odd, but you didn’t question it.
After that, strange things began happening to your body. Abdominal cramps, nausea, dizziness... Henry was always there when it happened, as if he somehow knew. After staying by your side until you felt better, he would always ask the same question.
"Is the baby okay?"
It didn’t sound like concern. Whenever you answered, you could tell he was disappointed. He never mentioned the baby directly. It was like he pretended it was just you and him. The only part of your pregnancy he seemed to enjoy was your dependence on him. That's good, because it makes him let his guard down around you.
But you feel like he’s starting to suspect something.
Henry began insisting that you see a doctor, wanting to know how you and the baby were doing. You managed to stall him by saying everything was fine, but it wasn’t enough. He eventually scheduled an appointment for you, and that’s why you had to rush your escape plan.
But luck is on your side. You found the perfect opportunity.
Right now, you’re leaning against the wall, trying to find the right words. The magazine in your hands is your way out. According to it, the new museum is opening tonight. You’ve spent these last few days being as sweet as possible. There’s no way he’ll say no to your request.
"Henry?" You force a soft, honeyed tone in your voice. "Are you busy? I’d like to talk to you."
He puts away the last piece of clothing in your wardrobe before turning to face you. "Never for you, my angel." He immediately notices the magazine in your hands. "What is it?"
"I know it’s a bold request, but..." You lift the page with the article about the museum opening. "Look! It’s happening tonight. I-I thought it’d be nice if you and I went together."
He leans in slightly, looking more closely at the page.
Please don’t notice the details you’re purposely covering with your fingers.
"Looks fun." He straightens back up, and you hold back a sigh of relief. "But why are you only asking me now? That event has been announced for a while."
"I was afraid you’d say no."
No. The truth is that you were trying to minimize the chances of that happening.
"You’ve been inside for a long time. That can’t be good for you..." He pauses for a few seconds, then turns back to the wardrobe. "Get ready, my angel. We’re going out tonight."
You did it!
"Really?!" You hug him from behind. "I’ll go shower right now! Thank you, thank you!"
Without waiting for a reply, you rush off to the bathroom. Your excitement is obvious, even if it’s for entirely different reasons than what he probably thinks.
He didn’t question the details you covered. That’s good. Even though you doubt he’s been looking into your husband, you didn’t want to take any chances. The event is hosted by the city hall, so the chances of your husband being there are high. All you have to do is find him. Once he sees you, he’ll definitely find a way to fix everything.
Isaac will probably be disappointed, but... You can’t afford to miss this chance.
You glance at yourself in the car's rearview mirror, studying every detail of your face. The features that define who you are now feel hidden under layers of makeup.
Of course he wouldn’t let you leave without a disguise. You’ve never worn this much makeup before. It kind of worries you. What if your husband doesn’t recognize you like this? You’ll need to try harder.
“What’s wrong, my angel?” he says as he gently squeezes your wrist. “You look stunning. Come on, we’ve arrived.”
He opens the door for you, and as you step out, you take a deep breath. It’s been so long since you were last outside. You had forgotten how fresh air feels. But that freedom lasts only a second, until his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close.
“Be discreet.”
Those are the only words he says before turning to face the people around you. You need to be careful. Just being here is already a miracle. He’s probably going to keep his eyes on you the entire time.
As you step into the museum, your eyes immediately scan the surroundings. There's plenty here to keep him distracted.
"That sculpture is beautiful." You gesture toward a kneeling, blindfolded androgynous figure. "But it also looks sad… Have you heard of it?"
He looks at the sculpture you’re pointing at. "No, but it says here it’s about someone..."
You pretend to listen while your eyes scan the crowd, searching for the familiar face of your husband.
"I didn’t know… That’s tragic."
If you can keep up the act, it will be easier to keep Henry distracted. It's hard to talk, stay aware of your surroundings, and fake your posture around him all at once, but you'll have a harder time if you let him stay this alert.
With each passing minute, distracting him becomes more difficult, and your nervousness only grows. The number of people around is increasing, which makes it harder to find who you're looking for and also gets in the way of your attempts to use the environment as a distraction. It's hard even to walk properly.
“Everyone is heading to the main hall. It’s probably just going to be the director’s thanks to the audience.” Henry pushed some people aside with his body, making way for you. “Come on, we can’t be the only ones outside.”
