[marryjeann]

𝖍𝖚𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖘𝖔 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖚𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖜𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖇𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖉𝖎𝖊

𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖇𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖊𝖋𝖋𝖊𝖈𝖙 𝖚𝖓𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘

𝖏𝖚𝖏𝖚𝖙𝖘𝖚 𝖐𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖊𝖓 & 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖉𝖊𝖊𝖕𝖘𝖕𝖆𝖈𝖊

𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖗𝖘 𝖉𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙, 𝖓𝖔 𝖗𝖊𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙

(masterlist: in progress)

[daflex]

Call it whatever you want.

"You're not my boyfriend." Try telling Ryomen Sukuna that when another man gets a little too close.

A/N: you aint my boyfriend and i aint your girlfriend 🤨 if u couldnt tell, this was inspired by boyfriend by ari and social house ✌️😗 this is also an old fic i dug out 🚬 anyways exams have been fucking me raw lately and not in a fun way. i should be out here bussing it down at the club, getting lit, making questionable decisions. instead im bussing it down with textbooks and practice exams. tragic. devastating, even. it's okay though, bc i got bts tickets 😛

Art: @/pattyi.i on insta <3

Sukuna never asked for a commitment. Somehow, the arrangement just fell into place anyway. It started with small things: late night texts, showing up without warning, and a heavy black leather jacket tossed over the back of a chair like it belonged there.

Your phone buzzed softly against the counter.

you home.

No greeting, no question mark—just the absolute assumption of an open door.

yeah.

Three dots appeared instantly.

open up.

A heavy knock followed seconds later.

"Geez. No 'please' or anything" you mumbled, tossing your phone back onto the counter.

Opening the door revealed Ryomen Sukuna leaning against the frame as if he’d been waiting all night. A familiar presence filled the doorway before he even spoke, the air growing heavy with his warm, spicy cologne. Red eyes flicked down, assessing the view. “Thought you were asleep.”

“Bruh, you literally just texted me.”

He hummed, brushing past without waiting for an invitation. His hand lingered briefly on the small of your back, pressing just enough to claim the space before letting go. You shut the door behind him. “You’re going to start paying rent at this point." Sukuna stretched out on your couch, arms draped lazily across the cushions with a smirk. “You’d miss me.” An eye roll was the only response you gave him, but neither side pushed the argument.

Weeks passed in a blur of late nights and shared silences. A heavy hand would rest on your waist during trips around the kitchen, fingers brushing the curve of your hip and teasingly lingering during the morning coffee brew. On walks together, he closed the distance entirely, slipping a hand into the back pocket of your jeans. No matter how many times that hand was swatted away with a muttered, “People are going to think we’re dating” the pink haired man just shrugged, keeping his hand firmly planted against ur ass. He always stood slightly behind or beside you, a silent declaration: I’m here.

Sometimes he waited after lectures, leaning against the campus gate with a lazy, half smirk, arms crossed as the crowd filtered past. Spotting him always made your stomach twist, knowing he’d been waiting long before the dismissal bell. His gaze would lock on, serving as a quiet warning to anyone walking too close.

Nights were spent sharing the couch and stealing blankets, half tangled around his large frame while the remaining fabric barely covered your lap. Sometimes he drapes himself across you, a hand brushing lightly down your arm or against your thigh—never intrusive, but entirely claiming the space. When he relaxed completely, your fingers wander over his tattoos, tracing the sharp lines along his face and chest. Each mark felt almost magnetic under the skin. He would hum low, letting the attention slide, a thumb occasionally brushing your wrist to claim the movement. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath your fingertips, a slight smirk evident in the way he adjusted his posture to keep your hand exactly where he wanted it.

There were nights spent falling asleep in his bed after an argument left unfinished—bodies pressed tight, the quiet between you louder than any words. Other mornings started tangled in his arms, hair brushing his chest, fingers clutching his shirt before fully waking up. His hand would curl around your wrist, a thumb tracing small, slow circles. The habits became second nature to notice: how he leaned a fraction closer when a stranger got too near. The amused smirk whenever a tease was thrown back at him. The trademark "tch" or scoff of annoyance that left his lips. Pressing his forehead to yours in the early mornings, claiming the first minutes of the day. Playing the thief with a tilted head and a lazy, "Oops, that's my spot now" daring an argument.

