im begging anyone who sees this post to prevent rapesexual, im begging you. no one will see this but if you do reblog to get the message out that these fuckers exist and dont deserve to exist
heres the flag so you can know who to fucking block, report and tell to fuck off
i dont want this to ruin the pride and help with self esteem of being lgbtq+ so a signal boost from larger accounts might be nice
@nemesis-hasatummblr @dustyp1xie @riff-is-on-a-fucking-crisis sorry for the tags but you need to see this (sorry if you already have but this is important)
AHH I LOVE UR WRITING SO MUCH :3 can I please request edging sub!kinich??
âlove how you got me #speechlessâŚâ â sub! kinich x gn! reader
there was just something about making your boyfriend kinich beg for it. itâs adorable really, the way his usually deep voice would uncharacteristically peak,
or how his back would arch up into your handâdesperate for friction when the rush of his climax fades to ashes again, making him whine.
small tears would well up in his eyes, âmmfgh⌠pâplease, [name] mâbegging y- youâŚ! ahhn-â
his moan quickly getting cut off with the sudden quick stroke, your fist now in contact with his base. his tip angry nâ pinkâ you swear you could see such pretty beads of white leaking from his cock,
kinich only leans his head against your shoulder, youâre sat in front of him like a doll, sitting so closely to his rock-hard shaft, your finger teasingly rubs the clearly prominent veins that reach all over his length,
âfâuuck! mmn, p-please⌠baby, i-iâm⌠sâfuckinâ cl- close againâŚâ
âmhm, but i want my good boy to come when j say so, okay?â
you swear you could feel him twitch in your palm when you say that, his face covered in dark hues, his hair messy and disheveled.
all you could feel in the air was how thick the atmosphere had gotten, it was cute whenever his brows would knit togetherâit was his tell when he was getting closer!
âjusâ hold it okay? mâjus gonna count âtill five. and when i reach five, you can come,â
you place a soft kiss onto his forehead before moving your hand again, a long groan leaves his throat as he nods. heavy breaths leave him with a clear desperation in his tone,
âoneâŚâ
your voice starts out soft, whispering it so softly into his ear while leaning in to place more kisses on his cheek.
small whimpers leave him as his canines bite down onto his lower lip, trying to keep the rush of heat at bay; he only has an even harder time when you start to stroke a little faster,
âtwoooâŚâ
now your fingers focused on massaging his cockhead, making him hang his head back, his other hand momentarily covering his mouth, kinich is putty in your hands with how nice your warm palm feels like.
âfu⌠ckâmmn,â âcan you keep going?â
âyes! yesyesyes, i can!â
his voice was quick and filled with desire, you could tell from the way his chest was heaving so hurriedly when he started to let out soft mewls of your name under his breath.
most would consider it almost a prayer with how fast he was trying to mutter each syllable,
âtwoââ
his eyes are shot wide when he realizes what youâre doing. fuck.
âhaah- p-please, i canâtâŚâ
âcanât handle it? aww, but i thought you were my good boy, kinââŚâ
the shine in your eye immediately got him to cave, swallowing hard, his adamâs apple bobs as he shakes his head, ânonono, i-i can handle itâŚâ
âgood.â
pressing a kiss onto his lips, it felt hungryârather aggressive, thrusting himself up into your hand,
a string of shared saliva is made as youâre pulling away, âthree,â
god your voice alone would be enough for kinich to come right here and now.
âahh⌠hnnghaahââ his moans continued to drag out the more your fingers would play with his cockhead, letting out a choked moan when you rub your thumb against his slit thatâs already oozing a greedy line of precum.
âaww, youâre just the cutestâŚâ
for a moment, you bring your thumb up to your mouth and lick it before going in to kiss him one more time.
your hand returns to palm his erection again, more obscene sounds being let out into the deep kiss you had kinich locked into, it was pathetic how well he was taking you.
only leaving his mouth for a moment to continue your countââfour.â
your tongues intertwine again, his heartbeat had raised a while ago, you could practically hear the way both of your heart were beating out your chests,
âmmmnâfourâhaahâŚâ
kinich tenses in your hands, almost waiting for your command when-
âfive.â
long strings of pearly white seed spray up, the rush of warmth he had been so desperately keeping down finally releasing alongside the prolonged moans of your name;
some of him getting onto his stomach and your own, you pull him in for one more lazy kiss.
prince au! (obviously) top male reader, smut after the cut
likes, comments, reblogs are appreciated, merry christmas everyone!
"[name]." phainon's voice was unusually serious, and it made you turn from the apple bunnies you were preparing for him.
prince phainon was one of the princes from the kingdom of chrysos, and you were his dedicated servant. the man was adorned in a white coat and cape, with a royal blue sash. his white gloves placed the warm knife away from your grasp, and onto the wooden cutting board before he grabbed your larger hands in his own, before clearing his throat. you quirked an eyebrow at him, a fond annoyance starting to bubble inside of your chest.
he took a deep breath, and grasped you harder before spilling out his words in one long, jumbled breath. "please please please please please please pleasepleasepleasepleaseplea-" he would have continued to do so until he passed out if it weren't for your hand covering his mouth. phainon took a slow blink of surprise at you, eyes perking up before he licked a stripe up your palm, making you groan. your hands pulled away sharply, before you adjusted his hair into a hairstyle that you knew he would undo once you left his vision.
"prince phainon," you started, turning to the plate of apple bunnies he insisted on you cutting for him, before shoving the plate into his hands. he whimpered at your tone, like an almost puppy getting scolded. "for the last time, the answer is no. the ladies are already waiting in the ballroom for you-" you would have continued, if it weren't for his puppy eyes.
he took that pause in your speech to interrupt you, "but whhhhy [name]? you know that i'm not interested in any of them, why make me sit there and pick one?" you scoffed at his words.
"prince phainon,"
"phainon." he insisted, you sighed.
"right, phainon. first, these gentlewomen are people, not produce. please talk about them as such." your tone softened slightly, "and i know you aren't, my prince. and while i am flattered at your proposal you know how this kingdom is, and you know what they would say. it's only for one night, and a few minutes for a dance, so please make my life easier and just endure it until it's over."
his idea was to bring you, his royal servant, as his suitor to the grand chrysos ball. you aren't sure what place this idea came from, but your sworn duty was dedicated to your prince-- including his reputation and future. this kingdom was not progressive enough to see a man, much less a servant of lesser status, dance with a crown prince. you hated saying no to him, and he knows that.
"okay.." he paused, then slowly perked up. "well can you at least do me the favour of accompanying me to see them, and introduce them to me?" he eyed you up and down, his eyes lingering on the stretch of fabric from your shirt a second longer then necessary.
"absolutely, follow me phainon." you were pleasantly surprised, watching him grab a few apple bunnies and hastily eating them then following you. you placed your hand on his back, feeling the thick material of his coat, then guiding him to a large oak door where you had his potential suitors waiting for him.
you pushed the door open, "damsels, may i introduce you to prince phainon, royalty of the kingdom of chrysos." your voice was polished as you pushed the door open, watching the lovely ladies blush and shy up at the thought of being in the same room as phainon. he smiled at them, before sitting on his royal chair, his face resting on one hand.
"[name], if you could please come up to the... madam, and introduce them to me, preferably closely and side by side." an eyebrow quirked up before you could stop it, and you cleared your throat. the first lady was beautiful, as they all were. a simple gold dress, and white gloves worn as she delicately grasped your hand. you led her in front of the prince, your hand still leading hers as you stepped beside her. "my prince, this is lady amsella." you were watching his reaction, and could feel the young lady beside you hitch her breath. he didn't even eye her up and down, his eyes dimming with boredom. "no, next please."
"my prince," you sighed, "please at least consider the damsel, who took time out of her day to appear before you today." you watched as he scanned her once, pausing for a few seconds just for the timing so that you couldn't say that he made his reaction in haste.
"no, [name]. she's lovely, but too... short." he then turned to you, eyes full of mischief and a plan. "next please." you simply sighed again, rubbing the hand of the girl comfortingly before leading her out the door where another servant would escort her out.
the next lady was eager, hand already grasping yours. her steps were one ahead of yours, and you smiled at her. "my prince, this is lady cassondra." she was about to say something, before he cut her off.
"nope, also too short."
"my prince, what height were you hoping your suitor would be? i can see what i can do." growing suspicion was already happening in your chest as you stood side by side to her.
"i'm hoping to find a suitor exceptionally similar to you, [name]. i want them to be as tall as you, as built as you, the same posture, the same hair and eye colour and facial features. did i forget anything?" he tapped his finger on his jawline, ignoring the growing whispers. the emphasis on suitors was no mistake. "oh! yes, and i want them to have the exact same personality and hairstyle as you." he just let out a beam at you, faux-innocence in his eyes. "i won't settle for anything less of this, this ball must be perfect and my suitor must be perfect. i won't settle for anything less!"
the ladies didn't even have to wait for you, and they were already leaving in a group of heels clicking, fans covering their mouths, giggles and hushed whispers. "do i make myself clear?" your eyes twitched and you clenched your fingers before smoothing them out. you turned to the women heading towards the exit, "my apologies madams, please see the servant on the right who will assist you out." your footsteps were sharp and punctuated before you closed the door.
once the sound of heels disappeared, you turned to phainon. "phainon, what the hell-" you slipped up, and you knew he loved it when he managed to break you out of the persona you have now. it always reminded him of how you were when you both were little. "what are you doing?! my prince, at this rate you would clear the entire kingdom of suitors before you blink." he just smiled at you again, crossing a leg and beckoning you closer.
"you heard me, [name]. that's my list of demands in finding a lady, as you insiiiiiiist on me having. if you can't find those demands, then i suppose the male counterpart that has those traits will do instead." he paused for a second. "y'know, you never used to care about titles like this, you, me, and all the heirs used to play around together in the meadows. i still have the flower crown you made me, so what changed?"
you could feel an ache in your chest, and you cleared your throat. "the kingdom doesn't work like that phainon, that was when we were young and reckless back then. what would your people think? what would the other heirs think?"
he scoffed, childish and pettiness in his eyes. you always loved how easy it was to see his emotions in them. "first off-- i'm still young, and reckless, i'd just rather spend my time playing with men-- preferably those that look like you, with your name, stature and characteristics, then wooden swords. and the other heirs would probably sigh because I got to you first." that made you pause, and he snickered when you looked at him questionably.
"you have no idea how many arguments we had over this, how we fought over who would be lucky enough to be the royal you served. mydei still complains about it whenever we spar, and anaxa sometimes writes it in his letters too. but you picked me. [name]. and i'm a prince, if anyone could rewrite the rules and customs it would be me."
you pinched the bridge of your nose, hair tickling your forehead. "phainon please, i'm just trying to look out for you. there is a suitor out there for you, and i will do anything it takes to find her."
thats when a bitter laugh escaped him, "her? how many times will it take to get to you, i have my heart, mind and soul dedicated to him. i want this ball to be special. now if you excuse me, i have to spar, and gossip with mydei now."
he turned and walked out, leaving you sighing in the now empty room.
----------
you hated to say it, but if phainon was one thing-- it would be stubborn. that stupid white haired man had rejected every single lady you put in that room. fuck, you even convinced a few male royals of his status in trying to appease him, yet he found a reason every. single. time. to decline them.
and that's where you were now, yapping orders down before turning to another servant. "that's all there is to it really, i can handle the rest if something comes up. please just make sure everything is in one piece for me, and i'll figure everything out." you adjusted your suit, grimacing on how you looked and how you got here. "are these suits always meant to be this tight?" your fill-in just shrugged.
thats when you heard the knock, joyful and happy. fuck, you could hear him skip down the halls humming a tune. "ohhhhhh [naaaaaaame]~" he sing-songed, "it's almost time for us to show ourselves, and I know you're never late. let me iiiiiiinnnnn~ i want to see your handsome faaaaace~" he didn't even wait for you to respond before barging in, not even glancing at the servant who paused for a moment to give you a questioning look then scampering off, no doubt overwhelmed.
you suppressed a groan. "hello, phainon. are you ready for our dance?" a light grimace painted your expression, a reminder on all the hours of trying to find the perfect match-- to try and prove him wrong, only for you to be getting dressed for a dance that was not destined for you.
he poked your cheek, "hehe~ you're so small from up here," you stood up abruptly, watching his neck slowly crane upwards to meet your unamused stare, "oh. hello~ i'm looking forward for our dance~"
you just sighed again, hand grabbing his casually when no one was watching. the two of you walked side by side, your eyes cautiously scanning around the vicinity to ensure no one was looking, before continuing. moments like this, especially before a big event where eyes sure would garner, were always nice. a moment of calm away from the eyes, and from the formalities. it was like you two were back to being teens, swinging hands and walking down meadows talking about your futures.
the doors suddenly seem larger, the music's opening notes starting. "you remember your steps, yes?" you didn't even bother looking at him, hands pushing the door open and guiding him inside.
the little shit was gleaming, snowy hair bouncing with each step like he succeeded in his plan. his eyes would dart to your face, taking in your side profile fondly before staring forward. he could hear the whispers covered by fans, the look of jealousy, or perhaps disgust? yet he didn't care, because if anyone in the kingdom could remake the rules, it would be him.
you however, were not as comfortable being in the spotlight, and your steps quickened to the floor almost unnoticeably. phainon squeezed your hand once, twice, before matching your pace. the two of you made it to the center of the room, where all the heirs and heiresses of chrysos were already dancing. each had their own partner, dressed to match the colour scheme of their date. you and mydei made eye contact, his pomegranate red suit catching your eye. he had a faint smirk on his lips before he side-stepped, his finger twitching like he wanted to reach for you instead of the missus he was in the midst of twirling.
phainon was dreaming of this moment with you, yet the moment when he was supposed to start showing off his formal dance skills-- his mind stopped working. he took a deep breath and tried to improvise, glancing at the combination of your dress shoes, and the other heirs doing theirs perfectly, and then your stupidly handsome face staring back at him with a quirked eyebrow.
he lasted about three eight-counts before he fumbled on his feet, brain glitching. he made contact with aglaea's gold-trimmed dress and was promptly met with a burning glare from her. he tried to spin you when everyone else was in the process of waltzing, and didn't even move his arm high enough for you to go under, leading you to an awkward crouch to complete the movement.
and just like that, he was fucking up. it wasn't a foreign feeling, but fuck he wanted to do so good for you, to prove that he could have his cake and eat it too. thats the thought that made his lower lip lightly tremble.
and if anyone were to notice, of course it would be you. a small huff of meaningless indigence left your nose before you paced faster, taking control. you rotate faster until he was on the lady's position, and stared at him with a look telling him to trust. you could hear his breath suck in, and the feeling of your heart pounding as you tried to ignore the stares of the nobles. but something felt right like this, having him trust you without a doubt, your hand dipping into the small of his back as you leaned down to support his dip. he just stared at you, wonderstruck like he unlocked a new key memory.
and for him-- he did. he really, truly did. his anxieties melted away the second you took control, and the feeling of your hands on him, and the look of guilty pleasure in your eyes as you dipped him a bit lower then normal just to make him tighten his grasp on your hand was engrained into him.
and slowly, ever so slowly, the people seemed to fade, just the sound of soft music and practiced, trusting footsteps remained. you didn't have to force yourself to not stare at the watching crowd, not when you had your stupidly handsome prince in your arms staring back at you with a slightly flushed face. it was like you couldn't look away, not when the feelings you had started bubbling back up.
you were a second early when you spun him to your chest, feeling his heartbeat and back flush against your chest and a second late to spin him around back into a waltz. it was like you were trying to squeeze out the most amount of time like this, before things had to go back to normal.
and phainon noticed, especially how your hand grasped his tighter for a few seconds like you were not wanting to let go, before unhooking one hand and adjusting the other to lead him off the dance area. the two of you were the last pair to leave, and the entire time until you were back to the main area had an increasingly tighter grip on him.
he was disappointed when you let go, but that didn't stop him from regrabbing your hand, dragging you to a servant with a platter of ambrosia in wine glasses and grabbing a few before ultimately deciding just to take the whole tray and wobbling both of you to the gates of the balcony, where the view overlooked the garden. he handed you a glass and before downing his own in one go, slamming the glass down. you stared at him, and his hand, before looking around to assess the amount of eyes on you, then turning around and doing the same thing as him, a poorly concealed grin on your face.
"can't believe we just did that, phai." you muttered into the wind, staring down into the gardens you helped design. phainon looked at you once more, moonlight catching your profile. the white and blue design of your less-fancy suit, and the light blue bells of the first snow in your suit pocket. his mouth suddenly felt dry.
he handed you another glass which you accepted, yet you placed the glass down soon after, and placed your hand on his, slowly intertwining them.
you two drank in silence until the platter was done, just getting tipsy and courageous and ever so slightly frisky. he didn't remember when your shoulders touched, or even when you started talking about the gardens because he was so focused on you.
he could feel your gaze on him, making him involuntarily stiffen up before you chuckled, lightly elbowing him. "you never changed, phai. just.. grew. your wife will be a lucky woman." there was a well concealed sadness and bitterness in your voice, one not many would be able to decipher.
phainon however, was one of the select few. he stared at you for a second, the alcohol definitely affecting him to make it feel like your words were the most treacherous to reach his ears. he could see eyes start to land on the two of you but he didn't care as he grabbed your hands and placed them on his hips. he could feel the warmth of your big palms leech through his suit. he huffed, real annoyance erupting him. "why don't you trust me enough to change things for us?" he placed his hands on the back of your neck, holding there.
you stiffened up, "i want to protect you from the eyes of this kingdom, phai. you can face monsters and mayhem all you want, but the people wield what is cruelest," you paused, "i would have failed in my duties if i let that happen, to you of all people. you-you'll find someone better one day, someone who can love you openly and fully without being looked down upon." you looked pained as you gritted out the words like they were painful, feeling something gut wrenching build up in your throat. "you deserve so much more then what i can give, phai-" you couldn't finish that statement, feeling him pull you down to hook lips with you.
the kiss lasted a second, all teeth and yearning before the grasp of your hands on his waist tightened, and you adjusted your lips to try and kiss him deeper. your eyes creaked open, seeing his white-clad arms around your neck, his royal blue shirt peeking through. you could see how his eyelashes fluttered in the wind as he shut his eyes and furrowed his brows trying not to let a noise slip, or how he kept tightening his grip on your neck.
you also saw and heard gasps and pointed stares, hushed whispers and nudges and head nods in your direction to the two of you through the windows.
except this time, you didn't really care. when this settles down tomorrow you will, and when you realize how terrible of an idea this is then you'd care then especially when it breaks what you tried so delicately to build for phainons sake.
yet his lips taste like honeyed fruit and ambrosia, and you can hear the faintest whimper from his lips. and you just don't care about tomorrow-- just the man in your arms.
the blue haired male made an unhappy noise when he noticed you unraveling yourself from him, but not when you pushed the door open and led him to your servant quarters. there were no cautious glances, just you leading him down with familiarity to your private quarters-- a perk for being the head servant for a chrysos heir.
he looked around and everything was painfully you. the minimalist decorations, the way you had trinkets and candies that you enjoyed in secret, or how it was clear that you cared much more for your mattress or small sofa than the plain wooden stool you had by your bed. he took a moment to glance around, brain disconnecting from the realizations of your actions before he heard your fingers work the locks, then the sound of fabric rustling as you pulled off your attire, throwing it onto the stool and knocking it over. you were shirtless now, and staring at phainon like you were gonna devour him before he was being pushed onto the mattress that smelt delightfully like you.
he barely had time to flip himself over, then you were on him like a starving man on his favourite food. you pressed against him, flush against his suited body while kissing him, one of your hands trailing from his chest to his jaw, fingertips gracing the skin to make him shiver then landing on his chin, gripping it so that you could stick your tongue in deeper just to hear him gasp and moan.
then you pulled away, staring at him and he gasped. you looked painfully good, all built while the lights highlighted everything he loved about you-- including the growing bulge in your dress pants. your hands were a mix of delicately removing his garments, and impatiently flexing your fingers wanting to rip the clothes off his body.
you shimmied him out of his pants, leaving him in his briefs before undoing your own. phainon didn't trust words, not when he couldn't find the right ones to describe how much he wanted you. he could, however, trust his hands when they cupped the straining bulge in your boxers that made you suck in your breath.
"can't wait, phai. need to wreck you, fuck. need to wreck you so bad that i ruin you for anyone else," you growled into his ear, feeling his shiver up his spine. "tell me you want it as much as i do, phai. god- tell me how much you want it." he just nodded frantically.
you ripped his briefs off, the noise satisfying your ears for a second. but his noises were making you insatiable for anything less then his body.
phainon just moaned at your roughness, and squealed when you grabbed him roughly, enjoying how he was at your mercy. you stroked him until he was full mast, thumb rubbing the tip before pulling away. you crowded over the man, who suddenly felt small under you, your eyes never left his, before one hand pried open his jaw, and the other forced two fingers into his warm, velvety mouth.
you played with his tongue, feeling him choke and gasp on the digits, then squirming in his spot on your bed. he tried to take it deeper slowly., just a bit past your second knuckle before gagging slightly. he kept staring at you, eyes daring for you to do more.
you pulled away, watching with baited breathes as a spit strand connected your fingers to his lips, then moved lower. you trailed the back of your hands down his thighs before spreading him apart, finger swirling his rim in a slow teasing manner, before slowly pushing one in.
he grimaced for a second at the feeling, but his eyes never left yours. you pushed another in, slowly and rather rushed, in stretching him out until he was decently prepped for your cock.
and when you pulled your boxers down and stroked yourself a few times, phainon gasped. it was... bigger then he thought, to say the least, and it looked like it was going to hurt. you spat on your hand to lube yourself up, then grabbing his ankles. you pushed him to the edge of the bed, and grabbed his feet to put them on your shoulders. you licked a stripe on the ball of his right ankle, before positioning yourself to fuck him.
you rubbed the tip around his rim, once... twice before pushing in one go, feeling him tense up against you. "take it, phai.. know you can..." you muttered into the air, feeling him shudder then shoved fully inside, enjoying the way his insides sucked you with those hot, velvety walls.
the first thrust pushed all the air out of his lungs, the second made him throw his head back trying to conceal a moan, the third made his eyes roll back and his breath shudder before he fisted your sheets. you barely gave him any time to adjust to your fat cock inside of him before you grabbed his knees and pushed him closer to you, pistoling your hips so that you can bury yourself as deep as possible.
"s'too-too much! s-slow down--nghh," you ripped the moan straight from his throat, eying him down like the sound was your reward, before jackhammering into him again just to watch his reaction. you kept fucking him, listening to his ragged whines and cut off moans whenever you hit his prostate. his guts were addicting, and stuffing him full was even better. your hips were getting sore, and so were your shoulders but fuck this man under you was addicting. being inside him, the man you tried to hide your love for, felt amazing.
"love how warm you are.." you pressed another kiss to his ankle, "so hot... like you're gonna suck me in, fuuuuuuucck.." you huffed, "feels, good right phai? well.. clearly, you're moaning like a slut beneath me.." you grinned at him, a haze glazing over you.
one hand sneaked away from his leg, landing on his stomach. you scraped your nails against his pale skin just to watch how his skin turned pink, and how his skin jiggled whenever your pelvis slapped against his thighs.
its quite easy to get lost in the sea of moans, especially when his legs snaked around your neck and pushed you on top of the white haired make. you just planted your hands on his, that were currently shredding your sheets into threads before pinning his wrists beside his head.
"can't get enough, huh baby? gotta stuff you niiiiiiice and full, so you remember the shape of my dick, baby.." you slurred against his lips before kissing him again, swallowing his moans and whines that were starting to get a bit too loud.
his cock pressed against your abs as the sound of skin slapping got louder, you could feel the slick precum wet your abs before you rolled your hips, watching the white of his eyes take over for a second as he gasped out a moan, shuddering his hips like he was trying to cope with your fat cock.
you could feel him gasp again when you hit his prostate, and his body tense up. his hole constricted against you, but you pounded through it anyways. his hands tensed up into fists but you pressed harder. "g'nna cum soon phai? from my cock? what a good prince.." as soon as that word rolled off your tongue he shot his load all over your abs, huffing, limbs going slack before he turned his head to the side, messy hair and sweaty features eying you wordlessly like he just got fucked an inch away from death
the sudden tightness made you groan, body tensing up like his. your toes curled as you frantically dropped his hands, going to his hips to push him down to meet your thrusts. the knot of your stomach came undone once you pushed from the tip to your balls in one go, feeling yourself get milked by his warm, gushy insides. you collapsed on top of him, rough hands brushing the hair from his face and pressing a sweaty kiss to his lips before pulling out. you could hear his hole squelch and the wet noises of your cum squirting from his hole onto your sheets. he just whined softly, straining to press a kiss to your jaw.
"felt so good letting lose, phai.." you nuzzled into his chin, "you might get me addicted to you more then i already am.." the man just huffed and tried to prop himself up on his elbows before failing and flopping back on your bed like jello
"are you saying-- fuck i'm sore-- that you're not already addicted to me to the max?" his voice sounded strained and hoarse and you laughed, a real one that was reserved for quiet moments like this where you weren't just his royal servant but his lover.
"my love, if i wasn't addicted to you then there's no way i would have survived all these years dealing with you." you pressed another kiss to silence his upcoming petty argument before realizing you still had the gala upstairs.
you couldn't give a shit though, and by the way he was grinning at you, neither did he.
summary. primed to someday become the head of your clan, you have always been the perfect dutiful son, doing everything for the greater good. but when exposed to satoru's laughter and constant casual disobedience, it's hard not to wonder how good selfishness might feel.
wc. 9.3k
tags. smut | dom top reader, sub bottom gojo. shy pillow princess gojo. face sitting, rimming, oral (gojo receiving), mating press, unprotected sex, rough sex, biting, crying (gojo), brief feminising language (gojo), multiple orgasms, praise/degradation, creampie
notes. idk how binding vows work lol
[ requested ]
Below you, Tokyo lies silent, the flicker of billboards and apartment lights twinkling in the velvet of night like columns of stars. The air is cool but crisp, and you are so high up that the chatter of civilians is lost to the wind. Even the rumble of cars and trains is soft, wispy. The sound is too heavy to pierce the atmosphere.
"Don't do it. There are people who love you."
You startle, whipping around. Satoru walks the ledge of the roof like it's a tightrope, arms stuck out for balance. The wind flutters in his white hair.
Your shoulders sag with relief. "Oh, it's just you."
"Hey there, handsome. Yanno, you could at least pretend to be happy to see me," he teases, skipping forward and jumping on your back. The toe of your shoe tips dangerously over the edge while he nuzzles into your neck, arms thrown around your shoulders. The tip of his nose is cold as ice, and you scrunch up your face as you wrap your hands under his thighs.
"Well, did you come with Suguru?"
He gasps, legs tightening around you. "Mou, that's so mean! I've known you for longer than he has. What makes him so good, huh?"
"He's sweet," you hum, shifting him on your back, "and kind. He makes good ramen and gives great hugs."
"I make good ramen." He tilts his head, gazing at the side of your face with those big baby blues. "Wait, when have you been hugging Suguru? Have you been seeing each other behind my back?" he accuses, eyes narrowing.
"No, stupid. We're friends, too, remember?" You set him down on the ledge beside you. He crosses his arms, pouting up a storm. "Besides, you have nothing to worry about. He's not you."
You tilt his chin up with your knuckle to make him look at you. He's still scowling, though it smooths out slightly when you remove his dark glasses and pop them on top of his head, using them like a headband to keep his windswept bangs back. You smile softly, one hand trailing down his cheek.
"You look like such a dork wearing sunglasses at night, you know that?" You chuckle, widening your arms just as Satoru huffs and steps closer, burying himself under your chin like a kitten. "Doesn't help that you act like a delinquent."
"Baby, stooop," Satoru whines, fingers curling in the front of your uniform. "Man, I come all the way out here to be alone with you, and you still bully me! Inconceivable. I accept apologies in the form of forehead kisses and cuddles."
"To be fair, you kind of deserve it," you snicker, only to cough when Satoru punches you in the chest hard enough to make you wheeze. It doesn't hurt â just knocks the wind out of you. "Uh, ow?"
"Too bad I like your face," Satoru says airily, cocking a hip and resting his hand on it. "I would've aimed at it otherwise. You could go and tell Suguru all about how you got a black eye in the shape of my fist."
"You're still on that? Never took you as the jealous type, Strongest Sorcerer," you tease. "Am I really that important to you?"
"Yes," he pouts, "and don't you forget it."
He leans up and kisses you â chaste at first, but when he pulls away to breathe and blinks slowly up at you, his eyes darken with need. He pulls you close, cupping the back of your head and running his tongue over your lower lip. You allow him entrance, and he moans softly at the cool, minty taste of your mouth.
Only when his lungs start to burn does he pull away reluctantly. He pants against your mouth, fingers curling in your hair, and you laugh softly, drawing his attention.
"What?"
"You've gotten better at kissing," you say, amused. "Where'd my innocent little Satoru go, hm? The one who'd cover his eyes when I changed and blush when we held hands? I miss him."
He attempts a glare, but his nose is adorably pink from the cold and his hair is a tousled mess. "You killed him. You and your stupid sexy body and pretty smile."
"Ah." You trail your hands lightly up his hips to his ribs, then back down. You spread your hands, measuring the size of his waist, and watch him stutter as your fingers touch. "I remember now. I think I prefer this Satoru â the other Satoru wouldn't hunt me down just for kisses."
He can't keep up the façade any longer and his face cracks with a grin. He throws his arms around you and buries his face in your shoulder, giggling. "It's not just kisses... I wanted to know what you were up to, sneaking off like that. You'll get in trouble."
You chuckle, wrapping your arms around him and swaying him lightly. "Really? When did you ever care about trouble?"
"When it involves you," he says, as if it's obvious. "You're, like, the goody-two-shoes of our group."
"Oh, fuck off," you laugh, shoving him aside. He staggers back, arms windmilling, and slips off the edge of the roof.
Your eyes widen and you rush to the edge, heart leaping into your throat. "'Toru!"
You scan the street below. There's nothing at the bottom. You close your eyes and sigh.
A mop of white pops up over your shoulder, staring down the side of the building.
"Pretty far down," Satoru observes.
"I hate you so much," you say half-heartedly, sitting down. He laughs brightly and launches himself into your side, making you catch him with an 'oof'. He presses his cheek against yours, squeezing your hand.
"I love youuu," he coos, eyes sparkling with the reflection of city lights. He plops himself down by your side. "But seriously. Why are you up here so late? Is today Sneak-Out Wednesday or something?"
You drape an arm over his shoulders, pulling him close. He hums contentedly, happy to share your warmth. Or steal it, more like. He's only wearing a hoodie. "Just getting mentally prepared for tomorrow. You ready?"
He groans. "Ugh, I'd totally forgotten about that. Which one of my cousins are you gonna choose?"
You smile and lift the hand across his shoulders to comb your fingers through his hair. "I haven't met them all, Satoru. How would I know?"
"I dunno, man. Wait â I'll help." He gets comfortable against you, half sprawled on your lap. "What's your type?"
You hum thoughtfully. "Tall, silly. Stronger than me? I like a person who can beat me up."
He giggles, rolling his eyes. His feet kick absently over the ledge, dirty white sneakers swinging over the city. "You won't get all three, you know."
"Aw, that sucks. Guess I'm stuck with you."
"Glued," he agrees, laying his head on your shoulder. He points somewhere in the distance â you follow his finger to a spot of light on the edge of the city, half-hidden amongst the trees. "The college looks so tiny from here. You ever wondered what it'd be like, going to a normie school? We'd be getting ready for a graduation party, maybe thinking about college entrance exams. Instead, I have to watch you marry someone other than me, then be forever resigned to exploring stinky mouldy buildings. My life is unimaginably sad."
His words are dramatic, his tone exaggeratedly defeated, but you know there's weight behind them. You lay your head on top of his, gazing out across the city, and hold him close.
"You could write a tearjerker movie out of it," you say softly. "Make a million dollars and never have to work again."
He nods, a small smile crossing his features. "Yeah. You could."
He turns towards you, pressing his lips feather-light against your jaw, then settles down again. You play with his soft white hair, edged in the moon's silver light, and sit in quiet contemplation. A crane on a nearby skyscraper blinks slowly with a red light, counting the minutes as they pass.
"Hey," you say suddenly, tapping his cheek. He sits up. "Is that a helicopter or a shooting star?"
You point up into the inky sky, and Satoru gasps. There, crossing the black velvet sea, is a bright spark of light arcing over the skyscrapers. "Shooting star," he laughs, eyes wide with delight. "I didn't know one was set to pass by tonight. The news didn't say anything about it."
"Then quick â make a wish, 'Toru," you whisper with a smile, your hand dropping to squeeze his. "If we're the only two to see it, maybe the magic is stronger."
He raises your hand, clasps it between both of his, and lifts them to his chest. Satoru closes his eyes and makes a wish.