“Alright, but we better stay alert.” You took a step back, putting some distance between you and the crowd to avoid being pushed, your hand resting protectively on your belly. “I’m afraid this crowd might accidentally bump into the baby.”
“Yeah, you’re right...” He let go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders, helping you keep your balance as you walked. “Are you okay? You’ve been bending your back more than usual since we got here.”
“I’m not used to this much physical activity...” You said, gently pushing away some people who were too close to your belly. “But it’s fine, it’s actually good for the baby.”
You both manage to find a quieter spot in the middle of the crowd and settle there. Even though the announcement is about to start, the crowd is still noisy.
“Let’s stay here, we have a perfect view of the staircase.”
With Henry finally distracted, the mask you’d been holding slips from your hand. Where the hell is your husband?!
You look around, trying to spot every face you can in the crowd. It can’t be, he has to be here!
Some of his coworkers are on the other side of the hall, gathered near someone who seems to be the director, also a familiar face. It makes no sense for him not to be here.
The acknowledgments are about to begin, it would be weird if you’re the only one not paying attention.
Your eyes start to sting. You should’ve seen this coming. Why were you so sure he’d come? Could it be that he’s...
Before you can think too much, a very familiar voice grabs your attention. You turn your head so fast you barely notice the movement.
You’d recognize that face even from afar. The certainty hits you the moment he looks at you with the same surprise.
Everything inside you seems to stop. It’s like the missing piece of you has finally returned.
He’s here.
Isaac is here.
But the spell breaks the instant someone crosses your line of sight and suddenly, he’s gone.
Like a ghost.
No, he can’t just disappear like that!
Or at least, you thought you did.
The group he seemed to be with greets you casually. No one there recognizes you.
Again, emptiness swallows you whole. No, you didn’t imagine him. You saw him. He was here. He looked right at you!
No matter how much you look for him again, he doesn’t show up.
No... What have you done?
The hand that spins you around isn’t enough to catch your attention, but the voice that follows is.
“That’s odd. Was that enough to make all the tiredness from your ‘pregnancy’ disappear instantly?”
Even though the voices of the crowd are loud, his voice sounds louder.
Wait, that?
“You... saw him too?”
Indignation crosses Henry’s face before rage floods it.
He saw him too! Isaac is here, you knew you weren’t imagining things!
“I can’t believe you did this to me...” He seems to be purposely hiding his expression from you. “Since when were you lying?! I can’t trust you... This was a mistake. Let’s go home. Now.”
His grip on your shoulders reminds you of the situation you’re in. You ruined everything. Because of your impatience, you broke everything you had built.
He will never trust you again. He’ll lock you up, isolate you from everyone, or worse.
You’ll never see your husband again.
That thought gives you the push you need.
“No, NO! I’m not going back, not with you!” You shove him hard in the chest. He immediately steps back, surprised.
You run through the crowd toward the exit door. If he catches you, it's all over. It will be the end.
The door feels heavier than it should as you push it open, but the small gap you manage to create is enough to slip through. It’s not the same hallway you were in before, but that doesn’t matter now. You can’t think straight, you need to find a place to hide. Somewhere far from him.
The corridor is empty, not even the guards are here watching the artworks. When you reach the end, you realize the only exit leads straight back to the crowd.
You won’t face that again. Your only option is to climb the stairs.
The door starts to open, and fear freezes you for a moment. Without hesitation, you quickly step back and run toward the stairs.
In your panic, as you turn and climb the steps, you don’t notice you’ve bumped into a candleholder that’s part of an art installation.
You don’t stop until you see the stairs end, you’re on the top floor. This doesn’t look like a public area for visitors, but even so, you feel uncomfortable in such an open space, so you enter the last room down the hall.
It looks like an art restoration room, full of chemicals and solvents. If you knock them over, it could cause a big problem. You hide under a table where you have a clear view of the door.
…
What should you do now?
Relief flows through your body as soon as you hide, and now you can think more clearly.
You were impulsive, but... it’s not all lost. Your husband is here, you need to catch him somewhere isolated, and before Henry finds you. You could ask anyone you cross for help, but that would definitely upset your husband and damage his reputation. It wouldn’t be good if his beloved became the center of attention, especially after all the effort he must have put into opening this place.