Almost like a couple. But without labels or promises, the unresolved tension grew nearly unbearable.

Tonight, gojo's house was packed. The bass vibrated faintly through the floorboards, drowning out the roar of the crowded room. People moved in a blur of red cups and loud laughter.

Pausing near the entrance to scan the room, your eyes landed across the living room. Sukuna leaned against the back of a couch, looking entirely too comfortable. A few girls crowded his space, laughing a little too loudly at whatever he’d just muttered. One girl rested a hand on tattooed arm. Another leaned in close, fingers brushing his shoulder. He let them.

Your jaw tightened.

His eyes found yours instantly, as if he’d known the exact second you walked through the door. The crowd seemed to fade under his direct stare. Across the room, through flashing lights and shifting bodies, he just watched. A slow smirk pulled at his lips, waiting to see the reaction. The girl beside him kept talking, her fingers resting on his arm, tracing the very same tattoos you usually spent hours mapping out. Sukuna didn’t move away. He just looked on—unbothered and thoroughly amused.

Typical.

Turning away before he could read anything else on your face, you made a beeline for the kitchen. A quick adjustment was made to the hem of the mini black off shoulder dress, the fabric hugging your waist and tight at the hips. Gold open toe heels clicked softly against the floorboards, gold hoops swaying with the quick tilt of your head. The reflective surface of the fridge offered a quick glimpse—makeup intact, shoulders tense, face slightly flushed from the scene in the living room. Pulling the door open, the cool light spilled out as you grabbed a drink.

“Careful with that one” a voice warned.

Turning around revealed a guy leaning against the counter, sporting a charming smile. “Trust me. It’s stronger than it looks.”

A small laugh escaped you. “I’ll take my chances.”

The guy laughed, stepping a bit closer to be heard over the booming music. “So… what brings you here alone?”

A shrug followed. “Just needed a drink and a break from… life.”

His smirk widened. “I get that. Same here.”

The conversation began to flow more freely, a genuine laugh sparking at a joke he made. It felt easy. The guy leaned in, lowering his voice. “You know, you’ve got this energy. Makes people really want to talk to you.”

A smile crept up, a sudden flutter stirring in your chest—until a familiar scent hit the air. Warm, spicy, and impossible to ignore. The exact aroma that lingered on your clothes every time he pulled you in.

Sukuna.

A heavy pair of arms slid around your waist from behind. His broad chest pressed flush against your back, almost swallowing you as he pulled you back. One hand settled flat against your stomach while the other grazed your hip, fingers brushing the edge of your short dress to anchor you firmly against him. The fabric shifted under his grip, lifting fractionally as you instinctively braced on your heels. Sukuna wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were locked dead on the guy across the counter. Slowly, the pink haired man dipped his head, his nose brushing the side of your neck before settling into the crook of your shoulder. Warm breath ghosted over your bare skin, his fingers tightening just enough to claim you. The gentle sway of gold hoops brushed against him with every shallow inhale.

The guy stiffens. “Oh—uh. Sorry, man, I didn’t know—”

“No” you interrupted, trying to shift out of his grasp. “We’re not—”

“Yeah” Sukuna cuts in smoothly, his voice low. “You should go.”

The guy hesitated, muttered a quick, “Right… my bad” and vanished into the crowd.

You turn inside Sukuna’s arms, looking up at him. “Bruh, what's your problem?” 

Sukuna looked down as if nothing had happened.

“You’re not my boyfriend” you huffed out.

His eyes slowly searched your face before letting out a slight scoff.

Pushing lightly against his chest, you snapped, “Stop acting like you own me.”

He simply watched, absorbing the defiance. Then, with a sudden tug at your waist, he pulled you closer. The hem of your dress rode up your ass slightly before his hand reached behind to pull the fabric back into place.

“You want a boyfriend?” His thumb dragged slowly along your jawline, tilting your face up to force eye contact. "That what this is about?”

Silence was the only answer, making his eyes narrow. “Tch. Greedy.”

The music and chatter faded into background noise—the space between you grew heavy. Sukuna hummed softly, his hand sliding back down to the small of your back. His fingers settled there as if they had never left, pressing into the curve. Your heels click softly against the floor as he adjusts his hold, keeping the fit perfect. “And yet” he murmured, leaning closer, “you still let me do this.” Your breath catches when he pulls you a fraction closer. 