â
Sneaking back in is harder than going out. Probably because you're hand-in-hand with Satoru, who can't find the strength to stop giggling whenever you tug him out of sight of a hall monitor's torchlight. The grounds used to be empty until six A.M., but after Satoru smuggled a chicken into his room one night, the teachers began random patrols every so often.
"Shh," Satoru hushes, even though you're quieter than he is. He tugs your hand, darting across the hallway. "My room's closer. You can sleep with me. C'mon, c'mon."
He slaps his pockets for his keys and slips a silver key in â then swaps it for another silver one with a gold star sticker on it. You give him a look, glancing both ways down the shadowy hall, and he swallows his laughter, fiddling with the door. "Sorry, sorry â I'm trying my best, baby..."
At last, he pushes open the door. He tugs you inside immediately, hushing you again, and inches the door closed to be as quiet as possible. He flicks on the light, tossing his glasses and keys onto his messy desk. Then, safe in the warm yellow light of his dorm room, he turns to you and leaps into your arms for a kiss.
You catch him with ease. He's been doing it since you were children, and you've come to expect it, even in the strangest of times. Sort of like how a shark sleeps with half its brain alert at a time to make sure it keeps swimming; the instinct is always there.
"That was fun," Satoru whispers, smiling against your lips. "We should do it again. Tell me next time you wanna ditch, okay? Then I don't have to stalk you like a creep."
"You could have called my name or something," you huff. "I just wanted some fresh air. We could have gotten noodles or snacks together."
"But where's the fun in that? At least I've gotten better at going undetected while following someone. It might come in handy someday."
"You gonna become my crazy, obsessed boyfriend?"
He bites his lip to hide his smile as you carry him to his bed, placing him down with a bounce. "May-be," he laughs, kicking his feet above the floor. He leans forward, the picture of innocence. "You're way too attractive for your own good, so I have to protect you from all those evil phone numbers, yanno? Plus, I'm the only one who deserves you. Nobody else is good enough, and they should know that."
"Already halfway there, I see," you quip, amused. He nods with a grin, kicking his sneakers off, and tugs you down into bed with him. You steal a moment to neaten his shoes and place yours beside them.
Satoru lies down, shuffling over with a soft sigh to be as close as possible to you. He blinks up at you, his hands clasped gently near his cheek. You rest an arm over his waist.
"Feeling tired?" he asks in a low, soft voice.
You shrug one shoulder, your hand tracing random shapes into his back. "Not really. You?"
"Neither," he whispers. His eyes flicker with anticipation. "I actually... I planned to sneak into your room tonight. That's how I noticed you were gone. I thought you might want to..."
Shyly, he guides your wrist from his waist down to his ass. You squeeze and he jumps and blushes, his fist curling automatically into the front of your shirt.
"Yeah?" you murmur, hooking your finger under the waistband of his baggy joggers. You trace his warm skin and he shivers, blue eyes trained on you. "You missed me, did you?"
"Mmhm," he breathes, his heart rate picking up as you tug his hoodie up over his stomach and place your hand flat against his ribs. He lets out a soft moan as your thumb grazes his nipple, pebbling with exposure to air. When you move to go lower, he grabs your wrist and keeps your hand on his chest, his breathing already slightly ragged. "You just look so perfect all the time â so big and strong and pretty. And when you were sparring with Suguru this afternoon, he grabbed your shirt to flip you over, and because you resisted your shirt went way up... Do you know what the serratus anterior muscles are? 'Cause I do."
"Oh, poor thing â have you been needy the whole day?" Your thumb rolls over his nipple, making him gasp. "I've been a terrible boyfriend."
"Yeah," he breathes, slipping his hands beneath your shirt and exploring the planes of your stomach and sides. You are warm, and your muscles flex with the cold of his hands. You pull him closer, noses brushing. "You should apologise for that."
You smile as you move to hover over him, hand braced by his head. He widens his legs automatically, letting you slot between them, and you lay your front gently against him â not moving, just there. Constant. You cup his face and lean down to kiss him, sweet and slow. He moans quietly between them, his hands roaming your sides and back. You shift, and something pokes your thigh.
Pulling back slightly, you smirk down at his red cheeks. "Hard from a few kisses, Satoru?"
He whines, bucking against your leg. "Don't be mean... I touched myself earlier, okay? It's not all 'cause of you."
"So you admit to being a perv?"
He smacks your chest, brows furrowing cutely. "Hey...! Don't put words in my mouth. 'M not a perv."
"What a shame â 'cause I am," you say cheekily, kissing your way down his jaw and throat. "Can I eat you out, princess?"
He lets out a strangled noise as you kiss his exposed stomach, his hoodie tugged up over his chest. You gaze up at him between his thighs, eyes hungry and playful.
He glances at the clock on his desk. Two in the morning.
"Fine," he exhales, swallowing. "Fine, you can."
"Best thing I've heard all day," you reply with a canine smile, tugging his joggers down his hips. He huffs, letting you do as you like with his body. You tug him down to the foot of the bed, making him squeak, and settle on your knees with his thighs over your shoulders. His pink-flushed cock twitches, half-chubbed.
You engulf it in your fist and kiss the mushroom tip, lapping at it and grinning as he whines, fisting the pillow below his head.
"Something wrong?"
He nods, a pout on his lips as he props himself up on his elbows. "You said you'd eat me out. That's not it."
"I'm getting there, baby. Why? Do my oral skills leave something to be desired?"
Satoru almost corrects you â it's 'oration', silly â until he realises that no, you meant what you said.
"No," he mumbles, breath hitching as you spit on his cock and smear it down his shaft. "Ah â I just... I'll come too fast if you keep doing that."
Your expression turns thoughtful. As you slip your tongue beneath his foreskin, swirling around his tip, he trembles, thighs tightening around your head. He mewls.Â
"Mm â I wasn't joking when I said I'd come!"
"It's cute that you want to be good for me," you say, stroking him lazily. "But tonight can be special. Wanna watch you melt."
He gulps at the hunger in your eyes.
The slick nubs of your teeth dig into his creamy thighs, slender and silky-smooth. He smells like his milk-honey bodywash, sweetly luxurious, and his scent is delectable. It makes your mouth water. You bury your face in the junction between his torso and his soft inner thigh with a low groan, caressing his hip and squeezing until your fingers sink into his supple thigh. He shivers, blushing yet undeniably aroused at the sight.
He gulps. You wink up at him and take his cock into your mouth, washing away any protests. He moans sharply as you take him to the base, throwing his head back as your throat convulses around him, tighter and hotter than any toy. His bruise-bitten thighs close around your head and his ankles cross behind you. You let out a rumbling hum and his hips jerk up. You pin him down.
"I â ahâ! Hah â baby," he whimpers, hands shooting down to your head between his thighs, bobbing steadily as your hot tongue curls around his length. "Ah, wait, stop... Hn...!"
His legs lock around your head as you swallow him whole, his throbbing cock twitching in the wet heat of your mouth. Your lips are soft yet firm, a tight vacuum around his base, and you groan lowly at the taste of his precome spurting onto your tongue.
Pleasure strikes his nerves, burning up his spine. He moans your name, voice pitching higher, and his back arches as you pull away with a wet pop, swiping a thread of precome from the corner of your lips and licking it from your thumb. Your lips curve up into a taunting smirk as Satoru thrusts his hips up towards you, burying the heels of his hands into his eyelids with a wobbly whine.
"Please," he whimpers, and his thighs tremble with his aborted orgasm. You chuckle and shift to lie beside him, propping your head on your palm.
"Please what?"
He stares at you unseeingly with wet blue eyes. "H-Huh...?"
"Please what?" you repeat, smile turning smug. "You told me to stop. So I did."
His breath catches in his throat.
"Oh my god, you're s-such a dick," Satoru sniffles, head rolling in your direction. He grips the sheets and tucks his knees up, subconsciously trying to peak the high you'd dropped
so unceremoniously. He clenches his eyes shut and braces himself. "Eat me out, please! I want you to eat my ass, okay? Is that what you want to hear?"
"Verbatim," you purr, deftly grabbing him and pulling him on top of you. The mattress creaks with the shift in weight, and Satoru swallows hard, panting softly. He blinks down at you, tilting his head in that dream-hazy way.
"Baby?" he mumbles, voice soft and confused.
"Sit on my face."
His mouth falls open.
Then his eyes go big and sad, like a kicked puppy. "W-What? Why? Did I do something wrong?"
"Never, baby. I just can't always do all the work for you. You have to learn at some point â you know that, yeah?"
"But I don't... know how." His words are quiet with shame. He's always been perfectly happy being a pillow princess and giving up all control to you.Â
What if he did something wrong? What if you didn't feel good? Giving you control of his body meant you could do as you liked with it and take your pleasure. What if he couldn't make you come?
"I know. I'll guide you." Seeing his hesitation, your voice softens. "Do you trust me, 'Toru?"
He nods immediately, hands curling into sweater paws on your chest. He glances over his shoulder at the far wall. He shares that wall with Suguru, and if he concentrates, he can hear the steady beat of his heart, slow with sleep. He gulps, gnawing on his lower lip.
"Okay," he whispers. "Okay. For you."
Something about it makes his heart hammer harder than usual. He shuffles up to your chest, then halts. He hovers there unsurely. He glances up at you for help.
"Turn around and kneel over me, sweet thing. Good â just like that."
He blushes as he braces against your stomach, back arching. He's overtly aware of his stiff cock, bobbing over your mouth. "Like this...?"
"Mmhm. Fuck, you look so damn good like this, 'Toru. Got such a perfect little cock and ass." You reach up, guiding his cock to your lips, and you kiss his leaky tip, making him shiver and swallow a whimper. You reach around him and grab two handfuls of his ass, spreading him open. His pink hole, slightly gaped from his earlier prep, winks at you. You lick your lips and tug him down towards you, making him gasp as your lips make contact with his body.
He shivers, thick white lashes fluttering as you kiss his puffy rim, your tongue laving over it every so often. "Mmâ!"
Sometimes he wishes you'd be rough with him for once. Even now, with your teeth scraping against his sensitive inner thighs and making him moan as you dig your thumbs into the ruddy bite marks blooming across his pale skin, it's more pleasure than pain. It'd be less embarrassing to moan and cry at that sort of treatment than when you're practically making out with his asshole, being tender and loving even when you pull his ass close to your face.
But you know him better than you know yourself. His desires are imbued in every movement, and you're a good boyfriend. Maybe rather too indulgent, but Satoru wouldn't be himself if he weren't a little spoilt.
He's afraid to put more weight on you, that much you can tell. Satoru's not even that heavy â he's all lanky long limbs right now, much to his annoyance â but he's clearly unwilling to smother you. Which is a right shame â his preference for sweets extends to his choice of flavoured lube, and you're more than happy to sample it.
You tug him away to spit on his hole, and he whines shakily as you rub it into his skin and lick up the glob of saliva dribbling down his taint. His back arches. "O-Oh, fuck, you're so gross...!"
"I'll stop, if you want."
"Don't stop," he says immediately, then blushes as if he didn't mean to say anything at all. His knuckles whiten. "I-I wanna come."
"As you wish," you hum, more than a little gleefully. You can just make out his voice calling you a pervert before you bury your tongue inside him again. After that, everything that comes out of his mouth is a whiny moan.
Your own cock strains uncomfortably in your pants, and since Satoru's ridiculously spoilt, you have to take it into your own hands. You lower one hand to palm yourself as your tongue flicks over his puffy rim, circling it and kissing it like you can't get enough.
Satoru wiggles his hips with a whimper as you drag your tongue over his sensitive hole, blush-pink and twitching. Abruptly, you pin his thighs down with both hands and stuff your tongue inside him, making him squeal and throw his head back, his expression warm and dazed. You press open-mouthed kisses to his hole as your long tongue flits against the spot inside him that makes him see stars.
"Hnngh, fuckâth-that's good..." Satoru's soft thighs tighten around your head and you groan, muffled. He watches, panting, enraptured, as you blindly fish your cock out from the confines of your underwear and start to stroke yourself, a sight that makes saliva build up in Satoru's mouth. He licks his lips, pupils dilating.
A tight ball of jealousy burns in his chest as he remembers how insistent your clan is on your legacy and bloodline. As the only male heir, you were expected to produce many children â a duty which reminded Satoru uncomfortably of cows and horses, bred for certain favourable characteristics until out pops a baby they like. You rolled your eyes whenever it was brought up at clan meetings, and if Satoru sat in on them â because who was going to say no to him? â you were always quick to reassure him that he'd be the only one in your heart, regardless of whichever pretty cousin of his they chose for you.
He's had some really wild ideas before, like sneaking into the selection of girls and dressing up in the bridal garb. He's sure he could get away with wearing a veil. It's not like his cousins would care, either â none of them seemed too enthused about being shackled to a stranger for the rest of their lives.
He wishes he didn't care so much. That his amused comments didn't ring so hollow. You always promised you'd love him forever, that you'd continue to see him irrespective of your marriage, but Satoru didn't know how to say he didn't want to be your secret. He wanted a ring, and a shared bed, and a hyphenated last name.
It didn't seem like a lot, but to Satoru, it meant the world.
Your tongue slides deep inside him and he lets out a sharp moan as you pin him down, forcing him still. His ass is soft and pretty, and you lament the fact that he doesn't allow you to do this very often. You would eat him out every night if you could.
Lost in the pleasure, he doesn't notice when he starts to rock his hips, pushing them down on top of you. He's adorably clumsy, movements jerky and uneven, and he nearly slips and gets a faceful of your dick when your tongue meets his prostate halfway through a bounce. He scrambles to sit up again, cheeks pink and chest heaving as he reaches behind you to grab your hair. He whines shakily, wiggling his hips, and you groan into him, pulling him down when he tries to lift himself up.
You asked him to sit on your face. You did not ask him to hover half an inch above your face.
Satoru trembles, gasping as you spread him wider with your thumbs and lick the inside of his rim. It doesn't help his state to have your cock filling his vision, every twitch and throb noticed in supernatural clarity. His Six Eyes are, for once, making him shy.
"Feels good," he whispers shakily, rocking his hips. "Feels really, really good..."
You hum, pleased, and he stutters out a gasp as his back arches. He tugs his hoodie up, his dick jolting towards his stomach, and he wraps a hand around it with a trembling lower lip.
The relief is instantaneous. He moans, soft and shy, as he squeezes his shaft every time your tongue thrusts in. His head tips back with a shaky exhale.
He whimpers as you practically force him to ride your face, your firm hands pushing and pulling. His cheeks burn hot, and he throws an arm over his eyes as he braces against your chest, hips moving messy and desperate on their own.
Breath hitching, Satoru presses his hips down, and the rapid flicks of your tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside him is too much. His muscles flex, body stiffening, and he jerks as his cock spurts thick white ropes of come onto your chest and stomach. Every stroke of your tongue against him pulls forth another pulsing shot, and Satoru whines, half-pained, as you drag out his high as long as you can.
He gasps, sucking in shallow breaths, as you finally let him up. He falls forward, thighs trembling, and his back arches as he relaxes, a natural thing of beauty. His hole winks, puffy, pink, and slick with saliva and lube.
"F-Fuck," he whispers as he feels you sit up behind him, wrapping your arms around him and peppering kisses along the nape of his neck. "You â You're dangerous..."
"You don't know the half of it," you chuckle, caressing his sides and his little waist. "Ready, pretty thing?"
He gulps but nods, and he's pliant as you manoeuvre him onto his back. You slip between his twitching thighs and he thinks he knows where it's going â until you grab his calves and throw them over your shoulders. He yelps, suddenly far more exposed.
His cock twitches, and you notice with a smirk. "Excited, are we?"
He nods fervently, reaching down and spreading his ass with his hands. The lube smeared across his skin makes it harder, and he has to dig his nails in to properly show off his eager hole. "Yes, yes â put it in, don't go easy. Please."
That's all you need to hear. Your smirk turns savage.
"Oh, shitâ! Fuck!"
Satoru gawps up at you with wide, teary azure eyes, pale thighs pressed up to his chest and marked with bruises in the shape of your teeth. The slap of your hips against his ass, quick and rough, yanks strings of whiny moans from his throat. With one hand he grabs the back of his knee and with the other he clamps a hand over his mouth, and his eyes squeeze shut as your cock slams into his swollen p-spot.
"Fuck," you hiss, gaze trained on the join between your bodies. The excessive amount of lube squelches with each thrust and drips down his taint, smearing against the firm curve of his ass. Your dick glistens with it. "So fucking good f'me, aren't you, 'Toru? You take my cock like you were born for it."
He whimpers behind his fingers, his toes curling as you lean down and fold him even further in half. A ruined cry slips through, loud and sharp, and he clenches tight around you in fear. Your nails dig into his thigh with a low groan.
He can't speak. If he opens his mouth, he can't predict what noises might come out.
"My baby has a perfect little hole," you say, voice deep and raspy. Satoru shudders, his ignored cock bouncing against his stomach and leaking copious amounts of pre into the neat white curls between his thighs. Carpet matches the drapes. You tug him closer on your lap and he gasps as you lean down to kiss him, pinning his hands to the bedsheets and interlacing your fingers.
"Such a perfect little pussy..." you continue in a mindless murmur, and Satoru whimpers against your lips, eyes rolling back as he nods feebly. His slick walls ripple around you and his grip tightens on your hands. "C'mon, princess. Wanna hear you say it."
He swallows, panting hard like he's run a marathon. With red cheeks and dark, lust-blown pupils, Satoru hiccups, halfway to tears. His kiss-swollen lips are plump and parted.
"I caaan't," he whines, flushed chest heaving as your cock drills his tender hole. His feet bounce in the air over the breadth of your shoulders. "Ah, ahâ! 'S embarrassing..."
"Say it. Tell me how you were born to be my needy little slut. I'll leave you right here if you don't."
Satoru's jaw drops in pleasure and his eyes flutter as you fuck him deeper â but you move so slowly on each pass that it feels like an eternity. He lets out a pained sob, baring his hickey-covered neck to you. "You're s-so mean, oh, god...! 'M your needy slut!" he squeals, voice pitching high to that bratty, whiny tone that annoys almost everybody. You like it because it belongs to Satoru, though, and you like Satoru. "'M gonna come, oh fuckâI'm a cock-slut, 'm your bitch, 'm your dumb pretty pussy! Please jus' fuck me hard alreadyâ!"
You grin, dark and predatory. "You asked for it."
He seizes up, svelte limbs trembling as you bury your cock hilt-deep inside him, stretching him out like nothing else can. Your balls slap against his ass until his skin turns red. His hot, gummy walls stroke your dick with every clench.
With a cry, he comes, toes curling and spine arching as far as he can. His hands clutch yours as he gasps and moans, unable to silence himself even as his voice echoes off the walls â but it feels too good to ask you to stop.
His cute cock jerks. Pulses of thick white come spray his toned stomach and chest. You slam into him and tauntingly drag your cock out, forcing the full length of your cock into his slick hole over and over again. Tears glitter along his lashes, clumping them together, and he mewls and hiccups, each thrust of your hips forcing out another spurt of his come.
"O-Ohâ!" he yelps, voice rising at the end in a whiny pornographic moan. "Oh, ooh, fuck, f-feels really g-good! Your cock feels really good! Don't stop, don't ever stop, pleaseâ"
It strokes your ego unimaginably hard to have Gojo 'The Strongest' Satoru begging for your dick. Worshipped, revered, deemed untouchable, yet surrendering to something as vulgar and animal as lust... The thought alone gets your pulse racing.
"It'd be so cute if everyone could see you like this." Your hot breath fans his ear as you cup his ass, keeping him still even as he squirms. "They'd all know what a slutty little crybaby you really are. Who woulda thunk it?"
Thought it, Satoru thinks desperately. It's 'thought it'. You're playing with him, teasing his irrational need to correct people. What a nerd. All he manages to let out is a cry of pleasure as your dick scrapes along his walls, the sheer size of you making it so that rubbing his prostate is a given. His mouth falls open and he comes with a sob, fingers twisting in the sheets by his head.
"Ah! Ah, fuck," he sobs thickly, voice caught in his throat. His back arches, body flexing and jolting. Tears well up in his eyes. "Fuckfuckfuck, 'm not a crybaby, ohh â 's too much, pluh-please, please, baby, I c-can't think...!"
He wails as his eyes roll back, a second orgasm crashing into him as your thick tip grinds into his prostate, so rough and sudden that it feels like you're squeezing his balls. It feels so good it hurts.
He goes limp in your hands, moaning and babbling drunkenly as his body flexes and twitches, his slick hole squelching and fluttering around you. Soft, warm, soaking wet â it really does feel like a pussy now.
"You're a good boy, ain'tcha? Then you'll take it. You'll beg for it. Go on, pretty thing. Beg me to come inside you. Beg me to fill you up." You grunt, pinning Satoru's knees to his flushed chest, and fuck him so hard the bed threatens to smack the wall.
He flails slightly, one hand reaching up to press against the headboard. He's uncoordinated, drooling, and blushing so hard he looks like a tomato, and he's the most gorgeous thing you've seen in your life. He blinks up at you with half-lidded eyes, his plump pink lips parting even as he tries to bite back his cries.
"Please, baby," he slurs, groping around for your hand. He finds one and drags it to his chest, cradling it against him â it's a little uncomfortable with the angle, but he looks so protective that you can't bring yourself to care. His white hair is a few shades darker at the tips, stuck to his damp temples, with the rest spread like a bright halo across the rumpled bedsheets. Glittering tears trail down his warm cheeks.
"Please come inside," he continues in a sweet whisper, voice broken and raspy from the volume of his moans. He tries his best to maintain eye contact despite his glossy eyes. "R-Ruin me for everyone else. Come in me â in my tummy. Come inside as muh â hah â much as you want. I love it." His trembling fingers tighten around yours, not as strong as they usually are. Poor thing's exhausted, but he still puts on a wobbly, glassy-eyed smile for you. "I love you."
"Fuck, 'Toruâ!" The mattress creaks as you slam your throbbing cock into him â once, twice, thrice â before you bite down into his shoulder and paint his insides white, your balls pulsing hot and heavy against his clenching ass. He mewls, weak spurts of creamy warmth glazing his already-messy stomach, and one of his legs slips from your shoulder. Quickly, he wraps it around your waist, his hips jolting up to meet yours. You caress the thigh hooked over your elbow, keeping your pace slow and gentle as you ride out your highs together, foreheads pressed against one another and breaths mingling.
Yours lasts longer than his, on account of all the prior ones he's had. Regardless, he takes it all without complaint, whimpering sweetly as you fuck thick come back into his hypersensitive hole. The pleasurable burn almost tingles.
At last, when you pull out, you take your time, and Satoru mews in soft protest as your spend leaks out of his puffy, gaping rim. He reaches down through his own sticky mess and gathers it on his fingers, pushing it back in, and only stops once you carefully let down his other leg. He places his hands on your sides with a shuddering sigh, sinking into the kisses and bruises you suck into his neck. A possessive part of his heart swells in pride when he swipes his come-wet fingers along your side.
There. You're marked with the mixture of his come and yours â like animals, you are his territory.
When you roll over onto the bed with a soft exhale, Satoru wastes no time in splaying out over you, wrapping you up in his long limbs like a koala. He entwines your legs with his, his head tucked into the crook of your neck, and snuggles into your arms with a dreamy sigh, his eyelids already dragging down.
He can feel your heartbeat under his palm, gradually slowing after all the excitement. His neck aches pleasantly, sharper where you bit him hard, and he lifts his head, eyes still closed, to nibble his own lazy hickeys into your shoulder. You cup the back of his head, holding him against your neck. He hums. He feels warm and fuzzy.
When he settles back down, too sleepy to wash up and in no way ready to let go of you, he faintly hears you murmur something, sounding faraway and blurry. You hold him close and he smiles to himself, already fading into dreams. It sounded a lot like I love you, too.
â
Satoru is trying really hard to stay awake. Every time he blinks, the darkness attempts to consume him. It's growing difficult to resist â especially because his clan's matchmaker is reading a speech from paper, and some people are terrible at reading aloud. No inflection, bad pauses, that sort of thing. Every sentence sounds like she's rattling off a list.
She's old, so Satoru can't bully her too much for being bad at public speaking. Instead, he plays with the bow on a little girl's headband.
The girl's probably around three years old â the age where they can escape surprisingly fast after being stuck crawling for most of their lives. He'd spotted her peeking around the edge of a cracked-open shoji door, so he doesn't think she's supposed to be here, but Satoru always encourages curiosity and disobeying orders. Now, she sits across his lap, quietly watching the goings-on with a thumb in her mouth.
You look dashing in your formal attire, glossy silks embroidered with your clan emblem and pooling elegantly around your kneeling figure. Your expression is calm and polite, but Satoru sees the way you run your thumb obsessively over the back of your other hand. You're thinking some pretty heavy thoughts. He can't blame you.
Across from you is a line of girls around your age â some a couple of years younger, some older. All of them bear the Gojo clan's famous white-blonde hair, though their eyes vary in shades of dark obsidian to titanium steel.
His clan doesn't churn out special-grade sorcerers every time. Most range from middling to above-average, hindered by their lack of the Six Eyes. Your family, however, has strong sorcerers in every generation, and something about your technique makes sure that it is always expressed, even if mixed with another clan's or altered in some way. Like a dominant gene, Satoru supposes.
Anyway, Satoru has a lot more girl cousins his age than he thought. Probably since he's always been separated from the rest of the clan in an attempt to keep him on track. He sees a lot of himself in them: the sharp features, the slender builds... Honestly, if he grew his hair out, he'd look quite similar to them. He has really pretty eyelashes, after all.
He sighs quietly, dropping his gaze to the pink headband and playing with it. The ribbon bow is glued to one side. The kid is quiet and doesn't wriggle, so he's alright with holding her for a little while longer.
Earlier, he promised you that he'd stay for the matchmaking. Maybe it's a good thing that he has a toddler weighing him down because a big part of him wants to get up and stomp out.
It's not fair. It's just not fair.
The matchmaker's doing all sorts of magic mumbo jumbo now, comparing your palm to the girls' and making each of them pour tea to see which pot pours most auspiciously or whatever. Satoru watches dully, unable to hide his disinterest. Tradition is so overrated.
But it's the way the world works, and nothing he can do will change everything right this second. If he were born a girl, he'd probably be in that line-up, and then you'd be free to eeny-meeny-miny-moe your way to him.
He looks up. Everyone's standing now. Automatically, he stands too, shifting the girl onto his hip. The time has come for you to choose, and you reveal an intricate kanzashi from the depths of your sleeve. The glass hairpin's flowers are icy blue, and the stick is uneven to mimic nature â the whole effect is that it was made in one piece, and that you'd frozen a flowering branch in its most beautiful moment. Several chains of jewels hang from the flowers, like dewdrops dripping off the leaves, and the precious gems catch the light, sending sprays of prismatic colour across the room.
It's a stunning piece. Anyone would be proud to wear it.
You step forward, surveying the girls before you. You've met some of them before â fleetingly, as Satoru dragged you down the halls by the hand. They know you well enough to know you're not cruel, and that your family would welcome them kindly. Still, who wants their life decided for them?
The act of giving the hairpin initiates a binding vow. You must protect and care for the recipient for the rest of your life, giving your life if need be. It's a heavy vow, unique to your clan. Whatever makes you a stronger sorcerer, you suppose with a slow rise and fall of your shoulders.
You catch Satoru's eye. He's off to the side next to the girls, and he offers a small, encouraging smile, his eyes uncovered and brilliantly blue.
He'll love you regardless of what decision you make. He doesn't think he could stop loving you.
Glancing down at the hairpin in your hands, you quickly drag the pointed tip against your palm, drawing blood. The deep red soaks into the hairpin like the twisting ink of a glass dip pen. It shimmers with cursed energy, the binding vow coming into effect. Whoever's blood touches it next will be bound to you... forever.
You swallow hard. The blood on your palm is already congealing, but the blood in the hairpin is as vivid red as ever. It'll stay that way until the vow is fulfilled. It's rather macabre to imagine someone walking around with a decoration carrying your blood in their hair, but at least it's aesthetically quite pretty. Blue and red go together nicely. Satoru would know.
Satoru.
He's still there, watching silently. He's not looking at you this time, his gaze downcast, and his expression is a perfectly crafted mask of porcelain serenity.
You twirl the artisanal hairpin in your hands gently. Making it was a real lesson in patience. Patience... and independence.
The silks of your kimono whisper against your skin as you come to a stop in front of Satoru. Murmurs of confusion ripple across the room.
He lifts his eyes, blinking warily at the mischief dancing in your eyes. Quickly, he sets the girl on the ground, and she scampers to the back of the crowd to not be caught. His lips part, his next words barely an exhale. "What on earth are you doing?"
"Something terrible," you whisper, and it's less of an explanation and more like a promise. Your eyes are bright, your heart thudding against your ribs, as you lift the kanzashi, the glittering jewels draped elegantly over your fingers. You pay no mind to the clan elders stepping forward in warning. "Do you love me?"
"More than anything. I just don'tâ"
"Would you want to spend the rest of your life with me?" you say urgently.
"Obviously. I've been dreaming about it forever. Butâ"
Your gaze softens and you lower your voice to something private, intimate. "Satoru. Satoru... Do you trust me?"
It's as if the rest of the voices fall away. All he can see is you â your smile, the glimmer in your eyes. Your cursed energy tingles against his skin, as if waiting with bated breath for the vow to complete â for the chain links to fold end-to-end and become inseparable.
He nods, not trusting his voice. You take his hand â someone from his clan darts forward, alarm sharp in their voice â and you slash a pretty red line across his pale, unblemished skin. He sucks in a breath, eyes wide, as the glassy flowers soak in the mixing blood, creating petals with stunning gradients. The hollow inside fills with red, twisting and curling with the glass like vines on a branch, and potent cursed energy swirls around your hands, clasped in his.
He can feel it. It tugs at his soul, warms him, and settles deep in his chest like a hot tea going down.
Someone yanks you away by the shoulder and Satoru's soul spikes with pain as your hand escapes his. Mindlessly, he steps forward, arm outstretched, before he catches himself and pulls his hand to his chest. He's gripping the hairpin in a white-knuckled fist.
"What," the man says, his deep frown darkening the furrows of his brow, "have you just done?"
"I chose my partner," you say with a wide, astonished grin, unable to help the surprised laugh that bubbles out of you. "Didn't you see? The vow's complete. I belong to Satoru now."
"That wasn't the plan. That wasn't what we agreed to!" The man whirls around, glaring at a group of similarly-aged sorcerers. Two are from your clan, and they stare at the scene before them with wide eyes. "Can it be reversed? You. Answer me."
"No," you pipe up behind him, and you flash your usual charismatic smile. It doesn't seem to work on him, though. He's wound too tight. "A vow's a vow. Technically, my death breaks it, but Satoru could die, too. You lot have been working him to the bone to become stronger, haven't you? I've just boosted his potential, so surely you don't want to kill him. You should be thanking me."
The man reaches for you, jaw tight, as if he wants to drag you outside and give you a piece of his mind. Understandable, of course. You've just stolen their golden boy off the market, their pride and joy â and worse? Satoru doesn't even seem to mind.
Satoru steps in front of you, his usual smile absent. He stares at the older man, blue eyes narrowing slightly. "Don't even think about touching him."
"He broke the agreement. Please step aside."
"Nah. I don't feel like it," he says, as easy as anything. "Besides, what rules did he break? He came here, unarmed, and chose a Gojo child to take as his spouse. Well, I wouldn't say I'm a child, but in that case, neither is Hanako." He gestures to her. "She's older than both of us."
A muscle in his jaw tenses. "This is ridiculous," he mutters, turning away and rubbing his temple. "Goodness. What am I supposed to tell your mother?"
"That I want to reintroduce YN to her as my boyfriend." He pauses, grabbing your non-bleeding hand. "Husband now, I guess." He laughs brightly as he turns to you. "Doesn't that sound so cute? We're husbands!"
Your heart hammers as you stare at him, his beaming smile and bright eyes making your chest ache with affection. You glance down at your entwined hands. He squeezes your fingers. "Yeah. Yeah, it does sound pretty cute."
He giggles, waving the hairpin like a flag to watch the strings of jewels sway and flutter. He tugs you out of the room, and that sends everyone into a flurry. Nobody stops him. All around you, clan members trip over themselves to spread the news. The girls chatter amongst themselves, all the tension bleeding from their shoulders as they share complaints about heavy makeup and how their kimono sleeves almost dipped into the tea they poured.
Carefully, Satoru tucks the hairpin into his obi, brushing his hand over the glass flowers in reverence. He lets you take his cut hand in yours, and you wrap a length of white cloth around his hand. His smile widens as you offer another strip. He mirrors your actions, gently staunching the bleeding before folding the cloth firmly in place.
"We should see a healer," you murmur, tucking his hair behind his ear. He grins shyly at the action, fingers brushing over your knuckles. "It'll scar otherwise."