Even though you’re decided about what to do, you’re still a little anxious, so you stay hidden a few more minutes, taking advantage of the time to try to remove the makeup from your face. Your husband has already recognized you, but it’s good to be cautious.
With your face hopefully clean, you come out from under the table and take a deep breath.
...
This air isn’t clean. What’s happening outside?
You open the door and the smell of smoke fills your nose, so thick it blurs your vision. Such dense smoke can only mean one thing.
Fire.
There’s nothing else on this floor but smoke. But it would be risky to go down to the first floor, you don’t know the situation there.
Your legs are shaking, fear is taking over you again.
You look out the window. There are already several people outside the museum while fire trucks are arriving and entering the building.
If they find you, they will definitely take you to Henry. You can’t rely on them.
You go to the window on the other side of the museum, the exit there seems to have fewer firefighters than the entrance. But either way, you’ll have to go down the stairs.
Your fear messes with your thinking as you run down the stairs, you feel sparks burning your skin. Each floor you go down seems worse, your eyes sting, making it harder to see the steps.
When you reach the last one, you see it. The fire hasn’t fully blocked the exit, you can hear people shouting. If you run, you should be able to get there.
The dizziness makes walking difficult, but you don’t let it stop you.
What stops you is an argument in front of the exit.
“My partner is still inside! If you don’t go in, I will!” You see Henry struggling with some police officers at the entrance, they are having a hard time holding him back. “If they die because of your incompetence, I swear I will—[NAME]!”
The scream of your name makes you step back, and your fear of dying is replaced by a worse fear.
If you... if you leave through here...
Henry’s shouts get louder now, he’s yelling your name repeatedly.
No... You can’t risk it. Any fate is better than going back to him!
You force your heels to turn and climb the stairs again. You know it’s dangerous, but you refuse to go back to anyone but your husband.
Your remaining courage runs out when the floor collapses in front of you, the wood shakes under your feet. The stairs you came up on are also blocked by the collapse of the upper floor.
You lean against the wall, sliding down until you sit. The lack of air makes it hard to recover your energy.
It’s over for you.
You knew this would happen the moment you left that room, but you still had hope. It won’t be the fire that kills you, but your own selfishness. Many chances appeared, but you wasted them all wanting things your way.
Tears run down your cheeks, you miss your husband. All you wanted was to be home with his company, relaxing together in bed. Because of you, you’ll never be able to do that again.
Oh, Isaac... You wonder if he’s okay. There’s a window near where you are... Is there any chance you can see him?
It’s worth trying, you have nothing to lose now.
But as soon as you try to walk, the floor shakes beneath you. The fire has consumed almost everything around you, it won’t be long before the floor above collapses. You need to be quick.
Gathering your last bit of strength, you ignore the burning pain of your wounds and run to the window. The little fresh air that comes in helps you breathe better, and your vision, once blurry, starts to clear, helping you look for your beloved. But no matter how much you search, you don’t...
The floor collapses beneath you.
You didn’t find him.
...
As expected.
It’s warm.
Your body is pressed against something warm.
You don’t know what it is, your eyes feel too heavy to open.
But it’s okay, you don’t need to know.
You make a small effort to move your arms. They seem to be resting on someone. More specifically, on their shoulders. You shift them to wrap around their neck, nestling closer to the back of their head.
The scent is familiar... It comforts you.
“I’m glad you can move, even if just a little.”
You recognize the voice immediately, but to be sure you’re not imagining things, you force your eyes open. You can only keep them half-open, but it’s enough to see the body carrying you on their back.
“My love...” Your voice is so hoarse it barely sounds like yours. “Where are we going?”
You feel like you have many questions, but they slip away the moment they come to mind. Speaking takes a lot of effort, so you ask the only thing that seems to be on your mind right now.
“We're coming home, dear.”
“Home...” You repeat the word to yourself, it sounds so sweet coming from your husband’s lips. “Heh, I like the sound of that...” A small smile grows on your own lips.
“I know you do.” Isaac smiles along with you. He gently squeezes your bandaged thigh. Even though it hurts, it proves he’s really here with you. “Let’s go home, my beloved.”
You couldn’t be happier to hear those words. He found you.
