cw, mentions of suicide, depression, triggering subject matter, traumatic themes, graphic depictions of car crashes, severe injury in choso's, jumping, co2 scare, self mutilation, etc., gojo's is the longest around 7k (my bad), geto's abt 3k, choso's abt 5k ... please read wisely, and do not force yourself into a negative space if you know this will resurface trauma! - if you or a loved one are struggling with suicidal thoughts, the suicide and crisis hotline is 988 ♡
gojo, geto, choso
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satoru gojo:
when you were little, you always dreamt of flying.
it was a silly, frivilous dream. you'd watch movies about fairies, and would envy the flutter of their wings as they gracefully lifted their feet from the earth and glided their light bodies through the atmosphere. you would subsequently wake up from dreams about having been gifted your own wings, the wind catching through your hair as your mass soared through clouds, fresh, unfiltered air bristling through the little hairs on your arms and ripping through your light clothes.
you'd wake up disappointed.
you felt that there was a sense of freedom associated with the idea of flying. as though the very act could release you from your mind, which caged you inside of its deprecations far earlier than you'd like to recall. something about the carelessness, the ease, the way birds would leap from branches and glide through the sky, flapping their feathered wings to carry themselves overhead seemed as though it would provide the answers to all of your problems.
you longed for such lightness, such liberty, the lack of fruitless responsibility, the very cycle of life serving as your only worldly concern.
but instead, you were grounded. damned for eternity to live within the body you possess, forced to serve a sentence out on earth with no means of escape.
you'd prayed for such mutations, for god to grant you grace after having planted you in a world, in a home which always subjected you to far too much cruelty. you were only seven when the first thought of ridding yourself from the world planted itself into your hardly developed mind, for the stinging buzz of your cheekbone and the orange circle of fire that sizzled into your arms left you very little reason to want to stick around much longer, to stay within such conditions.
you remember trembling hands clasping tight with your elbows digging into your bed as you whispered frantically under your breath, tilting your head up to the ceiling where you believed the ruler of all life, of the universe resided. you prayed for peace. you prayed for a chance. you prayed for flight.
at first, you had merely believed that your prayers had been delayed. that there was a long line of similar wishes stretching out before yours, and that the provider would eventually find the time to handle your mess, to unweave your sorrows, to gift you life.
put time went by. cigarettes burned brighter, hands swung down harder, lips busted, eyes swelled, and your hands locked tighter as your prayers grew more desperate.
you elected to take matters into your own hands a few times, to attempt to help god speed up the process by slipping away in the middle of the night, attempting to flee. but every time, police reports feigning devastation and worry always brought you back, back to captivity, clipping your wings that hadn't even begun to grow.
the years went by, and you eventually gave up on sprituality. religion. god.
mercy.
scars inflicted by those meant to care, to love faded into darker marks, past memories of savagery that even the heavens could not salvage. by ten years old, the light had drained from your eyes. the world no longer held the possibility of something new, something better. your mind could no longer trick itself into conjuring lies about a brighter future, where your skin was smooth and your heart was full, where your innocent words were not maliciously twisted in order to inflict some kind of rash punishment, some excuse to belittle, abuse, dehumanize before your brain had even started to differentiate right from wrong, weak from strong.
and no one ever helped you. you'd go to school with full eyes and bruises beating beneath your uniform like a million heartbeats. you'd fall mute in class, during lunch, at recess, subjecting you to further negative attention. kids picked on you until you developed the habit of retaliating.
what you'd learned from home swiftly transferred to your place of academics, and your little fist would fly into a snotty girl's jaw before you let the mockery slip from her mouth again.
it was the only semblance of control you had. the only way you could release the monstronsity building up inside you. the only way you could seek justice for yourself, if god refused to do it for you.
a blur of meetings with the principal, with guidance counselors, with security officers and police who never truly saw you, never truly heard you flashed through your childhood. the bloodier your nose became behind closed doors, the bloodier your fist became in public. you had become a bully, transitioning from the victim of circumstance to the aggravator inflicting it.
until you were expelled at thirteen, and life was consequently almost torn away from you by your abuser.
you lay awake that night on your carpet in a pool of blood, crimson dripping from your mouth, drenching your squished cheek to the floor. you didn't bother moving as you stared up at the ceiling. eyes lidded. lips parted and smushed. lashes fluttering.
and that stain on the ceiling you'd always stared at morphed into the odd shape of something living. no longer a smudge, but a bird with crooked wings, still flapping relentlessly, flying away.
you shuddered a breath that tickled the strands of the spattered carpet beneath you.
the curses manifested pretty early. the monsters that trailed behind you as you trudged your way to school, their slippery claws ripping at your skin, whispering absurdities into your ear, willing the worse thoughts to become somehow darker, somehow heavier.
no one talked to you much as you as you grew older, as the air about you grew thicker with distain and malice and sorrow. they could always sense something off, some energy about you not quite vibrating at the same frequency as theirs. something scary, and impossible to name.
you transferred between schools rather frequently, never quite setting roots anywhere. the only thing that was home to you was the pain that constantly circled through your body and mind, conjuring up masses of cursed energy that flared and swarmed like diseased flies, like sicknesses you could not seem to shake. your yearning for animal life, for flight manifested in the curses you subconsciously brought to life, and you merely thought you were losing your mind as you watched their shadows dance across the walls in the middle of the night as your comforter tugged over your mouth.
nothing quite fazed you much after that. your mind had gone long ago, therefore anything strange, anything new that was gruesome and foul just sank deeper into you like it belonged.
you wanted to die. you'd wanted to die since the moment you could conjure up a thought. since the moment the world reared its ugly head to you before you lost your first tooth. life had nothing for you if it was only going to remind you of your misfortune, rip you away from pleasant dreams where the ghost of you quietly slipped away into the clouds, past the stars.
your feet hurt with every step you took over the ground, for every step that was not lifted by flight. you hardly noticed that the curses you'd left in your wake slowly began to mutilate those who wronged you, every classmate who whispered, every counselor who overstepped, and with time, your abuser. your aunt.
it wasn't until then, when you were sixteen years old, when you finally lowered your gaze from the sky to meet another one before you. in the shape of pools beneath snowy lashes, a terror so wrecked in them that you could not look away.
you stared at him over your shoulder, and gradually, your eyes grew wide. his hand was thrusted into the direction of the now flayed monster that you had only believed yourself to be able to see. the body of your aunt lay just before the exterminated curse, blood splatter mixed with some kind of alien purple decorating the kitchen oven
a boy with moonlight hair stood amidst your mess, and the gurgling chatter of your monsters had suddenly gone silent under the pressure of his presence, of his destruction.
but what you'd first thought to be terror and disgust in what he'd stumble upon turned into steely grief for you instead, his eyes as tired and dull as yours as he lowered his hand and scanned the area solemnly.
then his gaze is back on you, and the two of you could only stare. for you don't recall anyone ever having looked at you the way he did then, ever quite piercing you with his gaze like he had, ever quite seeing you so clearly before.
like you were raw and exposed before him. all your monsters he crushed. all the thorny misery that inspired them. blood stained your clothes, but he looked only at you and not at what you did... like you were a person. like you were just as real as the sorrow you felt. like he was exhausted to see such a thing happen again.
and you never did forget the frown the tugged his lips downward, and what felt like a hundred miles separating you before you collapsed to your knees with a thud, hoping for some final relief, hoping that the boy strong enough to erradicate your curses could do the same to you.
you closed your eyes when you felt footsteps approaching after a moment of silence, his cursed energy warping the very air that surrounded you. tears dribbled down your cheeks as you began to think that this was it, that the end of your life had finally come, that wings to flutter you away were just around the corner, gifted by the angel with eyes that match the neverending sky.
instead of his wrath, however, you are met with a hand extended once you peel your eyes back open upon not feeling any pain. you stare up at him, eyes blown and watery, and his brows drag together as he looks at you, something weighted and torn behind those sapphire irises.
you'd never touched a softer hand when you dared to reach.
the higher ups wanted you dead, especially since your appearance and the death caused by your negative energy transpired mere months after another boy's defection. though every sign pointed toward a likely evil nature, satoru didn't give up on you.
he always says that when he looked you in the eye, he knew that you just needed a chance at grace.
the white haired seventeen year old roped yaga into his argument when he brought you back from the mission as asked, pleading, begging him to look - to really look at you for one second and decide whether you deserved penatly or not, whether you had asked for what befell you.
you became satoru's indirect responsibility after that, so yaga enrolled you into the strange school, the very last school you would ever transfer to again.
you noticed that the higher ups often pulled satoru away from you at the best of times, using him to their advantage, as a weapon for humanity by sending him on mission after mission, leaving you to the hands of your professors, yaga, and the principal who always eyed you suspiciously when he walked by.
and while the urge to fixate on the old man's hostility toward you was strong, you found that his and the other higher ups' were the only hostility you'd come to know in this place.
for students didn't run away from you when they saw you coming. they didn't glare, or murmur, or wish you dead. no, they offered their hand to you just as satoru did that day, introducing themselves, welcoming you into their lives.
and satoru had become your closest friend, always rushing to your dorm the second he'd return from a mission to check in and see how you were doing, to flood your darkness with what you'd come to call his corny jokes and demanding presence, his obsessive need for your attention as though you'd known each other all of your lives.
it didn't take long for you to grow attached. though he paraded about as the jolliest boy in the world, you always saw the soul past his bright eyes, the pain he burrowed deep that touched yours. you'd catch him gazing off into the distance sometimes thoughtfully, or watching you close from the corner of your bed as you did homework. a million words hid behind his mouth that he never spoke, but his stare always told a deeper story.
and you, a former alien to kindness, gained light as you gained trust and control over your cursed energy. that resentment toward the world still lingered, but morphed into heavy guilt along the way, as you witnessed the horrors that curses inflicted upon human society.
satoru has always known you to be depressed. he thinks of the day he first saw you more than he is willing to admit, how easily you dropped to the ground before him, hoping that he'd take away your pain with the snap of his fingers.
it haunts him.
you don't smile with your eyes, and you spend more time staring at the clouds than you do on planet earth. he feels your anxiety buzzing through your body every day, and while you've grown into yourself as a sorcerer, as a person with time and age and friendship and love, your heartbeat still skips along like it's trying to kick its way out of your body, like you're trying to break through.
your cirumstance is strange, unlike suguru geto's. you didn't ask for the curses you bred. you didn't ask for the abuse that you endured. you didn't ask for this natural, unbridled, dangerous power that you harnessed the best you could for good.
but with age and time also came further strength, and just like satoru, you posed a threat to the jujutsu world in the higher ups' eyes, leading them to place further restraints on you as a graduate, and eventually as a young teacher.
for no matter how much control you gained, your trauma still remains. your depression still lives. and at any given moment, you could snap.
the guilt swallows you whole in your young adulthood. you wake up in the night from the cold slap of a woman you accidentally killed, your chest heaving up and down as you stare into the darkness. you think of all those missing classmates. of those who suffered at the hand of your subconscious anger, even without the manifestation of those curses.
the scars on your knuckles remind you of your cruelty.
and now that you are tasked with the protection of humanity, now that people like gakuganji are there to remind you of who you really are apart from satoru's affections and your friends' empathy, you stew in your responsibility. in all the bad that you've done. in the cycle that you've repeated, and are likely to repeat again.
you hate yourself. you always have.
you feel like an imposter when you first notice the soft way satoru looks at you in the lamp light of your dorm desk when you're kids, his head resting in your lap, his knees to the floor and his arms around your waist as you read. your shared privacy became a treasured thing as you grew together, your internal anguish molding into something warmer in the other's presence, for you acknowledged one another's independent struggle.
and satoru sees what suguru could have been in you. the kindness. the authenticity. the shared depression.
he finds that he doesn't want to lose you the way he did suguru. not in any way, for that matter.
and you consistently find it difficult to believe that satoru truly cares about you. you expect him to disappear one day, to turn on you, to walk away and antagonize you like every body else you've ever allowed yourself to be vulnerable around has.
you tense around him, because that softness, that gentle quality he gains in the empty spaces of your silence and company frightens you. you don't allow yourself to think it's real. for who could ever truly care about someone like you? someone beaten and tormented all of her life, hardly seen as a human at all? ignored, shamed, broken.
someone like satoru could never love you, someone so needed and desired by the world. what could he possibly do with the woman he ended up stuck with? with the woman who further complicates his already complicated life?
he's the strongest, and for the honored one to pledge such loyalty to you, to nothing, doesn't make sense. you can't think of yourself as any more than a burden.
so when his hands come down to rub your back as he intrudes on your studies in the libary, the teasing lilt in his tone hardly matching the way his fingers tenderly linger, you go rigid. has another person's touch always been so gentle? have hands always had the ability to ease such grievances?
you feel like an imposter to experience so, staring skeptically and shyly when he flashes you warm smiles, or offers to try to (horribly) paint your nails when he notices that the polish has chipped, are drops his head into your chest when he's tired after a mission, murmuring a weak request for your hands to slip through his hair and stroke his scalp to sleep.
you never understood how easily he touched you, despite your history with having hurt so many before.
you felt like an imposter when you realized you'd fallen in love with him in your early twenties, when he proved to stick around and wrap himself tighter around your finger in spite of your darkness, and even more so when he grabbed your cheeks in the rain and pulled you into longing kiss some time after.
you remember the way the rain soaked your clothes, and the way his drenched strands of ivory hair stuck to your skin. you remember your body feeling cold, yet your heart warm in a way you'd never quite felt, in a way you didn't know was possible for someone like you.
you feel like an imposter now, at twenty five years old, by the strongest sorcerer's side as his girlfriend. while the higher ups continue to seethe. and you continue to doubt. and satoru continues to love, with everything inside of him.
it only makes you feel worse. and after a while of peace, the noise gets loud again, reminding you of your origins, of who you are and not who you are currently trying to be.
you think satoru doesn't see right through you, but he knows. he always knows just exactly what you're feeling. he's seen you at your worst. he knows your tells from the inside out. he knows your depression like it's his own, recalls how it can eat one alive from the inside and chemically alter the makeup of their brain.
satoru worries for you every day that he is alive. he worries for your safety, for you pose as a danger to yourself. he notices the way you avert your gaze whenever he smiles lovingly at you, as though you feel as though you aren't deserving of the happiness he provides. he notices the way your cursed energy warbles and twitches like a trapped bird, how it constantly battles against your own psyche as you try to prevent yourself from posing as a bigger threat than you already are.
he knows that your obsession with birdwatching stems from something deeper. that the way your eyes longingly gaze at their flight speaks volumes that you will never amplify.
he notices how when he tells you that he loves you, your eyes glaze over and go distant, for this love you share is the first and only authentic connection that you have approached. he knows that. and he strives to show you how much he loves you all the more.
but he knows you don't believe him. and god, it scares him. it scares him that you could one day choose to do something to yourself under his nose, thinking that you'd be ridding him of a burden when in actuality, you'd be taking away the best thing that ever happened to him.
so satoru watches you like a hawk 24/7, keeping a sharp eye out for you, for your heart's patterns, and the messages behind your beautiful eyes. he kisses you softer each day, holds you tighter every morning, preserving that precious intimacy between you to keep your head steady, to show you that he would sooner see the entire world face extinction before you.
he thinks it works for a while.
everything changes one day, however, when the higher ups send him overseas for a few weeks, leaving you alone with the school and the rest of your peers. satoru hates when he is sent away for any period time, for abandoning you stresses and ails him like no other. he knows how you feel about being separated from him in such an environment, and he believes that gakuganji and his goons are starting to pull him away more and more again on purpose.
he creates a fuss, but inevitably leaves with no choice.
"i'll be back as soon as i can, pretty," he tells you gently as he holds your cheeks in his hands, tilting your face up for him to see your solemn expression clearly. his heart aches at your permanently sad eyes, and he curses every old giezer that pulls him away from you. his sweet girl. he dots a kiss to your forehead and smiles when he pulls back. "i promise."
you nod quietly with a light exhale. your hand holds over his as he holds you. "just be safe, please."
"safe is my middle name," he beams.
you crack a weak laugh, and satoru grins. "no it's not."
"for you, it is," he kisses your nose. "will you be okay while i'm gone?"
your expression slightly dampens again, your smile fading as you nod once more. "of course," you say swiftly, too swiftly. "i'm fine, satoru. you don't have to keep worrying about me. i'm a grown woman. i can handle you being away."
the blue eyed sorcerer's jaw clenches. he senses the tension in your words, but attempts to lighten it with a dramatic pout. "you won't miss me?"
you scoff and roll your eyes with that hint of a smile. "of course i'll miss you," you retort. "...i'll miss you a lot."
the strings of satoru's heart tug as he tilts his head, his eyes softening. he ducks down to peck your lips, and your lashes flutter. "i'll miss you too, baby. more than anything," he murmurs. "i'll drop in to check in, yeah?"
"you don't need to do that, toru. you'll get in trouble."
"i know. but i want to," he shows all pearly whites again, and you can't help but smile once more. you never can help it when satoru is around, showering you with sunshine.
he kisses you once more, long and sweet this time, before pulling back to peck your cheek. "answer the phone when i call," he whispers.
"i always do. i should be telling you that."
"you know i will. i'll drop anything for you."
you don't like the tight feeling his statement leaves in your chest.
it takes a while for satoru to finally pry himself off of you and leave, but the second he does, he steals all the light with him. and your classroom is suddenly empty, the silence blaring. you stare off, face and arms dropping slowly, and you ache.
and just as you suspected, a week or so after satoru left, the higher ups call you in for a meeting.
you tremble with anxiety as you approach, standing in the middle of the room with candle light circling you, distant, ancient voices laced with anger ringing out to shame you. to reprimand you for a recent report nanami filed on a mission you were sent on with him the previous week. how you can not cling to satoru as an excuse for your presence here, how the restrictions they have put on your cursed technique are not to be tampered with, as they almost were during that mission. when your emotions almost spiraled.
"you are a liability!" gakuganji huffs. "if i am to hear about one more incident where you almost will yourself to slip away from all the work we've done to keep you in check, then we will have no choice but to suspend you and re-evalute your execution!"
such words would only be uttered in the absence of satoru gojo.
you feel the world shrinking in around you, seeing the faces of your aunt and classmates surrounding you in the closed shutters of the higher ups' private offices. you hear the words that your aunt used to hiss at you before hands came flying. and what was once rage at such memories and treatment has dampened into sorrow, for you leave that meeting with shuddering breaths hiccuping from your throat and eyes glossing over with tears.
you don't notice the way the laterns sway as you stomp down the corridors. you don't notice that way your shadow trembles and splits in two. you don't notice anything but the pit in your gut, and the voices in your head telling you that this is all you will ever be.
someone the world wishes to be rid of.
you don't remember how you got here.
the sun sets behind the skyline, the wind viciously tossing your hair and clothes to and fro from this height. your feet are bare as they grip for footing along the cement ledge , your tight shoes discarded somewhere behind you.
the city's distanct cries almost sound quiet from here as you look down at the ants dotting the sidewalk and the tiny blinking lights lining the road. your cheeks are stained with drying tears, your eyes red. you can feel the rumble of curses behind you, rampant along the rooftop, but you don't hear them. not fully.
your mind is numb, your ears are ringing, and a strange sense of lightness overtakes you as you regard the world from above, wondering if this is the same view that birds have when they are soaring high above. you wobble slightly along the ledge, peering down over the bridge of your nose. the wind attempts to toss you, but you remain balanced. in control.
it's a long way down. the drop will certainly bring death quick.
your mind replays the sound of your body smacking the ground, as it has for many years over, but you don't flinch upon the imaginary impact. instead, you picture how the flight down must feel. how the gravity will grip you and pull you through the air as you go limp, nothing more connecting you to the earth but the deadly contact with the pavement that awaits.
a huff of amused air shoots through your nose, your lips twitching slightly at the thought. for you will no longer have to worry anymore. you will no longer have to be mindful of your technique, of your emotions, of how satoru will look at you when he comes back, how he makes everything in his life about you when he should be worrying about himself.
your heart lurches. you never believed yourself to be capable of love before, whether receiving or giving. therefore, you convince yourself that it was all a brief fantasy, that satoru felt pity toward you and all that you are not able to do. but now, you can no longer tell yourself that you deserve this. that this is your life. that satoru wouldn't have been better off never meeting you.
for what are you, truly, but a pestilence? but another ant beneath someone's feet? a monster the world must destroy?
you're a sorcerer. your job is to protect and to fight of imposing danger. you have never been anything different from what you have sworn your lift to erradicate.
you don't have the strength any longer. to live with the scars of your past. to perform as a fraud in a school that once protected you. as far as you are concerned, the higher ups have every right to want you dead.
for you want yourself dead just as much, if not more.
so here you stand atop this tall building, ready to serve one last duty to this unforgiving world. ready to free yourself.
ready to fly.
you close your eyes, and everything goes mute save for a bird's imaginary melody floating through your ears. you see the vision of that smudge on the ceiling flapping its wings, then satoru smiling with pinched dimples and rosy cheeks, hair fluffy and glowing in the crack of early morning sun.
you could hear the birds then, singing through the window, just as you do now.
your foot raises. curses hiss and croak louder. the air tightens, your body wobbles.
and you step off.
you plummet, your body twirling about until you shoot down head first. your fingers twitch, and you savor what it finally feels like to be airbone. the wind is harsh against your body, unforgiving in a way that only nature could be. you give yourself completely to the feeling, awaiting the harsh pound of death.
instead, the sound of the atmosphere warping cuts through just miliseconds before something familiar and compact collides with you, rocketing by and swopping you up just before you can hit the ground.
something guttural and shocked flocks from you as reality shifts, that same sound coming and going quick, and you fall to the ground under the weight of what hit you.
but the ground isn't hard or painful. it's soft like carpet as you lay flat against it. your own heaving breaths are matched by another's, and you blink your eyes open to see those white strands peaking out as the owner's face shields itself in the crook of your shoulder, breaths hard against your skin.
you stare upward in your stupor, your mind slowly registering what happened. are you still alive? are you dead? dreaming?
satoru's scent and the pressure of his body overtop of yours leaves you confused, for you think that you'd only experience such a thing in the mercy of the afterlife, knowing that satoru is away at the moment... or at least, should be.
but no, you know it is real, that you are still alive, when you feel the sharp tremors of the honored one's firm body pressing into yours, his abdomen tightening with each shake, and something dampening on your neck.
your heart drops, and your eyes shoot wide.
you're alive. satoru saved you.
you don't have any words. your mind is still trapped elsewhere, with the sky and the clouds and the air and the birds. satoru's interruption is jarring, and even more so is the way his heavy breaths shudder into stifled sobs. you feel him fighting it, choking against the cries as he presses himself to you tighter, all of his weight snug and heavy and safe over your body.
you remain limp with your arms sprawled out and yours eyes to the ceiling, and soon, guilt shakes you again.
satoru had to stop what he was doing because of the duty he feels toward your every move. he couldn't even allow you to do this one thing for him, for everyone.
i'll drop anything for you, his voice echoes, and your chin wrinkles with the drage of your brows tightly together.
tears blur your vision once more as it all hits you. the pain. the desire to rid yourself and the world of it. the higher ups. satoru's responsibility to you.
you wanted it all to just go away. but now, under satoru's warmth, you are reminded of his warm gaze, and the possible weight that he declarations of love always carried.
you know now, especially, as he falls apart over you, either of you too stunned to speak.
what is there to say? that you couldn't take it anymore? that death is the one thing you've longed for all your life, though you've battled against it ferociously for the sake of those around you? that satoru's love for you never once made sense in all the years of him sticking by your side, that the way he looks at you, the way he touches you, the way he treats you has never once aligned with what you believe the world to have destined you for?
that the only way you thought to repay him for all the good that he has been in your life for nearly the past decade was to leave?
you feel his arms tuck under you and you jolt. he snivels, keeping his face to the crook of your shoulder as he shifts, wrapping up your waist, holding you flush to him. he rubs his head back and forth against your skin.
tears drop like the rain that fell when he first kissed you, and you let him hold you, crying, marveling over why - why you would do this.
but he knows why. it's the same reason why suguru lost his mind all those years ago. the same reason why you often avoid his eyes, and still hesitate to return his kiss when he closes in. the reason why your cursed energy is so unstable.
why those scars line up your arms and legs. why there's a chip in one of your big teeth. why your eye is a little lazy every time you wake up.
why you don't believe yourself worthy of anything but hurt.
it tears satoru apart, for he can not imagine what you see in yourself when all he sees in you is beauty, strength, a determination to fight back and overcome in the face of adversity. he sees you, and what he sees is perfect.
and he almost lost you because of how fiercely you think otherwise. because of what the world did to you before you met.
the moment he hears the soft, shaky inhale from you that mirrors his own, satoru plants a hand to the carpet and lifts himself slowly from you.
a frown is so deeply etched into his face that you see his pretty dimples poke. his blindfold is still on, but he reaches up to pull it back, pushing his hair from his forehead, revealing his eyes, crescents of devastation and bloodshot.
but your face kills him.
you look tormented by yourself, unsure of where you are, where you stand in his life and your own.
it’s raw on your expression. tears dribble and your chest heaves, and all you can see are the eyes that once saved you staring down like you’ve committed the ultimate betrayal.
you hiccup, beyond yourself. “i-i’m sorry…”
the apology has barely made it out of your mouth when satoru brings his hand to your cheek like he always does, his large palm shaking as he swipes away tears from your heated cheeks.
as if to dismiss your apology. as if to tell you to forget it.
you want to ask him how he knew, but he beats you to it.
“i got a call,” he croaks out into the emptiness which you’ve come to realize is the floor of your own room. “yaga saw you leave the higher ups. he saw you upset.”
his voice is shaky and quiet, hardly above a whisper, afraid that speaking any louder will ruin him. his lips tremble.
“he saw your energy. he said it didn’t look good… worse than it - it ever has. i had a horrible feeling, but i...”
“satoru, i’m sorry,” you wheeze again, hoping it will erase everything, but his nose wrinkles at your apology.
“don’t,” he whispers. “please. please don’t. please. i don’t want your apology, (y/n). i have to know what they said to you.”
you tremble. "...who?"
"the higher ups, (y/n). what the hell did they say to you to make you - " gojo can't even bring himself to finish his sentence before a lump cuts his words. his snowflake lashes flutter as his lips press together tight. you don't think you've ever seen your boyfriend so broken, so openly distressed.
he keeps his hand to your skin as if afraid to let go, to pull back and realize that you are already gone to him. his eyes scatter about your face and figure, searching for any further physical damage, counting every detail he notes that remains in place, that he could have lost had he not swooped in at the right moment.
his jaw clenches hard, a tear straying down the curve of his nose as he takes in another sharp breath. "what did they say to you, baby? what did they say to my precious girl?”
you feel your chest tighten as the air leaves you. your nose flares as you struggle to inhale, overwhelmed by the world that satoru holds in his gaze just by looking at you. how can you deserve his care? how can you deserve his love, when all you continue to do is hurt him?
you thought that you'd be doing him a service, but laying beneath him now as he fights unraveling completely before you, you realize your mistake. that you had almost traumatized the man who never knew love before you.
you think back to gakuganji's coarse words, how he's always regarded you and treated you from the moment you set foot in the jujutsu society. you think of the scars on your body, the healed cuts on your knuckles, that empty pit in your soul that carried you to such drastic actions.
and that momentary feeling of flight.
you break. "nothing that isn't true," you whimper. "i'm a monster, satoru, i don't belong here. i never belonged here, or anywhere."
an unexpected sob floods past your lips as the tears run, chasing after one another. you sink into an overwhelming sadness and awareness regarding what just happened.
satoru's brows curl upward, and he moves quick, shuffling over to sit close beside you and carefully pull you upward, into his chest. your cheek slumps against his shoulder as you cry. his large palms sprawl over your back, sliding up to your hair, rubbing all over to soothe you, to keep you close, to show you that you're safe.
that you aren't alone, and he is here for you. just as he always will be.
his chest aches at the feeling of your body jerking so violently against his. he winces hard, pressing you closer, turning his lips to your ear as he strokes your hair.
"you're not a monster, baby," he murmurs through breaks of shuddered breaths and cries. his throat is tight as his breath fans against your earth, and you focus on the sensation to balance out the indescribable agony you feel. "i'm sorry. you're not a monster. of course you belong here. you deserve to be here. on this planet. with me. with your friends. i love you. i love you, princess, you're not a monster. you never have been. please don't say that. i'm so sorry."
you give into your weakness - your boyfriend, and lift your shaking arms to grip the back of satoru's dark uniform, fingers digging into the fabric as you cling tight, turning your nose into the curve of his muscular shoulder.
he's so warm. you just felt so cold, and he's so warm.
satoru snivels, hands pressing tighter into you. "you deserve life."
you always thought life was a bad thing. a prison. but the way the word flutters from satoru's mouth makes a shiver roll down your spine, for it encpasulates a gift, a way of living that was foreign to your upbringing.
but is possible with love. with love for yourself.
"oh, god, you scared me so much," satoru grumbles under his breath, pressing a frantic kiss to your neck. "i'm so glad i got to you. i shouldv've never left."
"no," you whimper. "i hate that i'm your responsibility. it's too much for you, satoru. you're... you're better off-"
"don't say that," he interjects sternly, holding you tighter. "don't you dare."
you stare hard at the floor as your tears soak the satoru's sleeve. "but-"
"i've spent almost ten - ten years trying to show you how much i love you. do you have any idea what i'd do without you? what i'd do to those stupid fucking higher ups? to the world?"
you still slightly as you mull over the severity of his words, your heart pounding in your ears. "that's not good for you," you whisper.
"you're good for me," he hisses. "you always have been. i'm not anything without you. not the strongest. not a man. nothing. i love you so much. you're my other half. i can't lose you. anyone but you."
satoru catches wind of your silence, and he pulls back. you keep your eyes down, ashamed, but satoru's hand finds your cheek again and tilts your head up so that you meet his eyes. such a familiar action he's done a million times over, but it feels different now. his eyes are sharp, almost angry, but not at you. at your mind, at all the horrible things anyone has ever said and done to you to make you feel this way.
"when will you realize that you're not a burden?" he frowns. "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. that's why i stick around. that's why i worry. i love you. and i'm here for you. i'm here, so please - please don't - please just wait for me. don't do this again. god, don't. you're so much more than - you're everything. i want you so badly to see that you're everything."
you twist your lips as you look up at your boyfriend sadly. he curves a finger delicately across your brow, down along your cheekbone.
"and more than what you are to me, you're you," he continues gently. "powerful, smart, and kind. you don't think you are, but i see it. everyone does. how mindful you are. how you always put the needs of others before your own even when you shouldn't."
you start to shake your head and look away, but satoru's hand finds your chin and keeps your gaze.
"you're thoughtful. you're beautiful. you're a force. you're perfect, and you are on this planet for a reason."
he catches another tear on his knuckle, and cranes his head slightly to look up into your eyes.
"you have to stay."
"i wish i could see all those nice things you see, satoru," you croak, shrugging. "but i can't. i just can't."
"that's why i'm here to help you. to tell you. these aren't just words, pretty, they're the truth. and i don't care how long it takes. i'll help you see."
he presses a kiss to the center of your forehead and you squeeze your eyes shut. "i'm sorry," you blubber.
"i told you not to apologize, (y/n), it's not your fault. don't blame yourself. i beg you, don't." he pulls you back into his embrace with a heavy sigh. "my girl," he mumbles.
"i love you," you say into his chest. "you mean the world to me too. i just don't know what to do. i don't know how to feel different. i can't stop thinking about just going to sleep. i didn't mean to scare you. i didn't think - i thought i was -"
"shhh. it's okay, baby," he murmurs soothingly, eager to prevent you from working yourself up again. you need to rest. your mind needs a break. "you don't have to talk about it anymore. it's okay. i'm here."
you finally melt into him, sinking into his solid comfort with exhaustion. you keep your eyes closed as he soothes your cries away, caressing your skin. the silence envelopes you as you gradually resort to sparadic sniffles.
and in the safety of satoru's arms, grounded peacefully, your heart soars as your dream of flight fades for just a moment.
you drift away into lethargic sleep as satoru counts every star above for keeping you alive, and plots his confrontation with gakuganji the moment he sets foot in that school.
but for now, you need him. so with you, he'll stay.
────────────────────────
suguru geto:
somehow, suguru feels like your attempt is his fault.
like he has corrupted you with his own illness, and made you feel like doing such a thing to yourself would ever be okay.
but it's not. it's far from okay. because you aren't him. you're better. you always have been.
suguru knew that you suffered from the same illness as him long before this attempt. you stopped eating regularly after the riko incident, just like he did. you grew thin. and you always seemed to be thinking about something else, always asking people to repeat themselves after they spoke, as though nothing but water flooded your ears.
but to have found you in your garage with the car running and all doors shut years later, having had rainbow dragon burst through the garage door to get to you from the outside, still astounded him. while his depression took a turn to insanity, yours took a trun toward self mutilation and torment, and suguru was terrified.
the dark haired man can not lie to himself. he knew that something like this was coming. you've been a shell of yourself for years. further drifting into a darkness that suguru has attempted to cushion, but he knows that nothing can truly battle the hell that is your mind when it reaches to a certain point. he knows all too well.
still, for you to try to kill yourself? and in such a way? the cult leader can't begin to name all the emotions that overtake him at the memory.
the gas clouded through the space, and you lay there in the driver's seat on the brink of unconsciousness. his curses smashed through your car window without a second thought, but that look in your eyes haunts him.
half lidded. empty. (e/c) voids staring ahead, waiting for death to melt over you.
it makes the hazel eyed man nauseous, for he has seen men die and killed others in far more gruesome ways, but having beared witness to you in such a state ruined him.
he thinks of the way your limp body felt in his strong arms when he pulled you out of that car and out into the driveway. he thinks of how your head rolled back, and coughs spewed from you endlessly while suguru knowingly, sadly stroked your hair, pearly tears welling in his eyes that he refused to let fall as he observed you.
the sun beat down hot. the pavement burned beneath his buddhist robes. and you whimpered with disappointment, when your mind finally pieced together that suguru kept you planted on this earth and prevented you from leaving.
even now as he sits with you on the sand, he feels your anger and frustration.
he had taken you away after the incident. after you'd regathered your bearings and taken the time to properly recover. he stole you away from the cult. from your job. from the pressure of society's expectations, and brought you to the closest vacant beach, where you could simply exist. where you didn't have to speak, or work, or interact with anyone but him if you so desired, and the water washing up against the soaked sand before you.
the sun sits lower in the sky, casting the sand in a glittering orange hue. the water sparkles before you, and you stare out emptily as you listen to the sound of waves crashing, watching as fragments of rock wash up mere inches away from your bare foot.
your lashes flutter as salty air tickles your face, and you think you know why suguru brought you here. the air is open and free, unlike the garage you attempted to give your life to.
he wants you to take a moment and breathe.
suguru's reputation is built on composure. he ridicules non-sorcerers when they are out of earshot, long after they have paid him handsomely, or right before he prepares to slaughter them with the same cool poise. he presents himself as a wise, thoughtful leader, though his patience is string thin and his temper is rather short.
but still, for his followers, he keeps himself together. only allowing them to see the pieces of himself that he wants him to see.
with his family, he is far less tightly wound. but suguru does not really yell. he doesn't burst into fits of rage or emotion unless provoked to that point perhaps in battle. and even when confronted with emotional circumstances by his girls or you, he keeps calm, serving as the stability, the rock for those he loves.
but in the simplicity of this scene, and the memory of your recent actions, suguru significantly struggles to hold it together. on the outside, he appears stiff, his face blank as he looks out at the sea beside you, but inside a war wages. his throat is tight and it feels like an elephant is sitting on his chest. he doesn't think he's felt this way since high school. since riko.
and how could he not? what you need right now is his listening ear, his understanding, his support, but how can he feel anything but pure rage and agony at what has transpired? how can he be expected to move on, to think of anything else now that he's witnessed you try to take your life away? how can he feel as though he has done you any service in life if this is where you stand today, in pieces, searching to put yourself together by reaching the afterlife far too soon.
suguru inhales and exhales slowly, trying his best to remain calm, but his mind is roaring. the stench of carbon monoxide still stains the inside of his nostrils, and the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head still torments his thoughts.
you tried to kill yourself. you certainly would have if suguru hadn't gotten to you in time.
his jaw clenches.
he tries to focus on the sand beneath him. he tries to focus on the sound of the water crashing. but he can't. he can't think of anything but you.
everyone knows how fiercely and proudly suguru loves you. everyone sees it. he goes out of his way to watch over you, to protect you, to cherish you, to hold you dear, as he does with all the members of his tight knit family. the two of you have always been close, having only grown closer over the years and after a heartfelt confession that brought the two of you into one another's arms as lovers somewhere along the way. for as long as you can remember, no one has ever seen one of you without the other.
you're a pair. a team. a unit.
you sought after the protection of the weak together, spiraled into depression together, defected together.
and yet, somewhere along the way, as suguru fed into his hatred for mankind, you fed into your hatred for yourself.
you know it started after riko too. you didn't understand how everyone recovered so quickly, for the second you heard that the young girl had been killed after having spent so much time with her during that mission, you felt all hope for the future, for yourself, drain from your body.
you started moving throughout the earth like it physically ailed you to do so, and if no one else was, suguru was right beside you. sharing your pain. sharing your helplessness.
but suguru has always been a bit more arrogant than you. he fell into his narcissistic ideals and tendencies, and you fell into a cycle of self deprecation, constantly asking yourself what the purpose of it all was if you couldn't even save a little girl from an ordinary human being? if everyone you ever knew, including haibara, would eventually float away and succumb to the horrors of jujutsu, anyway?
but what bothered you more than anything was how weak you felt in comparison to someone as strong as suguru, and satoru - though you know he's on a completely different playing field. if someone like suguru could come close to death as you were all trying to find your footing in this world as developing sorcerers in training, then what hope did you have?
your self image has always been poor. but under the weight of expectation and grief and hell, it worsened. you couldn't see the value of your life any longer, as long as the higher ups would use you all as pawns to rid the world of diseases that humans themselves caused.
none of it made sense anymore. the sun's warmth. the leaves' bright green. the sky's blue. the laughter of children as they played. the taste of food when it touched your tongue.
everyone melded into grey when you discovered your lack of importance, and while you love suguru with everything in you, you can't tell whether that love is real anymore. for how can you love him properly when you have so much hatred for yourself? for your talents? for what you do?
you couldn't take it anymore when you'd done it. suguru had smiled at you so warm and lovingly that morning, and it killed you, for he shows more feeling toward you than you've ever felt for yourself, and you can no longer believe the authenticity of his affections when you yourself have absolutely none. not for you.
you couldn't take another moment of the world mocking you with it's sounds. a car's horn, the wind's blow, a snapped twig on the ground, a dog's bark - it all makes you feel sick, as though they are elements of a strange simulation that you have been damned to explore for eternity.
you couldn't handle the cruelty of existence. so you elected to cut yours short.
yet, suguru could not even allow you that luxury.
you know that you're awful. you know that you've done something to suguru that you can't reverse. you know that you've forced him to relive his darkest moments, that you've troubled him beyond repair, but you know all the same that suguru understands you. he knows because he's been in your shoes. perhaps not your exact ones, as he has never tried to kill himself before, but he's thought about it. he's fantasized.
but that was long ago. he'd almost forgotten until now.
and you, of all people, shouldn't have been the one to live out that distant dream.
so you sit in silence with the waves, a foot separating the two of you.
until he finally speaks.
"how are you feeling?"
you sigh. "fine. you don't need to keep asking me."
"are you angry with me?" he asks, his voice mellower than how he truly feels.
you don't respond right away. you're a bit spaced out as you gaze at the horizon, your tongue darting out to run over your lips. you don't even quite register his question until a few seconds later, and suguru hangs onto every second of emptiness that you provide.
"yes," you finally say.
suguru knows, chest growing even tighter. the air whips through his long strands, brushing a few out of place as they swipe over his face. "tell me why."
"you know why." this time you answer rather instantly, and suguru furrows his brows slightly.
"i wasn't letting you die. that's not an option, nor will it ever be."
"yeah. figured you'd think that."
the hazel eyed cult leader finally turns to look at you, a cool fire blazing in his eyes, his expression poorly masking his hurt. "you understand that i would never let you die, (y/n). right? i don't care how. it's not happening."
"like i said. i figured. made that very clear."
"so why are you angry with me? because i didn't let you kill yourself?"
"don't fucking say it like you've never thought of it," you throw in his face, and suguru's frown deepens.
"i've thought of it, but i didn't try to execute it like you did."
"congratulations."
suguru feels himself getting worked up, but he tries to fight it. this is about you. not about him. not about how he feels. he has to get through, he has to understand where your head is and has been for you to do something like that.
"don't mock me. this is serious."
"do we have to talk?"
"yes, (y/n). we can't just pretend like it didn't happen."
"why not?"
"because what if it happens again? are you going to try to hurt yourself again?"
you bite down on the inside of your cheek, keeping your eyes forward. "don't ask me that, suguru."
"how could i not? especially when that leads me to believe that you will."
"stop," you hiss, closing your eyes. "just stop asking me questions. stop talking."
suguru watches you closely, his heart hammering in his chest. he knows he's not good at this. he can feel this beginning to take a turn south, for his composure slipped the second he spoke - the second he found you the way he did.
but what do you want from him? he wants to respect your boundaries, your space, your time, but how can he when you speak like this? when you're so far gone, that you hardly even care about what you've done, other than the fact that it was interrupted?
he stares at you intensely. you feel it. you always do. but you try to ignore it. you try to fight the way his words eat you up inside and try to make you truly think about what happened.
"you know i love you right?"
you blink your eyes open and look down upon hearing his soft words. you feel something inside of you start to crack, and you bite down harder on the inside of your cheek. "i know, suguru," you say quietly.
"do you really?" he asks, and you don't answer this time. "i love you more than anything on this earth. i love you like i've never loved anyone. or anything."
"i know," you say harshly. "i already know that, you don't need to keep telling me."
"but you don't truly understand. not if this is what you're willing to do to yourself when i'm not around," he shifts slightly to face you better, sand dusting across his clothes. "you don't understand how it felt to see you like that."
"i don't want to hear-"
"but you have to hear it. alright?" he interjects. "you have to, or else you'll go on thinking that your life is nothing and that's not the case."
"you don't think that this isn't already hard enough?"
"then talk to me, (y/n)," suguru urges, "you have to talk to me. all you've done is shut me out, and i can't take that anymore."
"as if you've never shut me out before," you finally rip your head to face him, glaring hard. "you did it back in high school. you do it all the time when you're with the cult, like you're so high and mighty-"
suguru squints. "what does the cult have to do with-"
"- and you always look at me so judgmentally. like you're above anyone and everything. like you've never been depressed in your life, when that's all you were for the longest time before you changed and left me to feel like a fucking alien."
"(y/n), what the hell are you saying?"
"you want me to talk, so i'm talking! what, you don't like what you hear now?"
"you're attacking me instead of telling me how you feel."
"why would i want to tell you how i feel?!"
"because i just pulled your half dead body from the garage!"
"you should have fucking left me there!"
"do you even hear yourself right now?!"
"i didn't ask for you to swoop in to save me."
"if i hadn't, you'd be dead!"
"good!" you explode.
the dread expands inside of suguru's body as his face scrunches with the severity of your words. you stare hard, stubborn, though your eyes are glossing over and your lips are set in a firm line.
suguru shakes his head, beside himself. "i don't want you to die."
"it's not about what you want, suguru."
"but why would you - " he pauses, turning away to rub his hand over his face. his fingers slide to pinch the bridge of his nose as he struggles to keep himself together. his shoulders tense then fall, and you watch with steely eyes, fighting the way his reaction kills you inside. "why would you want that for yourself? why are you talking like this? i love you, (y/n), don't you understand how this is eating me alive? to hear how you belittle yourself? to hear you wish for death more than..."
suguru trails off, growing quiet as he keeps his fingers pinched over his nose.
your defensive cruelity slowly starts to chip away. as you watch suguru, you see what your words are doing to him. you see what your attempt has done. ever the composed man, suguru rarely lets his mask slip unless around you. and even then, he doesn't quite talk about his depression anymore. you know it's still there. you know it's just morphed into something... else, but for so long, he's kept that side hidden as though he does not want it to exist.
but such suppression can only make things explode.
and you don't think you've seen suguru on the verge of tears since... well, you can't remember.
so as he freezes in his position, keeping his eyes closed, his body tense as he manually focuses on his breathing, you slightly relent. for this is a side so rare that it almost feels foreign.
and you realize that what happened this morning is in fact a big deal. though you've dreamt of it every day for as long as you can remember, you recall that this is new for suguru. that anyone would react this way if they were to stumble upon the person they love in such a condition enforced by their own hand.
and suguru does love you. you know he does. just as much as he says, and then some.
your nose twitches, your teeth sinking deeper into the inside of your cheek. you watch him for a long time, feeling the dread you've been narrowly escaping for the past twenty hours creep over you. you blink hard, settling back, and turning your head back to the ocean.
you feel the familiar sting of oncoming tears and curse yourself. you can't stand how weak you are. "i love you too," you say shyly, voice trying to be firm despite itself. the corner of your lips tug to the side for a second as you swallow thickly. "i really do. more than... more than life."
suguru looks up with wounded hazel eyes that catch the gleam of the sun. you keep looking ahead. "more than your own life?" he reorganizes your words.
your brows raise as you stare off. "yeah. i mean... that's a common saying."
"no, but it's different when you say it," suguru speaks lowly. "because you don't want your life. you don't like it. so of course you'd love me more than it."
you grimace slightly, turning back to look at your boyfriend's face. "that's not why i said that. that's not what i mean. i do love you suguru, you know that."
"i do know that," he says gently, his voice pillowy soft, a stark contrast from a few minutes ago. "i do," he repeats, truly pondering your connection now, and how much it means to him. "but you think so lowly of yourself, it makes me worry so much. more than i let on, and i'm sorry if i haven't shown you that enough."
"...no, you have," you say quietly. "you always have."
"and after today, i don't... know what to do. i don't know how to make it better. i wanted to intervene properly before something happened, but it did," he laments. "and i know how you feel about yourself. i know how long you've thought about doing this. i always have. so trust and hear me when i say that i won't let it happen. i won't ever let you die. you have far too much value alive, and that's what i'll keep you until you can see that for yourself."
you roll your eyes through the blurriness of tears, looking away to hide them out of embarrassment as two drops rocket from your lashes without warning.
suguru immediately melts, his emotions surging to his sleeves as he moves to shuffle closer to you. his arms open as you bring your knees to your chest and rub away at your eyes with your forearm.
"my angel, please come here," he requests with glassy eyes and that tender, honeyed voice you adore.
he knows you won't voluntarily scoot toward him, so he presses himself to you as you subconsciously fall into his arms. your head rests against his shoulder as his arms encircle you. he rocks you slightly, kissing your temple, letting his lips linger.
oh, how grateful he is to still have you here, to still be able to hold your soft body to his, to feel you.
"i'm sorry. i know this is hard for you. i'm so sorry," he mutters. "i just don't want to lose you, beautiful."
"i'm tired, suguru," you murmur tightly into his chest.
suguru closes his eyes, tears bringing his lashes as he holds you closer. "i know, baby. i know," he sighs into you sadly. "i'm sorry. i know you are."
"i'm - i'm sorry for making you worry. for snapping."
"you don't have anything to apologize for, i shouldn't have gotten angry with you."
"you have every right to be angry after what i did."
"this isn't about me," he kisses your temple again. "i understand you, angel. i really do. it kills me that you feel this way and i'm sorry. just please. let me in a little bit. let me remind you of how loved you are."
the notion almost brings you discomfort, as you that part of you tells you that you couldn't possibly be worth this. but the other part of you aches, for you feel suguru geto's passion through his touch, through his voice, in his gaze. and you marvel at such graciousness, continuing to question it.
but suguru will be there to rectify each doubt. each fear. each negative thought that blinds you from how wonderful you are. inside and out. flaws, and perfections, and everything in between woven into a knot in his heart.
────────────────────────
choso kamo:
what is the value of a human life?
how do human beings view their mortality? how do they go about living by it?
choso has always found himself pondering such notions in his mind, but the moment he met you, he determined the answer to the former: the value of your life triples that of many others. at least, in choso's eyes. your life is precious. you are the only one of you to exist in this world, just as choso is, and his brother, and everyone else.
but you are irreplacable. the way you pick at your nails is irreplacable. the way you use a fork and bring your food to your mouth is irreplacable. the way you walk is irreplacable. the way you you say his name is irreplacable.
every part of you is our own, and choso does not know what he did to deserve your unique, beautiful quality of life and company, but he cherishes it. your love included.
so he struggles to understand, to rip through his mind for the answer as to whether human beings view their lives differently from those who care for them.
for he can't comprehend how you view yourself as so much less than he does, and therefore, believe that your life has such little value. little enough for you to attempt to toss it away. more times than choso was previously aware.
the news was broken to him on a tuesday morning. choso remembers how the clouds slightly covered the sun in the sky to warn the inhabitants below about the incoming rain. you hadn't been answering your phone, and when choso left you to head to work that morning, you claimed to be sick and stayed in bed under the covers.
choso remembers the look in your eyes when he kissed you and told you that he loved you, that he'd be back as soon as he possibly could to help take care of you. your eyes grew distant somehow then, as though you were harboring a secret that burned you to keep.
choso now knows that it was because you hadn't planned on still being around when he got back.
something sat heavy on the brunette's chest that entire morning, but he could not put his finger on exactly what. he was a ball of nerves and anxiety, constantly checking his phone to see if you had responded to any of the texts he sent to check in. his notifications remained empty, only leading him to further spiral. to begin thinking the worst.
he tried a few times to slip away to go check on you after having clocked in, but yuki and yaga insisted that you were fine, that he could not just up and leave in the middle of a work day while there were tasks that needed tending to. choso subconsciously fell silent after that, internalizing his concerns that everyone always claimed were outlandish.
choso knows he is dramatic. he cares too much. more than the average being, but the violet eyed half curse never believed this to be a bad thing about himself. especially when he was surrounded by those he cared for. when his brother looks up to him in spite of his strange countenance, and his girlfriend reciprocates the intensity of his love.
he has every right to be as passionate as he is, and every right to stress over your wellbeing when you're home allegedly sick and failing to answer his messages.
choso was so sure that he knew you so well, before the news. he knows when you're lying, when something is on your mind that you are afraid to voice, and he knows that was the case this morning. perhaps that is why he is so frantically stressed about you, about what it is that you have going on, whether you are just really sick or if something worse is a foot.
and lately, you've been a little off. your head has seemed to be in the clouds, your mind elsewhere as you daydream and disassociate for brief periods of time. you're a bit spacey, disconnected from your present circumstances, and choso has eyed it up until today. the only explanation you provide is that you haven't been feeling well, that those moments were all just symptoms of an oncoming fever or cold or something.
choso always trusts you. always takes your words into deep consideration. always first determines that you are honest and open before the opposite, for choso does not know you to be a dishonest person, but he does know you to be withholding at times. as though you are afraid to burden him or overstep, as though your very presence and voice are invasive and must come with a warning in order to be forgiven.
that trait about you almost reminds choso of himself, and it uneases him a bit. you've always been better than him, after all. at many things. at least, that is what he believes. that is how he views you. to think that you could harbor such insecurity toward yourself confuses and frightens him, especially so since you never voice it. you always tiptoe around your worries, your true feelings exposing themselves through your actions. your flickering eyes and your frequent apologies that mirror choso's own.
but you don't have anything to apologize for. you aren't the half curse stumbling through life, trying to figure out whether he's good enough for your love. what he needs to do to keep you, to tell the world that he's not a bad thing.
no, you're far better. breathtaking and sweet. conscious of all life. unbiased toward any. understanding and soft. you're perfect.
but you have these moments of sadness where you dip, where your cursed energy wavers into something melancholy, and you fight it with weak smiles and tired eyes. and choso only hugs you more, kisses you more, holds your hand tighter to address the physical discomfort you never name in those particular instances.
his gut churns when he recalls those times. he knows something is off, and he should have just stayed with you instead of going to work like you'd insisted. even so, he prays that you're just sleeping. that his nerves are all out of whack for some silly reason, and that you are too busy catching up on rest to notice that he is blowing up your phone every ten to fifteen minutes.
but then he gets the call.
it's an unknown number.
and something tells the brunette to pick up on the first ring when he feels his phone finally buzzing. he doesn't check the caller id. he simply answers, turning away as his coworkers enter the conference room for a meeting.
he stops in his tracks when the gentle voice of an unfamiliar woman speaks rigidly into the speaker. "hello, may i speak to a choso kamo?"
"that's me," he gulps, voice low, grip tight around his phone. "who is this?"
"hi, mr. kamo. i'm calling from the jr tokyo general hospital on behalf of (y/n) (l/n). are you her partner as listed in her emergency contact form?"
"yes."
choso's ears immediately ring, his eyes blown wide, and he stumbles slightly as he turns around, back facing the doorway as yuki stands in it, curious, waiting for him.
"she's supposed to be at home. she's sick. is she there at the hospital? what's wrong with her?"
he hears the woman sigh slowly as he holds his breath, shoulders hunched as he stares harshly at the ground, waiting for an answer. but what comes is nothing at all what he expected.
"sir, ms. (l/n) has been in an accident. we ask that you come to the hospital right away."
he's already marching down the corridor before she can finish her sentence, ignoring the blonde calling after him as he departs hastily. "what kind of accident? what's wrong with her?"
"a car accident," she clarifies sympathetically. "we'll explain more when you arrive."
"what?" he snaps, heart racing. "she was driving?!"
"yes sir."
"why was she driving? she told me she was staying home sick! is she okay? where is she now? is she okay?!"
"she's in... critical condition. our doctors are working to save her now. we are still trying to figure out exactly what happened, but the eye witness who called 911 reports that she was seen speeding off the road into the woods. we believe this was an intentional act."
choso thinks that all the oxygen in the world has been sucked away. he can hardly breathe as his footsteps hault and he stands frozen in shock. his pupils shrink as he stares into nothing, the woman's voice on the other line asking if he is still there.
but all choso can hear is the screech of imaginary tires and the lie you told to keep him away from you today.
he doesn't want to believe it. he doesn't believe it at first, that you would intentionally put yourself in harm's way. that you would drive your car off the road at ninety miles an hour. that you weren't actually sick at all, but suffering a far worse disease that choso should have noticed, should have understood.
critical condition. that means you are hardly hanging onto life. that someone else found you on the brink of death while choso continued to message an abandoned phone. that he was nowhere nearby when you faced such a traumatic, life altering event... and at your own hand?
no. he refuses to believe it until he sees you. until he can speak to you, look you in the eye, greet you face to face, because you will survive. you will beat this. you'll be fine.
for if this is something you have done on your own accord to yourself, then that would have to mean that you were actively seeking out death. such an accident would be nearly impossible to walk away from unscathed, and to the degree that the woman from the hospital is telling him, damn near impossible to survive.
but... why?
choso has always felt death rather intimately throughout his life. he was born of death. when his brothers passed, he felt their loss pang away at his insides. he's seen death all around him. especially so in this line of work that he's been roped into.
but there has never been anything appealing about it. death brings grief and misery and pain. it separates, creates irreparable shifts, toys with the mind and heart until there is nothing left to think and feel.
human beings know this more than anything, for their lives are limited. death awaits at the end of every cycle, and while it is natural, it is still feared. it still brings great sadness. it is still desperately avoided until it can no longer be evaded, but that time only comes with age and experience and fulfillment, and you are only twenty three years old.
there's much more more life for you to live. so many more experiences for you to have, to share with the man you love, with the friends you love.
so why?
what could drive a person, what could have driven you, to jump ahead of the natural life cycle? what could have driven you to do something as drastic as attempting to take your own life? life is precious. you are precious, and to imagine a world without you, a world where you were able to rid yourself from existence, makes choso sick. it makes him want to drop to the floor and wail his heart out.
are you so unhappy? so unfulfilled? has choso failed to give you what you need, to properly see all that you have been suffering through? has he been so selfish?
the brunette feels something thorny and tight wrap around his throat as his eyes well with instantaneous tears. your face appears in his head, graceful and gorgeous, your smile so beautiful that it sends painful pangs to his chest, and he shivers with grief.
this can't be happening. you have to be okay. you have to.
"mr. kamo? are you still there?" he tunes back into the woman's voice on the other line, and he sucks in a shaky breath, angling his brows.
"i'm coming right now," he heaves.
choso remains in a state of shock after he has rushed off to the hospital without any explanation, and as doctors approach him in the waiting room to tell him exactly what happened.
the brunette can do nothing but stare wide eyed with teary eyes and curled brows, a helpless look of oblivious devastation on his face, when he is told that you made it through but you are still not conscious. when you veered off the road, you crashed down a slant and head on into a tree. you truthfully should not have survived, but the air bag employed in time to cushion just enough of your fall, knocking you out as your legs crushed and a branch pierced through the windshield and the side of your abdomen.
they say that you won't be able to walk for the foreseeable future. that you're paralyzed from the waist down. that you will need a wheelchair and severe rehabilitation tests. the life you once lived is over indefinitely.
and the doctors confirm, or at least highly suspect with further exploration, that this was indeed an unsuccessful attempt on your life.
you were looking to die.
everything changed so fast after that.
choso feels cold when he is finally able to enter your room post operation, ignoring the way his phone blows up about inquiries over your health, the hospital likely having found a way to reach out to your disguised place of work to inform them of the accident as well.
but choso doesn't care about any of them. not when they wanted to keep him away from you. when he could have somehow prevented this by staying home, or at least returning to check on your sooner. perhaps he could have discovered your plans prior to you executing them, or caught you just moments before it happened.
the sun has long set. the hospital buzzes with a nauseating anticipation, a thick blanket of sadness that suffocates his lungs. the door to your room clicks gently when he turns the knob, and his eyes immediately fly to your unconscious figured splayed out on that thin bed.
he chokes over a gasp upon seeing you.
your legs are in casts, slung up above you by a sling connected to the ceiling. more gauze is tightly wound around your abdomen, which peaks out from the slit in your baby blue hospital gown. your lashes flutter restlessly, as if you are still fighting something inside of your mind, while a supply of air is pumped through you, a rhythmic, mechanical push and pull of air filling the otherwise empty space.
all of choso's time with you flashes before his eyes as he walks up to the side of your bed. your pretty face is covered with tiny red lines of scratches, and when his eyes trail to your knuckles, he sees how they blemish into a nasty purplish yellow. your skin is paler, and you look more like a ghost balancing between life and death than the girl choso knows and loves.
but it is you. the love of his life lay before him, and all choso can do is stare as his brain struggles to process, as the doctors' words overlap with your gentle voice promising him that you'd be okay when he left you that morning in his head.
the half curse's hands shake at his sides, and his knees give out before he can even think. he drops harshly to the ground, the cool hospital floor digging against his knee caps, and glittering violet hues regard you up close. his hands inch to hover above you, hesitant, horrified to break what has already been broken, before he settles a hand soft over your own.
the cold that greets him is enough to make him break down.
the brunette is nothing but stifled breaths and tears as he observes you, takes in all the signs of pain that you must have endured. seeing you now after having waited so long answers no further questions, for he still doesn't understand what would push you to do such a thing. how could you try to kill yourself when you mean so much to those in your life, to choso, who you know has struggled to heal from the deaths of the brothers he lost?
tears drip onto the sheet you lay on as his chin tucks against the bed. he peers up at you through damp lashes and squinted eyes, a sharp crease between his curved brows as he studies your face, still so beautiful in the flickering flourescents.
choso thinks of the first time he saw you. how instantly he fell in love with you. he always knew you to harbor some intrigue, some mystery, some gloominess that he could never quite decipher, but he didn't think that it was this bad. he didn't think that what he noticed would have ever pushed you to such lengths.
why didn't you tell him? how couldn't you tell him about something like this? he would have helped you. he would have dropped absolutely everything to stick by your side, to hold your hand through the negative thoughts, to be there to ground you so that your thoughts could not push you to harm yourself like this.
choso cries endlessly, for the paralysis you will endure, for the normalcy that you stole from yourself, for the fact that had these doctors not been successful, he would have lost you.
the pale skinned man doesn't think he could take that. he could barely handle the deaths of his brothers, but losing you would certainly have pushed him to the brink of insanity. it would have completely and utterly dismantled him.
so why? his love? his soulmate? why didn't he know? why didn't he see? why didn't you speak?
he holds your hand as tight as he thinks he can without hurting you, his salty tears dropping over the back of his hand. he sniffs thickly, snot and tears dribbling down his chin, and he stares at you, tormented, speechless.
when the doctors return that morning to discuss your history with suicidal attempts, choso finds that all the words have completely fluttered from his brain. he has no more energy, nothing to say as his head rests against your arm, tilted slightly to stare with empty eyes as he pulls up a chair and recites your past.