He shakes his head, and his voice is soft â soft enough that you have to lean in to hear him over the rapid conversation around you. It feels intentional â that he desires the closeness. "I don't mind. I think I'd prefer it heals naturally."
"Why? You'd be ruining that precious, perfect skin you always brag about."
"Because it's from you," he says honestly. "Also... we'd match. And every time I look at it, it'll remind me of how stupid your proposal was."
"Hey," you say, faking offence. "You accepted my stupid proposal."
He rolls his eyes, laughing as he buries his face in your shoulder. "Yeah, yeah... I know. I just never thought you'd do something so... weird. You're normally such a doormat."
"Hey."
Satoru hums, leaning up to kiss your forehead. He lets it linger, and when he draws back, his cornflower-blue eyes glimmer. "I'm such a good influence, aren't I? You finally decided to do the thing you want to do, expectations be damned. Tell me how good I am, baby. Go on."
You laugh. "You're good," you whisper fondly, making him beam. "You're so good that I did something I've never done before: disobey my family. They're probably going to be upset. I'm still shaking from it â look."
He cups your hand, steadying it. "I, for one, am very proud of your character development. If anyone insults you about it, you tell me, okay, and I'll fuck 'em up for you. Nobody talks shit about my husband and gets away with it." A giddy grin crosses his face. "Oh, man. I don't think I'll ever get tired of that!"
"Of course." You lift a hand to his cheek and he leans into it, closing his eyes. "I can't hide anything from your Six Eyes."
"Damn right," he replies smugly. "So, how'd you come up with this whole idea?" He swirls a finger in the air, glancing around. People walk around you, as if a bubble keeps them away. "You've always followed orders. What changed?"
"I'm not really sure," you muse. "It... came to me suddenly. The courage, I mean. Or recklessness. Last night, when we were in bed together, I couldn't stop looking at you â you were beautiful, at peace. I had to protect that peace, and I couldn't do that unless I was by your side. Then I remembered how you used to talk about planning a whole week for our wedding and matching your bouquet to your eyes. So, I just... made a decision."
"Well," he says, at a loss for words, "what a decision that was! Pretty big for your first act of rebellion, huh?"
"Go big or go home, I always say."
He scoffs and grins. "You don't say that. I say that."
"Oh, right." You lift your entwined hands, shaking them slightly. "Now that we're bound together, we represent each other. Your words are mine, and mine are yours. Don't embarrass me, okay?"
"Can't promise it. Shoulda thought about that before jumping the gun on proposing." He grins, a cheeky little thing that makes your heart race. He stops walking on the engawa, turning to you fully. "Husband! I want mochi to celebrate. Buy me some?"
"Now? Dressed like this?"
"Obviously. I'll even share the mochi," he adds, pouting to sweeten the deal. "Besides, you look very handsome. I wanna hang off your arm for a bit for bragging rights."
You sigh, rolling your eyes with a smile. You take his hand and lead him off the estate, slipping through the heavy gates and moving towards the city. "Fine, fine... Jeez, married for two minutes and you're already making me open my wallet. How do I put up with you?"
"Because you looove me," Satoru says, voice lilting prettily. He loops his arm through yours, a skip in his step. "Oooh, YN likes me...!"
You smile softly as he beams up at you, teasing you for your supposed crush on him. He hops over the cracks in the concrete, his silk kimono and traditional sandals providing no obstacle as he climbs up on the old retaining wall next to the footpath and skips along above you, arms spread out as he steps over the bushes flowing over the wall.
"Don't fall," you warn as he gets farther and farther up, the footpath sloping downwards.
"I won't," he calls back, eyes bright and grin blinding. "Believe in me, baby!"
You chuckle but continue to watch him, keeping pace with him. As the retaining wall lowers closer to the path, he turns to you â and jumps.
He giggles as you catch him in your arms, eyes crinkling. "Oops," he laughs. "Guess I did fall â for you."
"That's alright." You smile, kissing the corner of his soft pink mouth. "I'll always be there to catch you, 'Toru. I promise."
His lips curve up and he snuggles into your shoulder as you set him down, your hands linking together as you stroll into the lively city. You don't think he'll ever let go now that he doesn't have to hide it. The kanzashi gleams and glitters in his belt, the jewels sparkling under the sun with every step.
As a fae, it's only natural for Flins to be interested in collecting treasures. He has so many interesting items in his possession but there's one thing he's been most eager to acquire. You.
You spot Flins entering the flagship and wave him over. âStaying long or just stopping by?â
Flins sits down next to you, his shoulder pressing against yours. âStaying, I have the night off.â He isn't shy to make physical contact with you.
You throw your arm around him, understanding his intentions. âThen Iâll buy you a drink to celebrate. Any preferences?â
Flins shakes his head. âAnything is fine.â
You order your favorite wine to share with Flins. He talks to you about your day so he can fill in the missing pieces of his stalking habit. Heâs bound to the responsibility of being a light keeper so he can't spend all his time watching you. Just some of it. He was too focused on his plan to realize that you were omitting certain things, specifically the things he witnessed himself. You're well aware of his habit.
Flins twists his body to face you. âYou won't be doing much tomorrow morning, right?â He gropes your bulge.
You smirk. You didn't think he was the type to be so bold. âAre we going to do something thatâll take all night?â You cup his jaw. His face is warm.
âWhat do you think?â He parts open his mouth so you can kiss him. He moans with genuine arousal as you drunkenly make out with him.
âYou're moaning so loud, aren't you afraid of what everyoneâll say if they hear you?â
He wants everyone to see him and talk about the two of you so everyone knows who you belong to. âIt's not of any concern to me.â He pulls you back into the kiss. Your hand wraps around his waist while his arms do the same around your neck. He gracefully falls back onto the plush seat. Your knee moves in between his thighs and he eagerly rubs himself against it.
You lean into his ear. âSo you don't care at all? Even if I fuck you right here?â You kiss and suck on his neck.
Flins moans in response. The music, which has coincidentally been changed to a louder tune, made it so that only you could hear it. âDo it.â
You let out a short laugh. âYou must be drunk.â You pull away from him. Flins frowns.
He tugs on your jacket. âPlease.â He's adorable when he's desperate.
âWeâll continue this in your room.â You help him get up. He's relieved you're not stopping but he really wouldn't care if you did fuck him here. Then again, that wouldn't be a veryâŚconsiderate thing to do.
Flins moans as your fingers slide up his wet pussy. âYou're so wet..â You marvel at your glistening fingers. You bring your face to his pussy so you can give it all it deserves. Your mouth latches onto his t-cock while your fingers prepare him for you. He throws his head back and purposefully increases the volume of his voice. He cries out your name.
You haven't known Flins for very long, you only just recently started speaking to him, but it feels like his current behavior is a little different from the Flins you usually see. You're sure the entire tavern is talking about him. Seeing such a well mannered person act like a desperate slut makes for a perfect gossip topic.
For the most part, heâs become this way because of you. He's hopelessly obsessed with you. So much to the point where he feels like he can't live without you. He thinks you're human with a short lifespan and that makes him feel even more desperate. He needs to have you and indulge in your presence for as long as he can. From what he's observed over time, humans tend to respond well to sexual advances. He's been reading a lot of books to get a better understanding of it and along the way, he couldn't stop touching himself while reading. Now, he has an extensive collection of sex toys, all of which look like gorgeous and intricate jewels to stay in line with his aesthetic. The blacksmith was shocked by his first order but she keeps everything confidential. It didn't take long for him to understand why humans love sex so much.
Flins moans your name again as he comes. As you emerge from the depths of his cunt, Flins makes eye contact with your boner. His level of arousal goes through the charts as you free your cock. You're unimaginably large. He can't believe a human can have something of this size. You really are the most precious thing he's ever seen. âPut it in..â His voice is shaky.
âI don't have any condoms..â You stare longingly at his pussy. He can tell you don't want to use one. He doesn't either.
âNo need. I won't get pregnant.â He wraps his arms around your shoulders. âYou can come inside as many times as you want.â
You blush and hold onto his waist. He smiles blissfully as you enter him. You kiss him and play with his dick to help him through it. You briefly part from the kiss to compliment him but the way he looks, with his tongue sticking out ever so slightly and his flushed cheeks, made you forget everything you were about to say. You deepen the kiss as your cock does the same inside him. He wraps his arms and legs around you to keep you from leaving.
The kiss continues in a sloppy manner until Flins lets out a gasp in response to your cock hitting his cervix. âSorry, sorry, baby.â You apologize. âYou just felt so goodâŚâ
Flins gently pushes your shoulders to move you so that he can look down in between his legs, you're not fully inside. You can go further. âHow can a human be so big?â He bites down on his lip.
âIâm not human.â You smile.
His heart beats louder. He feels hopeful that youâll live longer than he thought and upset that he never realized it himself. He needs to know everything about you. âYou aren't?â
âI'm a dragon. You can keep a secret, right?â You brush his hair out of his face. âIâll go slow so I don't hurt you.â
Flins shakes his head. âIâm not human either, I can handle it.â He uses his legs to push you further inside him. âI want to feel every inch of you deep inside me.â
âIf you keep talking like that Iâll break the bed.â Your grip on his waist becomes stronger.
âThen break it and fill my womb with your seed.â His smirk turns into a dreamy grin as he feels you come inside him. He's excited to see what else turns you on. He hopes youâll last long enough for him to figure out every single thing you like. A proper collector learns exactly what their treasure needs so it can thrive.
You lean into his shoulder and roughly thrust yourself inside him, successfully entering his womb and making him squirt. Stopping doesn't cross your mind though. You're too horny and pent up from years of abstinence to think about it. Flins doesn't mind one bit.
âYes~! Harder, [Name]~!â He moans. He's truly enjoying himself but he needs to make sure everyone else knows he is. The sound of his bed creaking is almost as loud as Flins. He doesn't even have to try to be loud, you're already doing an amazing job.
âThey're all gonna think you're a slutââ You huff.
âIâm your slut.â
The bed creaks louder as you fuck him more aggressively. Thank god for all those smutty novels he found.
âYou can't take that back.â You sink your teeth into his neck. He lets out another, this time unintentional, exceptionally loud moan. He can barely speak now. His thoughts are scrambled more than the protein sufficient breakfast food as he squirts again. Hearing and feeling that youâve claimed him was enough to make his brain clock out. âGot it?â You growl.
âYesâ! Yes~!â His eyes roll to the back of his skull.
The rest of the night is a blur for him, all he remembers after that point was that you did break his bed. You had to put the mattress on the floor so he could rest comfortably. His next memory was of you, kneeling before him.
Flins looks at you with a sweet smile as you give him a hot water bottle to help with the pain he's feeling from last night. âDon't apologize.â He already knows what you're going to say.
âI have to. Do you know what I heard when I went out to get this?â You move your body to sit down. âI don't think there was a single person who wasn't talking about us.â
âDoes it bother you?â
âIf it bothers you, yes, it does.â
âGood. Then it doesn't matter.â Flins reaches out for your hand and slowly caresses it with his thumb.
âSo you weren't just saying that because you were drunk?â
âI wasn't drunk.â His eyes trail down to your crotch. âAlthoughâŚI may have gotten drunk on something else.â
You chuckle. âAlright, I believe you. But next time, you're staying the night at my house. My bed is much sturdier.â
âHmm, Iâd like to test how sturdy it is.â
âThere's a lot of things I want to test as well, but for now, I don't want you doing anything strenuous.â You stand up. âI already talked to Illuga, so if you want to, Iâll take you to my place to rest. You won't have to worry about anything.â
âWill you carry me?â He asks jokingly.
âOf course. You're not allowed to walk today.â You scoop him up bridal style.
Flins snuggles up against your chest adorably. âI could get used to the princess treatment.â
âIâll be happy to spoil you, your highness.â You kiss his forehead.
Flins puts his book down and sits up as he sees you enter the room. You had to take care of some things and you refused to let him come with you for the sake of his wellbeing. He looks at the two bags in your hand with clear interest.
âI asked Illuga what you liked, I hope it's all okay.â You hand them to him. âI bought all the other things on your list and put them away.â You're referring to the list he gave you that details all the things he needs since heâll be spending a lot of time here.
âAnything you give me is amazing, [Name].â He looks into one of them. His eyes sparkle as he stares at the beautiful jewels inside, all wrapped in a sheer material to keep them protected. It shows off their beauty and keeps them from cracking all at once. It's perfect. He looks into the other bag, seeing a gorgeous jewelry box with an elegant and intricate design. He opens it and sighs at its inner beauty. It's practical but it doesn't let its use overshadow its appearance. âThank you, I love it.â He looks genuinely pleased.
âIâm glad. As a dragon, I have a good eye for treasure.â You sit down next to him and wrap your arm around him. âI have an entire trove full of precious items along with many stories from my days of treasure hunting. I could tell you about them while you look around.â
Flins can't believe how perfect you are for him. Maybe you see him as your treasure too. âIâd love that.â He gently places the bags onto the nightstand and turns his body to kiss your cheek. His hand slides down to your crotch. âCan I thank you with a blowjob?â
âGo ahead, sweetheart.â
He hurriedly pushes down your pants then your boxers and immediately starts kissing your cock as it hardens. Every kiss from his soft lips makes you hornier and hornier. You don't know if you have enough self control to stop yourself from fucking him again. He certainly wouldn't do anything to protest.
âI haven't done this before but Iâve practiced a bit. I hope Iâm not too bad.â He wraps his lips around your tip.
âYou practiced?â
He briefly stops to respond to you. âI had some toys made.â He tries to deepthroat you.
âIâd love to see how you use them.â You run your fingers through his hair. âBet you look real pretty when you play with yourself. Just the thought of that isâŚâ
His cheeks turn red, emphasizing how the tip of your cock is bulging out from one of them.
âCan I come in your mouth, baby?â
Flins bobs his head eagerly, sucking you off and technically nodding at the same time. He's so excited. Considering how much comes out, he wonders if he can swallow it all. He moans as you pump your load into his mouth. He does his best to swallow everything and uses his tongue to get whatever he missed. âIt tastes good.â He says dreamily. He notices that you're still hard. âShould I keep going?â
âLet's try something else, so you can feel good too.â You lay him down on his back and remove the pair of boxers you snagged from his room. Yours wouldn't fit him. You raise his thighs in the air and slide your cock in between them. âYou're already so wet.â You groan.
It barely takes four thrusts to make Flins squirt. He couldâve come just from sucking you off for a little longer. He can feel your grip getting tighter, that means you're trying to hold back. âFuck me.â
You huff. âI can't. Iâll hurt youâŚmore.â
He pouts. âIâm not made of glass.â
You press your forehead against his shoulder. âYou don't understand how pent up I am. The only way I canâŚit's gonna hurt. I can make it easier for you to handle but it would just be the same as taking a pain killer, it'll still hurt later.â
âThen you can give me more gifts in return.â Flins wraps his arms around you. He doesn't need you to give him anything but if it makes you feel better, heâll keep using it as an excuse for you to go all out on him.
You bring him into a sloppy kiss. His body is getting warmer. It feels like he's being subdued, that must be what you meant by making it easier for him. He opens his eyes as you pull away, his face getting redder as he realizes that youâve partially transformed. Your teeth are sharp and your tongue is split, like a typical reptile. More importantly, you have two dicks now. He won't be able to rest until he finds out what it feels like to take both of them in his pussy.
He tugs on your shirt. âYouâll use both of them, right?â
âMhm.â You hum, leaning into his neck to kiss it as you position your lengths with his cunt. âIâll fill you up, baby.â
Flins mouth hangs open as you forcefully stuff his tight cunt. âAhââ He gasps. His eyes twitch as you traverse deeper inside him. âYesâ yes-â He repeats himself until you enter his womb, causing him to let out a gorgeous moan.
You fold him in half and rut into him. You're too far gone to worry about his wellbeing but Flins doesn't have any problems with that. In fact, he wants you to fuck him like this every time. Youâd probably break him and turn him into a mindless free use whore. Heâd love for you to use him like that.
He grabs the back of your shirt, ripping it and scratching your skin in the process, and demands you to fuck him âHarder~!â
You obey his command. Your bed is shaking but it remains put together despite how rough you're being. âIâm never letting go of you.â
Flins almost passes out from joy but instead squirts on your cocks. His vision is blurring but he wants more. His body twitches as if he's been struck by lightning as you pull on his nipples and drag your tongue around the teeth marks on his neck. You bite it again to make sure it never fades. Your two loads of cum fill him up so much that his stomach has started bulging even more than it already was.
You don't show any signs of stopping but Flins loves being your cum dump so just before he passes out, he manages to get a coherent sentence out of his mouth.
âUse me untilâ hah- you're satisfâŚâ His eyelids droop until finally shutting closed. You weren't going to stop anyways.
Flins eventually wakes up to the feeling of you pounding both of his holes. His head was carefully adjusted to make it so that his cheek is pressed against the drool stained pillow to make sure he can breathe. His ass is raised high in the air to make contact with your hips as you thrust. He can feel an unholy amount of cum inside him and he can hear all your horny groans and loving words of praise.
âSo guhd~â Flinsâ body twitches as he squirts. He doesn't know how long you've been fucking him but he's too tired and blissed out to think about it or even notice how dark the room is now. He moans your name.
You pull out and turn him onto his back. He shudders with arousal at the sight of your current form. You're even more dragon-like now with your wings, tail, eyes, and blood stained claws. Your claws make him more aware of the light stinging all over his body. He twitches even more as he imagines how rough you were with him while he was unconscious.
âYou feel so fucking good, baby.â You kiss him lovingly as you jerk yourself off over his body.
He gives you the same enticing look he always gives when you part ways from his lips but it's a lot more dreamy than usual. âAll done~?â He asks sweetly.
âMhm.â Your cum spurts on his stomach which causes him to have another orgasm. Your body and brain quickly return to their usual state, making you finally comprehend what you were just doing. âIâm sorryââ
Flins presses a finger to your lips. âShhâŚâ He looks incredibly drunk. His lantern makes a special appearance. âFood.â
You remember him telling you about his special way of gaining nutrients so you hurry out of the room to get him some suitable food for his lantern to swallow up, you made sure to stock up on what he prefers so you're able to return just as quickly as you left. You feed his lantern the food and look at him with relief as his injuries begin to heal themselves. You know that even though he doesn't have any physical wounds left, heâll still feel pain in other areas. âIâll give you a bath now.â You pick him up. âYou can go back to sleep if you're tired.â
You carry him to the bathroom so you can give him a warm lavender scented bath. Youâll need to take him out shopping once he feels better.
CONTENT â ââââ ďš sub bottom alhaitham & dom top male reader ďš anal sex, creampie, post-sex cuddles, spooning, cock warming, dirty talk, soft dom reader, bratty alhaitham, post-argument sex, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation: wc 2.7k
 CASEDEVIANT : not sure what this depravity turned into but enjoyy <3 breaking a man like alhaitham is equal parts impossible as it is irresistible... and thatâs what makes it so fun đĽş
your hips are flush to alhaithamâs, pressed close with no space to breathe between skin and skin. his palms rest flat against your chest, fingers twitching, fluttering in a half hearted attempt to push you away â but they donât follow through.
he thinks youâre so big like this â so deep inside, so heavy, stretching him far beyond what he expected to take, and yet he keeps letting you.
the position alone has his thoughts somersaulting in chaos, his mind stuttering as your gaze falls to the flush on his cheeks, his parted lips, his eyes that struggle to meet yours.
he swears he can feel you throb harder inside him when you watch him like that. when you drink him in like heâs art, ruined and perfect.
itâs the nth round now â heâs long since lost track, and youâre no better, lips parted with every pant, sweat slicking your spine.
youâre a mess for him. and you canât help it â your fingers sink deeper into the soft flesh of his hips, grounding yourself, dragging him closer and using him for your own pleasure. he clings instinctively, legs loose and trembling around your waist, needing the contact to keep from collapsing entirely.
you never realised how beautiful alhaitham could be until now â not when heâs at one of sumeru's library desks or making smug little quips â but here, right now, wrapped around your cock, skin flushed and lips bitten, his usual composure shredded to ribbons.
itâs like time holds its breath just to let you stare.
aloof, precise, unreadable â that version of him feels like a memory.
he still lingers in small ways: the ghost of a smug smile, the snide tone that haunted your mind from earlier. he always gets like that just before provoking you into this kind of mess â taunting you out of frustration, out of curiosity, maybe even longing.
no one else sees him like this. only you. fuck... yes, only you.
this side of him is soft and breakable, definitely bratty â appears only when he trusts you to see it. when he feels bold enough to spark that familiar anger in you, the kind that ends with his knees pinned to his chest and his voice hoarse from moaning.
it always starts this way â with emotion, loud and unpolished.
he never meant to enjoy being manhandled. not at first, at least. but somewhere between your teeth on his throat and your hand guiding his thighs apart, he began to crave it.
the illusion of control has peeled away. his body responding before his brain can catch up.
heâs figured it out now. he likes it.
no â he loves it.
you touching him like heâs yours. you knowing where every sensitive nerve lies beneath the surface. itâs turned into habit. then routine. and now â addiction.
it got so intense, that kaveh nearly walked in and stayed. and the only reason he didnât was your half hearted protest and alhaithamâs unexpected rage â two weeks of silence that followed, even though he was the one screaming your name that night like his life was ending.
still.
heâs gorgeous like this.
his lips are slick with spit, glistening in the low lamplight, and you canât help but remember how it all began â how easily he flushed, how easily he snapped, how he threw his full weight onto you in mock-defiance only to crumble seconds later when your mouth found the shell of his ear.
he doesnât tolerate teasing. not in the slightest. especially not the mocking kind.
he snaps at it, bucks against it, sometimes tries to top you out of spite. sometimes, he plays the brat. other times, like now â heâs small in your arms, pliant and overstimulated, desperate for more but unable to say it.
and you know every weakness. it's quite amusing, and so easy to control him.
heâs a simple man, really â with simple needs. all youâve ever had to do was make him need you, want you in a way that turns his every breath into your name.
you shift slowly, lean back on your heels, and lift his hips in your hands â he gasps at the change in angle, your cock nudging the spongy heat of his prostate, and his whole body jerks like a live wire.
you stay there a moment, watching him tremble, savouring the way his hands grasp at nothing but thin air.
then you sink back into the bed, arms looping lazily around his waist, your chin brushing the dip of his stomach.
you grin, cock still buried to the hilt, utterly content.
âyouâre not going anywhere now,â you murmur, voice thick with heat, ânot until iâm done with you.â
he doesnât even argue.
heâs on top of you now, palms planted firm on either side of your stomach, breath coming quick and shallow.
the glare he gives you could melt glass â sharp and venomous â but the bloom of red across his cheeks betrays him instantly. he looks furious, yes, but also flustered. wrecked. youâd call it adorable if you werenât too busy enjoying the view.
he knows exactly what youâre doing. exactly the kind of game youâre playing.
âmove that slutty little ass for me, haitham,â you growl, voice low and rough, teasing the shape of his name as you speak.
you lift your knees higher, spreading your legs until your thighs meet the curve of his ass halfway. the motion drags him down, takes you deeper, and he gasps sharply, his tongue clicking against his teeth before dissolving into a low, broken grunt. his lashes flutter against his cheeks, wet and heavy.
he starts moving slowly, with uncertainty at first, testing how the angle feels, how your cock presses up inside him, dragging against every tender nerve.
heâs trying to be composed but fails miserably; every shift of his hips earns another soft sound, another tremor through his thighs.
âbig,â he mumbles, half dazed, voice slurring into a breath that trembles. he canât seem to keep his eyes on you â they dart, unfocused, lost in the sensation.
he lifts himself slightly, just enough for your cock to slip halfway out of him, the stretch easing for a heartbeat before he sinks back down, all the way, until the base of you meets the plush of his cheeks.
his legs quake. his lip trembles. you feel the pulse of his asshole clenching tight around you.
you reach down, thumb brushing the leaking tip of his cock, slick and hot, and he flinches. your gaze flicks back up to meet his, and the look you find there unravels something in you â wide-eyed, glassy, fucked-out, desperate.
if only he knew how beautiful he looked like this. maybe then heâd blush harder, maybe heâd stop pretending he wasnât enjoying every filthy second of it. maybe teasing him wouldnât be quite so easy.
but teasing him is your favourite part of all of this.
you let him ride you for a while, slow and hesitant, his pace almost torturous. your hands stay folded beneath your head, watching the way he moves on top of you â how his breath hitches when he slides down, how his body tightens each time you twitch inside him. he looks lost, and itâs gorgeous.
but patience was never your strong suit, unfortunately...
you reach forward suddenly, gripping his hips tight, and thrust up hard.
he gasps â a sharp, startled sound â and collapses against your chest. his nose grazes the side of your neck, brushing against your skin where your cologne lingers, and he shudders. the scent has him tense, and quivering. his ear drifts close to your lips, close enough for you to whisper every filthy thought that crosses your mind.
âyou can do better than that, babyâŚâ your voice is a low rumble against his skin, making him jolt.
âthis little hole of yours â itâs a fucking slut, did you know that? hmm?â
you thrust again, slow, deliberate, your words curling in his ear.
âwhat was that, darling? you thought we were done? iâve not even filled this pretty belly of yours yet.â
he whimpers softly, body arching, your name caught somewhere between his teeth.
you smirk against his temple, breath hot. âyou look so pathetic like this, yâknow? pathetic and clueless. itâs almost⌠endearing. definitely not the scribe most would view you as.â
he tries to answer but only manages a strangled noise. you grip his hips tighter, forcing him down until heâs fully seated again, cock buried deep.
âstop complaining,â you murmur, voice dark and thick with amusement, âand just take my cock like a good boy.â
you pause for a beat, hand sliding up his spine, fingers curling in his hair.
âuse your words.â
his breath catches.
but the only sound that follows is a broken moan. wow... he was completely drenched in this moment.
it doesnât take long before alhaitham spills across the plane of your stomach and chest, his composure shattering entirely. that fragile thread of dignity finally snaps the moment he realises just how good you can make him feel.
he gasps out half formed words, voice rough and breaking, mumbling about how sensitive his tip feels, how raw his asshole is with your cock still stuffing him to the hilt.
he moves slowly, trembling, bracing his hands against you as he lifts himself upright to look down.
his eyes are heavy lidded, glazed with the afterglow. alhaithamâs a big man â broad chest, sharp jaw, shoulders built for stillness â but here, his weight feels softer somehow.
his need hums through him. heâs all flushed skin and laboured breath, a man caught somewhere between defiance and surrender.
still, thereâs authority in his gaze. even ruined like this, he looks at you like heâs assessing something â calculating, almost. the glint of control that never truly leaves him sends a small shiver up your spine.
you canât tell whether heâs still angry about that argument earlier â the one that ended with him bent over, legs trembling, your cock pushing inside him until words were no longer possible to articulate â but the memory of it curls your lips into a smirk.
it gets your groins going every single fucking time.
he starts to move again before you can think too long, slow rolls of his hips pressing your cock deeper each time, the wet sound of him swallowing you whole filling the space between breaths.
you hiss, sharp and guttural, throwing a hand over his ass to grab a fistful of the flesh. your hips jerk upwards before you can stop yourself, meeting him halfway. he whines from the impact, body jolting forward, muscles tensing deliciously under your touch.
you exhale a hot breath against his skin, pulse racing, and then shift â your arm snakes around his waist, and in one fluid motion you pull him down into a tight mating press.
his knees hit the bed beside your hips and he cries out your name as your cock angles perfectly into him, hitting the spot that makes him break.
âfuck, you bastard â i just came!â alhaitham chokes out, eyes wide and frantic, flicking between the sight of his own cock bouncing helplessly against his stomach and your face above him â sweat-soaked, hungry, unrelenting.
you bite down on your lip, then release it with a slow, deliberate grin. leaning close to his ear, you whisper, voice low and wicked, âwould you rather i go slow like this⌠instead?â
you ease out of him, slow enough that the sound is obscene â a wet pop echoing in the air as his hole twitches around nothing.
he gasps, back arching, face scrunching from the sudden emptiness. before he can catch his breath, you push back in â slow, steady, inch by inch â until youâre buried again.
the way he trembles beneath you feels almost sacred. each small movement draws a broken noise from his throat, tears beginning to shimmer along his lashes. he looks up at you then, locking eyes, that sharp green dulling with something fragile and furious all at once.
the look says everything. fuck you, you asshole. i hate you.
but you both know better.
you hold his gaze until he breaks first, eyes squeezing shut as you find that spot inside him again â dragging your cock along it just right, watching his composure unravel.
then his arms snake around your neck, pulling you down until your nose is pressed into the warm space between his jaw and shoulder.
his breath comes out ragged, trembling.
âplease,â he breathes, voice hoarse and thin, âpleaseâ if youâre gonna fuck me, do it properly.â
you laugh softly against his skin, half amusement, half adoration, your hips still moving slow, deliberate and teasing.
you pull back just enough to look at him, raising a brow, grin curling at the corners of your mouth. âyou donât like it when i go slow like this?â you murmur. âfunny, âcause i can feel you twitching like mad. your slutty little holeâs eating me right up, yknow.â
his face goes crimson, the flush spreading down his neck, and he turns his head away â but his body gives him away completely. his hole clenches greedily around you, pulse fluttering, need betraying every shred of pride heâs trying to cling to.
and you think â beautiful. fucking beautiful.
so fucking beautiful when he canât hide anymore.
your pace quickens, hips snapping harder against him, and finally âfinally â the moans begin to spill from alhaithamâs lips without restraint. soft at first, breathless, then thick with need, his voice slurring into a litany of broken words.
âso good⌠so good⌠feel so full⌠rightâ thereâ i think iâm gonna cum againâŚâ
he sounds dazed, far gone, voice trembling at the edge of delirium. by now, the number of times heâs come mustâve shattered some unspoken record â his body shaking with overstimulation.
but itâs never quite enough. not when you havenât even let go once yourself.
and itâs there, heavy in your gut. a tight, desperate coil. youâve been holding it back for him.
you lean down, voice close to his ear, a wicked whisper against his flushed skin. âyou want me to breed this greedy little hole of yours, hmm? fill it so deep it leaks? stuff it back in when it spills out?â
he gasps â chokes â then whines, the sound pathetic and gorgeous, âplease⌠yes, yesâ please cum in me. fill me upâ want it so badââ
thatâs what undoes you.
you rut into him now with reckless urgency, the slap of skin against skin louder, wetter, faster than before. his body takes it all, pliant and trembling, his nails dragging across your back as you fuck him through another earth shattering orgasm.
your release hits you in one white-hot burst, burying yourself to the hilt with a final, stuttering thrust.
you groan against his neck, pressing your body into his as the pleasure crashes over you, sharp and endless. alhaitham clings to you, his cries softened into sobs, tears hot and wet against your shoulder as he tenses around your cock, wrung out and spent.
you lean back slightly, chest heaving, and pull out of him slow and deliberately. his eyes are closed, expression soft â utterly peaceful, lips parted, cheeks still flushed. you stare down at him in awe.
then you reach with one hand and pull a cheek aside, watching your cum leak from his hole in thick, lazy trails. it makes your stomach tighten with satisfaction.
âwhat a wasteâŚâ you murmur, voice low.
you press your cockhead back to him, still sensitive, still half hard, and slide inside again in one smooth motion. he lets out a whimper in his sleep drunk haze, hips twitching.
you shift him into a little spoon, pulling his back close to your chest, legs tangled. your hand finds his waist while your mouth moves to the curve behind his ear, lips dragging over the damp skin there, kissing softly.
your nose nuzzles the side of his neck, following the slick line of sweat that runs down his spine.
you feel the slow thud of his pulse beneath your lips, steady again, no longer frantic. heâs still warm around you, still holding you tight without meaning to.
you press one final kiss to his shoulder.
âgoodnight, my love.â
CASEDEVIANT ââââ 2025 đŚ do not translate, plagiarise, redistribute or ai train my writingďš all works belong to me ďšvisuals are from the yaoi 'flashlight'
summary. the easiest way to a man's heart is through his stomach â in more than one way.
wc. 9k
tags. smut | dom top reader, sub bottom gojo, husbands gojo/reader, teacher reader. anniversary sex, "sir" for reader + "puppy" for gojo, oral (r. receiving), praise + degradation (gojo receiving), humping, riding, light s/m, bondage (wrists), overstimulation + multiple orgasms (gojo), belly bulge + size kink, crying, off-screen gojo in lingerie
"Satoru."
You smile, your eyes crinkling at the corners.
"If I don't get delayed, I'll be returning at night after my mission. It's a long plane ride back, so don't stay up for me, alright?"
Satoru was miffed, to say the least. How dare they steal away his husband on such short notice? You barely had time to pack a suitcase. And worst of all? It coincided with your anniversary.
For the first time in ten years, he would be spending that day alone. He wanted to be angry â angry at those spineless geezers cooped up in that musty room â but all he could really feel was disappointment. You'd been an anchor for so long that he felt listless without you by his side, throwing the weight of your name behind his whenever he did something he thought was right.
Whatever. At least he woke up to a 'happy anniversary' voice message from you that morning.