“This time, I’ll make sure it’s a place where no one will ever find you.”
HI how was your new year?? 🥰 i hope u had a great time <33
this is a little specific but can i please have cock sucking yan mean dom scara?? 🥺 🥺 im thinking of a scene where hes had a really tiring day or hes just casually chilling around and we give him the sloppiest, obliterating, heaven-scent gawk gawk 3000 of his life 🤤 andand he'll praise us and say somth like "whats the occasion?" and we're jyst "nothing just felt like gagging on ur pretty cock <33" plspls and thank u!! 🙏🏻🙏🏻
my new years was great!! thank you for the request! i tried, it's been a while since i've written anything, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless! <3 also, thank you guys for 1k followers!!
NSFW UNDER THE CUT!!
IN WHICH: scara's a popular streamer, so much so that he can't even give you a flicker of attention. when you catch him live one day, you decide to take matters into your own hands...
(not proofread)
scara was a popular streamer, his gaming skills, commentary, and his cocky, rude personality followed by his charming looks, brought him only the highest of attention. he's an internet celebrity, no doubt about that, so of course he's going to receive invasive fangirls that want nothing more than his attention, even if it's just him respond to their supa's with a snarky remark.
and as his girlfriend, you found yourself in a one-sided battle for his attention with said girls, even though they had absolutely no chance with him.
still, you couldn't help but feel as though they were the ones winning.
and that really bothered you. not only did you guys have to keep your relationship a secret from the public, but now he doesn't even look twice at you when you go out of your way to spend all day getting ready, just for at least some validation that he's still into you.
scara was in his streaming room, the light of his pc screens and keyboard being the only light illuminating this darkened room.
"he must not be using a webcam today." you thought to yourself as you peaked through the door.
scara, being the competitive guy he is, was way too focused on winning the game to even notice when you entered the room, making sure to quietly close the door behind you.
nor did he notice when you walked up behind him, reading all the desperate girls in his chat, increasing your jealousy ten fold.
you loosely wrapped your arms around him, causing him to flinch slightly. he muted his stream.
"get out." he didn't look up from his screen.
"i miss you..."
"i'm busy, you're gonna get me in trouble. so leave. i'll hang out with you when i'm done."
that was a lie. but you couldn't even respond, he unmuted his stream right away, made up a random excuse to his confused chat, and kept playing, as if you weren't even there.
but you weren't giving up, you had to win this one-sided battle, for the sake of your pride, and your man.
slowly kneeling down, you crawled underneath his desk, your hands trailing up, and down along his thighs as you slightly opened his legs.
scara stiffened at your touch, but ignored you nonetheless.
this only increased your need for him. you were gonna make him pay attention to you, and finally turn that damn stream off for good.
your hands traveled further up his thighs until they found themselves rested upon his bulge within his pants.
scara was in a heated match, he stopped his commentary for a moment as he bit his bottom lip softly, in a weak attempt at ignoring you once more.
noticing his reaction, you slowly slid your hand up and down that area through his pants, his cock now throbbing for more of your touch.
but he couldn't pause the game, or mute the stream yet. it would be too suspicious.
he took a deep breath before he looked down and gave you a glance of annoyance. you grinned and put your pinter finger over your lips in reply, signaling for him to keep quiet.
he clicked his tongue, irritated, but clearly turned on.
your hands slid underneath his the waistline of his sweatpants, revealing his full length of his hardened cock.
you licked your lips in anticipation, whilst scara's leg shook with anxiety.
"just relax." you said in a quiet, soft whisper.
before he knew it, your tongue slid across his shaft, making its way up, where your tongue circled around his pink tip.
his breath hitched. he missed a headshot.
"fuck." his tone was more breathy than usual.
your soft tongue kept sliding up and down against his shaft, getting it as wet as possible before you kissed his tip, before finally putting his length into your mouth.
he instantly moved his mic away from him and a soft, breathy moan escaped his lips, his head fell backward and he put his hand over his mouth.
his eyes being closed for a split second was enough to get him killed in the game, ending his match. his chat spammed, filled with confusion and suspicion.
you moved your head up and down as he let his cock shamelessly filll your mouth, using your hand to help what you couldn't fit in your mouth. your pace started off slow, and sensual.
he could handle that.
he took a few more deep breaths and gathered himself, going back to his mic.