"ten years ago, her mother admitted her for self harm. in the ward, she attempted to take her life with an open soda can. a few years after that, she attemped again. this time with a razor blade to her wrists. after that, she was re-admitted...."
choso can't stand to hear any of it. he feels like his chest will close in on itself the more he hears.
"i suggest that she should be admitted again, but long term this time. we have a recovery center that will target both physical therapy and mental recovery."
he presents a pamphlet. choso doesn't lift his hand to take it. he doesn't even look at it. he simply stares, dark circles under his red eyes, his cheek smashed against your arm. the doctor clears his throat and sets it on your bedside table.
"i'll leave it here for you to think about."
the doctor moves to leave when choso's hoarse voice croaks out. "why would she try so many times?" he asks weakly, slowly. the doctor turns over his shoulder with a blank face as another tear strays down choso's face.
the doctor exhales, sensing the lingering denial and shock. "depression is a monstrous thing. it poisons the minds of many innocent people."
"...will she ever stop?"
"i can't say, mr. kamo," the doctor says, voice stale. "if she received the proper long term treatment, then it is possible. but from her medical records, she appears to be a very troubled individual."
troubled... never once has choso looked at you and decied that you were troubled. complex, yes. but not troubled. not in that souring way that captures the word when the doctor utters it. you just need a little support, that's all.
"why wouldn't she tell me?" choso whispers unsure of whether the doctor will truly have any answers. but he has nowhere else to go with these questions, with this harsh, cruel uncertainty and confusion.
the doctor is quiet for a moment as he ponders, for emotional responses are always outside of his realm when his job is to do the saving. "don't take it personally. i've seen many patients like your girlfriend. victims with suicidal tendencies are often ashamed, and don't want the people who care to see those negative sides of them. she likely didn't want to scare you or hurt you."
choso's brows knit. "this scares me and hurts me more than anything she could have ever told me."
"...yes, i'm sure. i - i know," the doctor clears his throat again. "if i were you, when she wakes up, i wouldn't ask those questions. as hard as this is for you, it's much harder on the mind of the person who makes the attempt. try to just be there for her. comfort her. she'll be waking to a jarring reality."
choso's eyes drag to your casted legs, and his chin wrinkles. he nods stiffly and falls silent once more, giving the doctor the chance to exit and leave him alone with you again.
he ponders over the doctor's words in the empitness of your unconciousness. the tv above plays some stupid old black and white film that has been playing on repeat for the past eighteen hours.
though choso isn't a fan of the doctor's easiness, he may be right. choso has no idea what its like inside of your brain, what your mind must have looked like for all these years to push you to commit such acts against yourself not once, not twice, but three times. choso isn't familiar with this side of humanity. with depression, and suicide, and an aching desire to leave the planet.
he's not familiar with this side of you. and while he is tormented by the fact that he didn't know how deeply this ran, he should extend you grace and understanding. he should be there for you in your time of need.
he lifts his head from you slowly, hair matted against his skin, to look back at that pamphlet. he looks up at your face, then back down at the paper before reaching for it.
he reads up on depression. the symptoms. how it lingers. how it is a disease. he reads up on possible triggers and causes, and how one with depression may interact with the world. how many hide it away expertly for the sake of those around them.
he reads up on this particular facility that the doctor recommended. the pictures look nice. the place seems cozy. expensive. but promising.
choso frowns. you shouldn't even have to go to a place like this. he wishes you didn't need to. that your mind was kinder, that whatever must have happened to you to make you feel this way never happened in the first place. you don't deserve it. of all people on this planet, you deserve it the least.
choso prepares to flip the next pages numbly when he hears a pitched, drowsy groan.
his head shoots up, hands freezing. your eyes and brows scrunch, your lips curling, and another groan floods from you, longer this time.
the pamphlet instantly drops from choso's hands as he scootches himself closer to you, holding a hand over yours as you writhe and eventually come to.
your eyes take a moment to peel open as though they were stuck together. choso eyes your heart monitor as your heart rate gradually quickens. and with tears in his eyes as he hovers, he watches as you blink past crustiness to adjust your gaze on the ceiling.
you inhale sharply, lifting a hand shakily to paw at your oxygen mask. you groan again, turning your head and prying it off.
"(y/n)? you're awake!" choso announces. his hands move to help you with the mask, guiding you carefully as you tamper with it. "it's okay. be careful. let me help you."
you let your arms fall limp to your sides as choso sets the mask down, and you inhale oddly, squinted eyes looking around. "...where...?"
you are very clearly discombobulated. you struggle to make out your environment, but then your eyes land on your legs. they immediately go wide, and you take in a breath that shoots pain through your abdomen. you wince with a gasp, your fingers reaching only to feel bandages.
you freeze.
you can't feel your legs either.
your heart rate quickens as you adjust, and choso keeps his hands over yours. your eyes dart around frantically, finding choso's face in a haze. a million emotions flicker through your gaze when you realize what has happened, and that your boyfriend is sitting beside you in the aftermath of your attempt.
you realize that you survived. again.
"no, no, it's okay. it's okay," choso starts, bringing your hand to his lips as he kisses your bruised knuckles. your nose flares and your eyes flutter, your brows knitting together. choso aches. "it's okay, love. you're okay, right? you're okay."
he kisses your cold knuckles again, and you whimper. "...choso, where am i? what happened?" your voice is scratchy, and choso feels a lump build in his throat once more upon hearing it again. he was almost afraid that he would never get the chance to. you look back over at your strung, casted legs, and breathe in raggedly. "i can't feel - my legs. i can't feel them."
"don't look," choso releases your hand to cautiously wrap his arms around your shoulders. your breathing quickens in an instant, transitioning into panicked gasps. you may be on the verge of a panic attack as cruel life strikes you again, only this time, with a price.
choso pulls you into his chest as you stumble over breaths and cries, rubbing the side of your head as he presses kisses to the crown of it.
"you're awake. i'm so relieved," he shivers. "i'm with you. don't cry. don't - don't think about it. it'll be okay. you're alright."
"why can't i feel my legs...?" you croak into him, and choso presses his lips together to prevent his building sobs from bursting. "am i dead?"
"no. no you're not dead," he growls, squeezing his eyes shut as he holds you. "don't think about it, (y/n). just breathe. i'm right here, i promise. i'm not going anywhere. it's okay."
you shake your head as best as you can, your neck slightly stiff. "i did this."
"it's okay-" choso whimpers.
"i'm sorry, oh fuck. i'm sorry, choso. i didn't think i'd survive. i didn't want you to see me like this," you whine. "i can't feel my legs. i can't feel them," you repeat through blubbers.
choso doesn't think he's ever experienced a pain quite like this. so raw as it tranfers between the two of you. he weeps into your hair, holding you snug, for how can he respond to you when you say that you didn't expect yourself to live long enough for him to witness the aftermath?
what is he supposed to do?
he tries to think of the doctor's advice, but it's hard. he's suddenly angry, overwhelmed, full of sorrow, and relief that you're at least breathing. that you're living. but are you relieved?
how is he to help you if you're not?
not only did your attempt fail, but you've awakened to a numbness in your lower body, to your life completely changed. what if you try to kill yourself again? what if this stunt births a new kind of depression in you? what if choso can't save you?
you still smell like you. your skin still feels like your own. your voice still the same.
choso's terrified and overjoyed all at once.
so, instead of undertaining your guilt, your panic, choso presses closer. "i didn't know," he whispers into you. "i never know anything. i had no idea. i've been so stupid."
"no, choso," you sniff. "it's not your fault. it's mine. it's all mine. i lied to you. i've been lying to you. i kept this from you."
"it's not your fault," he argues. "i should've seen. i knew something was wrong but i didn't know what. i'm your boyfriend. i love you so much, and i should have paid more attention. you were always right there. i've been blind. i made you think that you were alone. i'm so sorry."
you don't know how to respond to him taking responsibilty for something that you know to be your fault. you feel... naked. like choso has just seen the very worst parts of you and is disgusted. you feel as though he shouldn't love you anymore. you feel as though he never should have. how could you do this to him? someone so sweet, and loving, and understanding? why do you ruin everything you touch?
"don't think about it," he says again, hushed with an urgency as he holds you. as though he can suddenly read your mind. "i'll fix it all. i'll help it all go away. i promise."
"you can't do that, cho," you murmur, eyes blurred. "i've been fucked up all my life. you can't fix me. i'm unfixable."
"you're the love of my life," he corrects. "i'll do anything for you. even if i can't fix it... i-i'll help make it better."
"how?"
"...i don't know," he breathes honestly. "i don't - i don't know much about this stuff, but i'll learn. i'll help you through rehab. i'll love you every second of every day like i already do. i won't leave you again."
the thought of choso sticking beside you in such a way only makes you feel more guilty, and you prepare to tell him that he shouldn't, but he beats you to it.
"i don't know what happened to you before... i don't know how long you've - you've been this way, but i want to learn. i want to help you, if you let me. please, i - i don't want to come this close to losing you ever again."
you suddenly fall silent, your head knocking limp against choso as he holds you. you've been incredibly distant, or at least the real parts of you have. you allowed your negative thoughts to stew again, to push you to the brink, and you prayed that choso wouldn't know, but how could you? choso has proven himself to be incredibly proactive when it comes to you. he always says he's obsessed, after all. you shouldn't do him such a disservice.
but how can you explain all that plagues you to him? would he understand? would he ever look at you the same?
the fears ail you. you're a mess. your legs are numb. you're battered, and you sit stupidly in the aftermath of yet another failed attempt. you feel useless.
but choso holds you and kisses your head as if the opposite is true. as if you did not severely traumatize him.
how could he even think to stay with you?
"i'm not a good person, choso," you murmur as he kisses you again. "i never have been."
"that's not true. i don't know who told you that, but it's not true," he says swiftly. "you're the most incredible person i've ever met."
"you're only saying that because-"
"because you are. because it's the truth. and i won't let you think anything different from this point forward. i'm going to help you. i swear it."
you don't say anything. there's nothing more for you to say. you're devastated. and yet, choso holds you.
you let yourself sink into the comfort that you'd always thought to push away. letting his scent and safety overpower the truth you must face for just a bit.
summary: You had always heard a weird, mocking voice in the back of your head telling you that the things were going to end just like that between you and Satoru. The Prince and the Pauper. You were destined to eventually drift apart.
Or not?
tags: AU, angst to fluff, breaking and making up, classical disparities, insecurities, gojo is a certified loverboy and a yearner as usual. mdni! eventual smut, p in v sex, soft emotional sex. nobamaki cameo!
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT! PLEASE HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BLOG!
word count: 13.9k
author's note: hi everyone!! this is not the oneshot i wanted to finish in may, but i had some ideas brewing for quite a long time, though the concept is not really original. happy ending won, soooo enjoy and let me know your thoughts! art in the banner by @/yamada_souko. dividers are mine.
Looking back, you realised you had never got it easy for Satoru.
The tale as old as time: the Princess and the Pauper. Or, in your case, the Prince and the Pauper.
And you couldn't put it in a better way.
Satoru Gojo — the Prince of the campus, the heir to the Gojo Enterprises, the man who would get the business world in the palm of his hand, the captain of the university basketball team, whose face was plastered all across the campus, the president of the Alpha Delta Nu, so on and so forth. You got the gist. The crowd parted before him, the Universe shifted itself to accommodate his presence: he walked in every room as if he owned it, which he pretty much did — ruling every place with a charming grin and a quick wit. Guys were wishing to be like him. Girls were dying to be beside him. He barely granted anyone more attention than needed — keeping people at arm's length, except for a couple of his friends. Of course, you didn't belong to them. Not like you desperately wanted to. You were well aware of the hierarchy of the university: people like Satoru Gojo rested at the top, eyeing the crowd down. People like you? Scrambling to get to the middle. If you were lucky enough.
One spring day, you realised that either Satoru Gojo didn't know about those unspoken rules or couldn't care less about them. Because you couldn't come up with a plausible explanation for why he suddenly started pestering you. Or, in his eyes, flirting.
It began rather innocent: him accidentally bumping into you, flashing an apologetic grin; asking for a vacant place at the cafetery at your usual table in the corner, the one where the noise cut down a little and you had a better view on the students — naturally, that place become the center of everyone's attention, because wherever Gojo was, the crowd followed; helping you to get a book from the highest shelves in the library and then crushing your study sessions; waiting for you after the classes just to walk you out to the next campus with an excuse that it was on his way (it didn't. Business majors classes were hold in the corpus 20 minutes away from yours).
At first, you politely declined every single invitation to a frat party or a match. Then you tried to ignore him, but your disinterest would even more pique Gojo's attention. After this, it turned into clipped, gritted-out "no's". You even attempted to talk to his friend, Shoko Ieiri, the girl you shared the Advanced Chemistry class with.
"I don't think there's something I can do," she would murmur, eyes firmly set on some sample through the microscope, when you turned to her as a last resort. The sigh that left your lips was truly desperate. Shoko's gaze softened a tad as she looked up finally, since your presence kept looming over her like a tiny, grumpy cloud. "Satoru can be pretty stubborn, unfortunately. Especially, when he's pretty set on something."
"Yeah," scoffing under your breath, you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest. "Unfortunately for me. Am I another check mark on his to-do list? I just don't get it." The pencil in your hand almost snapped from the strength of your grip.
"Listen, I am not in a position to advice your something or anything," Shoko's lab chair screeched — the sound annoyingly loud in the tense silence of the lab — as she turned to face you fully. The irritation at her words flared up in you, but you forced yourself to listen to her. If not her, then who?! "But you might try to hear him out. He's not that bad of a guy."
Grimacing at her, you turned to return to your own table. "If he's not that bad, he would've taken a hint long ago."
An indifferent shrug was the only response you got.
After talking to Shoko, Gojo's pitiable attempts at "courting" you had weakened severely until coming to a complete halt. You couldn't believe your luck. But what annoyed you even more than Gojo himself was the way you would jump at seeing the familiar spark of frosty white hair in the crowd; the way your heart would do a little flip at the sound of his distant chuckles. The way the loneliness would engulf your usual table in the corner of the cafeteria without his company: you subconsciously craned your neck to see him, for all his persona and the impossible height were impossible to miss, and slumped in your seat, when he didn't happen to stroll in with a familiar effortless grace in his stride. In the quietness of the library, after the countless hours of studying, you could basically hear the grin in his voice as he handed you a couple of blueberry muffins and the bergamot tea from your favourite bakery — you didn't have the slightest idea how he managed to find out your usual order — and tapped on your nose, remarking that you actually should eat.
Somehow, Satoru Gojo annoyed you enough to...like him. Managed to creep under your skin like an itch you couldn't get rid of.
Or… didn't want to?
***
One basketball match changed everything.
"Sorry, sorry, oh— sorry again," you mumbled awkwardly, navigating through the crowd and somehow managing to balance two beer cups on your way to your seats.
"Geez, finally, where have you been?"
Rolling your eyes at Nobara, your bestie slash roommate slash the only person who made your university life not so miserable, you handed her the cup and tried to shout through the cheerladers' voices, the endless roaring of the crowd and the music coming loud from the speakers.
"There was a line!"
"Huh? What?"
"THERE WAS A FUCKING LINE!"
She took a sip from her cup with a satisfied nod and grimaced at you. "Don't scream at me."
Her audacity stole your voice, and you slumped down in your seat, huffing rather indignantly.
"Hey, don't pout. Sorry for that." Nobara lightly elbowed your side and opened a pack of salted peanuts, offering you a truce.
"Can't believe I agreed to go with you," a light grumpiness coloured your voice as you drank from your own cup.
"Aw, that's because I am awesome and you love me so, so much," she chirped gleefully and planted a kiss on your cheek. With her head on your shoulder, Nobara sighed dreamily at the sight of Maki Zenin — the manager of the university's basketball team. "She's so cute, isn't she?"
Meanwhile, Maki gestured widely, screaming something at her phone (not very pleasant as you might assume from your seat) and threw her bag at a guy in front of her. The guy followed her figure with puppy eyes.
Your lips twitched with a barely concealed smile that you hid behind another swig. "An angel, truly."
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"
Her words fell on deaf ears because at that moment, some airy melody rang from the speakers, followed by the joyful voice of the commentators to finally announce the start of the match.
Swallowing nervously, your eyes darted across the court, and the moment your gaze landed on the tall figure with stark white hair, your heart galloped at a racing speed.
"Who are you gawking at, huh?"
Gojo might've really had the eyes on the back of his head — he wasn't called Six Eyes for nothing, some weird sixth sense that you assumed related only to the basketball court — because that very moment he turned around and briefly scanned the audience. His eyes widened in surprise as he spotted you: the bright blue of his gaze and the joyous smile that broke on his face caught you so off guard you nearly dropped the cup. Like he was happy to see you there. Actually happy.
You offered Gojo a shy wave — a subtle move of your fingers — that only made his grin wider. Then, Suguru Geto tapped on his shoulder, and he quickly turned back.
Your hand fell limply to your side.
"Babe, what the hell was that?" Nobara hissed, jerking her chin towards the players gathered around for the last guides from the coach Yaga. "Have you just casually flirted with Satoru Gojo? Don't you hate his lungs?"
The next words came in a breathy voice. "I don't know anymore."
Your knowledge of basketball was rather... limited, but you dutifully roared along with the crowd the moment your university scored yet another point. The people's excitement was contagious, seeping right into you as well and lacing your voice with joy. You booed at the judge when he gave advantages to the rivals, screamed at the top of your lungs and held your breath at the last quarter. Your team went neck-and-neck with the other, and every point was crucial. You could see it in the way the player's uniform was drenched in sweat, their hair stuck to their temples, and laboured breathing. The stakes were too high.
The scorebox showed the fifteen seconds left — mere moments for you and the whole eternity for those at the court. Your eyes drifted to Gojo, as driven to him by some unknown force. His sharp gaze quickly darted from one teammate to another, calculating the last opportunities to score. And then...it found you amidst the sea of spectators. Cheeks flushed, hair a total mess, chest expanding with deep breaths. A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he took you in. Adorable.
But for you, the moment Gojo's gaze landed on you felt completely different — resembling more of a bolt of lightning that sent every nerve in your body on fire. You couldn't hear your own thoughts with the blood pounding at your temples.
Gojo barely tilted his head, nodding towards the basket and mouthed.
"This is for you."
He dodged one guy, then the other with perfect dribbling — you barely saw anyone in their element as much as Gojo was at the basketball court — and finally went for a shot.
Time seemed to stop moving in the gym of the Jujutsu University. The hundreds of eyes watched the ball cutting through the air with an impeccable trajectory.
Until it went through the net without hitting the rim and sealed the win.
You barely released a shuddering breath when Nobara crushed you in a hug, her beer mercilessly spilling on you both, but no one gave a damn. The crowd erupted with an ecstatic cheer and rose to their feet right then and there. The commentators were on the verge of crying, judging by their voices, but your world narrowed to one particular person. Gojo's teammates ruffled his hair, patted his back, and hugged him by the shoulders; someone even put him in a playful headlock, to which he responded with a wide grin.
A tight knot in your chest slowly seemed to loosen a bit.
Gojo found you later, at the party.
You stood a little away from the crowd, watching Nobara laughing with Maki Zenin near the bonfire. The light painted her auburn hair in copper tints every time she tilted her head, and judging by the way Maki's gaze lingered on her form, she noticed that too. A little smile curled your lips at the sight of lovey-doveys.
"Your friend has a crush on Maki, huh?"
Putting a can to your lips, you mumbled absent-mindedly, "She's pretty obvious."
"They both are, actually."
A light brush against your shoulder finally caught your attention. You lazily shifted your gaze, only to gulp at the sudden proximity to Satoru Gojo.
He stood beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, watching the rest of the party unfold with a faint smirk on his face. Standing there, existing, like he wasn't the one who flipped your world upside down a couple of hours earlier.
A forced smile made your cheeks hurt as you tumbled out nervously, hastily wiping your mouth, "I am— I, I mean, congratulations! You did so great! I don't understand much about basketball, but you—," your worried your bottom lip for a second before breathing out, "you were magnificent."
At your words, Gojo finally turned around. His grin softened into a gentle smile that showcased a pair of dimples on his pale cheeks. The firelight danced on his hair strands that seemed more ivory tinged now.
"You think so?"
"I do!" A sudden feeling of boldness flooded you as you stepped forward and reached for his arm to show how sincere you were. Or maybe it was just a beer.
Gojo immediately cast his gaze down and slowly wrapped his long fingers around your wrist. You gulped, but didn't look away from his face. The gods clearly spared nothing in sculpting it, otherwise you couldn't explain the sharpness of his jaw, the plumpness of his lips and the prominence of his cheekbones.
No one had a right to be that beautiful. Satoru Gojo wasn't aware of it.
His thumb pressed just a tad against your soft skin to feel an erratic pulse beneath it, but you did not attempt to pull your hand away. On the contrary, it felt strangely...natural.
"I am glad you were there." A gentle murmur hit you harder than expected.
Breath bated, you searched Gojo's face for any hint of the usual theatrics and grandeur until you saw none.
"You are?"
"Yeah".
The words about the last shot were on the tip of your tongue already, but they quickly died at the sight of shimmering blue in his eyes as Gojo finally looked up and released your hand from his grip.
You already missed its warmth.
"Listen, I knew I was a jerk towards you. Crowding and flirting and so on. I know, I know," a self-deprecating chuckle left his lips as the ironic roll of his eyes followed. You watched every expression, soaked it like Gojo was about to disappear again from your life. "I am not proud of this, I admit. I want to apologise to you for this."
You parted your lips to answer, but Gojo cut you off with a slight shake of his head.
"But I am not going to apologise for my feelings," his voice grew stronger, rising from the gentle murmur to the steady tone, eyes boring into you with an unsettling intensity that left you speechless. The people's cheerings fade into the background, and that chilly evening, thick with emotions so deep you couldn't name them, enveloped both of you in its bubble.
"I meant everything. I do like you. I like the way you smile when you finally grasp the concept you've been studying. The way your voice goes all that animated when you talk about the book you were reading. That little sparkle in your eyes when you saw the last cherry pie in the cafeteria...I love it all. And that shot was for you. I really meant it."
"I am gonna ask you just this once, and if you reject me, I will step back and never bother you again. You have my word," the weight of Gojo's promise would almost physically pin you to the ground, if not for the desperation lurking behind his gaze, darting between your eyes and your lips. He forcefully tore it away to glance right into your face. "Will you go out with me?"
You didn't believe what you were about to say. But hey, that day was already weird enough. You offered Gojo a crooked smile. "Yeah."
"Just one date, you won't — ", he blinked in surprise, a light frown crossing his handsome face. "Wait, what?"
You stifled a laugh and nodded, stepping closer, until you felt the hard planes of his chest. "I will go out with you."
A slow, almost dopey in its joy, grin curled Gojo's lips, until a small disbelieving chuckle left him. "You will? Just like that?"
Now you couldn't contain a smile either. "Just like that, Gojo."
A whoop full of happiness cut through the air and the noise of the party that slowly came to its eventual end as Gojo swept you off your feet and twirled you in a bone-crushing embrace. Your laugh was the prettiest sound Gojo had ever heard.
"Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I swear you won't regret it!"
Satoru Gojo kept his promise. And many others he whispered in the dead of the night to you beneath the star-spilt sky. His hand was a steady anchor amidst the stormy life that awaited both of you. His voice offered you peace of mind when the world was a little too harsh for you. His fingers traced reverently the silk of your skin every time he shared a night with you. His gaze was the first you searched for in every crowded room. His arms had become the safest place in the world.
Satoru memorised the way you organised your life, but you were more than happy when he eventually disrupted your usual order. Not because he was doing that on purpose. Rather, since that was Satoru: he was too big for your world, and you didn't want him to shrink himself into someone he wasn't. Dimming Satoru's light was the last thing you wished.
He had learnt by heart the things that even you didn't pay attention to: for example, your toothbrush always had to face the door — Satoru wordlessly turned it the way you preferred; your favourite plant was Zamioculcas that he made sure was always watered visiting you; you usually carried a few packs of wet cat food for the stray babies in your enormous bag — he ordered large boxes, so you wouldn't run out of them; your drink of choice was Margarita that you shared only while hanging with Nobara — Satoru learned on his way to pick you up; you hated the loud harsh sounds, and Satoru was the first one to whisper sweet nothings to you and rub soothing circles against the small of your back until you calm down. In other words, he made your life easier.
You, on the other hand, only added more difficulties to his. Satoru never told you that, not even mentioned in any way that you were somehow different from him. But some things didn't have to be pointed out to catch your eye.
Like his Prada glasses, which cost like your monthly rent or two. Satoru could leave them somewhere without batting an eye. Or the luxurious gifts he would get you out of nowhere just because you barely glanced at something while strolling. That warmed your heart, yes, but the cheque that Satoru couldn't care less about startled you. You stayed in the lab until you almost fainted from fatigue just to finish the project before the deadline to get an extra payment to spend on the gift, since you were adamant that the relationships were about taking and giving in equal measure. Not to mention the one social gathering he invited you to, just off-handedly, before the day it actually happened; you drained your bank account to look presentable by his side, and lived on the instant ramen the entire month after. Maybe if you had accepted Satoru's offer to live together, none of that would have happened, but you learned the hard way to rely only on yourself. Luckily, the iron argument sealed the deal: your tight schedules at the lab and his as a pro basketball player didn't match well.
The Gojo family was another... topic. While no one said anything directly to your face, you noticed the way their brows knitted in confusion for a fleeting second, eyeing you up and down. Sensed the baffled glances and fake, saccharine sweet smiles behind your back, questioning the fact of your presence. No. Your existence. The mere raise of the brow from one of Satoru's distant cousins at the sight of your shoes — the ones you borrowed from Nobara, who got them after the Fashion Week in Paris, albeit last year's Dior collection — had you doubting your entire life.
Complaining had never been on your list, though some thoughts did cross your mind. You made sure not to voice them, stoically listening to all the hushed whispers. Not once did your smile falter in front of them. It was the least you could do for Satoru. You knew he didn't have a lot of joy in standing up for you every single time, so, eventually, the gatherings got shorter, the invitations came rather rarely, and the calls, already small in number, would always leave him in a bad mood. The sound of your name appeared quite frankly between the gritted words and heated yells.
"Don't worry, baby," Satoru's lips always found the crown of your head in the reassuring kiss when you asked him what was going on. The bitterness in his voice poisoned your already tired, insecure mind even more. He was a master at hiding his emotions, but never from you. "I got this."
A strained smile — the corners of your lips lifting just barely — was your usual answer.
"Of course."
Satoru then offered you a quick grin that never reached his eyes. His large hands cradled your face in the gentle, trembling grip, and the faint murmur would twist yet another knife between your ribs. "I love you. I love you so much. You know that, right?"
Leaning into Satoru's palm like a kitten, seeking warmth, you bit inside of your cheek not to cry. Your hand came up to cradle his hand against your cheek just to memorise the way it perfectly engulfed your face.
"I love you."
Not to dwell on the way you voice cracked, akin to ice beneath one's feet, you simply moved forward to capture his lips in a kiss, until all you could taste were tears. Yours, his... Did it matter anymore?
And then, under the pale moonlight coming from the lone crescent peering right into the bedroom of his large penthouse, your gaze drifted unabashedly over Satoru's face, taking in every flutter of the long, snowy eyelashes. Every breath that left his lips. Every faint twitch in his expression, and even every tiny snore. Your finger tenderly traced the bridge of Satoru's nose, making its way to the perfectly sculpted mouth and down to the sharp cut of his collarbones. Committing each pale freckle and beauty mark to memory.
For you knew that night would be your last one.
Satoru loved you, and you loved him. He loved you fiercely, with the force so burning it could rival the Sun itself. It was only fair for you to step back and let him shine. Not to drive another wedge between him and his family. You loved Satoru enough not to burden him with your presence. He should soar up in the sky, not stay chained on the ground by the dead weight of you and waste his time knocking some sense into his parents.
A muffled sob escaped your throat as you pressed a small kiss between his collarbones. The next thing you felt was Satoru's strong arm curling around your waist to pull you against his strong chest. The faint smell of musk still clung to his skin, but you had never revelled in it as you did now.
"Why aren't you asleep, baby? Something's wrong?" Satoru's voice came in a deep, throaty tone that would usually have your toes curling.
The edge of the blade dug deeper into your heart, drawing blood.
"Nothing, love. Just some weird thoughts, that's all."
A boyish grin adorned his face — so handsome even in the middle of the night — as he lightly flicked your forehead.
"Your head will hurt from all the overthinking. Head so tiny, yet so many thoughts. Come here," Satoru let a shuddering yawn and tucked your head under his chin, nuzzling gently against your hair. "Better?"
Biting on your lip, you prayed to all the gods that Satoru wouldn't hear the tremble in your voice. The steady beat of his heart lulled you to sleep, but you knew you wouldn't close an eye that night. "Yes."
"Try to sleep, okay?" Satoru's finger came to play with a lone strand of your hair. The smile in his voice was evident. "And if you don't, just wake me up. We can talk or watch that documentary you mentioned earlier. I mean, did Tyra really not take any accountability?"
You gathered any ounce of your strength not to fall apart right then and there.
"Of course, Toru. Go to sleep now."
He sighed in mock exaggeration. "Always so bossy."
His chest rose steadily under your cheek. His skin felt warm under the weight of your palm. You registered it all subconsciously, clinging to every part of Satoru.
And only when his breath fully evened, you allowed yourself to whisper to the night.
"I love you. And I am so sorry."
***
You sincerely thought you were a nice girlfriend for scheduling your breakup over the weekend. Waited until Satoru finished showering and emerged all smiley and happy from the bathroom. Waited until he recalled all the TikToks he sent to you in the early morning, not even knowing you already had blocked him on all the socials. Waited until he dug in the last breakfast you cooked for him — fluffy pancakes with strawberry jam.
"Babe, this is so delicious," Satoru hummed, pointing a fork at you. "Are you sure you didn't wanna become a chief? I mean, this is the gift from the heavens."
"I think we should break up."
Satoru paused mid-way, mouth still open. He slowly closed it and heaved a hollowed chuckle, chewing on the pancake with more force than necessary. "Very funny, sweets. An excellent joke."
Straightening in the seat, you furrowed your brows in confusion. Weren't you clear enough?
"I said we should break up."
That time, Satoru finally stopped chewing and slowly lifted his gaze at you. The electric blue pierced deep in your soul as he pressed again, "And I said it was an excellent joke."
"Satoru," the movement of your throat was sharp as you fumbled with words. "I am not joking."
The desperate flex of his fingers caught your attention immediately when Satoru curled them into a fist before taking a deep breath. The smile that carved into his lips was as sharp as the knife.
"Care to explain why?"
A thousand thoughts twirled in your mind those days like a restless whirlpool, each of them seemingly worse than the previous: "I don't love you anymore", or "You suffocate me with your love", and the traitorous "I cheated on you."
All of them lie, of course.
So, you settled on offering Satoru the least you could do — the truth.
"We just don't work out, Satoru. It's better to break up before — "your voice was so tiny and fragile, Satoru thought he was hallucinating: his worst nightmare coming to reality, " — things get more serious."
The loud, screeching sound of the chair being pushed away, followed by a self-deprecating, disbelieving laugh, filled the room. You glanced up at Satoru only to find him pacing around like a caged animal. Your words punched him right in the gut.
"We don't 'work out?' Before 'things get too serious', huh? Sweets, that's gotta be a joke. The most shitty, not funny and cruel joke you have ever pulled on me, but okay," he nervously carded his fingers through the white hair, before walking to you. "Tell me this is it. Please."
You cast your gaze down, not able to see the way his eyes frantically searched your face for any hint of a joke and hear the crack in his voice, usually so steady and certain. A rock, a lighthouse in your stormy ocean.
The shake of his hands was violent as they came up to frame your face. You choked on a heavy sob, trembling like a leaf with the tears blurring your eyes so hard you couldn't see anything.
"But we were —, are working just fine. Have I done something wrong? Is it because of me? Just tell me what to do, I swear I'll fix everything!"
"It's not about you, Satoru. Never has been. It's about me."
His white brows furrowed in confusion. "You? What about you? But you are perfect for me," he chuckled almost tenderly — a small sound frayed around the edges — that only ripped your heart out. "You listen to all my stupid jokes, know how many sugar cubes I put in my coffee, and put the curtains down because you know how sensitive my eyes are. You stayed with me at the hospital after the injury and cheered for me the loudest." His voice rose just a tad to coax a smile from you. "You have never told me how to be someone I am not. Always seen me, not the Gojo heir. Not the star player. How can it be about you? No one in the world knows me as well as you do. Like —," his gaze swept across the room like something might've helped him to talk you out, "like your last Christmas gift, huh? That premium card you swore you just stumbled upon in the store, but I knew better how much it — Wait."
Satoru's smile slowly died as the realisation downed at him like a wicked joke of fate. "No, no, no, no. That can't be it. Is that because of money? My status? I told you countless times that it doesn't matter to me! What I have is yours." His voice dipped into the fragile, almost sacred warmth that he reserved only for you. "All I have is yours."
You couldn't do that anymore. Not even in the wildest thoughts did it occur to you that breaking up with Satoru would hurt that badly. It rather resembled a never-ending torture.
He never understood it. Growing up in a family that barely made ends meet. Pouring your blood, sweat and tears into studies to get a tuition fee waiver, because there wasn't any other option for you to get into the university. Scraping by taking double shifts at the cafe. Fighting tooth and nail over the place in the chemistry lab.
And never would.
Pushing Satoru away, you closed your eyes in defeat before forcing yourself to look back at him. He didn't dare to mutter a word, watching your face twist with pain as you shouted.
"It matters to me! It matters to me, Satoru, how fucking inferior I feel next to you!"
Something in his gaze faded away. He didn't recognise his voice when it came in a short, fractured breath, devoid of all strength.
"What?"
A violent sob rattled your frame as you hid your face in your palms. You cried and cried and cried until your chest tightened with pain, and you managed to utter hoarsely. "Every time I get into your home, or every time someone sees me besides you, I want to run and disappear into the cave. Don't you see that, To — Satoru?" No. He wasn't your Toru anymore. "I am like, dunno, a disastrous glob of ink on Monet's painting. A patch of dirt on the Versace gown. A bling-bling amidst Graff's and Harry Winston's. Well, you get it. Something to wipe away or hide in the closet. Someone who doesn't deserve to stand by your side."
"I don't get it," Satoru dragged his hands over his face and shook his head, letting out a humourless laugh. His eyes flashed with a weird gleam. "Did my parents or anyone at that point say something to you? Because if they did, I fucking swear —"
"No one said anything to me, Satoru! It doesn't matter. Because they say it to you —"
"And as I said, I don't care — "
"BUT I DO!" The rise of your voice to a frenzied cry startled both of you. Satoru stared at you with a gaze so desperate that a kiss of the gun would've been more merciful. You fiercely wiped your snotty nose — hell, you must've looked so ugly — and walked over to cup his face. He watched your every move as if you were about to disappear. In a way, you were going to.
"I do not want anyone to say something about me to you. I do not want you to fight with your family over me. I want you to be happy. Do not be torn between me and the world you belonged to."
Satoru wanted to shake you by the shoulders just to knock some sense into your head, scream and shout what a total bullshit your words were, but instead, he got rooted to the spot by your doe eyes. His stomach twisted at your next words.
"You'll meet a beautiful, smart, and kind girl, who wears pearls that cost more than I will ever be able to make, plays Brahms at the family gatherings, and who doesn't turn red in the face, while asked about favourite Japanese modern artists. Well, now I know plenty." You couldn't help but huff a tiny chuckle. Nothing twitched in Satoru's face. "And you will fall in love with her, and your whole family will like her. Everything will be just fine."
Satoru couldn't believe what was happening. Nothing in his life could ever prepare him for the pain that would follow with your leaving him. It didn't feel real. Probably, never would.
He slowly tilted his head down and rested his forehead against yours, whispering, barely audible. Like every word cost him a fortune. "Please, baby, please. I swear on my life, I will do everything. Just don't leave me. I don't —," Satoru's hands slip up your face as well, but you closed your eyes in defeat. Any ounce of strength left in your body evaporated. His arms fell to his sides as he croaked out helplessly. "I don't know who I am without you."
"You are you, Satoru. Always have been and always will be. A brilliant, wonderful, kind boy with a golden heart. And I..I am just me," you pressed your lips in a thin line before forcing a smile. "But I will work on it. As I said, it's all because of me."
"You don't get it." Somehow, Satoru's lifeless whisper hit you harder than any scream would. Because Satoru never raised his voice at you. Even now. There was a hunch to his shoulders that you rarely saw, if ever, as he turned from you and gripped the edge of the table. "I want to marry you. To become your family. But guess that doesn't matter anymore. Before things get too serious, huh?"
The room spun around you as you knitted your brows together, slumping in the nearest chair. Marrying… you?
But, on the other hand, it didn't change anything. You were still miles away from each other, standing on opposite sides of the societal hierarchy.
"I am so sorry, Satoru," words clawed up your throat as you shook your head.
Satoru finally turned around, and the dimmed, utterly devastated blue of his gaze tore you apart at the seams. "You are not sorry. If you were, you won't be leaving me now."
You didn't have enough in you to counter this. Words seemed meaningless, slipping like sand through your fingers.
"Please, Satoru. Let us go. It is for the better."
You had never seen an expression that hopeless and defeated on his handsome face.
"Is that what you want?"
"No," you wanted to scream, to shout, to cry out loud. "How can I possibly want to leave you? I have to. For both of us."
The silence stretched thin between you for so long, Satoru sincerely thought you didn't hear him. He stepped forward only to see you giving a short nod, almost cruel in its curtness.
After all, he never denied you everything. Even that. Even if it killed him from the inside.
Standing by the door with your bag, you couldn't help but steal a last glance at him. You parted your lips to say goodbye, but nothing even remotely plausible came to your mind. Satoru sat on the couch, shoulders slumped and gaze fixed on the floor. His name left your lips for the last time.
"Satoru."
His head snapped up as if he had been waiting for it that entire time. Maybe you changed your mind?
"Yes?"
That fragile hope in his tone twisted your insides.
"I love you."
Before he could answer, you slipped out of his apartments. And his life.
***
These months, the four agonising months, marked by Satoru's absence in your life, had sucked. Mildly put.
You sincerely thought you were doing the right thing — well, still were — breaking up, sparing his life from your presence, but it didn't mean it hurt any less. In a way, it was the opposite.
Pushing the love of your life away and then grovelling in the silence of your small apartment after putting on a brave face and assuring everyone that you were okay sucked. Crying yourself to sleep sucked. Feeling your heart breaking to pieces each time your gaze stumbled upon something that instantly reminded you of Satoru — like a photo on the fridge, his note with a smiley, kissy face between the pages of your comfort book and the tome of the manga he was reading — sucked. Walking around the places you used to hang out sucked.
What sucked even more was the fact that Satoru's presence seemed to linger everywhere. His laugh haunted you while you were lounging on the couch. The look of pure happiness on his face was ingrained in your mind while you were walking in a familiar park. And when your eye caught sight of a ball? Didn't even mention it. Perhaps that was your punishment. Now you were subjected to a lifetime of loneliness.
Still, you tried to do the thing you promised Satoru the final time you saw him. Attempted to go out of your shell. Took on some hobbies. Had a lot, a lot of time for self-reflection (given that you were free most of the evenings when you didn't throw yourself into work). And took small steps to discover what made you whole.
What and not who. That realisation sank on you with the force of a tidal wave. Kept you awake in three of the morning. Occupied all your thoughts until you finally, finally, were getting used to it. Still, there was a lot to be done. You only wished for Satoru by your side, though. Were you allowed to think about him, after all?
The revelation, of course, only made your mind drift to Satoru even more. How was he? Was his injury getting better? Did his father officially appoint him as the next CEO?
Gods. You sure had no right to worry about him anymore. Not after breaking both of your hearts. An utterly desperate and lifeless look on his face flashed every time before your eyes when you closed them.
You dragged your feet back from the nearest combini: Friday had finally marked the end of a long, exhausting week (not like you had many left, huh) and you treated yourself with sushi and a bottle of wine. There was nothing you wanted more than to run a bath and put Sex and the City on, rotting under the blanket. It would've been thousands of times better if Satoru were there, but alas...
A few raindrops fell on the asphalt, successfully putting the train of your miserable thoughts to a halt, and you hurried to the entrance of your block. Quickly fishing a pair of keys, you glanced up from your bag as something caught your attention in the periphery, and you got immediately rooted to the spot.
You would recognise the set of those shoulders, now slightly hunched, everywhere. A grey hoodie did nothing to hide his figure. White tufts fell over his forehead under the hood, and something twisted viciously in your chest at the sight. Your fingers twitched with the urge to feel the silk of that hair under your touch.
You took a deep breath, trying to take a rein over your hammering heart, and stepped closer, calling the man out softly. Rather hesitantly.
"Satoru? What are you doing here?"
Satoru went rigid for a moment at your voice. His shoulders tensed even more. Your throat clogged up.
But then he turned around and smiled. A tiny, almost pathetic lift of his lips, and he offered you a small wave. Just like the one you gave him at that basketball match.
"Hi, ba —" Satoru immediately corrected himself, wincing just for a second. His smile wavered, as did your composure. "Hi."
The effort that took you not to drop your things right then and run into his arms was only between you and the gods.
"Hello to you too." Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stepped forward. That totally wasn't the way you imagined that meeting would go.
"What are you doing here?" You prompted again, trying not to sound either harsh or desperate. Desperate to hear his voice. See his eyes. Look at his face.
"Just... was going around. Stumbled at your place. You still live here." Satoru lifted one shoulder in a nervous shrug, and his little smile morphed into a quick, uneasy grimace.
You didn't question those stalker-ish tendencies, but the doubt was clearly evident in an arch of your brow, because Satoru instantly raised his hands in surrender.
"No, really. I guess my legs just carried me there. Some memory, you know," he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, but then sighed, seeing your suspicion. "Come on, sweets. If I had been stalking you all that time, I would've done it way more discreetly."
That brought you some relief. "Guess you would've."
His Adam's apple bobbed with an effort. "Can we, uhm, talk?"
Something in your guts was telling you had a pretty good sense of the way this talk would go. You weren't sure it was the right time and way.
Casting your gaze down, you worried on your bottom lip before breathing out, "I'm — I'm not sure this is a good idea, Satoru."
"Please", his voice took on a pleading edge. You closed your eyes for a brief moment. "I just want to know how you are. That's all."
He was lying. And he knew you were well aware of it.
But, in the end, wasn't that what you wanted? To see him, at least? Well, here Satoru was.
Thunder roared somewhere in the distance, and you were pretty sure that soon you both would be drenched to the bone.
"Besides, you don't want to get me standing under the rain, do you?" An amusement curled Satoru's lips before he let a humourless chuckle. "Have some mercy on your ex-boyfriend."
That sounded like a slur coming from Satoru. You glared at him. His smile turned even sharper.
Torn between the current state of your... relationship, and the fact that Satoru was standing right in front of you, you completely didn't know what to do. You didn't part your ways that badly. And you had never wanted to be that person who would resent his ex and scowl at every mention of them.
Because that was never true. You loved Satoru. And, judging by the yearning lacing his gaze and the nervous flex of his hands as he awaited your response, he still loved you, too.
After minutes of debating, with the rain intensifying, you finally gave in and nodded towards the entrance.
"Get in."
Satoru's wide smile now resembled more of a child's on Christmas.
"Yes, ma'am."
The weight of Satoru's gaze, burning a hole in your back, felt rather physical. The tension in your kitchen threatened to suffocate you both, while you busied yourself with making tea and a gigantic cup of hot cocoa for Satoru.
You placed the drink in front of him, and Satoru shot you a small, curious grin.
"Whoa, marshmallows."
"Yeah," you still absent-mindedly bought them at the grocery store. Habit. "You know, three years of always getting your marshmallows weren't in vain."
Satoru looked at you as if he seriously considered offering himself as a sacrifice at your altar.
Damn those puppy eyes.
Rubbing your palms up and down your thighs, you cleared your throat and offered an awkward smile. God, you wanted the ground to swallow you. "So, uhm, how have you been, To — Satoru?"
He pressed his lips together and leaned back in his seat, right hand on the back of it, like he was incapable of sitting straight. Well, some things never changed.
Satoru didn't look at you, instead glancing out of the window at the heavy rain, drumming against the windows.
"Not so good."
You immediately dropped your gaze, hugging the cup with sea buckthorn tea. The scorching liquid might've burnt your hands a little, but it was nothing in comparison with the sharp pain in your chest.
Licking your lips, you forced yourself to look up at Satoru. He was still staring at the rain like it held something only visible to him. The muscle in his jaw jumped.
"I am sorry, but —"
Satoru released a long sigh and turned to you. You almost flinched at the sight of his eyes — usually so bright blue, flashing with mirth and charm, now reduced to the lifeless, dull grey. Under the better light, you also noticed the dark bags under Satoru's eyes, the hollow in his cheeks and even the light stubble. You had never seen him like it. Like he aged ten years or more in those months.
That was all because of you, right?
Tears filled your eyes so fast you couldn't even blink them away, when you felt salt on your lips.
You wanted to apologise once again, but then Satoru leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, feverishly running his fingers through the white strands. Were you a little crazy, or even his hair seemed more…ashy?
"I am not gonna lie, I have never felt more awful and pathetic and miserable — well, you get it, in my entire fucking life," he waved his hand dismissively, and you closed your eyes just for a fleeting second, because you couldn't afford even a moment of not looking at him. That talk went even worse than you imagined. "But after you left, something has…changed."
You sat upright and drawled hesitantly, "Like…what?"
He huffed a humourless chuckle, and his eyes flashed with a weird, almost malicious glint. Your insides went cold.
"Well, I just told my father that he can suck my dick —"
You slowly covered your face with one hand. That was not good. Very, very bad, actually.
" — if he even for a moment thinks I was going to marry one of the girls he and my grandfather suggested. And then he started threatening to cut my trust fund off, blah blah, blah. Like I've ever given a single fuck about it."
Something in his tone was telling you that wasn't everything that had changed.
Satoru's voice sharpened in a way that could cut even the hardest steel.
"That was okay. Nothing I've heard before. But when he started talking about you," his voice dropped to a whisper and dangerously cracked. You couldn't hear it anymore. "That's where I draw the line. He knows that. Now everyone knows that."
A loud groan left you as you dropped your head in your hands.
"What have you done, Satoru?"
He just rolled his eyes. Harsh and sharp. "What I should have done, obviously. A long time ago. Tell all of them to fuck off."
"Oh —"
"Mildly put," Satoru scratched his head with a mild grimace. "And then got kicked out of the house. Trust fund cut off, obviously."
You couldn't believe what you had just heard. Satoru might've thought that his words would somehow soften you, so you could coo at him or whatever. But never did he expect you to slam your fist against the table and grit throught your teeth.
"Have you fucking lost your mind?"
Satoru blinked in shock, watching you suddenly stand up and turn from him, your hands curled into fists by your sides.
"What?"
Taking a deep breath, you tore your gaze from the windows and threw your hands in the air.
"Are you an idiot?"
Well, that kind of hurt. "I don't understand."
"Satoru." Oh no, he knew that tone. That only meant you were seething with rage. There were no means of escape, especially as you loomed over him. "So let me get it straight. You fought with your entire family, they kicked you out of the house and left you with no money."
"Pretty much, yeah."
"All because of me!?"
Satoru didn't like the way you said "me". As if you were something not even worth mentioning. The dirt beneath his feet.
"Satoru, we are not together! I am not your girlfriend anymore, I am not even in your life! We don't even talk! You can't throw your life away because of me! That's stupid!"
"Well, maybe I am stupid, hasn't it occurred to you?"
"Satoru," your voice trembled on the edge of tears. Why didn't he understand you?! "I am serious. This is serious. This is your life! This is all you have— had, especially given you can't damn play with your injury now!"
Satoru didn't answer you. You only saw the way he swallowed with effort, and the look of utter longing on his face told you everything.
You helplessly slumped back in your chair and hid your face in your palms for a small eternity. Satoru didn't dare to interrupt. He just watched you, soaking up every feature as if you were about to kick him out of your apartment forever. That was an option. You were pretty pissed.
He attempted to soothe you, "But there's something good."
You slowly glanced up, and Satoru almost snorted at the look of total disbelief in your eyes. "Such as?"
Satoru quickly stood up and kneeled between your chair, taking your hands in his. Cold as usual. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed your palms with his thumbs. As usual.
"I mean, you said it yourself, sweets. That is all I have known for my whole life. Rich kid, golden youth, spoilt guy born with a silver spoon in his mouth, all that stuff. I thought maybe it was it? My chance to find myself, huh? I don't want to be their toy to boss around all because of money."
Something crawled up your skin and twisted sharply in your chest as you breathed out, "What do you mean?"
Was he serious? So you both were doing the same thing all that time?
Satoru squeezed your hand harder and gave you a crooked smile.
"Just been here and there. Doing…some stuff."
You tilted your head in a silent question. He chuckled breathlessly and shook his head.
"Don't laugh, okay? I am teaching some kids basketball at school."
"Oh," your lips curled up in a tender smile as something warm bloomed in your chest. "That's really nice. You like it?"
"Yeah," Satoru's answer was immediate. And for the first time that evening, you saw a familiar spark in his eyes. "Kids can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but they are really cute. Listen to me, call me Gojo-sensei. Kinda gets in your head, you know."
A small snort escaped you, and the wide grin broke on his face. Oh, how he missed that precious sound.
"Where do you live now?"
"Crashing Suguru. He's not particularly happy when I drown my misery in another pint of strawberry ice-cream — "
Your smile slowly disappeared.
" — when he brings in some girl, but I bribe him with dark chocolate. You know he can't live without it."
"That he can," you uttered in a strained voice. Satoru's grin wavered as well, and he hesitantly reached to tuck the lone strand of your hair behind your ear. His hand trembled a little.
"What about you? There are boxes everywhere," he leaned back with a soft murmur, glancing around your apartment with packed staff around. "Moving out?"
Your heart suddenly felt twice its size, thumping violently against your ribs. "Uhm, yeah. Moving out."
"Where?"
Well, that was it. You squirmed in your seat, and Satoru's hand slowly fell to his side. He just waited.
"Eh…France."
He pinched his brows together with a slight frown and repeated incredulously, "You are moving to France?"
Satoru's sharp blue gaze seemed to pierce through you. Unable to meet it, you looked away.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Sighing deeply, you stood up and leaned against a kitchen counter, hugging yourself. Satoru immediately rose to his feet.
"That was a pretty much hard time for me too. Not delving into details, but…yeah. I felt like shit. Everyone was dating someone, or building a successful career, or, I don't know, just doing something meaningful," you gestured vaguely and combed your hair with a shaky hand. Satoru just stared at you like a lone, kicked puppy. "While I willingly kept fucking my own life over. Cooped yourself in that place. Left the love of my life."
Something in your face softened at the last words. Satoru forgot how to breathe.
"And that certainly shouldn't be…in vain, whatever. I told you I was going to work on myself, and I kind of do. Step by step, but I am going there."
"I still don't understand. I am happy for you, really am, but why are you leaving Japan? What about your mother, your job?"
What about me?
"My department's had its financing cut. My presence is not required anymore, as they said. I am just working the last two weeks, and that's it."
"Oh. I am..I am sorry to hear it."
"As for my mom," you didn't seem to hear Satoru's words at all, staring somewhere past him. "You know, she's never really cared that much about me anyway. She'll survive."
As cruel as your words might've seemed, you were right. Your mother was an…interesting woman indeed.
Satoru desperately cling to anything that could make you stay here like a lifeline.
"What about Nobara?"
Surely, you couldn't leave her. You two had been together from the first time he saw you at the university campus.
"Actually, she was the one who offered me that."
"Huh?!"
"She's recently been promoted at her job to the French edition of their magazine. Fashion weeks, runways, photoshoots… You know her, she's been ecstatic about it. So, when she asked me about it…I said I would give it a thought. I mean, it will be a nice fresh start, won't it? I don't have anything left here, so…why not? Gotta take risks, something like that."
Satoru couldn't believe his own ears. That would've been his nightmare coming true, if not for the fact that his worst one already was real. No. He wouldn't let you go that time. That was the stupidest thing he had done in his life, and if he had to beg…well.
The worst thing that you seemed pretty confident about it. But looking closely, he saw your hands trembled a little by your side, and your gaze darted nervously around. So, there still was some chance.
He ran his fingers through his hair. The gears seemed to work nonstop in his mind as he glanced around for any clue or sight for support. Until…
He weakly breathed out, "I am going with you."
Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "You what!?"
Satisfied with your reaction and his genius mind, Satoru smirked lazily, "I am going to France with you."
Did you stare in The Office or something? Was there a hidden camera to look at?
Helplessly blinking, you finally managed to utter, "Excuse me? You going to France? With me?"
"I know, I know what you are thinking. He's crazy, an idiot, proper name, last name, backstory stuff, but hear me out!" Satoru walked to you and squeezed your shoulders, his eyes frantically searching your face for a hint of understanding. You still stared at him as if he had just announced he was going to fly to the Moon, no less. "You broke up with me because, citing "you felt inferior to me," right?
Pressing your lips into a thin line, you gave him a flat look. "Correct."
"But I am not superior in any way to you now! You're discovering yourself, me too, so why don't we do that together? Start everything from scratch? Including," his Adam's apple bobbed with effort as his hands slowly slid down your figure to rest on the dip of your waist. Your skin tingled at the contact. "Including us."
Blood defeaningly roared at your temples, and your heart jumped right into your throat. Wouldn't it be strange and weird? Getting back together after you pushed him away? After breaking both of you?
One of Satoru's hands drifted upwards to cradle your face, while the other pulled your figure closer to him. Your head spun at the sudden proximity. His thumb delicately traced the line of your jaw and settled on the apple of your cheek.
"How is that stupid and weird, if I love you?" Shit, had you been musing aloud? "And you love me."
You parted your lips to answer, but then Satoru tilted his head down just a bit, and it was enough to feel the faintest brush of his lips against yours. With knees slightly trembling, your hand flew up and twisted the fabric of his hoodie for support. Your tongue darted out to lick your lip for a mere second; it was enough for Satoru's gaze to flick there and stare at your mouth as if hypnotised.
"Or you don't?" You almost leaned in for a kiss when he suddenly pulled away, despite being a breath away from devouring you. You gulped and lifted a pleading gaze at him — and not like the look on Satoru's face was any better. A strange kind of bitterness settled in your chest at the shakiness of his voice: he really doubted it. Well, you gave him a good reason to, didn't you?
It baffled you. No. Weirded out in the worst way possible.
So, instead of answering, you simply stood on your tiptoes and pressed your lips against his. A feathery, almost invisible, but it was enough for Satoru to release a groan and kiss your back.
You forgot how to breathe. The room spun around you, and if not for Satoru's hand holding at your waist, you would've collapsed for sure. The familiar sense of heat shot through you as you boldly slid your hand up Satoru's toned shoulder, grazed his undercut — wait, did he actually whimper at that or what — and ran your fingers through the silky white hair. The months of raw longing, poured in that kiss, laced every brush of your tongues, stifled moan and impatient tug with desperate want. Damn, you almost forgot his lips slotting perfectly against yours, his gently nipping at your bottom lip, and his hot, raspy breath fanning over your cheek when you pulled away before delving in again and again.
Blinking away dizziness, you managed to gather your bearings together just to mumble, "Does it count as an answer?"
Satoru's chest rose up and down as if he had just run a marathon, and he slowly shook his hand in response before tilting your chin up. His eyes resembled more of a stormy ocean than a breezy sea, but his hold was as tender as always.
"I love you, Satoru. Still am and always have been. I told you the same when —," you swallowed the lump in your throat, "— when I left you." Voice sinking into a small, almost miserable whisper, you went on, "And I am sorry for that, so damn sorry, you didn't deserve it."
"No, no, no, baby, stop it," now both his hands cradled your face as his gaze gently caressed every twitch in it, every shift, every freckle and mole. "You did what you felt right to. I accepted that, even though it was the hardest thing in my life. Believe me or not, I felt so stupid and shitty and miserable for letting you go, but I had to respect that. I only wish I had noticed you feeling that way sooner," he ended with a small, bitter smile, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose before gently nuzzling it. "Missed you so, so much."
As much as you wanted to lean into Satoru's touch again with no care in the world, you felt the need to apologise for once again, "No, Satoru, but — Maybe if I told you that instead of going away, we wouldn't be apart these months. I am sorry."
"Stop that," his voice cut you off, not firmly but enough to shut you up. "Really, stop. I am not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. And maybe I need that too. Shook me good to realise what things really mattered in life."
A sad sigh left your lips when you remembered what happened between Satoru and his family. Yes, they were jerks, but you never wanted to be the reason for the wedge between them.
"But hey, now we're two psychos together, trying to figure out what to do with their life! Together, right?" Satoru's gaze carefully searched yours, and as you nodded enthusiastically, his face broke into the brightest grin possible. Maybe only rivalling the one he gave you when you agreed to go out with him at that bonfire party.
"Love you, love you, love you," you murmured between kisses, nuzzling against his jaw, eliciting shaky moans. Your hands slid under his hoodie to feel the hot skin under your palms, but the sudden roaring of the thunder made you jump.
"Oh, fuck."
Satoru wanted to tease you at first, but he quickly bit his tongue, remembering that noises like that still scared you. You mindlessly gripped his hoodie tighter, pressing your frame against his for comfort. His hand cradled the back of your head, and he tucked it under his chin, whispering soothing words.
"Maybe you wanna lie down or something?" Whispering into your hair, Satoru pressed his lips against the crown of your head as another tremble shook your body at the particularly frightening sound. His gaze briefly flicked at the sky through the windows. "Yeah, not getting better soon."
Without further ado, you sighed in response and gripped his hand to walk to your bedroom. In every other situation, his hands would've been on you in a second, but not now. Especially given that you had just gotten back together.
Your bedroom hadn't really changed: your favourite stuffed plush bear sat over the sheets, guarding your sleep; a stupid lava lamp that Satoru once gifted you was still on the bedside table, not to mention the horde of houseplants (he sadly noticed the absence of some) at the windowsill. You hadn't packed the bedroom stuff yet, though a couple of boxes obediently waited in the corner.
After all those months, Satoru's presence felt kind of weird in your bedroom, but now, with his hands enveloping you in an embrace, you had never felt happier.
You both stayed up the whole night: gods, you almost forgot how easy it was to talk to Satoru. He told you more about the kids he was teaching, the school, and that he tried to do some modelling photoshoots. It turned out pretty good. "Might be a nice gig," he shrugged nonchalantly, but you noticed his eyes sparkling with mirth.
You filled him in on the work drama, places you visited in your attempts to go out of your shell, hobbies you tried — his eyes widened at the mention of drawing and pottery, and he demanded to see your works the first thing in the morning.
You snorted quietly. "I don't think they are anywhere as good as your photos."
Satoru huffed under his breath and lightly nudged your shoulder. You both lie face to face now, smiling and giggling like a pair of students you once were. You felt as if you were floating in happiness.