"An exponential is a function of the form f of x equals a to the power of x, where a cannot equal one, zero, or anything less than zero. You'll want to note down these eight laws on the board. I'd recommend putting them in a table at the top of a page so you don't have to go flipping for them in exams. I'll go through them one at a time."
Satoru drops the white stick of chalk for a pale blue one, which he then uses to scrawl a line of numbers in a blank space on the left side of the blackboard. "So â a to the x, a to the y equals a to the x plus y. This is a biggie! You'll see it a lot. When bases a are the same and the terms are multiplied, the exponents are added. Added. Don't multiply them."
"Sensei!" Yuji's hand shoots up into the air. "Why aren't they multiplied?"
"Great question!" He glances over the board, then erases a large chunk of old numbers in one fell swoop. Nobara stops writing immediately with an odd expression and Satoru laughs, waving a hand as if to dissipate her troubles. "You can copy off Megumi's notes for that example, Kugisaki. Just leave a space for it."
He continues, "Now, Yuji, we remember that an exponential is multiplying the base by itself a certain number of times, yes? Let's use two raised to the power of three. That's two times two times two. Now, if you have two to the power of four, that's two by two by two by two. Phew, what a mouthful. Are we tracking?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Good! We'll multiply these terms now. Wait!" He raises a finger and splits the two strings of numbers into two sets of brackets. "Putting these brackets here to separate the terms for clarity... Anyway â because the base number, two, is being multiplied over and overâ" He slashes a little multiplication sign between the two brackets. "Ta-da! You've got two multiplied by itself seven times, so the answer is two to the power of seven. Therefore, you can skip this whole process in your written answers and just add the powers! Yay!"
"That's crazy."
"When it clicks, it clicks, right?" Satoru snaps his fingers, and to Yuji's left, Megumi snaps out of staring out of the window. "No slacking, Megumi! I can see you daydreaming over there."
"Kinda hard not to with only three students," Nobara mutters under her breath. At least when she dozes off, it's not with her head turned ninety degrees and propped on a fist. Seriously â it's like Megumi never learnt to nap discreetly at the back of the class. Come to think of it, she's certain he's never hidden earbuds under his hair, either.
"Sorry," he murmurs nonchalantly. "I'm not a maths person."
"Megumi, you're tearing me apart."
He shrugs.
"Since what you're doing is obviously more important than listening to your awesome teacher, would you like to share with the class?" Satoru drawls with a shit-eating grin. He sets the chalk aside, dusting off his hands, and leans over his desk, hands flat and forming a triangle with his thumbs and forefingers. "Is there a girl, Megumi-chan? A boy? Ah, a teenager's first love â I still remember mine as if it were yesterday..."
"Cut it out, you're not that old." Megumi glances outside again. Satoru follows his line of sight, but nothing stands out to him. "There was a guy on campus. Looked like a weirdo."
"Oh, for the love of â do you not remember what a finger to the lips means?"
Behind his blindfold, Satoru's eyes shoot open. It's uncomfortable, but so is his face-splitting smile, so wide it hurts his jaw.
None of that matters. He explodes with joy.
"Baby!" he squeals. He launches himself with the speed of a fastball at the person standing in the doorway. It's a miracle nobody goes crashing through the opposite wall.
"You're back, you're back," Satoru coos, burying his face in your shoulder and squeezing your middle so tightly that your spine pops. "Oh, man, you have no idea how much I missed you!"
You laugh, a little wheezy from having the air knocked out of your lungs, and pat his back. A ring glints on your finger. He presses himself deeper into you and you have to brace to stop yourself from toppling over. You close your eyes and inhale the soft floral scent of his hair, which draws out all the tension in your body. Lord knows you've accumulated a lot of it recently.
"There, there," you hum, gently grasping the back of his neck to peel him off you. For the first time, you get a good look at him. He hangs from the nape of his jacket like a kitten, a big dumb grin on his face. His pale cheeks are flushed, and your heart races a little from his sheer excitement. It's flattering.
What a sweetheart.
"We can talk later," you murmur with a smile, setting him down on flat feet. "Just wanted to stop by to drop off your lunch."
He glances down at the lunchbox-sized insulated bag in your hand. He accepts it gently, cradling it like gold. "My lunch...?"
"Mm, that's right. I hate to imagine how you fared without me." You slip a hand into the pocket of your pants. "I'll cook tonight, okay? Anyway, that's all. Toodle-oo."
"Wait!" Yuji slams his hands against his desk as his chair screeches against the ground. "Did I hear that right? Did sensei call you 'baby'?"
"Yes," you say, and Satoru's heart flutters at the pride in your voice. "You must be Itadori Yuji, and you must be Kugisaki Nobara. Satoru spoke of you often. Nice to finally meet you â I'm Satoru's husband."
Nobara replies in kind with a little bow and a polite greeting. Megumi's the only one still sitting, sheltering his eyes with his hand as if he can hide from the inevitable embarrassment. She turns to Satoru with an accusing glare, her hands on her hips. "No way you scored a guy like that with your personality! What'd you do, huh? Promise him money?"
"He hasn't even introduced himself yet and you're already taking his side?" Satoru whines, both of his arms wrapped around your own.
"I can tell that he's a respectable and dutiful man. You, however..."
"I mean, opposites attract, right?" Yuji offers kindly.
"Yuji! Are you saying I'm not a respectable person?" He huffs. "I'm telling Suguru to work you guys twice as hard tomorrow morning. Ridiculous..."
Nobara jabs an accusing finger at him. "You're ridiculous. Which is why I'm so shocked that anyone with any sense would marry you."
"Thrice as hard."
"Easy," you murmur to Satoru fondly. "But he's right about one thing. I haven't introduced myself properly. My name is YN Gojo-LN. You'll have me as a teacher next year. Call me LN-sensei â helps avoid the confusion."
Satoru tugs on your sleeve with a pout. "C'mon... I like it when you use my name. They're not gonna get confused by it. After all, I am the prettier one."
"Hard disagree, sensei," Nobara says flatly.
You smile as Satoru presses himself further into your side, wrapping your arm around his shoulders. "Don't worry, darling. You're plenty good-looking to me."
"You think so?"
"I know so, my beautiful little lily," you say affectionately, pinching his cheek. He holds your hand to his cheek, leaning into it, and Nobara nearly gags at the dopey expression on Satoru's face and the way his leg kicks up behind him like a schoolgirl with a crush. She glances at Megumi with disbelief written on her face and jabs a thumb over her shoulder. He nods solemnly as you coo over Satoru, your voice light and bouncy like a summer breeze.
You turn your attention back to the three first-years, all looking far more attentive after their break from staring at slanting strings of numbers. "It was lovely to meet you â and good to see you, too, Megumi, I can see you slouching there â but Satoru is only one-out-of-eight exponential laws explained. I'm not about to be the cause of bad grades. Ciao, everyone."
Reluctantly, Satoru unfolds himself from around you, and you're quite surprised. You'd think he'd fight harder to keepâ
He seizes your wrist in a steely grip and drags you out into the hall. He shuts the door on his students' exclamations.
Immediately, he collapses into your chest, rather more raw and vulnerable than earlier. You wrap your arms around him and coo into his ear, cupping the back of his neck. He sighs, short and sharp and a little shaky, and his breath puffs against your collarbone.
"I was worried I'd lose you," he whispers, hands gliding all over your body as if to prove to himself that you're all still there, warm and complete and ready to embrace him. "Those damn idiots, taking you from me. Especially at a time like this..."
"Relax, dearie," you hum, and the old nickname makes his lips twitch upwards. "I was your equal for a while. I won't keel over so easily."
"You took on two special grades at once and went in ill-prepared because they couldn't do their damn jobs. How am I supposed to trust them when they can't even count to two?"
"Then trust me," you implore, cupping his cheek. He's always been thin, but you're glad you're back. Maybe he'll be less cranky with some meat in his stomach. "Always said we'd get through this together, didn't we? That includes dealing with the elders. I've got your back, but let's not make problems now â not when we have Yuji to look after."
He sighs and pushes his cheek into your shoulder a little harder, rubbing his face into you like a cat. His hair tickles your cheek. His grip tightens, then loosens. "Ugh. You're crampin' my style. Rebellion suits me."
"Obedience suits you better," you murmur lowly, and Satoru shivers at the timbre of your voice. Your hand slips down to cup his chin, lifting his face to yours. His breath hitches. "Listen to me, Satoru. You know I'm right."
He exhales shakily as you dip your head, lips brushing his. He leans into it, trying to take more, but you turn away. "Butâ"
"Satoru."
Heat zings up his spine. Your nails dig slightly into his skin and he swallows harshly, burning up under the weight of your gaze. Half condescending and half tender, you rake your stare over him from head to toe. It lasts no longer than a second but Satoru's knees weaken anyway.
"Just don't do anything without me," you whisper, bringing his face closer to yours. You press your lips to his and he fists the front of your shirt tightly, gasping as your free hand glides down his waist to rest on the small of his back. He arches slightly and tilts his head to deepen the kiss.
He tastes like sugar and oranges and despite the not-so-sweet flavour of the coffee you had earlier, he devours you as if his life depends on it, tongue twisting with yours. He moans softly at the smoky roasted taste, dark and rich. Even after all these years, he marvels at how perfectly he matches with you â the yin to your yang, the shrike to your thorn. He'd be missing out any other way.
His heartbeat quickens. You can feel it beneath his ribs, his chest pressed to yours, and even through his thick clothes you can feel him yearn for you â the very essence of his bright soul twists and tumbles, reaching for yours. He is the orchid to your oak and just as needy.
Before you forget yourself and get too handsy in the middle of the school hallway, you draw away, tugging your hands back to your sides. Satoru whines softly with the loss of your touch and your lips on his. He lifts his face, lips pursed into a pout as he chases another kiss. You press a finger against his lips with a chuckle.
"Not yet, Satoru. You still haven't promised me."
He pushes your hand away impatiently. "Promise." He puckers up and leans in again.
You click your tongue and grab a fistful of his hair, keeping him at bay the same way you would with an overly-affectionate cat. You lift a brow. "And what are you promising?"
He groans, and you know he's rolling his eyes under his blindfold. "That I'm not gonna make trouble for us. I promise I won't square up against a bunch of geriatrics. Happy, baby? Can I get my kiss, now?"
"Only one more." You dip in, and Satoru hums appreciatively. You open your eyes again with a tiny smile. "There. Now, off you go. You have maths to teach, nerd."
"You're a nerd," he rebuts automatically. "You don't have to leave, y'know. Just sit in the back, like the principal does."
"I'd just be a distraction for you."
"But you'd make me happy. Come on. It's our anniversary."
"The answer's no, Satoru." You smile, tugging his hair gently, and his head feels light. He understands why they call it lovesick. "G'luck, sweetheart."
His bottom lip juts out and he crosses his arms, glancing aside. He ruffles his hair roughly as if to drag himself out of his own thoughts. "Fine... Will I see you later?"
"Mm. I'll take a nap when I get home and then start on dinner. I was thinking something Thai?" You touch his shoulder and he shivers slightly, fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist. It's endearing how infatuated he is with you. You fix his blindfold, smoothing out the sides. "Get home safely, Satoru."
"Yessir." He darts in one last time, sneaking in one last kiss on the cheek. He grins, playful and flushed, as you grumble something about being an 'enabler'. You lift a hand and begin to turn away.
When you're halfway down the hall, he calls out, "You better make it up to me, hot stuff!"
"You're spoilt enough as it is," you call back, eyes crinkling. "Toodles!"
Satoru hums a little tune under his breath as he steps back into the classroom, sliding the door closed behind him. There's a bounce in his step as he moves towards his desk, hovering over a textbook and flipping forward a few pages to find new equations to throw up on the board.
After a pause, with Satoru's soft humming the only thing filling the room, Nobara finally breaks the silence.
"So, sensei... are you gonna tell us what that was all about?"
He glances up, a clueless smile on his face. "Eh? What was what about?"
She stares, appalled. "Uh, the fact that you're married? To the coolest-looking guy I've seen here? He must really be something if he's got you wrapped around his finger like that..."
Megumi sits up in his seat, picking up his pen and ruler and busying himself with ruling new margins into his blank pages. "He's not much better than Gojo, Kugisaki. Together, they're both total fools."
"How can he be more of a fool than he already is?"
"You never mentioned a partner, Gojo-sensei," Yuji says, having clearly abandoned any notion of learning. His notebook isn't even open anymore. "How'd you meet?"
"I didn't take you for a romantic, Yuji," Satoru coos, though he tosses his piece of chalk onto the blackboard's ledge and dusts off his hands. He circles the desk to sit back against it, clasping his hands with a wide smile. "We met here, actually! He's older than me, and he was the one who gave me a campus tour and showed me my room. He was just as handsome back then as he is now. I liked hanging out with him a lot."
Yuji's eyes are wide with intrigue. "Oh! Were you high-school sweethearts? That's so neat, sensei!"
"In a way," he replies, voice soft with fondness. "At first, it was a political marriage. He has an influential name and a uniquely powerful technique, so our families thought it was a good idea to pair us up so the other clans would be less likely to stand against our decisions. We became good friends, so we grew to be alright with it â we were basically already living in each other's rooms, anyway. Marrying him meant I could eat his curry more often, so I was honestly pretty eager to move in with him after graduating."
"Really? You seemed like the type of person to be bad with spice," Nobara comments, tilting her chair on its back legs. "Guess I was wrong."
Leaning back, Megumi speaks around Yuji's body. "No, he is. LN-san often makes two dishes â one with spice, one without. He started when I was a kid, but he still does it for Gojo."
Nobara clicks her tongue. "What? Seriously â he's way too good for you, sensei! I can't believe this. The idea that someone like you had a boyfriend at my age when I don't... I'm, like, actually upset."
"I mean, I also gained two children shortly after, so maybe you should wait a bit for a boyfriend, Kugisaki," Satoru says thoughtfully, tapping his chin. Megumi's face reddens at the statement and his knuckles turn white around his pen.
"Don't say that," he scoffs. "Your marriage had nothing to do with the two of us!"
Pouting, Satoru wags a finger in his direction. "So rude, Megumi-chan! I'm telling your dad. No curry for you for a month."
He rolls his eyes and his mouth curls. "You're annoying."
Nobara snorts and hides her snickers behind her palm. She leans in Yuji's direction and whispers, "Guess he's got a favourite parent."
He nods in agreement. Clearing his throat, Yuji dutifully raises his hand, looking grave. "Sensei, if you're married, why don't you wear a ring?"
"Hm? I do! Wanna see it? Oh, of course you do, you asked," he says cheerfully. He thrusts a hand down the tall neck of his collar and pulls out a silver chain, off of which hangs a platinum band studded with tiny, glittering diamonds. He beams, turning the pretty little thing this way and that to catch the light. "His is more traditional, 'cause he's a fuddy-duddy, but silver suits my skin tone better and diamonds are a classic."
He unclasps the chain from around his neck, and Yuji and Nobara instantly shoot up out of their chairs to inspect the ring closer. They ooh and ahh over it, discussing the bevels and facets and whatnot. He slips the band onto his left hand and shows it off with a beaming smile, nodding proudly when Nobara remarks how well it really does suit him.
"Why is your face so red, Gojo?"
The abrupt question is Megumi's. Like clockwork, everyone turns to him, then turns to Satoru. In response, he only tilts his head with an oblivious smile pasted on his face â his white hair flops over, like a dog's ears. "Eh?"
Megumi sighs and lowers his gaze, scratching tornadoes aimlessly into the margins of his page. "You're terrible â it was two months, not two years. The separation anxiety is crazy."
"He does seem like the type to be clingy," Nobara whispers to Yuji.
"It's not sepaâhe thinks it's cute!" he sputters, lifting his bejewelled ring finger as if it's his middle finger. "Look â he married me for it! Jeez, Megumi, you really know how to make a guy feel bad. And you know what that means."
Megumi's face scrunches. "You're gonna follow him around the house like a lost puppy for the rest of the day."
"Right you are!" says Satoru giddily. "I'm sorta disappointed you don't live with us right now. I could've made it so much worse for you if you and YN went out in public. You'd be begging to learn about exponential and logarithmic functions then."
He turns towards the board and claps his hands, startling all three of his students as the sound echoes through the room. "Speaking of! Rule number two: power x over y with identical base a is equal to a to the x minus y. Back in your seats, boys and girl â I hope everyone's awake now. Let's power through every rule before class ends! Heh â geddit? Power? Because â oh, you're all no fun. I'm funny. Let's continue."
â
With a jingle of keys, Satoru twirls through the front door. "Honey, I'm hooome!"
Your voice floats through the hallway. "In the kitchen!"
He kicks his shoes off and dumps his messenger bag onto the couch. He bounds into the spacious kitchen and slithers up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.
With a chuckle, you take half a step back from the open flame of the stove. "Careful. It's hot."
"Not hotter than you." His voice is muffled against your shoulder. "Didja miss me?"
"Only a little bit. You are a handful." You stir the pot, picking shards of bone out of the broth. Satoru salivates. He can already feel the tender meat falling off the bone. "You're home early, baby. Dinner won't be ready for a while."
"Rushed back to see you." He kisses your neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of your cologne is heady and woodsy, and he's embarrassed to admit that he's used it on himself when the ache really got to him. "Maybe we can... spend some time together...?"
You laugh, the sound rumbling through your chest, and Satoru smiles automatically. "Eager little thing. You really want to do that now, when I'm obviously very busy?"
"Well, the veggies aren't a pressing concern," he points at the covered bowl, "and the soup's not done. Put it on low and you have both hands free to do things with me."
"And what 'things' would that entail, Satoru?"
"Fun things." He pushes his blindfold up, revealing his startling blue eyes. He looks up at you through his white lashes, a cheeky smile spreading across his face. "Things involving this," he points at his lips, "and this." He points at yours.
Because your hands are damp from dealing with the vegetables, you can't touch him, but you turn and lean in his direction and he drapes his arms over your shoulders. You hum, taking in his beauty like an old-timey knight with his secret lover. "Sounds a bit boring, honestly. We did that earlier. Any other ideas?"
His eyes widen with betrayal. "Whatâ? Fine! Thisâ" his lips "âand this." His hand lowers to the zip of your jeans, brushing over the front. His tongue flickers over his lower lip as he glances down, as if he's imagining it already, and you struggle to keep your composure. His eyes lift to yours. "Yeah?"
You draw in a breath. "Nah. You don't last long enough for that."
"Mou," he whines, brows furrowing, "I can! Just let me show you â y'know, I've been practicing. I've definitely gotten better."
"Whore," you mutter affectionately, slipping out of his arms to wash your hands. You tug your sleeves higher and Satoru sighs dreamily at the sight, cupping his cheek. "You seriously want to do this now? I could burn down the house on accident."
"Yes, I wanna do it now," he huffs, hooking a slender finger beneath his blindfold, as if showing off how long and pretty they are. "The house is insured."
"You â You're ridiculous, baby." You dry your hands and face him properly, gaze flickering over his body. He squirms slightly, fidgeting with his collar. "Hm... Suppose I say yes. What would you do?"
"Ah," he breathes, stepping closer. He places his hands on your chest, pretending to fix your collared shirt, and you rest one on his hip, tugging him in. He flashes you a flustered smile as he bumps into you. "Well, I'd, um â I'd kiss it."
"Mm."
"And I'd... lick the tip, 'nd..." He shakes his head and headbutts your shoulder, eyes squeezing shut with an embarrassed titter. "Babe, don't make me say it! I'll show you, okay? I'll show you how much I missed you. Spoilers: it's a lot."
"Well, when you put it like that..." You dial down the stovetop's heat until the flame is all but gone. Satoru's grin widens. "I'm interested."
He smirks and pecks your cheek, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the kitchen. He pushes you down on the couch in the living room, taking a moment to shuck off his jacket and tug his shirt hem out from his beltline. He drapes himself over your lap, long legs bracketing yours, and places his hands on your shoulders.
Naturally, your hands come to rest upon his thighs.
He pauses. Have your hands always looked so large compared to him...? He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing. His cock stirs in his tight pants.
You lean back with a soft sigh, stroking his thighs absently. Your touch borders on his ass when it shifts up his hips and his breath hitches. You lift a brow, seemingly unaware of his racing heart. "So? Now what?"
"Shut up," he mumbles, reaching to help pull your t-shirt over your head. "Just admiring my hubby, y'know? Most would be flattered. You're mean for no reason."
"A second ago you were ready to jump my bones." You allow him to toss the shirt on the couch beside you, and his hands run appreciatively down your chest and stomach. "Let's go back to that."
"Yessir," he says breathily. He meant it teasingly, but it comes out with a slight tremor in the middle. His cheeks flush as you grab the front of his shirt and drag him towards you.
He whimpers softly as you press his ass down against your lap, his lips trapped against yours. He rocks his hips. The half-hard bulge in your pants demands his attention, and he moans your name as you pop open his shirt roughly, hands exploring his soft, smooth skin.
"Excited, are we?" you murmur, nibbling the side of his neck. The wet heat of your tongue makes him shiver, nails digging into your shoulders.
"S-Says you," he retorts, gasping softly as your callused fingers find his nipples, cute and pink. He jerks, stomach tensing, and reaches for your belt shakily, undoing it defiantly. "Not f-fair. Fuck, be gentle..."
You shake your head, exhaling softly as Satoru manages to fish you out of your open fly. Your length slaps his wrist. "We can be gentle or we can be done in time for dinner. Your choice."
Twitching as you flick his chest again, he whimpers. "You..."
"I?"
He gulps, blue eyes trained on the thick cock in his hands. He grips the base and twists his fist up and down the shaft, brushing his thumb over the slick slit. You groan softly, switching your attention to the other side of his neck. He tilts his head with a tremulous sigh, allowing you better access to his fair skin.
"I really did miss you, you know," he says quietly, stroking you to full mast. "Your smile, your body next to mine when I wake up... and this cock. Nothing's better than your cock."
With a chuckle, you squeeze his hips, feeling them twitch under your grip. Cute â sensitive. "Yeah? My pretty doll missed my cock?"
"Mhm. Tried other things while you were away." He shuffles off your lap, sliding between your knees with ease. He gazes up at you, one hand on your thigh and one hand on your cock, and licks his lips, glancing away. His cheeks are red. "But nothing can get me off like you can. You always fill me up so good, always treat me right..."
He leans forward, wrapping his pink lips around the head of your cock. His eyes flutter shut and his tongue swirls around your slit â the taste of your precome curls a ball of arousal in his lower belly, and he widens his knees slightly in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure. It doesn't help.
"Fuck, Satoru," you murmur, combing your fingers through his silver hair. His blindfold acts as a headband for his bangs, and you're afforded a full view of his creased concentrated brows and his wide-blown pupils. He bobs his head, thick lashes fluttering against his cheekbones, and swallows several inches of your cock.
But that's as far as he gets before he gags and pulls back, gasping wetly as his pale chest heaves. Nervously, he glances up at you, only to grow more desperate at the lazy grin on your face.
You prop your cheek on a fist. "What was that about improvement, Satoru? Seems about the same to me."
His frown deepens. "It's not my fault! You're justâ"
"Excuses don't befit you."
His jaw snaps shut audibly. He reaches forward, taking your cock in both hands, and spits on it, smearing it down your length. You hum softly as he takes the tip into his hot mouth again, and his tongue flicks against the glans hungrily.
His nails dig into your thigh as he regulates his breathing, slowly bobbing his head down half of your length.
You have to hand it to him â he's gotten quicker at getting to this point. Still, he's shuddering, and he's clearly a mess, eyes glistening and lips slick with saliva. He looks small, shoulders pulled in, and so, so pretty as he chokes down your cock, determined to do it right.
"Oh, Satoru," you purr sympathetically, petting his hair. "Nearly thirty and you still can't suck cock to save your life... what'll I do with you?"
He pulls back with a slick pop, eyes wide and glossy. His voice is hoarse. "N-No, I can! I can, I promise, j-just let me try againâ"
"You're my good boy, aren't you?"
The words die in his mouth. Head foggy, he nods, throat bobbing as he stares up at you.
You stroke his cheek, smiling softly as he leans into it and kisses your palm. "Let me fuck your mouth. Maybe your toys are just too small to be of any real help, huh?"
Ashamed, Satoru swallows, picking at his shirt cuffs. He inclines his head a few degrees, barely a nod, but he allows you to gently guide his mouth around your cock once more. He wanted to show you how much he loved you, how you wouldn't have to do all the work anymore, but there was something so addicting about the way you controlled his body that he was a little glad to have failed. His eyes slide closed as you grip the back of his neck and hold back his bangs, guiding your cock down his throat.
He moans softly, his own dick throbbing inside his pants as you hit the back of his throat. He swallows around it dutifully, grasping your thighs for balance as you pull him down on your cock.
"Good boy. That's it. Such a good boy f'me." Your voice is a low murmur, flowing in one ear and out the other. Satoru whines quietly, the vibrations making you groan, and saliva drips down your shaft. You lean back and lift your hips slightly, pushing into his mouth.
He gags slightly but settles quickly, tongue gliding against the velvety veins of your dick. Your grip on him is firm but gentle â if you let go, he'd slump like a ragdoll against your leg, no doubt about it. He rocks his hips pathetically against nothing, whimpering as you fuck his throat, and you take pity â you shift your leg between his knees.
He fists your jeans, knuckles white, and moans as he grinds against your leg, his cock throbbing against his zipper. His whimpers sound broken, choppy, in a way you recognise as gratefulness. Thank you, thank you. Your dick pulses and he swallows, drooling and panting with his lips stretched white around you. He swallows greedily around you, the shape of your cock distending his slender throat.
"It's okay," you hum, brushing the tears from the corner of his eye. "You don't need to do anything. Not when I'm here. You just need to be my pretty puppy, yeah? Let me take care of everything. I got you."
A rough shudder runs through his body. He shoves his cock against your leg. He twitches, hips jerking involuntarily, and you can't help the fondness in your voice when you coo at him.
"Oh, sweetheart..."
Carefully, you pull him off of you, and his tongue lolls out of his mouth as he pants, eyes clouded and hazy. His grasp on your leg tightens as you lean forward, placing a soft kiss on his forehead.
"Poor thing. Must be pretty pent up, huh?" You pull him up, and it takes a moment for him to find his balance. You tug his slacks down his hips, but the square something in his back pocket gives you pause. You dip two fingers inside and pull out a black packet.
"Condoms?" You glance up at Satoru, who looks anywhere but at you. "You planned this, didn't you? Dirty puppy."
He wrings his hands, finding his voice. "I-I'm sorry... I just â it's our anniversary, 'n' I thoughtâ"
"You thought you'd be cute," you finish for him, and he nods with a soft pout. You reach in again and pull out another. And another. It's a row of them, separated by perforated tear lines, and his face grows red as you lift a disbelieving brow at them. You let the string of them hang from your fingers like a grocery receipt.
"Satoru... How many of these do you think we need?"
"I don't know! I'd rather be safe than sorry."
You chuckle and lean forward, pressing a kiss against his stomach. He cups the back of your head, slender fingers playing with your hair absently. "You're too cute. Wanna put one on for me?"
"You just like it when I touch you," he mumbles, but accepts the little square. He kicks off his slacks and underwear and takes a seat on your lap, tearing the packet open with his teeth at the same time. His eyes flick up to yours as he slides it down your shaft, his hands warm and pretty wrapped around you. He squeezes â you groan softly â and he whispers, "All done."
"Thank you, baby." You stroke his hips. He giggles in response.
"You can put it in," he murmurs, squeezing your shoulders as he leans forward and aligns your tip with his entrance. "I... Last night..."
"Hm." You watch him rub the tip against his hole â psyching himself up for it, you realise with a smile. "Was that before or after our call?"
His grip tightens. "Ah... After."
"Yeah?" Your smile takes on a dangerous edge and he gulps. "So, when you said you missed me..."
"S-Stop teasing me," he demands, his voice lilting with a whine. His brow furrows and he lowers himself on your cock, gasping as the head breaches his hole. The lube makes the glide easier, but the delicious burn of the stretch has his eyes fluttering and rolling back. The warmth... he's missed this. A toy couldn't have him shaking on his knees on the first thrust. Pain makes tears prick at his eyes. "Ohh, god..."
Satoru braces both hands against your shoulders, his toes curling in his black socks. He whimpers softly as you lean forward, pressing your chests together, in order to ease your cock deeper inside him. He rocks his hips, shallow and jagged, and presses his lips fervently to yours as he drops his hips and takes you all the way down to the base.
Tears prick at his eyes and he moans, long and loose and relieved. Your cock rests perfectly against his prostate, hot and thick, and every minuscule shift of his body has you rubbing deliciously against it. His cock throbs, dusky against his alabaster skin. His stomach flexes.
"Good?" you whisper, hot breath fanning against his throat. He shudders and nods, reaching back and spreading his asscheeks to swallow you deeper. His head falls to your shoulder as he lifts and lowers his hips messily, lips parted to gasp and pant softly.
You take over, hands big and rough on the creamy meat of his ass. There are new calluses on your palms, and a shard of annoyance cuts its way into the pleasured fog of Satoru's mind. Trying to appoint you clan leader through marriage â and therefore safe from the nuisance of arduous missions â had backfired fantastically, and now all those old coots know how much you mean to him.
Like, what was the point of marrying you to each other if you both still had to do the dirty work? Why couldn't he, as the strongest and least likely to complete the paperwork, simply come home to your kisses? You might hate him for making you do all the accounting and logistical work, but at least you'd be safe. He's very good at shoulder massages. The occasional assassin would be like swatting a fly to you.
"Sweetheart," you croon, snapping him out of his stewing displeasure. You grasp his chin in your hand and turn his face to yours, pressing a light kiss to the tip of his nose. He hums softly. "What's wrong?"
"I want you to be here every day," he whispers, pressing his cheek against yours. "Don't wanna have to make up for lost time like this. Drives me crazy."
"Oh, puppy... I know. But hey," you say, thrusting up into him and making him gasp, "you're hot when you're needy. And I'm all too willing to indulge you."
He clenches down around you. His cock twitches. "Mm, really? We could try using up all those condoms..."
You roll your eyes. "You're incorrigible."
"What does that â ah!"
He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as you thrust up roughly into him and drag him down at the same time, his ass slapping your hips. He scrambles to brace himself, his cock dripping a weak spurt of precome on his stomach. His chest heaves, his face flushed and his eyes wide. His eyes are blown with lust, deep ocean-blue, and his lip quivers as you repeat it, fucking up into his soft, eager little hole hungrily.
Satoru pants, breaths rough and uneven, as he tries his best to ride your cock. But with every thrust, you slam against his prostate and knock the thoughts out of his skull. He stutters and moans, trying to repeat himself â because really, what do you mean he's incorrigible? â but you've got a wicked grin on your face that spells nothing but trouble for him.
"W-Wait," he squeaks out, arms trembling as he tries to hold himself up on your chest. "I'llâ!"
"Come for me," you grunt, rolling his hips on your cock in a way that has his vision blooming with stars. "Lemme see you, Satoru. Let me see you, puppy."
He lets out a loud, sharp whine as his body jerks and his cock spurts, painting your stomach with thick ropes of white. The flush of his cheeks extends down his neck and chest, prettily pink, and he collapses against your chest, lazily rolling his hips and riding out his high.
Cooing his name softly, you pet his hair, which he melts into like pudding. His hum is like a purr when your nails scrape lightly against his scalp. "Good boy... so gorgeous when you come, aren't you? Did so well for me, sweetheart."
You begin to tug his blindfold down, as the rapid flickering of his eyes betrays how overwhelmed he is, but he shakes his head, nudging your hand to instead pull it off.
"No," he whines, raising his bright, flitting eyes to your face. They steady when they focus on your face, and his features soften. "Wanna see you. All of you." He exhales, a little shaky. "You still haven't finished."
"It'll be too much for you. Let's stop here."
He scowls. "How do you know that?"
"Iâ"
"Yeah, that's right. You don't. I can keep going." He lifts himself up on his knees until just the tip rests inside him, then drops back down. He swallows a whimper. "S-See? M'fine!"
Your brow furrows slightly as you hold him still. "Satoruâ"
"Please," he interrupts, eyes wide and pleading. "Baby, please, I can do it. Want you to come, too, okay? I want to â because I love you."
You didn't think sudden love confessions in the middle of sex could be so hot.
A breathless grin makes its way across his lips when you glance away and sigh, your hands tightening on his waist. It's the perfect place to grab, slim and fitting just right against your palms. He places his hand against your stomach between his legs, arching his back ever so slightly.
"Well," you drawl, shifting slightly. His breath hitches as your cock brushes his prostate. "Then maybe you could show me how much you love me."
"Youâ" He lets out a bitten moan as you move his hips, helping him grind against you. "Baby."
In response, you only offer a smirk, eyes glinting.
He sighs shakily and nods, leaning back and bracing against your knees. The position tightens him up and you groan, head tipping back against the couch backrest. He traces shallow ovals over your lap, his hole fluttering against you with every tug.