"my bad, i had to do something--oooh"
your head bobbed faster up and down as you went down on him. your mouth and hand moving in a rhythm that sent a chill of pleasure down his spine.
he couldn't ignore this, he didn't even try to. he couldn't even get any words out to make up an excuse to his chat. his finger instantly hit the mute button as his hand took a handful of your hair, forcing you to take in more of his throbbing shaft.
he leaned back in his chair, moving you up and down his cock forcefully. his moans tuned from low, and deep to sharp, and high-pitched.
"fuck yeah...like that. just like that." his voice deep, raspy and completely breathless.
you kept going, not letting up. you could feel your eyes watering slightly as his length hit deep within your throat, causing you to almost gag slightly. but you didn't let up, your hand moving from his cock to the sides of his hips, your fingers digging deep into his skin as he face fucked you relentlessly.
his mouth hung agape, as he looked down at you, his half-lidded eyes struggling to stay open.
for the first time in a while, he wanted to see you. he paid attention to you.
what was he supposed to be doing right now? he forgot.
"ah- so good...fuck--- i'm so--"
his legs which shook with anxiety now shook with pleasure, and he couldn't get them to stop. his grip on your hair only tightened, you could feel his cock twitch in your mouth.
his harmonic moans sent a strike of pleasure through you, causing the area between your thighs to start aching.
"don't spit." he ordered.
scara failed at keeping his fingers interlocked with your hair for much longer as he leaned back in his chair, releasing a loud, sudden groan of your name. his white fluid filling up your mouth.
he stayed leaned back in his chair, his chest rising up and down heavily as his breath hitched with every exhale.
you kissed his tip and looked up at him with a grin of amusement as you licked your lips.
after a short while, scara cupped your chin firmly, pulling your face up to his level as he stared deeply into your eyes with a burning desire.
"what's the occasion? don't tell me you wanted my attention this bad..." he said with an cocky scoff.
leaning your face closer to his, you spoke. "nothing..."
you sat in a straddled position on his lap, pressing your body intimately against his, your voice becoming soft and sensual.
"i just missed gagging on my boyfriends pretty cock..."
Y/N fell in love with him in high school, married him after graduation, and moved in with him whenever she decided to go to college. But something about him was odd. Disappearing at night, being gone for days on end, answering suspicious unknown phone calls, being overly clingy... He's not cheating, right? Or was something worse going on?
• • • AVAILABLE ON WATTPAD, TUMBLR, QUOTEV
𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍 ( dark reverse harem x villainess! reader )
Y/N wanted her arranged husband dead. Who could blame her? After she was forced to marry the Grand Duke, she knew that she'd live a miserable life, especially if it meant being tethered to him til the end of her days. So she started to make a plan. A sinister plan to kill him, his close friends, and topple his empire of fame to the ground. If she wasn't allowed to have rights, why should they? But it was easier said than done... because unbeknownst to her, three men would do anything to appease her.
• • • AVAILABLE ON WATTPAD
𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 ( yandere! emperor x female! reader )
Emperor Cadmus Dimitriou. Whether people knew him by his title as emperor of Kiaba, or his cutthroat win in the war three years ago, they all knew that a man like him was destined for greatness. But Y/N? She was destined for the constant spray of blood, the roaring of the crowd, and the thud of bodies dropping. It wasn't like Gladiators had a choice. However, that all changed when she was bought for a cheap price by a cruel man who wanted to test her fame. And Emperor Cadmus wouldn't take no for an answer.
• • • NOT YET RELEASED (WILL BE SOON)
𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒 ( yandere! vampire x male! reader )
The Devil stopped at the doorstep of Y/N's church with a charming smile. Business, he said, that was why he came by to visit. His touch left Y/N's skin in flames, his gaze made his stomach twist, and his voice made his head spin. This man, Linus Ambrose Wittherson, had to be Lucifer himself.
Everyone inside Fulminare Academy had secrets; the professors, the students, the scrappy dogs outside. Y/N was no different. However, she never thought those secrets would lead to her demise. Mysterious men were out for her head, or more specifically, the knowledge inside it. May curiosity kill these wicked cats.