"Come on, baby, don't be shy. I am positive they are nice."
"No, Toru, they are not. Believe me, my first flowerpot was disastrous." You turned a bit and waved at the deformed blob of clay, hiding in the corner. Satoru followed your move: his lips pressed into a thin line at the sight of a poor thing.
"Uhm…well, it's not that bad." His shoulders shook with a barely suppressed laugh, and you rolled your eyes good-naturedly.
"It's okay, you can laugh."
The laugh he let was truly thunderous, and even you, the mighty creator, couldn't help but laugh alone.
"Babe, I am sorry, it's just looking at me like I have to end its suffering," after some time, Satoru finally wept some tears and breathed out weakly with his hand on his stomach. You both looked at the hopeless blob. "Why do you keep it, anyway?"
Sighing in response, you murmured, "Dunno. I can't bring myself to throw it away."
Satoru just hummed in response and settled back against the pillows. "Will you take it to France?"
Your heart skipped a beat at the mention, and you just shrugged indecisively. The light mood you had slowly evaporated. After some minutes, you rolled back to face Satoru again, only to find him already watching you closely.
"Were you serious?"
He tilted his head in question; his hand came up to brush a hair strand behind your ear. "About what?"
The next words came in a hesitant whisper.
"Moving with me to France."
Satoru's thumb traced your bottom lip before he dropped his arm to the side. Shrugging casually, he lifted a steady gaze on you. "Are you still thinking about moving there?"
You swallowed nervously before nodding. "Yeah."
"Then I was serious too. We're dating again, it's only logical then."
You couldn't fight with that argument.
"Guess it is. I just…," you lifted one shoulder, still doubtful. "Can't believe you do that for me."
And he couldn't believe you questioned it. But instead, Satoru just blinked at you and muttered in the most serious tone possible.
"I told you I was going to marry you. Yes, I still want to. I wasn't joking and trying to hold you back in the heat of the moment —"
You wordlessly glanced at him.
" — okay, I did, but I was serious. And still am. Hell, baby," the mattress dipped under his weight as Satoru scooted closer. "You're the only thing — not a thing, person, I mean, you're the most serious I've ever been about anything and anyone in my life. I swear. Where you go, I follow."
His voice cracked at the last words, and you let a shuddering breath, cupping his face.
"Are you sure? What will your family say? Job? Suguru?"
Satoru lifted a corner of his lips in a small grin, recalling the same arguments he used to talk you out of moving.
"I am pretty sure I can find something there. Isn't this a part of discovering yourself, too? It could be pretty fun. Who knows, maybe I have some secret talent for pastries. Not just eating. Baking! Plus, I know French," he beamed at you like the Sun. You couldn't help but grin back. "It's a little rusty, though."
You both snorted, but then a frown crossed Satoru's face, and his tone turned more serious.
"Suguru…he'll understand. We still will be talking, right? Not as we used to, but…hey, now I will have an excuse to send him even more stupid memes."
"I am sure he will be ecstatic about it."
"He won't have any choice, heh. And my family…honestly? I don't really care. We both said everything we wanted to each other. I do not see any sense in bowing and scraping."
Your face crumpled in a grimace as you recalled that you were one of the reasons that entire thing happened, and hunched your shoulders. "Still sorry about it."
"And I am still saying you shouldn't be."
Minutes passed between you in a relative silence, interrupted only by the car noises and distant humming of the refrigerator as you stared at the ceiling. Finally, you turned to look at Satoru. Moonlight painted his features in an even more breathtaking way, highlighting the sharp jawline and illuminating the blue of his eyes.
"So…we are really going to France."
Satoru smiled at you — the gentle one he saved only for you — and reached for your hand to interlace your fingers slowly.
"We really are."
***
The morning sun crept through the blinds, bathing a bedroom in a soft, ethereal light, and its beams lazily caressed your face in feathery kisses. As your nose twitched at the sensation, begrudgingly, very begrudgingly, you blinked and reached for your phone. It came to life with a faint buzz; you tried to focus your bleary gaze on the time and sighed in relief as you still had half an hour before the alarm.
A careful attempt to sink back into the sheets didn't go unnoticed by the whole mountain of heat and muscle beside you. Satoru's arm snaked around your waist with an energy too restless for a sleepy man.
"Where are you going to, huh?" His voice, still deep and thick with sleep, felt like a pure sin against your nape. A shudder ran through your body as he gently nuzzled the soft skin there and pressed his lips against the point that shouldn't drive you crazy like it did. "Morning, ma choute."
Amusement curled your tone as you breathed out a chuckle, "Your favourite word, huh?"
Instead of answering, Satoru hummed something unintelligible against the curve of your neck, nosing it, while his lips found your pulse point.
"Can't help it. Not my fault if it fits you perfectly. So sweet," his head went into a dizzy, hazy state at the whiff of your chocolate shower gel and something so uniquely yours. "So soft." The hand that rested leisurely on your belly lazily drifted upwards to cup the tender swell of your breasts. Your breath caught in your throat as you arched into Satoru's touch with a quiet, sleepy moan.
"Ah, Satoru…"
When your voice dipped into that syrupy bedroom voice, laced with so much want, Satoru never could help himself. His hips bucked involuntarily, eliciting a surprised gasp from you, as you felt the throbbing of his length against your backside.
Your hair fanned over a pillow like a halo, catching the bright light, and Satoru's heart skipped a beat. He gently bit down on your pulse point, and as your gasp rose in a tone, he quickly soothed it with a lick of his tongue.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Can't believe you're mine." The heat crept up your body all the way to your cheeks, not only at the way Satoru rolled your nipple between his fingers, palming at the soft skin there, but at the bewilderment in his voice. As if he were actually shocked.
Another moan left your lips as you closed your eyes in the utter pleasure, coursing through your body and tightening your insides into the sweet knot. Subconsiously, you pushed your trembling thighs back against his front, to which Satoru responded with a low hiss.
"You're in a teasing mood today, huh?"
A sharp pang of disappointment shot through your body when his hand left your chest.
"Satoru…"
"Shh, patience, baby. Good things come to those who wait, don't they?" You almost whined at the loss of the contact, but then his hand — god, that hand — wrapped around your throat with a light grip, just enough to turn your face and capture your lips in a lazy, unhurried kiss. He licked at the seam of your mouth, and you immediately opened it, granting Satoru access. Your tongues lazily tangled, exploring each other; you slid your free hand down his toned pecs, sharp abs and wrapped it around the already hard cock. Giving it a few unhurried pumps, you heard Satoru moaning unbashfully against your mouth.
"Oh, fuck, yeah, keep going, love. Just like —, oh, just like that."
You fondled his balls with a sly smirk, to which he responded with a sharp, almost desperate cry, and…stopped.
"Hey, baby," the pout was evident in his voice, "That's not fair. Like totally not fair."
With a smirk widening, you turned just a tad to see his half-lidded gaze darkening with lust. "Haven't you just preached to me about patience, Toru?"
Satoru's head hit your shoulder as he let a groan, followed by a disbelieving laugh. "Vixen. You drive me crazy, you know that?"
"Yeah, yeah, yet you're still not inside me." After rolling your eyes impatiently, you finally heard the sheets rustling. Your insides clenched in anticipation.
Laughing quietly, Satoru kissed your shoulder, pulling you closer against his front. His hand slid under your hip, lifting it for better access, and hoisted it over his own. You almost whimpered as the thick head of his cock nudged your already wet entrance.
"Look at tha-a-a-t," the heat flooded your body even more at the cocky tilt in his voice and the way his fingers lightly grazed your folds. "For someone so soaked, you have a pretty big mouth running, ma chérie."
You attempted to glare at Satoru, but it ended rather poorly with the way your eyes were glazed with desire. Giving you a smirk, not even trying to hide his arrogance and smugness, he hastily fisted his cock and aligned it with your entrance, slowly yet surely filling you up inch by inch.
"F-fuck, you're so tight," Satoru's hot whisper fanned over your jawline as he pressed heated kisses up to your mouth. "So warm, so good, so p-perfect — babe, don't clench me like that, f-for me."
Your lips parted, forming almost a perfect "O" in its shape at the burn of the stretch, and the first loud moan tore from your chest, when Satoru finally gave you a shallow roll of his hips.
"Sa-Satoru, yeah…"
With no hesitation, you reached behind and tugged at the soft white tufts above Satoru's undercut, pressing his head into your nape to seek even more contact until your bodies fused in a messy, unintelligible tangle of limbs, needy touches and wanton moans. His hips built a slow, languid rhythm, moulding your insides into the shape of his cock; each thick vein and ridge of him against your velvet walls made your mind swim in pleasure, so overwhelming it drowned every coherent thought. One of his hands snaked up to squeeze your breasts, eliciting more shaky whimpers from you.
"Love you, love you so fucking much, you don't even, ngh, under-understand, shit, y-yes," Satoru slurred against your cheek after yet another sloppy kiss, his tongue darting to taste the salty skin as you literally cried in ecstasy when he hit that sweet spot inside. You were completely sure he would never let you forget this. His moves gradually lost their rhythm, giving in to a raw, primal desire. A string of desperate whimpers spilt from your lips, and you turned your head to muffle these cries in the pillow.
Wrong move.
Seeing it, Satoru's lips curled into a sharp smirk. He quickly wetted his fingers and dragged them down to press quick, tight circles on your clit, and with all the stimulation, your body jolted in pleasure. Heat, shameless and urgent, built at the base of your spine, coursed through your veins and lit every part on fire. His cock twitched inside you at the way you breathed out his name with such desperation that put all the prayers to shame.
"Give it to me, baby. Be a good girl, yeah? Cum for me."
Your thighs shook violently, which was a telling sign that you were close; he feverishly rutted against yours, rubbing your clit in quick motions, panting against the curve of your neck. His eyes rolled in pleasure as your cunt fluttered around him, coating his shaft in juices, and with a shameless guttural groan, he cummed too.
The sound of your name, spilling from Satoru's lips like it was the only word he knew, brought tears to your eyes. Of love, of longing, or devotion, you weren't even sure.
Satoru was still in you, behind you, wrapping you in his arms and scent, when you awkwardly tried to turn around. He lazily blinked at you — the blue of his eyes resembled the glimmering waves of the Mediterranean Sea, which lapped the shores of the city that had become your home. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you lean in to press a quick, almost chaste kiss on the corner of his lips. They twitched with a soft grin.
"Someone's awfully sweet. Good morning, I guess. Really good, that time. What if — "
Before Satoru finished, your hands framed his face, and you kissed him again, taking your time. He released a quiet, unexpected sigh and melted into it immediately, giving you all the reins. Sweet and soft, your tongue swept over his plump lips and explored his mouth, until you both pulled away to catch your breath. Resting your forehead against his, you muttered quietly.
"I love you."
Satoru didn't answer you right away; instead, he cupped your cheek, his thumb grazed the soft skin under your eyes, and he murmured back.
"I love you more."
You didn't want to delve into the endless fight of who loved whom more, so you just settled against his chest with a soft sigh. Satoru tucked your head under his chin and gently ran his fingers up and down your spine.
"How are you feeling? Wanna cuddle a little or go showering?"
"I wish we could cuddle more, but Nobara and Maki are coming in…very soon, actually."
Satoru stilled for a moment and released a groan, reluctant to let you go and leave that bed, jutting his bottom lip in the biggest pout known to the Universe.
"Is it today? Do we have to go with them, baby?"
"Yes. Toru, we promised them to show the Fine Arts Museum. Maki didn't visit it last time they were in Marseille because it was shut for some renovation. Apparently."
"Geez, I was hoping for a round two. And maybe three in the shower. Besides, we were there with Suguru last summer." His hand slid down to squeeze your butt in the last attempt to persuade you, but you stood your ground. With great effort.
"Satoru, no. We don't see them often. Get up."
Saoru's hand that reached to pinch your side as you hopped off to get to the shower, limply fell to his side. He groaned as his head hit the pillow, but as the sounds of water running filled the space, he enthusiastically got up and padded to the bathroom. He could be pretty…convincing when he wanted to.
Indeed, an hour later, Nobara suspiciously eyed both of you up and down — your hair told her everything she needed to know. Satoru didn't even try to hide a big dopey grin that screamed "I just got laid by the most gorgeous woman in the world". You elbowed him. Hard. His smile got even wider, so you sent him to help Maki with their suitcases.
"You know, I am so happy for you." You gave Nobara a cup of scorching latte, just the way she preferred. Her lips curled into an amusing yet soft grin. "No, really. You both look radiant."
She laughed heartily, nodding in gratitude; however, her gaze was fixed on your front yard. You followed the direction and chuckled as well, seeing Satoru and Maki trying to coax Nobara's cat — a fluffy, totally spoilt Persian named Lady — out of the carrier. She only hissed in response.
"Yeah. Me too. She's…I don't know how to explain it. But I am so happy she agreed to move here. The same is for you, by the way. Provence does wonders for both of you. Even Gojo."
You rested your elbows on the table with a melancholic sigh. Yes, the start of your journey in France was quite turbulent: a total mess with language, documents, fighting with landlords over the rent, and taking up any gigs for money…It only helped that you had some of it saved. Endless hours of work, tears and efforts poured into building your new life finally got its fruits: at one of the fashion shows, Nobara introduced you to the famous photographer, who instantly fell in love with your works. And Satoru…
"Phew, finally," the front door opened, revealing beaming Satoru with Lady in his arms, who…purred in content. Nobara's eyes widened in shock.
"Lady, what? He's a man! Have some dignity!"
"Can't help it if I am that charming," he scratched the kitty under her chin. "Even cats know that."
"That's, unfortunately, true." You squeaked in delight at Maki's tired voice and jumped into her arms. After a few solid minutes of hugging, you finally released her as she begged you to show her the bathroom.
"So, Gojo," Nobara drawled in a voice too casual. Satoru exchanged brief yet pointed glances with you. Lady cracked one eye open and yawned, staring at her catmom. "Do you have, by any chance, some calissons left?"
In Nobara's language, that meant she had been dying to taste them, but she would never admit it to Satoru. "Don't tell him, or his ego would grow even bigger!"
So you just happened to drop that you wanted to have those candies, and of course, Satoru whipped some up: they just waited to be baked. Judging by his cocky smirk, he already figured both of you out.
"Why do you call me Gojo? She's a Gojo too, you know?" The oven beeped a couple of times when Satoru put the tray with callisons inside. Nobara only rolled her eyes and hugged you with a grin.
And Satoru once decided to try his hand at the things that he loved the most in the world (after you, of course): sweets. In particular, pastries. To put it concisely, baking. It took a lot, a lot of time and years of learning in culinary academies under the guidance of chiefs, before he could finally name himself the one.
Marseille greeted you with arms open, the fresh scent of pastries lingering in the air, mesmerising views and the centuries of history ingrained in its walls. You left Paris after you realised it was high time to move forward, and since you mentioned a couple of times that you wanted to live in Provence for some time, Satoru started to look for a home and a place for his own bakery. His own thing. That he built only by himself, with no family barking and ordering him around. He and you. And Satoru could've never been happier for it.
You indeed had never made it easy for him. But now, seeing you laugh with your friends, among the paintings, with the sun casting a soft, almost amber glow on your figure, Satoru realised he would rather have things difficult with you than easy with anyone else. Because you were worth it.
A bet is classic. What could be more fun than targeting a sweet girl and making her fall in love with the reputable campus fuckboy? Surely he wouldn’t fall in love with you.
fratboy!gojo x f!reader
notes: I have seen sooooo many ideas and tiktoks about the trope of reader being a bet & it always hurts so good! wanted to try it out and ofc it had to be with fratboy gojo >:)))
warnings: angst obvi hehehe, drinking, cursing, reader is super sweet and a bet obvi, no comfort or happy ending (yet? who knows), mentions of vomiting but doesn’t, mentions of blood, reader is never someone’s first choice:(( ummmm, gojo is an asshole ofc
Part 2 here!
Credit to @uzmacchiato for the divider!!
Satoru knew he should've said no in the beginning, knew it wasn't worth it just to impress his friends- his stupid frat brothers who never took anything seriously. Never thought about the consequences of their actions.
Buuut the idea of the bet was just too good to turn down.
The effort, the build up, the dedication- it would all come together so perfectly, especially with you as the main star. With you being you, you were doomed from the start before the bet could even fully take shape.
Sweet little you. Shouldn't you have known better?
Going around, shamelessly wearing your heart on your sleeve, always spreading kindness on the darkest of days, looking and talking to people as if they genuinely mattered- and maybe to you, they actually did, even when they couldn't have cared less about returning the favor. Not that you ever expected anything in return.
And most importantly of it all? You were so understanding. Far too understanding for your own good. The debilitating type that had rooted itself early on as some sort of lousy defense mechanism and eventually morphed into something self destructive. Had you subconsciously constructing and molding subpar excuses to justify someone's behavior, especially when it was directed towards you.
Always being an overly empathetic thing, so willing to sacrifice and minimize your own feelings when it came to others, always softening their blow.
Were you desperate or something to get people to stay? So desperate that you had unintentionally turned yourself into a doormat that people could stomp all over?
Anybody could've told you that it was idiotic to try and see everyone at face value, to so naively believe the words people told you. But you could've argued the opposite.
It wasn't naivety. It was you, sweet and trusting you, determined to not let your past heartbreak change the way you viewed others, to not let it bias you, scare you, or haunt you. Despite having been constantly hurt, you refused to allow your past experiences make you question and doubt every. single. new. relationship.
Always trying to see the good in people.
It would have turned out great, perfectly actually. You had played your part with flying colors, just as expected, putting on the most spectacular, albeit unknown, performance. And Satoru? Well.
Things would have turned out great.
If he hadn't started falling in love with you.
But the show must go on.
“H-Hey, Satoru! Wait-wait a sec!” The words spilled from your lips in an unintentional desperate plea, the halls fully swarmed and packed with students squeezing past one another. Dozens of conversations mulled around you, voices mindlessly buzzing and bouncing off the walls as you paced towards the white haired man.
Satoru had been anything but clear as of recently, a new push pull dynamic he’d adopted that had you more confused and thrown off than ever. You thought you were going crazy.
One night he was taking you out, looking at you like you were his dream girl who hung the moon in his sky, and the next he was treating you like some clingy puppy that he had never even asked for in the first place. The hot and coldness of it all had given you whiplash trying to keep up with him.
But of course, of couuurrrse, you believed him when he said it was stress. That finals and exams had him so busy, but of course he liked you! He was just new at this whole communication thing and needed time but please Y/N, I like you so much please im trying.
You believed it all.
After all, why would you not? Especially when Satoru was Satoru and you were you.
Sure, you knew you could be a lot, knew you could have more than afforded to shut up every now and then and not chimed in with your over the top unnecessary eager commentary, but regardless, the point still stood. Satrou Gojo, one of the hottest most pined after frat boys on campus that everyone treated like a myth, like an untouchable legend, talked to you, was nice to you, even took you out and seemed happy to do so.
Maybe for once, the rumors could have been just rumors!
Plus, the last few times you remembered being taken out was high school, and they never showed you much interest past the first date once they learned they couldn't get in your pants. Gojo hadn't even tried!
“Sorry-excuse me,’cuse me, sorr- oops, my bad, imsosorry- Satoru!”
He'd been oddly silent the past few days, completely unresponsive to your texts. But with finals coming up, surely he must've been cramming and just far too busy to respond.
He hadn't sat next to you like usual in lecture, but he showed up late, so maybe he didn't want to bother you?
But he didn't wait for you after either, gone before you could even leave your seat. You couldn't deny how it stung, but always chalked it up to him being too busy or in a rush.
You could visibly see his shoulders tense from behind, the slight tilt of his head as it hung forward in what you could only assume was annoyance, a brief mental preparation to deal with you. A pang bloomed in your chest, unease pulsing through you.
He slowed down just enough for you to catch up, but didn't stop. Slightly out of breath, you fell into step next to him, cheeks flushing and heat creeping up your neck from his clear uneagerness to see or talk to you. You nervously swallowed. He could be intimidating when he wanted to be.
He didn't greet you, didn't look at you, just waited for you to speak.
You awkwardly cleared your throat to speak, a small and meek “hi,” being the only word to squeeze out.
“I’ve got class.” Short, quick, dismissive.
His blunt uninterested response sent doubt pummeling through you, the gifts in your pocket weighing heavier and heavier with the possibility of rejection more realistic than you initially thought.
He would draw you in, perfect words to butter you up and make you feel foolish for ever questioning him, and then he'd get like this. Not mean per se, but just so uninterested in you that you wondered if you had made it all up. You weren't dating (yet? So you were hoping) but he had kissed you on the most recent date. Didn't that mean something?
You'd been so ecstatic afterwards, but with no solid friends on campus, you had no one to tell or squeal to. You carried everything alone, both good and bad. Gojo knew that, the whole frat knew that. It's what made you the perfect choice.
“R-right, yeah! Um- can you stop just for a second- i wanted to-” and he loudly sighed, piercing blue eyes rolling into his head as he stopped to turn to you. He didn't say anything, just stared expectantly at you like you were completely wasting his time. His gaze on you was irritated.
The eye contact had you jittery. Not the usual nerves you'd get when you turned your head just to find him already looking at you, so anxious you’d somehow mess things up with the hottest guy ever, so desperate to be good enough for him. No. It was the on edge, antsy type that had you replaying every dumb thing you've ever said to him, the doubt pooling at the very bottom of your stomach that felt like a heavy black tar. It felt like a test you knew you’d fail when you had studied so hard to do good. You just wanted him to like you the way you liked him, and god, did you fucking like him.
Don't fuck this up, y/n, this is the best thing that has ever happened to you.
Nervously swallowing and cheeks blazing, you gave an uneasy awkward smile before rummaging through your tote bag and pocket, muttering a tiny but sincere “sorry,” when his foot started to impatiently tap against the floor.
A small pit formed in your stomach, feeling slightly mortified and very embarrassed. The feeling was similar to a child showing off their very mediocre work to an overly critical parent.
“Sorry,” you huffed a fake laugh, pulling out the small container from your bag and the keychain from your pocket.
“I-um, I made these for you, since you know, you said you loved cookies, uh on the date, they're um your favorite..” and your words trailed off as you held out the tin, slowly beginning to feel smaller and smaller as he kept his hands by his side, no show of trying to take it from you. A small sticky note on the top read, “Hope you like them! :D <3”
“Oh! A-and, hah, I saw this and, and I thought of you, especially since you said you really, um, really liked that show.” nothing. “J-Just as a um, thank you, for the other night. W-Was a lot, o-of fun.”
You held both hands out, praying he didn't see the slight tremble of your clammy hands holding the items as you stood there feeling like an idiot. The thumping of your heart picked up, eyes looking anywhere but at him, bowing your head just slightly so you wouldn't have to see him look so repulsed by you.
Had you somehow misread everything? Like actually? This entire interaction felt like some humiliation ritual.
“Um, if, if you want, o-of course, no.. no pressure,” You pathetically added, already trying to lessen his blow, already trying to minimize and justify his cold reaction towards you.
He let out a small snicker, hands finally coming up to grab the items from your unsteady hands. You hid the sigh of relief that you wanted to let out, so easy to please and already feeling happy again that he accepted your gifts, as if it was a nuisance for him to do so.
“Wow, thanks. You do too much,” he dully noted, a small closed lip smile gracing his pretty features before he turned on his feet to continue his trek to class.
The comment made you freeze, staring at the spot he stood in, a “thank you?” not even having the chance to leave your tongue. You didn't think he said it with mal intent, but the words ‘too much’ always seemed to find its way back to you.
“Oh wait!” Gojo's voice broke you from your thoughts, and you immediately turned to face him, eyes wide and excited like a dog hearing the word ‘walk.’ Maybe he'd talk to you some more, or want you to walk with him! Or maybe-
“Party this Friday night at the house. You should come by, all my friends will be there.” The words made you deflate. A party… at his frat house… the idea made your stomach twist with nerves. You knew no one, had no friends to go with, and you were absolutely horrified of embarrassing yourself around him- even more- than what you felt like you had already done.
“Oh! Um, haha, I don't think your friends like me- um- very much, haha,” you stated, hand coming up to push your fallen hair behind your ear, a small wince on your face as to not make it a big deal.
His friends, and Gojo at first too, had been relatively mean to you starting off, relentless teasing about your looks, your interests, hobbies, lack of knowledge you had despite trying so hard. You had been so caught off guard when he told you he liked you.
“Psh, they're just playing! See you at 10pm,” he yelled back, already walking away, arm coming up to carelessly wave. You sighed to yourself. You knew you would go. You really wanted to see gojo.
Friday night was a mess. A good mess at first, at least. Cars parked up and down the street, people packed in like sardines in and outside the house, music so loud all the neighboring dorms and frats could hear, and god did it reek like sweat and musk.
The two shots - okay maybe three - you took right before for liquid courage seemed to do the exact opposite as you maneuvered around a couple making out, small “excuse me’s” falling from your lips every second in a measly attempt to find gojo.
The small revealing outfit you had on, at least, seemed to match the vibe, relieved when you saw girls wearing far less. The only con was that your favorite knee high boots would most definitely get stepped on, but at least you were taller now as you searched for the stark white tufts of hair.
The house thrummed from the vibration of the speakers, bass so heavy your teeth rattled. It was dark, the only light illuminating the rooms were colorful shades of blues, purples, reds, and greens shining and flashing everywhere. The party felt like everything you weren't, but for a split second you were almost proud of yourself, going so far out of your comfort zone it felt like you were on a whole other planet. You imagined how fun these parties could be if you had any friends, and before you could let the thought get you down, you let your tipsy self imagine what it would be like to experience these with gojo by your side, excited that you were about to.
Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was packed. Unable to find Gojo had you seeking out another drink and the multitude of bottles of liquor that covered the surfaces were calling your name. You felt confident, wanting another drink to keep your courage and vibes up, grabbing a red solo cup and creating a concoction that would be far too strong, but you were here to let loose right? You were at a party!
Further encouraged and emboldened when a girl passing by stopped to compliment you, you smiled to yourself, feeling the tension roll off your back and a new found self-assurance bloom within you.
Bodies flowed and worked around you, not shoving into you or looking at you like you didn't belong, but moved in rhythm near you, like you had every right to be there and fit just fine. You relaxed into the music, earlier shots of vodka giving you a nice buzz that warmed your skin, made your cheeks tingle, and more importantly a soft happiness that weighed in your chest that comforted you like a safety blanket. Pouring the liquor into the cup with a mixer that admittedly was way too little, you knocked over a different cup, relieved there was barely any liquid that spilled over.
Quietly giggling to yourself, you spun to grab a roll of paper towels, quickly drying up the small mess you made, already sipping on your drink that made you wince in disgust. It was perfect. You hummed along to the music, hips swaying while lights blinded you, walking over to the metal garbage can to toss the wet material. Looking inside, you couldn't help but notice the tupperware that looked exactly like yours.
Furrowing your eyebrows, you leaned in a little closer, tiny fractures cutting into your heart as you realized it was yours, still packed to the brim with your cookies, sticky note still stuck to the top. Next to the cookies, the keychain you had bought him.
You froze, just a moment before scooting back, not wanting to get caught staring into the trashcan as you processed everything. There was a dull ache in your chest, energy immediately depleting and inklings of shame and embarrassment circulating through you. Your mind worked through the different possibilities, seeking out any excuse or reason as to why your items now lay forgotten in the trash.
You felt the build up of tears, blinking them back with a shaky breath as you chugged your mixture that was mainly liquor, a hopeless attempt at suppressing the sadness you felt. You shivered, turning your head to gag at the disgusting taste. Surely all the alcohol would calm your nerves.
Maybe one of the guys had done it? And not Gojo? You were positive this was all some sort of misunderstanding, no way he would just do that right? He told you he liked you- it wouldn't make any sense.
You began your trek around the sea of people, legs a little more unsteady now, eyes slightly glassy, contents of your stomach filled with a majority of alcohol and barely any food from your earlier nerves. All you wanted to do was find him, figure out an explanation that you were positive you'd be more than willing to accept, and spend the rest of the night by his side having a good time. The cookies weren't hard to bake and it's not like the keychain cost that much- it was fine, you were fine.
A little more intense this time, you made your way through the frat house, a sigh of relief when a glimpse of that notorious white fluffy hair came into view, a black backwards baseball cap sitting perfectly on his head. When your eyes finally landed on gojo, albeit still a little wobbly and throat tight, you couldn't help the smile that automatically formed on your face, hoping he'd feel the same. Why wouldn't he? He did invite you after all.
He was surrounded by his friends and then some, everyone dialed in on what he was saying. You anxiously stepped forward, waiting for the right time to get close to him and say hello. You wondered if he'd hug you and say ‘hi baby,’ like he sometimes did. The thought made your heart flutter inside its ribs like a bird in a cage.
Maybe he'd even compliment your outfit, or your hair and makeup. You eagerly bit your lip, too excited to be embarrassed at your spiraling thoughts of being somewhat wanted by him.
“Bro and then she gave me a fuck ass keychain, dude!!” he broke up his commentary with a laugh, a little too forced for it to be genuine, but a laugh nonetheless. “Said it reminded her of me, like, she just can't get any weirder bro. God and don't get me started on the cookies. She said it was her thanks for taking her out, but she doesnt know its all a bet to get into her pants- shes a fucking virgin for sureeee, threw that shit out as soon as i got back,” and he snickered and grinned like he had won the best prize. Like he had formed the best, most elaborate plan and you had played your part perfectly. You really, really had.
His friends, who you recognized as toji and maybe sukuna, chuckled, all chiming in with terms of agreement and encouragement, adding on all sorts of lies and theories about you, like maybe you were secretly a whore putting out, your innocent act a devious little facade. Geto, who had always been kind to you, was there too, perched against the side of a couch, not joining in, but silent and accepting.
You flinched, physically recoiling back when you heard them laugh about how you were too much, too pathetic to see right through anything at all, a fucking stupid girl for thinking someone like you could have a chance at him. Everything you had told yourself, every insecurity that had coursed through you, all confirmed. Others really did view you the way you saw yourself.
“Bro and when I kissed her, swear i almost gagged-”
You drowned his voice out, the music. There was a ringing in your ears that wasn't there before. Frozen in your spot, fingers beginning to shake, throat burning so badly you weren't sure if the alcohol you had downed was about to make a surprise appearance or not.
The bodies around you blurred as the pit in your stomach grew, humiliation washing over you as if you’d just been doused with a bucket full of ice water. You didn't run, couldn't, feet glued to the floor as you were forced to listen to the group of the hottest guys on campus who didn't even know you as a person, didn't take the time to learn you, ridicule you and make fun of you. You guessed it didn't matter, because Gojo had.
Each breath was labored and jagged, chest tightening and skin prickling with such an intense heat that you felt constricted in the already sparse clothes you wore. The way the fabric dug into you, a certain stitch that scratched you, the zipper that rubbed against your skin - it felt like you were suddenly aware of every unpleasant feeling in addition to the shattering of your heart.
You wanted to go home, wanted the floor to swallow you whole- felt so unbelievably silly standing there watching the guy you liked- fuck, the guy you had fallen in love with- paint you out to be some weird nasty creature who was undeserving of his attention. Sure, you had felt that way initially, but he had been so kind to you that you had been so blindsided, unknowingly setting yourself up to fall right back into your constant cycle of heartbreak and misery.
Built up tears finally broke the surface, some beginning to stream down your face and others just dropping from the sheer amount that had welled up. It wasn't until gojo turned his head, eyes landing directly on you and smile completely dropping that your legs became unstuck.
Your breath hitched, crackling sob breaking through as your saliva grew sticky. The extra drinks sure to make you vomit after this. You spun so fast you lost balance for a split second on your heels, immediately righting yourself and pushing through the sweaty bodies blocking you in. You didn't say sorry or excuse me, just pummeled through, desperate to get outside so that maybe you could finally breathe. You felt like a pig in makeup, and the thought made you cry harder. So beyond embarrassed, having dressed up and done your hair and makeup, mortified that everyone else thought you looked just as ugly and silly. You had to get out of here, the air was too thick and stuffy as the walls closed in on you.
Your name fell on deaf ears, sprinting out the front door and down the porch steps, surroundings a blur from not only how fast you were moving, but the alcohol that coursed through you. You knew the gifts were stupid, sure, but everything else? The kiss? He wanted to gag? All the times he called you pretty, beautiful, yes, it was more than plausible that it was a lie, but why did he say it all then? That's right, because you were supposedly just a fucking bet.
Who would willingly want to be with you?
Gojo called your name again, louder. You weren't the only one sick to your stomach. He cursed, heart dropping to his ass as the overwhelming suffocating feeling of guilt bloomed inside of his chest, heart quite literally constricting at how shitty, how fucking disgusting, he felt. It spread throughout him and he would've thought it was dramatic if it didn't feel like he could currently drop to his knees and heave. The entire situation was beyond fucked up, everything a misunderstanding and completely not at the same time.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” he repeated, hoarse and panicked as he immediately trailed after you, abruptly leaving the conversation mid sentence, not caring how he looked when all the guys stared at him in confusion. He lost sight of you for a moment but knew you'd only try to leave, escape the perfect hell he had just created for you.
Why the fuck did he do this? How the fuck was he gonna make this up to you, and why had he let himself get involved in this shitty idea anyway? He knew he should've called it off, he knew he had fallen for you.
Muttering insults as hands came out to grab at him, others trying to talk and some pulling him in for a dance. He didn't look, didn't care who they were, practically throwing and shoving their hands off him with only you in mind. He would explain everything to you, lay himself bare and expose the ugliness and insecurities that festered inside of him.
He had been projecting this entire time, exhausted from maintaining such an ugly facade of the frat fuckboy, desperately trying to fit in with everyone else that he stupidly agreed to the bet just to feel some type of belonging and companionship. All at the expense of you.
He didn't think, that was his issue. So caught up in this fake lifestyle that he knew the act wasn't just pretend anymore, his morals slipping by the day as he settled into this new once foreign character. They were all fucking assholes. All of them.
Fingers tightly clenching your almost dead phone, you bawled, frustration making you grit your teeth in additional annoyance when the sidewalk wouldn't stay straight. Accidentally stepping off the concrete, your heel caught on the edge, sending you falling onto all fours on the pavement, too drunk to care about the pain that shot up your wrists and knees. You let out a guttural infuriated noise, a mix between a squeal and growl, feeling so much more than just pissed and heartbroken. You furiously smashed your palm against the concrete as if it held the blame.
“Fuck, hey, shit, are you okay??”
Gojo's palm rested on your back and in the blink of an eye you stumbled up, whipping around to face him seething and disgusted as tears continued to stream down your cheeks.
“Don't fucking touch me,” you spat backing away from him as if he had physically struck you, and at this point you thought you would’ve almost preferred that over the gut wrenching feeling in your chest. There was a physical pain that tore throughout you, your heart feeling like sharp talons had ripped it out and stomped on it like an attempt at snuffing out a flame.
If you had it in you, you would’ve laughed at his expression, so devastated and hurt and torn as if he wasn't the one who caused all this, as if he wasn't the one who could've prevented everything. He had the audacity to stare at you like he was scared of losing you.
“Please, please y/n, i can explain, I am so sorry, please,” and it was as equally pathetic as it was infuriating. gojo pathetically begged, arms awkwardly reaching towards you as if you were the solution.
You paused, tongue loose and words slurred, staring at him bewildered as you threw your palms up. He wasn't who you thought he was. Or maybe he was exactly who everybody said he was and it was your fault for thinking otherwise.
“I thought you liked digimon??”
He swore, hands coming up to drag down his face. You saw. Saw your cookies and the keychain you bought him in the garbage.
“That wasn't me, I swear, please believe me, I swear- I-I got back from class, one of the guys saw and- and started laughing, they took it from me before I could even say anything. They tossed it, and I swear, please believe me, I was gonna grab it after, I-I love Digimon, I loved your gifts, please.”
He was breathless now, a fruitless panicked attempt at defending himself.
You scoffed. “Sure it wasn't too much?”
Gojo winced, hands curling. “I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it like that-” You cut him off, angrily sniffing and wiping your bloody gravel pricked hands against your black mini skirt. God you felt ridiculous.
“Yeah?? Which fucking part??” Your voice raised an octave, almost yelling but you didn't care as passerbyers turned their heads. You spewed the words, moving forward just to angrily shove at his chest, blood smearing his white shirt. Good, you wanted to stain his shit, wipe your blood all over it.
He took advantage of the proximity, quickly but lightly wrapping his large hands around your wrists to keep you close. You screeched, thrashing in his hold, weakly trying to hit him, shove him, and with his loose grip, he let you, your small fists pounding against his hard chest
“Im sorry, Im sorry, Im so fucking sorry, I like you- I like you so fucking much-”
A broken sob escaped you, a mix between a snarl and cry getting stuck in your throat.
“I didn't mean anything I said in there, I loved kissing you, you’re beautiful - fuck, you’re perfect, you’re so fucking perfect and- and you know me, the real me, I feel like I can be myself with you, please please please, im begging you, let me explain everything- from the start.” He was frantic, words rushing out so fast they blended into one. His eyes were glossy and rimmed red and you knew it wasn’t from whatever drugs he had done.
You stilled your hits, pausing in his hold. Rapid breaths mingling, chests quickly falling and rising, faded background music from the frat echoing into the night.
“Please.”
Gojo spoke it like a prayer, voiced with despair and a frenzied anguish that he knew deep down would do nothing. He would continue to beg, to plead with you, to reason, but deep down, he knew. Your chin dropped to your chest helplessly, a small hiccup squeezing itself out as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes felt swollen from how much you had cried, but you had plenty left.
You could feel gojo guide your palms to rest against his chest, a new set of bloody hand prints against the stark white, heart thumping like he'd just ran a marathon. You slammed your eyes shut, new sobs threatening to break loose, the feeling of wanting to curl up and die had never been more prominent.
“y/n, I'll do anything, please- please, I don't-” and his voice cracked, fingers tightening around your wrists. “I don't want to lose you- Im so, Im so sorry, baby.”
Your breath hitched, lips curling and fingers twisting into his shirt to bunch the fabric beneath your fingers. The agony and discomfort in your chest was painfully overwhelming, silently wishing you'd wake up from this nightmare, wishing you never heard him, trying to wrap your mind around how and why he would do this to you. You’d never understand, would never gain pleasure from hurting anyone, let alone, him.
“What did I ever do to you?”
The words came out small, so small and fractured and so confused, seeking an explanation or reason that could maybe get the two of you past this- that maybe you must've done something to deserve it and the two of you could come back from this, but you knew it was all for nothing. For no reason at all.
Gojo's eyes flashed with guilt, anger, and shame. He wanted to recoil, wanted to throw his head into his hands and sob, but he didn't want to let you go. He knew it would be the last time. Your gaze didn't meet his.
He swallowed, throat stinging and eyes burning. He regretted everything, internally begging to take it all back like some upper power would hear him and turn back time.
“Nothing, you didn't deserve this- you did- did nothing.” The words caught as his voice wavered and you wondered if he was crying. You refused to look at those eyes. His fucking blue perfect eyes that bore into you like you mattered- it was all lies- he had lied to you for months- almost an entire semester. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, attempting to stifle the wail you wanted to blubber out. It had been months.
Months of getting to know one another, of a build up, of a hope for something more. The silliest stupidest notion that for once someone found you valuable too and it wasn’t one sided.
A shallow gasp, an unintentional whimper, your shoulders shook as you wept.
“I wish I never met you, g-gojo. I would never-” a cry broke your words, tensing up as you angled your head down to hide your uncontrollable tears. He wanted to correct you and tell you to call him satoru or toru, but he stayed silent, let the sting burn. “Never hurt you like this.”
You shakily exhaled, not paying attention to his mindless small whimpers of “I know, I'm so sorry, I know, please.”
You gripped the fabric tighter, lifting your head to finally meet his eyes, hating how he was crying, how he genuinely looked heartbroken at hurting you, how you hated seeing him like this. His chin wobbled, breath coming out in unsteady pants and for once, he didn't look like the notorious frat boy who could conquer anything. He looked small, like a scared little boy.
Unsteady shaky hands lifted to gently cup your cheeks, gojo preparing himself for you to yank away from his touch like it burned. He sniffled when you didn’t, perfect lips shiny and slightly parted as he fully rested them against your soft skin.
“I never want to see you again.”
His composure shattered, immediately shaking his head murmuring “no’s”, thumbs rubbing back and forth over your skin and under your eyes as he repeated the same words over and over again. You pushed him back roughly with all your drunken force, which wasn't much, but enough to send him stumbling backwards to create distance.
He was alarmed, not at what you had done, but at watching you walk away, brain filling with nothing but no no no no no please, please stay, stay with me stay.
“Y/n, no please, baby, baby, y/n, please hear me out- please-” his voice was shredded, raw from drinking and yelling and begging, but he didn’t care. He’d beg and beg until he had no voice left, and when it was gone, he would find another way.
For a moment, you paused, and he thought that maybe, just maybe you would listen. But when you slowly turned to him, looking so fucking beautiful still as street lamps glistened in the reflection of your eyes, cheeks shiny and tinted pink from the tears that painted your cheeks, it all clicked. It was torturous.
“Fuck y/n, please, I-I love you. I’m so,” he swallowed to ease the scratchiness of his throat. It did nothing. “I’m so in love with you,” and he whispered the words, loud enough so you’d hear, but almost as if they weren’t meant for you, as if he was just talking to himself and unintentionally said the realization aloud.
He watched as a lone tear dropped down your cheek and it was cruel. He was cruel, you were cruel. Standing there so perfect and so beautiful while you broke his heart, and it was all his fault since he had done it first. The silence was thick as the two of you stood feet apart, wordlessly staring at each other, letting his words hang in the air. You opened your mouth and shut it, letting the process repeat as you mulled over the words in your head, wishing more than ever he hadn’t said them. Wishing more than ever you didn’t feel the same.
“I’d pick you, over and over again Satoru, every time, in a room full of people. Everyone would,” you huffed a fake laugh, blinking away your tears as you stared into his dumb perfect eyes. “I thought-” your lips quivered, chin wobbling at the humiliating admission. “I thought for once, someone had finally picked me.” The words slowly fell from your lips, laced with what one could only describe as pure heartbreak.
Gojo felt the final blow split his heart, not a clean cut, but a jagged uneven slash that cleaved it in two. He called your name, desperate and all, watching you spin on your heel and angrily walk away, your perfume hitting him as the wind blew.
He stepped forward- yelled your name again. But you didn't turn, didn't peek, didn't flinch as you sobbed, fingers constantly wiping your eyes to see where you were going as you drunkenly walked back to your apartment. Cried for yourself, mourned who you were becoming, who you were becoming with him. You had fallen in love with him too, of course you had. He was so easy to love.
Wondering if any one can help me!! I’m searching for a Sylus x reader fic I have read in the past. It’s set in an AU where Sylus is like a King and Luke and Kieran are his sons and they are younger. He was married to MC but she died. And then reader is her friend and for the good of the kingdom Sylus married reader. And it’s very angsty and reader ends up with child, but then MC’s sister shows up and secretly is poisoning reader cause she wants to be married to Sylus.
Any help would be greatly appreciated!!🩷
Edit: THANK YOU SO MUCH TO @seraphineash and @multi-fandom-fanfic that is the fic I was looking for!!! (Link is in comments for anyone else that wants to read it). I appreciate you both SO MUCH🩷
Synopsis. You, heir to the throne and fated to be married off to a royal you’ve never even met. Gojo Satoru, your personal knight and the one man that will not let this happen. He will not.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! princess! reader, knight! Gojo, childhood-friends-to-Iovers, PINING, arranged marriages, Naoya is awful, Gojo YEARNS, flower language, politics, slight víolence, slight angst, matíng presses, cervíx kíssing, creampíes, cúmplay, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, oraI (fem rec), he goes FÉRAL, cúmming in his pants, manhandIing, spítting, biiig stretches, dúmbifícation, cúmflation, p talking, p sIapping, overstím, proposals, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 12.7k
A/N. What happens when ya let a girl listen to Golden Brown by The StrangIers.
“You are not to speak, you are not to look.” The king intertwines his decadently ringed fingers on his lap, the royal signet glinting pointedly amongst them. “You are not to so much as breathe in the princess’s way from tomorrow onwards.”
And it’s only with his hard-earned years as your knight that Gojo stops himself from shuddering where he knelt, head bowing to hide the clench in his jaw.
Though, surely something must have flashed across his features - because the next few words have a familiar warmth that twisted Gojo’s heart much more than his royal timbre, “Satoru, my boy, you understand that this is your duty? Yes?”
“I understand.” The answer is instant, as is the raise of the other man’s brows.
“And do you understand that this marriage is my daughter’s duty?” Your father barks out a disbelieving laugh into the barren throne room. “We wouldn’t want Prince Naoya getting the wrong idea between the princess and a- a knight.”
The words make his eyes prick wetly, and Gojo can’t help but bend even lower as he whispers. “I…I understand, sir.”
After all, it was the second thing that Gojo Satoru had drilled into his mind from the very moment he first met you.
The first being that he’s loved you ever since.
Which - retrospectively speaking - might’ve been an incredibly bold declaration coming from the scrawny, fidgeting six-year-old you happened to catch sneaking in and stealing lilac blooms from the royal garden all those years ago.
He remembers how you’d giggled, looking positively like a little blossom in all those gauzy layers of gown. Piping up from under the lilac tree he was latched onto, “My father says that’s not allowed.”
Gojo had fallen then - literally, startling about six feet from the branch he’d been straddling and straight into a scratchy pile of leaves with a dull thud! Back hurting, head spinning, it was a wonder that he hadn’t sprained anything, but right then and there he remembers thinking he was in heaven.
Because here was a pretty lil’ angel his age ogling down at him, speaking in a regal accent so different from his. “My father says that’s not allowed either.”
Your grin beamed down on him and warmed his skin even more scorchingly than the balmy rays of sunlight filtering in through the leaves. And for the first time ever in his life, Gojo Satoru had stuttered.
“Yer- yer father sounds stupid.” He had spit out, chubby cheeks puffing out the more you stared at him. What? He was sure he looked ridiculous with all those stray sticks and leaves stuck in his cloudy locks, but did you really have to look at him like…that?
“My father…” Your lips curled even further, as if you knew something he didn’t. “-the king.”
Oh.
Oh.
And it’s only then that Gojo notices the thin, silver tiara on your head, a delicate wreath of jeweled flowers that twinkled almost as bright as your eyes. It reflected specks of light into his gaze almost mockingly.
Idiot- it felt like someone had thrown a bucket of icy water over him that chilled him to the very bone.
Even at the tender- well, wise and sensible age of six, Gojo had heard from the adults in town all about the torture chambers and p-prisons that the royal palace was home to.
Just why did he feel the need to escape from his mother at the market to bring her a batch of those wispy, amethyst flowers anyway?
Sure, they were her favorite but- the royal family would have his head before even she did. And he didn’t even get to butter her up with the lilacs!
“Forgive me!” Gojo had squeaked out in a cry so shrill that you hurriedly took a step back, eyes widening once the interesting boy in front of you dropped to his hands and knees. “Ah- I mean uh- forgive me, your highness- your princessness.” Drooping into a bow so low that his soft tufts of hair brushed the warm ground. Words tumbling out a mile a minute, “It was an accident- I must’ve been um sleepwalking and I pinky-promise won’t do it again-”
“Those lilacs haven’t bloomed yet, y’know?” You’re cutting him off smoothly, and Gojo remembers feeling a pang of irritation- let him recite his apologies before you throw him in a cell, dammit! Right before flooding with confusion, eyes snapping up to meet yours hesitantly.
Pointing at a pretty white gazebo, overlooking the lake only a few meters away, you’d shrugged your shoulders. “The garden staff puts the best ones in a bouquet over there.”
At which, he’d replied with an exceptionally eloquent, “Huh?”
“Well, what my father doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
It’s only after hours upon hours of picking every lilac flower in sight and chatting about all the worldly topics a pair of six-year-olds knew that you were dragged away by one of your worried attendants.
And he almost felt…sad about it. Weird.
The yolky setting sun that day cast shadows for Gojo to hide himself in behind one of the gazebo pillars as he peeked at your retreating back. In-step with an older woman muttering about “losing her job oh- the king will banish her.”
And if there was one thing that he would never forget - well, amongst everything else - it was the way his heart banged selfishly against his ribcage with a repeated turn around turn around turn around-
You did. And you’d smiled, and Gojo hasn’t been able to step away from your side since.
Well, he had to - to go home that evening and proudly proclaim to his thoroughly cross mother how he’ll become a knight, that is.
Honestly, even the colossal lilac bouquet did little to deter her scoldings about running off. But despite how bad it was - and the fact that he was sentenced to be confined to his room for a whole month - it didn’t matter.
Gojo visited you the next day, too.
And the day after that, and the day after that- and again and again no matter how many times you’d teased him about coming so often to see you. Because you were right there no matter what royal duties or lessons dictated, waiting in the lilac garden for him.
Every day.
When Gojo was eighteen he’d applied for a position in the royal guard, breezing through the demonstrations of physical strength because of course, he did. He’d been training for his very day for years.
And it showed - oh, how it showed.
It showed in the way he stood almost a head above every other man lined up there, veering numerous inches above six feet. All sculptured, Herculean muscles and arms toned from years spent climbing the palace orchards with you. The strongest.
He considered himself exceedingly humble, too, of course.
Humble enough to not brag outright in your face once Gojo had climbed the treacherous way into being your personal knight before the age of twenty.
“Hah, I can tell your father- erm, his majesty all about where you sneak off to now.” Gojo snickered, flicking your forehead in a way that a princess simply shouldn’t be treated. “Perhaps I’ll bargain titles with him- tell the courts about the way you climb trees, and ride horses and-”
“Snitch”
“Harlot.”
“Knave.”
“Hobgoblin.”
“Satoru.” You’d deadpanned up at as six foot four inches of white-haired nuisance clinging onto whimpers out a dramatic ouch, that one hurt. Desperately trying to keep the smile off of your face, “You’re with me each and every single time.”
Well, was.
It seemed like the king was to be putting a stop to that very, very soon. With your looming- he gulps to keep the leaden ball of tears away from his throat, your engagement.
“Toru—” Your voice snaps him out of his hazy little reverie, and he finds himself straightening his back into a respectful posture outside of the throne room. Warily eyeing the way you bound up to him, “What did my father want to talk to you about so suddenly?”
“Ah…” Gojo’s throat feels hoarse. Parched. The smile plastering onto his face wobbly, “Just- just security measures for the visitor we’re going to have, your royal highness.”
Your brows quirk upwards, pretty lips falling open just enough for him to realize you were about to comment on his use of that. That title.
“Now if you pardon this knight, ma’am-” Gojo pipes up before you can bludgeon him with questions, striding down the luxurious hallway to his newly-assigned post at the royal treasury. Far, far away from your chambers. “-I have been called by Knight Commander Yaga to my-”
“Satoru- wait.”
He should’ve known better than to have thought he could escape you - not when even his own heart didn’t want to.
Lurching up in an almost-nauseating swoop the moment your voice echoes from behind, hitting his glinting armor. “You…are you okay—? You haven’t called me any of those silly formal titles since we first met.” Words practically dripping with concern, fuck- he was sure your face was furrowing. And if it was up to him he would kiss away every tense crevice.
But no, that was not his place.
His place was to stand rooted to the spot, face turning only a half-degree to grace you with a soft bow. Gojo knew it wasn’t the epitome of respect, but a singular look in your face right now and he would break.
“I am in perfect condition to carry out my duties, ma’am.” He’s nodding, voice oh-so-brittle in his throat for how hardened it thundered.
“That’s not what I mean.” Stubborn.
Gojo turns back to the winding corridor in front of him, “Then if that is all, I shall be on my way. I hope you have a good day, ma’am.”
“Satoru.”
And if his cheeks were cold and encrusted with a few streaks of salty tears when he reached the treasury, Gojo was only grateful that his fellow knight Ijichi was too afraid of him to say anything.
.
.
.
Gojo Satoru was avoiding you - marching the other way if he glimpsed you, running around the palace for menial tasks, he wasn’t even your personal guard anymore, for goodness’ sake! Your best friend was ignoring you and you weren’t sure why.
Was it because you had to skip out on your daily walks in the lilac garden to greet the visiting Zenin royals?
No, he was always so understanding of the royal responsibilities that you couldn’t skive off. Besides, his strange attitude had sparked up even before Prince Naoya and his family arrived at your kingdom - ever since that meeting with your father.
You were dying to ask the king what exactly was talked about that day, a meeting so confidential that he didn’t even have the royal advisor transcripting it. But your father was always so busy with the older Zenin couple these days, cooped up in office rooms surrounded to the brim with official documents.
And that left you with…him.
Naoya Zenin. A prince if there was ever any, who couldn’t talk about anything but that.
“So…um.” Your eyes dart around the palace gardens, you always did love it here - that comforting smell of flowers wafting in clouds around you. But right now you felt anything but comforted. “How are you liking the garden, Prince Naoya?”
He shakes his brown-tipped locks, eyes narrowing. “Rather plebian for a royal palace, if I do say so myself.”
“R-right…” You’re sputtering in an unlady-like fashion, “We do have orchards too if you wanted to-”
“Of course, the gardens in my palace are much bigger-” He’s waving a gloved hand loftily, nose crinkling into a sneer at the bustling gardeners planting beautiful white blossoms everywhere. Honestly, you were informed there was a grand ball soon - but wasn’t this a bit much? “And we teach the help to stay out of sight.”
“Both.”You fight the urge to just storm off then and there - it wouldn’t do good to start a war between the two most powerful kingdoms right now.
“Ah yes yes- nice.” Naoya repeats airily, words warbling as if he was biting back a laugh. “Suppose the low-borns are tolerable if they’re nice.”
A vision of Gojo - tiny and trembling into a bow in front of you - flashed through your mind, and you find your pretty heels digging hard into the dark soil. That was it.
“Perhaps.” Your voice comes out dangerously even, dangerously. Naoya only raises his brows in faint interest, “Yet, even the least tolerable tch- ‘low-born’ would be more tolerable than a pompous, arrogant-”
“There you are, your highnesses!”
Satoru.
You would recognize that low, lilting baritone amongst a thousand others. And before you can turn around to face your best friend that had been missing for days, he plows on, “A little gift- from this lowborn.”
Thud!
Before you can even blink, pale hands reach out to unceremoniously dump a radiant yellow flower crown on Naoya’s blond bangs. And you swear Gojo pushed down on his head harder than necessary.
The first thing you register is the warm wall of muscles pushing up against your back, lecherously counting every ladder of washboard abs and Gojo’s plush pecs in your mind. Mindlessly, you’re leaning back even closer, savoring the way his breath hitches. Harlot.
The second thing you’re realizing is that Naoya Zenin - for the first time in twenty-something years - had gone quiet. Very, very quiet. Suspiciously so.
You force your words into some semblance of levelness, “Are you…are you alright, Prince Naoya?”
But Naoya didn’t speak - you didn’t know if he was even breathing. Long face growing greyer and greyer by the second, he doesn’t answer you.
No, instead he’s pointing a trembling finger behind you. “You there…you- what shrub have you placed upon my royal head?”
“Laburnum.” Comes the answer - and just as soon comes a drawling, strangled squawk.
Your first instinct is to look towards the shimmering lake not too far away from you, eyes searching for any trace of those familiar ducks- before gasping in surprise and looking back to the prince. Mouth ajar, still making those undignified noises.
Him?
“You- you will-” He hisses, so furious that you have to take a step back - right into Gojo’s waiting arms - to avoid his flecks of spit. “-you will pay for this.”
In only a split-second, Naoya had thrown the flower crown onto the ground and wheezed his way up the flowery pathway back to the castle. What a sight it was.
But nothing compared to the way that Gojo comes into your line of sight and preens. One hand tapping at his cheek in thought, the other held behind his back. “Whoops- I forgot that the king specifically informed me that our honored guest was allergic to laburnum flowers. Guess, low-borns aren’t of good memory. Right, my princess?”
“Satoru- you- you ass.” You’re yelping through fits of laughter, not caring for the way the rest of the gardening staff smiles knowingly. “What if that bastard gets deathly sick? The blame would be on you.”
He rolls his summer blue eyes, “Proudly.”
“I should send you to the gallows for this.”
Gasping in faux shock, “Most salacious indeed!”
And for the first time in so long, it feels normal.
The breezing heat of Gojo’s body against yours feels normal, and you couldn’t bring yourself to think too deeply about it. Too enchanted by the sheer lack of armor - all billowy white poet shirt and flattering cotton pants.
“Y-yeah well-” Shit- why was your skin burning this way? The sun wasn’t even at peak temperature for today. Absentmindedly, you’re playing with one of his silk lapels, “Thank goodness we’re losing him in a few days, I asked mother and she said the Zenin’s are only visiting until the fast-approaching ball.”
“Princess-” It all comes out in a rush, “-that ball. The reason for it is actually-”
“Your highness! The queen is asking for a conference with you!” The curious voices of your maidservants drag you away from Gojo’s arms, into a much less scandalous position.
And yet, with only a nod behind - you still stay standing in front of him. You stay.
“Right…” Gojo’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a deep gulp. Shadowy gaze darting away, “I should get back to my duties, ma’am. Suguru has been abusing his position as head gardener to work me like a mule.”
The way your face crumples with disappointment makes Gojo’s heart feel sliced open. And raw. “Of course. I’ll see you around, Gojo.”
Gojo. Gojo.
And of course he couldn’t let you walk away - of course he couldn’t let you leave his life just yet.
So without thinking, without even realizing, he’s clasping a slender hand around your wrist to pull you back. To reel you in. To him.
Velvety strands of snow-white curtain Gojo’s eyes, and the doughy fingerpads on your skin shiver. Mumbling, “Before- Before you go, my prin- ma’am. I just wanted to give you-” And you don’t know what makes your heart race more - the cherry-red blush painting all over Gojo’s cheeks and up to the very tips of his ears, or the sunny flower crown clasped in a hand pulled from behind his back. “-this.”
Your mouth drops into an awe-struck oh! It was beautiful - trickling blossoms of every shade of yellow entwined gently together. Embedded with celestially dainty buds of an amber so pale it looked almost white, diamonds on a tiara fit for a princess.
You had a feeling it would be your favorite one.
All you could think of was Gojo with his staggering hands, and his battle-worn fingers, making something so delicate for you.
“Is…is this one just as allergy-inducing as the other, Satoru?” You’re breathing, rustled by a breeze so gentle that it almost hurts.
“No.” Gojo whispers, just as quiet. As if the slightest sign of a raised voice would break whatever saccharinely thick moment this was, “Yellow acacia and yellow carnation. For you, my princess.”
For the way he’d be losing you just as soon as he loses that asshat.
And even once you’d adorned his crown and been hurried off by a few palace staff, Gojo stared. Even once you were nothing but a speck of royal satin and yellow crowns, he stared. Even once you were gone, and he was left so very alone, he stared.
Only thanking the heavens above that you always slept through your flower language lessons.
.
.
.
Over the next few days; wherever you were, Naoya Zenin was to follow.
And Gojo was sure that it was pushing the young royal closer and closer to a spectacular aneurysm any time that you called specifically for him to accompany you. Blatantly refusing any other knight that came your way.
The pointed third during “romantic” boat rides on the lake, always the guard overseeing dinners, the one to step in with a blunder if your future fiancé got too…opinionated. Gojo was always there.
It was more like you spent your time trying to make his dutiful façade crack than supposedly entertaining your guest.
Sneaky princess.
After all - Gojo found himself pacing and arguing out loud with himself any time you did - he was simply doing his job, right? Even if the aforementioned job went against just a few direct orders from the king himself.
But these were a direct order from the princess. His princess. And Gojo had stopped his procedural traversing and ranting since realizing this.
Although- the head chef, Nanami’s, veiled threat about turning him into pig feed the next time he heard stomping may have played a slight part in this, as well.