“Doesn’t really sound like you want a boyfriend” Sukuna said lazily. Dipping his head lower, his lips trailed light kisses along your neck—the same familiar routine he’d done a thousand times before. It made your stomach twist. A sharp inhale brought in his spicy cologne, mixing with the soft sweetness of vanilla perfume until your head spun.

“Sounds like you just want me.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, a low, teasing vibration. “Go ahead… say you’re leaving me.”

The words never came.

A slow smile spread across his face. Because he already knows you won’t.

[alygator77]

── off the record ၇୧

꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!

꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎

꒰ authors note ꒱ surpriseeee — this is 3 parts now hehe. satoru is still our lovingly annoying sweetheart here, but this part does have a bit more angst than the last. nothing too wild though… just a whole lot of yearning and our poor reader being very committed to denial. i hope you enjoy! part 3 will be the last one. (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)

<<< part 1 - main masterlist - part 3 >>>

part 2

“Ma’am, may I interest you in our menu?” the flight attendant asks, leaning in with a practiced smile.

"Oh—um. Yes... thank you."

The thick, cream-colored menu lands in your hands a second later, and you settle into your seat just as she disappears down the aisle. A seat that is far too comfortable for the current state of your life. But that’s the thing about first class — it makes it very hard to be appropriately miserable, and you are trying to be miserable right now. You are committed to it.

“If you need recommendations… I recommend the wagyu.” Satoru leans in, close enough that his breath feathers warm against the side of your neck. “It’s to die for.”

He grins, blue eyes glinting behind snowy lashes. And unfortunately, the wagyu isn’t the thing currently putting your life at risk. Because a shiver moves through you before you can stop it.

“O-Oh…” your head jerks away, quickly. “Uh-huh… sure.”

Refusing to turn, you keep your eyes stubbornly on the cabin — denying him the satisfaction of seeing what his closeness does to the treacherous, backstabbing organ inside your chest. But you catch him in your periphery — leaning back, entirely unbothered, reaching for his own menu with that pleased little hum that means, of course, he notices.

Ugh.

This is going to be a long-ass ten-hour flight. And first class, as it turns out, is only roomy when you aren’t seated beside the exact person currently making your pulse act deeply unprofessional.

…

Wait. When did you pulse start doing that?!

Miserable, you remind yourself. Yeah. Miserable.

With a sigh, you click your seatbelt into place and flip open the menu, genuinely trying to build a case for why this is the worst decision you’ve ever made. Unfortunately, it is hard to maintain righteous regret when the menu has no prices on it. Not one. Just elegant font, artful descriptions, and ingredients arranged like poetry.

…you’d booked economy.

Economy.

But then he’d upgraded your tickets last minute like that was a normal thing a person did — insisting you fly with him. Like swapping someone’s middle seat for a first-class cocoon with a duvet and a champagne flute was just… hospitality.

“Um… Satoru?” Your brow arches as you take in the absurdly extravagant menu. “How much does this cost, exactly…?” He doesn’t even glance up. “Mm? Oh.” Flipping a page, his hand waves lazily. “Don’t worry about it.”

…

Don’t worry about it?

You are very much worrying about it. Because how the hell does an intern afford this?! You know how much interns make at your company; you’ve worked with HR, signed off on the numbers — and it is categorically not this.

But fine. Whatever. That is, somehow, the least of your problems right now. And your mind was already veering back toward the more immediate catastrophe currently taxiing toward the runway.

Your family.

“Right… well. Anyways, Satoru,” you say, setting the menu down. “We should probably establish the basics before we get to Japan and—”

“—what do you like to eat?”

You blink, lips parting.

“I—sorry…what?”

“I like sweets,” he says, turning toward you. A toothy grin spreads across his face, dimples peeking. “Let’s see… cake, cream buns, mochi…” he muses. “Oh! Especially kikifuku mochi, it’s the best.” He nods solemnly. “Honestly, I think it’s the whipped cream inside that really makes the difference.”

Your brow furrows as you stare at him.

…when did this become a TED talk about sugar? You were trying to discuss a plan, and he is out here curating a dessert menu like the most pressing crisis of the next ten hours is pastry selection.