"Feeling unsteady, puppy?" you remark, but it's softer than your usual teasing. You trace his ribs, thumbs brushing over his nipples. He whimpers.
"No," he breathes, quickening his pace. His half-hard cock smacks his stomach with every harsh drop of his hips, the reddened tip dripping and slick. "I got it."
It's hard to act as if the sight doesn't affect you. His lean muscles flex with every shift, and as he sucks in a shuddering breath, a bulge pokes his belly. The print of it appears and disappears with each roll of his hips.
"Fuck," you hiss, gliding your hand down and pressing a thumb against it. Satoru twitches and stutters at the sight, letting out a ruined cry when words fail him. His breath grows ragged as he rides you harder, eyes wet with need. The bulge in his tummy moves with him.
His white hair is dark silver at the ends, stuck to his temples. A thin sheen of sweat coats his body, shimmering when it catches the light. With his milky skin, it's as if he's been brushed with crushed pearls.
You reach up and brush a thumb against his bitten lower lip, plush and warm. He parts them and presses his tongue against the pad of your thumb, moaning as you push it in. He grabs your wrist, nails digging into your skin, and lavishes wet kisses upon it. His tongue swirls around your thumb as if it was your cock and he pants hotly, lips pursing ever-so-slightly around it.
Your cock throbs inside him. The beginnings of a smug grin tug at his pillowy lips, and his eyes flash confidently. They falter and roll back into his skull as you bury your cock inside him with a rough thrust â he melts into your touch, his pretty little cock pulsing and dripping precome down his shaft and balls.
"You're so good to me," you chuckle throatily, pushing your thumb deeper into his mouth. He moans sharply. The whiplash between your warm, caressing palm and the violence with which you fuck him makes him downright dizzy. "Maybe I should take long business trips more often."
At that, he lets out a wrecked little sob, shaking his head. He leans deeper into you.
"No?" He shakes his head again, cerulean eyes clouded and unfocussed as you force his hips up and down from tip to base, knocking the breath out of his lungs. "Oh, sweet thing..."
His legs quiver. He's barely holding himself up, his sensitive hole aching with the sharp burn each time you pull out. You press his face into the crook of your neck and he mewls as you tug his arms behind his back, your hands strong and firm. He feels powerless like this, buried in the scent of your sweat and cologne, and all he can do is moan.
He stiffens when something snaps around his wrists. He arches back, trying to spot it. "Whatâ?"
"Sh-shh, puppy. You're too antsy. Gotta learn to take it slow." You smooth out his blindfold, twisted several times around his slim wrists. You glance down at him, your hair tickling his cheek. "Don't you?"
It feels like he's breathing soup. His heart hammers and he clenches around you, knees and feet scrabbling for purchase against the couch without the use of his arms. He whimpers, tugging at the bindings. His fingers flex. "Y-Yes, sir..."
"Good boy."
And god, do you take it slow. He's a mess in minutes, teary-eyed and trembling, as you use him like a toy, lifting and lowering him on your cock, which feels all too big and thick in his swollen, abused hole. He swears he can taste it. He babbles, his sudden orgasm going totally ignored even as he sobs and calls you everything under the sun ranging from his usual pet-names to your title. You ignore him, focussing on keeping your thrusts steady and even.
"Sir," he gasps wetly as his aching cock twitches valiantly. "Sir."
"Yes, puppy?"
His brain is melting out of his ears. Hot tears streak down his flushed cheeks, wetting your shoulder. It's humiliating, being trapped like this on your cock, and he can't help the new ball of arousal swirling low in his belly.
"Too deep..." He lets out a wet whimper as his cock begins to harden again. Oh, stamina. "P-Please â come already..."
"I'm trying pretty hard." You hum, rolling him in your hands like a scientist with their pet project. You sigh as if disappointed. "You're all loose â like a whore."
Choking out a devastated moan, he shuffles on his knees, walls squeezing and swallowing your cock with renewed vigour. "Sir, I'm â 'm notâ"
"Please, Satoru. You already admitted to touching yourself while I was away â you couldn't wait just a few weeks for me to come home. If you were good, you would've kept your hands to yourself. You forget who thisâ" you lift his hips and tap his asshole, making him clench and whine "âbelongs to."
Few weeks? Few weeks? Satoru wants to cry. It isn't his fault his love language is physical touch. Going cold turkey for so long was agonising.
"'M sorry," he whispers, eyes squeezing shut as you dance your fingers over his swollen cock. "O-Oh...!"
You huff, shifting on the couch. You hold him up, his delicate hipbones slotted into the V of your thumb and forefinger. "I know you are, but I'll remind you anyway. You belong to me."
You set a punishing pace, fucking up into him and dragging him down to meet your thrusts. His hair bounces and he cries out, arms flexing against the blindfold. His eyes roll back and he moans, open-mouthed, against your neck, broken little half-sobs punched out of his throat.
He can't get a single full word out. Even his cracked, ruined 'fuck, fuck, fuck' is peppered with whines.
Then your hand comes down, hard, on his ass.
His eyes widen. His mouth opens in a silent scream. He comes.
You groan as thin streaks of come splatter your stomach, his cock rutting against you through it. His hips jerk and he starts to sob openly when your pace only quickens, his ass rippling with each thrust. "Fuck, sir," he wails, "y'feel so good...!"
You massage his stinging cheek, whispering sweet nothings in his ear that float him away into a soft cloud of thoughtlessness. It's so easy to give up control to you â so easy to hand himself over. If he has nothing else to give, you will have him.
Even through the fog of pleasure, he remembers how to kiss you. He would know how even if he lost every memory. He moans into it, raspy and wrecked. His toes curl and bliss weighs down his bones as you groan his name and thrust up once, twice, into him, cock throbbing hotly against his soft, gummy walls. Finally, you sink into the couch, holding him close.
He lays there, slumped against you, as you catch your breath together. His eyes flutter shut, the image of your face as you come seared into his mind, and he giggles drunkenly to himself.
You were so good to him even when you were mean.
Gently, you ease his blindfold off his wrists, and he immediately wraps his arms around your shoulders protectively. You're his, and his only. He sits quietly as you clean up to the best of your ability with him on top of you, and he whines softly when you try to set him aside.
"Satoru," you try.
"I'm sore," he retorts, feeling your chest rise and fall with your breaths. His voice is deliciously ragged and raspy. "Fix me."
"No."
"Then I'm staying right here."
"The house will burn down."
"Let it."
Incorrigible. You sigh and lift him just enough to do up your zipper, then lift him in a princess carry and rise to your feet. Satoru purrs and clutches you tighter, rubbing his cheek into your shoulder as you carry him through the house. "Let's find you some new pants, sweetheart."
"M'kay."
"After that, you're on your own," you warn him, stepping sideways through the bedroom door. He uses it as an excuse to tuck his head in the crook of your neck. "I need to check on the soup. I'll call for you when dinner's ready."
"Mm..." He gazes up at you with a sugar-soft look in his eyes. He rubs his hazy eyes as you set him down on the bed to open up his extensive wardrobe. "But I need to set the table..."
"I'll do it. You just take care of clean-up, yeah?"
"Mhm." Satoru tugs the open sides of his button-up shirt closed and fixes the long hem over his milky thighs. He sighs softly, watching you gather his pyjamas with soft blue eyes. "It's really good to have you home, you know. Everything's back to normal."
"Is that right?" Your voice softens and you cross the room, ducking down to Satoru's level. Expectantly, he lifts his face, closing his eyes, and smiles as you brush back his bangs and press your lips to his forehead. "Then you better make sure to spoil me rotten."
He catches your hand before you can pull away. With a teasing, bitten-back grin, he lowers it, and tugs his shirt hem up. He places your hand on his thigh, dragging it higher.
"Like this?" he whispers, coy when he flutters his lashes at you.
Your fingers dig into the soft, sensitive meat of his thigh. He mewls softly, plush pink lips parting.
You tear your hand away, drawing in a sharp breath. "Fuck. Later. Soup first."
Satoru huffs and rolls his eyes, leaning back on his palms when you scramble out the door. "Stupid soup," he mumbles to himself petulantly. "Why would he eat anything else when I'm right here? Stupid noodles. Stupid husband."
A voice breaks through the silence from down the hall. "I heard that!"
"Good!" He collects the clothes you'd picked out for him, smoothing his fingers down the soft cotton patterns. "I ain't a liar!"
He mumbles a radio song under his breath as he tosses away the plain black boxer shorts into the wardrobe. A sly smirk flickers across his features as he pulls out a pair of baby-blue panties from a drawer, placed right at the front and tucked into a neat little square. It's a pretty thing, lacey and soft, and it sits nice and high on him, accentuating his slender hips. They make his legs go on for ages.
He tucks it into his stack of clothes with an innocent hum, and then off he goes, prancing into the bathroom with an extra pep in his step. He doesn't lock the door behind him.
Satoru understands that you enjoy taking care of him, pampering him like a princess even when he pulls your hair and takes your toys. You always will. It's a wonderful thing, to be loved so sweetly; no one else could do it better.
He needs to return the favour, he thinks, glancing at his clothes and the little secret they hide. Nothing feels like it could ever measure up to what you do for him, but he can do this, and it's a start. Perhaps it'll get him closer to being your equal.
đŚ CAPTAIN CHARISMA'S DRUNKEN ESCAPADES ⎠1.6k wc
âââââââââââââ brant x male reader
CONTENT â ââââ ďš sub bottom brant & dom top male reader ďš mating press, prone bone, anal, teasing, unresolved feelings, drunk! brant, possession / possessive thoughts, rough sex, cock drunk! brant, jealousy: semi-proof read
pressing brant so deep into a mating press while he was soused off his mind began to feel like he was a fire impossible to contain â you tried sobering him up earlier with some hot jinzhou stew and it did little to accommodate the searing intoxication lacing his system, now babbling incoherently about how warm your cock was skewering his asshole.
this was pretty typical behaviour of him â getting sloshed on purity strength with the troupe during a menial celebration and having someone else suffer the consequences of his actions. you felt bad because roccia was the one to personally deliver his drunken ass to your cabin every single time this happened, his dead weight pressing down on her more than his actual weight.
you considered at one point that it would probably be safer for everyone if you just showed up to the party instead just to observe him quietly, yet the idea alone was infuriating â tending to a grown manâs needs was annoying, pesky, bothersome, even. you truly felt bad for her. but you were also petty and didnât care enough to.
any sensible person would feel ashamed that their captain was acting so impudently, and you told her it was nothing to worry about. because it wasnât, truly. sheâd tell you that once he was black out drunk, he would babble your name over and over again, with a string of incoherences. yeah, she was embarrassed⌠you didnât blame her, but you promised her that it was okay.
âbrant, wake up.â
you rolled your hips lazily into him as he fiddled with the hairs adorning your nape, teary eyes trying to keep their focus on your own orbs.
âheh, heh. mmm, is that y-you y/n...?â
he grabs your face â more pertinently, your cheeks â squeezing them together and feeling the sharp features of your nose, jaw, cheekbones, brow bone, until his fingers dance along your lips, dragging your bottom one down a smidge to pepper soft kisses against.
you roll your eyes, giving him a sharp thrust that has him squeaking like a little mouse into your mouth, and you smirk against him when you feel his hole constrict around you. his noise turns into a low groan, when you push your tongue inside his mouth, one of his arms coming up to cover his eyes as the other lightly tugs on your hair.
you disconnect from his mouth. âhow are you this hopeless all the time, captain charisma?â
he looks down at you where you glaze over his tacet mark with the flat of your tongue, eliciting another erotic murmur from his lips. ââis captain⌠brant! leader of the troupe of fools- to y-you- ugh.. ngh- ohâŚ!â
his eyes roll back momentarily as you rock slowly against him, trapping his head between your palms so heâs forced to look up at you.
the pornographic look on his face grinds your gears â no one needed to see how much of a whore he was for your cock when it was impossible for him to keep his voice down. it wasnât like he was trying, especially when his mind wasnât in the right place. all he thought about in this moment was how thick you felt as you scraped every crevice of his insides with your dick. it felt hot and overbearing, capturing all the air in his lunges and pushing it out of his system.
a pretty sight indeed. you always thought he was too pretty for his own good. that and his demanding charm too â it was unavoidable when he took interest in you specifically. you never understood why that was. if it wasnât him using you as his personal dildo on demand â which you unfortunately gave into every time â what could it have been?
at one point he said he âwanted to figure you outâ, but that could mean a multitude of menacing endings. despite his outwardly friendly aura, everyone knew what brant was capable of. he didnât like how you didnât take interest in him during your first initial greeting. and he didnât like how you addressed him either. it wasnât like you disliked him, just how self-absorbed he was. you thought there was nothing special about those type of people.
âs-stop thinking and start- NGH! thrusting⌠misterâ
he flicks your forehead and you glance down at him, mouth turning downward. âhave you considered what i want?â
âwhat you want is⌠irrelevant, right now.â thereâs spite in his tone as the agonisingly slow drags of your cock splits him open.
âirrelevant? just like this used hole of yours?â
his eyes flicker to you in malice. âdo you think i go around parading this body to anyone?â
âyes.â
you deadpan at him and he stares at you, dumbfoundedly. after a few seconds of silence, he clicks his tongue, trying to roll over onto his stomach. after he does so, with your cock still skewering his ass, he melts into the fabric below, relishing in the feel of your weight above him â caged and contained but still not enough to keep his mind at rest.
âthat doesnât matter, mmm.â
âit matters to me.â
you bring a hand to his stomach, pushing lightly to bring his ass up more. you then recline and place a foot opposite one of his spread legs.
âwhy do you always get drunk, captain brant? do you like being taken advantage of by just anyone?â
heâs starting to realise the undertone of how you say his name, and it tickles his insides with annoyance.
âthatâs none of your concern- ah⌠as it is who i sleep with.â
âso itâs none of my concern when roccia brings her best friend to me in hopes i could help him?â
ây-yes⌠ahh⌠mhm none of your concern. i never asked you to.â
âneither did she.â you sigh, laying flat against him now, your cock taking up places that shouldnât be discovered.
âi feel terrible for her, truly.â
silence fills the space between the two of you and he lays there pliantly. âyouâre so annoyingâŚâ brant manages to mumble just loud enough for you to hear, and you twitch above him.
âiâm the annoying one?â
âyes! ngh⌠my god-â you bring your hips back before moving into him again, squishing the fat of his ass forward as you do. âcanât you see iâm only doing this to get your attention? to rile you up?â
of course he was. you knew that. it was clear he was only doing this to piss you off and it was working. why he was really doing this, youâll never figure out. brant could pull anyone willingly and with ease, yet he still relied on you the most, almost as if he found comfort in your behaviour. he knew you wouldnât harm him, despite how angry you got.
ânothing to say now?â he jabs back at you. you hum briefly before leaning back, spreading his cheeks widely as you drop saliva down at where youâre both connected.
âiâm just surprised, thatâs all.â
you watch the liquid sink into him as you do with your thick cock, watching the way it disappears inside of him. âs-surprised about what? what now?â
when you lean down to whisper in his ear, his mind reels. âiâm surprised that you trust me so easily. hmm, its endearing, actually. i just wish you were a little less annoying about it.â
you couldnât help yourself but gradually pick up the pace, sliding in and out of him in long movements until you reached a certain point inside of him. âif youâre going to trust me now, donât try and dispose of me later. it wonât work out for you in the end.â
brant accidentally lets a whine slip from his lips, raw and unfiltered, âf-fuck⌠pleaseâŚâ
âmmm, i know, terrible, isnât it?.â you kiss the side of his forehead, his hair sticking to his skin in sweaty ripples as you plow into him. when you do, you mutter tiny proclamations close to his ear. âmine. did you get that? youâre all mine.â
he feels his cock throb and rub against the bedding below him.
âsay it. i want you to say it, brant. and i want you to mean it.â
âyours- ugh⌠y-yours, all yours.â
you litter kisses in between his shoulder blades and the man below you releases without warning, his body quivering below your hold. âand?â
âa-andâŚâ he says breathlessly, choking on his thoughts, still overcome with warm euphoria. âand⌠i wonât⌠ngh- please itâs too much-â he tries to push you back. âsay it, brant.â you continue to pound into him despite his previous testament.
âi-i wonât⌠drink⌠again.â
you roll your eyes.
well that wasnât what you were hoping for. something along the lines of âiâm sorry for toying with you! i didnât mean it! i wonât play with your feelings ever again!â
you knew he was too fucked out to say anything seriously, and the alcohol was still hitting his system like a steam roller. this was okay for now. you knew anything else youâd say to him would go in one ear and out the other. he probably wonât even remember this in the morning⌠how⌠vexing.
the idea of that sends you over the edge and you bury yourself to the hilt inside of his tight, wet hole. his legs flail up, boots still covering his feet, and before he can moan out, you force his face into the material below to muffle his noises.
your seed flushes his insides and paints his walls white, a groan leaving your lips as you bottom out. after a moment of relishing in the bliss of your own orgasm, you lean down to see if brant was still conscious, releasing his hair from your grasp â barely, and all he does is smirk up at you through a fucked out expression.
âi love this.â
he does love this moment with you, but will it last forever?
your cheeks burn and it compels you to bring him into your chest, tucking his head under your chin. he nuzzles into you, drifting off to sleep.
CASEDEVIANT âââââââ 2025 đŚ do not translate, plagiarise, redistribute or ai train my writingďš all works belong to me ďšJOIN THE TAGLIST
Love Alpha Phainon but imagine Enigma reader that's looks absolutely gorgeous feminine way but absolutely freaky at home
a/n: ...let's breed that hunk, nonnie. and by breed i mean take him out on a nice little date and pamper him before pounding him into oblivion. and by hunk i mean, well, phainon. SUB! PHAINON, you are the one dicking him down here.
cw: nsfw. these are js lil headcanons to stop myself from going insane......i cant write...anymlre....im working on seven things at once, its crazy. YOU, yes you, have a dick in this one but uses feminine adjectives(?) sigh
â okay but imagine being this femme goddess who's literally the source of all the fashion trends in okhema. ANYTHING you wear suddenly becomes beautiful and fashionable.
â there's love letters everyday of the week, and multiple from a certain chyrsos heir. you like reading his and chucking the others away in some trashcan.
â i don't know how phainon pulled you and honestly, he doesn't either. he thought he was hallucinating when you accepted his confession, he had to ask two times, "wait, really? are you sureÂż" like bro YOU were the one who confessed, wdym.
â aglaea hires you to promote her works btw, and it always gets sold out when you wear it.
â you know that trend where it's like "my s/o so pretty, it looks like they're doing charity work" yeah, that's him with you.
â he gets asked twice a week, "how?" and he just smirks before deflating,"i don't know either..."
â phainon loves being smothered in your scent, and he also likes smothering you in his. your pheremones are so thick on him that you can barely make out his own scent.
â he's lowkey so obsessed with you, it's insane. if any other scent that isn't yours cling to his skin, it makes him nauseous. he scrubbed his body raw when an omega tried scenting him, you've never seen him so mad, but he tried his best to respectfully tell them to get lost while veins are bulging on his neck from restrained rage.
â you have him whipped. the moment he became yours and you as his, phainon's already gone. completely and utterly at your mercy, whatever you say goes. he does not wanna fumble YOU, of all people. ask him to jump off a cliff and he'll go, "anything for you, dawnlight." and off he goes into the ravine with that lovesick smile on his face. cue to him slowly dissappearing into the void while you watch in mild amusement.
â something interesting: he's doing everything he can to be 'worthy' of you but it always feels like he's never enough and it gets him really sad. luckily, you're always there to reassure him. phainon is so cute whenever he gets all tearful, his usual charismatic facade gone, and everything that's been bothering him is bared to you. please hug him.
â by the way, no one actually has the balls to walk up to you and confess. being an enigma and all, your presence is NO JOKE, like your pheremones are insane to other sub genders. it's both oppressive and alluring, you're like an untouchable temptation and phainon somehow won the lottery by growing some balls to confess to you.
â phainon is very very veeery devoted to you. he takes such good care of you!! he learns to cook your favorite meals, even to the point of asking mydeimos and castorice for help. your hair is always done by him, phainon managed to have hyacine teach him a few hairstyles to style you with. there's no saving his fashion sense though, so you're alone on that one. after you started dating phainon, you are literally glowing even more than usual, that's how much he takes care of you.
â no one will ever disrespect you on his watch, any bad rumors is immediately stomped out. you are literally so perfect, you could never do wrong in his eyes. the inner alpha in him preens whenever you praise him for wacking away these fake rumors about you.
â give him a little kiss whenever he does something well or wins a fight, he will literally light up like a child who just got their favorite candy handed to them. he giggles when you smooch him all over his face, it's so cute. prepare when he tries to do it back, it's like dealinh with a dog slobbering all over you. yes, he licks your face. yes, he scents you all over. no, you cannot avoid it.
NSFW BELOW!!
â imagine phainon, with only his choker and thigh strap, kneeling before you while you smudge away the lipstick marks you've left all over his face. he's whining, trying to nuzzle his cheeks into your palm. if you look a little further down, you can see his dick twitching and oozing precum, pathetically humping at your calf. you tut at him, pressing your stiletto heel down on his bare thigh, "patience, darling."
â phainon spoils you a lot, both in bed and outside of it. he worships your body like a temple, phainon took one good look at you naked and genuinely dropped to his knees like a victorian man seeing tits for the first time. i get him though, you're literally gorgeous and your scent smells so good it's like he's in heaven.
â he loves deepthroating you. yeah, i know, how do you think i feel while typing this out. anyways, phainon doesn't care if you're big or small. he'll choke on it and keep sucking like his life depended on milking you dry. i kid you not, you'd have to physically pull him from your dick and he's whining for more. his jaw might dislocate at this point, know your limits, phai!
â he's so impatient with getting marked, he is practically shoving your fangs on his nape and throat. phainon just wants to be yours so bad, it hurts when he's not all marked up by you. he gets quite bratty when you don't leave hickeys, and he expects you to always scent him before letting you dick him down.
â lowkey, he kinda got scared when you were in your rut and you were kinda tweaking out trying not to just shove it in. phainon was both aroused and fearful, he was so painfully hard and sweating buckets that you'll rip him apart.
â his favorite is when you have him folded in half, knees all the way up to his shoulders, and he can practically feel you in his stomach. this guy doesn't know what overstimulatation is, he can cum four times straight and not even need a break. sure, he's drooling and he can't say anything else aside from your name but he isn't pulling out the safe word anytime soon.
â +not that freaky but you always keep the choker on him during sex. sometimes you put him on a leash, sometimes you have him finger himself open in front of you and he's crying from embarassment but doesn't want to dissapoint you so he keeps going, and sometimes you just sit back and relax while he fucks himself on your cock like a whore, babbling about how much he wants your cum inside him until he's sure he's pregnant with your pups.
â speaking of cumming inside, this man needs to get bred. look at him bro, he looks like the perfect housewife. everytime you knot him, he gets sooo pathetic, it's so embarassing to watch him whimper about how much he loves your knot and that he's so happy you love him so much. he gets all red and snotty when you pull out, lifting his hips to try and get your dick back inside him.
â "phai, that's enough." you sigh, petting his sweat-slicked hair. "no, please...hic...one more, one more, i need it so bad." phainon whines, feeling your cum drip out from his hole, he scoops it with his finger and pushes it back in with a moan. "...goddamit." you mutter under your breath when you feel yourself getting hard again.
â you two have a freak4freak relationship. you are both very freaky. i dont even wanna type out all the things you two might be doing in the bedroom but just so you know, aglaea personally prepared a soundproofed room just for you two because she got so many noise complaints that it nearly took up a quarter of space in her desk.
â he has a thing for his hair being pulled and being man handled. and you probably have a thing for it too with how much you indulge him. you have him face down, ass up while you're pounding him into the mattress and he's just thanking you while he sobs on the pillow. yes, he cries a lot during sex, yes it's a pattern. yes, i might be into making men cry, and yes, you will be into it too by the time you're done reading. phainon has a very lewd expression when he's cumming, not to say that people don't, it's just that his is extra lewd if you get what i mean.
â consider this: shoving your fingers down his throat while you have him spread open on your desk like a whore. he's drooling all over your fingers and whatever paper it is on your desk, maybe the marriage contract you'll be giving him after this. phainon can feel his ears ring while you slam your cock in him like a madman, and he's enjoying the hell out of it. his eyes are rolled back, and his moans are muffled by your fingers. you hit that perfect spot and everything goes white, his legs shaking so much, you're worried he was having a seizure. phainon is cumming hard, milky white semen shooting up all the way to his pecs while you continue to pound into him. he's so loud that not even your fingers can muffle the sound of his moan. you feel a little bad so you take your fingers out and he grabs them with shaking hands, trying to shove them back into his mouth with that pathetic expression on his face.
â you two aren't animals so OF COURSE, there's aftercare. now, i will have to be honest, phainon cannot even walk after this...yeah. don't worry, you take very good care of him, catering to his needs before tucking him in. sometimes, he just wants to cuddle before cleaning up. also sex isn't always freaky with phaichan, he actually gets quite emotional during sex so sometimes it turns into this sensual and soft sex with a lot of confessions and body worship, not just towards you but also towards phainon too 'cause he deserves it.
â sorry...this is so...i dont know whats gotten into me. let's stop here, i ccan write more but for the sake of my dignity, i will stop here.
now. i will be very honest to you, i had to watch 20 tiktoks explaining what an enigma is and how they change alphas into omegas. i even read on some fanfiction from random fandoms just to figure it out. biologically speaking, i dont get it but well! let's breed that hunk, who cares about accuracy (i do).
âSe te olvida,
Que me quieres a pesar de lo que dices,
Pues llevamos en el alma cicatrices,
Imposibles de borrar.â
âYouâre forgetting
That you love me despite your words,
For we carry scars in our soulsâ
Impossible to erase.â
â˘. *ŕż
finished writing and proofreading on sunday (and sunday finished) so I consider this piece blessed by the irony gods. best viewed in dark mode
art byă ¤@ssanagi00ă ¤on X
pairing: sunday + male reader, very mildly suggestive with blade, argenti and gepard but interest can be interpreted as platonic as well, whatever tickles your pickle
warnings: amab! top male reader, reader and sunday are very much not friendly in this, sexual tension, violence and injury, demons being representative of base desires (lust), corruption, overstimulation, sub character, virgin sunday, slowburn, horrible communication and I mean that vehemently
wc: 18.8k, and over 5k of those words are freaky
HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST
MASTERLIST ăťăăťNAVIGATION
This is how the world was created.
On the first day, grant Truth.Â
From the primordial chaos that rages in the depths of the universe sprouts a seedling called Paradise, cast from the scales to sow Order throughout the furor in the absence of Ena. Known to all as the beginning, each poor soul will return to their dream at the End of All Things: a merciful slumber to ease them from their miseries.Â
On the second day, grant the Calendar.Â
The time must be marked. To regulate the cacophonous path leading to the inevitable sleep, one sequences the daysâcarefully filling them, such that when a soul submits itself on the great scales, it will not be found lacking.Â
On the third day, grant Language.Â
The record of human history and geography is created through sound, shaped through every word and phrase that is passed on from ancestor to descendant, from merchant to merchant: changes that ripple, as majestic and all-consuming as a tidal wave is to a pond.Â
On the fourth day, grant Value.
Value. Your pen halts at the word: ink bleeding into the thoughts on fragile vellum, alongside the even more precious transcript in a separate tome. It is not quite valuable yet. Only when the translation is complete shall it be assigned a fingerprint of its own to determine the use it will have in the worldâa task he has deigned to personally preside over.Â
On the fifth day, grant Rules.
Heâs rather fond of them. Rules, that isârigid commandments dictating that you must obey him as a temporary vassal, formalities that set clear boundaries between the two of you.Â
On the sixth day, grant Meaning.Â
Rules that you donât necessarily assign meaning to. Your fingers drum against the table as you complete the passage. His gaze, almost mechanically, snaps up at the very imprint of that meaningless actionâfor he has assigned ire and disgust to the moments you donât conform to the chalk outline youâre meant to stay in. Obedient, like the rest of his people are. On a tight leash, as a crazed dog of the battlefield should be. The senses youâve sharpened whisper of a quill creaking as gloved fingers grasp it tighter than they should: like heâs holding the supple leather, ready to pull should he need to.Â
On the seventh day, grant Dignity.Â
He would argue you have none. You would retort that you have all of it. Not as a noble, nor as a transient subordinate of the Argonian pope, but as a humanâa concept that has remained unfaltering between death and rebirth. There is enough self-respect contained within you to abate his lack of it for you.Â
And on the eighth day, grant us the Paradise where this all started.Â
The treatises youâve thumbed through these past few weeks have alluded to the same conclusion: the Order will bring everything back to the beginning. Youâve heard him speak, when his lips utter sermons youâve quickly grown tired of, echoing sharply within the cold heaven of this temple: on cycles within each soulâs lifetime; on the universal chance of equilibrium; and other apocalyptic drivel that you pay attention to with only a minute fragment of your brain.Â
Like all things, this will trickle back into the beginning, too.
â˘. *ŕż
âIs Brother doing alright? I noticed heâs become too busy to visit oftenâŚâ
Small cracks. The perfunctory civil gesturesâmore like jestsâperformed between lord and aide begin to crumble.Â
âHave I done something?âÂ
Her worry illuminates the amorphous mass of problems that spills and churns, tucked far away in the crashing waves of your mind: like a lighthouse, each word is a beacon that reels in the creature lurking in the deep. Itâs far too vile to call a relationship. Too pathetic to be mutual enmity.Â
Yet, those same words only catch the very shadow lurking beneath the tumultuous surface. She sees the tension within his set mouth when he comes to visit: the quiet, fragile vestiges of amiabilityâif one can even call it that. Itâs all for her sake, and you donât mind playing along with his little farce.Â
A literal and metaphorical veil separates her from her brother and her friend. Hazy fabric creates impurities in the glacial relationship: futile hopes that this, too, will be restored to what it once was.Â
Unfortunately, for her, it has always been like this.Â
Her teacup chimes as she sets it in the saucerâfar unlike the clumsy handling of your own. It is a stark reminder that you do not belong. The sandwich you so carefully sliced up just a candle earlier is untouched, and you can tell that somethingâs brewing in her mind.Â
(The most pathetic fallacy. His oppressive scent lingers on your clothes: brushing past you as he collected the manuscripts youâd had half a mind to scribble all over. It twists over your bodyâa cage made from faint soap and clean linen.)Â
He invades your thoughts: as a straw man to set ablaze in this uncanny chill.Â
Maybe she knows. Some things cannot be fixed, for they were never whole.Â
âHeâs alone,â she confesses. Itâs a point in time you donât quite remember: a memory that stands out from the rest of its counterparts, unfit to be in the same chronology.Â
No wonder, you mightâve said in response, had this been a different life. You bite on the words so hard your lip tears: blood welling into your mouth and coating the lingering saccharine taste of sweets with metal. You hope she doesnât see your wince.Â
âIâm glad youâre with him. It does my brother good to have someone he can trust.â
It has to be a horrible comedy at this point. Words so pathetically ironic, that you would laugh if they werenât so sad, come out of the Saintâs mouth. All you can do is offer a sympathetic look: as though your existence doesnât make him a worse person, as though the two of you arenât entwined in a relationship of reciprocal harm.Â
Bile rises in your throat. Maybe it would have been better to break it to herâover the gentle amber tea that ripples in your teacup, amidst the hushed patter of rain that would wash away the needless cruelty in your words as you explain to her, tired therapist style, that perhaps this friendship isnât working out between you and her unfortunate brother. Trust. It is a concept suited to you and the Saint: something easy and deep that exists as a placid lake, tranquil and ever-present. Even as an antonym, it shouldnât approach the relationship between you and the Pope at all, lest it be tarnished by association.Â
You open your mouth: white lies beginning to coalesce on your tongue, so sweet in the throes of the acerbic truth.Â
Yet, there is no need to speakâno need to sully the calm waters between the two of you with an untruth coaxed out in a moment of panicâfor the soft leather of boots caresses the stone floors in a rhythm that only belongs to one person.Â
âAh,â she mumbles self-consciously, picking at the delicate lace of her veil. Ah, indeed. âPlease donât tell him I said anything.â
âOf course,â you reply smoothly. Too smoothly. It is the only thing you will be honest about today: as he quietly steps into the room; as his face barely hides the mild irritation upon sight of you; as you mask your own distaste with a small, strained smile.Â
Both of you are filthy liars.Â
When the End of All Things comes, both of you will be found wanting, and you are not quite sure who will tumble to hell first.Â
â˘. *ŕż
One would typically think that the only Pope in the Argonian lands wouldnât be swayed by petty, mortal emotions. Certainly, in the novel you read, he was more like a carved jade statue rather than humanâseemingly distant, neutral, and even quite benevolent if one hadnât read the later chapters and saw his angelic figure embossed into a neat little corner on the cover of the novel.Â
Looking at him now, it isnât difficult to reach the inevitable conclusion that the villain you knew, and the man you thought you could predict, are two wholly different beings.Â
One may ask, why?