• • • AVAILABLE ON WATTPAD & QUOTEV
𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐓 ( yandere! serial killer x male! reader )
Y/N knew there was something wrong with him but he couldn't help it. He was 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥. Who wouldn't be hooked onto someone like Micah Ariti? A transfer student from Greece who was perfect in every way; his athleticism, his creativity, his 'no-bullshit' type of personality. Even if he knew then about who he really was, he was already addicted. He would never let him go.
Includes: yandere husband x wife!reader, toxic and abusive relationship, cheating accusations, loooots of arguing, choking, and potentially more.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! Sorry for the late post. I pretty much slept through Christmas and just got around to working on this again.
Your husband’s mind was racked with potential gift ideas. Jewelry in boxes of your favorite color, arranged into a beautifully large, decorated bouquet. He could pair it with a new car—an Aston Martin DB9, with a pink interior in particular. You had seemed quite drawn to that vehicle when your eyes first landed on it.
Before meeting your husband, you had spent most of your adult life taking the metro and subway. Since being with him, he drove you everywhere and even got you a personal chauffeur whenever he couldn’t take you himself. He spoiled you, making sure you wouldn’t have to lift a single finger to get anywhere—and yet, you yearned to be on the road. So much so that you got your driver’s license behind his back.
Throughout the days leading up to Christmas, he dropped hints here and there and mentioned other things he could get you—such as the popular So Kate heels and a new thick winter coat with fur. Expecting praise and an elated reaction, it hurt when he was met instead with disinterested grunts and disdain.
Back to the drawing board he went.
“No… no, this isn’t right either,” your husband mumbled to himself, swiping through a fashion catalog. You had practically worn it all. Your walk-in closet took up the entire left wing of the house, all thanks to him. He had seen you in the newest fall collection of every designer brand he could think of, even his father’s own line.
He wanted to get you something you would never forget. So, he would have to get personal.
Henry. Sometimes his comrade in games, other times his foe—the one who liked to go toe-to-toe with him. In the end, no matter how they felt about each other, Henry was his son, so he had to listen to him.
Henry returned to his father’s office with a worn-out brown leather bag—one his father remembered as always being comically stuffed to the brim with a mix of your belongings and Henry’s toys.
You were overly protective of this purse, no matter how many times your husband told you to get rid of it. You claimed that it was the most expensive purchase you had ever made back in the day—that you scrimped and saved just to buy it with your barista salary.
It landed on the desk with a loud thump, several of your lipsticks and bits of random junk spilling out. Your bag—or rather, a thoroughly abused sack—was hanging by a thread. The gold plating on the hardware had rubbed off, revealing the metal underneath. The single pocket it had wouldn’t even close; the zipper was missing, leaving it perpetually open.
As he dug deeper, pulling out more clutter, his hands found your thick wallet.
The hundreds of dollars he had given you had been broken down into twenties, fives, and ones. He tossed it aside, thinking nothing of it—until he grabbed your passport next.
“Odd…” he murmured, now noticing that both your birth certificate and Henry’s were inside as well.
“Fuck…” he breathed, flipping the bag over and dumping the rest of its contents onto the desk.
Important documents—the passports, wads of cash bundled together with your hair tie—and now… your phone felt heavy in his hand.
He typed in your birthday. It didn’t work. He tried his own; the lock screen barely budged. Only when he entered Henry’s did the phone finally open to your home screen.
He went through your messages. A short list of names appeared—his at the very top and pinned, your parent right below, a couple of friends, and then John.
John?
Your husband did a double take. Were you cheating on him? He gulped thickly, his thumb hovering over the name. If you were, he could find all the proof and evidence right now. Blood rushed to his face, his ears turning bright red as his heart hammered in his chest. He didn’t even want to imagine you entertaining another man, but it would certainly explain why you had been acting so distant. Perhaps you were planning on leaving him for this John.
He couldn’t do it.
“This is…” He sharply inhaled, turning back to his son, who was still idly waiting to be dismissed. “This is perfect, Henry. Thank you,” he said tightly.
He then roughly shoves the rest of the contents into a safe, quickly hiding it away with a satisfying click of the lock. He pocketed your phone, and was now examining the bag with a scrutinizing gaze.
Christmas came by fast.