“Okay…? That’s nice. But we should talk about—”

“Food,” he states, picking up the menu you just set down. He flips it open and angles it back toward you like that is the only sensible conversation available. “C’mon. What do you like? Not what you’ll settle for… what you’ll actually like. Ten hours is a long time, sweetheart.”

Brow knitting, you frown.

He cannot be serious. That is not the priority right now.

“That—that can wait. We need to—”

“—establish the basics, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and tips his head back against the seat, like your resistance is personally exhausting him. But then his gaze flicks back, amused. “And I’m just saying food is a basic necessity. Because you skip lunch when you’re busy, forget breakfast when you’re anxious, and then act shocked when you feel like shit three hours later. So, eat.” He places the menu back in your hands. “Preferably something that isn’t stale pretzels, yeah?”

Something hot and startled climbs your neck so fast it’s almost impressive. Your mouth opens, but whatever rebuttal is forming never makes it. Because before you can recover—

“Honestly, I gotta say… the soba is pretty good too, actually.” His face is suddenly just over your shoulder, murmuring close enough that you feel the heat of him against your ear. “If you don’t want the wagyu, that is. Wait—scratch that. Maybe ramen…?” His finger traces a line on the menu, pale lashes lowering, tongue clinking gently. “Mm… never mind. Too much broth and there could be turbulence.”

Your whole body stiffens. Because his closeness does not feel unwelcome. Which is exactly the problem.

…when did he get so comfortable?!

“…stop doing that,” you mutter, pulling back. He looks over, the picture of innocence. “Doing what?”

Your lips purse.

“I dunno. Being…”  But the word dissolves, and you're reaching for your water, needing something to do with your hands. “So… comfortable. So—” You cut yourself off with a small huff. “Like this.”

His grin is unbearable, lazy and crooked.

“Oh?” he reclines. “Like what, baby?”

You sputter into your water.

“Baby?”

You’re choking on your drink, and Satoru looks entirely too pleased with himself. He's chuckling, leaning over without a second thought, one hand settling warm between your shoulder blades.

“Awwh… what’s this? Don’t be shy now,” he hums, the picture of helpfulness, rubbing slow circles with a sigh. “We’re gonna have to get way cozier than this if I’m playing boyfriend. Just establishing the basics, yeah?”

As you straighten with a glare, you can tell without a doubt he is openly enjoying himself. That grin hasn’t moved a goddamn inch.

…asshole.

Huffing, you settle back into your seat. And it isn’t long before the plane shudders gently away from the gate, inching out onto the runway with that slow, terrible sense of inevitability that only air travel is capable of producing.

“Ladies and gentlemen, at this time please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened… flight attendants, prepare for departure.”

The overhead announcement crackles through the cabin, too polished to be comforting. While beneath you, the whole plane seems to draw tight, a low hum building through the floor, climbing up through your seat.

You exhale, letting your eyes fall shut. Just long enough to pretend you weren’t here. Just long enough to avoid the window, the runway, and the deeply unhelpful fact that your brain liked to save all its worst thoughts for takeoff.

…like how first class wasn’t exactly known for improving your odds. Like how takeoff and landing were statistically the worst parts. Like how the engine sounded different now, probably… maybe, and—

“Hey.”

Satoru’s voice came quieter this time; enough to pull your eyes back open. When you look over, that vibrant blue is already watching you — steady, unhurried, like he has been waiting for you to surface.

“Are you… nervous?”

“What? N-No…” you lie, huffing. His brow arches, sensing your bullshit. “Okay… then why are you doing that with your hands?”

Following his gaze, your fingers had folded into fists without even noticing, in that particular way they always do when you’re trying to physically hold yourself together.

Fuck.

It’s ridiculous, really. You knew flying was statistically safe! Knew it the way you knew balance sheets and quarterly projections and the exact percentage margins that kept departments alive. And yet, takeoff had always felt like the part where logic starts losing altitude.

“Oh…” A small, awkward laugh slips out, just as the engine begins to roar. You smooth your palms over your trembling thighs, shouting over it. “It’s fine! Really! I just… um—I guess I don’t particularly like takeoff, is all!”

His expression softens in a way you weren’t braced for. But before he can answer, the plane surges forward and your eyes squeeze shut. A massive force presses you back into the seat while vibrations climb through the floor and up your spine.