And it was on such a day that Gojo found himself stationed to guard the inside of the royal drawing room. Spine ramrod straight, eyes flooded with steel while he took in the sight of you and that bastard- Naoya sketching the other in silence.
It was a dainty, sunlit room, and the hours might have almost been peaceful - if it wasn’t for the split-haired bastard, that is.
After that flower fiasco and a thorough telling off for misremembering the prince’s allergies, this was meant to make up for a “bonding activity” according to the king; which to him read more like a desperate attempt to push the two of you together before the grand ball tomorrow night.
Gojo’s chest caves in with a sudden spike of pain, tomorrow night. Your engagement ball, where you will surely be handed off to a man who wouldn’t be worthy of you in a thousand different lives.
Fuck, had it really been days since already?
It hurt too much, and so he looks towards the prince’s parchment- how insulting. Hundreds of royal art lessons, yet Naoya still couldn’t capture the exact curve of your smile. And those pretty crinkles by your eyes- they were entirely the wrong number! And Gojo’s sure that any fool could see the way your lips-
He was getting ahead of himself. And reminded embarrassingly of the hundreds of sketches of you over the years stowed away underneath his bed alongside a stubby piece of charcoal.
And he was leaning over the prince in a way that he was sure would get him strung and quartered in the Zenin palace. Or, at least, that’s what Naoya’s daggered glare was telling him.
With a sheepish smirk, Gojo snatches a glimpse at your artwork. Stifling a laugh at the way you’ve given up on drawing the other man and started engaging in idle scribblings of weasels and hollies.
“That one looks like him, don’t you think?” He can’t help but whisper from the corner of his mouth, stomach swooping in delight as soon as your eyes light up.
Tacking on a familiar hairstyle and sneer onto a particularly shoddy caricature of one of the weasels, giggling. “He does.”
Gojo points at another drawing - this time of a bullfrog- honestly, what interests for a princess. “And that’s-”
“That Jinichi.” You’re finishing off for him, carelessly drawing away a few more - quite frankly, Gojo finds everything you do beautiful, but these were appallingly ugly - scribbles of foxes and goats. “That one’s Oji Zenin, and that’s Gakuganji and that’s-”
“Ahem.”
There was only one person who could make the clearing of a throat sound so snobbish. And that was Naoya Zenin.
Brows raised, feet tapping impatiently on polished marble as he snatches the parchment from your grip.
Schwing–!
“Toru- no.”
Gojo doesn’t even realize he’s pulling out his famed, silver sword until you’re stopping him with a hand to his tense bicep. Shit.
Growling through clenched teeth once more at Naoya while he nestles it back into its scabbard with unsteady fingers - only because you asked.
But the other man doesn’t even flinch - wearing that perfect mask of regal stoicity, though Gojo manages to catch the way his eyes flicker nervously down at the hilt of his sword. Doesn’t show anything other than the tightening of his thin lips as he gazes upon your humorous drawings.
The impatient tap! tap! tap! of his feet slowing down, stopping - before Naoya throws your paper down onto the floor and stomps. Gojo would’ve almost found it comedic if it hadn’t been for your startled demeanour.
“Excuse me-” He’s hissing, angling his broad body between you and this unseemly sight. Gojo looks dead-on into Naoya’s spit-fire red face, “-but I would have to hope not to remind a young prince of royal etiquette.”
“Excuse me, sir.”
“No need to call me ‘sir’, your highness.”
Naoya looks up, death in his eyes.
Gojo thought this might be the end. The missed trip to the dungeons all those years ago was finally catching up to him, and he would be thrown in today for drawing his weapon on a royal but goddammit- if he wasn’t going to keep you safe from his ire for as long as he breathes and then some.
But - to both you and Gojo’s surprise, and perhaps even Naoya himself - he simply turns swiftly on his heels and walks out of the room. Letting the heavy double-doors SLAM! deafeningly behind him.
It takes a beat. One. Two.
He counts every raging ba-dump–! of his heart against this ribcage- before the terse silence shatters with laughter.
“Toru- To- Satoru—!” You’re wiping away genuine tears, “‘No need to call me sir-’ where did you even come up with that-”
“Fuck! You can laugh but I thought I was headed to the gallows.” He’s exclaiming, and it was quite difficult to act as if your laugh wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d heard in his entire life. “Although- it would have been a killer last line. Wouldn’t it, my princess?”
The two of you stare at each other for one singular ba-dump–! Before bursting into peels of undignified cackles that could make an entire court shiver in scandal.
“Killer- killer alright-” You’re rolling your watery eyes, “This is just as bad as the time you caught Yaga in his interpretive rain dance routine- I thought you were surely dead then.”
Please, Gojo’s stomach and his heart were hurting - though, for very different reasons. “Not as bad as when you wanted to play dress-up with the sacred royal crown and lost it.”
“Don’t remind me, my father was-” That’s when your tear-lathered lashes flutter, a hand coming up to swat softly against your cheek as if to jolt back your senses. You’re groaning over Gojo’s whine, “-my father. Oh no! What will he say about this?” You almost knock your cushy stool over with how fast you’re teetering into a stand, “I must go apologize to weasel- Naoya right away lest relations with the Zenins-”
“Let me.”
Your brows raise, “What?”
“Let me.” Gojo’s repeating, more firmly this time. Thumb grazing briefly down your knuckles as he pulls you back into your seat.
Just for a split-second - like he couldn’t even think of letting himself touch such a precious treasure.
He knows you will argue this, he knows your stupidly selfless self will fight to apologize; which is why before you can say a word, he’s marching hastily out of those same doors and towards the luxurious guest chambers.
Truthfully, Gojo Satoru didn’t give a fuck about Naoya Zenin - but he’ll be damned if you, his beloved, was cast in a hameful light because of his childish actions.
He has to do something for you, while he still can. While he still has you. While he can still love you.
The corridors are winding, decadent. He takes a deep breath when nearing the slightly-open gilded door of the Zenin suite, that distinctly nasally tone of Naoya drifting in conversation from within. Shuddering in a deep breath, “Pardon m-”
“-drew me as a weasel!” The prince bursts, fury seeping into every hard syllable of his. Gojo stills where he stands outside, hand on the cool metallic doorknob. “I have never met such a vulgar, unrefined-”
“Oh, do bear it until the engagement Naoya.” The gruff voice of a man responds - and he recognizes it from all the recent chiding at palace staff to be the prince’s cousin, Jinichi Zenin. “After that ya can take your time breaking ‘er in.”
What?
“A boor telling me to break in a wench.” The younger man scoffs, though he sounds much calmer than just moments before.
Gojo thinks he could throw up all over the gleaming floors, he thinks he wants to keel over and beg at the king’s feet to keep this from happening to you. He thinks he just might.
But right now, he can’t bring his feet to move a single inch. Pressing himself up closer against the adjacent patterned wall, sharp ear yearning for more shards of the conversation.
“They’re all the same anyways.” Says Jinichi, “Just give ‘er something sparkly or flowery and keep her sated. Don’t want another one running off before you can dig your claws into the crown, now, do we?”
And perhaps he’s a hopeless fool for praying that Naoya might say something - anything - else. Wishing for the non-existent good in your soon-to-be fiancé, who only grits out a displeased, “Fine. Only because I want to see her pretty lil’ face when I break her to my will.” There’s the sound of urgent footsteps, “But if father doesn’t give me the throne for my efforts then I’m killing her and you, you brute.”
Stood stock still.
Gojo doesn’t think he could move even if he wanted to - and right now, ice-cold spikes of anger were the only thing latching him rooted to the spot, not even flinching once Naoya closes the door behind him and walks- seeing him.
His jaw clenches, eyes harrowing. “You.”
And Naoya had very clearly taken the opportunity to arm himself in his family chamber, because his spindly fingers itch towards the hilt of his dangerously glinting sword. Just seconds away from-
“Please.”
Gojo drops onto one knee, the tendons of his neck aching with how far downwards he had it bent into a pitiful bow. “I ask his highness to please let the princess go- to call off this impending engagement. I- I will bear the brunt of committing an offense, and will gladly take any punishment that is bestowed upon me. I just please beg of you to-”
“The same hand.”
“What?” Gojo forces himself to look up with tear-filled eyes, to face the prince squarely in his chestnut gaze. His delighted chestnut gaze.
Pointing towards his right hand, “The same hand you were to raise your sword at me, the same hand you used to put that wretched toxic flower crown on me-” And then his blade, “-I order you to repent.”
The other man breathes, “Repent…”
“Repent.” Naoya stands up taller, perhaps the most self-confident that Gojo has ever seen him. A barbarous curl of his lips starting to form, “Repent, and I shall consider ending my engagement with the princ-”
CRUNCH!
Pain. Blinding pain was all that Gojo could feel, and…relief.
He couldn’t even register the steady trickle of warm crimson on his skin and onto the floor in rose-like splotches - even though he could see it through bleary eyes. Head still spinning to catch up with the nanosecond events of drawing his sword and slicing a wide gash down his forearm.
Through half-lidded eyes, he puts back his bloodied blade into the scabbard and looks up at the stricken prince.
Repentance.
“So you love her.” Is all that Naoya hisses. And Gojo can’t lie, nor can he muddy your name.
So he simply waits quietly, silence speaking enough for eons. Waiting for you to be set free. And if he tried, he could even manage a smile-
Sniffing insolently - though, it sounded more like a snicker. “How valiant, for a low-born.” All that is said before he spits furiously at Gojo’s feet and breezes past in a swish of capes - as if nothing ever happened. “I might even invite you to the princess and I’s wedding ceremony.”
.
.
.
In a palace of thousands, it was only Gojo Satoru that could manage to stand out.
None of the royal jesters could make the court laugh quite as loud. None of the other knights - no matter how muscled, or chivalrous - could make the ladies-in-waiting swoon just as much. And none of the other reputable men could make you seek him out in every chamber, state room, or training ground just like this.
It was strange not to see even the barest glimpse of Gojo for an entire day, and the palace didn’t quite feel like a home without him.
“I’m telling you, Nobara–” You’re wheezing out in condensed puffs as your eager right-hand attendant continues mercilessly tightening away the undergarments of your ballgown. “Something’s probably happened to him or-”
“-or he’s being locked up for offending some uppity duke.” She’s rolling her honeypool eyes, one of the few who wasn’t afraid to express themselves this way in front of you. Flitting about the opulent dressing room you rarely liked to use, “You know how that eugh- Gojo is.”
“Which is precisely why I’m worried.”
Honestly, you didn’t even care for a grand ball when you didn’t know where your best friend was. Whether he was in the dungeons or…worse.
But Nobara wasn’t here to hear you ramble about Gojo Satoru - you oftentimes got the impression that he irritated her too much for her own liking - she was here to doll you up in costly pale blue silks and muslins that draped off of you prettier than a painting.
And you felt dizzy by the time she let you be escorted off towards the emanating music of the ballroom - with an excited goodbye and a reluctant promise to keep an eye out for Gojo.
Hair done more intricately than you could’ve even imagined, your jewelry caught every light in the room, a bejeweled flower tiara weighing heavily on your head. Adorning your face in a crown that reminded you of the one Gojo had made you only a few days ago.
It was almost a struggle to keep your face held high as you took the first few steps down the winding imperial staircase. To the ball.
You have to stop yourself from tilting your head down at the thrumming masses of decadently dressed-up nobles and clinking champagne to check whether Gojo was hidden away somewhere down there.
Manners. Posture. Eye contact.
It was all painfully practised, and so was the tightening of your features as your own father started reading off your introduction. He never took on this task - what was happening?
“And now, for the most important guest of all-” Booming voice thundering in your ears almost as loud as your heartbeat was. The king addresses the congregation in the middle of the dancefloor, more ruler than father at this point. “-my daughter, princess of our beloved kingdom. And the queen of the next!”
Your hand stills where it had been helping you balance in your heels down the stairway- what?
Thankfully, your father carries on - or rather, not thankfully, considering what his next words are.
“Yes, my people, this may come as a surprise to you all.” He chuckles above the deafening murmurs, and you slowly find yourself scurrying onto the raised platform your father’s throne was seated on. “But tonight is not only a simple celebration of our nation, it’s a celebration of love. Of two nations.”
There’s a beat of silence as he reaches out a withered hand to you, and you find yourself wordlessly taking it.
“F-father, what-” you whisper, but there’s no response. Your skin bristles with goosebumps, and you’re not sure whether it’s from the summer breeze wafting from the gardens, or from the speech’s implications.
Letting yourself be pulled right into the middle of the stage,right into the spotlight - where Naoya Zenin was waiting for you. Dressed in his finest suit of white silk, adorned with layers upon layers of military accolades and velvety medals.
The bright, blazing light of the chandelier was scorching, and your hands clench in unease. What was happening?
“That is right, my people.” The king drags your hand up to mesh in an entwinement with Naoya’s clammy ones, holding it up for the eager public to see. “After much consideration and forethought, our royal families have decided that today my daughter is the beloved princess of our nation. But tomorrow, she will be the future queen of the Zenin kingdom.”
There’s cheering - but you can’t hear any of it. In fact, the entire world could be falling upon you and you don’t think you would have noticed.
All you can feel is the queasy churning of your stomach, and the stern whisper of Naoya’s voice against your ear. Fingers tightening around your own, bruisingly. “Dance with me before I break this pretty hand, princess.”
You’re like a ragdoll, being puppeteered in a rigid beeline onto the dance floor.
If it wasn’t for one of Naoya’s hands bracing onto your waist, you wouldn’t even have realized that the royal orchestra had started up a gorgeous waltz. A slow, romantic melody that you might’ve otherwise loved if you weren’t trapped in the arms of a fiancé you never asked for.
“Looking pretty out of it there, princess.” The prince sneers after a few practised motions of your dance, making your dazed eyes stray from the swooning crowd and onto his pointed features.
And despite it all, you can’t help but feel betrayed. You thought that the two of you might have rapport at your obligation, if nothing else. “You- you didn’t even tell me. An entire engagement and you didn’t even bother to-”
“As a husband, I don’t owe my tch- wife anything.” His nose crinkles at your wandering eyes, the way your feet itched ever-closer to the surrounding people rather than the dancefloor. “Wishing it was someone else dancing with you?”
“Yes.” You’re spitting out before you can stop, trying oh-so-hard not to let your face twist into even a semblance of the fury steeped inside of you. “Anyone but a husband that I never wanted and never will want.”
“As if you deserve any bett-”
Your nails dig into one set of his fingers enough to engrave deep craters, almost enough to make him bleed. “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on Earth.”
Naoya seems stunned for a few seconds - but, alas, just when you’re hoping that you’ve shut him up for good, you’re faced with the fact that the universe isn’t that kind to you.
“You mean you would marry the tch- low-born.” He pulls you into an incredibly rough twirl when the music crescendos, pulling you even closer. It’s all you can do to not fight his grip- “I’m not below finishing off his other hand if that’s what it takes to break you.”
“What are you even talking about?”
Each word jagged. “The knight. You love him, don’t act stupid.”
Raising your chin in defiance, “So what?” And just as much as confusion filled you, as did panic. Because Naoya’s grip was only getting firmer, his moves much harsher. Opening his mouth to spit out-
“Pardon me, your highnesses.” A deep bass cuts in, startled- you almost give yourself whiplash peering up into those fathomless mahogany eyes. Yaga’s thin brows furrowing into something heavily-set, “May I cut in for a dance with the princess?”
You don’t wait for an answer from Naoya - and neither does Commander Yaga. Swiftly sweeping you into his engulfing embrace as the orchestra changes into something slightly more upbeat.
Dressed in a thick suit adorned with even more medals than Naoya - ones you knew for sure were real, unlike his. And you couldn’t help but wonder just how good Gojo would look with his own.
“So…” Yaga starts, once more couples join the floor and his words can’t be heard over the shuffling of feet by anyone other than you. His calloused hands let you lead him through a waltz much more mellow than what Naoya had with you. You always did think that the leader of your knights was a gentle giant. “Begging you to forgive my indiscretion, ma’am but ah- trouble in paradise?”
“Trouble in hell, as expected.” You’re shuddering, gaze bouncing off of any flash of sapphire blue around the room.
The man in front of you nods gravely, “Right right. I might not be a married man, but even I know that times like these often call for a walk in the lilac garden. You know, to- ah, clear your head.”
Quirking a brow, you stare at him. “What?”
And oh, Yaga simply looked like all the gold in the world couldn’t pay him enough for this.
“Times like these-” He’s emphasizing, boring deeply into your eyes as if to mean every syllable to strike your very core. And it does. You don’t know why, but it does. “-call for a walk in the lilac garden.”
Oh.
“Oh.”
Yaga’s lips twitch upwards into an almost-smile, and his rumbling voice is soft for the next few words. “Go, your highness.”
So you do.
You’re realizing, with an ache of such gentle appreciation, that the commander had danced you two until you were practically teetering on the massive veranda. Open to the garden; where every prim hedge, bush, and tree was gorgeously decorated until your eyes sparkled.
Your breath bates…a choice. Head turning back to the luxuries of a royal ball that was none-the-wiser.
Then, with a brief hug you bully Yaga into, you run - as much as the delicate heels digging into your feet would allow. Faster.
If this was any other time, you might’ve felt disappointed at how you weren’t even stopping to admire the beauty of the moonlight-bathed garden. But right now, your heart was only pounding to go faster and faster.
Nothing else mattered.
Gojo was leaning on one pillar of the same white gazebo - and he was beautiful. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he was a faerie of the night.
Just a lone, tall silhouette that you could recognize so well; azure eyes twinkling, ivory strands of his hair shimmering with the silvery blue of the moon swimming amongst a dark sky. One he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of until he jolts his head towards the sharp snap! of a twig underneath your rapid feet.
“My…my princess.” He falls onto one knee.
It all comes out in a whisper - as if Gojo had dreamed of this moment so many repeated times before and wasn’t sure if this was a dream, too.
“Satoru-!”
It wasn’t.
Gojo stands up to embrace you like it’d be the last time he ever would, like you were the one thing connecting him to this life and he was a dying man desperate to breathe.
Strong arms winding around your waist, you’re pushed against one of the closed-off walls of the gazebo before you can even realize it. Arching off of the cool wooden surface and into his blistering heat. Into every ravenous, panted-out cloud of breath against your ear, “You came.”
He sounded pained. And you were sure you did just as much when you’re whimpering, “You disappeared.”
Gojo lets off a choked-up noise that could’ve been anything from affirmation to blatant shock. Half-lidded eyes boring deeply into yours, he shrugs off the jacket on his non-dominant arm to you with a low bow.
“May I have this dance, my princess?”
You’re gasping at the sight of starchy white bandages around his other hand, fingers hesitantly falling into Gojo’s heated flesh. “S-Satoru, what happened ah-”
But he drifts you gently into a soundless dance, the distant crickets and swish! of lilac branches your only tune.
And you never even understood just how much Gojo was a part of your life until he was moving through the exact same steps of waltzing that you’d learned growing up. The exact same once that you used to force him to sit through.
“I thought you were here because you read my letter.” Gojo mutters, lips so close now that they grazed the sensitive shell of your ear.
You’re having trouble finding your voice, “What letter?”
“The- the one that I left-” Just for you. His long lashes flutter open in shock, features contorted into something almost devastated. You wonder what made him feel this way. “-the one that I left in your chambers- about the- the prince, and the engagement and-”
“I got prepared for the ball in the dressing room today, I didn’t go to my room.” You’re continuing, voice small. Scared. “Satoru…you knew about the engagement?”
And Gojo’s voice told you everything you needed to know.
You feel your angry flare up hot and red, fists curling into Gojo’s delicate lapels. But that only proves to inch him even closer and make you sound much more breathless than you intended, “You knew about it and- and you didn’t even think to give me a hint that I was being carted off like a prize for some pompous asshat?”
He looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, lips still so pink in the night, wobbling. “I…I couldn’t let you be married, I just couldn’t. I would give my life if it meant you get the freedom to choose who you wanted.” Your dance had stalled, and you almost feel disappointed. “But I’m a coward, and this-” Gojo throws his hands across, voice hitching, “-sneaking around, hiding, running away is the only way I could ever-”
“You should have told me. Not just in the letter.” You’re insisting, running your hands through your hair. Suddenly, something strikes you, “That arm- it’s because of Naoya, isn’t it?”
He doesn’t even have the energy to protest, and that only spurs you on even more. “I-I could have talked to my father- maybe the council and we could have made it so that…”
“So that what?” Gojo’s voice hardens as much as it could with you, which wasn’t very much at all. His fists clench and unclench at his sides like it was taking everything in him to not just…“So that you can be the laughingstock of the kingdom when you marry a low-born knight?”
He was right. They would never accept him, no matter how much you did.
You’re rendered speechless, shivering at the way he rubs his wet eyes with the back of his hand. “Oh, I don’t want you- I need you.” And he was so beautiful like this, just centimeters away from you in the escape of the night. “I need you. I need you, I need you- I need you more than the sun above my head, and the air that I breathe, my princess. You have bewitched me, and I am yours. But you cannot be mine-”
You breathe out, “Satoru…”
“-and maybe in another life-”
“Maybe in this one.”
Soft hands rover their way onto the sides of your arms, and Gojo shakes you feebly as if to snap you out of this hypnosis and urge you to run. Eyes wide, yearning. “I have always been yours, body and soul.”
You always have wondered whether there was a method to shut Gojo Satoru up. And, right now, you think you may have found the perfect answer.
Because his entire towering figure just melts into your touch the very second you press your lips onto Gojo’s plump ones. Soft. Velvety.
His nostrils flare through a breathy sigh when you tilt your head mere sultry degrees to deepen the kiss. You were addicted to the honey-coated taste of him, the flat drag of his scratchy tastebuds rolling over your loosening maw.
“Ngh- my princess…” He’s puncturing your kisses with kiss after sloppy kiss, heavy hands wrapping around your body to wrangle you flush against his hardened ones. And you could count every glissade of his washboard abs through that thin poet’s blouse, “I love you.”
You’re not sure if it’s a fragment of your imagination, or- it’s not.
Gojo manhandles you - and himself - to sit on the opulent gazebo bench with you plopped into his manspread lap, without breaking the kiss for a split-second. Because it hurt to part from your pretty, candied lips, to let those slippery strings of saliva break in the clouded air between you two.
Even if it was to purr out—
“I love you I love you I love you-” The straight edges of his pearly white teeth sinking into your lower lip, groaning from the back of his throat. And your jittery legs shift needily on his warm, meaty thighs, “-I love you.”
“Satoru—” Just about the only thing that you can say right about now, your tone resounds in Gojo’s ears and makes him grunt. Your fingers tangle into his cushy locks, “T-touch me.”
He snickers, one hand clawing onto the crown of your sweat-dampened scalp and wrenching your face away until you’re huffing and puffing cutely for more. “Mmm, how about we use those princess-y manners of yours, hm?”
“Please-”
“Louder.”
“Please.”
“Harlot.” Gojo slides in a looong few digits past those impossibly endless skirts of yours, making your thighs dampen with treacly webs of needy slick. Letting those doughy fingerpads fringe over the covered mound of your pussy, just the very edges. “That was my f-first kiss, y’know?”
He had been hopelessly saving it for you, after all.
Your eyes roll all the way to the back of your weighted lids as soon as he teases you, mewling. “Was mine too, so we’re even-” Your hips shift in a lazy back n’ forth on top of his heated core, “-just- just want you to touch me.”
“I dunno…” Gojo drawls - drunken. And you feel the edges of his kiss-bitten lips warp around the very tip of your plummy tongue to suck on like his favorite gummy candy, “Wanna kiss my princess just a lil’ bit more.”
Panting, “K-kiss?”
“Mhm.”
Your eyes shutter in a heady blink, oh-so-cutely ready to crash back into a filthy, filthy French kiss once more, Gojo pulls away-
A noise of disappointment fresh on your lips and just about to spill out, before he lifts you up easily with only a single beefy hand underneath your body. Splaying you out on the sprawling wooden table right beside you, your back hits the ice-cold surface and makes you gasp into the crisp night air.
The lecherous sound of it almost as loud as the sudden clack! of Gojo’s knees collapsing down onto the floor. Your face contorts into a wince because surely it sent a stinging pain up his legs?
“M’quite used to being on my knees for you, my princess.”
But he didn’t seem to care - didn’t even seem to notice when he was much more enamored with the heavenly sight down there.
“These lips-” He smears away your lacy layers upon layers, budging up to nuzzle the soft skin of your inner thighs. And shit- the filmy glaze over his eyes told you that Gojo doesn’t even realize the way his bubblegum pink tongue lolls out over the splotchy spatters of your juices. “-were tellin’ me they feel a little…left out.”
Your mouth waters with a syrupy lamination of saliva as soon as his murked breath strikes your cunt. And the drag of his rumbling bass is so delicious – you couldn’t help but imagine just how it would feel on you.
“Just- just get it on with it-” you’re hissing, fingers latching onto a few thick locks of ivory to drudge him ever-closer.
“Impatient.”
As if Gojo himself wasn’t impatient.
As if he wasn’t just leaking out thick wads of drool from the parted sides of his twisted grin at just the thought of tasting you. Sliding the pointed tip of his button nose languidly up the crevice of your puffed-up slit, he breathes you in and feels his cock twitch-
“Oh, princess.” Gojo can’t move, he can’t breathe if it wasn’t around your needy cunt right now. He’s ignoring those shooting bites of pain up the sides of his arm to tug on your useless garments.
Pulling- shit, he always did fucking hate how many layers you royalty had to wear.
Pulling and pulling until the slow trawl of your undergarments by his nimble fingers wasn’t enough, and he just had to lunge his cottony head over to plummet his pearly whites into your panties and rip—!
A proper, gaping hole where your teary pussy was- and you looked even more gorgeous down there than he could’ve imagined.
Gojo’s face was blank, eyes wide and locked right at your geysering orifice like a man starved. For eons it felt like, until you were bucking up with pure need.
You’re humming in concern, struggling up onto your elbows to stare down at him. “Sa…Toru?”
And at your pretty voice, Gojo twitches. He gasps - full-bodied, like you’d just sent a zillion volts of shock down his sloped spine just by speaking to him. And he was well and fully intent on acting on it-
“Princess…princess princess princess—” Leaking from between his lips like he couldn’t stop, he hits the cute target of your cunt instantaneously with a fat thud of spittle, one. Two. Three, until your entrance was overflooding. He’s drawling the plummy end of his spit-glossed maw across your folds, “Oh, my princess. Just look at you.”
You feel his mess drool off the side of your plumpened pussylips and smear all across your peaked clit with only a simple touch of Gojo’s round-ended thumb.
Just down-right filthy when he crashes forward to slot the curvaceous nub of his sweltering hot tongue over the brim of your hole. Drawing all over that snug orifice with slow patterns round n’ round-
“Toru–!” It’s the only thing you know at this point. “Toru.”
“Whaaat? Jealous, my princess?” The words clang in your head- and the realization hits you at the same moment Gojo’s thickly viscous swab of spit does on your own tongue. A soft nudge at your slackened chin urging you to swallow-
And he can’t waste a second, can’t spend even a mere moment away from his favorite spot between your legs. Because now that Gojo got a taste, he wants alllll of it.
Stumbling back down in haste to plant so many uncountable smooches on your bawling pussy folds. Skimming his tastebuds just along your quivering hole.
“Shit- shiiiit–” When you’d heard court ladies giggling about this, you didn’t think it would feel this good. Or maybe that’s just because it was Gojo stuffing himself impossibly deeper between your legs. “M-more, Toru–”
Your voice was cracking just as much as his fucking sanity was.
Trilling out into frenzied shrills when Gojo swerves his eager thumb to pry open your gluey folds even further and give your fattened clit a flick!
You swear you feel Gojo depart his jaw with a giggle when your hips are bucking up pliably off the splintered table and into the bustling hot cavern of his mouth. More. “Easy there, your royal highness-”
“D-don’t call me that–” You’re whimpering, fingers tugging on Gojo’s bangs in some form of retaliation. But, of course it backfires on you just as soon as the force makes your knight moan.
“Wasn’t calling you that.” Gojo rolls his eyes, and your heart races in anticipation when the pointed edge of his chin strikes the drowned ends of your cunt. Lathering his pretty features in all the collective beads of slick raining fountaining out of you. His summer blue eyes flick downwards - and you can’t help but follow. “Was talking to her. Isn’t that right?”
Fuck.
You were fucked.
And you were losing your mind when Gojo drags you roughly towards the edge of the table with only an ounce of his strength. Mouth making out greedily, heels digging into the fleshy mounds of his back, you can only sob and beg for more more more-
“S’fuckin’ chattier than my girl.” He’s nodding along with every saturated squelch after squelch! resonating in his eardrums - as if it was a full-on conversation with your noisy pussy. “Let’s hope that fiancé of yours doesn’t hah- f-fucking hear.”
But Gojo was acting like he wanted him to.
“Hope the- the king doesn’t find his princess bein’ eaten out by- ngh- a knight.” Barrelling long, slender inches of his index and pointer past your tight ring of mushy muscle.
Your head throws back when he digs into the velvety depths of your pussy with just a single quirk-
“O-oh my god, Satoru–” You’re gasping in the flowery night air, tummy aching with every pump deeper because he was just so close to where you wanted him. “More- j-just a bit more.”
And yet, he acts like he doesn’t even hear you right now.
Cupping over one massive palm over his ear and drifting ever-closer, “Wha’s that? C-can’t hear ya, girl- ngh ya gotta be- louder.”
Louder and louder he was getting with the vulgarly fast thrust graced upon your gummy walls. The sound only makes him giggle all drunk on you, “What’s that? Here? That turn you on? Hmmm…”
And just when you’re letting your vision blur with stars- just when you think it couldn’t get any better-
“Mmmm– wan’ another taste-”
It’s the last thing your ringing ears hear before Gojo’s lurching forwards and burying his nose into your sensitive clit to give your overstuffed entrance a leeengthy lick. Right at the very split-second the globular edges of his digits scratch at that magical spot.
“W-woah.” Your head snaps up blearily to steal a glimpse at what had Gojo Satoru’s voice so airy n’ cracking in awe.
Only to see him fluttering his lathered lashes, the slick-gleaming apples of his cheeks blushing. Like some maiden in love. “Got even wetter f’me, your highness.” He’s breathing out, spitting out another voluminous cobweb of drivel and watching the way it sliiides across with the ribbons of slick pouring out of you. “Ohhhh, even b-better than any candy- better than a-any dessert.”
You yelp when one rugged and grabs a rough handful of your ass and latches his lips even sloppier against your hole. “T-Toru your arm!”
“Oh? This?” He’s glancing down at the bandages as if he’d forgotten they were ever there. “S’nothing for your- hah- personal knight. Doesn’t even hurt, I’d- I’d rather die than let a stupid injury get in the way of what I’ve been dreaming of for aaaages.”
The dual points of pleasure make your toes curl, every part of your body shaking-
Gojo was out of control now. Crazed.
High-pitched bouts of giggles escaping him, muffling around where his candy-glazed cerise lips were latched around your clit and sucking. He makes sure to hold fatal eye contact while he hollows out his scorching cheeks and drags the fleshy nub.
“M-making out with your pussy- your pretty, pretty pussy, my princess.” Your heartbeat echoes in rapid staccato with the vicious thud! thud! thud! of his neatly crowned fingertips pecking your g-spot. Each of his puffed-out gruffs making your tongue loosen in a please, “Making you s-so loud, making you feel so good.”
And without even realizing it, he’s rovering the papping brims of his fingers to give your clit a spank. Letting the syrupy beads slide allll the way down his tongue - letting you watch.
“S’all me.” Gojo slurs out. “Me- me me me me–” Steady rivulets of slick bubbling from the edges of his tongue when his sinful motions get faster. Harder. “Gonna ask who m-made you feel this way n’ it’s me. Your Satoru.”
More ravenous.
Swirling around slow probes of his sensory tips, it glazes his skin all the way down to his knobbly wrist in a thick coat of sap. Memorizing every gooey ridge and crevice inside your tight channel - shit, Gojo feels his ruddied tip spurt out a jetstream of buttery pre in his pants.
He thinks he might just burst in his pants if you don’t finish right this second.
But luckily - or unluckily - for him, you do. Right this very second, after being wrung dry underneath only a few more lapping slashes of his ferocious tongue, tweaking your buttony clit until you cum.
And oh, you’re so pretty when you do.
Your head throwing back with a broken moan of Toru–! It takes every ounce of trained will in his drunken body to not break off from your gooey pussy and watch the way your beautiful face twists.
Fucked out.
“O-oh, shit–” You’re practically sobbing at this point, wrist aching with just how hard you were pushing Gojo’s readily used face into your fluttering core. Your vision blurs with sparks n’ stars, “-H-how are you so good. Unfair, unfair—”
Babbling away such nonsense with that smart mouth of yours, Gojo thinks he sees utter heaven when your hot juices flood inside his mouth in generous heaps.
Lugging down an open palm underneath his chin to greedily collect the leaking beads that sprinkly in a shiny sheen off of his chin, he finds himself moaning. “Shhh, your knight’s here. Give it t’me– use me, my princess.”
And use him you were.
Riding out each white-hot peak of your high with slobbering grinds all across Gojo’s beautiful features. Your clit catches on the poking ridges of his mouth and nose and you squeal- “Ngh- b-better when you’re shut up like th-this, Satoru–”
Just for that, he’s spanking your goopy pussy thoroughly.
All the way until those shots of electricity down your bowed spine are nothing more but prickly tingles, all the way until your thundering ears calm down and you can hear each damp thwack!
All the way until your high has bated and yet, Gojo is still snogging each swollen fold of your pussy like a feast. “M’sensitive–” You sniffle, and he doesn’t even seem to hear you. “Fuh-fuck, Toru, keep doing that n’ m’not gonna let you ngh fuck me.”
That’s what finally gets his attention.
You can feel your lips burst with a slight giggle when all it takes is a quick nanosecond for Gojo’s plumpened mouth to jerk away from your cunt with the snap! of wiry slick.
Scrambling onto unsteady feet, he’s teetering over the edge of the wood ever-so-slightly. Muscular body casting a shadow on yours, and you think he’s never looked sexier.
Fawny strands of frosty white curtaining Gojo’s half-lidded eyes, thick thighs pressing against yours shivering; and even from your position homed towards the end of the table, your eyes catch sight of such a massively outlined bulge.
Staggering.
One that made your hands ghost down Gojo’s tensed abs, and he’s throwing his perspiration-dampened head with a whine.
“Need you, Satoru–” You’re managing out, strangled and messy. You’re sure you sound just as yearning as you feel. Fingers tug-tug-tugging impatiently on his gauzy clothes, “Want- you- out of these-”
And whatever the princess wants, the princess gets.
It’s as if on command - Gojo’s shedding his billowy shirt like it burned him. And very, very soon were his snug pants to follow, your layers, his sanity-
“Hngh- please.” He’s gruffing out, flinching just as soon as you cup his cheeks to smear away the remaining traces of slick glimmering on top of his blushing skin. Your touch was electric. Tonality painfully hoarse, “Let me fuck you- wanted it for so long. Let me fuck you please.”
Your drenched pussylips stream out a damp spot right across where you could feel his inflated vein poke between your folds. And he felt so…long. “Yes- yes, please.”
Getting the princess to say please?
He’s nodding his head shakily - Gojo could pass out, he could cu-
Oh, just a few taps of his mushroom tip on the outer edges of your pussy and he spots something creamy topping over your mound like icing. Sweat-slicked brows furrowing, Gojo nudges in even closer to where pooling splotches of cum pours from the strawberry pink divot right in the middle of his head.
He’s cumming and he couldn’t stop.
Couldn’t do anything but whine at the tender bolts of bliss aching all the way from his toes to his fuzzy head.
“S-Satoru did you just-”
“Shut up.” Oh, you would have his head later for this. “Shut up- shut up and just…”
N’ so he curls a hand at his bulky base and draws out a thick swab at the torrents of seed decorating your cute cunt. Making sure the milky sap formulated a glossy cap on his crownhead, before pushing rigorously in-
“F-f-fuuuuck–” he keens out, a thin line of sweat trekking down the side of his temples. And if he pushed just an inch further, Gojo could feel his hooded eyes well up with fucking tears- “Tight so tight s-sooo hot- so…”
You’re mewling, “Deeper- c-c’mon.”
He was fucking you like he didn’t even realize it - like he was enchanted by each mindless rut pulled from the carnal depths of his hips.
Two warm hands latch on in a vice-like grip on the delicious curve of your hips, and he’s holding your body still and pushing and pushing and pushing-
“Sh-shit!” Gojo’s voice pitches up embarrassingly high at the end of his slew of swears, buttering up your insides in a muggy few ribbons of pre in response. “But s-so tight- dunno if it’ll even…even fit.”
He sounded hypnotized.
“Are you- ngh! are you alright, Satoru?” You’re musing out, eyes glassy with a solid combination of lust and utter concern. Before you know it, your hand is reaching out to stroke the ba-dump–! thudding against his pecs.
“No.”
And it takes only the slightest graze of your doughy fingerpads against his flaming hot skin, the slightest touch from you before Gojo rudely swats your hand away and bottoms out-
You don’t even know what you were mad at- were you mad?
You really can’t even remember. Not when the crowned tip of Gojo’s incredible length was planting a sweet peck right into the sponged ends of your cervix, the entirety of his shaft spearheading you so deep that you think he might just be fucking into your lungs.
So big that he didn’t even have to try to rub the puffy zig-zag of his veins along your sweetest spots, even the most minute gyrations made your toes curl.
Splitting you apart. Stroking the weepy base of your slit with the hot, rounded sack of his breeder balls so right that it made you putty in his hands.
“Don’t t-touch me, my princess.” Gojo’s nuzzling his tear-stuck cheek against your own, you could feel the warble of his unsteady confessions. “Don’t touch me or I’ll…I’ll cum.”
And when has Gojo Satoru ever lied to you? Well, the upturned jolt of his split-ended tip right into the target of your mushy cervix told you that he wasn’t.
Gojo’s sinking down the edges of his teeth into his wobbly lower lip, he’s forcing his eyes to narrow down n’ obscure his crystal clear image of you to stop himself from cumming.
“So beautiful, can’t help it–” His breath hitches once he’s pushing apart your trembly thighs and stretching them over the two ends of his broad shoulders. Your ankles pitching down onto the rippling plush of his toned deltoids. “So perfect.”
“S-sweet-talker.” You whisper, mouth as dry as the Sahara with how his thick circumference was stretching out your rubbery walls until they were seering.
But if Gojo heard then he didn’t snap back - he was too pussydrunken to.
Moving on instinct, on that carnal twinge inside his brain that forced his powerful limbs to lock your ankles with one hand behind his head. To brace an engulfing palm right beside your head and lower himself down, down, down into a-
A mating press.
Gojo Satoru had you in a fucking mating press.
“So mine.”
And he was pounding all his aching inches into you like it would be the last time. Like he was mazing through your adhesive-like walls and plummeting the leaky end of his cock to knock against your very womb.
Gojo’s nose crinkles at the sheer warmth you were coating him in, dripping fresh slathers of slick in rings ‘round his hilt. He shivers as it drools down his tight balls, “I’m…I’m really fucking you- ngh! I’m fucking you, my princess.”
“Yes- yes yes yes—” Your mouth parts ajar, and you don’t know what it floods more with - your pathetic whines, or saliva. Coating a treacly river from each curl of your lips, “More. More, Toru.”
Oh.
You might have just broken him with that.
Even through your fucked-out stupor, you’re gaping at the way that the hand beside your head curls into an unyielding fist. It has to.
Otherwise, Gojo’s plump cockhead would be sugarcoating your sloppy hole in much more than just copious amounts of sticky precum. He would’ve cum.
“M-more?” You hear from above you, your knight’s bulging pecs vibrating with the plea. Oh, was it a plea - strained, shaking. Gojo sounded as if he was two seconds away from simply bursting into crazed laughter, “More…more. My princess wants- fuck! More?”
Fat ends of his fingers lock around the sides of your cheeks and force you into such an unladylike pout. “Say it- say it, little royal.”
“Shit!” Your core arches up into his hardened one, just as Gojo knew it would when angling his hips juuust right to give your bulging g-spot a long, hard swipe. Your throbbing clit scratching against his pale happy trail. “Yes- ngh yes I want more. Want more, Satoru!”
More.
And more was exactly what you were going to get. More than you could handle.
Your thighs ache with the struggle to stay open when Gojo tightens his lock around your ankles. Gruffing out a tight, “Take it then.”
He was so sexy, the swelling flex of his biceps enough to make your pussy drool and him slip n’ slide pliantly. Jackhammering away rugged pumps that you feel all the way in your leaden throat.
Your most favorite spots are so bruised that they’re almost tender, curling the base of your spine with tendrils of bliss that make you yelp.
“O-ohhh my god—” The side of his neck dampens as you’re leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses that make the man pinning you down shiver. His sculpted abs twinging with every massage down your front, “Just like that, a-always wanted to fuck you, Toru–”
“Do you even hear yourself?” Gojo hiccups, the expression upon his features plain pained. Voice dipping into a whine, “Don’t know what y-you’re doing t’me.”
But now that you were babbling away, you couldn’t stop. Not even when he’s speeding up his vigorous cadence until the globes of your ass are left stinging, “M’serious– I always wanted-”
“Shut up shut up- shut up- my princess.” You don’t think that either of you were even lucid at this point, and every pap! of skin-on-skin is followed by the screeching creak of the table below you. Gojo rolls his eyes down at you fondly, “Gotta m-make you cum so you can shut up.”
Otherwise you were going to drive him wild until there’s no turning back.
Before you can let off a moan - or fervently agree - he thumbs over the perked hood of your clit. Drawing- circles? Hearts? No, his own name.
A tedious little S-A-T-O-R-U that makes your gushing walls clench oh-so-tightly around his sweltering length. Tummy tightening into something so close to shattering.
And Gojo was rough. Snickering at the way you whine, spilling out wadded volumes of spittle between your parted lips. He breathes, “Gonna make you cum- g-gonna make my princess cum.” You swear he nods down at your pussy and grins, “G-gotta be a good girl f’me, m’kay? Gonna be a good- girl- and…”
His hips slap sloppily against yours, overworked thumb stuttering on a swooping U over your sensitive nub. And the tension in the air pulls tight, tight, tight like the most delicate of strings, before crashing- “-cum.”
You don’t know who cums first - you or Gojo.
All you know is that as soon as your mind explodes with bursts of bliss - his poor cock does, as well.
Head toppling backwards, overfilled pussy slopping out waterfalls of sweet, sweet juices, it’s all you can do not to sob.
“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck fuck-” Your nails rake red, red lines all down his expansive back. Pulling him in even closer until all he can manage are dirty lil’ half-thrusts to pound you through your high. “M’cumming, Toru-”
“Y-yeah?” Gojo’s stuttering wetly, sloppily. Pushing the fat battering of his fountaining orifice into the groove of your g-spot over n’ over n’ over. You didn’t know how anything could feel so good. “N’ who made you cum, hm? Who’s f-fucking this pretty pussy, hm?”
“You-” You’re prattling, “You, Satoru.”
“Fuck.” Gojo gapes in wide-eyed craze, breath hitching when you lean over to drag your tongue over the sappy trickle of drool escaping his rose-red lips. “G-gonna make me cum again, swear-”
And he does.
“Can- can we hold hands while I hck! fuck you through your high, my princess?” He bats his lashes, a delicate blush taking over the tips of Gojo’s ears when you lace your fingers together.
You can feel the splat! of even more heavy seed hitting the bottom of your pussy, swashing a warm second coating to your elastic walls every time Gojo thrusts. He was so solidly inside. Pinpointing specks of pure white with each swab.
So full. So much of his voluminous ounces that it’s taken to tipping over from between your pussylips and forming a creamy puddle below you. You’re slipping all over it with every slither of Gojo’s cock.
But neither of you can even think to bring yourselves to be disgusted. To care for etiquette.
Because Gojo drifts his hand over an invisible line where your tummy was being bloated with his length and his cum- and you find yourself aching for more all over again.
“This looks…” Gojo starts, syllables scratchy and jagged. He’s practically whimpering - whimpering - at the sight of that lecherous cylindrical bulge being fucked into you.
You’re dripping with him, and his cock twitches ferally at the thought of you all round and glowing. What a pretty mama you’d make. “...looks like the n-next heir to the throne will be a Gojo, my princess.”
Oh, you liked the thought of that.
And looking at Gojo Satoru now - eyes still not fully focused with how ruined he was, skin blushed the same maidenly shade of red that his slobbering mushroom tip was, pretty smile directed at you and only you in this lilac-scented haze - you didn’t think you wanted it any other way.
But, of course, Gojo would never want it any other way, either. Never.
He clears his throat, sapphire gaze hardening; the intensity of it sending chills sprinting down your spine. Burning with a fervent I love you I love you I love you.
Massive hands intertwined with yours pull into your line of vision, and Gojo takes his dear time pressing a lingering peck onto each n’ every single one of your knuckles. But particularly on the one above your left ring finger.
This was it.
“My princess…run away with me?”
.
.
.
“Didya hear ‘bout that Prince Naoya?”
“Oh yes- had his bride stolen away by a knight, I hear. Put a knife to his throat n’ took her away in the dead of night!”
“Hogwash! The boy was a looker, she went quite willingly, see- I always did think that Naoya wasn’t good ‘nough for our princess.”
“Wonder what happened after? That Zenin bunch was quite furious I hear, that bratty prince is still out for blood. But ol’ Naobito and some commander came to the rescue- Somethin’ about corruption and Jinichi…”
“Bah! Who cares about that? S’the biggest royal affair of the century- a handsome knight sweeping away the beloved princess? They’re swoonin’ n’ calling him the Knight of Roses already. All I wanna know is how the young couple is doing!”
Yaga rolls his eyes at other rambunctious customers churning gossip-mill, a pint clutched tightly in one hand and a scrap of paper in the other.
Honestly, he comes to the pub for once to escape from palace duties - and the palace duties seem to want to escape with him!
And even after so many months since that engagement party fiasco? News really did trickle down slowly when royal scandals were so often covered.
Oh, whatever. He muses, thumb gliding over the glossy parchment- some new innovation from kingdoms beyond the sea, according to what the eagerly-accompanied writing had said. A…a photograph, you had called it.
And Gojo’s surprisingly intricate drawing of you fiddling with the ah- camera gave him an idea of the machinery, though- most of the sketches were of you. All of them, actually.
Yaga gazes on in slight wonderment at the perfect black and white depiction of your smile, rivalling the one of Gojo Satoru’s beside yours. Beaming, sleeves rolled up and fatigued with a day of hard work, so in love.
It was oh-so-positively sweet.
The cherry on top? Well, Yaga couldn’t quite decide between the matching bands glinting on each of your left ring-fingers, the glimpse of a pretty lil’ cottage behind you two, and the massive bouquet of undoubtedly deep red roses Gojo was presenting you with.
Or perhaps it was the hand you were resting absent-mindedly on the obviously rounded curve of your tummy.
How fortunate, he tucks away the photograph into his coat with a smile and orders another pint. Knight of Roses, indeed.
A/N. Yearning is my kink mhm. Hope you have a lovely week <3
໒꒱₊ ⊹ you send them the "would you miss me if I was gone" text 𓂃.
໒꒱₊ ⊹ characters: N. Kento, F. Toji, I. Shoko, R. Sukuna, K. Choso, G. Suguru, G. Satoru, H. Yu
໒꒱₊ ⊹ warnings: depression, self harm, death (no one dies don’t worry it’s not angsty in that way)
໒꒱₊ ⊹ extra stuff to notice: Sukuna is not a curse in this verse, nor is Choso, and they’re all older brothers of Yuuji. Toji isn’t an assassin, he left and he now works as a chef in a restaurant bc I said so. Kento and Satoru’s readers are siblings and heirs of their family business empire. Fem reader intended.
Young Luke and Kieran AU, Sylus x nonMC!Reader | fem reader, not proofread | 1139 words | Crow Family masterlist
authors note: i think i made sylus a little too weepy in this and it’s rlly cheesy but its so sweet so idc. i almost cried writing this tbh. i hope you love it <3
Silence greeted you the moment you stepped into the base. No six year-olds clinging to your legs. No too-large man pulling you to the couch.
You stepped inside cautiously, breathing a sigh fo relief at the pitter-patter of little feet.
"Mama!" Luke whisper-shouted. "Mama, Mama, we have to be quiet!"
You knelt down, glancing between them. "Why is that, my loves?" you asked softly.
"Papa's 'eeping," Kieran whispered.
Luke nodded solemnly, leaning close to your ear and raising his hand to cover his mouth. "Papa was punching all the bad guys super hard last night so he's extra tired."
Kieran mirrored Luke's pose, leaning in conspiratorially. "Yeah, he was saying, um…" He furrowed his brows for a beat. "'It doesn't matter whose place this is—'"
"'It's time for a new ruler!'" Luke finished, feigning a deep voice.
"You sound almost as scary as me," came a booming, groggy voice.
"Papa!" The twins grinned, running to his feet. He gently patted their heads before glancing up at you.
"I thought you were sleeping," you said.
Sylus's lips just barely curled up. "Let's just say I have a… sixth sense when it comes to you." He beckoned you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist once you got close enough.
"Happy birthday," you murmured, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck.
His arms tightened around you just a fraction. "Did I ever tell you my birthday?" he asked.
"I have two very eager informants," you chuckled.
Luke tugged on your clothes. "Mama, did you bring cake?"
You laughed. "Yes I did, my love, but I think we should let Papa get a little more rest before we eat cake."
Kieran sighed woefully. "Can we at least give him our presents now?" he asked hopefully.
"I'm alright with that," Sylus shrugged.
"Alright," you relented. "Gifts, and then Papa takes a nap."
The twins darted away before you could finish speaking, giggles left in their wake. Sylus raised a brow, tracking them carefully.
"I hate that they had to hear what happened last night," he murmured.
"But at least they're safe," you said.
Sylus nodded. "At least they're safe."
The twins returned quickly, Kieran dragging along a large bag while Luke bounced eagerly beside him.
"Open it, Papa!" he ordered.
"We'll sit on the couch first, yeah?" Sylus chuckled.
Luke and Kieran crawled into his lap as soon as he sat down, tucking themselves into each of his sides. You snapped a quick picture before sitting down next to them.
Sylus pulled the tissue paper out carefully, a warm smile growing as he pulled out a Grumpy Crow plushie.
"It's your very own Mephisto!" Kieran chirped.
Mephisto squawked in protest.
Luke patted his head sympathetically. "Don't worry, Mephie, we're not replacing you."
"You made Mephie to keep us safe," Kieran explained. "So we wanted to give you your very own crow so you'll be safe, too!"
Sylus's breath shuddered for a beat before he pulled both twins in for a tight hug. "Thank you, boys. I'll be extra safe from now on."
They grinned brightly in unison. "We knew it'd protect you, Papa!"
"Now it's time for Mama's gift!" Luke turned to you eagerly.
"Mine won't protect you like Grumpy Crow will," you said slowly as you handed Sylus a small box. "But I hope you like it."
Sylus looked at you curiously before gingerly opening the box, eyes fixating on a silver ring.
"I saw the ruby and thought of you," you said, wringing your hands.
"You thought of me?" Sylus's gaze flickered to you, something vulnerable passing through before that familiar cockiness shone through. "Just can’t get me out of your head, can you, sweetie?"
"No, I can't." You shook your head honestly. "I figure that will look pretty on your hand until I can get you a different kind of ring."
Sylus's ears flushed red, mouth running dry.
Luke and Kieran giggled. "Mama and Papa sittin' in a tree—"
"Don't you want to give Papa the last gift?" you interrupted.
Any mischief in their eyes disappeared as they nodded eagerly.
"The last gift?" Sylus echoed. "Just what do you three have planned?"
"Just look," you said simply, handing him a manila envelope.
Sylus's brows furrowed, hesitating for just a beat. With a deep breath, he opened it, pulling out a collection of papers.
"Certificate of adoption?" he read. "Is this—" His voice caught in his throat.
"We want you to be our Papa for real," Kieran said. "Will you please be our Papa, Papa?"
"Of course, my boys." Tears built along his waterline. "I'll always be your Papa. Always."
He pulled them in close, grateful that either of them mentioned his tears dampening their shirts.
"I thought I wouldn't be able to," he muttered. "Their birth certificates—"
"I pulled a few strings," you answered. "They're not the official certificates they were given at birth, but they're enough."
"Thank you." Sylus's gaze was heavy. "Thank you so much." He pressed kisses to each twin's cheeks. "And thank you, boys, for wanting me to be your Papa." His tears ran freely now. "This is the greatest gift I could have asked for." Sylus took a deep breath. "I'm so proud to have you as my sons."
"I love you, Papa," Kieran said softly.
"Yeah, Papa, I love you," Luke nodded.
"I love you, too." Sylus smiled. "So much. My boys."
You rose to your feet slowly. "Why don't we go take that nap?" you suggested gently.
Sylus stood, one twin in each arm. "Come on, little dove," he nodded you forward. "I'd like the whole family together."
You crawled into bed first, the twins following close behind. Luke curled into your side, a small heater against your stomach. When Sylus climbed in, pulling you into his arms, Kieran collapsed onto his chest, soft snores rising within seconds. Luke followed suit soon after.
"They're more tired than I am," Sylus chuckled.
You stared at him, hair tousled and eyes heavy and tired but full of adoration as he watched the rise and fall of Kieran's chest.
"You're the best thing to happen to those boys, you know," you murmured.
Sylus blinked, doubt painting his features. "I hardly think anyone with my lifestyle can be the best thing for a pair of six year-olds."
"I wouldn't have thought that at first either," you admitted. "But you are. There's no doubt about it. You gave them what they needed… love."
"I rather think it's the other way around." He gently brushed the bangs out of Kieran's eyes. "They deserve everything," he sighed.
You scooted closer. "And you're willing to give it to them."
"Yeah." Sylus swallowed. "I'd give them everything because they looked at me and didn't see a fiend, but a father." His eyes grew watery again. "I owe them everything for that."
Smau: in which you autocorrect their fave term of endearment to something else
Warnings: mostly crack, sexual language, cursing, not proofread
Featuring: Gojo, Geto, Choso, Toji, Nanami, Sukuna, Ino, Shiu, Hiromi
Synopsis. His crime? Missing Valentine’s Day. His punishment? You’re banning him from between those pretty Iegs of yours.
How long he lasts? Well…
Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, séx bans, puníshments, he misses Valentine’s Day, spoiIing, grovelling, WALK HIM LIKE A DOG, semi-pubIic (Toji’s), DlLF!Nanami, bouquets, they’re RUINED (without your p), p talking, cervíx smoochín, aphrodísiacs (Choso), true form!Sukuna, DP, spítting, chokíng, overstím, DÚMBlFICATlON, needy JJK men, GOJO’S POWERS, FÉRAL Gojo, use of cursed energy, he’s slightly insane, matíng presses, manhandIing, proposals creampíes, cúmfIation, cúmpIay, BRÉEDING, REACTIONS, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. The laaaaaaaaast of the Valentine’s Day parts heheheh <33
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 23rd FEB. at 9:56AM
“C’mon, mama.” What a sight to behold—speed-walking through the gym, with a 6’3 hunk that followed you like a lost puppy. His green eyes were permanently on you, scarred lips pulled into a semi-grin that screamed anything but apologetic.
If this was anyone else, then you’d have signalled security.
But this was Toji Fushiguro - and Toji Fushiguro was never the type to admit when he was sorry. And yet…he admits that, this time, the fault lies solely with him.
After all, he did accidentally miss Valentine’s Day for some gig Shiu had given him…
Toji gruffs, staring down those losers that followed you with their eyes. “What do I need to do to make it right, girl?” He bets they couldn’t even bench as much as him. “Do you want more flowers? Do you want me to beg? Because I will beg.”
“I know. You’re forgiven.”
He perks up, “So am I still banned from fu-”
“Yes.”
Damn…
You’re turning around to look at him- and the utterly crestfallen look on Toji’s face makes you giggle.
All of this might just be punishment for his forgetfulness, but you can’t deny that it sent a special zap of thrill down your spine to be the one making the Toji Fushiguro desperate like this.
Sauve. Cool. Collected.
Not even in the middle of his most impossible targets did he ever break a sweat- and yet, just your contemplative hum makes his breath hitch. Finger on your chin, wondering whether he deserved to have the sex ban taken off…or whether you wanted to make him grovel a little more.
His dark brows furrow, the tips of Toji’s ears burning. “The hell are ya laughing at?”
“Oh, nothing.” You’re humming, making your way over to the usual treadmills. “I’ll see you after the workout~”
“Huh? Wait-” He watches you leave. “What do you mean we’re working out separately now- wait—”
But alas, it was too late.
And you’re left with a fuming Toji Fushiguro. The gym floor quakes a little as he immediately storms over to the weight-lifting section, bench pressing just about double his personal max in less than ten minutes.
And it was a challenge. Arms straining on the metal pole, veins popping out in his neck. They cascaded down the expanse of his chiselled chest, dipping even lower down where his tank top drenches in sweat, even lower…His sweat seeped through his skin-tight top- leaving a glistening sheen across those biceps. You swear they looked about the size of your head when pumped like this.
Toji’s expression was almost erotic - dark brows furrowed, skin slightly flushed. His features seemed locked between something of a scowl and a sweet pleasure.
Sweet, sweet pleasure.
You’re watching him through the mirrors covering the walls- and it seemed that you weren’t the only one. People couldn’t tear their eyes off of Toji.
Some of the older women. Some of the personal trainers.
Even a few couples- yes, both of them.
And it makes something in you…bubbles. Something at the pit of your stomach that you don’t quite know how to name- but sour, sour realization floods you just as soon as you’re taking in the gaggle of college students. They were ogling Toji - as most were - yet the only difference remained in the fact that they were pushing one of the girls towards him. Phone in hand.
No doubt to ask for his phone number.
And that’s when you’re stopping your machine.
Heading over to your boyfriend in an instant—you reach him just as soon as he’s setting his loaded barbell on the rack. Breath ragged. Chest heaving. Without thinking much of it, he’s tugging on the hemline of his tank top n’ wiping the sweat off of his face - revealing such defined abs that it makes your own mouth water.
He sure was a sight to see- but that didn’t mean that just anyone could gawk at him.
And just because you imposed a sex ban, doesn’t mean that anyone could try and swoop in…
Toji’s green eyes flicker over to you instantly- “Eh? Come to tease me again-”
“I need to talk to you—” And without a second wasted, you’re holding onto one of Toji’s large wrists. Tugging him to his feet, you can’t help the pointed inflection in your voice as you continue- “-babe.”
The giggling group silences.
In just a few minutes- you have your feet headed towards the empty locker rooms, your hands pushing Toji into the nearest stall you find. He’s letting such a sleazy smirk cover his face as he lets himself be fucking pushed inside—
Before the shower turns on and suddenly you’re being fucked against the blue-and-white tile.
Your back against the wall. His roverin’ cockhead pounding into you at such a frenzied pace. Feverish. Furious.
Almost angry with your pussy for not lettin’ him feel you sooner.
He was just so biiiig and blushing that Toji manages to hit every spot- without even trying, he has you crying and mewling into his arms. Pushing in just long thrusts—“Fuck.” Toji whispers, hoarse tone barely audible over the rushing of the water. “Fuuuuuck, how I missed my pretty girl.”
You throw your arms around his shoulders. “M-missed you, too.” He was ruttin’ into you so hard that the heels of your feet were being cleanly lifted off of the tiled floors - and Toji himself was holding you up. With just a single hand on your waist.
One more between your legs n’ flicking your clit fervently—
Such a sinful grin spreads across Toji’s face. “Oh? Really?” Before the digits upon your clit start thumbing between your pussylips n’ spreading them all wiiiiiide open. Further and further open. He takes a gooood, long look at your drivelling hole—“Because I was talking about this pretty pussy right here.”
Your jaw drops.