Why, indeed.
Your foul mood trails behind you like a grave shroud on a funeral pyre, ignited in the low heat of the day. It smokes and sputtersâoverpowering, despite the neutral expression on your face and your relaxed body language.Â
âWould you like to sit down and join us, my lord? It wouldnât do, to have us be the only two enjoying ourselves while you stand in this humid weather.â
They look a picture. Her, clad in a pearlescent-grey dress that complements his hair and his robes that youâre sure he picked out himself for this appointment. You mar the landscape; a carmine coat like bloodstains in this view, a bitter reminder of exactly where your nobility was forged.Â
âI am here to guard you and His Holiness, my lady. Iâm afraid I cannot,â you reply, prompt and curtâas you tend to be towards those in the main cast.Â
You stand behind Sunday: stone-like, immovable. It would be easy to unsheathe your swordâfast enough to blur time and space and sever his head from his neck, like youâve done a countless number of times. It would be easy to flee to the Southern continents with the wind on your heels and a new face recast with the mana that flows through the circles bound around your heart. It would be easy to leave this life behindâto step into the waves that lap on the shores and cast your sorrows into the deep.Â
Why has he placed you here, you wonder?
His achromatic hair flutters in the wind, and the soft flesh of his nape is exposed. He doesnât trust you, at all, yet heâs showing his weakness so easily.Â
Their conversation falls on deaf ears as you observe them both: her animated chatter and his quiet responses.Â
He smells of tea leaves and the faint oils that come with peeling a fruit, all layered beneath the incense lit daily in the temple. The breeze conveys it to you in whispers, rippling against your body mercilessly.Â
You feel glad that the story is slipping back into its unsightly rhythm, after being so ruthlessly upturned by you, if only for the sake of your freedom.Â
Heâs gazing softly at her, youâd imagineâwith about as much pressure as the brush of snow on ground. You wouldnât know what that looks like, though (considering a) heâs never looked at you kindly, and b) his back is facing you, as well as that neck of his that you canât help but bore holes into as petty vengeance). Within the past week, sheâs visited him twice. The hound (you), naturally, must followâteeth baredâready to put yourself in harmâs way for a contract.Â
Itâs not pride thatâs reared its head within him. It wouldâve demanded you leave him be with her, as he is capable enough to protect both of them. Youâd be inclined to agree. She herself could match most elite monsters blow for blow with the spirit sword she tucks deep within her soulânot that heâd know yet, for that is a secret between only her (and of course, the reader whoâs watched over her world, omniscient).Â
No, it doesnât seem to be pride. He knows you know his strength; youâve fought him, sturdy vines that ensnare their prey, versus a Harpe that, despite its initial misgivings about you, has begrudgingly melded into your hand, ready to reap viscera and blood alongside you.Â
Perhaps itâs a concentrated form of wrath. Honed to the finest, sharpest point, it now grazes against your throatâa sign that at the end of the day, no matter how much you writhe and twist against the binds that tie you to Argo, you are still under his thumb. Or maybe, itâs a poisonous sort of envy: a warning that try as you might, youâll never be able to reach her in a way he has.Â
You maintain your neutral expression.Â
But, for the first time, something about the happy sight begins to rankle.Â
â˘. *ŕż
The only witnesses to your midnight flight from the temple are the small lights that flicker perpetually in the long night. Swift-footed as you may be, the ties that weigh you down arenât merely contractual, but emotional. Thus, you currently arenât running away from obligation, but simply maximising your time offâwandering the streets where your face is less known, your presence less well-regarded.Â
Exceptâ
The air tears apart under the pressure of a singular blade, resplendent in the dying glow of the streetlamps.Â
âsomething cold settles by the flesh of your neck, half-malicious, half-not. Without turning, you know who it isâwhich is why Harpe remains snugly in its sheath at your hip.Â
âYour Grace,â you greet: laconic, unwavering. âIs there a reason for this ambush?â
âAn ambush?â he scoffs, but the sword moves crisply through space, and you hear the click of it against his sheath. âHardly. If it were an ambush, your head would be lying at your feet right now.â
Your thumb traces the ornate carvings of Harpe, but you still donât turn to face him. Thereâs a limit to the respect you show him, much like the rest of the insipid characters in this universe. âIf you wanted a fight, Your Grace, you couldâve asked and I would have been happy to oblige.âÂ
It would be a different matter if he monopolised your time during work hours, but these little slivers of freedom that you grasp with your two hands are so much more precious that you feel a wave of annoyance at the Northern Duke Yingxingâs interruption of your break. You pivot on your heel, finally deigning to show him the frigid expression painting your faceâand oh, heâs a bit too close for your liking.Â
Something creaks in the distance, like muscles straining against bone when a hand clenches into a neat little fist.Â
His face is poisoned with his displeasure, while his black locks ripple like tar in the boreal windâindistinguishible from the hue of blood when night falls on it.Â
âUnfortunately, you falling to my blade will have to be postponed.â His eyes settle on where the hilt of Harpe glimmers beneath the warm swathes of fabric you hastily donned: studying her make, what little details he can glean from the glint. He vivisects both the sword and her wielderâone charged moment it takes for him to penetrate through your bearing and the way your body tenses in a non-combat environment (or at least, you hope), in a way he couldnât afford to when the ancient jian he held clashed so fearsomely with Harpe.Â
One moment. You canât read the expression that crosses his faceâhalf-contemplative. No. Perhaps a third. Maybe youâd wallow a bit more in the irony of it allâthat the pixelated ink has been inhibited with an incomprehensible life of its ownâbut heâs sliding a thick, expensive envelope out of his long coat, and the moment is gone.Â
âAn invitation.âÂ
The two words are laden with about as much emotion as a nondescript plate tucked into the back of a cupboardâso absent as to be completely overlooked and forgotten, just like the implication in these syllables. Is it a threat? A formal request for a duel? A romantic dinner for two thatâs been grossly mishandled?Â
You donât take it. In fact, you stare at the cream-hued parchment so long that the deep grey clouds that whorl the night split and spill cautious raindrops. Even beneath the eaves of the closed shops, you can feel the warm water brush the hem of your coat and speckle the ground with petrichor: a most pathetic fallacy.Â
âForâŚâ you finally prompt. It scorns etiquetteâthe instructor the King haphazardly sent your way, oh, how his face wouldâve curdled at your manner.Â
He leans in, like heâs telling you some great big secret: all the while, his gloved hands sheathe the paper between the layers of fabric that bind heat to your body.Â
âItâs confidential,â he replies, and you can hear the faint mockery in his voice as he moves past you without another wordâwithout even a look back.Â
â˘. *ŕż
The letter rests heavy in your pocket.Â
You wouldnât notice it normally, but the cheap ale you buy tastes warm, while the potato fritters you order stick in your throat. Despite all your misgivings about the delivery, you unfold the gilded vellumânot with tremulous hands, but with a frown.
Itâs simple. You take care to not disturb its contents (heavens forbid you find anthrax in this fantastical setting), and are hit with a subtly cold scent and neat writing you ever-so-aptly attribute to her. Sheâs polite. She doesnât beat around the bush. There will be an expedition to retrieve item so-and-so⌠Even with her succinct style of writing, you still skim the lines exasperatedlyâkeeping Yingxingâs words in your mind like a blaring alarm.Â
An invitation.Â
Ah. There it is. Sheâs dedicated a whole line to the question, corralling it from the rest.Â
If you would be so inclined, there is and always will be a space for you, should you wish to take it.Â
Itâs a big deal, perhaps. You vaguely remember the mythical shield being emblematic of the endingâthe protection of the kingdom for the next few centuries or something. One of the cornerstones to victory. Even your colleague had agreed on the ending being unremarkable. Who had she ended up with, again?
You swill the alcohol in the tankard, too focused on thinking about the now-folded letter to notice the hooded figure sliding onto the chair near yours. Itâs crowded, you get it, you pay them no mind. Plain featuresâso plain that you forget them as soon as youâre done with your cursory glanceâwhich ironically, is the very thing that your brain latches onto.Â
Itâs not hard to figure out that itâs a carefully curated disguise, but it would be far harder to unravel it. Something otherworldly blocks the probing attempts you make, all the while you drink casually without a care in the world.Â
As far as anyone knows, your contributions to the kingdom are purely militaristic. Fight a few demons that have crawled up from the underworld, get some gimmicky medals, maybe a title if you really stood out. Itâs the only thing youâve advertised about yourself, while the circles that chain you to life are hidden in a nondescript box behind published details.Â
How long has it been since they sat down? Five minutes? Three? The time stretches into a neat year, and despite your scrutiny, the stranger sips their drink with impeccable neutralityâso perfectly that you donât notice what goes wrong until a split second later than you normally wouldâve. The server, normally cat-like with grace on her feet, stumbles, while the lights, normally so unwavering with their light, flicker. Normal is replaced by abnormal.Â
A drink spills. A shout echoes. A fist meets a face, and in the instant you focus too long on the stranger, the cacophony diffuses into the quiet corner you occupy; like an alarm clock to a dream, peace shatters and a lone piece of paper flutters to the floor. Youâre busy dabbing the foamy flecks of beer off your arm to notice gloves tainted the softest of greys carefully picking the discarded sheet up, briefly passing a cold hand filled with warm light over the folded vellum, before the paper returns to its place on the table.Â
You return, none the wiser.Â
The stranger leaves, with a mission fulfilled.Â
â˘. *ŕż
A body collides with the ground, gutting from the man a wheezed, gasping sound. Itâs not a gurgling death rattle, and neither does the thick stench of metal accompany him. Rather, he is merely tired, with the less invasive sheen of sweat coating his body and dissipating into the airâfaintly sweet, far more forgiving.Â
âYou overcompensate through heavy defence, which inhibits your offensive capacity.â His neck cranes to gaze at you: blond hair sticking like straw to his forehead.Â
You sheathe Harpe and extend a hand to the Southern Dukeâs heir. He takes it, gracefully scrambling up from the Templar training grounds.Â
âIt works,â Gepard asserts. âYou are simply stronger than me.â
âIt worksââ you counter. ââif youâre in a team and the first line of defense, which you predominantly are. Alone, you will succumb to a war of attrition.â
Out of all of them, he listens the best. Those serious blue eyes seem to digest each word: envisioning the future of which you speak, various stratagems that could leave him isolated from his little group. A man separated from his comrades. A shield separated from its swords.Â
A moment later, he readies himself, bending his knees and holding his sword in front of him as though he is inviting you to play.Â
âAgain,â he utters. You scoff, hands hanging loosely by your sides with no intention of grasping Harpe again today.Â
âGet some medical attention for the muscles you pulled first, and Iâll consider it.â Youâre about to turn to the barracks to grab a towel when he pulls at your sleeve. There is hesitationâsomething you rarely see in himâas he opens his mouth, and curiosity gets the better of you.Â
âThe recommendations you gave for those plantsâthank you for them.â He was grateful for advice on fertilisers and small-scale irrigation methods? Any child who grew up in a village in the stacks couldâve told him the same.Â
âSure,â you reply. Youâve a feeling thatâs not what he meant to say, but you have no intention of asking about it yourself.Â
âAndâŚâ he prevaricates. âWill I be fighting alongside you in the future?â
Ah. There it is: an allusion to what can only be the invitation. Somewhere, deep inside your wardrobe, the vellum lies between a pair of old boots and your mentorâs jacket. The words, too, lie buried deep in your larynx; your mouth opens and closes like some fish out of water, not only deciding on what to say, but your general decision on the matter youâve been pushing back for the past week.Â
You are ransomed from this situation with the payment of three words.Â
The crystal looped haphazardly around your neck like a collar vibrates with a human voiceâa new technology some of your anonymous formulae for waveforms helped developâand you probably look momentarily relieved, before you actually hear the person contacting you.Â
[My office, now.]
Gepard looks at you in curiosity, but youâre already honing in on that large window that overlooks all: on the figure that momentarily stands within sight, before his grey robes flutter gently behind him, and he vanishes.Â
[Yes, sir,] you reply drily, flecked with one part relief and three parts resignation.Â
âSoâŚâ he prompts as you let the stone nestle back onto your chest.Â
âI have duties to tend to currently,â you excuse yourself with a perfunctory bow. Itâs no promise to discuss this later, nor is it any real answer. Though, if he had a shrewd mind, he mightâve pieced together an answer based on the excuse you gave.Â
âWhen can weââ the heir flounders, reaching after you once more, but you are already gone: as fleet-footed as the summer wind.
â˘. *ŕż
Itâs another stack of papers that was allegedly overdue, despite you not seeing hair nor hide of it for this past week.Â
You eye this incriminating new piece of evidence, and sit down.Â
â˘. *ŕż
Itâs hot. The sweat running down your face and neck and sliding in between skin and sun-warmed armour makes you feel overly sticky, while the deep metallic aroma, seasoned gently with notes of linseed oil, add to your very own hell.
What circle would this be? Itâs unbearably arid, the position youâre stuck in is beginning to wear on your nerves, and the sun hasnât even reached its peak. The⌠sixth⌠you fumble in the terrible summer haze, feeling about as desiccated as dust. For⌠heresy? Against⌠who? Your mind whirls furiously, circling back to a moment where you knelt before Enaâs statue in the temple and prayed for things to change.Â
You start laughing. Hard. Metal chimes against metal, and the sudden shattering of your previous impassivity startles the man who sits facing youâthough, his surprise doesnât last long before he carefully sets down the wooden palette and paintbrush, drinking in the abstract change in your expression. It is only when you quiet down, head ringing, that Argenti speaks.Â
âI think Iâve got everything I need to complete your portrait,â he remarks thoughtfully, calmlyâas though he hadnât begged you yesterday, publicly, on his knees, without an ounce of shame, to be his model. With feline grace, he slides off his chair and walks up to you, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. You focus on the faint scent of oil paints that cling to his body, rather than his mildly unnerving proximity. âIâll finish within the week.â
He lets go, and you begin unbuckling the ceremonial armour he specially polished up for this occasion. Youâre half-gone, half-focused on how your damp body adheres the thin tunic and trousers to your bodyâbut not cognisant at all of how it appears. Argenti wisely keeps his lips shut as he examines you for any more details heâd like to add.Â
Youâre towelling off the sheen on your face when he asks the question. Well, itâs not exactly a question, as one would expect from one so straightforward as he.Â
âOh, I canât wait to fight alongside you,â he hums, picking up a soft brush once more. You freeze in surprise.
âIââÂ
Like clockwork, your reply is cut off by the voice that resonates from the crystal. You cannot tell whether it is coincidence or magic, though for once in your life, you are grateful for the man whom youâve been contracted to.Â
[Office.]
One word. Just one, and you reply reflexively: [Yes, Your Holiness].
âI need to go.â In lieu of acknowledgement, you leave with those parting words still echoing in that arid room.Â
â˘. *ŕż
ThereâsâŚno papers. Suspicious, you surveil the desk and behind the curtainâno Sunday means a bit of leeway to snoop, after allâbut thereâs nothing that hasnât already been neatly marked and processed. Youâre in the middle of riffling through the stack of your translations on his desk that you just know he spent hours lining up exactly, when a voice breaks you out of your confusion.Â
âWhat do you think youâre doing?âÂ
Youâre only partially sluggish after having part of your soul sucked into the sixth circle of hell, so you only drop, what, one-sixth of the papers he probably used a ruler and set square to align.Â
His glare intensifies.Â
âExploring our joint office, Your Holiness,â you answer briskly. Lying scattered around you, they look rather like little angels who have joined you in falling to the sixth circle. The moment of cold silence stretches as you pick up the forsaken sheets and haphazardly pop them back on their precarious Babel.Â
Youâre not quite sure, but you think the temperature of the office drops by at least a few kelvin.Â
âSo,â you begin, and you notice that heâs not crucifying you for the informal language. âI assume thereâs some secret wing in the library, which is why you remembered I exist.â
He takes his time walking over, slowly enough that the timid fragrance of soap and tea leaves and linen has time to coalesce into a filigree cage that imprisons you where you are. You stand, frozen, in front of the heavy desk as he sits: crossing his legs and resting a pristine glove against his leg.Â
His shoes are an understated black leather.Â
âDonât push it,â he says, stone-cold. His eyes rake over you caustically: the dampened-turned-sheer fabric, the practical glow the sun has coaxed out of you through a faint smattering of sweat, and the tiredness that forces your lids to push down slightly. âAnd I expect my bodyguard to adhere to a stricter presentation. Donât let anyone see you like this.â
He utters the words with such finality that you canât even bring yourself to argue for your innocence.Â
âYes, Your Holiness,â you murmur.Â
Gloved fingers languidly push a folded piece of paper your way.Â
âSo⌠there is a paper involved in this?â You raise a brow. âA list of books to translate? My termination letter?â
The room becomes even more frigid.Â
âOpen it,â he says quietly, and somehow, itâs more chilling than if heâd snapped it.Â
You do, skimming the words perfunctorily, then thoughtfully. You read it again, absorbing each piece of script.Â
âDay of Auspicion,â you contemplate. âIâm assigned to guard the King at this illustrious event.â
Thereâs one thing you donât quite get. Maybe youâre just stupid, maybe thereâs some higher plan youâre not exactly part of.Â
âThatâs correct,â Sunday affirms, almost looking surprised that he agrees with you.Â
No, you still donât get it. Fuck, do you really have to ask?
âWhy?â you ask, flipping the ceremony schedule. It looks at you blankly, as though mocking you.Â
âEnlighten me on what you donât understand,â he answers just as blankly, as though he, too, is mocking you. You glance disbelievingly at the clock on the wall as if it could tell you, before you turn back, bracing your palms against the desk as you lean over the polished mahogany.Â
âIâm under your command right now,â you utter, low and slow just so he understands. For once, His Holiness isnât sure where to lookâinto the resolute set of your eyes, on the way the tunic unpeels itself from your body, or the droplet of sweat thatâs decided to make an appearance before hiding itself behind fabric once more.Â
He settles for looking at the communication crystal that hangs from your neck, its matching pair sitting hotly in his pocket like a pulsing heart.
Heâs not one to stay in shock. By the time one period of the pendulum passes, heâs recovered his composure, gazing at the paper crumpled in your fist.Â
âYouâre not the only one under my command,â he counters easily, folding his hands neatly on the table.Â
âBut while my contract stands, youâre mine to guard,â you argue, and his eyes flicker back up to yours. âThe Knights that reside here arenât equipped properly to deal with demons, not like I can.â
He scoffs, and in a flash, one of those hands that had been folded so neatly have reached up to yank the crystal around your neck, pulling you to be eye-level with him. You clam up, feeling that familiar scent of him.Â
âYou said it yourself,â he hisses, and his grasp twists around the thin chain, biting into your nape. It hurts. Yet, all your nerves are honed into the look in his yellow eyes: the strange intensity youâve never quite observed in them before. âYouâre mine to command. So obey my command, and get a grip.â
He lets go, one hand rubbing his palm as though smudging off the blood and bodies you inevitably leave behind in your shadow.Â
Youâve been reminded of your place.Â
You donât belong next to him, though it shouldâve been apparent from the moment you trailed crimson smears behind you in his unspoiled dove-grey landscape, poisoning it.Â
The words settle strangely in your sternum.Â
âYes, Your Holiness,â you acknowledge with all the tonelessness you can muster. He almost nods in approval, tilting his face slightly down at your once-again obedience, as though he was waiting for it.Â
âIf thatâs all, you may leave.â He turns casually to the small table on his side, selecting a thick manilla folder to review.Â
He canât even look you in the eyes.Â
You nod, looking around the room one final time as if staving off the plummeting sensation youâre experiencing.Â
âRight. Yes, Your Holiness.â
The door closes firmly behind you, and for a moment, his eyes linger.Â
â˘. *ŕż
âI mean, is having such a piss-poorâpardon my languageâsecurity detail even allowed?â You step in concentric circles around the tower, hoping the induced nausea will cause ceased thoughts, at least momentarily. You donât think itâs working.Â
âWhat, itâs piss-poor because of personnel shuffling?â Robin asks curiously, methodically dismantling the strawberry tart in front of her like sheâs watching a fascinating play.Â
âNo, itâs piss-poorâ itâs badâ because of the personnel.â You stop, massaging your temples as you feel the incoming migraine. âHow importantâs this Day of Auspicion?â
âItâs a huge annual celebration in the Capital,â she answers promptly, and you appreciate how she never seems to look down on you for being from some no-name village. âOne of the only times I make a public appearance. Does wonders for morale, but itâs also a time where Ena answers the most prayers, presides over the most serious cases, andââ
âPresides over the most serious cases? How does thatââ you wonder out loud, before you begin your pacing once more. âSo youâd think, with all this pomp and circumstance, thereâd be tighter security. This ceremony is a perfect chance to dampen that exact morale with a large scale demon attack. Their target wonât be the king, but rather the backbone, the representative of their antithesis.â
âYou think my brother will be attacked?âÂ
Robin sets down the fork, folding her hands together on the table in front of her. You blink as you take in the sight, noting the habit is strangely similar to her brotherâs. A nervous response? No, it canât be.Â
âTargeted? Definitely. Heâs the one performing the blessings, not His Majesty,â you agree casually, leaning on the stone window and drumming your fingers against the parapet. Her eyes meet yours, worried. âBut attacked? Not if I can help it.â
âYouâd abandon the King?â she queries, as any loyal subject is bound to do, but thereâs a small smile behind the fork as she takes a bite.Â
âNoooââ you drag out the syllable with a matching smile of your own. ââI wouldnât say that. Heâs hoarded all the really shiny gems like his Northern Duke and the Cheetah of the South. Iâm sure if one of those really shiny gems goes missing, he wouldnât mind.â
âOh, yes, Iâm sure he wouldnât,â she agrees, but both of you know that this conversation will stay within the circular cage of the tower and die with the stones.Â
And as you leave, the only words that follow you out are a small, quiet, âThank you.â
â˘. *ŕż
Thank you. For what? Doing the duties stipulated in the contract, which explicitly state protect His Holiness, rather than following his command? For preparing to betray a King whoâs rewarded you by focusing on protecting a man you hate with every fibre of your being?
You mull over her words as you slide the cufflinks into their button holes, as you carefully, imperfectly fold your tie, as you slip on the ceremonial jacket and as you make sure Harpe is securely strapped onto your belt.Â
The small crystalâthe only sign that you and him are connectedâsits heavy at your heart, and your own heart is heavy as you adjust the woollen hat on your head.Â
Youâre tired, and you donât doubt that youâll be recalled to the gristly frontline after this. Your grey-haired Pope, after all, has drawn a clear line that you will indubitably cross today if the capital is unlucky enough today.Â
And it most definitely will be.Â
The last few moments of freedom are savoured. You hated your boss, but it was oddly freeing to be here: gossiping with other workers around the Temple, laying on the sun-warmed roofs of the town, and drinking nights away. Soon, the heavy stench of blood will return to being your normal, until the main cast find their mythical shield artifact and end it all.Â
You study your reflection and steel yourself.Â
The door opens.Â
â˘. *ŕż
âYour Holiness.â You brush past the servants filtering in and out of his private chambers. Itâs the first time youâve entered this place, and itâs pretty much what you expectedâplain bed, basic decoration, a pristine, clinical atmosphere.Â
Sundayâs gaze flits to yours, and for a moment, you catch uncertainty flickering in those aureate irises. No, perhaps itâs unease. Or maybe trepidation.Â
âLeave us,â he instructs those attending him coolly, and they comply with a crisp closing of the heavy oak doors. You wait for the footsteps to cease, and so does he; approximately two of your heartbeats pass before he speaks. âWhat do you want?â
âI am your escort to the ceremony, am I not?â
He stares at you warily, still half-dressed.Â
âYour duties are elsewhere today, are they not?â He mimics your matter-of-fact tone, and you almost groan in exasperation.Â
âNot before the ceremony,â you insist, and he squints at you, appearing to decide why it is that today of all days you cling to your futile obstinacy.Â
The silence stretches outâ
âHumour me.â
âand in the end, no real reason is disclosed. He purses his lips, looking away, and the matter is decided.Â
âWhere are you going?â
You pivot on your heel.Â
âAid me in dressingâyouâve forced me to turn my attendants away,â he commands imperiously, and that cold tone of his curls around your ear. One victory for you, and now it is his turn.Â
Carefully, you turn to where the wardrobe staff have laid out each garment and select the achromatic underrobe, holding it like you would a babe. You wouldnât want it to be stained with blood, now, would you?
You wish you wore gloves todayâwhich would render you less capable of feeling the tremors of his skin as you gently slide the fabric onto his body.Â
âI apologise,â you murmur as you deftly do up each button. âI am not as good as them at this.â
âContinue,â he remarks, firmly locking his gaze on the wall.Â
As though he were some sentient mannequin, he calls out various nouns. Mantle. Stole. Mitre. You drape each piece around his body as required, hands trembling slightly with each second you spend in that ever-present, soapy scent of his.Â
Finally, he surveys himself in the mirror.Â
âAdequate,â he comments, and you breathe a sigh of relief. âButââ
You straighten as he takes a cursory glance along your own ceremonial garb, tugging easily at your tie to bring you to his height.Â
ââyour standards for your own clothing seem to always be flagrantly lacking,â he breathes, undoing the tie you spent approximately two minutes knotting with nimble fingers. Those hands that far better suit a quill fold the war dogâs collar upwards, easing and moving around your neck to meticulously create a perfect knot. You cannot tell what he is doing. For all you know, he could be studying your jugular and tapping a knife against it, but your focus is firmly stuck on the wall sconce behind him, and that godforsaken scent that lingers in all your senses.Â
His hands travel from your neck to your collar, straightening it out. Those same gloved fingers loiter for far too long, smoothing out the wrinkles in your jacket, adjusting a cap you already adjusted, and brushing off invisible lint.Â
âAdequate,â he murmurs again, and you think itâs the first time youâve ever heard him sound like thisâless like a rock, and more like a human. Itâs completely foreign on him, and you flounder as he checks the time with a small âitâs time.â
You hold out your arm cautiously, calloused palm held upwards with slight hesitation. Perhaps you shouldâve worn gloves, perhapsâ
His cold hand slides into your own, and your thoughts turn into a lovely shade of static.Â
âDo I need to teach you this too?âÂ
You wrack your brains, before something clicks and you gently curl your fingers around his, bringing his knuckles towards you. Itâs a formal gesture that was drilled into you by your etiquette instructorâthe basic greeting kissâwhich you now put into practice, brushing your warm lips against his first knuckle. You can feel him tense, and wonder whether it is in disgust or horror. Perhaps both.Â
Something creaks within you.Â
âAn honour to escort you, Your Holiness,â you greet formally, civil for once.Â
âIt is an honour for you,â he replies stonily, and the brief moment of appearances is over.Â
The door opens.Â
â˘. *ŕż
You glare at the dais, where the Pope is flanked by two (far less competent than you) Templar commanders, and wonder who it was again that signed off on this detail, since it certainly wasnât you.Â
The King arrives with Landau and His Grace in tow, and you bow, say Your Majesty a few times, exchange meaningless formalities before you assume your position behind His Esteemed Self. You ignore both the glances sent by Gepard, and the outright staring from Yingxing, and return to glaring at where the Pope is giving the first of many sermons.Â
Itâs standard procedure, much like it is in the regular services. You tune out the pious voice of the Pope and scan the surroundings. And scan again.Â
â...on the first day, grant TruthâŚâ
His voice is pretty relaxing, quite like white noise. Itâs why you ignore it so easily.Â
â...on the second day, grant the CalendarâŚâ
Thereâs nobody suspicious you can see in the masses gathered hereâonly civilians, peppered with both Imperial and Templar soldiers. When you send out low pulses of energy to double-check, youâre met with a confirmation of this status. Itâs far too quiet.Â
â...on the third day, grant LanguageâŚâ
Were you⌠wrong?
â...on the fourth day, grant ValueâŚâ
Above the dais, you can make out Robin, and behind her, the protagonist herself. Those two are fine. She is capable enough to protect both of them.Â
â...on the fifth day, grant RulesâŚâ
From here, you pinpoint with razor precision the moment the so-called guard on the right-hand of Sunday dares to stifle a yawnâeyes wandering aimlessly around the crowds as though any danger would be a glaring red and waving banners. You sneer.Â
â...on the sixth day, grant MeaningâŚâ
Something tells you to test out the waveforms with a different variable, and you focus solely on the fluctuations resonating with the magic circle created through the absorption of what was supposed to be Duke Yingxingâs demonic power-up crystal.Â
â...on the seventh day, grant DignityâŚâ
There. Right on time. Something stirs in the crowd, like the last sigh rising up from a cadaver: an apparent, heaving groan now that the useless noise created by interference has been accounted for. There. They may as well be waving winking crimson bannersâan ode for what is to come. Your eyes lock on His Graceâs glare, and you make the universal motion for retreat and evacuation. He looks at you with fascinated disgust, before his jaw twitchesâhe has felt it too.Â
â...and on the eighth day, grant us the Paradise where it all startedâŚâ
Youâre not quite sure when it began: the precise millisecond when His Holinessâ controlled, measured breathing through the crystal at your heart began to grow just every slightly more labouredâmore panicked. It appears he does not know why, judging how his eyes dart across the crowd; it is only natural that one descended from the archangels that pass judgement have this instinct towards their antithesis.Â
âGo,â you tell Gepard lowly, ushering the King out of his little gilt box.
âWhere are you going?â Yingxing interjects with cold precision, eyeing the hand cradling Harpeâs hilt.Â
âTo my duty,â you reply shortly. âTheir target is on that dais.â
Yingxing follows your gaze, and scoffs. âYouâre saving someone whom you hate, and who hates you in return?â
Itâs ridiculous, and it sounds even more ridiculous when His Bluntness says it.Â
âWell, yes,â you answer tonelessly, wondering exactly why youâre doing this too. You could let him be protected by those two ceremonial grunts who are more used to practising their fancy swordsmanship than fighting. Youâve dedicated part of your time to helping the knights improve their skills, but theyâre not ready for this, not like you have been, not like you are.Â
You could let him die.Â
It would solve a lot of things.Â
Each breath is slowly beginning to coalesce into something urgent against your chest as Sunday starts to feel the gravity of the situation: that something isnât quite right, that his golden castle is about to come tumbling down.Â
You survey the still-calm dais: the tension coming to a maximum before the surface breaks. The man at the eye of the storm looks pitifully small.
âHave the soldiers on-standby to evacuate civilians,â you comment, flexing your wrist. Itâll take, what, maybe a second or two to get to him if you use the step you learnt at war.Â
âIâm not your subordinate,â he replies, boreal, and you contemplate why exactly it is that heâs still entertaining this conversation, especially with your back turned to him.Â
âYouâll do it regardless,â you inform him laconically.Â
The door to the glided cage shuts firmly behind you.Â
Almost. The illusion that Yingxing hastily conjured is enough to fool everyone that all is still well. Almost. The blessing is complete, and the ceremony only needs a few more minutes to be over. Almost.Â
Thereâs some stirringâsome ripples in the water that hint at what is to come.Â
For a brief second, Sunday glances into the cage, and perhaps you imagine it, but it feels as though heâs made eye contact. You canât tell what his expression looks like, because in the next moment, everything goes to shit.Â
The surface tension has been ripped to shreds, and you can hear what this bastardised microphone doesnât pick upâthe trembling fear in his gasp that comes with facing something that fundamentally opposes your existence.Â
You donât think. A grim expression paints your face as you vault over the high balustrade, as droves of them begin crawling over each other, as the civilians stir themselves. Screams coat the air as they scramble away from their neighbours who are honed in, razor-sharp, on their on-stage target. The King will be fine, the civilians will be fine if the knights do their job for once, and Robin will be fine since sheâs with the embodiment of plot armour.Â
Who wonât be fine?
The man whose breathing quickly becomes more shallow as something stalks towards him with gristly, blood-speckled clawsâas his so-called knights face off the demonic beast with trembling legs.