It’s terrible. Completely terrible. But somewhere in the middle of it, a warm hand slides against yours. It takes you a second to register his fingers lacing between your own, and the moment his thumb brushes the back of your hand, you instinctively grip him tighter.

Your eyes stay shut, but you feel the plane lift hard and fast into the sky. And somewhere between the roar of the engines and that awful pull in your stomach, the slow circles his thumb traces against your skin become the only thing your body seems willing to trust.

By the time the pressure eases and the plane finally levels out, your lungs have only just remembered how to work. For a second, neither of you moves until—

“…better?”

His voice brushes the quiet between you. You blink your eyes open.

“Yeah…” you whisper. “Um… thanks.”

He smiles. “Sure.”

That thumb brushes one last time against the back of your hand before finally pulling away, dropping back into his lap with a simple nod like it had been nothing. And the loss of that warmth was immediate enough to sting.

Oh…

He’s… annoyingly good at taking care of you. And worse, your body had recognized it before your brain could file the proper objection — clinging first, thinking later, like comfort was something you could afford to trust.

Maybe the altitude was messing with your head…

Ten hours was a long time.

Long enough to work out the safest parts of the lie. How long you’ve been together. Where you met. Which version of the truth felt neat enough to survive one wedding weekend without collapsing under the weight of follow-up questions.

It was just… not long enough, apparently, for the parts that actually mattered.

“Soooo… question…” Satoru had stretched lazily, turning his glass between two fingers as he glanced over. “What exactly should I expect when we land?”

You kept your attention on the blanket across your lap, flattening a wrinkle. “Probably… jet lag?” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze, fussing with the fabric. “And a long enough drive to regret everything in peace.”

He snorts. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” Ice clicked softly as he tipped his glass, shifting toward you. “Not what I meant, though. I meant with your family.”

And when the warmth of his attention settled against the side of your face — you hesitated. Because it was patient in a way that only made it harder to meet. Patient in the way of someone who’s learned that pushing doesn’t work on you. Which you’re unsure is better, or worse. Because waiting means he’s paying attention, and paying attention means he’ll notice when you crack.

“We’ll just… talk about that later,” you huffed, tugging the blanket a little higher before turning toward the window. “I’m tired. Gonna try to sleep.”

Later… yeah. Later.

But by baggage claim, you were running out of runway. You had to do it soon. Get it over with. Preferably somewhere between the airport and your hotel, where you could spit it out quickly and not have to watch his face too closely while you did.

So now, Satoru yawns beside the conveyor belt, tired blue eyes skimming the slow parade of suitcases rounding the carousel. Hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, posture easy in a way that only makes you more tense. You stand there staring at the back of him, fingers hooked tight in the seam of your shirt.

Now.

“Hey… Satoru?” you mumble. “Hm?” His gaze lands on your luggage and he’s already stepping forward to grab it. “Um, well…” You hesitate. “About my family… I—"

“—oh! Look—look! There they are!”

The moment her voice rings through the terminal, everything inside you locks. You turn, and for one wild second, you genuinely wonder if it’s too late to get back on that godforsaken plane.

Satoru hauls your suitcase off the belt.

“What about them?” he asks, turning when you stop short. Then he sees your face. “…sweetheart?” His brows furrow, following your line of sight — and there is your mother, cutting through the crowd with Trish beside her, moving with the kind of delighted urgency you aren’t prepared to see for at least another twelve hours.

No.

No, no, no.

“—oh my god, there he is!” Your mother walks straight past you — past you — and both hands are wrapping around Satoru’s like he’s who she came for. "Oh, he's handsome. Trish, look—"

It’s no surprise, really, that you’re a second thought. You’ve been a second thought since before you could name it. But that isn’t the wound that matters at this particular moment. The bigger problem is that she’s here.

…why the hell is she here?!

You were supposed to have more time—

“—oh my god,” Trish breathes to you. “Damn. girl. He’s, like… stupid handsome.” And Satoru’s grin went smug, drawling. “Oh, please, ladies. Keep the compliments coming. I’m feeling very welcomed~”

Your mother giggles. “Handsome and funny. Oh, he’s a charmer,” she says, smacking his shoulder playfully. Though the laugh lands bitter. “God. Why on earth would she keep you from me?! I mean… wow. I was beginning to think she’d die alone.”

The words hit like a slap dressed as a joke.