“I-I—” Head dizzying with how fast he’s pinpointing every tiny spot with his tip. Hittin’ even the most hidden of crannies with his accurate, split-ended crown - over and over. Upturning those walls of yours and finding even more that you knew only he could reach—“I meant-” Fucking you from the flared tip of his shaft and down, down, dooooown to the girth of his base—decorated with so many curls of black that scraaatch at your core. “I mean…ngh, fuck.”
“My pussy-” He echoes out. “M-my pussy…” And Toji Fushiguro had the audacity to cock his head, his shaggy black bangs swaying. “What were you talking about, mama?”
Enough to leave you speechless- and to leave him grinning at his success. “That’s not the answer to that question, girl.”
“I know, but-”
“There are no buts.” Toji scoffs, rolling his verdant eyes.
And before you know it, he’s scooping you up into his arms- feet off the floor, ankles knotting around his waist. Toji pulls away from the tile then - who the hell said he needed the support of some damn wall to hold his pretty girl up? He’s merely tuggin’ you to him like a koala, stuck against his chiselled front—pounding up even harder n’ haaaaarder. Dragging his thick, vein-covered cock even loooonger down your channel.
“Sh-shit—” Throwing your head back. Gravity is making you slip n’ slide down Toji’s incredible body, your front pressing up against his abs. All you can really do is hold onto dear life.
You claw your fingers down his buff shoulders - hard enough to draw blood - and Toji merely fucking chuckles. “Toji, it feels so good—”
“I know.” He answers cockily- before craning his head down and aiming a dollop of spittle between your legs. Strikin’ your pussy dead-on. Even though he didn’t really need it - the water n’ your slickness was enough to let Toji pummel in at such a raaaapid pace. He just liked to see how you’re squirming at the sensation, “And who wanted a fucking- sex ban, again?”
The water rushed down his hair and obscured his sight- and whatever you could see from between his long black bangs was just…fuck. The sheer feral need in his eyes made you shiver. “It was m-”
“Oh, wait.” Toji hums in wonderment. Eyes settling down on you, as if just seeing you for the first time. “Do you know who it was? It was you—wasn’t it, mama?”
“Y-yes-”
“Oh yeah? Thought you could go without my cock for that long, did ya?” Toji snickers, pinching your clit. It’s hard enough to make you bounce n’ buck your treacly cunt back down his shaft— “Heh—look at ya. Didn’t even last three weeks- hah, honestly. Have some more discipline, girl.”
“You’re telling me to have more discipline.” You gasp. “And who forgot Valentine’s Day-”
“Eeeeeasy there, mama.” He trundles out. Voice low. Almost dangerous. Another pinch on your clit- “Don’t make me put you under a sex ban.”
Your lips part, “You wouldn’t…”
“I would.”
His globular tip swipes down your cervix, leaving what feels to be a permanent mark. Slides of his gooey precum—“And now…” Toji leans in to whisper his next few words in your ear, scorching hot pants against the cool water. “-you’re gonna cum.”
Shivers run down your spine.
Toji continues in his guttural tone. “You’re gonna cum around my cock, and when you do you’re gonna scream so loud that it’ll alert the gym.” Already hearing the grin in his words- “And then m’gonna cum inside you. You won’t wash it out until we get home - you’re gonna walk out there with my cum dripping down your legs.” Toji leaves a final piiiinch on your clit. “And after this, you’re never puttin’ me under one of those damn bans ever again. Understood?”
“U-understood.”
“Good girl.”
.
.
.
By the time he’s finished with you - way, waaaaay past your allotted time - you’re adjusting your uncomfortable leggings before going out. Feeling the sploshin’ of Toji’s gooey white cum inside of you, it’s a damn quest to try and walk properly.
And Toji doesn’t even try to leave the locker room at different times in order to avoid suspicion. He’s sauntering out proudly and throwing an arm over your shoulders, tugging you to his side.
Giving the most shit-eating grin at those other bastards that stare at him in envy.
You wonder out loud how you’re not banned from that gym yet.
Toji takes that as a challenge.
♡ NANAMI KENTO - 18th FEB. at 7:46PM
“Papa, you forgot something!” Itadori Yuji squeaks out as he’s walking up the daycare steps. Spider-Man back-pack tightened with four different straps around his chubby body, his light-up shoes illuminating every step of the way.
Everyone knew when Yuji arrived at his classroom—the students because of his totally awesome shoes, the parents because of…his father.
Nanami Kento stood tall, stoic and composed as the sea of parents dropping off their kids parted for him. Blond hair slicked back immaculately. Glasses sharp and polished.
His silhouette drew eyes - whether one was conscious of it or not - though his own merely settled down upon his son. Crinkling slightly in concern, “Forget? Did you forget your lunchbox again, Yuji?”
The pink-haired boy shakes his head.
The older man hums, “Then did you forget your extra clothes?”
He shakes his head.
“Your football?”
He shakes his head.
“My goodbye hug?”
“No, papa—” And honestly, Nanami had no idea that a four-year-old could sound so exasperated with someone else. Yuji sighs and shakes his head in a way the man knew he picked up from him- “You forgot it’s Valentine’s Day!”
Oh.
Nanami’s lips part, and he sweeps a glance around the classroom corridors - looking as if love threw up inside it. Pink fairy lights and streamers. Heart-shaped designs. So there was a reason everything seemed a little…brighter than usual today, and- wait.
Wait, that explained the special heart-shaped pancakes you’d made for him. The twinkle in your eye. The rather lengthy pawing n’ kissing in the privacy of your bedroom.
Oh.
He intakes a sharp breath, “I didn’t wish my love—” Nanami looks at his pink-haired little traitor. “Why didn’t you tell me, sunshine? I should’ve wished your momma as soon as the sun rose- oh, and I need to buy roses. Then the gifts—wait, didn’t she say she wanted-”
“Papa…”
Nanami snaps out of it immediately- then straight into something new. “Did your momma seem mad, Yuji?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs, “Momma told me not to tell you.”
Oh, you were definitely mad…
“She also said she was gonna teach you a lesson when you get home- it was funny.”
Oh.
The boy shuffles. “Papa, can I go now?”
.
.
.
Lo and behold, that was how Nanami Kento found himself suffering under…a sex ban. Ever since the 14th of February, you’d forbidden your handsome husband from touching you, fucking you, making you cum—even kisses were chaste.
And though you had to admit that your stoic husband kept it together quite well, you say the way his tie got just a little looser n’ looser every day.
The way he’d linger his eyes on you too long. The way he’d take a longer time during showers.
No doubt fucking his fist to the thought of you.
And…you’re almost embarrassed to admit it, but it takes just four days for you to get impatient.
Yes, you.
Ogling how his toned body would fill out those button-ups of his, how he only seemed to be getting more handsome by the day.
Nanami had taken up a tradition of buying you a bouquet every single day to make up for Valentine’s Day - and it’s the night of the 18th when you finally just snap-
“F-fuck—ngh.” Just dragging him to your shared bedroom and sitting him down on the bed- you just barely tug off his tight work pants. Just enough to take his thick tip out. Bracing yourself before bouncin’ your hips down and taking his girthy tip in whole-
Your back arches, toes curling.
The most lecherous whine leaves you—almost as lecherous as the sloppy sluuurp! of his honed cockhead pressing between your pussylips. Such an incredible carnal stretch that you’ve missed so much, “Fuck, it feels so good.” You gasp. “I’ve missed you s’much.”
“Shiiiit—” His bouquet drops from his hands. Red rose petals on the carpeted floor now- Nanami’s deep voice had taken on a breathy lilt, “Shit, momma-”
“I’m s-still mad at you.” You’re huffing down at him. “But my- ngh, pussy’s missed you soooo much—”
“I know, darling. I know.” His forehead lines with a trickle of sweat. Nanami’s eyes fall half-lidded as he feels himself get swallowed up deeper n’ deeeeper inside you.
With the most damp sluuuuurping noises. Just so cute - it’s like you were gobbling him up.
Two of his hands clasp at your unsteady ankles, bending them to his will ‘round his toned waist. Before you can say anything in response, he uses the leverage to fuck a good strike at your core. All the way from tip to hilt. And as you’re shrilling out, he murmurs. “This fat fuckin’ cock missed your pussy, too.”
“R-really?” Though you don’t even need to ask - you could feel the way his bulbous tip throb-throb-throbbed all the way deeply inside you.
Nanami’s blond hair shuffles as he nods. “Missed you sooooo fucking much-” Almost too dirty to fall from the gentleman’s mouth. “Feel how much harder I am—?” Dragging his vein-decorated shaft aaaaaall down your sopping wet walls, pushing them apart. “Feel how much- fuck, bigger m’getting?” The way each pulsation only seemed to make him swell, his round flared tip growing even wider. It’s the perfect structure to scrape every sweet spot- and Nanami knew just where his wife’s favorite areas were. “Feel how hungry I am for you?”
You gape, “Hungry?”
And when he responds, there’s something utterly shattered in his tone. “Yes—” Breath gusting out in a scorching breeze- pants damp, canines pricking at your neck. Your husband sinks his teeth into that tender skin at your throat, “Fucking famished for this pussy.”
And he’s fucking you just like it, too.
Pourin’ out wads of pre into every nook n’ crevice. Twitching his bulbous cockhead against even the tiniest of nerves inside- he jerks his hips up a mile a minute. Utterly pounding into the back of your pussy—
Until it was nothing but a gooey, battered mess. Slick with all the translucent sap he was emptying out-
“Missed you so much.” He husks out against your clammy skin. Holding you tighter n’ tighter to his sculptured pecs, the more he’s honing out direct thwacks! inside you. Just four days without this perfect pussy and he’s a man gone. “Missed you- fuck, missed you so much—”
“B-but you always seemed unbothered.” Huffin’ down at him, your lips twist into a pretty pout- one that he’s reaching up and biting. “I thought it was just me that- ngh, missed you like this.”
“Oh, my love.” The sheer force of his thrusts was enough that you find yourself clawing onto his broad shoulders. To help you balance, Nanami loops his strong forearms around the small of your back- tugging you to him. “I thought about this pussy every single day that I didn’t have her.”
And that’s not all…as if to prove his point, the blond-haired man reaches down one hand and tugs on your perked clit—
It was just swollen and throbbing for attention- and he gives it all that you wanted. Rolling the calloused pad of his thumb right over it, up and down. Long swipes. Slight circles. Edging the tip of it between your wet crevice- in just a few seconds, you swear you’re starting to feel Nanami write out things on top of your overstimulated nub.
What you swear were swirls and loops.
And you recognized Nanami Kento’s handwriting- hell, you’d been married to the guy for years now! That neat, slanted script. So it doesn’t take you long - not until he punctuates a slight puuuuush that you assumed to be a dot - that it hits you like four semi-trucks at once.
Nanami was writing out ‘missed you’ on top of your cunt.
Over and over again.
So many times that you’re starting to feel a bit raw with pleasure.
You cling onto him for dear life, “And what did you think about?"
“What?” He breathes, brain too muddled.
Your delayed response. “And what did you think about- ngh, Kento?”
Nanami throws his head back and lets out a faint, grumbling whimper as you’re clenching around him - just as gone as you. These few days had rendered him extra, eeextra sensitive to even the slightest twitches and sensations of your cunt. He whispers out an answer that you can’t hear.
“What was that, baby?” Fluttering your lashes at him, leaning in close.
A slight channel of slick n’ precum escapes from your wettened hole- and makes his breath hitch. He repeats.
“What was—”
He repeats it.
And this time, he’s pummelin’ straight into the veeeeery bottom of your gummy pussy with it. Swiping out his spot there-
“I thought about getting you pregnant.”
And Nanami’s fucking you like he’d rather die than not have you all round n’ glowing - plump with his child - by next Valentine’s Day. If he could get you pregnant tonight itself and make you a family of four by then—then that’s even better.
A stripe of his gooey white cum- “Let me make up for these four days, my love?”
.
.
.
Next Valentine’s Day, it’s the three of you that are dropping off Yuji at school- you, your husband, and your baby. Just a few months old but already matching the energy of her older brother.
Yuji skips up to the steps - just a year more and he’ll be in first grade already. How time passes.
He announces in that bright voice of his, “You didn’t forget Valentine’s Day this year, papa.”
Nanami slightly blushes at the attention of the other parents around you two - at him, at you, at Yuji’s voice, and at the presence of your cute lil’ daughter. They looked torn between coming up to congratulate the two of you, and keeping their distance from a baby so young—Nanami was known to be a private man, after all. If it hadn’t been for Yuji’s excited announcements, the daycare might not have ever known of the newest addition to your family.
His hair. Your eyes.
“That’s right, sunshine.” Nanami pats Yuji’s head of pink hair, “I won’t be forgetting any time soon.”
♡ GETO SUGURU - 3rd MARCH at 11:03PM
You weren’t going to last.
That’s right—you weren’t going to last.
That sex ban had been set on the 14th of February, once Geto Suguru - your ever-handsome leader of the Time Vessel Association - had deemed that his favorite little association member hadn’t…celebrated Valentine’s Day quite to his standards.
Though you had no idea what he was talking about- you’d planned everything out perfectly.
You’d spoiled him with a jasmine bouquet, he’d spoiled you with even more red roses.
You’d spoiled him with his favorite traditional Japanese breakfast, he’d spoiled you with your favorite (courtesy of the chefs in the Association, of course).
You’d wanted to ride him silly- he’d wanted to fuck you pregnant. See, that’s where the little miscommunication seemed to have happened - if you can even call it that. Because in the end you’d been pummeled with his thick, veiny cock—for but a total of two rounds before you’d exhausted yourself to sleep in his arms (it’d been a long day of planning, alright?)
But the thing is, Geto Suguru hadn’t wanted to go two rounds.
Geto Suguru had wanted to go…all night.
And you never fall asleep before the revered leader. Never. Was his cock really that boring to you? Did this even count as celebrating Valentine’s Day at all, then?
Geto Suguru was a ruthless ruler.
It was considered that you missed Valentine’s Day- yes, you missed it.
Thus, you were henceforth and until further notice- banned from having sex with the esteemed leader until you improved your stamina. Which was quite the unfair match-up - Geto had training in martial arts, in cursed energy, in reverse cursed energy. How were you supposed to compare?
He was fucking mean.
And to be quite honest, a part of you had the nagging feeling that Geto was simply riling you up for the fun of it…and you wouldn’t be surprised.
Which is why when you’d sucked up your pride n’ finally asked him to fuck you by March—he’d merely raised a dark brow. Sharp. Scouring. “And have you finally fixed that pitiful stamina of yours?” He’s spitting, “I do not wish to be insulted once more…”
“I h-have.” You’d claimed- alright so maybe you hadn’t worked on your stamina just like he’d said. But who was Geto Suguru to know?
His brow raises even higher.
He knew. He definitely, definitely knew.
But to your utter surprise- Geto is tugging on the dark fabric of his robes. Beckoning you with a single look over to his futon, “Alright.” Clipped and chilling. “But I hope you know that I am not a merciful man, gorgeous.”
You’d never scrambled over to him faster.
Because when Geto Suguru fucked you- he fucked you.
Just like he hated you. In no time, he had your jittery legs on his shoulders n’ his rounded cockhead pushing between your pussylips. Just stretch-stretch-streeeetching out the first rim of your entrance before draggin’ away down that tight channel.
The long-haired man tugs open all those cute lil’ crannies that you’ve missed being stimulated. Your back arching off of the ancient tatami as he folded you sooooo deep in half—ass cheeks barely touching the floor in this ruthless mating press he had you in.
Cock hitting the back of your pussy for hours. And hours.
And hours and hours.
“P-please—” You warble out in your shattered tone, head throwing backwards. It’s hitting the surface behind you with a dull thud- and Geto merely huffs out a chuckle.
He raises his left hand - and for a second, you think he might just use it to cushion the back of your head. But instead…Geto uses it to clasp onto your poor, perspired neck and shoves you deeper against the floor-
“Don’t make me put ya into a headlock before you hurt yourself.” He snickers out, something animalistically breathy in his tone. Those thick fingertips of his squeeze either side of your neck- swervin’ his luscious tip inside even faster. “Because just know—”
And the hairs on the back of your neck raise once Geto Suguru leans into whisper.
“-that when I say all night long…” And for the nth time tonight, his slick n’ mazing tip drives you straight into your high. “-I mean all night long.”
“A-all night…” Your mouth hopelessly babbles.
Spit drivels down either side of your mouth—and Geto wastes no time before leaning down and lickin’ them away. “Keep it clean, gorgeous.” He murmurs against your lips, “M’gonna make a mess of you- hah, anyway the next time I cum inside. Again.”
His sweetened sap was already sploshin’ away inside of you- and even the tiniest jolts of his tip made him stir you from the inside. You drag a hand down your bloated-feeling front and whine, “Again?”
“Yes?” Geto asks, “Something the…matter—?”
And whatever your answer had been, it’s getting fucked back down your throat with his bludgeoning cock. Frenzied. Fast. Ferocious in the way he was claiming every single inch of space inside you. Nothing but a pinkish blur between those poor legs of yours- and you might not realize it in this state, but Geto himself had missed you.
How he’d missed the feeling of this velvety pussy. The way you’d open up just for him n’ seemed to mold your channel to his girth- and he was rather girthy, if he did say so himself. The way you’d clench ‘round him at even the tiniest sparks of pleasure-
And right now it’s as if you were holding him hostage.
Making him rut his hips wetly into yours - slick n’ cum spraaaying out of your hole and creating a mess in-between - again and again and again—
He tightens his restraint on your neck until you’re seeing stars- veins popping out from his hand. “Something-” Each word was punctuated by the most thorough gash of his swollen shaft, thudding against your gooey cervix. “-the- matter- gorgeous?”
“N-nothing—!” You babble out. “Nothing at all-”
“Then why’s this pretty pussy trying to- mmm, run away from me, hm?” He’s humming.
And you snap your head down- it’s just then that you’re registering the ministrations of your hips. The way you lurch back just a bit when he’s hitting a spot just right, feet planted flatly on the mattress.
You bounced and swerved - almost as if you weren’t sure whether you wanted to run away or fuck back down for more, more, more. For the feeling of his smooth slippery tip reaching into your deepest depths- fuck, you’d almost forgotten how much he stretched you out.
And Geto doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s running you straight into another orgasm. And another.
“What? Can’t handle it?” Fingernails digging into your soft skin by now. “Can’t handle it?” His balls were still big n’ heavy with so many wads of cum yearning to be inside you- “Can’t handle it? Can’t handle it—? Speak up.”
“I can.” Gasping out in your botched tone. “I can- I can—”
“Then what?”
“It’s just-”
“I knew it.”
But that was a test, you see.
He didn’t want to know the answer - for now. He just wanted to know if you could match all the claims you uttered- if you could take him all night long like he’d promised.
Dawn wasn’t even close to breaking.
Your drenched cunt quivers. His own cock dribblin’ out a clingy line of slick—“I already toooooold you.” He replaces the hand on your stomach with his own, right palm cascading down the front. Geto pushes down on that cute lil’ bump he was fucking into you, “First, you miss Valentine’s Day-”
“But I didn’t-”
“Then you lie to me about improving your stamina-”
“Well…”
“If you can’t handle it, then don’t fuck me—”
“B-but-”
Shutting you up with a looong swab right near your throat. “Because how else m’I going to get you pregnant, gorgeous?”
And as you’re struggling to get out a single coherent sentence, Geto sighs. Dramatic.
“And here I thought you’d finally match my freak-” Something he’d learned from an audio Larue had been listening to, something he found quite amusing himself. “Here I thought you’d match my stamina-” He was probin’ his long shaft into the door to your womb. “Here I thought we’d finally get you pregnant for next year—”
“Y-you still can-” You whisper.
He leans in. “What was that?”
“You still- hck! can.” Increasing the volume of your tone, and it makes Geto’s pretty amethyst eyes widen. “Promise you still can. It’s still March.”
Geto hums in interest, “And about that concern you had before then…?”
“I was just worried…” Splaying out your hand on top of his- on top of your stomach. Slightly bloated with the sheer amount of gooey, glittering was struck to your walls—the slightest push is enough to make you trickle out between your legs. “-that it might not fit, Suguru.”
And something in him seems to twitch.
His cock seems to jolt—
You’re being fucked even deeper into your mating press before you know it. With Geto’s roverin’ cockhead flooding your bruised, battered insides in his syrupy sap - it leaves a carnal part of you feeling so satisfied.
The way he rests his weight on your lower half to stop you from moving around too much.
“Oh, gorgeous…” Breathless. “I’ll just make it fit.”
.
.
.
It’s the very next day - even without formal confirmation - that Geto Suguru announces to his association the imminent birth of his heir.
You find that announcement to come true soon enough.
♡ CHOSO KAMO - 14th FEB. at 9:12PM
To be quite honest, Choso Kamo didn’t know that there was a human…culture surrounding this date. He’d never heard of it before.
Imagine the half-curse’s surprise when he wakes up one day and the world seemed to be drenched in pink and red. Why were there hearts plastered upon every shop window he saw? Why did the population of couples somehow seem to double? Why did strangers insist upon trying to hand him chocolates as he walked down the street?
Wondering whether his last blood manipulation technique had left him feeling light-headed, Choso knew to seek the smartest person he knew for answers - you.
His beloved human girlfriend.
And when you’d given him a brief run-down of the semi-holiday—well, Choso Kamo was in tears. Why? Well, because no one told him that he’d just missed a perfectly fine opportunity to spoil you, of course!
All those candy shops he passed, all those plushie stores he ignored…
You’re telling him that he should’ve just dropped everything he was doing and bought out the whole store?! (No, you were not telling him that—but Choso was certainly thinking it). And he believed it, too.
Which is why - as the self-dubbed Worst Boyfriend in The World - Choso demanded that you punish him with a sex ban. And when you’d refused, he’d punished himself with a sex ban.
“I-I don’t deserve it, baby.” He’d wrapped his arms around himself and turned away, as if the mere sight of you in your pajamas was enough to tempt him into breaking his ban. “I can’t even look at myself in the mirror after not knowing such a thing-”
“Choso, baby.” You’d interrupted him. “Shut up.”
He’d grown hard in his pants at that.
The first hour, it had been…do-able. Choso was still alive, he felt like he was still alive.
And his cock had remained behaved in his pants.
Three hours in and he was…shattering slightly at the edges. He’d disappeared into your underwear drawer when you weren’t looking- stealing one of your prettiest scraps of lace and fucking his first raw using it.
That had bated him.
At least until the fifth hour, when you’d asked to cuddle in bed.
And Choso felt his cock jolt just a little in his pants- eagerly agreeing. Tightening. Though you should’ve known that something was off when he’d asked to be the big spoon this time (Choso Kamo was never the big spoon), but you didn’t think much of it…
Then had come the seventh hour—two hours into cuddling you. Two hours into having his raging hard erection pressed up against your ass- and he thought he was going a little insane.
He needed to distract himself- he needed to think of something else.
Anything.
And it’s then that those unfortunate pretty eyes of his had fallen upon the small wrapper upon your bedside cabinet. The small slab of sweetness.
The small piece of chocolate.
Without thinking much of it, Choso had reached out and torn it open - fingers jittery to do something. He’s popping both halves into his mouth.
“Wait-” You’re catching his action—only too late. “Cho, baby, that’s-”
But it was too late. He’d started feeling hot all over. Feverish. “Baby—what is this-”
“Aphrodisiac chocolate.” Sighing. “I’d bought it for us today - yes, one half for each - but since you put on that sex ban…”
It’s all the explanation that he fucking needs before he’s tearin’ at your poor pajama shorts. Furious. Feral. Before he’s leaving them in shatters- and leaving you with your voice lost in your throat, Choso’s angry red tip swivelling inside.
Just so wet with pre and rock-hard.
His sex ban had lasted seven hours.
The ridge of his cockhead was flared so widely, scrapin’ against all those tender spots inside you. It’s a lecherous sensation - enough to make you clench, enough to make you hold Choso’s fat cock hostage. Drool wettens Choso’s lips as you clench—“S-sex ban?”
Did that sound like a question?
Because your poor boyfriend’s tone was wavering almost comically upwards towards the end- ruined. He punctuates it not with a question mark, but with a solid sopping thrust inwards. Shovelling just a few more of his inches in-
“Yes?” You pant out. It already feels as though he was pumping against the corner of your lungs. “Baby, wasn’t that what you said- oh.”
Yet another smooooch of his lengthy cock- it drives inside and presses on a tender spot you particularly like. “Sex ban?” Choso repeats. There’s an almost urgent look in his eyes, glazed and glittering with dark need. “No—”
And then he’s shaking his head fervently- for a mere few seconds before he glues his split-ended tip to the roof of your cunt. Bottoming-out.
He collapses his muscular body onto you and pants-
“No, no.” Hips stuttering, though that doesn’t stop him from drilling into you like a maddened man. Lecherous, long strikes of his cock. “No, that can’t be—I’d never ban myself from something as h-heavenly as this pussy…”
“But you-” You’re starting to refute him.
Only for Choso to pump out a few direct hits to your cervix—groaning. “Because l-look how pretty she is takin’ my big cock.” He whispers, marveling at the way you clung onto him. Your sopping wet walls were lacquered in a good gleam of his precum, so tight that he almost thinks he wouldn’t fit- but you always do manage to surprise him. “Look how goooood she feels wrapped ‘round me- my pretty pussy.”
And then he’s fucking and fucking into you-
At an irregular pace - sloppy and staccato. It’s almost as if he couldn’t control just when and how his hips were moving, merely chasing that carnal instinct within him. That little voice that told him to bruise his achin’ hot cockhead at the base of your cunt, and then push n’ push n’ puuuuush as deep as it could go.
If he wasn’t knockin’ at your womb, then each thrust wasn’t worth it.
“Look how—” Head dipping into the crook of your neck, those clammy brown strands of his hair stick to your skin. He was blushin’ and shaking all over- “Look how good she ngh- feels when she’s being fucked by me? She’s been waiting for my cock all this time, riiiight?”
You’re unable to answer, merely twitching as Choso runs a finger down your slit. Pressing perfectly on the button of your clit.
“Of course, she is. Look how wet she is f’me—h-how could I ever deny her?” Baritone taking a shaky degree, wetness pouring out of him in waves and splatters. “Look how much she wants to- ngh.”
And it’s then that Choso’s ruddied tip twitches daaaangerously.
You knew that your beloved boyfriend was the sensitive type- but to this extent? It’s almost as if being away from your pussy (for a few hours, yes, but even that was torture for Choso Kamo) had rendered him more sensitive than ever.
More susceptible to getting pussydrunk.
More susceptible to getting addicted to the slippery clench of your cunt. Those pretty walls that opened up for him—straight down to your even prettier womb.
He rubs the sides of his shaft rawly against your walls and whimpers- “L-look how much she wants to be filled up with my cum.”
And it’s then and there that Choso is talking himself into an orgasm. The textured sensations of your cunt. The wetness of your constant sap. The way you were looking up at him with teary eyes- his sheer length almost too much for you to handle.
And this was too much for him to handle.
Choso merely reels his hips back a bit- before pummeling deepest into your depths and pourin’ out his cum with such a squeeeelch! A lecherous sound. The sound of his dewy wads of seed emptying out at the bottom of your pussy, filling you up from the inside out-
He’s throwing his body forwards and crushing you to him. “Baby, m’never gonna think of a sex ban ever again—” Murmuring wetly into your skin. You swear he was almost in tears- “Never. M’sorry, but I just don’t think I can handle it.”
“You really didn’t have to, Cho—” You reassure him.
And at that, he slips out just a few more beads of ivory cum. “N-ngh, don’t say that unless you want me to cum again.”
“Maybe I do.” Cocking your head up at the pretty boy- “That aphrodisiac is said to last five hours, after all.”
He shivers.
You throw your arms around his sweaty neck and pull him closer. “And it is still Valentine’s Day. Why don’t you make it up to me like this, Cho?”
He does end up cumming again.
.
.
.
The next day, Choso Kamo ends up buying out all the nearest candy shops and plushie stores. Some of them being delivered later on in the day, some of them being carried in dozens upon dozens of bags upon his two hands - not that he minds. He’d carry anything for you. To you.
After all, it’s not like you’ll be walking for about the next week…
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 1st MARCH at 1:23PM
“Cheh—and it’s not like I’m upset about it, or anything!” The King’s fervent denials make the walls of the throne room trundle - almost as loud as Ryomen Sukuna’s voice, were his blatant lies.
And yet, Uraume has long since learned to keep their mouth shut during times like this.
They sit poised before Sukuna, head bowed and expression of something contemplative. He might have four eyes, but he’ll never be able to tell how his right-hand follower was on the verge of laughter. Of tears from the sheer amount of laughter.
They might have to take a leave of absence after this.
And Sukuna - never the less oblivious - slams all four fists down on the armrest of his throne. Echoing in a hollow voice, “I just fail to understand why my…most tolerable human has refused to copulate with me these days. Although, even that should be understandable- if she wishes not to, then she wishes not to. I can understand that. But my question is why as of the 14th of the last moon cycle-” He sits upright in his seat, seething. “-she pretends that I do not even exist! Me—the King—!”
Uraume manages to disguise a laugh as a cough. “The 14th of the previous moon cycle, you say, Your Majesty?”
“Hm?” He grunts. “And what of it?”
“Well, then perhaps you should know that you missed a day that is quite important, Your Majesty.” They lightly sip their tea as the King’s interest piques- “In certain cultures, the 14th of the year’s second month is celebrated as the day of love. To express one’s affection for their lover, their family, and their friends.”
The King stays quiet.
Uraume finishes their tea. “Tell me, Your Majesty—had you gifted your lover anything on the 14th?”
He sputters, “I-I—well, not quite but-”
“Did you wish prosperity upon her on the 14th?”
“No, but-”
“Did you act in a manner deemed nicer than your…usual demeanour?”
“No-”
“Nothing at all?”
“No.” Sukuna runs two hands down his rugged face, “Heavens…”
.
.
.
And it doesn’t take long for Ryomen Sukuna - over three weeks late - to finally shower you with gifts. Lavish, as a King should provide for his Queen.
In the most expensive silks in this land and the next few, too. In the most intricate little trinkets that he knew you’d love. In the most gorgeous jade twinkling in the moonlight. In the most sweet-smelling perfumes. The most sweet-tasting candies.
Everything and anything.
Though he personally believes that nothing could taste as sweet as you.
And he shall have a word or two later with you- something about telling him directly whenever you wanted something of him. But right now, he was faaar too busy sprawling you out flatly on your bed. Pressing two hands into the smooth mattress beside your head, as two of his swervin’ cockheads fucked you dizzy—
He was fucking that pout right off your lips.
“S’this pussy still furious?” Sukuna coos down mockingly at you- both sets of his lips twisting into the meanest grin.
As you struggled to get out the words - past those thick, bludgeoning shafts - he merely leans down. Fluttering those pinkish lashes at you, Sukuna’s second mouth opens up wiiiiiiide—licking up the crevice of your pussy. “S’this pussy still angry at me for forgetting ah- Valentine’s Day? I don’t think sooo—”
And almost on cue, you’re sputterin’ out in a gooey mess of slick. It travels down your legs and gets lapped up by Sukuna’s monstrous tastebuds- “M-maybe I still am.”
He hums from the primal depths of his chest. “I know you are, woman.” Those crimson irises of his roll, a scoff scorching down your features. “But what about this pussy—”
You tighten your legs around his waist, “Sh-she is, too-”
“I beg to differ.” And just then, Sukuna spanks—! one hand down upon your throbbing clit. His other two hands clutch your ankles to throw you off balance- to stop you from bucking. His sleazy grin only seems to grow as he watches the thiiiiick sheen of slick at your inner thighs. “See? She loves me.”
“She’s mad at you-”
A hit at your gummy cervix—two. “She loves me-”
“She-”
And then snaking right down to your g-spot—you’re feeling both of his rugged, rounded tips massage your sweetest spot. He doesn’t even properly thrust for a few moments- the King ruts his hips back n’ forth. “See—?” Aiming to bruise his rock-hard lengths against the sides of your walls - your nerves - making you feel him from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. “She fuckin’ loves me~”
You don’t get to contradict what he’s saying.
You don’t even get to try- because at that very second, you’re throwing your head back and cumming. Unable to control the lightning bolts of white-hot pleasure that run down your spine—sensations of his rounded tips driving you wild.
Pummeling.
Shovelling in and out. In and out.
Probin’ against the areas you were most sensitive, emptying out wads of precum in sinful splats. “Th-that’s just not fair…” Voice hatching into the prettiest whines in your throat- it’s just what makes him arch his powerful hips and buck, buck, buck.
More. More. More.
Sukuna rests two hands underneath your spine n’ aaaarches you even more for him. Like this, it’s easy enough to see where the rounded bumps of his monstrous cocks were hitting your cervix. Thud-thud-thud. “Fuh-fuuuuuck, Kuna.” And at the very same time, his lecherous tongue sticks out and drags up and down your dripping wet slit. “Not fair- really not fair-”
“Not fair that this pussy likes me more than you?” He titters, “Now, that’s not fair t’me—”
“Oh, you-”
“Poor, poor Ryomen Sukuna.” He pretends to weep, to shake his head. “With no clue as to why his favorite human is ignoring him.”
“Shit-” He pumps a direct hit to your womb. Twitching there in warning.
“If it was gifts you’d wanted, then I could buy you this whole damn world-”
Your eyes widen, “The world?”
“Yes, the world.” Sukuna sounded dead serious. “Don’t be frugal, woman.” And you didn’t doubt that he didn’t have enough gold to do so- or at least give a damn valiant try. Sukuna digs his honed, blackened fingernails upon either side of your hips—cocks fucking you through your first high and straight into another. Another. Another. “Do you know how many nights we’ve lost together?”
It just feels so fucking gooood to have his furious, feverish tips pressing into every spot. You can only whine—
“Do you know how many times I could’ve cum inside this pussy until then?” Almost reminiscing as he fucks you, all those times he’s done so before. Will do so again. “Do you know how many times I’ve lost having that pretty pussy squeeze ‘round me when she cums- yes, you do that.”
Your breath hitches, “S-squeeze…?”
“Mhmm—” Ravenous red eyes narrowing down at you. There’s an almost feral grin upon his face- “Didn’t you know that? She squeezes around both cocks- like she wants to hold me back whilst she cums. Like she can’t- fuck, bear to leave.”
“Oh my god-” You gasp. Arching into his plush pecs.
And Sukuna is more than happy to let you do so - in fact, one of his hands lifts off of the bed to crush your face into his chest. Your mouth slobberin’ stupidly all over his pinkish nipples—his second mouth swabbin’ his tongue between your pussylips n’ fucking straight into your hole.
While he fucks you with two cocks. The stretch was just incredible.
The next time you reach your highs, you’re squirting.
“And you say this pussy doesn’t love me…”
.
.
.
The next morning, Uraume wakes up at the crack of dawn- as per their duties.
And they have to admit that last night…they didn’t obtain a satisfying rest. Forget eight hours of sleep, they’d have been lucky to get eight winks—no thanks to their King of Curses, of course. The constant pounding and rattling and rutting had echoed all throughout this wing of the Royal Estate.
And whenever Uraume had thought it had finally paused and perhaps their King had retired for the night- it would start right up again.
It must’ve been right before daybreak that they finally heard the last creeeeeak–! and groan of those ancient bedsprings.
And just like that…peace.
They’d closed their eyes for all but 1 minute and 34 seconds, of course. Uraume would know, they counted.
And they’re stomping right out of bed- genuinely reconsidering that leave of absence when—
A knock at their door.
Possibly one of the other attendants. Possibly some problem or the other that they had to address right away- honestly, give a person time to brush their teeth first!
But, no.
Not at all.
Instead, Uraume is met with no one at the door.
No person.
Nothing but a large wrapped-up gift box, the type that one can tell is expensive at first glance. Looking around the corridor provides no other person there with them - and they’re dropping down to their knees in an instant. Opening up the large lid-
Inside, are the most beautiful crisp white kimonos. And a note attached—
‘Thank you. - R.’
Maybe this job wasn’t so bad after all.
They still don’t get paid, though.
♡ INO TAKUMA - 15th FEB. at 2:48AM
Ino Takuma has fucked up.
Majorly.
First, he ended up spending waaaay longer than he should’ve on his latest mission report—who even needs to impress the higher-ups, anyway? Ino has this ongoing theory that they don’t even read those damn things…And yet again, that didn’t stop him from scrutinizing each and every word that slid across the page like slugs on salt.
And by the time he’d finally dotted his last full stop (a momentous occasion) and looked outside- tell him why the world looked dark?
The black-out curtain of night. He’d gasped then—
Brown eyes flickering immediately to the clock on the wall, one that had been tutting at him for the past few hours. Watching. Waiting.
It shifted its sharp, spindly hand to the next hour that struck.
12:00AM
Midnight.
Exactly four hours past when he was supposed to meet you for your Valentine’s date.
Shit.
Shit.
Ino checked his phone, and had never run faster in his entire life. Not even when he was being chased by a Special Grade curse.
And that wasn’t all- of course, that wasn’t all.
To make matters worse, he’d wanted you to have the most beautiful bouquet possible today - the brightest, the reddest, the freshest. And fearing that the air conditioning in Jujutsu High’s offices might make the flowers wilt, Ino had put off the gift for after he’d finished up his work. Who’d have thought that one might just prefer slightly-wilted flowers to banging on the door of a florist’s shop at 12AM? No chance.
Shiiiiiit.
From then on had been a sequence of banging on store doors to no avail, or scanning the emptied aisles of any Valentine-themed shop he set his eyes on.
His plundering and pillaging wasn’t fruitful - and it was 2:33AM by the time that Ino slipped quietly into your shared apartment. With the wholly bountiful loot of: a box of orange candy, a card, a set of matching journals, a turtle plushie that sang ‘Sorry’ by Justin Bieber, and a pathetic plastic rose he managed to fight some old lady over.
To be quite honest, he would have broken up with himself.
But alas—that is not quite yet possible. You’d been awake and understanding, however, worried that he’d been working himself to the bone over that new report.
You’d been so sweet - ushering him to get ready for bed, and telling him that it was just some commercial holiday. He knows that, but still…
Ino thinks he could cry a little (he does).
And as he gets into bed beside you, he’s promising himself that he won’t fuck you stupid like he’d wanted to on Valentine’s Day. “Ban me from your pussy.” Ino whispers.
You turn to him in confusion, “Excuse me?”
“Ban me from your pussy- I’m so serious.” He’s promising himself that he’s going to make it up to you first before even having such thoughts. “I can’t believe I missed fucking Valentine’s Day- ban me from your pussy. I don’t deserve her.” He’s promising himself that—that—
You hum, “Hmmm, you sure about that?”
And whatever promises he’s trying to fool himself into—they’re flying out the window as soon as you’re pressin’ your behind to his front. Your pretty ass against his cock. Teasing.
In what should be an innocent spooning position…but Ino traces a few fingers down your inner thighs. That’s when his brain short-circuits- as he registers that you were wearing his favorite pair of silky panties. Strappy. Crotchless.
You’re fucking evil.
Your boyfriend doesn’t even need to spread them aside- merely setting a hand underneath your right leg and perking it up. Just the barest few inches he needs to tug down his sweatpants n’ glue his ruddied tip to your core.
He’s hitting your pussy with a wet thwack! Meeting your pussylips in the sweetest kiss. Letting his slick precum slide-slide-sliiiiide vertical lines down your crevice. It dribbles down to your thighs, all wet and gooey.
And Ino isn’t lasting too long before he throws his head back and ruts—harsh and animalistic. The raw sensation of your hole was almost too much. He doesn’t even know where his lengthy shaft is going, honed cockhead probin’ between your pussylips and getting sandwiched by them. The cutest hot embrace that he’s held hostage by- he humps his way between your legs like a damn beast. Again. And again.
“Please-” He echoes a guttural whisper into your neck. Scorching hot breath wafting all over your features, crushing your limbs so tightly to him that it almost hurts. “Please, please, please—”
You’re amused at the slight crack in his tone. “Please what, baby?”
“Please…” Ino’s large chocolate eyes peer down at you. He’s craning his neck down and gnawing on your pretty lips. “Please, ma’am?”
“Not that, baby.” You hum. Pushing your hips further back into his- in no time, he was fucking you with the swollen reddened tip of his cock. He was thiiiick and honed at the very top, slipping inside easily and swabbin’ into the tiny geysering orifices of your cunt. “I j-just meant that you didn’t have to-”
“But I do have to beg.” Ino insists, lips wobbling as though he was on the verge of tears. “Ban me from your pussy. I didn’t manage to make it before Valentine’s Day and spoil you- oh.”
Just then, your velvety walls were clenchin’ around him. And it’s enough to make Ino’s hips stutter sideways, hitting the globes of your ass cheeks with a sudden spank. “Shit…” You swear at the stinging contact. Ino was now gripping either side of your hips n’ digging his rovering cockhead between your pussylips - in rapid, ruinous half-thrusts just to ease inside. “B-but it just—ngh, couldn’t be helped. Don’t beat yourself up, baby-”
“But you should beat me up.”
Lifting your head off the pillow and looking over your shoulder. In slight worry- “Taku—”
“Wait, sweetness-”
“Taku, do you want me to be mean to you?” And when he isn’t answering immediately, you rut up your hips into his prominent v-line. Just so toned, massaging your back- it marks whichever direction his globular cockhead was heading. Leeeeft and right. Baaaack and forth.
Shoving even deeper into your tight channel. And you can feel his blushing face pushing into your neck, fever-hot. “You’re such a naughty boy, aren’t you?”
He groans—loooong and drawn-out. “Sh-shush, pretty. I didn’t mean it like…” But his train of thought trails off - just as much as yours does - because Ino’s rotund tip only seems to swell even bigger. The flares ridge of it scrapin’ ever tender spot inside you, bucking back and forth.
Your glistening hole to the back of your cervix. Deeper and deeper.
You gasp, “So you did like me calling you that.” Spit-slick lips of his parting as you arch your spine even further. “Such a naughty boy- fuck, you don’t even deserve to be fucked like this- y’know?”
And to your surprise, he’s fervently nodding. Rutting. “I don’t deserve it.”
“Least of all, you don’t deserve this pussy-”
“I don’t deserve it—” Uttering in such a whiny tone. Biting back his gasps.
“Maybe I really should ban you.”
“Please.” Trembling digits clasp onto either side of your hips, digging his rounded fingertips into the flesh there. He’s leaving marks there, he’s tightening his hold- as if afraid you’d actually run away and he’s have to chase after your pretty cunt—“T-tell me more, pretty. Make me feel sorry…”
Ino’s hot breath makes shivers run down your spine. “Y-you probably thought about fucking me all day, huh?”
He hisses as if caught, “Fisted my cock about- mmm, five times in the office bathroom thinking of you, sweetness.” Hands gliding all over your body - n’ down your front where he presses on your stomach. That faint cylindrical bulge he was fucking into you, “With this very hand, pretty- fuck, I imagined this so many times.”
“Filthy.” You tut. “And yet, you still missed Valentine’s?”
“I thought about coming home early s-sooooo many times.” Ino whines against your ear. Just the notion of you insulting him is enough to tighten his heavy balls, slappin’ away between your legs with fervour. “So many times- fuck the report, fuck those elders.”
“Language.”
“Sorry, ma’am.” A few lines of perspiration glide from his chestnut hair. And his tone is all clogged up with lecherous husks, “B-but I’d rather have been fucking you—”
“Oh.” Because then he’s slamming into your g-spot that you see stars.
The split-ended shape of his cockhead, pushing straight into where you were softest. It’s almost as if Ino was fucking his very shape into your cunt, molding your pretty walls to him- not that he deserved that, either.
But the fact that he didn’t deserve your treacly wet pussy and was still managing to fuck into you like a madman…oh, that was nearly enough to make him cum.
“Would’ve fucked you right on that table.” Ino rasps out, panting. Breathy. “Would’ve fuh-fucked you all day long- would’ve fucked you even if someone heard. If someone came in.”
Your eyes grow wide, “Would you have?”
He nods. Dead serious. “I would’ve fucked you right in front of them.” So much of a carnal sensation that he almost couldn’t handle it - he gnaws the pointed tips of his canines against the shell of your ear. “Showed them how niiiicely I fuck this pretty pussy—showed them…ngh, just how greedy she is to swallow me.”
“Pervert—” You whine.
And he grows even bigger inside you. “That, I am.” Before a sudden look of sheepishness crosses his face once more, “And th-this pervert is sorry that I couldn’t make it-”
“But at least you did now.” You answer. “And as a little reward for my- oh, naughty boy…”
Edging in closer, “Yes?”
You’re smiling that very smile that ruins him—“How about for Valentine’s Day you cum inside, Taku?”
And that’s all it takes for him to cum inside.
Thick. Hot ropes.
Flooding your insides with all his ribbons of sap, they’re reaching every deep spot inside you n’ leaving your walls scalding hot. As if he was trying to leave you feeling him in there for daaaaays on end - just sizzling inside and splashin’ with his seed. So much.
The volume was so much that it leaves you leaking out between your legs, gluing your thighs together in all his slick white sheen. And very drag of his long cock leaves your poor innards practically drowning—
“Can I make it up to you again, pretty?”
“You lecher.”
He almost cums again right then n’ there.
.
.
.
The next day, Professor Yaga is receiving a report straight to his desk. Thick. Taking up presence on top of the ancient wooden furniture.
It was covered in a manila folder way, which was unusual for a report - if you followed the protocol of most sorcerers, one was lucky if they slap-dashed a mere page and called it a day. Thrown right over the desk a week after the deadline. And by the size and heft of this thing, it was at least fifty full pages.
As Yaga gets closer, he’s reading the stamp on the envelope—Ino Takuma. One of the best Grade 2 sorcerers that jujutsu society possessed.
It was no surprise that he was the one who put together such a detailed report. Yaga had been told by Panda that he’d worked right through Valentine’s on this thing, leaving around midnight. Which was…quite a lot of effort for a report. Yaga wasn’t sure if he himself would’ve put in this much work, but he also knew that Ino had been aiming for that Grade 1 rank.
He also knew that the boy had a girlfriend - you - and wondered just how you let him get away with such a thing. But then again, maybe that wasn’t his business…
Yaga sits down and opens up the folder, finding the first page to be—nothing to do with the report at all. Instead, it was a notice of taking leave - for a week citing ‘personal situations’.
Next was a receipt for a bouquet of 143 red, red roses. Seemingly filed in here by accident.
Well, Yaga holds back a smile, he guesses he could permit it this time…
♡ GOJO SATORU - You think he lasts?
You: Toru, where the hell are you??
You: We’re late for our reservation!!
You: Pick up your phone.
You: TOOOOOOOOOORU.
You: TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORU
You: Ugh, you’re probably on some mission or something </33
You: But on Valentine’s Day of all days?? C’moooooooooon.
You: At least pick up your phone, Toru.
You: Gojo Satoru, you are hereby and forevermore under a sex ban.
Just a few minutes after sending that last text, you hear a sudden crash outside your penthouse apartment—loud and reverberating. It had the sort of electric charge that made the hair on your body stand on end.
Like thunder.
It leaves you wondering whether a storm could be nearby- there weren’t many neighborhood noises that carried up to your floor. Gojo had picked this place specifically because of that. So perhaps an oncoming thunderstorm? Perhaps some sort of electrical shortage?
Your bedroom light was certainly flickering- and you almost considered turning it off altogether.
What a day. First you get all dolled up for your boyfriend to not arrive at your shared home on time, then he doesn’t answer your texts, then this…whatever this is.
But you can placate yourself by thinking that you won’t get caught in the impending storm, then. No romantic dinner on Valentine’s Day anyways. On the bright side, your make-up shall remain flawless!
At least, that’s what you think.
Because then that crash emanates through the apartment once more—though, this time, it sounds far too close to be a distant storm. Far too…inside the apartment?
You’re just able to sit up on your king-sized bed. Before there’s yet another crash, and soon enough your damn bedroom door is being ripped off its hinges. Absolutely obliterated. Absolutely shattering into a zillion pieces of the most expensive mahogany that Japan can offer.
And you almost don’t have to look up to know that none other than your boyfriend can do such a thing.
Sure enough, once you’re blinking your eyes back open - and the haze of wooden dust dissipates - you see Gojo Satoru standing there. Ivory head bowed. Feet apart. Chest heaving as though he’d just run a marathon—or worse yet, teleported one.
He must have teleported one.
Times like this, you’re really registering just how tall Gojo is. He covers most of the cut-out frame of the bedroom door, blocking any light. And also blocking his expression…
You’re calling out to him cautiously, “Satoru?”
To which he snaps his head up at you and blanches—“Were you serious about the sex ban?” Face slack. Voice high.
Now you’re just taken aback. “The one I set like two minutes ago? I-I don’t know, Toru, I just wanted you to get home-”
“But I am home.” He responds. And as he takes a single step closer, a wave of charged atoms hit you like a faint forcefield - right now, you’re not even sure if Gojo knows his powers are leaking out like this. “But, I am—I am.” Your boyfriend insists, and there was a wide desperation in his blue eyes as though you wouldn’t believe him. “Were you serious about the sex ban?”
“Toru-”
“Were you serious about the sex ban?”
Like a mantra.
He takes another step closer, and the pressure of his cursed energy was almost unbearable. “Were you serious about the sex ban?”
“Toru, no—it was just- oh.”
And you don’t know how it happens - one minute you’re attempting to placate your slightly-frenzied boyfriend about the joke you’d made minutes earlier. And the next, you’re being laid flat against the mattress—Gojo’s hands pushing down on your hips, his right knee pressing between your legs.
Feeling just how soaked you were through those sodden panties of yours- you had no idea how he even had the faintest inkling that seeing him so ruined made…something in you stir. Almost as if he had a sixth sense.
And his hypersensitive ears pick up the lecherous squeeeelch! that you’re letting off once he presses his knee down.
“Fuck, you’re so…” Gojo’s coral pink lips part, glossed over with a sheen of slick that made it seem as though his mouth had been watering the entire way here. His head droops forward. His other hand starts to crackle with cursed energy—“Fuck, you’re so ready f’me.”
“Sa—toru…” You’re letting your heart race. You need him. And that’s all it takes for him to flinch- as though your mere tone saying his name awoke something in him. And the man is dragging his free left hand down your front - in a split-second, your clothes vaporize into thin air.
The dress you’d picked out especially for tonight. Your bra. Your garter.
All but your sodden panties.
He’s keeping that on.
Reaching out one buzzing index, he juuuuuust pulls it to the side. Gojo doesn’t waste a single second before tugging his damn designer pants down and freeing himself.
Showing you just the briefest flash of his rudded, ravaging hot tip—before you’re feeling it stuffin’ between your unsteady legs. Right between without waiting for you to get ready. Right between without waiting for you to accommodate him.
It’s so tight that he hisses.
And it seems that Gojo Satoru has just enough sense to wait until you’re catching your breath- before he reels his hips back and bucks. And bucks. And buuuuucks—teasing your entrance with the sheer stretch. Pummeling himself past that first clench of resistance to try n’ fit inside. He arches his spine to angle his cockhead against the roof of your pussy, “S-see?”
There’s a crack on the tail end of Gojo’s sentence. And you’re looking up at him in slight concern, “Yes?”
But he doesn’t even seem to hear - merely pulling his thickened erection back and stuttering out yet another strike. Sloppy. Into the deepest depths that he could reach at the moment, “See that?” And then back out- and then back in. The sequence continues. “See—”
And you’re not quite sure what you’re supposed to see- “What do you-”
“M’fucking you.” Cold chills sprint down your spine at the realization that this was that the ever-intelligent Gojo Satoru wanted to tell you. Was he really that gone on your pussy already? “And i-if I’m fucking you…I’m having sex with you.”
Your mind’s getting all muddled- whatever response you had locked-away in your throat getting mixed up with Gojo’s own groan. “Can’t have a sex ban if m’having s-sex with you.” He’s echoing out such a harrowed noise at the feeling of himself sliding even deeper.
Getting cushioned by your velvety walls.
Getting suctioned across every ridge n’ vein upon him.
All ten or so inches - yes, The Strongest also seemed to be the The Biggest - squeezing in through the tight channel. You were being thoroughly stretched-out, with his hand pinning one side of your hips so that you don’t squirm. And perhaps subconsciously breezing out the warm air of reversed cursed energy—all so that he doesn’t hurt you once he’s emptying out his solid shaft towards the bottom of your spongy cervix.
Ending out with a reverberating thwack! right on your womb.
Bottomed-out.
Something you never thought possible so soon- with Gojo’s size.
And the man himself twitches just a bit as he takes in the vision between your swollen pussylips. Your folds spread wide open n’ your entrance attempting to clench around his swollen length- “See?” Gojo whispers out once more. “S-see—now m’never gonna leave from…”
“From?” But your question gets answered soon enough. Because your boyfriend runs a finger down your core, ending up at your mid-section- the circle of bright blue around his pupils starts to glow.
And with Gojo’s Six Eyes, he can see exactly where his throbbing tip ended inside you. Smushed against your cervix in the most loving kiss - he presses down on that exact spot with a single finger. “-from here.” So muddled in the mind with his cock- you’ve almost forgotten what he was talking about. “I’m n-never gonna leave from here now, sweetheart.”
“Is that—oh, ngh.” His globular cockhead presses against the softened end of your pussy- but really it feels like he’s fucking right up to your very throat. Again and again. Thrust after thrust.
“It’s true.” And you genuinely wonder whether he can read your mind at this very moment. Because right now, Gojo had one hand latched onto your body n’ never letting go - all so that he can seep out reverse cursed energy into you.
So that he can drill into you like a damn animal—fucking his swollen, red cock in and out. In and out. In and out. Without fearing breaking a bone or two or you- “I swear.” Gojo lovingly nuzzles your throat, the complete opposite of how filthily he was fucking you. “I swear to not pull out-”
Your eyes widen, “You’re gonna c-cum inside, Toru?” And you can’t deny that you’re growing wetter at the fact…
“I swear to always kiss your cervix- ngh, that pretty womb every single time.” His mouth parts with a few dribbles of saliva. He was gone. “I swear to always fill you up over n’ over n’ over—until you overspill.”
And you couldn’t help but feel that these sounded oddly like wedding vows. “And- and—?”
“I swear to give you the best orgasms of your entire—”
See, Gojo Satoru never had to try quite as much to get you to cum - he just knew your body that well. He was acquainted well enough with the cute sweet spots inside of you, he was well-versed in just how to make your pits of pleasure tick. He knew from experience where to hit your g-spot just right and in the same thrust bang against that one spot on your womb.
But now…now he isn’t using anything he knew. He wasn’t using anything he could think up.
Gojo was fucking you on pure, carnal instinct.
And it’s with such ferality that he angles his hips juuuust to the side- bludgeoning cockhead reaching the target of your bundle of nerves. You’re seeing white in an instant.
And as though that hadn’t been enough, Gojo reaches his hand down and spanks! his energy-covered fingertips down on your clit. The little sparks of jujutsu coursing through your veins and mingling with the constant thrashes he was pounding out at your g-spot. It’s with one-two-three more hits on top of your ravaged clit that you’re toppling over the edge of your high-
The vision of you cumming on his cock so, soooo fucking pretty…
“F-fuuuuck—” You’re hearing Gojo echo out in what seems like a distance. It was too hard to register with the dizzying sensations in your mind- his tip probin’ inside your cunt again and again and again.
Fucking you through each blissful bout of your high. He lets his lashes flutter just a bit—“S-squeezing me so tight.” Gojo’s voice cracks once he’s letting it out, visceral shivers wracking through his body. “So tight like you don’t wanna- ngh, let go.” His scalding lips fall on top of yours. “But you don’t have to…”
And then he’s veering into his own euphoria.
Pretty pinkish balls emptying out in looooong waves of dribblin’ slick- gooey and hot. Sticking to your walls like a layer of glaze, it gets sploshed about every time Gojo’s pinpointing your insides with his split-ended tip. The circular divot at the very end swervin’ about his white cum—filling you up.
You feel filled to the brim even before he’s done- and Gojo hums at the mess he’s made.
Still cumming. Still so much volume that it leaks out of you anyway - with more n’ more glittery wads of cum being added onto the pile, you couldn’t imagine just how much was going to end up inside you in the end.
How much of it was going to reach your very womb—
“I t-told you.” Gojo breathes out, deep blue eyes staring into yours. It’s just so mesmerizing to stare up into his enchanted look - so much so that you nearly don’t notice once he picks up your left hand. Placing a peck upon its back, “I kept all my oaths, didn’t I? I came home in time for Valentine’s- all your gifts are outside, by the way, my girl.”
You’re nodding dazedly. “You kept your promises, Toru.”
“My oaths.” He corrects - there was a difference, see? But before you can compute that difference, Gojo reaches a hand out towards the destroyed bedroom door- “And there’s another oath I want to make.”
And then it flies into his hand.
You think it might be a tight bundle of his blindfolds, at first. But it ends up being something more solid, something more cubic—something like…a ring box.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, my wife.”
♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - 27th FEB. at 2:37PM
Overtime.
Throughout the course of your relationship until now, that dreaded ‘o’ word had remained your husband’s metaphorical mistress—and your worst enemy. Of course, Higuruma absolutely hated whenever you mentioned this - first of all, because he’d never, ever take a mistress.
Why would he, when he had you? His beautiful wife.
May lightning strike him down otherwise.
And secondly, because…well alright. Higuruma has to admit that that was the only qualm he had with your little comparison- because he was a self-admitted workaholic.
Whenever divorce season (you always thought this expression to be somewhat morbid, and he just claimed it was fact), or suing season, or some other multi-billion yen case came along—Higuruma and his firm would be thrown into a frenzy. Working long, sleepless nights.
Your husband slept more at his desk than in bed, those days.
Although it has calmed down somewhat since you two had moved in. Since you two had gotten married.
The law firm had grown - and with it - the number of capable lawyers who could take on a share of cases. Higuruma didn’t have to do anything quite by himself anymore.
Higuruma was more in-check, remember?
Also, the fact that you were around him more—urging him to take care of himself more - likely helped. If he didn’t have you knocking at his home-office door and telling him that you were going to sleep now, then honestly he might just never sleep again. During those seasons, at least.
Except…well, except for this February.
February 14th.
Holed up in his office- he’d been half-way through the nth meeting that day.
Some massive fraud case that they had in the bag - but the other team wasn’t too bad themselves. One could never be too confident in court. And so here they were, poring through the documents well into the evening when—Higuruma had glanced at his phone for a text from you. By chance.
And it was only then that he’d realized he’d missed Valentine’s Day.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He’d handed that meeting over to a junior and ran out immediately.
Nonetheless, Higuruma has missed his chance- no matter how many bouquets or chocolates he bought you. And so here he was, suffering from a sex ban.
Tortured by it.
Because of his own fault, most certainly. But that didn’t make his poor, neglected cock throb any less.
Still showing up to work with impeccable attendance (even earlier, actually) because the longer he stayed in your proximity, the more desperately he wanted to stuff your hole full. The more he’d think about it at work. The more he’d fantasize about just how wet you’d be when you finally lift this ban. The more he’d run to the bathroom whenever you called—fisting his cock furiously in there to the sound of your voice.
The more those around him grew slightly…concerned.
“S-sir?” His most-trusted junior was bounding up to him after nearly two weeks of this.
As Higuruma lifts his head up, he’s realizing that she’s followed by a froth of other juniors and staff. All seemingly coming to speak with him? Something must be amiss…“How may I help you?”
“Sir, actually—” She looks behind her and nods at the other attorneys. “Sir, we would like to tell you that you’ve been working so hard lately-”
“Well, yes-”
“And the case is so near to a close-”
“Certainly-”
“And we can handle it from here.”
“Oh.”
Kicked out of his own office (not quite, but close enough…). Higuruma Hiromi had been dismissed at the plea of his juniors, who’d clearly thought he’d been working himself to the bone—he’d gone home early for the first time in…his entire life.
And once he got home, Higuruma knew what he needed to do first.