In his heart of hearts, you know that he knows that his thorns wonât be effective against hordes like these, but you commend his spirit in summoning them.Â
The creature lunges towards him, and you can hear the sharp intake of air reverberating beneath your shirt as he throws up an armâbut he is too late.Â
Metal chimes against a particularly insidious form of keratin.Â
Harpe is as reliable as ever as you throw the beast to the side with its own precious momentum, barking out orders to the two commanders that seem like theyâre going to piss their pants. Which would, ironically, prove your conjecture of a piss-poor defence correct.Â
âIâm not too late, I hope?âÂ
âShut up,â he rasps, strangling a smaller demon whoâs nipped past the two quivering guards. âStop gloating.â
âYeah, yeah,â you hum, cleanly decapitating the beast in front of you. Harpe hums in tandem, buzzing through the air like a current alive with each masterful slash.Â
You stab, you cut, you parry. This is what youâre used to as bodies pile up around you, coating you in the filth youâve been baptised in. A clean arc builds around you and Sunday as the waves keep coming, a few stray monsters veering off to attack the dwindling number of civiliansâslowly being taken down by other knights.Â
Behind you, Sundayâs breathing becomes ragged. Heâs a Pope, with no experience in prolonged battles, and hardly any experience with getting his own hands dirty, with all the plot youâve derailed.Â
In fact, when you glance back momentarily to check on your charge, he doesnât belong here at allâa lone white smudge in the sea of blood and viscera, so absurdly different you let out a small chuckle. Youâve been in his world, and now heâs visiting yours in all his sepulchral glory: pale ghost observing the living battlefield.Â
The dead relax. Those left behind keep fighting.Â
âWhy are you laughing? Have you lost your mind?â he hisses, and normally you wouldnât have heard him. Normally youâd be succumbing to the bloodlust and Harpeâs soothing influence, but you hear his whispers as though he were breathing them right into your ear, even though heâs several feet away.Â
You donât quite know why.Â
âPerfectly sane, Your Holiness,â you bare your teeth as you unseam a demon beast from belly to shoulder: drenched in sticky, oily blood that never does wash out.Â
Itâs going well. Too well. The civilians have evacuated, Robin and her have disappeared, and the troublesome knights taking their first toddling steps in this big bad world are managing pretty well against the stragglers. Of course, it means youâre stuck with the heavyweights, yet itâs a simple battle.Â
Just like all things, when itâs going too easily, Ena shows up to restore Order.Â
One of the first things you learn on the Big Bad Battlefield is this: donât think about tomorrow, only today. Never the long game, just the very, very next step youâll take.Â
The second thing you learn very quickly is that demons are irregular, irrational, incomprehensible beingsâcapable of bringing down the Order and everything it stands for.Â
Something whistles by your ear, and embeds itself into the wooden platform. An arrow. A surging, demonic arrow, capable of reaching speeds approximate to a bulletâsâyet only few demons unlock the attribute that manifests these devastating arrows.Â
âShit,â you spit, glancing quickly at the man whoâs got his back to the wall. âStay right there.â
Scanning the perimeter, you spot it on the edge of the coliseum, aimingâ
You freeze momentarily. Those sights are pointed directly at the exhausted man a few feet awayâwhoâs staying in place because you told him to, whoâs got no time to spot what youâre seeing, who wonât hear and react to your words in time to get out of the way.Â
Thereâs less than a second now: far too late to reach the demon pointing straight at him with that corrupted taint coating every fibre at precisely what itâs meant to destroy.Â
Itâs not too late to interfere with the target. Less than a second to make a decisionâbefore you instinctively lunge towards your left with a hasty use of the fleet-footed step, before you hear that now-familiar whistleâ
You canât catch the arrow with your teeth. Thatâd be stupid, go against physics, and would probably be rejected by dental insurance. You do the next best thing. You intercept it with your arm.
And no, you donât catch it. It pierces into your flesh before you have a chance to react, flaring instantaneously with white-hot pain.Â
It hurts. The effects are immediate: vision swimming with a red tint so deep it appears purple; veins vasodilating with a heat so intense it feels like youâre melting into a furnace; head pounding so rapidly you can taste each panicked thought on your tongue.Â
Heâs looking at you in horror, but you donât react, though you are agonisingly aware of each and every move of his. No, youâre already moving like a puppet on its strings, lit ablaze by hellfire as you approach the remnants of the dead.Â
Itâs clean, in a place death probably shouldnât be. Youâre luminal, far faster than an arrow.Â
Harpe swings through the air so swiftly that she forms a parabolic afterimage long after the head of the beast falls to the ground, and youâve never felt betterâpractically flying past the cadaver as you aid the stricken-looking knights who scramble out of your way.
Less than a minute. It takes less than a minute before the arena is filled with only the livingâplus one ghost, naturally. Less than a minute before youâre stumbling up those wooden steps once more, honing right in on the main target of tonight.Â
The man stands carefully, and you wish you could be as coordinated, with your head spinning as it is. You vaguely remember that heâs under your care, and your hand shoots out to grab his face: turning him this way and that to examine for any injuries.Â
â...what do you think youâre doing in that state? You need urgent medical attentionâŚâ
Hazily, you take note that you probably shouldnât call him the pale ghost. Not when fresh, arterial carmine stains his garments, baptising him as One of the Battlefield. He belongs here nowâa part of the living like you are.Â
You smear oily sanguine on his cheek.
â...youâre burning up. You thereâsend a messenger to the TempleâI needââ
You may be imagining it, but you think he looks rather worried.Â
â˘. *ŕż
â...of all times you arrive now. Typical. Has your subordinate sent word to the Temple, or will you do that yourself?â
â...Iâll just take him to my estate in the capital, Sunday. My sister is a healer, she canââ
âDonât you dare touch him. Itâs demonic taintâhe stays with me.â
âAll the more reason he shouldnât go with you. The North has ample knowledge on demons, while the Church of Order cannot risk exposure to high-concentrations of demonic poison. Iâll take him.â
âDuke Yingxing, the Temple is just as, if not more, equipped to deal with demonic poison. Expurgating it will be far easier with copious amounts of holy water.â
âI thought you hated him, Your Holiness. Let me take him off your hands.â
âIt appears youâre forgetting your place, Yingxing. He is under my commandâhe is mine.â
âAnd if he leaves?â
â...he wonât.â
â...do⌠knowâŚ.â
â...â
â˘. *ŕż
Tepid warmth crawls sluggishly through your body, coated in a faint, omnipresent ache that refuses to cease. White-hot iron seeps through your cracked lips, and you feel like youâre drowning, drowning, drowningâ
Itâs too hot. Too cold. Thereâs something washing over you: almost as gentle as someone bathing their babe for the first time. Carefully, as though you are about to shatter.Â
You are here. You are nowhere, floating aimlessly in something that feels like the first circle of hell, while looking like a fleshy, amorphous mass.Â
Limbo.Â
It is then you realise your eyelids are practically pasted shut.Â
Something taps onceâno, twiceâagainst your cheek and runs down your face, just about brushing your mouth. Itâs lukewarmâand doesnât taste like copper. No, it almost tastes like the salt that comes with tears.Â
A⌠cloth drags along your face, or at least you think it is. Itâs cold and damp and seems to be grating across your raw nerves, but you can tell itâs trying to be nice and keep you cool rather than torture you.Â
You can feel your skin, pulled perfectly to cover every muscle, every fibre of sinewâexcept, of course, where you can feel the throbbing wound on your arm, covered in tight bandages and the glacial, ever-present rippling.Â
Your arm twitches, and the cloth pauses its quiet, deafening ministrations, before resuming, as though not wanting to let you know that it knows youâve ruined everything by waking up. You pretend youâre unconscious, while trying to figure out why the undershirt and trousers plastered to your body donât smell like blood, why your arm feels less painful with each passing minute, why you feel like youâre floating.Â
Something shifts in the water, folding it neatly around like origamiâand you sense it, that familiar tea-leaf-linen-soap scent entrapping you as a hunter does to its prey.Â
Itâs a hazy reminder of something. Something that flutters grey against the fleshy red of your eyelidsâsomething⌠you were meant to⌠protect?Â
You think your brow furrows, crinkling like the water around youâand once more, the movements of the cloth stop. Itâs like the fabric is anticipating your conscious advent on this plane, but doesnât want to get too hopeful, so it resumes its heady torture once more.Â
âWhatâs going on?â you murmur groggily, and the water folds even more as someone startles. You can feel them now, against your back: preventing you from succumbing to the chill of the stone lip of this pool.Â
A cavernous space sprawls out before your squinted eyesâsomething close to a lake, in fact, beneath crystalline stalactites that reflect the strange light coming from the abyssal depths.Â
âWhat is this place?âÂ
You half-expect the cloth to simply continue its path along your face as an answer non-answer, but in its lieu a soft voice replies. Â
âItâs ceremonial. All filth that enters is purified.â
The cloth is dipped, before returning to your brow. Heâs exceedingly gentle nowâas though youâll crumble into dust, now that you are aware. Of what exactly, you do not yet know.Â
âAre you referring to me?â you ask dubiously, looking up at the fuzzy man. You canât quite place his face, like heâs a fleeting halcyon sensation lost alongside your childhood. You think youâll get there, though. Itâs on the very tip of your tongue.Â
âI, too, am filth. Every wanderer of this mortal realm is ridden with sin.â
Filth. Sanguine trickles into your mind, and you suppress a groan as your head throbs. âFuck.â
âYouâre back.â He sounds almost relieved as he examines your pupils, and you donât know whether to laugh or be concerned with his disgustingly stark change in demeanour.Â
âYour⌠Holiness,â you mutter. Looking around with renewed clarity, you realise his body sitting on the edge of the pool is whatâs preventing the cold stone from leeching off any more of your body heat as the poison is expurged, though his legs are equally as boreal: ridden in drenched robes that chafe at your back alongside your undershirt.Â
He doesnât reply, and you affix your gaze to a stalactite that glimmers in the distance. You canât imagine it was easy for him to swallow his nausea and take care of you.Â
âThe bloodâs gone,â you marvel quietly, pulling at the familiar wet undershirt that shouldâve, by all means, been coated with demonic viscera.Â
âThe demon blood has been purified,â he answers testily, as though heâs grasping at what he knows: the frigid petulance that permeates this doomed relationship.Â
You can feel his diaphragm creak and groan against the back of your head as he heaves a shuddering breath.Â
Once. Twice. Thenâ
âWhy did you save me?âÂ
âthere it is. Why? Youâd like to know too.Â
âYou would have died had this hit you,â you respond tonelessly, staring at the waters as if they could possibly help you. âYour guards certainly werenât going to help.âÂ
He can probably tell youâre irritated: tasting it in the air, mulling it over.
âWhatâso this was some final self-sacrificing gestureâsome last fuck-you to rub it in that you were right?â he scoffs, and you hear the cloth being discarded onto the lip of the pool. The jig is up, the pretense has been discoveredâhe no longer cares.Â
âWhat?â you fumble. Had you known the exact details of what would have happened, then yes, maybe you would have gloated in his wrongness: the oh-so-revolting blemish on the so-called perfect man.Â
Heâs silent, but his shallow, rapid breaths break through all his effortsâlike he knows he messed up, and regrets saying it. It pains you to admit it, but he spoke one part truth (though the other three parts are a lie by omission).Â
âHeyââ you try, if only to alleviate the oppressive atmosphere. Youâre saved by his interruption, since you really donât know what you would have said had he kept his mouth shut.Â
âAre you going to leave?â
This time youâre silent while you riffle through your mind to attempt to even guess why heâs asking this.Â
âAre you?â he presses, and you can feel his abdomen tense in trepidation.Â
The water unfolds, surges and undulates as you twist: less of a paper dream and far more tangible.Â
âKeepâ keep sitting. Youâll slow your healing if you move too much, since this water can only purify,â he stammers, but you ignore his protest. Â
âWho said that?â
Youâre standing now, risen from the waters like some bastardised Botticelli pieceâexcept that you are far from divinity.Â
âIâm being serious.â Heâs looking up with that look that comes with being annoyed at youâwhich is most of the time. âYouâll hurt yourselfâyouâve still got the wound on your arm.â
You lift the aforementioned arm briefly to gaze at the woundâor at least, what covers itâbut it doesnât ache sharply like it should, by all rights. If anything, you think the demonic stone you swallowed a few years back has had an unprecedented effect on healing a wound caused by demonic weapons.Â
âIâve never felt better,â you grit out. Leaning down causes the crystal around your neck to desorb from your drenched body, and his eyes flick between the glinting stone and your blood-tinted eyes. âWho the hell said I was leaving?âÂ
He swallows.Â
âWhy wouldnât you leave? Youâre not happy here. You wonât find anything you want here. Iâll write toââ Heâs rambling now, and youâd think he was the fever-addled one.Â
âSunday,â you mumble, word foreign on your tongueâheavy as lead and awkward as fuck.Â
âDonât call me that,â he mutters back, but itâs strange. Heâs never sounded less convinced.Â
âSince we both decided to assume things, Iâll take it weâre evenââÂ
Sunday, the voice in your mind taunts. You sway on your feet, suddenly intoxicated by that distinct scent: as though youâre burying your nose in it, mouth open to take a biteâ
âSunday,â you repeat, and your wrist is puppeteered to allow your fingers to grace the side of his neck: right where his pulse decides to begin its vivace.Â
He does not move.Â
His porcelain robes are stained a milky red, distorting in and out of view as you tilt your head to properly assess him. Right thereâconcentrated behind his head like some damned halo, some strange essence seeps into the filthy air. The odd flavour stains your tongue, and you flinch.Â
Angel, your instincts screamâyou could press a clawed thumb right there into his vein, you couldâ
[Your pupils. Shit,] he swears, and for a brief moment, your mind clears as you focus on the Old Language and you let go as though burnt.Â
[You need to hold me under,] you demand. Those golden eyes of his search your face and his mouth twitches in a faint smile, before he processes your words.Â
[Youâll drown,] he argues, and it is clear that he thinks youâre foolishâas though youâre not perfectly lucid. Or at least, you think you are.Â
[Drink.]Â
You blink. [The water?]
[Yes, what else?] he frowns, and you shrugâtoo quickly. Thereâs a lot of things to drink from, like that goblet filled with pungent-smelling herbs just a few feet away, orâ
His neck, the hungry, irrational part of you wails: razor-focused on the soft flesh that lays on the junction between shoulder and nape, just ready for your teeth toâ
[Alright.] you blurt, eager to escape the oppressive heat of your thoughts. Theyâve begun to distinctly taper off into two camps: the human side, tempered through two lives, and the inhuman side, set ablaze by one death, and one close encounter.Â
You donât know how long you can hold out, so you do the sensible thing: you listen; you reach out for the icy water; you drink.Â
Except, you donât. The holy water reaches about as far as your esophagus before you fold in half neatly, hacking out the red-tinged liquid not-so-neatly. You watch it as it joins its kin and glows faintly before turning into that homogenous shade of clear once more.
âI canât,â you choke out, clutching at the wet undershirt for support as you look wildly around. âIââ
[Focus,] he says cruelly, but his fingers find your shoulder and press slightlyâin some misguided attempt at comfort.Â
âDirect blood absorption might be better. Whereâs Harpe?â you mutter, moving to stand, but Sunday splays his palm flat against your back. âSunday.â
Itâs the trigger. The gun is cocked, the chamber is fully loaded, and it is aimed directly at you, the human.Â
Sunday.Â
One shot. The legs are busted, and the human bucklesâbut itâs still living, still fighting.Â
âSunday?â you try again, and this time, the human isnât so lucky. Your nails dig into flesh as you press them into your thighs, but the cold water no longer feels coldâand the fresh raw pain from the half-moons your nails leave behind is no longer pain. âSundayââ
The frigid barrel presses into your forehead, and the trigger is pulled at point-blank range.Â
[Iâm sorry,] the angel says quietly, but you donât know what heâs apologising for, only that your body is straining to escape theâ
Thorns?Â
Your neck cranes downward, gazing harshly at the golden light that binds your body: small spikes piercing through flesh and immobilising you, constricting impossibly tighter as though it were a noose.Â
âSunday,â you coo. âYou think you can restrain me withâtheseâpunyâthings?â
[Theyâre doing pretty well to tame you,] he pants, scrambling away to grasp the goblet and tip the medicinal herbs out of the vessel. He fills it with holy water, and holds it with a trembling hand. A toast.Â
âWhat, youâre going to force this down my throat?â you taunt, marvelling at the theatricality. âThat didnât work out last time, remember?â
[I do remember,] he murmurs thoughtfully, staring into the depths of the goblet. [I know how this will go, and I will pay the price for it.]
âWhat?â you laugh incredulously, but heâs approaching you slowly. Curiosity gets the better of you. Whatâs the angel going to do?
He steps delicately into the pool, as if he werenât already drenched.Â
[Demons represent the base desires that pollute the beauty of Order.] The angel uses the voice that works best for sermonsâdistant and unreachable, just like Order itself. You frown at the language shift. [For what itâs worth, Iâm sorry.]
âGive up, SundayââÂ
He doesnât respond. Those golden thorns of his twine upâupâuntil they stop, forcing your head to gaze up at he who came from the heavens.Â
His thumb presses against your lower lip, and you startle as you feel his icy, bare skin against it. Heâs not wearing gloves, you briefly note, before you sneer in disappointment.Â
âReally? I tried that already. I wonât swallow.â Your words vibrate against his hand, and his body gives off a minute shudder.Â
[Wonât you?] he murmurs. That deft hand of his raises the goblet. [Iâm even paying the price for it.]
âWhat price?â you frown, perhaps for the first time since the gun fired.Â
The goblet touches his lips, and you realise, far too late.Â
The price. The static noise of your mind goes pristinely blank: the landscape this unsuspecting angel has always envisioned, without any bloodied hounds marring the landscape. Like war drums, your pulse beats: heavy and fast and hammering right out of your chest.Â
You close your eyes, just as his soft mouth covers yours.
Heâs warm, you note drowsilyâdespite his cold hands carefully cradling your face, despite the boreal chill emanating from his soaked body. Those fingers of his brush hesitantly against your feverish skin; he doesnât know what to do. That much is evident by how docile his body is in comparison to the harsh burr of thorns incapacitating you: how clumsily his lips move against yours.Â
Thereâs some big grand plan that heâs barely committed to: lips clamped shut in a last-ditch effort to preserve his dignity, despite them being the main actor on this isolated stage.Â
He doesnât know what to do. He doesnât know what heâs doing.
Heâs afraid of the price.
Against your own, his chest rises and falls rapidly as he tilts his head: mechanically, like heâs copying some diagram or novel or even worseâhis imagination. Some morsel of pity drips into your contaminated blood and you make the final leap for him. Your mouth opens and he jolts, hands curling desperately into your face. He shivers when your tongue eases the seam of his lips, yet his fingers hold you far more firmly than before.Â
No, heâs not afraid of the priceâheâs afraid of what it means.Â
The now-warmed holy water trickles into your mouth, and your throat moves on instinct to reverse its courseâbut itâs predetermined. Heâs holding you like heâs got the upper hand, molding his mouth to minimise any of those precious drops that may escape.Â
You let him.Â
You let the water wash through, osmose, purify. In turn, your body gives you its next commandâfar greater, far bolder than remaining as this reanimated thing. Another angel, destined to plummet once it dares to soar too high.Â
Corrupt him.Â
His hand runs across your neck, circling the larynx as he makes sure to coax down each and every mouthful. So thorough, you note, before he pulls back with a deep gasp, looking every bit the mess you expect his mind to be: lips slicked; pupils blown out so wide his eyes look a murky amber; a light sheen on his flushed cheeks.Â
He looks a picture.Â
[Again,] he murmurs hazily, picking up the vessel that he dropped and refilling it. You watch every small shift in his expression, but youâre distracted by the loosening binds that have thus far sequestered you in the water successfully.Â
Each spike embedded in your body no longer throbs with a sharp pain, but a duller ache.Â
The human lives for the third time.Â
You donât tell him about the slight change.Â
He kisses you againâexcept, heâs likely rationalising why it isnât one. For someone so previously reluctant, he shows no hesitation this time: tilting his head just so, cradling your face, and opening his mouth so pliantly.Â
The price has clearly become more tolerable.Â
Heâs kissing you, and by any god or Ena or Idrila, youâre kissing him back; poison be damned. The angel doesnât notice your hands freeing themselves from his vines, but he sure notices them tugging him closer: eliciting a sharp inhale when his body collides flush with yours.Â
No, itâs no longer just a kiss; now, youâve involved him in something far out of his depth.Â
âWhat do you think youâre doing?â he hisses when he pulls back for air, searching your face for somethingâanythingâthat could give him a clue as to what caused the sudden change.Â
See? The angel has fallen. There are two humans standing in the water: one whose shock is clearly written on his face, and the other, whose grin coats his expression with a profound delirium.Â
âGonna hold me under now?â you ask, and you donât know who speaks. Is it you, or is it you? âVines arenât really working.â
Heâs silent for a few heartbeats; you can sense every one of them hammer against your own sternum as he considers you. You, everything about you: your words, the easy smile on your face, the feverish heat emanating from your body that he can acutely feel.Â
âI hate you,â he utters finally, eyes skimming over the blank look in your own.Â
âThat should make things easy then,â you remark with a faint smile, but you think youâre just as unsure as he is.Â
âDonâtâ just donât,â he mutters. His eyes follow your body as you sink into the water, and you understand why people call it contact: for it feels like heâs parsing through your skin the longer he stares at it.Â
The vines have all but disappearedâpale yellow mirages of an exorcismâand you miss the ties that once bound you to him.Â
Lying down like this, itâs enough to rob you of your buoyancy: enough to guarantee your baptism and absolution of sin. Either a miracle or another grave will meet you, and youâve had plenty of both.Â
Once more, you make his decision for him, by finally submerging your head beneath the frigid waters, allowing your thoughts to be quenched through the slow ebb and flow of the tide. Itâs impossible to hear himâimpossible to make out the exact shape of words leaving his lipsâand you merely wait, even though your lungs ache and your eyes burn and the mana circles around your heart speed up in order to counteract drowning by about two or three extra minutes. Itâs not a lot of time, but itâs enough to allow for Sundayâs deliberation and internal monologue to come to the executive decision ofâ
âDonât die,â he says, but it could also have been youâre a liar. Youâll never really know.Â
The answer is unexpected, or maybe perfectly expected.Â
He does want you dead. Itâs evident in how he kneels with your body between his legs, how carefully and meticulously his hands first find your shouldersâthen hesitantly, your throatâas though your body will accept the water as the lesser of two evils.Â
The liquid fills your mouth, forcing its way into each cell of your body as the contaminants are purged.
You are drowning.Â
Heâs saying words you donât understand and never will.Â
You smile, before you see it: tears faintly streaking his face as he sits in defeat, and you shudder at the sudden weight. Like vices, your hands clamp around his thighs on instinct: desperate to live.Â
Donât die.Â
You can tell heâs given up on the conviction you instilled in him when his hands run across your face, lifting you from the font: clean, purged from the sin youâve been poisoned with.Â
âI hate that you saved me,â heâs whispering, and your heart speeds up: whether from his words or hypoxia, youâll never know. Your nails dig into his skin, and he jolts; a deep flush slowly begins to coat his face as he, too, realises exactly how heâs messed up.Â
âSundayââ You struggle to sit up, and he makes a sort of strangled noise at the sudden movement, shifting on your lap. Youâre too close now: so much so that you can taste the faint dregs of the tea he drank that you couldnât focus on before; so much so that you can hear his pulse beat heavy in his chest; so much so that his damp wings are long enough to brush against your face like a veil. Or even a shroud.Â
Something presses into your lower abdomen, and you freeze, not daring to move even a single muscle.Â
âI hate you. I hate how even though I hate you, I needâ I rely on you,â he breathes, and his hands move from the back of your head to your chest: gripping the wet undershirt as though it can save him, thumbing at the crystal as though it contains his sanity.Â
At least while you were reading, you could predict where his madness would lead him; it followed the same clichĂŠd tropes, the religious guilt, the shallow intensity.Â
He stopped being predictable a long time ago.Â
âSunday,â you shiver, thumbing circles into the fabric clinging to his thigh. His breath hitches.Â
âI hate you,â he mumbles through the tears rolling down his cheeks.Â
âI know,â you say just as quietly, and your fingers carefully brush away each small drop, cautiously holding his face. His own hands curl uselessly on your chest, and youâre beginning to feel him affect you too: every shuddering inhale he takes, each minute shift of his hips as he leeches off your preternatural warmth, that dilated look in his eyes.Â
An incandescent sort of heat alights each of your veins, and your heartbeat dances an allegro.Â
âI hate myselfâ I hate howââ he chokes out, and you donât think.Â
Your lips are on his, and you swallow each strangulated sob: taste each salty tear.Â
Almost instantly, his clenched fists relax: splaying loosely against the wet flesh, tension practically oozingâseepingâout of each pore. He melts into you, pliable, and you, too, hate him for how it makes you feel.Â
Slowly, your fingers tilt his jaw, and that small movement is enough to coax a breathy whine from his throat: one thatâs quickly devoured by your esurient mouth. Itâs clear the noise elicited also makes him acutely aware of the circumstances, for he pulls back for air as though scalded: chest heaving, expression tinged with something inscrutable.Â
âDonât worry,â you say with a certain sort of finality, and he jolts as your fingertips graze past the base of his wings. âI hate you too.â
Your chest rises and falls heavily, running after the heart that pulses, electrified, against your sternum, and you know he can feel it in his hands: every little half-truth, every complex emotion that youâre drenched in, and each sin that taints you.
Each sin that taints him, too. The two of you are ensnared in the oh-so-human carnal sin, treading far too dangerously on the line between temptation and outright apostasy.
He doesnât answer, tracing a glacial path to where your bandage lies covering a faint woundâcontemplating your words and the entire situation.Â
âI canât be doing thisâ Iâm a servant of the Orderâ I canât break my vowsââ he mutters like heâs coming to a realisation, touching on the border between crazed and frantic as he processes his own thoughts. You stay silent, letting his ramblings fizzle out into the abyssal cavern before you finally speak.Â
âThen donât.â
His eyes snap to yours, then to where your hands have descended to trail in the water: rendered obsolete through his words.Â
âLeave the water, and this will all be erased,â you murmur, waiting. Indistinct relief blurs and fades through your mind at the thought that he will make the final decisionâthat heâll likely and carefully stand, brush himself off, and the two of you wonât have entangled yourselves deeply enough that youâd run far away, to where Argo is just a passing thought rather than reality.Â
You think you know him well enough.Â
âYou believe that?â he breathes, like his decision hinges on your response. You frown.Â
âYou said it yourself. All filth that enters is purified,â you rattle off listlessly, wondering exactly why heâs delaying the inevitable. Soon, all this will be a bad dream for him: a timid stain on his relationship with the protagonist, perhaps an embarrassment thatâll take years to fade from memory.Â
âYes,â he says quietly, and his eyes run over your face as you look away: but you can feel the contact trailing over the raw nerves just under skin, much like you can feel every shift of his body as he tentatively draws closer. âThatâs right.â
You suppress a groan as the subtle movements prompt his hips to roll ever so slightly over you, but it fades into nothingness as you see his face: cheeks painted in a crimson flush; half-lidded eyes containing the profound desire to devour you; and lips half-open as if to realise that desire.Â
You fucked up. You fucked up, butâ
His arms snake around your neck, and his wings flutter to shield you and him from the outside world: from the prying eyes of Judgement, from your conscience, and from his guilt.Â
âso has Sunday.Â
Heâs kissing you. Not because heâs saving your mind, not because you kissed him, but because the price is no longer unbearableâhell, youâd say he even likes it.Â
Temptation has won. Apostasy has won.Â
He has been corrupted beyond repair.Â
You have won, and youâre taking your prize.Â
The flowery echoes of tea bloom on your tongue when you probe into his mouth, satiating yourself with the familiarisation. Each fine note hidden away beneath his morning drink, every metallic dreg lingering from someoneâs blood, each viscous remnant of sweatâthe olfactory fingerprint of a fallen angel.Â
The sin makes him a quick learner: he tilts his head neatly to the side when you tilt yours; slots himself meticulously against your body, chest flush to your chest; and shivers on cue when your hands trail across his waist, leaving feverish heat behind on sepulchral skin.Â
He falls apart like gossamer as you leave open-mouthed bruise after bruise on his neck: searing the clear mark of lust on his body. For now, they are invisible, but the seeds have been planted. Tomorrow, when he wakes up, he will dress alone.Â
Or he will call for your help.Â
His head snaps upwards as you nip at his clavicle. If you could glimpse where his eyes are tracing, youâd confirm your suspicions that heâs gazing at the heavens (there are none in this tomb). The Order is not looking his way, not nowânot tonight. Or maybe it never will again.Â
Its precious enforcer has fallen, after all.Â
âWhat do you want me to do?â You press the words like a brand into his skin, drenching him in a fragrance of your making: the preliminary, yearning notes of sweat and sex, with an elusive redolence of holy water.Â
In the end, the war hound will await orders like he always has.Â
This is the fundamental law behind your flawed existence.Â
âAct like you love me.â Itâs barely a breath, let alone a whisper. He does not meet your eyes. âJust for tonight.â
 Love and war. You can do that: act out the epic of a lifetime, especially when youâve lived through half of it. You decide not to think about what comes after the curtain comes down and the actors step off this grand stage.Â
His upper robes unseam like wet paper as you tug on them: threads giving out under a loverâs covetous fingers. You regard his torso as a sculptor does to his creation, running your hands over his marble-cold body with the reverence of a pilgrim coming to worship his idol.Â
âYouâre beautiful,â you murmur, and beneath your obsequious fingers, the sculpture comes to life: sanguine delicately painting his features; goosebumps dotting over stone; sluggish pulse becoming frantic.Â
You think the worst part is that it sounds too sincere.Â
âTakeâ take yours off too,â he mutters, and you crack no jokes as you slowly drag the wet undershirt off your body and discard it somewhere where the empty cup lays.Â
You think youâve missed the memo for where heâs supposed to be acting like your lover.Â
Wonderingly, his gaze first traverses the scarred expanse of your chest, followed by his gelid fingers. You shiver as they trace each slash, every place you were stabbed, each jagged mark that denotes you as an alien to his peaceful world.Â
âWhereâd you get this one?â he asks quietly, brushing softly against the one that cradles the communication crystal on your sternum: some burn you got from accidentally causing your food to explode when you attempted to use your mana circuits like a microwave. You grimace, chagrined.Â
âIâll tell you the story of each one next time,â you promise, kissing his forehead before you ease him onto the stone. You kneel before him, allowing you to observe his flush spreading to his shoulders as he whines from the loss of contact and your words that imply there will be a next time (before, of course, his wings flutter over his face to conceal his embarrassment).Â
He does not refute it. Perhaps he already knows this is an act limited to this lonely stage: a lie crafted to draw in his immersion.Â
You donât quite know yourself, and you ignore the murmur in your soul telling you.
There are many lies that have festered between the two of you. You wonder if heâs ever truly believed in the Order. You wonder at the limits of his adoration for her. You wonder whatâs wrong with you.Â
Only one actor here displays model piety in this current sceneâyou. Your fingertips wander his taut abdomen: handling him like heâs something sacrosanct, except a worshipper wouldnât do this. Your head dips, and you pay homage to the dips and valleys of his chest, before you latch onto the stiffened peaks that beg for attentionâ
âShit,â he gasps at the slick warmth soaking onto his cold nipple, while the rough pads of your fingers coax the other one to the same temperature. You note with satisfaction his reactionâmost poignantly, the no-doubt aching stiffness pressed against your stomach as you kneel between his legs, but in second place is definitely the uncharacteristic imprecation spilling from his swollen lips.Â
You pause, and watch him come down pitifully from a pleasure he doesnât yet know: breathing heavy, irises bordering on almost entirely black, and light whines of complaint seeping from his throat.Â
âWhatâ what did you do that for?â he protests: frustrated in the exact same manner he displays whenever you circumvent his commands (but of course, he looks far better like this).
You ignore his question, and posit one of your own:
âYouâve never done this before?âÂ
This. Hands trail down his body, slow and sweet as molasses: punctuating the question with an allusion. An inquisitive finger taps on the remaining fabric wrapped loosely around his hips, and his breath hitches.Â
You think his heartbeat wobbles.
âNever experimented, never waveredââ your finger probes just past the small gap between skin and the material. He briefly squeezes his eyes shut. âânever touched yourself?â
âNoâ no,â he says, clearing his throat. âI havenât. My vowsââ
You hum contemplatively. âYes, youâre a cut above the rest, Your Holiness.â
âDonât mock me,â he mutters (but you felt him tremble slightly when you reminded him exactly of his position).Â
He is not infallible.Â
âPlenty of your peers fall prey to temptation,â you muse. âBecauseââ
âThey are weak,â he scoffs.
ââit feels good,â you finish, languidly pushing down the water-logged fabric covering his legs. The achromatic robe sinks into the waters: the symbol of purity rendered functionally and metaphorically useless.Â
He hisses as the cold air grazes his aching cock, and you can feel your own trousers growing painfully tight by the second.Â
âFuck,â he grits out, as you wrap your hand around the base. Heâs trying to stay composed: nails darting to dig into your shoulders, clenching his jaw to refrain from making any sounds he deems shameful, eyes stubbornly fixed at some point in the distance (perhaps one of the stalactites you so keenly stared at).
âYou alright?â you murmur, languorously moving your calloused hand. He furiously bites his lip, and his eyes squeeze shut. Â
âShut up. Iâm fine.âÂ
You smile faintly, while your hand picks up the torturously slow paceâlubricated by the thick beads of pre-cum leaking from his tip. Itâs far too evident that heâs unused to his fundamental rules being bent like this: for despite the shuddering inhales he allows himself, he refuses to unravel any further (even at the cost of biting through his swollen lips).Â
It is the mask he puts on daily: the untouchable, the divine. Someone far above humanityâabove mortal pain and pleasure. It is an integral part of him, one that cannot be forced off.Â
His soul, however, knows it is a lie.Â
Itâs why the act begins to crumble.