Henry wore the same pajamas as you—decked out in red velvet with white, shimmering snowflakes printed across the fabric of his shirt, matching joggers, and elf slippers with a little bell hanging from the curved, pointed tip. He was already sipping on a warm glass of milk by the tree, one hand fishing for another cookie from the tin beside him.
Henry had opened most of his presents, his attention now focused on the array of trucks spread out in front of him.
You were seated by the couch, a camera resting in your lap as you smiled fondly at your enthusiastic toddler. You hadn’t even noticed the dark, looming presence nearby—a large box held firmly in his hands.
“It’s your turn, honey.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to get me anything—”
“Nonsense.”
He stared down at you blankly, barely breathing or blinking, his hands tucked into his pockets as he impatiently tapped his foot. You began to feel unnerved by how silent he was.
Usually, he was jumping with joy, urging you to open the countless gifts he bought you. But this year, there was only one.
“Is it more lingerie?” you joked, slowly lifting the lid of the box.
“Ha,” he replied dryly.
“Well, no matter what it is. I’m sure it’s wonderful.” You give him a quick smile before pulling back the tissue paper.
“It’s… oh, uh…” You pursed your lips, lost for words, and your hand stilling just above the familiar orangish-brown leather.
It looked revived—restored to a condition far better than when you had first bought it. The leather was supple again, no longer cracked or dulled by years of wear, its color rich and even, as though time itself had been reversed. The hardware gleamed, polished back to its original luster, free of scratches and tarnish. The handle—once frayed and threatening to snap—was now seamless and sturdy beneath your fingers.
When you dared to peer inside, your breath caught. The interior had been thoroughly cleaned, every stain gone, the lining crisp and immaculate, as if it had never carried years’ worth of clutter and receipts.
When you finally locked eyes with him, all you felt was existential dread.
Without thinking, your tone turned accusatory.
“Where’s my stuff?”
“Un-fucking-believable,” he muttered under his breath as he turned on his heel. He stormed toward the bedroom, you trailing hot on his heels.
You called his name, grabbing his wrist, but he yanked his arm away immediately—reacting as though your touch had burned his skin. He led you into the bedroom and carefully closed the door behind you.
“I’ll ask you again,” you said, forcing your shaking voice to steady. “Where’s my stuff?”
“That’s all you care about?” He whipped around to face you, his hands clenched into tight fists.
He then pulled out your phone, dangling it in the air. “Is this what you’re looking for?” he grated, his eyes dragging slowly up and down your tense form before narrowing into sharp slits when they reached your face.
“God, why can’t you just fucking care about our relationship for once?” he snapped. “We have a child. We have a family—we’re married, y/n!”
“You’re ungrateful, and I’ve turned soft. You make me soft—dumb, even. I should’ve known you were cheating on me.” he angrily continued.
“I’m not cheating,” you huffed, gritting your teeth. “You made me cut ties with every man I know. My life revolves entirely around you and your selfish desires.”
“Is that why you ran to your little John?”
Of course he had been able to get into your phone. You didn’t want to tell him that you were lawyering up, trying to at least keep one part of your already blown up plan under wraps.
“Did he touch you?” he asked quietly, his body tightly coiled. It was a question meant more for himself than for you—his mind already whirling with images of this strange man laying hands on his wife, spiraling into a gut-wrenching, tumultuous storm of thought.
He stiffened, his grip tightening around your phone as an unsavory image crossed his mind. His jaw clenched shut as he began to pace back and forth, restrained fury simmering just beneath the surface.
He yells, then your phone is thrown onto the floor. It breaks.
All you could do was slink down the wall, holding your knees close to your chest as he rants. You don’t even remember when he finally stops, the angry stomps coming to an end.
You disassociate when he grabs onto your arms, shaking your body to force out a response. When he gets none, you find yourself on the bed with him on top of you.
His eyes locked onto yours—deadly, resolute, determined to hurt you. Only when you saw his hands moving toward your neck did you finally scream, thrashing beneath him.
You say two strangled words to save yourself. Complete lies, but the black dots dissipate and your vision becomes clear again. His awfully sickly sweet smile quickly appears, attention now on your stomach.