First, he’d go up to you - his beautiful wife - and go a bit of grovelling. As all husbands should. Then he’d get on his knees, eat your pretty pussy—and then…
“P-please—” You’re throwing your head back. Cumming for about the third time in the past hour- Higuruma always had such an effort on you.
No matter how many years you two were together- that first taste of your pussy was always like heaven for him. He could see the pearly gates themselves openin’ up—and to him, it looked quite a lot like those swollen pussylips of yours.
Sensitive n’ splattered in a sheen of slick.
He rubs his thumb between your crevice and licks off those honeyed juices - greedy. Just before he’s swirlin’ his thickened tip around your gummy entrance and shoving inside—the first thrust.
All the way from his fat, mushroomy tip- to the tufts of curly brown at his base.
Higuruma doesn’t even wait for you to accommodate his size. He doesn’t care if you’re struggling, he doesn’t care if your cunt quivers like you can’t take it all- because a single slide-slide-sliiiIiide down the channel of your pussy and he’s done for.
After not feeling you for soooo fucking long - and he’s immediately pussydrunk.
That stoic, stern attorney is pussydrunk.
“My- my angel—” An immediate scorching pant escapes him. It gusts against your face and leaves your heart racing- everything about Higuruma now just seemed feverish.
Without a second sentence, he’s reeling his hips back. All the way from base to tip- one of his hands pins down against the side of your hips, the other guides his cock.
Using it as leverage to lavish your insides with his drivelling pre. Honed, burrowing tip. And the rest of him was just so thiiiiick and covered in angry veins, harder than you ever think he’s been. He massages your cunt even with the tiniest of sultry movements, fucking you in tiny, rapid thrusts. Thrust after thrust.
Every inch of him stretchin’ out your walls just felt incredible-
“Shit—” You keen, arching your spine up into his. Higuruma still had his shirt only partly unbuttoned, and that formal tie of his still dangling from his neck.
And he doesn’t say a thing.
Too focused on your cunt.
Too focused on perking his hips up just a bit- his ruddied tip swipes the roof of your cunt. Leaving you shocked at the pressure of him inside you, right before he’s funneling you with eeeeven more inches—fighting against the slight resistance at your first ring of muscle to fuck himself even deeper. Deeper.
And he still doesn’t make a sound.
He seems to be reaching for your very throat, and you whine. “Sh-shit, Hiromi.” As your legs start to ache n’ strain around his slender waist, your husband dips a hand down between your legs. Making you gasp as his expert fingers start toyin’ with your pretty clit - teasing and draaaagging that sensitive nub out till you start to sob. “Shit—fuck, Hiromi. Hold on-”
“Hold on?”
A chill runs down your spine.
Immediately, you’re snapping your head up to meet Higuruma’s dark, dilated eyes. His expression that seemed something feral—he’s rutting his hips once more.
This time…this time, you’re realizing that he’d actually been holding back with his strikes earlier. Now, he was plummeting all those nine inches from tip to hilt without stopping. Without slowing down. Without sensually hittin’ at your sweet spots to help you take him better- he was drilling into you like he was crazed. “Hold on?”
Higuruma repeats.
And you can only peer up at him- “Y-yes?” Sobs and saliva clogging up your throat - you sounded pathetic to your own ears. “It was just a saying, Hiromi, I-”
“You want me to…fucking hold on?” Voice slightly breathy. Slightly gone. “I’ve waited-” And between those vicious thrusts that he was pounding upon your pussy, Higuruma spits out lewd whispers. “-waited for too fucking long to have her- and you want me to- fucking—hold—on—”
Three exact slams upon your spongy cervix, it makes you thoroughly squeal. “I-I was just saying-”
“I thought about this pussy every goddamn day and night and-” He was on a roll now. As if the more he rutted himself inside, the less he could control what he said—“-and during every fucking meeting—”
Serious black eyes staring down at you. You could see your own gaping expression reflected in them.
“I ran to the bathroom every morning when you’d call me-” He utters. Admits. “-just to fuck my hand to the sound of your voice—” And you don’t know what’s making your stomach churn more - the registering of his words, or the way that Higuruma thrusts in deep. So deep that he knocks against your womb. “-and you want me to fucking hold on?”
So deep that he’s cumming.
Loooooong, miry stripes of seed that stick to your walls.
They dribble down your insides. That glaze every inch of you in a creamy white- splashin’ around your insides and coating every nook n’ cranny. It just feels so sizzling hot inside of you, and you’re shivering at the feeling of him warming you up from the inside - saturated sap leaving you whimpering at the noise. The warmth.
He fucks his webs of seed deeper inside. And you raise your head up ever-so-slightly and watch as it dribbles out of you.
And Higuruma can’t help but do the same-
“Fuck…” He breathes. “S-so are we about to hold off on that pregnancy, too?”
.
.
.
“Boss-” Higuruma turns his head at the address of his title - none other than the very same junior from yesterday. She shuffled slightly before him, almost nervous to voice out such thoughts—“You seem well today, sir.”
Higuruma hums, “Is that so?”
She nods eagerly. “Your dark circles have cleared up- and you seem to be glowing. Alert. A bit more sharp than you were yesterday…” Assessing all of him- “You just seem happier than you’ve been in days, sir. Is the fraud case really going that well?”
And he has to hide a smile with the paper he was holding. “You could say that…”
A/N. No idea why this turned into them also trying to get us pregnant- maybe I’m ovulating??
synopsis: how he reacts when you call them by their full name in front of other people
character/s: xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb x f!reader (separate)
warning/s: none!
note/s: my favorite one has to be zayne and sylus' im ngl i had so much fun writing this
xavier:
you should’ve known that dating the notorious quiet, handsome man in the association would be an open invitation for your coworkers to pry and get answers for the questions they always had but never dared to ask.
how could they? whenever they talk to xavier, he replies with one-word answers, worse, sometimes he just stares as if the question was the stupidest thing he has ever heard. and honestly, that idea wasn’t far-fetched.
having you as his partner and girlfriend only solidified the association’s curiosity about xavier.
“i don’t think he’d care.” simone mutters as she bites another mini sandwich from the snack display.
tara shakes her head as if trying to convince her to change her mind. “he can’t not care! right?” she turns to you as you tilt your head in confusion, not catching majority of the conversation, too caught up in a mini staring contest that you and xavier had from across the room.
“what?”
“how do you think xavier would react to being called by his name.” you furrow your brows at tara’s question, not exactly getting it.
“nothing? it’s his name…” “no, not his name but his name-name.”
in all honesty, tara lost you. but you urged her to explain that couples usually dislike it when they’re called by their given names rather than a pet name.
and now that you’ve thought about it, you didn’t think that you’ve ever called xavier by his real name.
with tara’s devilish grin, you almost felt bad for wanting to test it out, after all, no better time than the present, right?
“i bet twenty that he doesn’t care.” simone wagers, you almost scolded her, if not for tara’s enthusiastic counter with a fifty.
your gaze flits towards xavier who was already approaching the three of you with two drinks in hand.
he smiles softly as he hands you the flute of champagne. you gave him a grateful smile, the words slipping out of your lips almost in a foreign way.
“thank you, Xinghui.”
you could see the way xavier’s smile twitches. he does not respond; instead, he wraps an arm around your waist.
“are you having fun, star?” you nod before turning back to your friends whose expressions differed from triumph to devastation at the immediate turnout of their bet.
“mm!” you nod, a smile on your face as you lean over to his warmth. “i was just telling simone and tara how much my Shen Xinghui treats me well.”
xavier swoons at the my but not so much what came after.
“ah. i see.” he tightens his grip around your waist before he gestures towards the open balcony, in the guise of fresh air.
you bid your friends a wave goodbye, tara looking like she was trying her hardest not to laugh and simone already counting the bills in her wallet to slap on tara’s waiting hand.
once you and xavier were on the clear, he pulls you into his arms, his face buried on the crook of your neck.
“did i do something wrong? i’m sorry.” xavier says softly against your skin, tickling you slightly.
you giggle, pulling his face away to see a pout on his lips.
“what do you mean, Xinghui?” his pout deepens.
“i don’t like that name.” “what do you mean? it’s literally your name.”
“yeah, to others, but not to you.” xavier says as he holds you tighter against him.
you conclude that it was the end of your little prank, as you explained the bet that your friends made. xavier huffs as he mumbles at the crown of your head.
“i’d rather you call me lumiere.”
“really?!”
“no.”
zayne:
when zayne told you that his parents were going to visit, it was safe to say that you spent the entire day ensuring that your home was welcoming. you and zayne spent time cleaning and redecorating your shared space.
the doorbell rings, and for a moment, you thought it was his parents who arrived an hour early, but to your surprise, it was only the deliveryman for the patisserie you ordered from.
knowing that althea and jace rarely spent time in linkon, you wanted to ensure that they could try new delicacies, so you ordered linkon’s finest macarons, and as a bonus, you bought them their favorite tea as well.
you placed it on the kitchen countertop and forgot about it, thinking that you could easily plate them once they arrived. you failed to notice the curious doctor who approached the box after you left.
althea and jace arrived right on time, you greeted them with a smile as althea hugs you, complimenting how beautiful you had grown from the last time she saw you, while you led them to the couch. zayne sat on the opposite sofa, engaging in small talk, blushing slightly as his father coos about how chubbier his cheeks are and how healthier he looks.
“i’ll prepare some tea.” you excuse yourself as you walk to the kitchen to steep the tea.
once it was finished, you put the teacups on the tray as you walked back to the living room, where they were.
“oh! zayne, could you pour out the tea? i’ll go get the dessert,” you say to your husband, who freezes for a split second.
“no need, darling,” zayne says as he makes a move to stand up. “i can get it; you should sit down. you’ve done enough,” he says, coaxing you to sit down. you shake your head, stopping him from standing up.
“it’s okay, zaynie, i’m already standing up, just sit down and catch up, i’ll be right back.” you say, giving his cheek a swift peck, hearing his mother coo at how domestic the two of you were.
you went back in the kitchen, humming slightly under your breath before it stops as you opened the box ofdesserts.
there were only six macarons left. you ordered eight.
your jaw drops at the only answer as to why two were suddenly missing. without saying anything more, you plated the remaining macarons before carrying it back.
you can see zayne’s back as you walk, slightly tense as he tries to keep up with a conversation with his father.
“Li Shen.” zayne jolts as you say his name, you can’t see his exact expression, but judging by the way althea was biting her lip in amusement and jace was already grinning, you know that he knows that he’s in trouble.
“yes, dearest?” zayne answers, his hand on the teacup as he takes a small sip, trying to act unbothered.
“why are there only six macarons?” you walked slowly, placing the plate in the middle of the coffee table and facing him, crossing your arms.
zayne blinks slowly, you can see the small gulp he took.
“perhaps the patisserie made a mistake. we can contact them after,” he says in a calm tone.
you raise a brow.
“you have crumbs at the corner of your mouth, Li Shen.” his eyes widened before he put the teacup down, wiping at his mouth, trying to get rid of the evidence, but the four of you know it was too late.
althea laughs at the display, patting her husband affectionately on the arms.
“this reminds me of when we caught our little zaynie sneaking for the cookie jar when he was young, right jace?” jace nods, a stifled laugh leaving his lips.
zayne looks down in embarrassment. you clicked your tongue softly before sitting beside him.
“i told you the desserts were for your parents!” you whined softly as you took one of the macarons, slicing it and eating it, stabbing another bite for zayne.
he unashamedly takes it.
“i apologize, my love.” he was not sorry at all.
althea and jace only look at the two of you, amused. yet, happy that their zaynie truly found love.
you reached down absentmindedly towards zayne’s teacup, only for you to flinch.
his teacup was frozen solid.
you looked at him who avoided your gaze, before clearing his throat.
“i’d argue that the frozen teacup is your fault.” zayne says, immediately regretting it as you glared at him.
“what was that?”
“i said that you are sweeter than any macaron i have ever tried.”
sounds about right.
rafayel:
rafayel has been working on a painting for the last three hours. well, that’s how long it seemed to you because you’ve only been in his mansion for three hours. you knew he was painting for longer, given that it looked like it physically hurt him to adjust his posture.
“raf, take a break,” you say gently as you place a hand on his back.
he looks at you with a smile on his face. “in a bit, cutie! i promise. i’m about to invent a new color.” you rolled your eyes at his quip, yet let him do it, you wouldn’t have been able to pry him off anyway.
the sound of a doorbell ringing takes your attention off your boyfriend, who seems to have the idea of ignoring the sound.
“don’t worry, cutie. it’s probably thomas.” rafayel waves it off. you sighed and walked towards the door.
“you know, he wouldn’t be as overbearing if you stopped ignoring him,” you retort.
“no, cutie. he’d lock me up in his basement to keep painting if he could.”
you paid his response no mind as you opened his door, awaiting to see thomas’ brunette hair and stressed-out expression. only to be pleasantly surprised when you see the shade of rafayel’s hair greet you.
“talia! what a surprise.” you say, greeting her as your eyes flit downwards, seeing the luggage at her feet. “oh! let me carry those in, please come inside. i didn’t know you were visiting.” you hurriedly grasp her luggage, then usher her in.
talia thanks you with a smile on her face, giving you a gentle laugh as you fussed over her.
at this point, you were flustered. you did not know that rafayel’s aunt was visiting; had you known, you would’ve made a greater effort in getting rafayel to clean his own home. it was in no means ready to cater to a guest.
“ah, really?” talia asked, genuinely surprised. “i thought rafayel might’ve told you. but then again, rafayel easily forgets things.”
you smiled, nodding, still giving her your best host-like smile, while inside your head, you were already scolding your boyfriend in your mind.
“--just like how he forgot to pick me up from the airport.” “what?”
you couldn’t help but cut talia off as your eyes widened. you looked over to the painter who was still stuck in his own world, as if his only remaining family member wasn’t standing in his house.
“Qi Yu.”
rafayel freezes in his action, the paintbrush dropping from his hand for a split second before he sharply turns towards you, who looks back at him, unamused.
your arms were crossed, a glare on your face as you stared him down.
“...yes, my cutie?”
you give him an unimpressed look before raising a brow. rafayel seems to have noticed the additional presence in the room as his eyes widened. from under his breath, you could hear him mutter a curse.
he immediately straightens, ignoring the kinks in his back that screamed at him from the sudden movement, before he walks to where the two of you were, his arm rising to wrap against your waist, only for you to dodge it in an obvious way.
“cutie–”
“you didn’t tell me that talia was visiting!” you say, exasperated. “and how could you invite her here when this place is such a mess! she came all the way from varona and this is what you greet her with?”
rafayel rubs a hand behind his neck, sheepish. “i forgot.”
“really, Qi Yu. you forgot.”
rafayel flinches as you use his full name; that action spurs talia to let out a laugh at the banter.
“i have seen rafayel be summoned by his father using that name, and he does not even bat an eye, yet…” talia smirks as she interlocks her arm with yours.
“i see my nephew has a weakness.”
rafayel would’ve found a way to refute, really, he would, but his face was burning and his lips were formed into a pout as he saw you visibly soften at talia’s assurance.
“no need to worry about me, dear. i’ll make myself at home in the guest room.” talia pats your arm once before she wheels in her luggage towards the relatively tidy guest room.
when talia was gone, you looked at rafayel with a blank expression on your face.
“cutie…”
“so, let me get this straight.” you interrupt him. “you ignore me for three hours even though you invited me to your house. you forget to pick up your aunt from the airport and you forget to tell me so i can prepare to accommodate her, and now all you can say is cutie? really, Qi Yu?”
rafayel wraps his arms around you, pulling your front flush to his chest as he whines. “cutiee—” he buries his face onto your hair. “i’m sorry. please never call me that again.”
your lips twitch, secretly having fun with his reactions.
“Qi Y—” “cutiee. stooop.” rafayel whines as he nuzzles his face onto your neck. he sighs as he pulls away, a pout still on his face. “i promise i’d take better notice of my schedules.”
“and?”
“and?!” rafayel echoes back, offended that you didn’t take the bait before he collects himself. “and i’ll treat you and talia to an expensive dinner tonight.”
“good.”
rafayel pouts.
“you can be so mean sometimes, cutie.”
“really, Qi—” “stop!”
sylus:
sometimes, you curse yourself for being competent. at first, you thought that showing guts in the hunter’s association would bring you more respect and dignity.
in reality, it just thrusts you on more missions that make you question if the salary was justifiable.
you were so tired, you just got back from a week-long mission.
you just wanted to rest in sylus’ arms and whine about how the association was wringing you dry and look at him in appallment once he suggests quitting your job. you know, the usual.
as you ride your motorbike to the N109 zone, you can already imagine the conversation. you smiled softly to yourself as you approached the heavy doors that seemed to readily open to you.
you walk towards the main hall, brows furrowing as you hear luke and kieran throwing out profanities and the sounds of controllers clicking.
you push open the door to see luke, kieran and, surprisingly sylus, on the couch with their vr gear on. you see the tv playing a racing game that you vaguely remember playing. judging by the twins’ response, you assumed that sylus was in the lead.
as much as you would’ve loved to join in and have a little game night, you were tired and wanted nothing more but to be held by your lover.
seeing sylus be so unguarded and oblivious to your arrival, you couldn’t help but time your entrance, once you see sylus seconds away from the finish line, you cleared your throat as you loudly called out.
“Qin Che.”
luke and kieran freeze as if they were the ones being called as they ripped out the vr gear from their faces, looking like deer in headlights. sylus also takes his off, albeit slower, as he takes in your figure. a look of surprise and longing in his expression.
you had your arms crossed, a blank expression on your face as you stepped closer.
almost immediately, you see the twins skedaddle past you, dropping their gear and leaving sylus sitting on the couch.
“ooooooo, dad’s in trouble!” you hear luke tease, and a sharp smack! right after, as kieran urges him to move faster, the door slams shut.
an offended caw resounds in the room, you turn around to see mephisto banging itself on the door, wanting to get out as well. you bit back laughter as you see the door open for just a sliver before a gloved hand– you’re assuming luke, reaches out to pull mephisto by the wing, an indignified squawk leaving the metal crow’s beak.
the room was silent, save for the video game’s background music, to which sylus shuts down.
you walked over to him, who sat there waiting for your next move.
without another word, you sat on his lap, your face pressing against his chest, hearing the way his heart was beating significantly faster.
“welcome home.” sylus says as he wraps his arms around you, breathing in your scent.
“your heart’s beating really fast.” you point out, voice muffled by his chest. you pull away slightly to look up at sylus who immediately presses a kiss on your forehead.
“well. it seemed like a certain kitten hissed at me unprovoked,” sylus said as he affectionately ran his fingers through your hair.
“all because i called you by your name?”
sylus chuckles as he presses another kiss to the crown of your head.
“sweetie, you underestimate the power you have over me.”
caleb:
you really shouldn’t have agreed to be caleb’s date at their high school reunion. hell, he shouldn’t have even bothered going.
the day could’ve been spent with the two of you cuddling in comfortable clothes on your sofa, but no. caleb thought it would be a good idea to show you around the DAA.
which wasn’t what was happening as his former classmates whisked him away. you stood off to the side, a frown on your face, arms crossed over your chest.
caleb promised you that he’d be back in five minutes. it’s been thirteen minutes, and there was no sign of him ending the conversation. good thing that gideon was right beside you, keeping you company, as he only arrived a few minutes ago.
“your boyfriend sure is popular, huh?” gideon teases as he nudges you with his elbow.
“too popular if you ask me,” you mumble under your breath, eye twitching as yet another former classmate approaches him.
gideon snorts under his breath. “he’s always been popular, not even your scrunchie on his wrist managed to ward off the girls at the time.” you huff at that, eyes zoning in on the girl by the corner of your approaching caleb.
it was irrational, you’re well aware of that, but enough was enough.
‘caleb is mine.’ the jealous part of your mind screamed.
“Xia YiZhou!”
for a split second, you can feel the tension in the room drop, and everyone in the room freezes. caleb immediately turns to where you were standing, smiling sheepishly.
“coming, honey!” caleb walks briskly to where you were, but you gave him the cold shoulder.
he tries to pry your arms away from your chest as he attempts to coddle you.
“you said five minutes, Xia YiZhou.” you say, turning away from him. from the side, you can hear gideon stifle a laugh as caleb’s face drops at your words.
“pips, you know—” “five minutes. you said.” you glare at the way caleb’s lips twitched, you knew the bastard was fighting a smirk.
“is my pipsqueak feeling bored–” he reaches up to playfully pinch your cheek, but you dodged his hand before walking away.
“damn dude, good luck.” you hear gideon say as you exit the venue.
caleb follows you, letting you walk three steps ahead. you walk by the school’s open garden, feeling the breeze pass your face.
“go away, Xia YiZhou! i don’t wanna see you.” you hear caleb chuckle from behind you, and all of a sudden, he’s right beside you, flinging an arm around your shoulders.
“what’s got my baby apple upset, hm?” you huffed, reaching for your opposite shoulder to pull his hand, only to feel his palm sweating.
and caleb’s palm only ever does that when he’s nervous.
you fight the grin that threatens to escape your face. however, caleb already caught sight of it.
“ah, i see. someone just wanted my attention.” you rolled your eyes, dropping the facade.
“there were too many girls trying to talk to you.” you huffed. “it’s like they don’t know you have a girlfriend!” you squint your eyes, accusatory.
“unless you told them you didn’t have one.”
“hey now, pipsqueak.” caleb flicks your forehead softly. “even if they didn’t know, i’d let them know. no need to be jealous,” you huff, turning around.
caleb couldn’t help the chuckle that leaves his lips as his arms snake around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“i’m all yours, pipsqueak.”
“Xia YiZhou, you dummy!”
caleb only smiles against the back of your head, finding your little tantrum cute.
“yeah, yeah. your dummy. i know.”
mentally, he was already planning all the ways he could get you to call out to him affectionately once more.
note/s: omg two uploads in one day that's craaaaaaazy lmao i hope you enjoyed this one <3
nanami yells at his poor girlfriend for something that wasn't even her fault :( (angst to comfort!)
wc: 4k || ac: @/thatsallitcheif || based on this req !
nanami was pissed the fuck off.
not the boring kind of snappy attitude he got whenever he was forced to deal with gojo or yuji, no. he was properly upset, his anger evident in the way his temples look ten times as tense as he swings the door to your shared apartment open.
today was... rough, to say the least.
some idiot in his business class had been assigned as his partner, a group project that was supposed to show just how much attention you'd been paying to the course. y'know, something he actually gave a shit about?
and that partner, god if he wasn't a useless prick. he skipped meetings, turned in half-assed work at the checkpoints, and acted like nanami would just fix it. like this seriously didn’t matter.
and then the feedback today? oh god.
it definitely wasn't stellar, definitely not the standard nanami holds himself to. his lecturer was pointing out gaps, weak cohesion, a lack of balance. just stupid little bullshit things that weren't even his fault.
nanami had sat there, his jaw close to exploding from the way he was clenching it so tight, knowing he couldn’t say a word without sounding weird and defensive.
so yeah, he came home with bucket loads of irritation and absolutely nowhere to put it. well, yet.
he wipes a veiny hand down his face as he scuffs his shoes off at the door, praying to god that nothing else goes wrong tonight or he might actually kill someone.
as he tracks inside, what other than the kamisama kiss intro starts blaring in his ears, the happy upbeat tune dragging against his eardrums, he realllly didn't need this right now.
he peers over to the couch and spots you sitting cross legged fully engrossed in the shower.
you were cute, but to be honest, he just wanted to go to bed. so, when you whip your head around and spot that he's finally home, he braces for the impact he knows is coming.
you hop up and dart into his arms with the biggest little smile on your pretty face, you clasp your hands together behind his back and pull him in close.
"ken! i missed you." you muffle into his chest, relived to see your boyfriend after a long day of free periods at home.
he sighs through clenched teeth, then half heartedly wraps an arm around your waist before letting it drop back down and slipping from your tight grasp.
“hey,” he mumbles, already tracking halfway down the hallway, leaving his poor, pouty girlfriend standing there all confused.
he doesn't notice though, the door to the bedroom is already in his sight and he looks at it like a finish line.
you stay cemented to the wooden floor, watching with a small frown as he pads down to the bedroom.
you tell yourself not to read into it. i mean, c'mon! he probably had a long lecture, he looks exhausted, and everyone has off days, after all. even your perfect boyfriend.
you smooth it over in your head before you overthink it to the point of tears.
you turn and follow him down the hall, keeping your steps feather light as to not irritate him further. "hey, baby? i made sushi earlier,” you say softly. “it’s in the fridge. i thought you might want some when you got home?"
he stops just short of the bedroom door. not to turn to you, not to soften up and cut the foul attitude, nuh uh. just to answer dully.
“i’ll have it for lunch tomorrow,” he sighs. “m' not hungry.”
the door handle clicks open under his hand, and your chest gets all tight and uncomfortably achy. he never turns down the food you make. never. even when he’s exhausted, he always eats at least a little. he always thanks you and asks how long it took to make, then tells you it tastes good even when the rice is overcooked.
you nod even though he isn’t looking and force a brighter tone of voice. “oh, okay! that’s alright.”
he stays silent, and an old habit of filling up conversation space before it turns awkward twists around in your gut..
“um,” you start, then stop. your fingers rub together nervously as you look away from him shyly. “there’s.. uh, something else i gotta tell you.”
he turns his head slowly to face you, his expression oozing with irritation as he answers curtly, “what.”
your thoughts jump backwards to earlier that morning. you were ironing one of his more expensive shirts after it had been crinkled on the clothes line. the setting might've been too high, because the unfamiliar scent of burnt fabric started wafting into your nostrils... your heart dropped when you saw the mark.
you swallow. “i’m really sorry. i was ironing your shirt. the one you wear to class sometimes? and i didn’t realise the heat was too high and i… i messed it up.”
his expression doesn’t change yet, but you can tell some cogs are stalling and jamming in that big head of his.
“i ordered you a new one,” you rush on. “it's the same cut, the same color. it should be here in a couple of days... gosh– i'm so sorry honey, i– i know it won’t be exactly the same but i–"
“you did what.”
your words freeze up in your mouth.
“you burnt my shirt?" he spits lowly, “i told you not to iron my clothes, [name].”
your shoulders pull in. “i know. i just thought i could help. i didn’t think–"
“–clearly.”
oh.
he steps closer. not into your space, but near enough that you feel the heat and anger pulsating off of him. “do you have any idea how expensive that shirt was?"
you nod, feeling the anxiety crawl up your back and down your throat. "yes, baby... that’s why i replaced it.”
“oh, but you didn’t replace it,” he says. “you bought a different one. that's not the same thing.”
“i'm sorry,” you say quietly. “i didn't know where–”
“you never know,” he cuts in. his voice is getting louder now, he's no longer being careful with his volume. “that’s the problem, [name]. you never know, and you still insist on getting involved in all of my important shit.”
you ears begin to ring a deafening hum. this isn’t how he talks to you. not ever. he corrects you sometimes, sure. maybe he gets semi-annoyed, but even then it's very rare. but this tone, this anger? it feels so horribly wrong on him..
“I was trying to do something nice,” you mumble out softly, the nervousness you were sure you'd shaken since meeting him curling around your head and trapping you in that shy vice once more. “i.. i’m sorry i ruined your shirt, kento..”
“yeah? well sorry doesn’t fix it,” he snaps. “sorry doesn’t mean anything when you keep doing the same thing over and over.”
your lips are getting wobbly but you manage to choke out a small reply. “but.. i don’t?"
he lets out a curt, poisonous laugh. “don’t lie. you mess things up constantly. the chores, my things, the schedules. i spend half my time fixing what you fuck up.”
okay, wow. that hurt like a motherfucker. you'd always been a little insecure about the way you weren't always the best at house work, but you were trying. you were trying for him.
“I clean,” you plea. “i cook. i try to–”
“no! you try, then you do it badly,” he snaps. his voice is close to shouting now. “half the time i redo your shit because i don’t trust you to do it right the first time. i’ve told you this before, if you don’t know what you’re doing, stay out of it!"
all of this over a shirt?.. your poor mind was reeling with what ifs. what if this was him finally throwing the cat out of the bag and telling you he wanted to break up? what if this was his way of telling you he'd be better off with a girl who was more capable? what if this was all a big lead up to him telling you you were never good enough to be with such an upstanding man like him?
each cruel word from his mouth only acts as a catalyst to these thoughts. you were incompetent, useless, untrustworthy. he doesn’t say them outright, but he might as well with the way he's berating you.
you feel so small now, your clammy hands curl into themselves until your nails are leaving little moons in your skin. you don’t raise your voice at him, you don’t interrupt at all, and you most definitely don't even think of arguing back. you’ve never been good at fighting with people, especially not with him. especially not when he looks at you like you’re an obstacle he needs to kick out of the way.
“just leave everything to me, why don't you?” he continues. “obviously i don't do enough. it would be easier that way since you clearly can’t handle basic tasks without ruining shit.”
your eyes sting. you blink hard, but it doesn’t help, like, at all. the hot streaks down your flustered face is evidence of that...
this doesn’t feel real. nanami is kind, nanami is patient, nanami listens, nanami's kind. the man in front of you is mean and cruel and doesn’t seem to see you as his loving girlfriend at all.
“I didn’t mean to make things harder for you,” you whisper.
he only scoffs. “intent doesn’t matter. results do. and your results are always a fucking problem.”
you want to dissolve into a puddle on the floor, you want to curl up somewhere and hide away from this monster disguised as your once living boyfriend. you don’t defend yourself, you don’t tell him how much effort you try to put in, how careful you try to be. you don’t remind him of the mornings you wake early just to make his day smoother, you don’t point out that he never used to talk to you like this.
you just stand there, and you take it. this was so unbelievable, so new, you didn't know how else to handle it.
and he just keeps on going. every frustration from his day pours out, redirected and sharpened, pointed straight at you. the partner who didn’t pull his weight, the criticism he didn’t deserve, the sense of being judged for things outside his control. it all lands on you instead, because you’re here, because you won’t fight back, because you look like you can carry it.
and you do. for a while.
your eyes go all blurry from the way tears prick at your lids, your gaze plummets to the floor and your hands start to shake. you hate how badly you're taking this, how he can obviously see that you're terrified but he just won't stop.
after it feels like he's gotten it all outta his system, he finally stops talking. the words dry up, leaving a thick silence behind in both his throat and the air. his chest is heaving as the anger drains out, replaced by a horrible, innate awareness.
what did he just do?
his head shoots up to look at your face wet with tears, then to your hands and the way they shake, to your eyes as they dart anywhere but him. his girlfriend, his gentle girl, looking like she'd just been battered, standing there all scared..
because of him.
fuck.
he opens his mouth to say your name, to apologise, to explain, but he never gets the chance.
because you push him away before he can, your hands come up and push against his chest, not hard, but forceful enough that he gets the memo.
“don’t,” you say. your voice cracks pathetically. “just.. just leave me alone.."
then you turn and dart the rest of the way down the hall.
the bedroom door closes behind you with a soft, careful sound, like you don’t want to make anything worse, even now, after he'd just rebuilt every wall you'd managed to break down with him when it came to you opening up.
~
“my sweet girl… please open the door…”
you'd been locked away in the bed room for a little over an hour now, hiding from him.
his voice comes through the wood much softer than of the foul shit you’d heard from him tonight. he sounds worn down and stripped bare of all the angst he'd been harbouring beforehand. you sit on the edge of the bed with your knees pulled up to your chest, staring at the door with a forlorn expression.
you don’t move and you most certainly don’t answer.
from the other side of the barrier, nanami stands with his forehead pressed to the wood, feeling like every bad person in the world all at once.
“i know you don’t wanna see me,” he says quietly. “i get that. i deserve it.” he sighs softly. “but please… just listen. you don’t have to say anything. just… let me say this, sweetheart.”
you don't reply once more, the apartment feels too big and roomy without you in it, even though you’re only a few steps away.
“i’m sorry,” he huffs out quietly, his soft spoken self coming back out into the open. “i’m so fucking sorry. i should have never spoken to you like that. not ever. i don’t care how bad my day was, i don’t care how angry i felt, none of it excuses what i said to you.”
he gulps down the stinging in his lungs and persists.
“what i said was so cruel. it was disgustingly wrong. it was aimed to hurt you, and i knew that while i was doing it. and that’s the part that makes me feel sick to my stomach.”
you stay silent, but your ears are definitely pricked.
“i took everything i was feeling and i threw it at you because you were there. because you wouldn't yell back. and that’s disgusting of me.” his voice dips. “i made you feel small. i made you feel useless. i made you feel like a burden in your own home.”
you press your face into your knees. your eyes start to sting all over again.
“but baby, you are none of those things,” he says a tad louder because he needs you to hear this part clearly. “not even close. i don’t know how i let that shit come out of my mouth when the truth is the complete opposite.”
he exhales slowly, gathering himself just to let go again.
“today's class was rough. just stupid thing after another, more stupider thing.” a pause. “and i came home already angry, already looking for somewhere to drill it.”
his voice breaks a little. “and i took it out on you.”
another fill of quiet and you still don’t make a sound nor open the door.
“i love you,” he mumbles desperately. “i love you so much it seriously scares me. im not usually one for relationships, but i told myself i'd try my best with you, because you mean more to me than anyone else..." his voice cracks like he might cry. "and tonight... i acted like someone who doesn’t deserve you at all."
his forehead stays against the door and his shoulders sink.
“everything i said about you not doing enough… about you ruining things… i don’t believe any of it. not for a second. i was lashing out, i was trying to hurt something because i was hurt.”
he lets out a strangled sound that might of been a laugh if it didn’t flatline only a second after sounding.
“you cook for me every single day. you make food that reminds me to slow down and actually eat instead of skipping meals like an idiot. you clean even when i tell you not to worry about it. you organise my class notes when i forget. you remember my deadlines better than i do. you wake up early just to see me off with a smile like i’m the best part of your morning.”
your fingers shake into the blanket beneath you.
“you ironed that shirt because you wanted to help me,” he continues. “because you thought about me while i wasn’t even home. and i stood there and tore you apart for it.”
his voice drops lower. “i’m appalled by myself. truly. i never wanted to be the kind of man who raises his voice at you. i never wanted to be the reason you look scared in your own house.”
he shifts on the floor outside, the faint sound of him sitting down against the door.
“you do so much for me,” he says softly. “you do more than i made it out to look. you make this place feel like a home, you make me feel so steady when everything else is a chaotic mess. and i stood there and told you that what you do doesn't matter..."
his hand lifts and presses flat again to the door, right where your back would be if you were standing there.
“i am so, so sorry my love."
his apology pours through the door and it feels earnest and aching, but it doesn’t erase what’s already been said. the words he used still sit under your skin, sharp and lodged deep in your pumping arteries.
outside, nanami closes his eyes with a deep breath, he knows there’s no guarantee you’ll forgive him. he knows apologies don’t rewind time, and he knows he might have undone months, maybe years, of trust he'd built between the two of you, especially with such a shy girl, in a single night.
his throbbing head drifts softly to the first time he met you. you were timid, you spoke softly and avoided all of his eye contact, you were careful with everything you did. he remembers promising himself he’d never be another voice that made you shrink away like a snail into its shell.
yet tonight, he was 10x worse than that.
he stays there, back against the door, replaying every sentence he'd spat down at you. every moment he could have stopped and didn’t. every chance he had to walk away instead of cutting you down.
“i’ll wait,” he says quietly, not sure if you’re still listening. “as long as you need. i’m not going anywhere.”
...
the door clicks, then slides open gently leaving nanami's back without a rest.
"baby?" he flicks his head around, now looking up at a very sad, yet very pretty girl.
he practically jumps to his feet, flattening down his shirt and running a hand through his hair.
“are you okay?” he asks quietly like he’s afraid the question alone might do some more irreversible damage.
you can't muster up and answer, you don't try to tell him something you're not even sure of yourself, so you stay quiet looking up into his solemn eyes.
he spots a dried track of salt running down your cheek and his arm reaches up instinctively to wipe it away. after, you gently push his arm away, but too keen on him thinking he can touch you just yet.
“i’m fine,” you say. your voice is steady, even if it doesn’t quite match how you feel. “really.”
he nods, even though it’s obvious he doesn’t believe you, not one bit. he drops his hand back to his side like he’s been reminded of his place.
“i’m sorry,” he chirps again. “i know i already said it. i just… i need you to know i mean it.”
the way nanami looked right now would send your past self into a coma. he was shrunk into himself, his eyes were hollow from stressing out over you, and his voice was shaken and impossibly weak. still. even if he was sorry, the fact that he'd done what he did still remained.
“i don’t forgive you,” you say honestly.
he flinches, just a little. but he doesn’t interrupt.
“not yet,” you add. “but i don’t want to shut you out either. i just… i need some space from what you said.”
he lets out a big exhale with relief and guilt all tangled together. “that’s more than okay,” he says. “i understand, honey. completely.”
he steps forward then, giving you time to move away if you want to. when you don’t, his big, grounding arms slither around your shoulders and hold you tenderly against his chest.
you let yourself melt into him, after this hell of a night you needed some tlc, even if it was from the very root of your discomfort.
“i’m taking tomorrow off,” he says softly, chin resting near your hair. “no class, or homework, nothing. m' gonna spoil you, baby. i promise you."
you pull away to look up at him. “ken., you don’t have to do that.”
he gives a small shake of his head. “i know. this isn’t about getting back on your good side.” his mouth curves into something gentle. “i just want to. i want to spend the day with you. i want to make it a good one after all of the pain i just put you through.”
you shyly mumble, “you don’t need to spoil me.”
“yes, but i want to,” he replies simply. “please, let me.”
his hands come up to frame your face, the pass of his thumbs resting along your cheeks as he strokes lines down where your tears would of fallen.
“i hate that i made your pretty little face look like this,” he murmurs. “i hate that i put that look in your eyes. you deserve softness, my love...not that..”
your lips inch upwards into a small smile despite the situation, and you look him in the eye for half a second.
he notices right away and of course, his own smile follows gently.
“there it is,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your flushed cheem. “that smile. i love that smile.”
he leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, his stubble tickling your chin.
“i’m sorry,” he whispers again, another kiss following. “i’m so sorry.”
he guides you back toward the bedroom with a hand at your back, he helps you sit on the bed, then gently encourages you to lie back. his movements are nice and kind, so attentive, he’s really making sure every step feels safe and familiar.
he leans his big muscular body over yours as he peppers small kisses over your delicate skin.
“i’ll never talk to you like that again, okay?” he says quietly between kisses. “never. i don’t care what kind of day i’ve had, you are not where my anger belongs, and i am so sorry for ever getting that mixed up."
you look up at him with shiny eyes. “you.. you really scared me,” you admit.
his expression softens further, if that’s even possible at this point. “i know. and i hate that. i swear to you, i will spend every day making sure you never feel like that with me ever again.”
he presses his forehead to yours, “you’re not a burden,” he insists. “you’re not useless. you’re the best part of my life, [name]. and i am so grateful you didn’t walk away from me tonight even though you had every right to. hell, you still do."
you reach up, fingers curling lightly into his shirt. “i just… need time.”
he nods. “take all of it. anything you need. i’ll be right here.”
pulling you into his side after rolling over, his arm rests tightly around you in such a way that feels protective without being overwhelming and possessive.
“tomorrow, i’ll take you wherever you want. we’ll eat whatever you want. we’ll do whatever you want, we'll do nothing if that’s what you need.” he assures you, sighing contently into your neck.
you let go of a small "mhm." in response, your sore, puffy eyes finally starting to close.
“thank you,” you whisper.
he kisses your hair. “always.”
he might of been an asshole who misplaced his anger, and he might of been the single most asshole-ish guy in the universe tonight, but when a man like nanami makes a mistake? you best belive he never, ever makes it again.
that's why you stay curled up in his arms as he strokes your back gently. you could tell he meant every word of the apology, and you knew that this was a one time thing.
nanami wasn't the prefect boyfriend, but after that night, he promised himself he'd be the closest thing to it. for you, his sweet, gentle girl.
A/N first request done, 9 to go ! mean nanami is so yum i lava him 🤞🏼
Synopsis. Dearest gentle reader, it’s a royal affair! This social season we answer the age-long question: can a knight truly love a princess? For amidst the celebrations and pomp of your royal betrothal, rumors circulate that a certain handsome knight, Choso Kamo, already has his eyes (and hands) on you. Is forbidden romance in the air?
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, knight!Choso, Bridgerton AU, princess x knight, best-friends-to-Iovers, regency AU, YEARNING, letters, secret admirers, betrothals, poIiticaI alliances, unrequited Iove (or is it?), the Ton, Lady Whistledown’s, papers, scandaIs, balls, pússydrúnk Choso, oraI (fem rec.), fíngering, spítting, he’s a MUNCH, face-ríding, sneaking off, service d, he’s FÉRAL, ríding him, using him, fírst times, manhandIing, making it fit, cervíx smooches, begging to be yours, rough s babbIing, DÚMBlFICATlON, making you work for it, creampíes, pushing it back in, cúmpIay, slight overstím, confessions, HAPPY ENDING, coronations, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 12.9k
A/N. Heard there was a new Bridgerton season so I just had to <33
The letter is short.
“It’s you.
My dearest princess, surely, you must know that it can only ever be you.
I have battled fruitlessly this greatest conflict of my life—those of the soul—and I cannot bear it any longer. I have fraught, and choked, and swallowed my words in the hope that, perhaps, one day they shall cessate along with this traitorous heart of mine. It is what it deserves. Diverted from its duties to the body, my heart exists solely to count the beats of time that I am beside you.
It aches the greatest ache, as my affection remains unchanged. And the words yest escape me onto this page, my dearest princess.
Thus, I beg that you forgive this lowly admirer for his treason.
For, it’s you. It’s you. It’s you.
It shall at last and forevermore be you.”
Unsigned and unclaimed. Left on the gilded surface of your nightstand, as it had been every morning for the past four years.
Your bashful secret admirer.
Now, the first time had been rather a shock—to both you and the flutter of attendants who’d happened upon the parchment. You certainly didn’t have any close acquaintances nor prospects entertained whom were so dedicated to deliver a letter at the splinter of daybreak (and a brief interrogation of your personal ladies-in-waiting showed that they’d seen nothing of who’d been slipping you notes at night).
It had to be someone from the palace, however - if they managed to deliver these letters so frequently and so easily.
Though most nobles sent their correspondences upon dishes of pure silver, with an attendant from their court that would recount every detail of your reaction to them later. But this one had no staff attached to it, no emblem, no name. No identity in the very least.
Nothing but slanted, slightly trembling words as if the writer’s hand had been caught in an inescapable tremor the entire time. And the flower.
Every morning, once you excitedly unfurled the little pink ribbon that tied the letter up, a small yellow daffodil would fall from inside. As if a piece of the early morning sunlight, plucked from the skies, placed in your hands, you’d roll the stem between your fingers as you read through the letter.
Each word more tantalizing than the last.
You’d tried to spend the night awake on several occasions, of course, to catch this romantic culprit in the act. But the only thing that served you was a few hours of sleep, and a thoroughly cranky elocution teacher once you kept nodding off during class - and no admirer, evidently. And yet you’d still awoken to the neatly tied-up parchment in the morning.
Like a phantom in the night.
The letter was the first sign of daybreak itself.
When that scheme had found itself utterly useless, you’d taken to warning your personal knights stationed outside your royal chamber - certainly not to get your admirer caught, rather to find out just a morsel of information about them. A morsel.
Yuji and Nobara had been rightfully horrified, though you’d insisted that whoever this was meant no harm!
You suspected that your admirer snuck into your room in the few minutes between the knights changing their stations: Yuji and Nobara would be set firmly outside until midnight, and any dark hours past that would have your doorstep occupied by knights Choso and Yaga. Two of the most trusted knights in all the kingdom, with all the accolades to prove it.
And it certainly helped that Choso had been your personal knight for the past two years - though you’d been friends for far longer than that. Always at your side, always staring down nobles that overstepped, always offering his hand out to you when a step was too steep.
He was your rock. He is.
He’d been one of the court advisor’s sons, your age. You remember being a young royal unaware (or perhaps uncaring) of the duties that loomed for you in the horizon; spending summer mornings playing tag with Choso and a few of the other children in the palace, and winter nights breezing through books and time like sand—just the two of you in that grandiose library. His father resided in a modest estate not too far off from the palace, and Choso cried every time he had to say goodbye to you. Every single day.
You grew the most close with Choso.
And once he had come of age, he’d promptly signed up to become a knight.
Through training and nutrition plans, and battles and scars, Choso had climbed up the ranks faster than any other you’ve ever seen. Though he was still as tender-hearted as you remembered him - he’d shed a few tears the day he was assigned to a brief battle on the outskirts of the kingdom. Away from you.
But you’d simply wiped away his tears and cooed in a low voice that your elocution lessons hadn’t taught you to—come back to me soon, Cho.
And he had.
The battle with the Zenins had ended, and Choso Kamo had returned as the kingdom’s most celebrated warrior. It’s whispered to this day amongst the palace staff how he’d kicked off his saddle in town, run past all the bubbling celebrations- straight to the royal palace where he’d waded past the congratulating courts and straight to you—
All in platonic friendship, of course.
Of course.
But you suppose it didn’t help quell the rumors when Choso rejected your father, the King’s, offers of estates and riches. Of lifetimes of luxury. He’d stood before the royal court and bowed his head, having only one request of the monarch: to be your personal knight. Forevermore until he breathes.
And how could one say no to the turning point of the battle?
And thus, he’d become your knight. Yours.
You suppose it was around this time that the letters had started, too…
You clutch this morning’s letter to your chest and breathe in the smell of fresh ink, leather, and the faintest hint of summer vanilla that dripped off of the page. It was always this scent that followed your admirer’s ardent declarations, and soon enough every time you passed the gardens or poked at a vanilla dessert, you couldn’t help but think of him.
A knock interrupts your thoughts and you startle.
Pushing the letter carefully underneath your pillow, “Come in.”
The towering double doors of your bedroom had small gilded swirls on it, which, if you stepped back, melded together to form an image that looked like the clouds above. Frothing and tumbling and swirling. Heaven itself. How oddly poetic that through these gates of heaven would walk in Choso Kamo, his knight’s armor catching the rays of morning sunlight.
His visor was pushed up to reveal his face.
His features were sharp and handsome.
His doe-like brown eyes were the envy of the courts.
He looks at you in your thin nightgown and flushes- “Y-your Highness—!”
Choso’s armor clanks and clutters as he hurries to turn away from you, and soon enough you find yourself staring at the knight’s broad back. Chiselled after so many years of training. Bringing a hand up to your lips you have to stifle a giggle at the sheer contrast- “My dearest knight, does it disgust you to gaze upon me like so?”
“Th-the furthest thing from it, Your Highness.” He sputters, and you swear you catch the back of his neck - just the slightest slit you could see between his armor plates - burning bright red. Blushing.
“Do you believe me of unsound character, then?” You challenge, “Do you believe me a harl-”
“Bear not the thought!”
“Then turn.”
He does—barely. Just enough degrees that you can see his handsome side profile, and he can stare at you through his peripheral vision- though that, too, is largely obscured by his helmet. “Forgive me…” Choso gulps. “-but the mere sight of you is not suited to be gazed upon by this lowly knight, my princess.”
“You have been within ames-ace of Yaga for far too long.” You tut.
But you’re still reaching for the gold-laced robe draped over the edge of your bed - your attendants had placed it there last night. Choso was always the first to greet you in the morning.
And it’s only once he’s completely sure that the robe now covered the beautiful angles and curves of your body, that is obscured from him what is Eve’s most beautiful apple, does he turn to face you. Only to find that he had spent so long mustering up the courage, that you’d already dipped underneath your pillow and pulled out-
“Yet another letter, Your Highness?” Choso queries, and you nod.
It was requisite that such an occurrence must be shared with your personal knight - most of all, your friend. And you didn’t feel the need to hide it from Choso as you did with your parents—perhaps because you knew his duty was to you, above all. You above the crown. “Oh, you shan’t believe it- today they wrote the most romantic line about how their heart beats simply to count their time beside me—”
Choso gives a jerky nod, “And the flower?”
“As always.” You’re pinching the little flower where it had been laid safely on top of your decadent pillow, showing it to him.
Your best friend takes one look at it and breaks out into an almost…relieved smile. “I see- he really is a stubborn old fool, isn’t he?”
“Oh, don’t call him a fool.” You huff. Turning away with your flower, “I think he’s just lovely.”
“Suppose he is a fool?” Choso probes, “Suppose he isn’t of great wits- would you still think he’s lovely?”
You furrow your brows at him, “But, of course. Intelligence cannot be measured by how many dusty books you read. Despite that, I believe that one would be of rather sound wits should they wish to compose letters this beautiful.”
There’s a pause. “Then suppose he isn’t rather pleasant to look at?”
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” You counter stubbornly. “I think that I should find them quite beautiful either way.”
“Then suppose he’s a commoner?”
“That is the last thing I would fuss about-”
“But what if he’s a…” Choso starts- and as you wait for him to finish—he shakes his head. Giving you a light bow, “I apologize for getting carried by the conversation, Your Highness. I have just been reminded of my orders to urge you into prompt preparation to receive some very special guests today. I have summoned your ladies-in-waiting, they are stationed at the third royal baths.”
“Guests?” You ask. The palace always did have a constant flow of royals and nobles and merchants and people of the public going in and out, and rarely did you have to make a personal accompaniment with them. “What special guests may we—”
It’s then that you look at your calendar of quarter days: social days and tutoring days, and a day circled in rouge.
Today.
“Ah…”
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
Royal gossip has always been the lifeblood of the Ton—particularly this year, with the debut of our Royal Highness, the princess, this social season. Rumors have been a-swirling for quite some time now, speculation about just which eligible gentleman will be lucky enough to win over the beautiful royal’s hand in marriage: perhaps a fair noble, perhaps the richest merchant of the land, perhaps a prince from a far-away land. The possibilities are endless!
Our dignified royal family has always been rather private about such matters regarding their princess, but today this humble writer is here to put these whispers to rest, my dear reader.
My most trust-worthy sources inform me of a royal fleet that has docked in our harbor early in the morrow—a fleet with none other than the Zenin family insignia upon its flag!
Now, before you fear another military skirmish with the ever-ruthless Zenin family, gentle reader, let me assure you that my insiders state this royal visitation to not be an act of warfare. Rather…of romance.
Some claim an age-long betrothal, some claim a political marriage in the works.
The cauldron of curiosity bubbles even further once you learn that the Zenin family, including His Highness Naoya Zenin, shall be paying a royal visit to the palace today! And some members of the royal knights claim they shall take extra precaution, and that Her Highness’s personal guard - a handsome young knight by the name of Choso Kamo - is to be with her at all times. Ooo la la!
It will certainly make it difficult for either Prince Naoya nor any other…admirer to get close to the princess (the palace walls talk, gentle reader, and some of my sources claim the presence of a second interest in Her Highness’s life—secret letters being hand-delivered every single night!)
But that is neither here nor there, and your writer is certainly not planning a visit to the royal dungeons in the near future!
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
.
.
.
“—such a beautiful garden-” Naoya’s lip curls as he looks out of the tall, sun-lit window at the rolling field below. Your parents barely have enough time to open their mouths in response before he continues, “-but of course, ours is much larger. Second only to our stables and the incredible militia grounds that we have-”
Everyone in the meeting hall closes their mouth, quenches their hope for speaking at least for the next twenty-five minutes.
You learn within the first few moments of meeting him that Naoya Zenin liked hearing his own voice, and any time he wasn’t, he was replaying his own voice over and over inside his head. You also learn that you don’t like him in the slightest.
Which makes being betrothed to him all the more difficult.
It had been a political alliance- or so your father had briefed you one night several months ago. Calling you into his office, holding your hand, he had let you cry on his shoulder for the first time in years that night.
To unite two people who had been locked in a bloody border war for far too long - that was your duty.
And this marriage was the key.
It had been long enough to let the finality of it sink in, and not nearly as long enough for it not to sting. Still. It hurt like a hot iron embedded in your heart once you had to curtsey for the prince.
He had barely bowed back.
And now the two royal families - as well as several esteemed members of your council - were spread out in the grand meeting hall. Watching as the blond-haired royal turned his nose up at the plate of intricate desserts offered to him by a male attendant—he flicks his hand at the boy and orders the woman standing beside him to do it.
The woman being no one else but the most talented healer in all the land.
Shoko Ieri looks ready to stab him with her scalpel.
“Compensating.” A low whisper sounds from behind you.
You don’t have to turn to know that it’s Choso- but you do anyway. And your heart flutters just a little as you spy his warm brown eyes through the gaps of his visor, “Pardon?”
He repeats, “Compensating.” Nodding towards Naoya who had now roped your mother into a spiel about his armory.
“—we boast the largest swords in the entire world, you see.” Naoya was bragging in his grating tone, and your poor mother could only nod. “The best- the biggest. Any old cod can claim that size doesn’t matter and yet our biggest swords are-”
You can’t help it - you catch Choso’s eye and you both have to force yourselves from bursting into a fit of chuckles.
Both turning into each other.
Your hand clutching Choso’s arm for support.
Choso’s gentle hum of laughter breezing the top of your head.
Only too late do you realize that everyone in the room had their eyes turned to you - each in varying degrees of horror at the proximity between a princess and her knight. Except for Shoko who had gone from glowering at the prince to looking somewhat…knowing.
Damn you, Shoko—you’re half-heartedly cursing her out in your head as you straighten up. Trying not to flinch as Choso follows and takes a step backwards to stand behind you.
As a knight is told to be.
You can’t see the expression on Choso’s face nor his demeanour, but what you do know is the familiar creaking of metal as your best friend sags in on himself. Almost shielding himself from the world underneath all that armor.
Perhaps from it.
You notice that he always did so whenever someone in court made his place known: whenever they flickered their eyes between the two of you, whenever they pushed their noble sons to greet you, whenever they questioned just why a knight was allowed to even look at the princess like so.
He took it all to heart. Crumpled it up inside, and in doing so he crumpled that beating thing as well.
You wanted to say something—but you knew you couldn’t.
And, of course, it’s Naoya who speaks first. “Hmm, once we are wed then I shall have to make sure that such a thing is not repeated.”
“There is no such thing to speak of.” You speak through a grit smile.
“So you say—” He takes a bite of a puff pastry and places it back on the golden plating, “-but as your husband, it is I who shall have the final say.”
Yell strangled in your throat, you take a step forward-
Only for your father to sense the growing tension and ease his way in, “So is that to say a royal wedding might be on the horizon?”
Naoya takes his sweet time answering, “Well…” Looking straight at you as he contemplates, he wipes off a bit of leftover vanilla cream from the edge of his lip and flicks it. “That is what I’m saying, Your Majesty.”
Your father claps his hands heartily, “Send for the wedding preparations right away—! Oh, and draft the announcement for the-”
But you don’t hear a single word.
It feels numb.
It feels like something’s buzzing inside of your head.
You’re unsteady on your feet until a cold metallic hand reaches out and clasps hold of you.
You know it’s Choso and you do not let go.
.
.
.
Your heart aches at the letter you receive on the morning afterwards: the morning of the official announcement.
“My dearest princess, cry not.
Cry not—for a single drop of your tears is worth more than all the raindrops in heaven, all the rays of sunlight kissing the Earth, and all the beats of my heart.
It has been running rattle-brained, foolishly wild, these past few hours as I stagger upon the thought that I may lose you. Not that this lowly admirer had you in the first place, my dearest princess, you must forgive me for my presumption. But in every little way in which you are mine, I gain to lose you still.
Cry not for a man that should not cry for you, my dearest princess. Cry not for a man that cries for you still.
And I…above all I am a selfish man. I am a selfish man—utterly selfish—and should all the world’s laws be up to me, then you and I, should you wish it, would have been married four summers past.
Alas, I am overruled.”
You’re dressed for the public.
And once you’re escorted to the royal balcony where all palace announcements are conducted, you look up from the ground just in time to see Yuji catch Choso’s eye. The long-haired man behind you shakes his head.
Though you’re not quite sure what it means, it somehow makes you feel all the more worse.
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
Though it is not in good manners for a lady to gasconade, allow this writer here to tell you that I had proclaimed so—a royal wedding is forthcoming!
You have read that right, dear reader!
Don your best silks and gather your best florals, for soon her Royal Highness, the princess, shall be wed to Prince Naoya Zenin. According to what was proclaimed at the most recent palace announcement, a grand wedding is to take place in a week’s time, immediate after the Royal Diamond Ball, to celebrate the union. Though experts speculate that this marriage is likely of political origins rather than the heart-fluttering romance that some think, one thing is for certan—His Highness, Naoya Zenin, certainly seemed to take the affair in stride.
Witnesses to the official announcement claim that the prince simply couldn’t keep the smile off of his face at the thought of his beautiful new bride (though others claim that it’s due to his imminent rise to the throne thereafter, as he isn’t the first heir to the Zenin Family—however, you didn’t hear that from me, dear reader!)
Others at the site were more entranced by none other than the princess’s trusty personal knight - Choso Kamo was expectedly standing guard beside Her Highness. But what caught the attention of eagle-eyed onlookers was rather the…expression upon his handsome face.
You could not pay me to name a more heart-broken man, dear reader! You could not!
Perhaps this is an omen of how the wedding preparations are being handled behind the curtains? Perhaps this is an omen of…something more?
This writer has a personal inkling about the reasons as to why knight Choso might have looked at Her Highness with nothing less than sorrow (did somebody say tears in his eyes?)
And amongst this roulette of wishful men I know you’re asking me—but Lady Whistledown, what of the princess’s secret admirer?
Well—you’ll be happy to know that I come with reliable insight that the secret delivery of love letters has yet to cease! Yes, gentle reader, this particular admirer seems quite passionate in their affections. Even going so far as to send one just after the announcement. Should the letters have yet to halt now, one can only imagine whether they shall stop even after the royal wedding.
The prince. The admirer. The knight (perhaps?) How can one choose?!
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
.
.
.
“Big brother-”
“No-”
“Big brother, I simply state that-”
“Quiet, Yuji.”
Choso’s tone comes out harder than he’d intended, and his chest clenches at the wounded look in the younger boy’s eyes. Without wasting a single second, and without looking to see if anyone was nearby, he’s lunging forwards and embracing the boy into his arms.
Holding him just as he had when they were children and the pink-haired one would fall and bruise himself- though the only one that feels bruised right now is Choso.
It had been a week since the wedding announcement.
And all preparations had been in full swing: enough so that between all the dress-fittings, and the flower-pickings, and the guest-greetings, Choso hadn’t even had the time to exchange a proper conversation with you. Not that he was in the place to - especially not anymore.
Tonight was the Royal Diamond Ball of the season, where one Diamond shall be picked, always taking place inside the palace.
Except, this time, it had doubled in both extravagance and guest-list due to the simple fact that tonight was also the grand ball before your wedding. Tomorrow morning you would walk down the aisle in a dress of white.
Tomorrow morning you will be another’s wife.
He hugs his younger brother tight, “Yuji, I apologize for my brash words-”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” Yuji finally breaks the hug, “I was simply careless with my own words.”
“You were not-”
“I just don’t understand why you can’t be happy- why both of you can’t be happy. Together.” He looks away, eyes filling with tears he knows wouldn’t encompass even the tiniest fraction of what his brother has shed over this very reason. “It’s just not fair.”
“Some things…some things are meant to be the way they are.” Choso stares ahead at the gilded hallway spread out before him, “We must simply persist.”
Yuji looks as though he wants to say something more- but at that very moment, the doors to your royal chamber are opening. The two knights had been stationed there until you were fussed-over and all dolled-up for the Royal Diamond Ball tonight - the last as an unwed princess. The last before you were bound to Naoya Zenin.
And looking at you now, Choso thinks that it would’ve been worth it to cut down the wedding and all its procession for you.
Because there wasn’t a word to describe you.
The soft champagne of the taffeta draped over your shoulders and puffed up fashionably at your arms, cascading down in a waterfall of expensive silks up to your ankles. Following were glistening pearls that only brought out the beauty of the dress - your beauty - wrung at the edges of your hem and necklines. Delicate bracelets where your hands were gloved. A singular diamond hanging from your neck. And of course—your tiara.