Your thumb circles the head, waiting, waitingâ
âAhââ he moans as you tighten your grip, allowing the friction to coax out the actor from beneath the character. Then, inexplicably, your lazy movements halt completely, and you let go.
âWhat are you doing? Whyâd youâ whyâd you stop?â he stammers, eyes fluttering open in disbelief. You glance down, watching his furiously red tip weep out a few more pearly globules.Â
âFigured youâd be less shy if we were both getting off,â you reason, wiping the translucent liquid on your trousers as you slide the soaked fabric down. You suppress a groan as it drags down your far-too-sensitive cock, and the fluid motion of discarding the pants somewhere in the pile allows you a few precious seconds of watching his reaction in your periphery.
He parts his lips, almost subconsciously. Those thin brows of his furrow in contemplation, before you turn your head back to him, and he averts his gaze with a new layer of carmine blooming across his face.Â
âYouâre so crudeââ His mumbled assessment is punctuated by a sharp gasp as you manoeuvre him back onto your lap where he belongs.Â
Your lips press briefly to his brow. âOnly for you, love.â
He squints at you, clearly trying to decide just how far youâre going to take it. That pondering only lasts a brief second, though, becauseâbefore he opens his mouth to tell you to shut upâyou take both his hands and curl them around the two of you, and your mind goes blank.Â
âFuck,â you groan, moving his hands like a puppeteer to tighten his pleasure-lax grip, and you feel his pulse ricochet. âKeep going.âÂ
Heâs clumsy: blinded by the sensation of having something hot and pulsing constantly pressed to him, so much so that he falters and trembles with each movement. You make it worse with your strained imprecations brushing past his wings as you kiss below his ear, leaving teethmarks anywhere you havenât already.Â
One hand finds his nipple, sore from neglect and arousal, while the other anchors his body flush against yours by pressing against his lower back.
He can no longer hold it in: each filthy noise suppressed in the prison of his lips, barred to preserve his dwindling dignity.Â
âNghâmoreââ he whines shamelessly, each plea more wanton than the nextâas though he has forgotten that his god is watching, judging him for his descent into lust.Â
You canât judge him, though, as your own abdomen tenses with every song you draw from his mouth. A slow, satisfied smile stretches across your face when you roll the sensitive bud between your fingers and his throat bobs uselessly.Â
Heâs close.Â
âFeels weirdââ he whimpers, choking on the thrill that is beginning to take over his mind.Â
âYouâre doing great,â you coo, and your words dissipate over his vulnerable jugular. His rapidly spiralling state forces the preliminary stages of euphoria to wash over your mind, but you suppress the sensation as much as you can. It wouldnât do if you felt that all-consuming peak before him.Â
The hand that was supporting his back now covers one of his, maintaining the pace that his pleasure-addled hands canât keep up with.Â
Just a bit more.Â
Stray moans dribble from his lips, and you swallow each of themâincluding the sound of surprise he makes as he spills onto his hands and your body. The sudden heat leaking onto your dick is enough to force your own climax, coating his body with thick ropes of white.Â
You rock into his body, prolonging his high for as long as possible (and yours), and only slow down when his rapid breathing becomes ragged.Â
âWell done,â you whisper, pulling backâand just like that, the curtains close as his wings flutter over his face: clarity finally hitting, salient in the wake of mind-numbing ecstasy.
âFuck, fuck,â he mutters in half-shock, but as you take his hands and lick off the filth coating them, his spent cock twitches, betraying his body. Thatâs nothing, though, since yours is still at full-mast: edacious for whatever heâll give you.Â
âDo you want to keep going?â you ask, noticing the doubt flickering in his eyes as he gazes through the feathers of his wings at your blood-engorged dick. He swallows thickly, then gazes at the holy waters like theyâll tattle on him to their god.Â
âYes.â He barely mouths the words, filled with embarrassment once more as desire floods into his veins.Â
Your grin is shark-like.Â
âGot it,â you breathe. You devour his gasp like a lover would, as your hands find the firm globes of his ass, kneading the flesh in preparation for the next scene.Â
He pulls away just as your index finger slips into his hole, burying his face into the flesh connecting neck and shoulder.Â
âHurtsââ he mewls, and his arms loop around your neck to support his shivering body. âIs it sâposed to?â
âIt usually does,â you murmur regretfully into the soft down of his feathers, and he startles at the additional stimulation. âIâll go slow.â
He hums, mollified, but then you feel a dull ache at the juncture of flesh, and you realise very quickly that heâs biting down on you to keep himself composed.Â
âMmphââ he moans against your feverish skin as you inch deeper into his slick hole, finger far warmer than the water lapping around it.Â
âSo tight,â you mutter wonderingly, and his pulse becomes electric at the filth spewing from your mouth. âRelax for me, doll.â
âTrying to,â he slurs between mouthfuls of flesh, and you make a small sound of appreciation as your finger eases in deeper, gently circling the muscle and soft flesh insideâprobing, searching for the spongy organ that will make your job far easier.Â
Where is it?Â
You get your answer when you curve your fingers slightly to the side and immediately feel a sharp, stinging pain as his teeth pierce dermis.
Found it.Â
The quiet restraint leaves you: focus honed purely on each reaction of his sensitive body. Each muffled whine is documented. Each flutter of fervid insides is noted. Each emotion painting his body language is analysed.Â
âIt feelsââ his whispered statement is shattered with a small whimper at your finger rocking faster into him, chasing after the frenetic tempo of his pulse. With each pump of your index, you make sure it curls to the side with pinpoint precision.
Heâs close. You savour each broken groan drawn out of his throat: playing in syncopation to his allegro heartbeat. The symphony just needs a little more time to complete.Â
You will complete it.Â
âAhâ please,â he begs, and his teeth clamp back onto sore skin with the more purposeful force youâre ratcheting up. âFeels weirdââ
âYou said that last time, baby, and look how you enjoyed it,â you murmur, rubbing small circles into the plush flesh of his ass in small comfort. His heaving abdomen presses flush against yours at your words, and you smile a smile for yourself. Got him.Â
âSunday,â you breathe against the feathers shielding him from your satisfied expression. Thatâs what pushes him past the brink, causing him to freeze in your arms.Â
For the first time, you think you can hear your name threaded through the incoherent moans as he tilts his head back: arching into you, and allowing you to press soft kiss after kiss to his fragile throat.Â
Shit.Â
The actorâs facade is beginning to crack.Â
You observe the sopping wet mess freshly coating both your bodies, and a strange heat flickers into existence within your stomach. You ignore it.Â
The man sitting on top of you is still rocking against you, frantically riding out his high, and you canât help but be intoxicated by him. Heâs getting sloppy. The rhythm you were so enjoying has dwindled, and he slumps against you, cock twitching pathetically against his taut stomach.Â
You wish you could see his expression right now, as you slip in another finger and he lets out a hoarse whine at the burning stretch. Itâs not enough. Concentrated, you slowly scissor the digits without heeding the dull pain of his nails tearing through the already-scarred canvas of your back.Â
Your body has already been painted by war. You donât mind if these brushstrokes are from love instead.Â
âFasterâ ahââÂ
His tamed cadence sears itself into your memory. He doesnât quite know it yet, but try as he might, heâll never feel as pure as he once was. As he paints you, he too is moldedâmarkedâby your heated touch.Â
You donât want him to forget how he feels right now.Â
He canât.Â
Enraptured, you insert a third finger into his slick hole, coaxing those drunken mewls out of his body through your other hand playing with his tender chest. More. You tug roughly on his swollen nipples, catching the raw flesh against the callouses on your fingers: dull pain to distract him from the stretch youâre impatiently forcing.Â
âYouâre so cute, love,â you murmur with quiet reverence, breathing in the fragrance of tea and soap: now mingling with the scent of sweat and sex. The bitter taste of corruption is precisely what allows the timid notes to bloomânow characters in their own right. You drown in the heady redolence, drunk on the very man you claim to hate.Â
His face presses deeper into your shoulder at the soft-spoken words, and you feel his skin burn: set ablaze by sweet nothings. Nothings, for they should be considered a farceâempty platitudes designed to lull him into a stupor.Â
Itâs working. You wonder what he thinks of your words: whether he can sense the lies in his soul. You donât feel the once-familiar intrusion poking into your head.Â
Perhaps he doesnât want to know.Â
The actorâs facade continues to shatter.Â
Your fingers languorously carve out a space for you within him, while your other hand works its way around the supple dips and contours of his body: stroking, caressing, marking him as yours for tonight with damson shades.Â
A handprint will bloom tomorrow on his thigh: forgotten until he brushes past it and feels the dull ache of a bruise. Itâs a reminder that he can never forget: cannot merely lock away his shame, for while the amaranth hue may fade, the space youâve created inside him is irreversible.Â
In turn, youâll sleep on your side for the next few weeks: slowing the circles around your heart enough that the wounds he inflicts remain tender and raw. Heâll catch a glimpse over your collarâcovered haphazardly by the thin materialâand it, too, will serve as a reminder of what exactly transpired tonight.
His god may forget once he steps out of this pool, but he will not. He cannot.Â
You wonât let him.
Your grin looks more like a snarl as he shudders. Youâve learnt to read the signs of his descent into pleasure: the way he digs his nails in to anchor himself, the way his body trembles with shockwaves that spiral out from his taut stomach, the way his breathing becomes ragged and so unlike his normal dignified self.Â
âSunday,â you coo once more, and as Pavlov foretold, his abdomen heaves and tenses against youâthough, this time, the larger intrusion forces his back to arch, and he practically wails as shivers wrack his body. Something warm and far less viscous soaks your lower torso, and you know heâs close to completely unravelling.Â
Saliva coats your chest, and you briefly wince as you realise just how much heâs bitten you in order to keep his sanityâenough that any marks will be faintly visible through your uniform shirt, enough that youâll be a walking reminder for weeks on end.Â
You swallow.Â
âCan you keep going?â
Itâs a question that unintentionally reads as a challenge: a gauntlet thrown at a man who, even in the most primal of acts, hates losing to you.Â
He trembles against your body, but when he looks up, that blown-out gaze of his is steely as it locks on to you.Â
Your breath hitches.Â
Heâs exquisite.Â
Of course, youâve known this since you first saw him on the illustrated cover: character captured in painstaking detail by the illustrator. But in turn, those details are painfully lacking when you look at the man in front of you.Â
His sooty lashes flutter as he blinks away the tears that have welled up in his eyes, and you find your mouth to be terribly dry. His statuesque face, normally so composed, has been made into an utter mess: flushed cheeks coated in a clammy sheen; silvery hair plastered to his damp face; expression scrunched with overstimulation. The soft rouge of his mouth parts: swollen with kisses, hoarse with moans, and slick with the saliva that betrays his hunger.Â
âYes,â he mutters, exasperated. âIâmââ
Youâll never find out what he meant to say, for your lips capture his swiftlyâadoringly. He makes a muffled sound of surprised protest, but his arms pull you by your nape so he can be closer to you as you passionately devour the small noises that escape from his mouth.Â
âI didnâtâ I didnât finish. What was that for?â As he pulls back with a gasp for air, his question is punctuated by the slow press of your lips to his cheek, his earâanywhere youâve neglected, anywhere you havenât shown the appreciation he so rightfully deserves.Â
He sounds perplexed.Â
âYouâre beautiful,â you admit between stolen kisses. Â
It sounds honest.Â
Maybe it even is.Â
You look at him like heâs hung the stars up in the sky, and he looks away. Heavy is your gaze, and even heavier is the emotion plaguing your heart.Â
Itâs easy to manoeuvre him when he clings to you like this: detaching his pliant body from yours through placing him back on the stone bank once more. You can feel his heart palpitate at the sudden lack of your febrile limbs cradling his frigid being; small murmurs of protest echo in the ripples of water, but you let them wash over you.Â
The sensation of your dense cock pressing down on him is enough for his eyes to snap back onto you with a strange sort of intensity in his eyes: one part hunger, the other three something you canât quite name.Â
You drive me to madness.Â
You run a hand caustically over his abdomen where you estimate the soft projection to be, and you can feel each tremble as the fireworks blast over his neurons: sensitivity heightened to an almost agonising degree. You almost smile when his spent cock dribbles out a few more pearls of translucent liquid at your idle touch.Â
âNeedâ need you,â he heaves, but underneath the slurred words is the iron undercurrent of a command: imperious, so utterly like the Sunday you know.Â
Your almost-smile becomes an irreverent, shit-eating grin, and he frowns. âJust doâ ahââ
He whines brokenly as you line yourself up with his swollen hole, just barely pressing the head into the sticky mess. It hurts, no doubt, so you inch forward at a torturously slow pace: breathing now as ragged as his as you fight the urge to slam your hips into his, viscous desire catalysed by the slick sound gushing salaciously against your dick.Â
You swallow, gazing at his arched body deliriously.Â
âSo tight, doll, shitâ you swear, and your words cause him to squeeze, vice-like, around you. Your smile becomes wider, but inexplicably freezes as he cants his hips upwards to wrap his legs around your waistâcoaxing a shaky moan from you, lips parted in surprise. Itâs his turn to smirk faintly, taunting you for being so slow with it.
You indulge him, losing yourself in the fervescent heat of his insides momentarily, and losing a bit of your mind in the process.Â
The adagio quickens.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â he goads hoarsely, satisfied with the brief upper-hand heâs gained. You donât reply, concentrating on his expression as he opens his mouth once more. âYou feelâ nghââ
He writhes as you slam your hips into him, bullying yourself into the space you werenât quite able to reach with your fingers. His incomprehensible sobs are the only sort of warning you get, before he makes an even bigger mess of himself: thin ropes of almost-clear liquid spurting from his half-limp cock, running into the dips of his heaving stomach.Â
You know heâs seeing the same stars he hung up for you so prettily, and you continue rolling your hips in tandem with his wailing moansâsweet talking that obscene sloshing sound straight from the source.
Youâre going crazy.Â
Fascinated, your fingertips trace the prominent bulge shifting his guts, and he whimpers: fat tears rolling from his cheeks as you force his body to clamp down even harder around you.Â
âThatâs it, love,â you relish, rocking into him to watch the mound on his tummy shift inwards and outwards. âSee that?âÂ
Despite himself, he exhaustedly cranes his neck to see where youâre lookingâshivering with every drag of your hipsâand you watch him take it all in. His spent cock still squirting thin rivulets so pathetically across himself, the protuberance that clearly indicates just how well youâve carved a space into him, all the marks that are beginning to seep into his unblemished skin, all the marks heâs left on youâhe takes it all in, turning an exquisite shade of pink.Â
The mess is such a repulsive contrast to the cheery smile on your face.Â
âYou take me so well,â you mumble: words turning into blather as you begin to move once more. Your mind turns into endless mush as you unthinkingly lift his leg up onto your shoulder so he can take you even deeper, unheeding of the pitiful mewls that he chokes out.Â
Youâre only chasing your own high as you establish a brutal pace. You lose yourselfâtension coiling in your abdomenâwith each overstimulated flutter of his gummy insides, with each keen plaint wrenched from his drooling mouth, with each roll of his eyes to the back of his head.Â
âSo good,â you slur, tears rolling down your own cheeks at the divine sensation taking control of all your senses: the heavenly sight of his spent body splayed in front of you; the thick odour of lovemaking dripping over the trepid scent of his tea; the lewd sound of skin slicking against skin; the taste of salt and sweat still lingering on your tongue; and finally, the feeling of his body against yoursâa dream to rival all dreams.Â
âSunday,â you babble: his name a mantra as he shudders under you. His ankle perforates as your kiss turns to a bite, and your tight grip around him will leave yet another plum-hued bruise by tomorrow.Â
A frothy ring of white begins to form around your cock as it slams into him at a punishing tempo, but you are not quite done yet. Youâre so stupidly deep that heâs wailing out something that sounds a lot like your name.Â
It sounds so desperate you canât help but tense: canât help but spill deep inside him. Hot spurts of white coat his insides, swelling each tender ridge withinâenough that the new stretch forces another orgasm from him, milking the last drops of cum from his useless cock.Â
âFuck, doll,â you moan loudly, bending down to kiss him as you ride out the euphoric wave blissfully controlling your body.Â
You swallow each sob, every tear as you fuck the pearly globules into his body, enough that heâll find the remnants dripping onto his leg for days no matter how well he purifies himself in these waters.Â
âDonât leave me,â he murmurs into your mouth, drifting in and out of clarity as you rob him of his breath. Some rational part in the mind buzzing with white noise idly wonders if heâll remember his words tomorrowâif theyâll be overshadowed by his act of tasting the forbidden fruit.Â
âI wonât,â you promise, pressing a chaste kiss to his clammy brow. Slowly, you pull out, watching the thick rivulets of pearly white gush from his spread legs onto the pure stone.
You consider the mess you made of His Holiness from your knelt position.Â
Then, like the hound you are, you bow your head, and eat.Â
â˘. *ŕż
âIâm just⌠worried about him.â Robinâs voice filters through your ears, subject to your distracted, capricious thoughts. Your eyes flick to her hands, stiffly curled around a now-cold teacup: an ode to the hours spent catching up after the disastrous celebration and the long days spent in your respective roles.Â
You were wondering when the conversation would shift to him.Â
âHeâs been terribly guarded recently, even with me.â Her hand props her chin up, half exasperated, half concerned for the idiot she calls brother. âI mean, not that heâs got great communication usually, but it got so much worse after you didnât wake upâI donât think Iâve ever seen him so angry.â
You turn this new information over in your mind: a new snippet to pin with red thread against the rest. Thoughtfully, you sip your own chilled tea.Â
âIâm glad youâre here with him. Itâs good he has a friend to rely onâespecially since he cares about you so much.â
You smile into the porcelain.Â
âI wouldnât worry too much,â you murmur, and your teacup chimes against its saucer as if agreeing. âHeâs loosened up a bit. Doing a lot better.â
Before she can respond, her mouth shuts as footsteps echo: methodical in the way only one person is.Â
You lean forward, changing the subject of discussion smoothly, just as a gloved hand roots itself on the top rail of your seat.Â
âSo, I hope you didnât get too scared at the ceremony itself,â you continue, bowing your head politely with a lulled Your Holiness in greeting to the man behind you.Â
âRobin, Viscount.â He lingers just a touch longer on your title, as though desperately holding on to the practised civility the two of you have demonstrated longer than time itself. You suppress a smile.
Her eyes flit briefly between you and her brother, contemplating the slight shift in atmosphere. You ignore it, like you ignore his fingertips grazing your shoulder as he takes a seat right next to you.Â
âNo,â Robin regains her cheerful smile, as if her pensive gaze never existed. âHer Grace was very accommodating.â
You half-expect His Holinessâ body to tense slightly at any mentions of her, but his eyes focus intensely on you insteadâas though gauging your reaction instead. The visitor in your head leaves satisfied at your emotional indifference, but what you arenât indifferent to is the faint blush spreading across Robinâs face as she discusses her bodyguardâs battle prowess.Â
Interesting.Â
You take another sip of your stone-cold tea (the leaves have an awfully familiar taste).Â
â˘. *ŕż
â...thereâs a lot of misconceptions about what we must do to enter the paradise promised to humanityâŚâ
Sundayâs voice really is relaxing. Itâs the perfect white noise to polish Harpe to, since you evidently arenât paying attention to his sermon. The laity are enraptured by his words, and you are safe to continue your blasphemous actionsâsequestered up high on an alcove behind them, a vantage point to rival all vantage points.Â
Your posture is awful, you note with mild amusement. Youâve grown soft: slouched, legs spread carelessly with Harpe slung across them, a cloth loosely clasped in your hand. It should probably be classed as a sin within itself; everyone else is standing respectfully, or kneeling. You brim with irreverence. Â
ââŚstrive to uphold Order in what you doâŚâ
His eyes briefly meet yours. You can tell, even from this far wayâmuch like you can tell that despite his placid expression, heâs seething with irritation as he takes in your borderline pornographic position hidden away from everyoneâs eyes but his own.Â
â...lambsâ lambs of Ena, our god will shepherd us to the Endââ
Against the backdrop of his perfection, the brief fumble in his words are startlingly obvious as his gaze stumbles once more across the congregation, though his faint flush is visible to nobody but you.Â
â...even when all seems lostâŚâ
You wait. You watch. You hope the viscous liquid that drips down his leg isnât too uncomfortable. Against your chest, his breath hitches through the crystal.
Like clockwork, he raises his gaze to the alcove once more. Languidly, your thumb rises to your mouth and swipes across your lips, as if youâre reminiscing over the taste of breakfast.Â
You canât fault him for averting his gaze from your intense scrutiny.Â
Husband!Wriothesley who always kisses you when you visit him at work or when he visits you at work. When you bring him lunch or go out for a quick lunch date, you're greeted with a kiss on the cheek every single time.
Husband!Wriothesley whose love language is sharing a cup of tea with you. Your darling will set up a nice assortment of snacks that pair well with whatever tea you're drinking, and you'll have your own mini tea party together.
Husband!Wriothesley who buys roses in your favorite colour for special occasions â anniversaries, holidays, your birthday, or whenever he wants to spoil you.
Husband!Wriothesley who enjoys showering together. After the stress of work (or a workout session) he likes to take a calming shower with the man nearest and dearest to him.
Husband!Wriothesley who's easily excited just from kissing you. When you bite his bottom lip, and keep a tight grip on his waist, pressing your body closer to his, Wrio's eyes roll back, and his moans leave you just as excited.
Husband!Wriothesley who's equally excited by soft kisses. You don't even need to lay a hand on him â just your lips against his is really all it takes for your husband to get a boner.
Husband!Wriothesley who says "hey there, big guy" every. single. time. he pulls out your cock. And you would tease him for it, but the absolute hunger swimming in his ice blue eyes has you feeling some type of way.
Husband!Wriothesley who needs to feel your cock slapping against his face. It doesn't matter if you do it for him, or if he has to do it himself. Wriothesley just craves the light sting of his husband's dick hitting his cheeks and tongue.
Husband!Wriothesley who wakes you up by cockwarming you with his mouth, then giving you a blowjob â one hand rubbing and squeezing your thigh, and the other working the rest of your cock that isn't currently in his mouth.
Husband!Wriothesley who has the most powerful thighs. He could literally crush a melon with those thingsâ
Husband!Wriothesley who's legitimately the hottest power bottom. Wrio will use those powerful thighs to keep riding you until your cock goes numb. Both of you cum over and over â you fill Wriothesley up until his stomach hurts, and he covers your chest and his thighs in a sticky mess, respectively.
Husband!Wriothesley who most definitely has a breeding kink. God, if you put him in a mating press and tell him that you want to breed your husband's pussy? It's all over â Wrio is yours to pound for the rest of the day, just keep your seed inside of him.
Husband!Wriothesley who "secretly" adores you showing up at work just to bend him over his own desk, lock him in his own handcuffs, and call him "your grace" while your cock pushes against his prostate.
fucking DAN FENG's previous previous incarnation so good the memories latch with every incarnation ever and they're all so head over heels in love for reader like damn.
Reader is basically their mate as if they all know by instinct that he's THE ONE that fucked them SO GOOD.
It's like that with dan feng too, the moment he saw you he just went feral with instinct and need, the unfamiliar yet familiar sensations rushed through him and he acted on impulse, pulling you to his chamber and kissed you hard and rough like all the previous incarnation did before.
It's the same now with dan heng too.
The moment he saw you, next to jing yuan at the devine commission, he had to squeeze his thighs to hold in a whimper
who are you really? dan feng/dan heng
cw;; angst, nsft, tail pulling, blood mention
im sorry for being a whore for the sads. i was thinking about this quest in canon about a vidyadhara and a xianzhou native where this guy falls in love with her in every life but for her it's just losing the person she loves over and over again. i think a relationship between a vidyadhara and a xianzhou native is inherently pretty sad like that but I think adding the fact that dan feng is the xianzhou's biggest fuck up to the mix makes it even more. that's why I wrote it with y/n being kind of distant because like... how many times has he loved this man so much and so deeply only to be forgotten and treated like a stranger?
who are you? dan feng asks himself a thousand times. he knows technically who you are, you're an attendant for general jingliu. he doesn't know why his thighs squeeze around nothing when he's near you, he doesn't know why when you touch him his body grows so hot it's hard to think, he doesn't know why your voice makes him want to fall to his knees. he can surmise you know but he never has the chance to get you alone, he only ever sees you when you're with the general.
then one day you're running an errand for her that brings you to his estate. your errand doesn't matter because the vidyadhara high elder has ordered you to his bed chamber. he was just going to interrogate you. he needed to finally know who you were.
that plan fell apart when you casually entered his room. you were standing there, a knowing smile on your face and your head cocked to the side. dan feng may have lacked the memories of his former lives but his body didn't. with a practiced ease he slipped his robes over his shoulders, his eyes asking if you liked what you saw.
"you're insatiable as always, high elder. I've not yet had a full conversation with you but you're here exposing yourself to me." you stepped forward until your legs reached the bed.
"you know me...?" it wasn't really a question considering you both clearly knew the answer.
you laughed at him. choosing to respond with your hand coming up and gently pushing his robe further off his body. his skin met the cold air and his soft pink nipples immediately hardened earning another warm laugh from you. he felt like you were mocking him but he couldn't bring himself to be offended, instead his heart felt warm.
you traced your fingers down his thin chest until they met where his robes were tied around his waist. "you can stop me whenever you want, high elder."
"dan feng." he said softly, almost embarrassed by himself.
"hm?" you tilted your head at him.
"my name, it's dan feng." that earned him another laugh.
"ahh sorry, dan feng. i've never known any of you to like being called your title." your tone was smug and oh so knowing.
your hand pulled at the knot around his waist finally undoing it and exposing his naked front to your leering eyes. dan feng found himself unable to form words as his cock twitched and swelled with desire that wasn't entirely his. he expected you to mock him, to laugh at his pathetic state that he couldn't even explain. yet you didn't, your arrogant smirk had even disappeared from your lips as you focused your gaze on his body. your head was so close to his that the young dragon could smell your hair but you weren't even looking at him instead your face had an odd expression as you stared at his body. he opened his mouth to speak as your eyes came back up to stare into his, your eyes took his breath away. he'd never seen you this close before but now you were right in front of him so close he could touch you and your beautiful eyes were looking at him with an emotion he couldn't decipher.
"i can help you take care of this, dan feng." your voice sounded odd, lacking the arrogance of before.
dan feng reached up and grabbed your arms with a desperation he'd never felt before. "you know that my body is yours."
a heavy smile crossed your face. "i wouldn't dare lay claim to your body, dan feng."
"... is my appearance not to your liking?" he felt like he'd done something wrong to you and that was the only reason you didn't have him shoved into his bed right now.
you blinked at him before your arrogant smile returned to your face. "you're beautiful."
"then ravish me." he pushed aside the odd feeling in his chest and took up a commanding tone.
you didn't waste any time immediately your mouth was on his, like a man dying of thirst as your tongue pressed to his lips. dan feng who had never known these things in this life felt his body reacting on instinct and pulled you down over top of him. your hands explored him like they had done so a thousand times, effortlessly finding weak spots that he didn't even know existed. one of your larger hands pinched his perky nipple drawing out a loud moan that let you slide your tongue in his mouth. your other hand hiked his thigh onto your hip allowing you easy access to roll your clothed hips against him. dan feng was moaning and squirming under your large body, his hands struggling against the overwhelming pleasure to get your clothes off.
it was only once his cock was red and leaking that you finally eased off of him. your hands were fumbling to quickly pull your clothes off as you took in heavy breaths. despite dan feng's own incompetence when it came to touching you it seemed like you were also aroused. his eyes watched transfixed as you undid your belt, your thumbs hooking into your pants and dragging them down. his eyes immediately fixed on the large bulge in your underwear, his mouth starting to water with desire.
you laughed at his pathetic state. "patience, dear."
your hand came over to rub your thumb over his kiss swollen lips, the slightest brush against his bottom lip had his mouth opening and taking your thumb on his tongue. on instinct he sucked on your thumb, his tongue swirling around the digit with precision he shouldn't have possessed. you moaned, sliding your thumb deeper into his mouth until your whole digit was coated in his spit.
"that feels nice doesn't it, dan feng? i know it feels so good to let your head empty for me." your thumb began to pull out of his mouth slowly but he scraped his teeth against the top of it in a minor attempt to stop you.
"mm such a good boy." your voice was so warm and calming as your thumb pushed back into his mouth.
"its ok, lose yourself. the only thing that matters is pleasing me." you pulled your thumb free from his mouth as his eyes finally grew hazy and distant.
"what do I do...?" dan feng could feel his head grow fuzzy as his body got hotter.
"wanna see you with your tail in the air pretty boy."
all it took was your words and dan feng found himself face down in his bed, his tail held high in the air. you ran your fingers from the base of his tail up drawing an absolutely sinful moan from the high elder. when your fingers finally began to push at his hole they slid in easily like his body had already molded to your shape. his body greeted you like an old friend; his hole already loose and ready for you, your every touch drawing little moans and shivers from him. it didn't take long for him to be a drooling and ready mess against his silk sheets.
your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, they always have. your thick cock fills the pretty dragon beneath you until his stomach is bulging but he doesn't whine in pain. his tail fits so perfectly in your hand and acts like such a good handle so you can jack hammer deep inside him. his pretty pink swollen lips hang open with drool dripping down his chin between his cock drunk babbling. he cums first in his pathetic state, cock spilling all over the sheets before he feels his legs try to give. you don't let him fall, hands keeping his hips in the air when he no longer has the strength to do it himself.
you were planning to make him cum and stop but your body craved him just as much as he craved you. you buried your face into his hair, pressing your chest down against his back, trying to memorize as much of him as possible. you should have completely memorized him by now but every time things like his soft scent and pretty voice were the first things to fade. your nails dug into his hips enough to draw blood but dan feng didn't do anything but moan and whine in reaction. your pretty dragon didn't know that you were currently struggling to ingrain him into your mind, all he knew was that his mate was fucking him like a wild animal.
you mouthed slurred praise against his neck; telling him he was so good for you, so pretty, took him so well, such a good slut. it was hard to tell if it was the hickey you left in his skin or the excess praise that caused him to cum again. his hole tightened so much around you that you lost yourself, finally pumping ropes of cum in his tight ass. his pretty thighs were trembling and he babbled his thank yous clearly believing that was the end of your mating. you only gave yourself a moment to rest before you continued your jackhammer pace.
the pretty high elder was an absolute mess when you finished with him; bruises, bite marks, scratches, cum stains, hand prints. he was so fucked out you had to gingerly move him into place in your arms, you held him like you'd held him a thousand times. his pretty eyes blinked at you as he fought to stay conscious but your hand gently rubbing his back certainly made it difficult.
"mate..." he whined so softly his voice raw from the hours of use.
you pressed a kiss into his hair. "so good for me."
---
from then dan feng didn't receive any answers, you actively tried to avoid his question. but despite the look you would get occasionally you always remained by his side. you felt like you were at a distance but you gave him everything he asked for so how could he be angry? you wish that back then you had let yourself love him properly, you should have indulged yourself in the lovey dovey actions of his past lives. you didn't realize that he would be gone for good.
all at once you lost everything in your life because of your mate's foolishness but you didn't even get the right to be angry at him. you remember when jing yuan stepped up as general and asked you to assist him the same way you had his mentor. at the time you had only asked that you be exempt from attending the high elder's trial, you wanted your last memory of him to be anything but him in chains. if you could have you would remove the last memory of jingliu being covered in your friend's blood from your brain too. but even while the xianzhou recovered you were left to remember the past.
it was the longest 500 years of your infinitely long life. you could tell that several times jing yuan thought he would lose you to the mara but you persisted. you remained a loyal attendant to the general even as the ambrosial arbor looked to tear the ship apart. when you have nothing but time of course everything will eventually recover.
"you don't need to attend." jing yuan sounded thoughtful while you poured his tea.
"i would find it rude to run away from the people who saved our home." your face was emotionless and empty like it had been for a long time. you caught the general giving you a pitying look before he enjoyed his tea.
you couldn't have guessed why he would look at you like that. you couldn't have guessed that tricky bastard wouldn't have just told you. the visitors from the astral express were standing there looking at you, a background employee who had just dropped and smashed a 300 year old tea set all over the divination commission floor. your eyes were fixed on the black haired man, the one who was unmistakably looked just like dan feng. his eyes met yours and the slightest of blushes crossed his cheeks like it had in a thousand life times before.
"i apologize for-" jing yuan was cut off by that soft voice.
Summary: It all started when your fiancĂŠ, Prince Gilbert, brought you to the palace of Rhodolite. He hoped he would find the secrets of the princes. Instead, he lost your heart to the brutal beast.