Imagine making a wish for a different life to get away from your neglectful husband and your wish is granted… but now you’re trapped in the body of an unhappy housewife from the 1950s. Your husband in this time period is a typical patriarchal white collar man, James Prescott. And the only way to go back to your world is to play your part… a shame you hadn’t realized just how neglected he’s been. Otherwise you wouldn’t have fed a starved man the affection he so desperately craved.
Yandere Husband who is surprised when you, his wife, are suddenly affectionate that morning. You hardly kissed his cheeks anymore or wished him a good day at work. Especially when she turned down his desire for a family all those years ago. Were you sick? This wasn’t like you at all. He was suspicious. Did you want something? Work had been going well lately so he could afford to buy you a gift… if you wanted one, of course.
Yandere Husband who is surprised to come home to a warm meal after a long day that actually tastes good. You were never a good cook before. He was startled but also satisfied to be taken care of. He even gave you a rare compliment he never had before. “The food is good today. I really like this roast.” His blue eyes studied your face for a reaction and he only received a warm smile. His heart fluttered for the first time in two years since he started this dead marriage. Meanwhile, you kept a journal noting his likes and dislikes so you’d have an easier time in this world. A fact that would later come back to bite you.
Yandere husband came home with flowers after work the next day. Blush pink roses with the thorns taken off with care. His blue eyes were hopeful as he waited for your reaction and you didn’t disappoint. He came home to another delicious hot meal and a warm smile as you happily accepted the flowers. It was like the love was back again… the love back when the two of you first started dating three years ago. And James was so thrilled.
Yandere husband loved coming home to warm meals and a clean house. James loved his clothes being washed and folded. He also loved how you ironed his work shirt. You hadn’t been this domestic in ages… you deserved more from him. Heavens, you deserved the world.
Yandere husband began to bring flowers or chocolates by every day after that just to see you smile… and he was so thrilled when you hugged him. You felt him tremble a bit as he tightened his hold on you as if he was terrified you’d disappear in a mere moment. “…how about we go on a date this weekend?”
Yandere Husband who was all too eager to put on a suit that matched the dress you wore. He made sure to open the car door for you, the restaurant door, and even pull out your chair. You were shocked at how eager he seemed for this date… and the fact that he gave you his utmost attention.
Yandere husband who made sure to order your meals once you told him what you wanted. His hand held yours under the table as his thumb brushed against your knuckles with utmost affection. James was so happy you wanted to do these kinds of things together again. He had missed this more than anything but never wanted to voice it.
Yandere husband who cuddles you in bed at night now. His hands wander more and he gets bolder as the days drag on… but you didn’t know how long you’d stay in this world with him and you would feel awful if you left suddenly. But you were happy that someone wanted to touch you… your husband back in your world hadn’t in ages either. So why not indulge this one?
Yandere husband who was gentle at first but it wasn’t long for him to grow rough once he had a taste. Had intimacy always been this good? Or had James just been denied for so many years that he was losing his mind in you? He didn’t care that the bed creaked in protest or how your back arched in a way it never had, James was so thrilled to touch his wife again.
Yandere Husband who now kissed your shoulders every morning when the sunlight streamed in before work. James would hold you from behind as you cooked and helped with dishes. He was so happy to have all his stress melt away with your touch.
Yandere husband who finds your journal and despite knowing it was wrong to read it, he read it anyways. James’s heart fluttered at the words.
James really enjoys pot roast, steak, mashed potatoes, and carrots. He says he likes tomatoes, but I notice he will push them off to the side when I’m not looking. He also prefers beef gravy over chicken gravy. James says he likes his coffee black, but he always adds in a table spoon of sugar when I’m not looking.
Yandere husband who read deeper and soon discovered your secret. You weren’t his real wife or at least, his original one. You were from another timeline trapped in a loveless marriage just like him… and he’d felt such a kinship with you.
My husband from my world hardly ever spent time with me. He never stayed for dinner and we never went on dates. I really like James. I want to stay with James. How could someone not love James? He’s such a wonderful man.
Yandere husband was so flattered that you were noting his preferences. James never thought anyone noticed him… and he’d be damned if he’d ever leave him. He loved you too. James loved you so much. More than anyone else in his entire life. Even more than himself and more than his cushy job at the law firm.
Yandere husband who put the journal back and made a decision. He was going to keep you here in this world with him forever. And he’d never, ever let you go.
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