It weighed heavily on your head.
Your ladies-in-waiting had dabbed on a bit of glittering rouge on your lips.
It was all that Choso could stare at.
You weren’t just bound to be the Diamond of the season, you were a diamond from the night sky. And he’s still trying to find a word to describe you that he knows wouldn’t come close, not even in a hundred of his l—
“Choso?” You cock your head gently at him. Trying not to bite down on your lower lip in nervousness and smear your attendants’ hard work, “Is something the matter-”
“Enchanting.” He blurts out- but that wasn’t enough. Would never be enough.
You look at him with slightly widened eyes, and he wouldn’t take the word back anyway. He looks at you and says in a more firm tone, “You look enchanting, my princess.”
You try - and fail - to bite back a smile—and ultimately end up swatting him on his armored chest. “Enchanting? Do not think that flattery shall stop me from forcing you into a dance tonight.”
“Ah—foiled again!” He dramatically looks to the skies.
“Fool.” You joking strike him again - Choso had dressed up for the occasion as well. His armor had been polished until it shined like a mirror, reflecting your own two ogling eyes back at you. Even the hilt of his blade looked deathly sharp.
He’d pushed his visor up and that gave you a glimpse of those two doe-like eyes, chestnut brown and warm. He was staring at you in a way that made you squirm.
Though Lady Whistledown’s society papers tended to use pretty prose, what they hadn’t lied about was this. Just how handsome he was.
“P-perhaps we ought to make our entrance.” You say.
And he nods in understanding, “We ought to—” But, what Choso realizes, is that he doesn’t understand at all.
And his breath hitches as you clutch onto his right arm with both hands. Attaching yourself against his side- how he wished he could feel the warmth of your body through his armor-
“These shoes are far too tall.” You fail to meet his eyes, “Forgive me, but if I could use a bit of support until-”
“Anything you want, my princess.” He breathes.
Your actual entrance into the grand ball is a blur - you’ve attended far too many of these in far too short a time before. It’s the crunch of velvet carpet underneath your too-tall shoes, and the strangely burning sensation of all eyes being directed at you.
At the way you were still holding onto Choso.
You distance yourself from him silently, and he falls in step behind you. The master of ceremonies announces your name even though everyone here already knows it. The staircase is never-ending and unrelenting, each step louder than the thundering of your heartbeat, a staccato of what feels like your own unravelling.
You’re slightly off-kilter as you reach the end- before a hand shoots out to help you.
You grasp onto the man’s calloused hand gratefully, looking up to realize that it was Yaga.
“Watch your step, Your Highness.” He helps you stand and wade through the crowd. As the head knight, Yaga had the freedom to forgo the armor tonight. It was a strong navy blue, nearly the entire chest of it covered in numerous medals and colors - warning off keen-eyed nobles from nearing.
You catch sight of Naoya surrounded by ladies-in-wait by the feast-
Yaga’s voice breaks through, “What is it that’s on your mind, Your Highness?”
“Nothing.” You answer instantly, “It’s just- it must be pre-wedding jitters.”
“I see…” He looks at you intensely, and you feel as though he can see right through you. Know right through what you’re really feeling. “Then in that case, all is well, correct?”
“Correct.”
He almost smiles, “And you are ready to be wed to His Highness Naoya, correct?”
“C-correct.”
“And you shall be thinking of a certain knight- or a certain admirer on the altar, correct?”
“Correct-” You falter, “Excuse me?”
“Ah—it seems the orchestra is commencing.” Yaga looks into the distance where the violin players had started easing in soft trills, as if music itself had waited for your arrival. “Now, my back is certainly too weathered for such dances- but I shall hold you with me no longer, Your Highness.” He turns to you and gives you a gentle smile, “Go—have your first dance.”
You almost plead, “But with who?” Naoya was still…occupied with all the court ladies- not that you would ever in a million years want to dance with Naoya Zenin in the first place-
“Whoever your heart may desire.” Yaga interrupts your thoughts, letting go of your hand- though not before pressing in something delicate and flat into it. He looks somewhere behind you—“A letter, asked of me to hand to you. I only implore that you stay as true to your heart, as he is to you.”
As Yaga disappears into the crowd starting to twirl in their tulle skirts—you open that little piece of paper up.
A short message.
“My dearest princess,
Steps behind you, a vision I do not deserve to see.
The most enchanting girl in the world to me.”
Enchanting.
The paper nearly falls out of your hand, and you can only look behind you - to where Choso Kamo was refusing to meet your eyes. His metallic visor was down and you couldn’t help but step closer.
Uncaring what they say as you’re reaching out and fastening it upwards- “Is this your penmanship, my dearest knight?”
He does not answer.
“Do you think I look enchanting, my dearest knight?”
He does not answer.
“Does your heart beat solely for me, my dearest knight?”
He does not answer.
“Do you not wish for me to be married—” At that, he flinches like a wounded animal. And you already know that he most certainly won’t be answering that question. Which is why you’re answering instead, “For I feel much the same towards you.”
He snaps his head up, glittering brown eyes pleading down at you. He breathes…“Of which sentiment?”
You smile, “All of it.”
“A-and the marriage-” Choso takes a jerky step towards you, his armor creaking like the weight of dungeon chains. “The alliance-”
“May I have this first dance?” You simply reach your hand out.
And as the music crescendos, he takes your hand and presses a kiss to the back of your head. Letting you lead into a golden floor.
Gasps deafen the ballroom music.
.
.
.
The Ton was a-flutter and a-ripe with scandal as you spent your first dance at the Royal Diamond ball with your knight instead of your betrothed. At least, that’s what you imagine - the truth is that you’d been too entranced with Choso Kamo to even pay attention.
He’d held you gently - so gently - as though his large hands could break you at any given moment.
And Choso had never let his eyes stray from your figure as he twirled you around the ballroom. He would have cared about the whispered- he should have…but how could he when he had the most enchanting girl in the world in his arms?
Too soon- your dance was cut short by an arm on Choso’s shoulder. Stopping him.
You’d both turned to face Naoya Zenin, furious spit lining the edges of his lips. He had barked out a formal order for the knight to step aside and hand him your dance- and though Choso’s hand had gone to his sword…
You’d shaken your head at him.
It was a half-dance with Naoya (of which you’d excused yourself feigning networking duties) and a hastened walk to the edge of the ballroom. Right where Choso Kamo was attempting to blend into the gilded ballroom.
You’d nodded discreetly at him and he already knew—
With Yaga suddenly causing a commotion- accidentally spilling his red wine on Lady Mei Mei’s dress, no one had noticed the two of you slipping out after the second dance. Before the Diamond was announced.
He followed you silently, two steps behind as a knight should, all the way up to your royal bedroom.
It was only once you’d reached your towering double doors that you took Choso by hand- all but dragging the handsome knight inside. And though he’d squawked in surprise, you’d merely looked at your best friend with determined eyes.
“Take me, Choso.”
He gasps. His shudders.
He was going to ruin the princess.
CLANK!
CLANK!
CLANK!
CLANK!
Choso’s heavy armor fell to the ground—
CLANK!
The last of it before the knight scoops his strong arms underneath your legs and hoists you up into that princess carry you’ve read about in every fairy tale. Choso walks you gently over to the expansive bed, before setting you down and laying you all flat—
“Why’re you by the foot of the bed, Cho?” You’re huffing down at the man who was now pressed against the mahogany bedframe. He had his knees down on the soft carpet, kneeled at your feet. Grabbing onto one of Choso’s toned arms - still in a gauzy white poet’s shirt that had been worn underneath his armor - you attempt futilely to pull him upwards. “Come lay with me.”
Looking away with a blush. “Why…have you really not the faintest idea, my dearest princess?” Hearing those words from his mouth sends shivers down your spine.
He looks at you with dark, half-lidded eyes. Hands spreading your thighs apart and sliding down the sides of your legs. Beneath those customary layers of silk. Choso’s hands keep roaming, and there’s a sudden rush of heat pulsing down to your core once you register his fingertips scraping the edge of your undergarments.
Mouth falling slightly agape.
“I-It’s only customary to give the lady a kiss before the dance—”
You’re gasping as your brain registers the innuendo- but not before Choso dips his mouth down and gives your cunt a looooong kiss through your sodden panties. Open-mouthed and hot.
He draaaaags the tip of his tongue down your slit n’ tastes you for the first time. Letting a single droplet of your syrupy slick end up splashin’ on his tongue- and he fucking moans. Loud.
Just so husky and attractive that it makes your body buck up into him without even realizing.
And it’s all that Choso needs to let go of his inhibitions. It’s all that he needs to hold both your wrangling thighs down and press himself even deeper against your aroused cunt. Nose-deep. Chest heaving in such guttural puffs.
It’s as if the knight didn’t even need to breathe as long as he could reach deeper against your sopping slit. So wet that he’s feeling your puffy pussylips through the fabric of your underwear- he slashes his tongue between your folds and makes you rut-
“Wh-what is this feeling…ngh.” Unable to help but pipe up in a shrill tone, you struggle to keep your hand pressed against your noisy mouth.
And he doesn’t even answer.
He can’t.
He’s lurching his mouth back and forth at a frenzied pace—crazed. Licking his tongue all over the inches of your cunt he could reach, rubbin’ his ridged tastebuds up and down the swollen outer part of your pussy.
You were just so damn soaked that it almost felt as if there was no barrier between your pussy and his ravenous mouth at all. Gaping even wider open and heavily kissing your pussy, he was almost thrusting his face against your sensitive cunt-
“Choso-” You gasp, your breaths all dampened. Hands weaving through his long brown hair for dear life. “Choso oh heavens—”
It was just too enchanting how your voice broke on the very last syllable of your sentence. And Choso can’t deny that it makes something carnal deep inside him twitch- “My dearest princess.”
“O-oh…” And you certainly didn’t expect his murmuring tone to send vibrations running up your spine like that.
Breathy. “Is that good, my dearest princess?” Choso’s mouth waters at the way his words only seem to make you splosh out in even more slick—gushing. It trickles greedily down either side of his mouth like two slick rivulates. And you can’t help but snap your head down and think that he looked utterly drunk - gaze half-lidded, lips puffy and red, forehead beading with sweat from his movements. Kissing. “My dearest princess.” Heaving. “My dearest princess.”
“P—please—” You’re trilling out, your head falling into the pillows behind you. “Choso, heavens, I beg of you to c-catch your breath-”
“And yet does it feel good, princess?”
That broken lil’ sentence of his punctuated by the most sloppy slash between your pussylips- smearin’ them apart and accurately pinpointing your clit. With the flexible tip of his tongue he presses inwards against that soft spot and makes you see stars.
Sends your hips rutting furiously against his pretty face, and your moans roaring. “Damn—fuck.” His cock throbs at the way he’d made such a poised, perfect princess break her demeanor. Swear- shit, he really was ruining you. “Fuck, yes- mmm, it feels so good.”
“Feels so good…what?” He’s rasping out.
And you have to blink through your film of tears down at him- “What?” He was now creating a rhythmic mwah of his lips down upon your clit - just lick upon lingering liiiiiick to drive you absolutely wild.
“It feels so good—” He’s groaning out straight into your cunt, already knowing that you’d be left all tender with his voice And just then you feel two pointed canines snag against your throbbing nub and almost…bite. “-who?”
“Choso—” So that was what he wanted all along? To have you hiccup and squeal his name as he draaaagged his lips from corner to corner of your leaky crevice and lapped up every ounce you gave? To have you absolutely shattered- “Choso-”
“Yeeees?” Alternating between snagging his honed canines down your clit n’ suckling on it.
Like his most favorite candy from the feast downstairs- and yet, you’d be the sweetest dessert out of them all. He was making out with your pussy just like it, too. “Choso- fuck, Choso I didn’t have the daftest idea that you could ever—mmm, it just feels too good.”
“Feels good?” He’s gutturally gasping, teeth scraping through your panties and creating little tears. Wrapping his pink lips ‘round your clit and hollowing his cheeks out of sheer force- “This feels good?”
“Yes-”
Nibblin’ his pearly whites down on your undergarments and tearing it down your slit. Swipin’ his tongue back and forth- “This feels—good-”
“Yes.” You gurgle out. It’s more and more.
It’s just the pinkish tip of his tongue that was proddin’ at your bundle of nerves. He slips it into a tiny hole town through your silken undergarments- and it’s enough to make your hips cleanly arch off the mattress. “Ch-Chosoooo—”
Choso’s darkened eyes flap wider open- “Suppose that feels even better, my dearest princess?”
And all he really wanted to do was make you numb with pleasure.
All he really wanted to do was slobber his mouth across that sweetened cunt of yours until he couldn’t even breathe- he’d be satisfied by the fact.
And Choso isn’t even thinking twice before he’s weighing down on one of the tears in your panties - something that he’d done with his very own mouth. Now his crowned fingertips were pushing against the delicate fabric and making it rip-rip-riiiiiiiiiip—!
Not even all the way through.
Just enough for two of Choso’s rightly thick fingers to seep through your undergarments and kiss your hole dead-on.
You flinch as he’s spreading your entrance with the most lecherous slurp! The knobbled ends of his digits pushing aside both your pussylips and simply aiming for that cutely leaking hole- how in heavens were you this wet? This tantalizing?
Tasty.
Choso reaches his slick-gazed fingers out of your cunt and raises it up to his vision - glimmering in the pale moonlight with all your candied liquids - he doesn’t hesitate before plopping them straight into his mouth. His eyes roll to the back of his skull and Choso moans as he tastes you-
“S-shoooo good—”
Fuck, was he slurring his words?
You’re raising up onto your elbows to question him, “Choso, did you just-”
But Choso doesn’t seem to hear- Choso doesn’t even seem to have anything running through his mind right now except for you and your pretty pussy. You and your pretty pussy.
You and your pretty pussy that gapes just as he pumps a few inches of his fingers inside - cunt getting glossed in your clingy slick once he squeezes his way inside. He’s feeling for the way your sopping wet walls glue to him like adhesive- stopping him briefly in his tracks before Choso’s stickin’ a thumb on top of your clit and making you take him.
“C’mon-” He hisses between clenched canines, brows furrowing down in concentration. “C’mon c’mon—it feels good. Doesn’t it, princess?”
“It does-” Hiccuping - trying and failing to buck your hips up for more. But the only thing you’re doing is succeeding in having Choso slip a hand up to grab your waist, pinning your body down to the squeaky mattress with such ease.
Your knight’s keeping your body on a damn leash while he fucks out a slooooow and sensual tempo between your legs. Just the fatness of each finger roverin’ deeper spots inside your walls, you swear you can feel out every single stretch. “Easy there, princess.” He knew his princess’s body better, it seems. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”
“It does but—fuck.” And just then Choso’s hooking his fingers in an incredible way that leaves your legs weak. Plumply pushing against one bunch of your nerves and sending shockwaves up to your brain. “Fuck, I want more, Choso.”
“Patience, Your Highness.” Choso spits out- literally. A dangling ribbon of saliva that clings onto your pussylips n’ makes it easier for the first inch or two of his digits to slip inside.
“But Choso—”
“Patience.” He hums, low vibrations. The space between your legs lets out the most lecherous loud squelches as he’s probin’ in and out. Watching as your swollen pussylips stretch out aaaaaaaall wide open-
He curls his lengthy digits against the velvety roof of your cunt. Making you just twitch, he’s grinning his slick-lipped grin. “I know you’re all needy right now, princess. But you need to learn to take it loooong and slow—” Emphasizing it by dragging his puffy digits along your walls and scissoring them multiple times. “-like that, see? That feels good, hm?”
“It does, but…” You pout.
Choso’s long lashes quiver, eyes widening slightly. “But?” Slightly crazed.
“But I want- hck!” Further pushing your slobberin’ cunt against his features, you’re dragging your most sensitive bits along his faces and shivering as it grazes his prominent nose. Desperately yowling, “But I want more-”
“Then command it.”
You snap your eyes open, “P-pardon?”
“Then command it.” But it still doesn’t sound real in your ears- ringing with pressure from his fingers slipping in and out. Hitting almost every spot you wanted him to—almost. He latches his mouth ‘round your clit once more and- he doesn’t suck. No.
Choso’s sinking his teeth into that perfect lil’ nub and draaaaagging it right out a centimeter or two until you scream. Fluttering his pretty lashes, “Aren’t you the princess, my dear?” Barely even waiting for your answer before your cunt squelches with a third one of his fingers- “Aren’t I your knight? Go on—command me.”
“P-please-” And Choso gnaws his teeth down even more meanly to stop you from using your royal manners. Until all you can do is bend your spine into the perfect curvature and puuush- grabbing onto his sweaty locks with absolutely no mercy. “Choso, I order you to go harder.”
His cock has never been harder.
He’s not even giving you a warning before thwacking! a strike with three globular fingertips, all the way at the very gooey bottom of your pussy. Rasping. “Harder?”
“Faster.” You barely gasp. “Choso, I-I order you-”
“Faster?” As if the only thing he can do when he’s so focused on fucking your pussy in harsh, thumpin’ hammers is that mantra of your words. “What else? What else, my liege?”
“Leige…” Bouncing your hips up, up, up—you might be too gone on his perfectly girthy fingers to realize the way you were swervin’ your waist to and fro. Just letting his lengthy fingers navigate the slick maze inside of you, plump fingertips spearheading inside like a spotlight and curving against every spot.
But Choso notices.
Of course, he notices.
He’s noticed every single thing about you, silent and stoic at your footsteps, for years. Always looking. Always admiring from afar—and he knows when you want something. “What else do you wish for, my princess? What else makes your pussy- hngh, feel good?”
“I want you to h-hit that one spot-” You’re blubbering through your constant tears. Moving your hips just to the side so that his curvaceous fingers were nearing where you wanted him the most. “So close—oh.”
“Never tell me to do anything twice, Your Highness.” He mutters, tone shot. “I’m always at your service.”
And he was.
And he was shovin’ his fingers - almost thickened with how long they’d been inside you - straight against that bundle of your nerves. Against that crevice you’d heard dubbed as your g-spot from that scandalous literature hidden away at the back of the library…
And when Choso had found that particular spot, he was hitting it like a madman—
Once. Twice. Thrice.
The way he’d memorized just where it was and mapped out every single inch of space inside you was dizzying. The way he’d leave a few sultry split-seconds to twirl his bulbous fingertips against your g-spot before reeling back and thud-thud-thudding. “It feels good, right?”
He was back to that familiar mantra and it was sending zaps of power down your spine to realize just how breathy he sounded. Just how smoky. Just how shattered.
Choso was eating you out like he was going crazy with every lick up your weepin’ pussy crevice. Uuuuup and down and fightin’ against his very own fingers to stick the edge of his tongue inside your quivering hole. “It feels so-” You’re gripping onto the strands of his hair stupidly, “So good-” Tears freely flowing down your cheek with just how many times he was mercilessly forcing his way against your sweetest spots. Your most favorite. “So good- so good- sooo good—”
You smack your hips up in a sloppy drag down Choso’s face and he moans.
“Choso, you’re just the best—”
And that? Those particular words are just about enough to make his red-hot, achingly hard erection pulse once. Twice.
Beading out a silky trickle of cum that darkens his thick pants.
Before he’s frankly quite sure that he might be on the verge of cumming- and such a valiant knight could never cum before his lovely princess, now, could he? Not daring to be so selfish, Choso heightens the pleasure and pressure until his tongue looked like nothing but a strawberry-pink blur lickin’ into every nook and cranny of yours. Slap-slap-slapping down on your clit.
And his fingers were fucking into you so hard- so ruthlessly. Viciously banging your g-spot like a constant bullseye and Choso was an expert at archery. Didn’t you know?
He doesn’t slow down - doesn’t dare to - even once your drenched walls start convulsing around him in a staccato. Even once you open your mouth in a soundless scream.
Even once you start to cum—
And Choso had never smiled wider in his entire life than he does right now with his lips glued to your pussy. Salivating. Tongue strokin’ your clit through every peak of your high- “C-cumming, Choso.” You pant out tearily. “And I can’t seem to stop…”
“You don’t have to.” Right on cue he bangs a roughened thrust just against your g-spot. Leaving you throbbing and aching for more.
And everything ‘more’ that you want - Choso’s more than happy to give.
Your loyal knight elongating your wave of bliss with his slick fingers. The perfect amount of thickness to stretch your walls but also leave you keening at his rapid pace- he pinpoints each tender point of your orgasm and thrashes against your nerves right at that exact moment.
Again.
And again and again.
And again—until your high makes you see white-hot stars behind your closed eyelids. Planting sloppy drags down his face right in synchronization, “Any longer and I don’t believe I shall cum any more, Choso.”
“As long as it feels goooood, princess.” He gurgles out, “Heh, so good that your body can’t cum anymore.”
“I-I don’t believe it works like- fuck.” Lips soiled with tears and saliva. Glazed. Doesn’t matter how much you’re running your voicebox ragged, because Choso doesn’t even slow down- not even when he’s fucked you through your orgasm and letting it taper out into mere tingles.
Shots of power. Vulgar strokes barely even starting to falter as you begin to feel so utterly raw n’ overstimulated. “But Choso, I want…”
“Hmmmm?”
He sounds so gone on your pussy that you know merely asking nicely won’t make Choso latch off. Experimentally, you’re tugging on his sweat-drenched bangs and he doesn’t even budge-
“Choso Kamo.” You’re starting out, struggling to keep your voice steady. And yet at the tone of your voice, Choso flinches as though he already knows- “As your princess, I order you to just fuck me already.”
He takes a few seconds to detach from your pussy.
Pulling away his sticky slick-glazed lips with a superior squeeelch! And Choso stares up at you with dark, half-lidded eyes. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
His ruined voice sends shivers across every inch of your body.
A body that he’s now plastering his hands onto and all but tearing through your soft layers- like butter underneath his strong hands. He’s ripping your silken gown straight through the middle, “I shall summon the tailor first thing tomorrow morning.” Choso grunts, already reading that expression on your face. “Worry not- your next dress shall be white, my princess.”
“Wh-white…” You breathe out, feeling light-headed at the implication.
Before you know it, all Choso has unhooked your half-corset and left you all exposed for him. For him to ravenously sweep his eyes down. For him to gaze upon every inch of you and gulp- was his mouth watering just at the sight of you naked?
But you’re not left too long to ponder upon the thought before Choso starts shrugging off his gauzy shirt and trousers. He’s letting the buttons pop open—pop! pop! pop! And displaying such a firm chest chiselled with prominent pecs, further down along were naturally ripped abs and the most sensual happy trail.
All dark and slightly unruly where it dips juuuust below his pants hemline.
Choso flattens his thumb against those golden buttons and lets himself spring free- and oh.
Oh.
You have to bite back a gasp out of sheer manners, though it should be rather obvious that you were ogling him. All about seven or eight inches of him- maybe more. Definitely more.
The cutest blushin’ pink at his tip, growing slightly more pale towards the base.
Glistening shaft. Heavy balls. He’s decorated with more veins than you might’ve imagined from him, and he’s so hard that each time they twitch his erection flinches in mid air. Fuck…Choso’s just so long and rock-hard that his puckered pink tip jumps upwards and smears a swipe of glistening sap across his abs. It glares at you like a smirk, and Choso sleazes out a smile right back.
Letting his head fall backwards once he gives his long cock a good pump.
“Oh…” He’s swearing underneath his breath, edging in closer on two capped knees. Those meaty thighs of his were just irresistible - all meaty and milky and flexing.
The slight muscles in his legs twitch as he inches closer to you on the bed. Cornering you against the headboard, Chose wields his swollen tip cloooose between your legs- kissin’ your puffy pussylips. Just a single swipe. “Fuck.”
And that’s all it takes for Choso Kamo to break on your pussy.
Head hanging downwards. Long locks covering his face. The entirety of his body fucking lurching- he’s messily creaming down your slit with copious amounts of cum.
Scorchin’ hot and sticking to you like adhesive.
It dribbless between your folds and enters your hole just the sliiiightest bit - already enough to start sploshin’ inside you and make you feel stuffed to the brim. You’re squirming at the unfamiliar sensation—and what does Choso do?
He’s reeling his hips back and rutting against you like a damn animal.
Unable to control himself. Merely pushing his fat cockhead between your pussylips and shoving- he groans at the way he couldn’t even fit the honed point of his very honed tip inside.
Just sliding lecherously past your pussylips and rubbin’ his veiny shaft down your front.
The only thing that that’s doing is grazing your clit and driving the man on top of you absolutely wild. He’s huffing through a pout as he looks down, “I want- ngh, I want to make it feel good for you, my princess. But it just won’t seem to fit.” Without much warning, he’s slithering his right hand down and scissoring open your snug hole. “Does this pretty pussy need me to s-stretch her out even more?”
“Oh—maybe.” You blubber out, looking at him through a heady gaze. “Choso…it’s my first time.”
And he knows he should expect it- fuck, he’s been at your side through every second of every day after you’ve come of age. He should already know by now.
His lips part, “Oh.”
“And I suspect it’s your first time, too?”
“It is…” Choso looks away bashfully, “My apologies, Your Highness, that I’m not experienced enough to perhaps give you the pleasure that you deserve-”
“Cho?”
He immediately shuts himself up, “Mhm?”
But instead of answering- you’re grabbing ahold of one of Choso’s muscular deltoids. It was just so plush and flexed as you moved him beneath you - flipping your positions over until his back hit the decadent mattress. And you’re clamoring on top of his slender hips, only slightly wobbly with the aftermath of your previous high.
All of Choso’s ivory sap dripped down your inner thighs and tried to glue them together. It was a treacly sheen that slid down his rock-hard abs.
And you’re gliding on top of him- draaaagging your swollen pussylips down his veiny shaft. A whimper lets out of your lips as his flared silt catches on your folds, “F-fuck—Cho, the court ladies told me about this particular position called, ahem- riding.”
He’s looking up at you with wide, heart-shaped eyes.
And your veins bubbled with molten embarrassment and need, “I’m going to ride you now, alright?”
“Yes-”
“Yes…what?”
Choso breaks out into the most sinful grin you think you’ve ever seen on him- “Yes, my liege.”
And that’s all it takes for you to perk your hips up just a lil’ bit and let Choso’s round orifice trace the outer rim of your hole. Just getting your body trained to the size - and even that is enough to make the man beneath you squirm.
To make him blush. To make him gasp.
To make him reach both quivering hands up and dig them into the globes of your ass- he’s jolting as though fighting with himself over letting you take your agonizing pace or humpin’ up into you like an animal.
Crying out—“Please. I need you so f-fucking bad.”
And you can pinpoint the exact moment that Choso’s husky voice breaks - all because you’re swerving your hips down and taking a gooood three or so inches of his fattened cock. Red-hot. Throbbing all the way deep inside of you.
The stretch was just so incredible that you’re seeing pure white- a primal moan ripping from your throat at the way he molded to your walls. Almost as if he was made for you.
He’s giving his first spurt of milky precum against your velvety channel, it drips down to your entrance and makes you twitch at the sensation.
Choso Kamo was ruining you from the inside and he wasn’t even trying yet.
Yet you’re still gasping- clawing onto his shoulders and then eventually down to his cushion-like pecs. Providing a firm hold for you as you’re trying to keep yourself balanced. Your mind muddled-
“Does- does it feel good yet, my princess?” Almost in the distance, you can hear Choso’s words echoing. They seem to rattle inside your emptied brain right now. “Does- does it- fuuuck—because it feels like heaven to me.”
“Shit, it feels so…” Your jaw drops agape, running out of words. Having him intruding at your innards like this wasn’t necessarily unpleasant- in fact, when he slightly rutted and rubbed against a few particular spots it almost felt unreal…
You’re keeping a firm grip on him and lightly bouncing your hips down - short, sloppy thrusts that give off a slurp! every time.
And Choso was giving off the prettiest little whimper every time you swallowed his solid tip. Just about two or three inches. “F-feels good?” He’s begging. Tears crinkle on the edges of his eyelids, and his lips wobble ever-so-slightly. “Feels good, right? Am I making my princess feel good?”
“So good.” You manage to gasp out. “Shit, I have yet to feel such pleasure with my fingers…”
“Being held at a degree higher than the fingers of my princess—?” He couldn’t believe it himself. And almost as though to confirm, Choso’s reaching over and lifting your dominant hand off of his pectoral. He brings it up to his mouth and gives it a long kiss, “Y-you cannot be serious.” Breathing in, as if to breathe in your essence. “The hands of my princess…”
Your jaw drops as his own does - opening wide enough to slip as few of your fingers inside and suck. “You’re more of a lecher than your innocent demeanour- ngh, lets on.”
“Only for you, Your Highness.”
And with your never-ending vulgar strokes, you’d managed to bully about half of Choso’s erection inside of you. It was a girth thick enough to stretch out hidden nooks n’ crannies inside you that you didn’t even know you had, and the perfect length to already be throbbin’ away by your g-spot…
You swivel your hips lightly enough to let his tip graze your most favorite spot- and you can’t help but fucking shake at the burst of sensations.
He’s hissing at the way you clench, “Oh, please-” Head falling backwards into the pillow in a dizzy haze. “D-does that little…squeeze mean it feels good?”
“Yes-” You gasp, “And it also means I ache for you more.”
Your best friend gulps, “Where?”
And it doesn’t take long for you to maneuver one of his calloused palms off of your hips and down to your stomach. Where it felt like he was so big that you could feel him from the outside—Choso presses down as he sinks in. “Here.”
That was almost enough to make him cum.
But Choso had already cum earlier - and it wasn’t a matter of not being able to stuff your pussy full all over again. He’s sure he could cream himself dry on your pussy. It was more so the fact that, in order to make up for it, he needed to make you cum at least twice more before finally finishing off himself.
One taste of your cunt clenchin’ around him and he’s feeling a tear slip down his cheek.
Almost subconsciously - body moving before mind - Choso arches off the comforter to probe his blushin’ tip deep inside you. “Shit- you just reached so deep, Cho.”
“Would you like me to take over, Your Highness?” Oh—how he loved the way that title rolled off of his tongue when he fucked you. His lowly body marking out your insides-
And he’d known you for so long by now.
He knew everything about you: every like, every dislike, every tell about your body. And he already knows from the hazy look in your peripherals that you’d been growing tired, thighs twitching any time you tried to messily bounce down on his cock.
Which is why one of Choso’s large hands cup your ass and start to help you fuck back into him- his muscules flexing mouth-wateringly every time he did so. Deeper and deeper. “Come on, my princess.” The hand on your stomach lifts off and glides down your pussy’s slit. Perfectly finding and pressing down on your knobbly clit - so sensitive. “Come on- fuck, let this loyal knight of yours make you feel good.”
“But the thing is…” You whimper out, head dropping down to look at the space between your legs. Like this, the size difference between your puckered hole and Choso’s thick cock. Growing even thicker before your very eyes. “-you’re just so damn big, Choso. Will it even fit?”
“I can make it fit.” He answers readily, as though the answer had already been on the tip of his tongue. For years, actually - all those long nights since becoming your personal knight. With only his hand and the image of you. He knows he’s fucking pathetic.
But he can’t bring himself to regret a single moment anyway. Because it’s only with that imaginary practice that he’s swervin’ his hips up to yours in slightly circular motions. “I can do anything for you.”
“Anything?”
He gasps out, “Anything for you, Your Highness.”
With his tongue stuck between his teeth, he’s crossing his brows and focusing on simply sensually fitting his cock inside. Uuuup with that big stretch.
Your head knocks backwards, “Ch-Choso—” Never been stretched like this before.
And then again with those rovering pushes.
“Choso.”
And again.
“Fuck-”
Choso wasn’t even answering any more - just couldn’t. He had his mind focused solely on one thing, and that was to pump all his generous inches inside you, which might be easier said than done considering how the longer he spent in contact with your pussy…the more pussydrunk he seemed to be becoming.
Until he was all but babbling—gasping, tearing up, fighting against the carnal resistance, holding onto you hard enough to leave nail marks all down your body. He was shovelling his ruddied cockhead with a thwack! against the very bottom of your pussy.
Bottomed-out.
You collapse down onto his chiselled chest with a strangled scream, feeling the metaphorical pop! of both your cherries. As well as the squirt of precum emptied out against your cervix-
The last thing you’re feeling before Choso’s leaving your entrance all sore.
Before he’s drilling up into you like a crazed man.
Fucking up into you with honed, deep thrusts - all the way from the globular edge of his shaft and then doooown until your clit scratches on the tufts of black hair at his base. He’s whacking your g-spot and then skidding right down until his puckered tip meets your womb. Rapid. Ravenous.
The bed creaks from the sheer pace of his movements, mingling with the shrill noises that you were letting out yourself. “So this is what it feels like- oh.”
Choso drags his right thumb down your pussy’s slit- that dewy spot of your clit being the perfect target for him to press down on. “This is what it feels like—” There’s such a dreamy quality to his words, languid and slightly slurred. “It feels like absolute heaven j-just-”
“Just?” You look up at your knight when he trails off.
Not expecting him to break out into the most sleazy smile. “Just having my innocence taken by the princess.” He says it in a way that sends shives down your spine - firm and possessive.
And even more possessive was the way that Choso thereafter clings a hold onto your waist and pulls you down to him. His abs shifting underneath you as he presses a kiss to your bitten lips—as he spits a wad of his saliva between them. “Taking the princess’s innocence- the whole kingdom should know that I r-ruined their perfectly innocent princess.” He’s gasping out, lost in the feeling of his entire engorged inches being suctioned by your walls. “That I made her- hah, pussy mine.”
“Choso—” Your eyes blow wide in shock and pleasure.
Because just then the hand teasin’ at your clit decides to jump straight to pinching right there.
It makes you twitch on top of him.
The pit of your stomach fizzling with something that feels good-
“Oh, but fear not, Your Highness.” He continues as if he isn’t just driving you wild. Ruining your insides with the constant, rhythmic squelching of his large cockhed—pushing and pushing. And pushing.
Choso stares up at you with a half-lidded gaze - direct eye contact even when he’s craning upwards to bite down on your left nipple. Dark lashes fluttering, “For every part of me is likewise yours.”
“Every part?” You shudder.
“Every part.” In emphasis, his cock throbs furiously inside you.
Succeeding in swervin’ in each glittering droplet of precum and slick and seed back in. He groans, “And you know you can ride this lowly knight as much as you want- as hard as you want.”
“I…” Your mouth feels as parched as a desert, “I would like that, my knight.”
Leaning slightly back on the bed, he’s letting you take more control. “Ride me- ride me dry, princess.” Just so achingly needy for you that you could almost taste it.
His salted-caramel taste sizzling at the back of your throat- his vanilla scent filling up your every other sense. You could now fit the pace to whatever you liked, “Sh-shit-” To whatever massaging rubs against your bundled nerves. “Shit—it’s almost t-too much. Impossible to believe.”
“Yeah? Feels good, doesn’t it?” Choso’s on board with his hand planted underneath your ass. Using a singular hand, he’s manhandling your hips up and down—up and down. Jerking you almost like a ragdoll down his incredible size, he lets every drop of his drivelling precum get sucked dry by your cute cunt. “Feels good riding your m-most loyal knight? Feels good making such a mess of me—oh?”
“It does.” You’re so stupid on his cock by now that you simply have to confess. “I—fuck, I must be true- it does.”
“Good.” Spittle drools down one edge of his lips. Choso Kamo wanted to be used.
He wasn’t letting you even bounce your hips away for a mere millisecond- always chasing the back of your pussy with his cockhead. He hisses, “Feels good just- fuck, being fucked by the very man sworn to protect you, hm? Feels good knowing that all those years I’ve wanted this- all this time, I’ve imagined it like some pervert—” Choso casts a glance around the grand room, “All the nights I was here. All the days I spent watching you. Feels good knowing that I would’ve died just for a taste of your sweet cunt, huh?”
Thumb faster n’ faster on your clit.
“Feels good knowing that I shan’t ever in this life, nor any others, even so much as look at another?”
And another one of his rugged hands lifts up from your thighs to cup your cheek - he lets you hold your own chasing your high. Slurping and swallowing his fat cock between your legs intensely, as Choso wipes away a stray tear cascading down your cheek.
“Feels good knowing that you have bewitched me—you and this damn- pretty pussy.”
“Yes-” You’re whimpering out loud enough for it to echo across these four gilded walls. Your mind being a complete mess. “Yes, yes, yes—and I’m gonna…”
“Fuck.”
He’s feeling it before you do once you finally crash into your high.
It’s your second of the night, and just because you’re slightly overstimulated from it doesn’t mean that Choso’s about to slow down. Instead, he’s drilling into you with achingly needy strikes - all vicious pumps against the spot of your nerves, and then nicely sliding down the back of your cervix. Over and over.
A long overarching wave of your orgasm- “Ch-Choso.” One that leaves your body limp and helpless to the way he crushes you against his beating chest. “Need you to cum inside, Choso.”
You’re pleasing up at him in a way that’s irresistible.
“Let your climax at least settle, impatient princess.” He’s lightly chuckling. Increasing his ministrations on your poor clit - only elongating your zaps of pleasure.
Until he seemed to be numbing your body completely with so many sensations, all bubbling through your veins and pouring out in the form of your sweetened slick. “But I want it.” You huff. “What if that was an order?”
“Oh, you really are my spoiled princess. Even after I’ve already given you m-my cock and two orgasms…and my heart.” He’s echoing out in a parched tone. Increasing and increasing the sheer amount of pleasure he was giving you - until it you’re been fucked considerably past the twinges of your high.
Straight into another.
And it seemed to be exactly what Choso was waiting for- before he’s throwing his head back and cumming right in unison with you. “Fuuuuck- take it all.” Words trembling. “Take it all, my dearest princess, take it all from your knight.”
And you can feel him empty it out inside you.
His heavy balls twitching with the looong stripes of sap he was flooding out, they splosh against each of your crevices. Pumped deeper inside with every thrust. The smell of his arousal just twitches something dark and carnal within you- and you’re pushing your face into the crook of his neck. Inhaling that soft vanilla accent.
So in contrast with the pelvis slamming against yours, hard enough that his skin starts to redden. The sheer force of it is enough to make you flinch back - and enough for him to hold onto your body in any way he can and pin you down to his front.
Unable to escape, you can only whine at the way he fucks you through his high. “Oh my…” Your mouth starts to water. No novel or scandal sheet had ever described this before. “Ch-Choso you’re the best.”
And you swear that only makes him cum harder.
So much of it that it begins to trickle out of your hole almost immediately- something that Choso certainly couldn’t have.
So he swipes his thumb down from your clit and starts swabbin’ those wads back inside.
“I ache for you.” He’s whimpering out, big bulbous tears glimmering on the edges of his lashes. His pink lips jut out into what almost looks like a pout, “My dearest princess, I ache for you-” Followed by the sharp inhale of breath once he grazes over your clit once more. “-so much so that it’s leaking out.”
“I ache for you, too, Choso. So much.”
“Hah…not as much as I do for you.” As if the petering out of his ribbony white cum had ultimately brought back an inkling of his rationality again. “Though for a lowly knight to be so forward-”
You’re leaning down and wiping away the tears from his handsome cheeks. “Choso…you would never be undeserving of me.” It’s the firm tone that makes him freeze, snapping his head to you with sheeny eyes. “In fact, I could argue that it is I who does not deserve y-”
Choso doesn’t let you finish that sentence.
He’s kissing you long and sound.
And as he smiles against your lips, you decide that you have a long conversation to be had with your father at daybreak.
As heir to the throne.
.
.
.
There is a celebration in the bejeweled chapel that morning.
Though not of a wedding, rather…a coronation.
With the promise of a wedding.
And as you sit upon your velvet throne, the crown jewels balanced heavily on your head and your hands, you feel the folded-up piece of paper tucked away in your locket. Humming.
You catch Choso’s eye, closest amongst the row of knights at attention.
You wink.
He smiles.
Yuji shoots you a thumbs up.
Yaga watches the scene and smiles a slight smile.
Shoko could not have looked more smug.
And Naoya? Though the Zenin family was happy to attend, one such prince was pointedly not invited. Nor would he be claiming any thrones any time soon.
As the ceremony continues, the letter pulses with delight-
“My dearest princess,
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Your dearest knight.”
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
Church bells are a-toll—though not for a royal wedding (though be patient, and we shall see the very same soon)—for it’s a royal coronation!
Her Highness, the princess, both shocked and scandalized the Ton at the Royal Diamond Ball last night by attending to her first dance with none other than…her personal knight. Yes, Sir Choso Kamo was chosen personally by the daring royal to be the gentleman that sweeps her off of her feet (on the dance floor).
And query any ogling noble at the ball that night, and should they find the time between plucking the flies out of their mouth, then all shall confirm that the young couple was rather…scandalously close. Though keeping to his hands confined to places the Ton would approve of, it was rather evident that the way the princess and her knight looked at each other was ripped straight from a fairy tale. The romance!
And just as any good fairy tale should have an obvious villain, this writer’s insiders claim that Prince Naoya Zenin was certainly not happy with the incident.
Though you must forgive this dear writer if my memory of such dudgeon royal guests is far from perfect. For I was far too occupied with the later…disappearance of Her Highness.
And most conveniently, her knight, as well.
The princess was most certainly not present as she was dubbed the Diamond of the season, nor would she have been able to keep her eyes (or hand) away from Sir Choso long enough to notice. You read that right, dear reader, the Ton has positively been fanning themselves all morning at the juicy details being whispered down palace halls.
My trusted sources claim that the princess and her knight had been locked up in her royal bed chambers…all night. And though the contents of what they may have gotten up to inside this chamber is all speculation, late-night patrol down the palace halls claim they heard the most…peculiar noises emanating from the princess’s bedroom.
All. Night. Long.
Though, of course, Her Highness’s ultimate return to the ball long past the Diamond announcement is a source of many rumors—this eagle-eyed writer would like to point out something else entirely.
Bite marks. Unsteady gait.
Glowing.
Perhaps all coincidence, of course, that Sir Choso Kamo had donned his knight’s armor and hidden any of his own marks from view. It is undeniable that the princess had been carrying evidence of a knight—my apologies, I meant night well-spent!
And perhaps most damning of all might be the fact that - after a terse discussion with His Majesty, the King, as my sources say - an announcement was made at the very cusp end of the ball.
Of the princess’s coronation as Queen tomorrow, and of Sir Choso Kamo’s induction as King Consort. He shall henceforth and forevermore be known as King Consort Choso Kamo, Duke of Kamo Estate.
And lastly, of a summer wedding, due on the horizon. (Sources also claim something else due…a bundle of joy perhaps between the young couple.)
But that is enough of speculation—oh, what was that?
I can hear your cries, gentle reader, I can hear them! Worry not, this writer is yet to forget a single detail of the most succulent gossip from the Ton - I already foresee your queries about what happened to Her Majesty’s secret admirer then.
I believe you shall be delighted to know that my insider tells me that…the very secret admirer you speak of is now King Consort. What a romantic twist to the tale!
Now as Prince Naoya fumes and my readers rejoice, excuse me while I dry my tears and pick out my best summer arrangements for this royal wedding—for you know that this writer must always be on the scene!
We wish the happy royal couple all the best with their preparations!
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
A/N. Any guesses on who Lady Whistledown might just be??
being the wife of the strongest was almost as dangerous as being the strongest himself. so you're not surprised when you're scheduled for your bi-anual hostage & ransom. well, until your kidnapper just so happens to have the same fucking face as your husband, and you find out that satoru has more secrets than you were aware of.
♡ ₊˚‧ in today's episode. you wake up with a pain in your head, your wrists bound, in a basement with your— husband?
♡ ₊˚‧ cw. canon verse :: angst :: smut :: messy dynamics :: named twin :: kidnapping :: jujutsu society dynamics :: love triangle :: yearning so much yearning :: secrets & mystery :: clan politics :: the guy who got you vs the guy who earned you
Throat dry. Taste of metal. Neck cricked.
Dark.
So, very dark.
You should be eating mochi. You should be coiled up on your couch with your feet up. That was the plan after your grocery trip. Did you fall asleep? Forget your sweet treat?
What time was it?
You needed to start dinner. Satoru would be back soon.
What time was it?
Why was it so dark?
What time was it?
The dull ache in your eyes ran to the back of your head. Down your neck that strained. Hung. Ugh. You always found the worst positions to fall asleep in, huh? That'll be a pest while you cooked dinner.
Dinner.
Time.
What time was it?
Why was it so dark?
Your eyes squeezed. Struggled. A chore to even open them. The sprain in your neck shot down your spine as you slowly raised your head. Groaned and rolled your shoulders back. Knocked wood. Wait— wood?
Weren't you on the couch?
Your hand reached for your neck. To massage the pain away.
Your hand didn't budge.
Couldn't.
It hurt to open your eyes. Hurt to blink. Hurt to force yourself awake and look ahead at the tv playing whatever soap opera you probably fell asleep to.
A door.
A door?
A door, and a table, and darkness and talismans—
Talismans?
Despite the pressure behind your eyelids, you blinked. Once. Twice. Ten times. You tried your hands again— nothing. They're behind you. Your arms hurt too. Your wrists burned.
Wait.
No couch. No tv. No living room. You're in a chair. Your wrists stung because they were bound. Behind your back. Your neck hurt because it was hung. Because you were asleep. No—
Because you were knocked out.
What. What happened?
As the reality sunk into your dilating eyes, so did it your heart. It stuttered. Once. Twice. Ten times. Faster, and faster. As fast as your gaze that flickered around.
Left, right, up, down, left— to the door.
To the talismans.
To the table.
The man—
The. What?
"Oh my god," you whispered. Shoulders tensed. Mind catching up to your sprinting heart. Heaving and frazzled. Like your eyes that gaped. Not this again. Not another kidnapping. What was it now— thrice? In the same year?
You tried to kick your legs. Bound too. The chair rattled. The rope bit into your ankles and squeezed beneath your knees. A warning: don't even try.
Wait— the man. The man. There was a man—
"Good morning."
He drawled. Easy. Lazy. The tone, pitch and rasp you were used to. Your heart fluttered. She always did when it came to him.
"S— toru?"
You blinked again. Ten more times for good measure. He stood at the table. Setting down items you couldn't see because of his broad figure. Head hung. Not in his jacket. But that was his white hair. The back of his blindfold. His voice.
Satoru. Your husband.
Tension drained from your shoulders. You sigh. Relieved. Then hitch— confused.
Why were you bound?
"Toru? What's going on?" You tugged on the restraints, pouted. "These are tight. What're you up to now?"
You were surprised. But you couldn't really be surprised at that. You signed up for a life full of uncertainties when you married the man, the maniac: Gojo Satoru. 'Always expect the unexpected' was surely in your wedding vows. Probably in fine print on your marriage certificate.
Was he trying something new? Some more kinky shit that he's always on about? You did say you wanted to try something new. Last thing you expected was for him to take it in a: lemme abduct my wife from the grocery store and lock her in a dingy basement kind of way, though.
Odd choice. Considering you've been dealing with kidnappings and ransoms since you slipped his pretty silver and sapphire ring on your finger.
"You know," you mumbled, tugging on your wrists again. "When I said something new, I was talking wax or something. Temperature play y'know?"
He chuckled. Deep and rich.
"Oh yeah?"
"Mhhm. But roleplay's fine too I guess. Just loosen this up a bit?"
It's your husband.
It's your husband.
It's your husband and his extraordinaire personality. Your husband and his knack for swiping the rug from beneath your feet.
So why were the hairs on your neck still standing?
He turned around. Something in hands. Small and black. You were flushing before you had the chance to shoot him something coy. Knees pressing together the way they always did when his lips set in that thin line. When from even beneath his blindfold you knew his eyes were serious. That rare firmness that had you gripping the sheets and tossing your head back into the pillow.
He approached. Lifted your face. The callouses kissed your jawline. His hands felt rougher. Your thighs quaked.
A thumb and forefinger grasped your chin. His touch felt warmer as he tilted your head. Side to side. Pale brow arched and lips set thinner.
He muttered something. You didn't hear. You were too focused on the item in his hand and his thumb that swiped to the base.
Click.
Your knees pressed tighter. Tummy looping. You anticipated buzzing.
Buzzing.
Where was the buzzing?
You flinched. Aching eyes screeching at the burst of light shone directly onto them. He pinched the item in his large hand and brought it to your eyes. Only then did you realise it was a torch.
"Uhm—" you winced again. His grip tightened. Holding you steady as he observed your constricting pupils.
"Satoru? What're you—"
"Don't worry your pretty little head 'bout it. Just making sure you don't have any brain damage."
"I— what?"
Brain damage? Why would your husband need to search you for that?
The answer throbbed from the back of your skull. Dull and aching. It only confused you more. Did he hit you? Hell— weren't you at the grocery store?
Did he.
Did Satoru fucking knock you out?
"Satoru— what the fuck is going on?"
Excitement bled into something darker. Something colder. The flutter in your tummy twisted. On instinct you tugged on the binds again.
He switched the torch off, but didn't answer.
"Satoru, this isn't funny." You tried to harden your voice. Your stare. In that way that always told him his joke was going too far. Or that your patience was running thin.
But your eyes quivered. Your heart stuttered. Hell— sprinted. A race off with your mind as you scrambled for answers. Tried to shove away anxieties and the growing fear gnawing at the back of your skull.
He only stared. Crooked his head. Silent.
Too silent for Satoru.
"Let me go— untie me." You repeated, brows pinched, fingers clenched. "This isn't funny. Untie—"
The chair rocked.
His hand shot to the back of it. Shoved it. So the front legs lifted off and your legs dangled in the air. Your yelp choked through the dark room and your body braced for the cold floor instinctively. Eyes squeezed shut. Shoulders squared.
It never came.
His long fingers curled around the backrest. Gripped it tight. Supporting the chair so that it dangled on its hind legs. So that your body limped back and cowered against it. Helpless. More helpless than you already were.
"Jumpy little thing, aren't you?"
He crooned. Velvet smoothed over a rasp from the back of his throat. He stared you down. The kind of stare that pinned you in place. The kind of stare that husbands don't look at their wives with.
"Wh-What're you—" you croaked, confusion drowning in your gaped eyes. "Satoru. Please. I'm scared."
He was silent again. Silent in the way that wasn't your husband. A quiet that pinched on your growing anxiety and weaved it into fear. Something rational. Real.
Easily, he brought the chair back. Smoothly resting it on the floor.
"Ouch. So he really hasn't talked about me, huh?"
He? Who's he?
Your frantic eyes glued to him as he withdrew and rounded back to the table. Setting down the torch and running a finger over the other items. Now that your eyes weren't bleary with sleep— you could see them clearly.
Blades.
Blades. A nail clipper. Was that a wooden rod? A bucket?
Your breath thinned. Heart lunged into your throat. Knees quaking— and not in the way they once were. When you thought this was all some kinky foreplay from your husband who took your suggestion into consideration.
"I. . ." you tried to find the words, the questions, anything but the fear weighing on the back of your tongue. "What's. . . What's going on? Where am I? Why are you—"
"So many questions. You talk this much to all your kidnappers or am I just special?"
You watched closely. Anxiously. As he swiped up one of the tools. A blade. A dagger to be precise. Unsheathed and narrowed at the tip. He tilted it in his hand. The steel glinted back into your eye.
Only then did you see the dangling lamp above your head. Dull like the rest of the room. Not enough to see where you were— but enough to see your body. To see him. See whatever he planned to do to you.
"Quite the hefty bounty on your head, y'know." He raised the knife, idly observing and fiddling with it. "Bigger than most. You must be one special girl, huh?"
He turned. Leaned back on the table with one hand on the edge as the other tipped the razed blade in your direction. "A shame, really. A waste of a pretty face."
The blade glinted your fate. Hanging from his hand like an extra limb rather than a weapon. As if his hands were sharper than steel. His fingers loaded with bullets.
Or maybe that was his tongue?
"So tell me. Does he always let you get caught up in his mess?"
There it was again. He. Who the hell was he talking about?
Your fingers curled deep in your palms. Wrists tight. Like your jaw. Like your heart. As you stared at the man that wore your husband's skin.
He sounded like your husband.
Looked like your husband.
Tall as him. The same fluffy white hair. The same black blindfold. Grinned with the same teeth as him.
Hell— joked like him too. Quick and crude. Sharp like a scalpel.
But you knew. Irrevocably. Unfathomably. The answer pulsed through your pumping veins and buzzed in the dizziness of your head. Soured in the nausea on your tongue.
This man— this thing— this creature in black that approached you with a blade in his hand rather than the beautiful bouquets you were so used to.
This wasn't your husband.
"Satoru."
You still called for him like it was. Like the name alone would save you. Soft and scared. Shaking as he loomed over you.
Maybe it was an act.
Maybe it was a joke.
Maybe he was really committed to the bit.
Maybe he'd laugh when he saw your tears and pull you into his arms.
Maybe he'd assure you that it was just a cruel trick. An early April fool's prank.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe.
Your head inched away. Pressing further into the wooden chair that bit back in splinters through your clothes. "I. . . why— why are you acting like this? I'm scared."
He stopped in front of you. The phantom of your beloved. The nightmare that wore his skin and dared to try and charm you with his grin.
"Well maybe," he hummed. Leaning over you. Looming. His presence stabbing into you more than the binds did.
He raised a hand—
You flinched.
— and pinched at the corner of his blindfold.
Then peeled it back. Lifting one edge to his brow to reveal the same pale skin you'd kiss goodnight. The same blue eyes you'd wake up to every morning.
Beautiful. Brutal.
With a scar cleaved over one. Ugly. Violent.
Etched with years and carnage.
He leaned in. Close. Too close. To give you a better look. To burn it in your memory. "Cause I'm not your Satoru."
His head tilted. Like it was nothing. Like he was telling you about the weather.
"Make sense?" He crooned. Patted your cheek with the flat of his hand.
He didn't care for your shock nor your terror. Barely blinked at your gaped eyes and your parted mouth.
He just withdrew. His face at least, as he observed your stare. Brow arched. Lip quirked. "What? Think I'm pretty?"
"Who. . ." You quivered. "Are you?"
The cold dagger pressed smooth beneath your chin and nudged it. Tilting your head to him as he hummed.
"Gojo Satoshi."
.
.
.
What?
"I know. Real original." He rolled his eyes, sharp teeth peeking from his grin. "People hear 'twins' and go crazy with the names."
"Twins? What do you mean tw—"
"My brother's keeping you all pretty and dumb, huh?"
If you weren't so bewildered, you might have been offended.
Instead, you scrunched your brows. A hundred questions and a thousand theories racing through your panicked mind. The man before you looked like your husband. Sounded like your husband. Grinned and joked exactly like the man whose ring was on your finger.
He stood before you not as a curse. Not as something wearing Satoru's skin.
But as his twin. A twin you knew nothing about.
"I don't understand," you said, the crick in your neck tensing. "Satoru has a twin? He never told me."
"Course he didn't, dollface. I'm his dirty little secret."
Satoshi sighed, theatrical, as he withdrew the knife.
Then snapped! his arm. Fast. Too fast for you to react. Your flinch and yelp were delayed.
Thud!
The blade ripped into the wall behind you. Taking with it just a few strands of your hair. It barely grazed your cheek. But your heart still pounded. Eyes still glazed.
Despite it all, you managed to ask, "what do you want with me?"
Breathy, shaky, a hint of praying hope. As you hesitated to look up at him while he slipped the blindfold back over his eye. Hiding away the only thing that distinguished him from his twin.
"It's not you I want," he hummed, stepping away. Yet his stare lingered. Raking over every inch of you in a way that told you something else.
"Like I said, you got a nice price over your head. And Satoru's stupid enough to let a pretty thing like you walk around alone."
Turning his back to you, he stretched his long arms above his head with a long sigh. "You see, my brother and I have some unfinished business. And unfortunately for him, he's got a weak spot now."
His head turned. Glancing at you from over his shoulder. There's that fucking grin again. That one that looked too much like the Satoru you knew and loved.
"So, enjoy your stay~"
Singing. He was singing as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked to the door. Pushing it open and ignoring your protests together with the harsh scratching of rope.
"What does that even mean! Hey! Wait get back here— I have questions!"
"Same here. I mean, wax?"
You flushed. Growing stiff the second he decided to pick on your careless words from earlier. "That—"
His grin only grew. Head curving back to you once more. With his brow arched and his teeth glinting in the dim light.
"What? Embarrassed?" He cooed. "Not to worry. I won't tell Satoru a thing when he comes to get you."
"What so you're banking on that?"
"But of course."
He kicked the door wider. Revealing a staircase that he trekked up. Leaving you behind in the dark basement with questions etched into all four walls. Still tugging on your restraints and thrashing in the chair.
Until he called back down to you. Stiffening you in cold sweat. His voice echoed. Casual. Too casual for a statement so weaved in hatred.
Synopsis. Dearest gentle reader, it’s a royal affair! This social season we answer the age-long question: can a knight truly love a princess? For amidst the celebrations and pomp of your royal betrothal, rumors circulate that a certain handsome knight, Choso Kamo, already has his eyes (and hands) on you. Is forbidden romance in the air?
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, knight!Choso, Bridgerton AU, princess x knight, best-friends-to-Iovers, regency AU, YEARNING, letters, secret admirers, betrothals, poIiticaI alliances, unrequited Iove (or is it?), the Ton, Lady Whistledown’s, papers, scandaIs, balls, pússydrúnk Choso, oraI (fem rec.), fíngering, spítting, he’s a MUNCH, face-ríding, sneaking off, service d, he’s FÉRAL, ríding him, using him, fírst times, manhandIing, making it fit, cervíx smooches, begging to be yours, rough s babbIing, DÚMBlFICATlON, making you work for it, creampíes, pushing it back in, cúmpIay, slight overstím, confessions, HAPPY ENDING, coronations, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 12.9k
A/N. Heard there was a new Bridgerton season so I just had to <33
The letter is short.
“It’s you.
My dearest princess, surely, you must know that it can only ever be you.
I have battled fruitlessly this greatest conflict of my life—those of the soul—and I cannot bear it any longer. I have fraught, and choked, and swallowed my words in the hope that, perhaps, one day they shall cessate along with this traitorous heart of mine. It is what it deserves. Diverted from its duties to the body, my heart exists solely to count the beats of time that I am beside you.
It aches the greatest ache, as my affection remains unchanged. And the words yest escape me onto this page, my dearest princess.
Thus, I beg that you forgive this lowly admirer for his treason.
For, it’s you. It’s you. It’s you.
It shall at last and forevermore be you.”
Unsigned and unclaimed. Left on the gilded surface of your nightstand, as it had been every morning for the past four years.
Your bashful secret admirer.
Now, the first time had been rather a shock—to both you and the flutter of attendants who’d happened upon the parchment. You certainly didn’t have any close acquaintances nor prospects entertained whom were so dedicated to deliver a letter at the splinter of daybreak (and a brief interrogation of your personal ladies-in-waiting showed that they’d seen nothing of who’d been slipping you notes at night).
It had to be someone from the palace, however - if they managed to deliver these letters so frequently and so easily.
Though most nobles sent their correspondences upon dishes of pure silver, with an attendant from their court that would recount every detail of your reaction to them later. But this one had no staff attached to it, no emblem, no name. No identity in the very least.
Nothing but slanted, slightly trembling words as if the writer’s hand had been caught in an inescapable tremor the entire time. And the flower.
Every morning, once you excitedly unfurled the little pink ribbon that tied the letter up, a small yellow daffodil would fall from inside. As if a piece of the early morning sunlight, plucked from the skies, placed in your hands, you’d roll the stem between your fingers as you read through the letter.
Each word more tantalizing than the last.
You’d tried to spend the night awake on several occasions, of course, to catch this romantic culprit in the act. But the only thing that served you was a few hours of sleep, and a thoroughly cranky elocution teacher once you kept nodding off during class - and no admirer, evidently. And yet you’d still awoken to the neatly tied-up parchment in the morning.
Like a phantom in the night.
The letter was the first sign of daybreak itself.
When that scheme had found itself utterly useless, you’d taken to warning your personal knights stationed outside your royal chamber - certainly not to get your admirer caught, rather to find out just a morsel of information about them. A morsel.
Yuji and Nobara had been rightfully horrified, though you’d insisted that whoever this was meant no harm!
You suspected that your admirer snuck into your room in the few minutes between the knights changing their stations: Yuji and Nobara would be set firmly outside until midnight, and any dark hours past that would have your doorstep occupied by knights Choso and Yaga. Two of the most trusted knights in all the kingdom, with all the accolades to prove it.
And it certainly helped that Choso had been your personal knight for the past two years - though you’d been friends for far longer than that. Always at your side, always staring down nobles that overstepped, always offering his hand out to you when a step was too steep.
He was your rock. He is.
He’d been one of the court advisor’s sons, your age. You remember being a young royal unaware (or perhaps uncaring) of the duties that loomed for you in the horizon; spending summer mornings playing tag with Choso and a few of the other children in the palace, and winter nights breezing through books and time like sand—just the two of you in that grandiose library. His father resided in a modest estate not too far off from the palace, and Choso cried every time he had to say goodbye to you. Every single day.
You grew the most close with Choso.
And once he had come of age, he’d promptly signed up to become a knight.
Through training and nutrition plans, and battles and scars, Choso had climbed up the ranks faster than any other you’ve ever seen. Though he was still as tender-hearted as you remembered him - he’d shed a few tears the day he was assigned to a brief battle on the outskirts of the kingdom. Away from you.
But you’d simply wiped away his tears and cooed in a low voice that your elocution lessons hadn’t taught you to—come back to me soon, Cho.
And he had.
The battle with the Zenins had ended, and Choso Kamo had returned as the kingdom’s most celebrated warrior. It’s whispered to this day amongst the palace staff how he’d kicked off his saddle in town, run past all the bubbling celebrations- straight to the royal palace where he’d waded past the congratulating courts and straight to you—
All in platonic friendship, of course.
Of course.
But you suppose it didn’t help quell the rumors when Choso rejected your father, the King’s, offers of estates and riches. Of lifetimes of luxury. He’d stood before the royal court and bowed his head, having only one request of the monarch: to be your personal knight. Forevermore until he breathes.
And how could one say no to the turning point of the battle?
And thus, he’d become your knight. Yours.
You suppose it was around this time that the letters had started, too…
You clutch this morning’s letter to your chest and breathe in the smell of fresh ink, leather, and the faintest hint of summer vanilla that dripped off of the page. It was always this scent that followed your admirer’s ardent declarations, and soon enough every time you passed the gardens or poked at a vanilla dessert, you couldn’t help but think of him.
A knock interrupts your thoughts and you startle.
Pushing the letter carefully underneath your pillow, “Come in.”
The towering double doors of your bedroom had small gilded swirls on it, which, if you stepped back, melded together to form an image that looked like the clouds above. Frothing and tumbling and swirling. Heaven itself. How oddly poetic that through these gates of heaven would walk in Choso Kamo, his knight’s armor catching the rays of morning sunlight.
His visor was pushed up to reveal his face.
His features were sharp and handsome.
His doe-like brown eyes were the envy of the courts.
He looks at you in your thin nightgown and flushes- “Y-your Highness—!”
Choso’s armor clanks and clutters as he hurries to turn away from you, and soon enough you find yourself staring at the knight’s broad back. Chiselled after so many years of training. Bringing a hand up to your lips you have to stifle a giggle at the sheer contrast- “My dearest knight, does it disgust you to gaze upon me like so?”
“Th-the furthest thing from it, Your Highness.” He sputters, and you swear you catch the back of his neck - just the slightest slit you could see between his armor plates - burning bright red. Blushing.
“Do you believe me of unsound character, then?” You challenge, “Do you believe me a harl-”
“Bear not the thought!”
“Then turn.”
He does—barely. Just enough degrees that you can see his handsome side profile, and he can stare at you through his peripheral vision- though that, too, is largely obscured by his helmet. “Forgive me…” Choso gulps. “-but the mere sight of you is not suited to be gazed upon by this lowly knight, my princess.”
“You have been within ames-ace of Yaga for far too long.” You tut.
But you’re still reaching for the gold-laced robe draped over the edge of your bed - your attendants had placed it there last night. Choso was always the first to greet you in the morning.
And it’s only once he’s completely sure that the robe now covered the beautiful angles and curves of your body, that is obscured from him what is Eve’s most beautiful apple, does he turn to face you. Only to find that he had spent so long mustering up the courage, that you’d already dipped underneath your pillow and pulled out-
“Yet another letter, Your Highness?” Choso queries, and you nod.
It was requisite that such an occurrence must be shared with your personal knight - most of all, your friend. And you didn’t feel the need to hide it from Choso as you did with your parents—perhaps because you knew his duty was to you, above all. You above the crown. “Oh, you shan’t believe it- today they wrote the most romantic line about how their heart beats simply to count their time beside me—”
Choso gives a jerky nod, “And the flower?”
“As always.” You’re pinching the little flower where it had been laid safely on top of your decadent pillow, showing it to him.
Your best friend takes one look at it and breaks out into an almost…relieved smile. “I see- he really is a stubborn old fool, isn’t he?”
“Oh, don’t call him a fool.” You huff. Turning away with your flower, “I think he’s just lovely.”
“Suppose he is a fool?” Choso probes, “Suppose he isn’t of great wits- would you still think he’s lovely?”
You furrow your brows at him, “But, of course. Intelligence cannot be measured by how many dusty books you read. Despite that, I believe that one would be of rather sound wits should they wish to compose letters this beautiful.”
There’s a pause. “Then suppose he isn’t rather pleasant to look at?”
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” You counter stubbornly. “I think that I should find them quite beautiful either way.”
“Then suppose he’s a commoner?”
“That is the last thing I would fuss about-”
“But what if he’s a…” Choso starts- and as you wait for him to finish—he shakes his head. Giving you a light bow, “I apologize for getting carried by the conversation, Your Highness. I have just been reminded of my orders to urge you into prompt preparation to receive some very special guests today. I have summoned your ladies-in-waiting, they are stationed at the third royal baths.”
“Guests?” You ask. The palace always did have a constant flow of royals and nobles and merchants and people of the public going in and out, and rarely did you have to make a personal accompaniment with them. “What special guests may we—”
It’s then that you look at your calendar of quarter days: social days and tutoring days, and a day circled in rouge.
Today.
“Ah…”
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
Royal gossip has always been the lifeblood of the Ton—particularly this year, with the debut of our Royal Highness, the princess, this social season. Rumors have been a-swirling for quite some time now, speculation about just which eligible gentleman will be lucky enough to win over the beautiful royal’s hand in marriage: perhaps a fair noble, perhaps the richest merchant of the land, perhaps a prince from a far-away land. The possibilities are endless!
Our dignified royal family has always been rather private about such matters regarding their princess, but today this humble writer is here to put these whispers to rest, my dear reader.
My most trust-worthy sources inform me of a royal fleet that has docked in our harbor early in the morrow—a fleet with none other than the Zenin family insignia upon its flag!
Now, before you fear another military skirmish with the ever-ruthless Zenin family, gentle reader, let me assure you that my insiders state this royal visitation to not be an act of warfare. Rather…of romance.
Some claim an age-long betrothal, some claim a political marriage in the works.
The cauldron of curiosity bubbles even further once you learn that the Zenin family, including His Highness Naoya Zenin, shall be paying a royal visit to the palace today! And some members of the royal knights claim they shall take extra precaution, and that Her Highness’s personal guard - a handsome young knight by the name of Choso Kamo - is to be with her at all times. Ooo la la!
It will certainly make it difficult for either Prince Naoya nor any other…admirer to get close to the princess (the palace walls talk, gentle reader, and some of my sources claim the presence of a second interest in Her Highness’s life—secret letters being hand-delivered every single night!)
But that is neither here nor there, and your writer is certainly not planning a visit to the royal dungeons in the near future!
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
.
.
.
“—such a beautiful garden-” Naoya’s lip curls as he looks out of the tall, sun-lit window at the rolling field below. Your parents barely have enough time to open their mouths in response before he continues, “-but of course, ours is much larger. Second only to our stables and the incredible militia grounds that we have-”
Everyone in the meeting hall closes their mouth, quenches their hope for speaking at least for the next twenty-five minutes.
You learn within the first few moments of meeting him that Naoya Zenin liked hearing his own voice, and any time he wasn’t, he was replaying his own voice over and over inside his head. You also learn that you don’t like him in the slightest.
Which makes being betrothed to him all the more difficult.
It had been a political alliance- or so your father had briefed you one night several months ago. Calling you into his office, holding your hand, he had let you cry on his shoulder for the first time in years that night.
To unite two people who had been locked in a bloody border war for far too long - that was your duty.
And this marriage was the key.
It had been long enough to let the finality of it sink in, and not nearly as long enough for it not to sting. Still. It hurt like a hot iron embedded in your heart once you had to curtsey for the prince.
He had barely bowed back.
And now the two royal families - as well as several esteemed members of your council - were spread out in the grand meeting hall. Watching as the blond-haired royal turned his nose up at the plate of intricate desserts offered to him by a male attendant—he flicks his hand at the boy and orders the woman standing beside him to do it.
The woman being no one else but the most talented healer in all the land.
Shoko Ieri looks ready to stab him with her scalpel.
“Compensating.” A low whisper sounds from behind you.
You don’t have to turn to know that it’s Choso- but you do anyway. And your heart flutters just a little as you spy his warm brown eyes through the gaps of his visor, “Pardon?”
He repeats, “Compensating.” Nodding towards Naoya who had now roped your mother into a spiel about his armory.
“—we boast the largest swords in the entire world, you see.” Naoya was bragging in his grating tone, and your poor mother could only nod. “The best- the biggest. Any old cod can claim that size doesn’t matter and yet our biggest swords are-”
You can’t help it - you catch Choso’s eye and you both have to force yourselves from bursting into a fit of chuckles.
Both turning into each other.
Your hand clutching Choso’s arm for support.
Choso’s gentle hum of laughter breezing the top of your head.
Only too late do you realize that everyone in the room had their eyes turned to you - each in varying degrees of horror at the proximity between a princess and her knight. Except for Shoko who had gone from glowering at the prince to looking somewhat…knowing.
Damn you, Shoko—you’re half-heartedly cursing her out in your head as you straighten up. Trying not to flinch as Choso follows and takes a step backwards to stand behind you.
As a knight is told to be.
You can’t see the expression on Choso’s face nor his demeanour, but what you do know is the familiar creaking of metal as your best friend sags in on himself. Almost shielding himself from the world underneath all that armor.
Perhaps from it.
You notice that he always did so whenever someone in court made his place known: whenever they flickered their eyes between the two of you, whenever they pushed their noble sons to greet you, whenever they questioned just why a knight was allowed to even look at the princess like so.
He took it all to heart. Crumpled it up inside, and in doing so he crumpled that beating thing as well.
You wanted to say something—but you knew you couldn’t.
And, of course, it’s Naoya who speaks first. “Hmm, once we are wed then I shall have to make sure that such a thing is not repeated.”
“There is no such thing to speak of.” You speak through a grit smile.
“So you say—” He takes a bite of a puff pastry and places it back on the golden plating, “-but as your husband, it is I who shall have the final say.”
Yell strangled in your throat, you take a step forward-
Only for your father to sense the growing tension and ease his way in, “So is that to say a royal wedding might be on the horizon?”
Naoya takes his sweet time answering, “Well…” Looking straight at you as he contemplates, he wipes off a bit of leftover vanilla cream from the edge of his lip and flicks it. “That is what I’m saying, Your Majesty.”
Your father claps his hands heartily, “Send for the wedding preparations right away—! Oh, and draft the announcement for the-”
But you don’t hear a single word.
It feels numb.
It feels like something’s buzzing inside of your head.
You’re unsteady on your feet until a cold metallic hand reaches out and clasps hold of you.
You know it’s Choso and you do not let go.
.
.
.
Your heart aches at the letter you receive on the morning afterwards: the morning of the official announcement.
“My dearest princess, cry not.
Cry not—for a single drop of your tears is worth more than all the raindrops in heaven, all the rays of sunlight kissing the Earth, and all the beats of my heart.
It has been running rattle-brained, foolishly wild, these past few hours as I stagger upon the thought that I may lose you. Not that this lowly admirer had you in the first place, my dearest princess, you must forgive me for my presumption. But in every little way in which you are mine, I gain to lose you still.
Cry not for a man that should not cry for you, my dearest princess. Cry not for a man that cries for you still.
And I…above all I am a selfish man. I am a selfish man—utterly selfish—and should all the world’s laws be up to me, then you and I, should you wish it, would have been married four summers past.
Alas, I am overruled.”
You’re dressed for the public.
And once you’re escorted to the royal balcony where all palace announcements are conducted, you look up from the ground just in time to see Yuji catch Choso’s eye. The long-haired man behind you shakes his head.
Though you’re not quite sure what it means, it somehow makes you feel all the more worse.
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
Though it is not in good manners for a lady to gasconade, allow this writer here to tell you that I had proclaimed so—a royal wedding is forthcoming!
You have read that right, dear reader!
Don your best silks and gather your best florals, for soon her Royal Highness, the princess, shall be wed to Prince Naoya Zenin. According to what was proclaimed at the most recent palace announcement, a grand wedding is to take place in a week’s time, immediate after the Royal Diamond Ball, to celebrate the union. Though experts speculate that this marriage is likely of political origins rather than the heart-fluttering romance that some think, one thing is for certan—His Highness, Naoya Zenin, certainly seemed to take the affair in stride.
Witnesses to the official announcement claim that the prince simply couldn’t keep the smile off of his face at the thought of his beautiful new bride (though others claim that it’s due to his imminent rise to the throne thereafter, as he isn’t the first heir to the Zenin Family—however, you didn’t hear that from me, dear reader!)
Others at the site were more entranced by none other than the princess’s trusty personal knight - Choso Kamo was expectedly standing guard beside Her Highness. But what caught the attention of eagle-eyed onlookers was rather the…expression upon his handsome face.
You could not pay me to name a more heart-broken man, dear reader! You could not!
Perhaps this is an omen of how the wedding preparations are being handled behind the curtains? Perhaps this is an omen of…something more?
This writer has a personal inkling about the reasons as to why knight Choso might have looked at Her Highness with nothing less than sorrow (did somebody say tears in his eyes?)
And amongst this roulette of wishful men I know you’re asking me—but Lady Whistledown, what of the princess’s secret admirer?
Well—you’ll be happy to know that I come with reliable insight that the secret delivery of love letters has yet to cease! Yes, gentle reader, this particular admirer seems quite passionate in their affections. Even going so far as to send one just after the announcement. Should the letters have yet to halt now, one can only imagine whether they shall stop even after the royal wedding.
The prince. The admirer. The knight (perhaps?) How can one choose?!
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
.
.
.
“Big brother-”
“No-”
“Big brother, I simply state that-”
“Quiet, Yuji.”
Choso’s tone comes out harder than he’d intended, and his chest clenches at the wounded look in the younger boy’s eyes. Without wasting a single second, and without looking to see if anyone was nearby, he’s lunging forwards and embracing the boy into his arms.
Holding him just as he had when they were children and the pink-haired one would fall and bruise himself- though the only one that feels bruised right now is Choso.
It had been a week since the wedding announcement.
And all preparations had been in full swing: enough so that between all the dress-fittings, and the flower-pickings, and the guest-greetings, Choso hadn’t even had the time to exchange a proper conversation with you. Not that he was in the place to - especially not anymore.
Tonight was the Royal Diamond Ball of the season, where one Diamond shall be picked, always taking place inside the palace.
Except, this time, it had doubled in both extravagance and guest-list due to the simple fact that tonight was also the grand ball before your wedding. Tomorrow morning you would walk down the aisle in a dress of white.
Tomorrow morning you will be another’s wife.
He hugs his younger brother tight, “Yuji, I apologize for my brash words-”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” Yuji finally breaks the hug, “I was simply careless with my own words.”
“You were not-”
“I just don’t understand why you can’t be happy- why both of you can’t be happy. Together.” He looks away, eyes filling with tears he knows wouldn’t encompass even the tiniest fraction of what his brother has shed over this very reason. “It’s just not fair.”
“Some things…some things are meant to be the way they are.” Choso stares ahead at the gilded hallway spread out before him, “We must simply persist.”
Yuji looks as though he wants to say something more- but at that very moment, the doors to your royal chamber are opening. The two knights had been stationed there until you were fussed-over and all dolled-up for the Royal Diamond Ball tonight - the last as an unwed princess. The last before you were bound to Naoya Zenin.
And looking at you now, Choso thinks that it would’ve been worth it to cut down the wedding and all its procession for you.
Because there wasn’t a word to describe you.
The soft champagne of the taffeta draped over your shoulders and puffed up fashionably at your arms, cascading down in a waterfall of expensive silks up to your ankles. Following were glistening pearls that only brought out the beauty of the dress - your beauty - wrung at the edges of your hem and necklines. Delicate bracelets where your hands were gloved. A singular diamond hanging from your neck. And of course—your tiara.
It weighed heavily on your head.
Your ladies-in-waiting had dabbed on a bit of glittering rouge on your lips.
It was all that Choso could stare at.
You weren’t just bound to be the Diamond of the season, you were a diamond from the night sky. And he’s still trying to find a word to describe you that he knows wouldn’t come close, not even in a hundred of his l—
“Choso?” You cock your head gently at him. Trying not to bite down on your lower lip in nervousness and smear your attendants’ hard work, “Is something the matter-”
“Enchanting.” He blurts out- but that wasn’t enough. Would never be enough.
You look at him with slightly widened eyes, and he wouldn’t take the word back anyway. He looks at you and says in a more firm tone, “You look enchanting, my princess.”
You try - and fail - to bite back a smile—and ultimately end up swatting him on his armored chest. “Enchanting? Do not think that flattery shall stop me from forcing you into a dance tonight.”
“Ah—foiled again!” He dramatically looks to the skies.
“Fool.” You joking strike him again - Choso had dressed up for the occasion as well. His armor had been polished until it shined like a mirror, reflecting your own two ogling eyes back at you. Even the hilt of his blade looked deathly sharp.
He’d pushed his visor up and that gave you a glimpse of those two doe-like eyes, chestnut brown and warm. He was staring at you in a way that made you squirm.
Though Lady Whistledown’s society papers tended to use pretty prose, what they hadn’t lied about was this. Just how handsome he was.
“P-perhaps we ought to make our entrance.” You say.
And he nods in understanding, “We ought to—” But, what Choso realizes, is that he doesn’t understand at all.
And his breath hitches as you clutch onto his right arm with both hands. Attaching yourself against his side- how he wished he could feel the warmth of your body through his armor-
“These shoes are far too tall.” You fail to meet his eyes, “Forgive me, but if I could use a bit of support until-”
“Anything you want, my princess.” He breathes.
Your actual entrance into the grand ball is a blur - you’ve attended far too many of these in far too short a time before. It’s the crunch of velvet carpet underneath your too-tall shoes, and the strangely burning sensation of all eyes being directed at you.
At the way you were still holding onto Choso.
You distance yourself from him silently, and he falls in step behind you. The master of ceremonies announces your name even though everyone here already knows it. The staircase is never-ending and unrelenting, each step louder than the thundering of your heartbeat, a staccato of what feels like your own unravelling.
You’re slightly off-kilter as you reach the end- before a hand shoots out to help you.
You grasp onto the man’s calloused hand gratefully, looking up to realize that it was Yaga.
“Watch your step, Your Highness.” He helps you stand and wade through the crowd. As the head knight, Yaga had the freedom to forgo the armor tonight. It was a strong navy blue, nearly the entire chest of it covered in numerous medals and colors - warning off keen-eyed nobles from nearing.
You catch sight of Naoya surrounded by ladies-in-wait by the feast-
Yaga’s voice breaks through, “What is it that’s on your mind, Your Highness?”
“Nothing.” You answer instantly, “It’s just- it must be pre-wedding jitters.”
“I see…” He looks at you intensely, and you feel as though he can see right through you. Know right through what you’re really feeling. “Then in that case, all is well, correct?”
“Correct.”
He almost smiles, “And you are ready to be wed to His Highness Naoya, correct?”
“C-correct.”
“And you shall be thinking of a certain knight- or a certain admirer on the altar, correct?”
“Correct-” You falter, “Excuse me?”
“Ah—it seems the orchestra is commencing.” Yaga looks into the distance where the violin players had started easing in soft trills, as if music itself had waited for your arrival. “Now, my back is certainly too weathered for such dances- but I shall hold you with me no longer, Your Highness.” He turns to you and gives you a gentle smile, “Go—have your first dance.”
You almost plead, “But with who?” Naoya was still…occupied with all the court ladies- not that you would ever in a million years want to dance with Naoya Zenin in the first place-
“Whoever your heart may desire.” Yaga interrupts your thoughts, letting go of your hand- though not before pressing in something delicate and flat into it. He looks somewhere behind you—“A letter, asked of me to hand to you. I only implore that you stay as true to your heart, as he is to you.”
As Yaga disappears into the crowd starting to twirl in their tulle skirts—you open that little piece of paper up.
A short message.
“My dearest princess,
Steps behind you, a vision I do not deserve to see.
The most enchanting girl in the world to me.”
Enchanting.
The paper nearly falls out of your hand, and you can only look behind you - to where Choso Kamo was refusing to meet your eyes. His metallic visor was down and you couldn’t help but step closer.
Uncaring what they say as you’re reaching out and fastening it upwards- “Is this your penmanship, my dearest knight?”
He does not answer.
“Do you think I look enchanting, my dearest knight?”
He does not answer.
“Does your heart beat solely for me, my dearest knight?”
He does not answer.
“Do you not wish for me to be married—” At that, he flinches like a wounded animal. And you already know that he most certainly won’t be answering that question. Which is why you’re answering instead, “For I feel much the same towards you.”
He snaps his head up, glittering brown eyes pleading down at you. He breathes…“Of which sentiment?”
You smile, “All of it.”
“A-and the marriage-” Choso takes a jerky step towards you, his armor creaking like the weight of dungeon chains. “The alliance-”
“May I have this first dance?” You simply reach your hand out.
And as the music crescendos, he takes your hand and presses a kiss to the back of your head. Letting you lead into a golden floor.
Gasps deafen the ballroom music.
.
.
.
The Ton was a-flutter and a-ripe with scandal as you spent your first dance at the Royal Diamond ball with your knight instead of your betrothed. At least, that’s what you imagine - the truth is that you’d been too entranced with Choso Kamo to even pay attention.
He’d held you gently - so gently - as though his large hands could break you at any given moment.
And Choso had never let his eyes stray from your figure as he twirled you around the ballroom. He would have cared about the whispered- he should have…but how could he when he had the most enchanting girl in the world in his arms?
Too soon- your dance was cut short by an arm on Choso’s shoulder. Stopping him.
You’d both turned to face Naoya Zenin, furious spit lining the edges of his lips. He had barked out a formal order for the knight to step aside and hand him your dance- and though Choso’s hand had gone to his sword…
You’d shaken your head at him.
It was a half-dance with Naoya (of which you’d excused yourself feigning networking duties) and a hastened walk to the edge of the ballroom. Right where Choso Kamo was attempting to blend into the gilded ballroom.
You’d nodded discreetly at him and he already knew—
With Yaga suddenly causing a commotion- accidentally spilling his red wine on Lady Mei Mei’s dress, no one had noticed the two of you slipping out after the second dance. Before the Diamond was announced.
He followed you silently, two steps behind as a knight should, all the way up to your royal bedroom.
It was only once you’d reached your towering double doors that you took Choso by hand- all but dragging the handsome knight inside. And though he’d squawked in surprise, you’d merely looked at your best friend with determined eyes.
“Take me, Choso.”
He gasps. His shudders.
He was going to ruin the princess.
CLANK!
CLANK!
CLANK!
CLANK!
Choso’s heavy armor fell to the ground—
CLANK!
The last of it before the knight scoops his strong arms underneath your legs and hoists you up into that princess carry you’ve read about in every fairy tale. Choso walks you gently over to the expansive bed, before setting you down and laying you all flat—
“Why’re you by the foot of the bed, Cho?” You’re huffing down at the man who was now pressed against the mahogany bedframe. He had his knees down on the soft carpet, kneeled at your feet. Grabbing onto one of Choso’s toned arms - still in a gauzy white poet’s shirt that had been worn underneath his armor - you attempt futilely to pull him upwards. “Come lay with me.”
Looking away with a blush. “Why…have you really not the faintest idea, my dearest princess?” Hearing those words from his mouth sends shivers down your spine.
He looks at you with dark, half-lidded eyes. Hands spreading your thighs apart and sliding down the sides of your legs. Beneath those customary layers of silk. Choso’s hands keep roaming, and there’s a sudden rush of heat pulsing down to your core once you register his fingertips scraping the edge of your undergarments.
Mouth falling slightly agape.
“I-It’s only customary to give the lady a kiss before the dance—”
You’re gasping as your brain registers the innuendo- but not before Choso dips his mouth down and gives your cunt a looooong kiss through your sodden panties. Open-mouthed and hot.
He draaaaags the tip of his tongue down your slit n’ tastes you for the first time. Letting a single droplet of your syrupy slick end up splashin’ on his tongue- and he fucking moans. Loud.
Just so husky and attractive that it makes your body buck up into him without even realizing.
And it’s all that Choso needs to let go of his inhibitions. It’s all that he needs to hold both your wrangling thighs down and press himself even deeper against your aroused cunt. Nose-deep. Chest heaving in such guttural puffs.
It’s as if the knight didn’t even need to breathe as long as he could reach deeper against your sopping slit. So wet that he’s feeling your puffy pussylips through the fabric of your underwear- he slashes his tongue between your folds and makes you rut-
“Wh-what is this feeling…ngh.” Unable to help but pipe up in a shrill tone, you struggle to keep your hand pressed against your noisy mouth.
And he doesn’t even answer.
He can’t.
He’s lurching his mouth back and forth at a frenzied pace—crazed. Licking his tongue all over the inches of your cunt he could reach, rubbin’ his ridged tastebuds up and down the swollen outer part of your pussy.
You were just so damn soaked that it almost felt as if there was no barrier between your pussy and his ravenous mouth at all. Gaping even wider open and heavily kissing your pussy, he was almost thrusting his face against your sensitive cunt-
“Choso-” You gasp, your breaths all dampened. Hands weaving through his long brown hair for dear life. “Choso oh heavens—”
It was just too enchanting how your voice broke on the very last syllable of your sentence. And Choso can’t deny that it makes something carnal deep inside him twitch- “My dearest princess.”
“O-oh…” And you certainly didn’t expect his murmuring tone to send vibrations running up your spine like that.
Breathy. “Is that good, my dearest princess?” Choso’s mouth waters at the way his words only seem to make you splosh out in even more slick—gushing. It trickles greedily down either side of his mouth like two slick rivulates. And you can’t help but snap your head down and think that he looked utterly drunk - gaze half-lidded, lips puffy and red, forehead beading with sweat from his movements. Kissing. “My dearest princess.” Heaving. “My dearest princess.”
“P—please—” You’re trilling out, your head falling into the pillows behind you. “Choso, heavens, I beg of you to c-catch your breath-”
“And yet does it feel good, princess?”
That broken lil’ sentence of his punctuated by the most sloppy slash between your pussylips- smearin’ them apart and accurately pinpointing your clit. With the flexible tip of his tongue he presses inwards against that soft spot and makes you see stars.
Sends your hips rutting furiously against his pretty face, and your moans roaring. “Damn—fuck.” His cock throbs at the way he’d made such a poised, perfect princess break her demeanor. Swear- shit, he really was ruining you. “Fuck, yes- mmm, it feels so good.”
“Feels so good…what?” He’s rasping out.
And you have to blink through your film of tears down at him- “What?” He was now creating a rhythmic mwah of his lips down upon your clit - just lick upon lingering liiiiiick to drive you absolutely wild.
“It feels so good—” He’s groaning out straight into your cunt, already knowing that you’d be left all tender with his voice And just then you feel two pointed canines snag against your throbbing nub and almost…bite. “-who?”
“Choso—” So that was what he wanted all along? To have you hiccup and squeal his name as he draaaagged his lips from corner to corner of your leaky crevice and lapped up every ounce you gave? To have you absolutely shattered- “Choso-”
“Yeeees?” Alternating between snagging his honed canines down your clit n’ suckling on it.
Like his most favorite candy from the feast downstairs- and yet, you’d be the sweetest dessert out of them all. He was making out with your pussy just like it, too. “Choso- fuck, Choso I didn’t have the daftest idea that you could ever—mmm, it just feels too good.”
“Feels good?” He’s gutturally gasping, teeth scraping through your panties and creating little tears. Wrapping his pink lips ‘round your clit and hollowing his cheeks out of sheer force- “This feels good?”
“Yes-”
Nibblin’ his pearly whites down on your undergarments and tearing it down your slit. Swipin’ his tongue back and forth- “This feels—good-”
“Yes.” You gurgle out. It’s more and more.
It’s just the pinkish tip of his tongue that was proddin’ at your bundle of nerves. He slips it into a tiny hole town through your silken undergarments- and it’s enough to make your hips cleanly arch off the mattress. “Ch-Chosoooo—”
Choso’s darkened eyes flap wider open- “Suppose that feels even better, my dearest princess?”
And all he really wanted to do was make you numb with pleasure.
All he really wanted to do was slobber his mouth across that sweetened cunt of yours until he couldn’t even breathe- he’d be satisfied by the fact.
And Choso isn’t even thinking twice before he’s weighing down on one of the tears in your panties - something that he’d done with his very own mouth. Now his crowned fingertips were pushing against the delicate fabric and making it rip-rip-riiiiiiiiiip—!
Not even all the way through.
Just enough for two of Choso’s rightly thick fingers to seep through your undergarments and kiss your hole dead-on.
You flinch as he’s spreading your entrance with the most lecherous slurp! The knobbled ends of his digits pushing aside both your pussylips and simply aiming for that cutely leaking hole- how in heavens were you this wet? This tantalizing?
Tasty.
Choso reaches his slick-gazed fingers out of your cunt and raises it up to his vision - glimmering in the pale moonlight with all your candied liquids - he doesn’t hesitate before plopping them straight into his mouth. His eyes roll to the back of his skull and Choso moans as he tastes you-
“S-shoooo good—”
Fuck, was he slurring his words?
You’re raising up onto your elbows to question him, “Choso, did you just-”
But Choso doesn’t seem to hear- Choso doesn’t even seem to have anything running through his mind right now except for you and your pretty pussy. You and your pretty pussy.
You and your pretty pussy that gapes just as he pumps a few inches of his fingers inside - cunt getting glossed in your clingy slick once he squeezes his way inside. He’s feeling for the way your sopping wet walls glue to him like adhesive- stopping him briefly in his tracks before Choso’s stickin’ a thumb on top of your clit and making you take him.
“C’mon-” He hisses between clenched canines, brows furrowing down in concentration. “C’mon c’mon—it feels good. Doesn’t it, princess?”
“It does-” Hiccuping - trying and failing to buck your hips up for more. But the only thing you’re doing is succeeding in having Choso slip a hand up to grab your waist, pinning your body down to the squeaky mattress with such ease.
Your knight’s keeping your body on a damn leash while he fucks out a slooooow and sensual tempo between your legs. Just the fatness of each finger roverin’ deeper spots inside your walls, you swear you can feel out every single stretch. “Easy there, princess.” He knew his princess’s body better, it seems. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”
“It does but—fuck.” And just then Choso’s hooking his fingers in an incredible way that leaves your legs weak. Plumply pushing against one bunch of your nerves and sending shockwaves up to your brain. “Fuck, I want more, Choso.”
“Patience, Your Highness.” Choso spits out- literally. A dangling ribbon of saliva that clings onto your pussylips n’ makes it easier for the first inch or two of his digits to slip inside.
“But Choso—”
“Patience.” He hums, low vibrations. The space between your legs lets out the most lecherous loud squelches as he’s probin’ in and out. Watching as your swollen pussylips stretch out aaaaaaaall wide open-
He curls his lengthy digits against the velvety roof of your cunt. Making you just twitch, he’s grinning his slick-lipped grin. “I know you’re all needy right now, princess. But you need to learn to take it loooong and slow—” Emphasizing it by dragging his puffy digits along your walls and scissoring them multiple times. “-like that, see? That feels good, hm?”
“It does, but…” You pout.
Choso’s long lashes quiver, eyes widening slightly. “But?” Slightly crazed.
“But I want- hck!” Further pushing your slobberin’ cunt against his features, you’re dragging your most sensitive bits along his faces and shivering as it grazes his prominent nose. Desperately yowling, “But I want more-”
“Then command it.”
You snap your eyes open, “P-pardon?”
“Then command it.” But it still doesn’t sound real in your ears- ringing with pressure from his fingers slipping in and out. Hitting almost every spot you wanted him to—almost. He latches his mouth ‘round your clit once more and- he doesn’t suck. No.
Choso’s sinking his teeth into that perfect lil’ nub and draaaaagging it right out a centimeter or two until you scream. Fluttering his pretty lashes, “Aren’t you the princess, my dear?” Barely even waiting for your answer before your cunt squelches with a third one of his fingers- “Aren’t I your knight? Go on—command me.”
“P-please-” And Choso gnaws his teeth down even more meanly to stop you from using your royal manners. Until all you can do is bend your spine into the perfect curvature and puuush- grabbing onto his sweaty locks with absolutely no mercy. “Choso, I order you to go harder.”
His cock has never been harder.
He’s not even giving you a warning before thwacking! a strike with three globular fingertips, all the way at the very gooey bottom of your pussy. Rasping. “Harder?”
“Faster.” You barely gasp. “Choso, I-I order you-”
“Faster?” As if the only thing he can do when he’s so focused on fucking your pussy in harsh, thumpin’ hammers is that mantra of your words. “What else? What else, my liege?”
“Leige…” Bouncing your hips up, up, up—you might be too gone on his perfectly girthy fingers to realize the way you were swervin’ your waist to and fro. Just letting his lengthy fingers navigate the slick maze inside of you, plump fingertips spearheading inside like a spotlight and curving against every spot.
But Choso notices.
Of course, he notices.
He’s noticed every single thing about you, silent and stoic at your footsteps, for years. Always looking. Always admiring from afar—and he knows when you want something. “What else do you wish for, my princess? What else makes your pussy- hngh, feel good?”
“I want you to h-hit that one spot-” You’re blubbering through your constant tears. Moving your hips just to the side so that his curvaceous fingers were nearing where you wanted him the most. “So close—oh.”
“Never tell me to do anything twice, Your Highness.” He mutters, tone shot. “I’m always at your service.”
And he was.
And he was shovin’ his fingers - almost thickened with how long they’d been inside you - straight against that bundle of your nerves. Against that crevice you’d heard dubbed as your g-spot from that scandalous literature hidden away at the back of the library…
And when Choso had found that particular spot, he was hitting it like a madman—
Once. Twice. Thrice.
The way he’d memorized just where it was and mapped out every single inch of space inside you was dizzying. The way he’d leave a few sultry split-seconds to twirl his bulbous fingertips against your g-spot before reeling back and thud-thud-thudding. “It feels good, right?”
He was back to that familiar mantra and it was sending zaps of power down your spine to realize just how breathy he sounded. Just how smoky. Just how shattered.
Choso was eating you out like he was going crazy with every lick up your weepin’ pussy crevice. Uuuuup and down and fightin’ against his very own fingers to stick the edge of his tongue inside your quivering hole. “It feels so-” You’re gripping onto the strands of his hair stupidly, “So good-” Tears freely flowing down your cheek with just how many times he was mercilessly forcing his way against your sweetest spots. Your most favorite. “So good- so good- sooo good—”
You smack your hips up in a sloppy drag down Choso’s face and he moans.
“Choso, you’re just the best—”
And that? Those particular words are just about enough to make his red-hot, achingly hard erection pulse once. Twice.
Beading out a silky trickle of cum that darkens his thick pants.
Before he’s frankly quite sure that he might be on the verge of cumming- and such a valiant knight could never cum before his lovely princess, now, could he? Not daring to be so selfish, Choso heightens the pleasure and pressure until his tongue looked like nothing but a strawberry-pink blur lickin’ into every nook and cranny of yours. Slap-slap-slapping down on your clit.
And his fingers were fucking into you so hard- so ruthlessly. Viciously banging your g-spot like a constant bullseye and Choso was an expert at archery. Didn’t you know?
He doesn’t slow down - doesn’t dare to - even once your drenched walls start convulsing around him in a staccato. Even once you open your mouth in a soundless scream.
Even once you start to cum—
And Choso had never smiled wider in his entire life than he does right now with his lips glued to your pussy. Salivating. Tongue strokin’ your clit through every peak of your high- “C-cumming, Choso.” You pant out tearily. “And I can’t seem to stop…”
“You don’t have to.” Right on cue he bangs a roughened thrust just against your g-spot. Leaving you throbbing and aching for more.
And everything ‘more’ that you want - Choso’s more than happy to give.
Your loyal knight elongating your wave of bliss with his slick fingers. The perfect amount of thickness to stretch your walls but also leave you keening at his rapid pace- he pinpoints each tender point of your orgasm and thrashes against your nerves right at that exact moment.
Again.
And again and again.
And again—until your high makes you see white-hot stars behind your closed eyelids. Planting sloppy drags down his face right in synchronization, “Any longer and I don’t believe I shall cum any more, Choso.”
“As long as it feels goooood, princess.” He gurgles out, “Heh, so good that your body can’t cum anymore.”
“I-I don’t believe it works like- fuck.” Lips soiled with tears and saliva. Glazed. Doesn’t matter how much you’re running your voicebox ragged, because Choso doesn’t even slow down- not even when he’s fucked you through your orgasm and letting it taper out into mere tingles.
Shots of power. Vulgar strokes barely even starting to falter as you begin to feel so utterly raw n’ overstimulated. “But Choso, I want…”
“Hmmmm?”
He sounds so gone on your pussy that you know merely asking nicely won’t make Choso latch off. Experimentally, you’re tugging on his sweat-drenched bangs and he doesn’t even budge-
“Choso Kamo.” You’re starting out, struggling to keep your voice steady. And yet at the tone of your voice, Choso flinches as though he already knows- “As your princess, I order you to just fuck me already.”
He takes a few seconds to detach from your pussy.
Pulling away his sticky slick-glazed lips with a superior squeeelch! And Choso stares up at you with dark, half-lidded eyes. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
His ruined voice sends shivers across every inch of your body.
A body that he’s now plastering his hands onto and all but tearing through your soft layers- like butter underneath his strong hands. He’s ripping your silken gown straight through the middle, “I shall summon the tailor first thing tomorrow morning.” Choso grunts, already reading that expression on your face. “Worry not- your next dress shall be white, my princess.”
“Wh-white…” You breathe out, feeling light-headed at the implication.
Before you know it, all Choso has unhooked your half-corset and left you all exposed for him. For him to ravenously sweep his eyes down. For him to gaze upon every inch of you and gulp- was his mouth watering just at the sight of you naked?
But you’re not left too long to ponder upon the thought before Choso starts shrugging off his gauzy shirt and trousers. He’s letting the buttons pop open—pop! pop! pop! And displaying such a firm chest chiselled with prominent pecs, further down along were naturally ripped abs and the most sensual happy trail.
All dark and slightly unruly where it dips juuuust below his pants hemline.
Choso flattens his thumb against those golden buttons and lets himself spring free- and oh.
Oh.
You have to bite back a gasp out of sheer manners, though it should be rather obvious that you were ogling him. All about seven or eight inches of him- maybe more. Definitely more.
The cutest blushin’ pink at his tip, growing slightly more pale towards the base.
Glistening shaft. Heavy balls. He’s decorated with more veins than you might’ve imagined from him, and he’s so hard that each time they twitch his erection flinches in mid air. Fuck…Choso’s just so long and rock-hard that his puckered pink tip jumps upwards and smears a swipe of glistening sap across his abs. It glares at you like a smirk, and Choso sleazes out a smile right back.
Letting his head fall backwards once he gives his long cock a good pump.
“Oh…” He’s swearing underneath his breath, edging in closer on two capped knees. Those meaty thighs of his were just irresistible - all meaty and milky and flexing.
The slight muscles in his legs twitch as he inches closer to you on the bed. Cornering you against the headboard, Chose wields his swollen tip cloooose between your legs- kissin’ your puffy pussylips. Just a single swipe. “Fuck.”
And that’s all it takes for Choso Kamo to break on your pussy.
Head hanging downwards. Long locks covering his face. The entirety of his body fucking lurching- he’s messily creaming down your slit with copious amounts of cum.
Scorchin’ hot and sticking to you like adhesive.
It dribbless between your folds and enters your hole just the sliiiightest bit - already enough to start sploshin’ inside you and make you feel stuffed to the brim. You’re squirming at the unfamiliar sensation—and what does Choso do?
He’s reeling his hips back and rutting against you like a damn animal.
Unable to control himself. Merely pushing his fat cockhead between your pussylips and shoving- he groans at the way he couldn’t even fit the honed point of his very honed tip inside.
Just sliding lecherously past your pussylips and rubbin’ his veiny shaft down your front.
The only thing that that’s doing is grazing your clit and driving the man on top of you absolutely wild. He’s huffing through a pout as he looks down, “I want- ngh, I want to make it feel good for you, my princess. But it just won’t seem to fit.” Without much warning, he’s slithering his right hand down and scissoring open your snug hole. “Does this pretty pussy need me to s-stretch her out even more?”
“Oh—maybe.” You blubber out, looking at him through a heady gaze. “Choso…it’s my first time.”
And he knows he should expect it- fuck, he’s been at your side through every second of every day after you’ve come of age. He should already know by now.
His lips part, “Oh.”
“And I suspect it’s your first time, too?”
“It is…” Choso looks away bashfully, “My apologies, Your Highness, that I’m not experienced enough to perhaps give you the pleasure that you deserve-”
“Cho?”
He immediately shuts himself up, “Mhm?”
But instead of answering- you’re grabbing ahold of one of Choso’s muscular deltoids. It was just so plush and flexed as you moved him beneath you - flipping your positions over until his back hit the decadent mattress. And you’re clamoring on top of his slender hips, only slightly wobbly with the aftermath of your previous high.
All of Choso’s ivory sap dripped down your inner thighs and tried to glue them together. It was a treacly sheen that slid down his rock-hard abs.
And you’re gliding on top of him- draaaagging your swollen pussylips down his veiny shaft. A whimper lets out of your lips as his flared silt catches on your folds, “F-fuck—Cho, the court ladies told me about this particular position called, ahem- riding.”
He’s looking up at you with wide, heart-shaped eyes.
And your veins bubbled with molten embarrassment and need, “I’m going to ride you now, alright?”
“Yes-”
“Yes…what?”
Choso breaks out into the most sinful grin you think you’ve ever seen on him- “Yes, my liege.”
And that’s all it takes for you to perk your hips up just a lil’ bit and let Choso’s round orifice trace the outer rim of your hole. Just getting your body trained to the size - and even that is enough to make the man beneath you squirm.
To make him blush. To make him gasp.
To make him reach both quivering hands up and dig them into the globes of your ass- he’s jolting as though fighting with himself over letting you take your agonizing pace or humpin’ up into you like an animal.
Crying out—“Please. I need you so f-fucking bad.”
And you can pinpoint the exact moment that Choso’s husky voice breaks - all because you’re swerving your hips down and taking a gooood three or so inches of his fattened cock. Red-hot. Throbbing all the way deep inside of you.
The stretch was just so incredible that you’re seeing pure white- a primal moan ripping from your throat at the way he molded to your walls. Almost as if he was made for you.
He’s giving his first spurt of milky precum against your velvety channel, it drips down to your entrance and makes you twitch at the sensation.
Choso Kamo was ruining you from the inside and he wasn’t even trying yet.
Yet you’re still gasping- clawing onto his shoulders and then eventually down to his cushion-like pecs. Providing a firm hold for you as you’re trying to keep yourself balanced. Your mind muddled-
“Does- does it feel good yet, my princess?” Almost in the distance, you can hear Choso’s words echoing. They seem to rattle inside your emptied brain right now. “Does- does it- fuuuck—because it feels like heaven to me.”
“Shit, it feels so…” Your jaw drops agape, running out of words. Having him intruding at your innards like this wasn’t necessarily unpleasant- in fact, when he slightly rutted and rubbed against a few particular spots it almost felt unreal…
You’re keeping a firm grip on him and lightly bouncing your hips down - short, sloppy thrusts that give off a slurp! every time.
And Choso was giving off the prettiest little whimper every time you swallowed his solid tip. Just about two or three inches. “F-feels good?” He’s begging. Tears crinkle on the edges of his eyelids, and his lips wobble ever-so-slightly. “Feels good, right? Am I making my princess feel good?”
“So good.” You manage to gasp out. “Shit, I have yet to feel such pleasure with my fingers…”
“Being held at a degree higher than the fingers of my princess—?” He couldn’t believe it himself. And almost as though to confirm, Choso’s reaching over and lifting your dominant hand off of his pectoral. He brings it up to his mouth and gives it a long kiss, “Y-you cannot be serious.” Breathing in, as if to breathe in your essence. “The hands of my princess…”
Your jaw drops as his own does - opening wide enough to slip as few of your fingers inside and suck. “You’re more of a lecher than your innocent demeanour- ngh, lets on.”
“Only for you, Your Highness.”
And with your never-ending vulgar strokes, you’d managed to bully about half of Choso’s erection inside of you. It was a girth thick enough to stretch out hidden nooks n’ crannies inside you that you didn’t even know you had, and the perfect length to already be throbbin’ away by your g-spot…
You swivel your hips lightly enough to let his tip graze your most favorite spot- and you can’t help but fucking shake at the burst of sensations.
He’s hissing at the way you clench, “Oh, please-” Head falling backwards into the pillow in a dizzy haze. “D-does that little…squeeze mean it feels good?”
“Yes-” You gasp, “And it also means I ache for you more.”
Your best friend gulps, “Where?”
And it doesn’t take long for you to maneuver one of his calloused palms off of your hips and down to your stomach. Where it felt like he was so big that you could feel him from the outside—Choso presses down as he sinks in. “Here.”
That was almost enough to make him cum.
But Choso had already cum earlier - and it wasn’t a matter of not being able to stuff your pussy full all over again. He’s sure he could cream himself dry on your pussy. It was more so the fact that, in order to make up for it, he needed to make you cum at least twice more before finally finishing off himself.
One taste of your cunt clenchin’ around him and he’s feeling a tear slip down his cheek.
Almost subconsciously - body moving before mind - Choso arches off the comforter to probe his blushin’ tip deep inside you. “Shit- you just reached so deep, Cho.”
“Would you like me to take over, Your Highness?” Oh—how he loved the way that title rolled off of his tongue when he fucked you. His lowly body marking out your insides-
And he’d known you for so long by now.
He knew everything about you: every like, every dislike, every tell about your body. And he already knows from the hazy look in your peripherals that you’d been growing tired, thighs twitching any time you tried to messily bounce down on his cock.
Which is why one of Choso’s large hands cup your ass and start to help you fuck back into him- his muscules flexing mouth-wateringly every time he did so. Deeper and deeper. “Come on, my princess.” The hand on your stomach lifts off and glides down your pussy’s slit. Perfectly finding and pressing down on your knobbly clit - so sensitive. “Come on- fuck, let this loyal knight of yours make you feel good.”
“But the thing is…” You whimper out, head dropping down to look at the space between your legs. Like this, the size difference between your puckered hole and Choso’s thick cock. Growing even thicker before your very eyes. “-you’re just so damn big, Choso. Will it even fit?”
“I can make it fit.” He answers readily, as though the answer had already been on the tip of his tongue. For years, actually - all those long nights since becoming your personal knight. With only his hand and the image of you. He knows he’s fucking pathetic.
But he can’t bring himself to regret a single moment anyway. Because it’s only with that imaginary practice that he’s swervin’ his hips up to yours in slightly circular motions. “I can do anything for you.”
“Anything?”
He gasps out, “Anything for you, Your Highness.”
With his tongue stuck between his teeth, he’s crossing his brows and focusing on simply sensually fitting his cock inside. Uuuup with that big stretch.
Your head knocks backwards, “Ch-Choso—” Never been stretched like this before.
And then again with those rovering pushes.
“Choso.”
And again.
“Fuck-”
Choso wasn’t even answering any more - just couldn’t. He had his mind focused solely on one thing, and that was to pump all his generous inches inside you, which might be easier said than done considering how the longer he spent in contact with your pussy…the more pussydrunk he seemed to be becoming.
Until he was all but babbling—gasping, tearing up, fighting against the carnal resistance, holding onto you hard enough to leave nail marks all down your body. He was shovelling his ruddied cockhead with a thwack! against the very bottom of your pussy.
Bottomed-out.
You collapse down onto his chiselled chest with a strangled scream, feeling the metaphorical pop! of both your cherries. As well as the squirt of precum emptied out against your cervix-
The last thing you’re feeling before Choso’s leaving your entrance all sore.
Before he’s drilling up into you like a crazed man.
Fucking up into you with honed, deep thrusts - all the way from the globular edge of his shaft and then doooown until your clit scratches on the tufts of black hair at his base. He’s whacking your g-spot and then skidding right down until his puckered tip meets your womb. Rapid. Ravenous.
The bed creaks from the sheer pace of his movements, mingling with the shrill noises that you were letting out yourself. “So this is what it feels like- oh.”
Choso drags his right thumb down your pussy’s slit- that dewy spot of your clit being the perfect target for him to press down on. “This is what it feels like—” There’s such a dreamy quality to his words, languid and slightly slurred. “It feels like absolute heaven j-just-”
“Just?” You look up at your knight when he trails off.
Not expecting him to break out into the most sleazy smile. “Just having my innocence taken by the princess.” He says it in a way that sends shives down your spine - firm and possessive.
And even more possessive was the way that Choso thereafter clings a hold onto your waist and pulls you down to him. His abs shifting underneath you as he presses a kiss to your bitten lips—as he spits a wad of his saliva between them. “Taking the princess’s innocence- the whole kingdom should know that I r-ruined their perfectly innocent princess.” He’s gasping out, lost in the feeling of his entire engorged inches being suctioned by your walls. “That I made her- hah, pussy mine.”
“Choso—” Your eyes blow wide in shock and pleasure.
Because just then the hand teasin’ at your clit decides to jump straight to pinching right there.
It makes you twitch on top of him.
The pit of your stomach fizzling with something that feels good-
“Oh, but fear not, Your Highness.” He continues as if he isn’t just driving you wild. Ruining your insides with the constant, rhythmic squelching of his large cockhed—pushing and pushing. And pushing.
Choso stares up at you with a half-lidded gaze - direct eye contact even when he’s craning upwards to bite down on your left nipple. Dark lashes fluttering, “For every part of me is likewise yours.”
“Every part?” You shudder.
“Every part.” In emphasis, his cock throbs furiously inside you.
Succeeding in swervin’ in each glittering droplet of precum and slick and seed back in. He groans, “And you know you can ride this lowly knight as much as you want- as hard as you want.”
“I…” Your mouth feels as parched as a desert, “I would like that, my knight.”
Leaning slightly back on the bed, he’s letting you take more control. “Ride me- ride me dry, princess.” Just so achingly needy for you that you could almost taste it.
His salted-caramel taste sizzling at the back of your throat- his vanilla scent filling up your every other sense. You could now fit the pace to whatever you liked, “Sh-shit-” To whatever massaging rubs against your bundled nerves. “Shit—it’s almost t-too much. Impossible to believe.”
“Yeah? Feels good, doesn’t it?” Choso’s on board with his hand planted underneath your ass. Using a singular hand, he’s manhandling your hips up and down—up and down. Jerking you almost like a ragdoll down his incredible size, he lets every drop of his drivelling precum get sucked dry by your cute cunt. “Feels good riding your m-most loyal knight? Feels good making such a mess of me—oh?”
“It does.” You’re so stupid on his cock by now that you simply have to confess. “I—fuck, I must be true- it does.”
“Good.” Spittle drools down one edge of his lips. Choso Kamo wanted to be used.
He wasn’t letting you even bounce your hips away for a mere millisecond- always chasing the back of your pussy with his cockhead. He hisses, “Feels good just- fuck, being fucked by the very man sworn to protect you, hm? Feels good knowing that all those years I’ve wanted this- all this time, I’ve imagined it like some pervert—” Choso casts a glance around the grand room, “All the nights I was here. All the days I spent watching you. Feels good knowing that I would’ve died just for a taste of your sweet cunt, huh?”
Thumb faster n’ faster on your clit.
“Feels good knowing that I shan’t ever in this life, nor any others, even so much as look at another?”
And another one of his rugged hands lifts up from your thighs to cup your cheek - he lets you hold your own chasing your high. Slurping and swallowing his fat cock between your legs intensely, as Choso wipes away a stray tear cascading down your cheek.
“Feels good knowing that you have bewitched me—you and this damn- pretty pussy.”
“Yes-” You’re whimpering out loud enough for it to echo across these four gilded walls. Your mind being a complete mess. “Yes, yes, yes—and I’m gonna…”
“Fuck.”
He’s feeling it before you do once you finally crash into your high.
It’s your second of the night, and just because you’re slightly overstimulated from it doesn’t mean that Choso’s about to slow down. Instead, he’s drilling into you with achingly needy strikes - all vicious pumps against the spot of your nerves, and then nicely sliding down the back of your cervix. Over and over.
A long overarching wave of your orgasm- “Ch-Choso.” One that leaves your body limp and helpless to the way he crushes you against his beating chest. “Need you to cum inside, Choso.”
You’re pleasing up at him in a way that’s irresistible.
“Let your climax at least settle, impatient princess.” He’s lightly chuckling. Increasing his ministrations on your poor clit - only elongating your zaps of pleasure.
Until he seemed to be numbing your body completely with so many sensations, all bubbling through your veins and pouring out in the form of your sweetened slick. “But I want it.” You huff. “What if that was an order?”
“Oh, you really are my spoiled princess. Even after I’ve already given you m-my cock and two orgasms…and my heart.” He’s echoing out in a parched tone. Increasing and increasing the sheer amount of pleasure he was giving you - until it you’re been fucked considerably past the twinges of your high.
Straight into another.
And it seemed to be exactly what Choso was waiting for- before he’s throwing his head back and cumming right in unison with you. “Fuuuuck- take it all.” Words trembling. “Take it all, my dearest princess, take it all from your knight.”
And you can feel him empty it out inside you.
His heavy balls twitching with the looong stripes of sap he was flooding out, they splosh against each of your crevices. Pumped deeper inside with every thrust. The smell of his arousal just twitches something dark and carnal within you- and you’re pushing your face into the crook of his neck. Inhaling that soft vanilla accent.
So in contrast with the pelvis slamming against yours, hard enough that his skin starts to redden. The sheer force of it is enough to make you flinch back - and enough for him to hold onto your body in any way he can and pin you down to his front.
Unable to escape, you can only whine at the way he fucks you through his high. “Oh my…” Your mouth starts to water. No novel or scandal sheet had ever described this before. “Ch-Choso you’re the best.”
And you swear that only makes him cum harder.
So much of it that it begins to trickle out of your hole almost immediately- something that Choso certainly couldn’t have.
So he swipes his thumb down from your clit and starts swabbin’ those wads back inside.
“I ache for you.” He’s whimpering out, big bulbous tears glimmering on the edges of his lashes. His pink lips jut out into what almost looks like a pout, “My dearest princess, I ache for you-” Followed by the sharp inhale of breath once he grazes over your clit once more. “-so much so that it’s leaking out.”
“I ache for you, too, Choso. So much.”
“Hah…not as much as I do for you.” As if the petering out of his ribbony white cum had ultimately brought back an inkling of his rationality again. “Though for a lowly knight to be so forward-”
You’re leaning down and wiping away the tears from his handsome cheeks. “Choso…you would never be undeserving of me.” It’s the firm tone that makes him freeze, snapping his head to you with sheeny eyes. “In fact, I could argue that it is I who does not deserve y-”
Choso doesn’t let you finish that sentence.
He’s kissing you long and sound.
And as he smiles against your lips, you decide that you have a long conversation to be had with your father at daybreak.
As heir to the throne.
.
.
.
There is a celebration in the bejeweled chapel that morning.
Though not of a wedding, rather…a coronation.
With the promise of a wedding.
And as you sit upon your velvet throne, the crown jewels balanced heavily on your head and your hands, you feel the folded-up piece of paper tucked away in your locket. Humming.
You catch Choso’s eye, closest amongst the row of knights at attention.
You wink.
He smiles.
Yuji shoots you a thumbs up.
Yaga watches the scene and smiles a slight smile.
Shoko could not have looked more smug.
And Naoya? Though the Zenin family was happy to attend, one such prince was pointedly not invited. Nor would he be claiming any thrones any time soon.
As the ceremony continues, the letter pulses with delight-
“My dearest princess,
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Your dearest knight.”
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
Church bells are a-toll—though not for a royal wedding (though be patient, and we shall see the very same soon)—for it’s a royal coronation!
Her Highness, the princess, both shocked and scandalized the Ton at the Royal Diamond Ball last night by attending to her first dance with none other than…her personal knight. Yes, Sir Choso Kamo was chosen personally by the daring royal to be the gentleman that sweeps her off of her feet (on the dance floor).
And query any ogling noble at the ball that night, and should they find the time between plucking the flies out of their mouth, then all shall confirm that the young couple was rather…scandalously close. Though keeping to his hands confined to places the Ton would approve of, it was rather evident that the way the princess and her knight looked at each other was ripped straight from a fairy tale. The romance!
And just as any good fairy tale should have an obvious villain, this writer’s insiders claim that Prince Naoya Zenin was certainly not happy with the incident.
Though you must forgive this dear writer if my memory of such dudgeon royal guests is far from perfect. For I was far too occupied with the later…disappearance of Her Highness.
And most conveniently, her knight, as well.
The princess was most certainly not present as she was dubbed the Diamond of the season, nor would she have been able to keep her eyes (or hand) away from Sir Choso long enough to notice. You read that right, dear reader, the Ton has positively been fanning themselves all morning at the juicy details being whispered down palace halls.
My trusted sources claim that the princess and her knight had been locked up in her royal bed chambers…all night. And though the contents of what they may have gotten up to inside this chamber is all speculation, late-night patrol down the palace halls claim they heard the most…peculiar noises emanating from the princess’s bedroom.
All. Night. Long.
Though, of course, Her Highness’s ultimate return to the ball long past the Diamond announcement is a source of many rumors—this eagle-eyed writer would like to point out something else entirely.
Bite marks. Unsteady gait.
Glowing.
Perhaps all coincidence, of course, that Sir Choso Kamo had donned his knight’s armor and hidden any of his own marks from view. It is undeniable that the princess had been carrying evidence of a knight—my apologies, I meant night well-spent!
And perhaps most damning of all might be the fact that - after a terse discussion with His Majesty, the King, as my sources say - an announcement was made at the very cusp end of the ball.
Of the princess’s coronation as Queen tomorrow, and of Sir Choso Kamo’s induction as King Consort. He shall henceforth and forevermore be known as King Consort Choso Kamo, Duke of Kamo Estate.
And lastly, of a summer wedding, due on the horizon. (Sources also claim something else due…a bundle of joy perhaps between the young couple.)
But that is enough of speculation—oh, what was that?
I can hear your cries, gentle reader, I can hear them! Worry not, this writer is yet to forget a single detail of the most succulent gossip from the Ton - I already foresee your queries about what happened to Her Majesty’s secret admirer then.
I believe you shall be delighted to know that my insider tells me that…the very secret admirer you speak of is now King Consort. What a romantic twist to the tale!
Now as Prince Naoya fumes and my readers rejoice, excuse me while I dry my tears and pick out my best summer arrangements for this royal wedding—for you know that this writer must always be on the scene!
We wish the happy royal couple all the best with their preparations!
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
A/N. Any guesses on who Lady Whistledown might just be??