Satoru blinks, the smile faltering for half a second, head tilting imperceptibly.

…great.

Of fucking course she’d say something like that within the first thirty seconds.

“Mother… what—” your voice wavers, eyes falling shut with a swallow. “Sorry. I just—what are you both doing here?”

She did a tiny double take, like she’d only just remembered you were standing there. “Oh, honey…” A hand waves, scoffing. “Don’t be silly—of course we’re here to pick you up! God. I wouldn’t leave you stranded at the airport,” she snorts.

Oh, right.

So she wouldn’t abandon you at an airport. Just in another country.

…good to know there's a line somewhere.

“Besides, why don’t you both just stay with us instead?” she’s already reaching for Satoru’s hand again, bright with the idea. “We’ve got a guest room ready, and I’d love for the chance to talk to you.”

Your body goes rigid.

Oh no. Fuck no.

Anything but that.

Satoru must have seen it written across your face — that particular shade of panic —because his eyes cut to you for only half a second before he slips his hand free, turning back to your mother with a smile already in place.

“That’s incredibly kind, ma’am,” he says, tugging you into his side with an ease that shouldn’t have felt as steadying as it did. “But we’re staying pretty close to my family’s place, and I should probably swing by tomorrow morning.” He rubs the back of his neck with a theatrical groan. “It’s been a few months since I’ve seen my father, and trust me, I’ll regret it if he finds out I came to Tokyo and didn’t stop by, y’know?”

Apparently, ten hours isn’t long enough for the parts that actually matter, because…

“Oh? Your family’s place?” your mother repeats, brows lifting. “So, are they here in Tokyo too, then?” He nods. “Mm, yeah. Pretty much all the Gojos are—at least on my dad’s side. My mom’s in Kyoto.”

…

Wait.

Did he just say Gojo?

As in—

Your boss’s family?!

No. Absolutely not. Between the jet lag, the shock, and your mother still glowing beside you, your brain simply does not have the bandwidth for this. Your lips part, blinking like that might somehow rearrange what he just said into something less insane.

Nothing comes out.

“Gojo…” your mother repeats, brows knitting. “Why does that sound familiar?” Trish blinks. "Wait—like… Gojo Corporation Gojo?!"

Satoru’s grin widens. “Yep. That’d be us.”

“Ah!” Your mother snaps her fingers. “Gojo Corporation. Yes—of course! Silly me. I thought that name seemed familiar…”

And now, the hurt arrives before the shock finishes landing — ugly and precise and aimed at the exact spot that never heals right. Five years of your work, your career, your life inside that building. But she only knows it because a handsome man says it in a terminal.

You stare. “Mom… you can't be serious?” and the hurt in your own voice catches you off guard. “I’ve… I've literally been working at Gojo Corporation for the last five years.”

Fuck...

Get it together.

Out of the corner of your eye, Satoru watches you. But your mother moves on like you’re invisible.

“Oh Satoru Gojo, you just keep getting better and better.” You feel him hesitating as she tugs eagerly. “Come—come! At least let us drive you both to the hotel, hm? There’s so much I need to hear and—”

“—sorry ma’am, no.”

Satoru’s pulling you into him like the decision has already been made. And you blink while his fingers smooth gently through your hair, tipping your chin up with a long finger.

“Honestly, I’m beat…” His thumb brushes your cheek, gaze searching your face. “…aren’t you, love?”

There’s a hitch in your breath

Oh.

So… you’re not invisible?

As it leaves you in a quiet shudder, for one suspended second, there is nothing but that soft blue of his eyes and the way they’ve gone gentle for you. All you can do is nod — and a single tear slips free before you can stop it.

He tucks you against his chest, hiding your face, and flashes a grin back at your mother.

“Ugh… I appreciate you coming to get us, but we’ve been up for way too long and—” Glancing down at his phone, he lets out a small laugh. “Ah. Perfect timing! Would ya look at that—my driver’s here.” A tug of your hand. “But we’ll catch up tomorrow, yeah? Bye, ladies~”

Your legs are moving on their own, and you don’t even catch the expression on your mother’s face. Can’t. Not when your pulse is still tripping over itself. Not when his hand wraps around yours like letting go isn’t even a question.

The suitcase rolled behind you, with the airport crowd bustling. While those bright eyes flicked back, making sure you were still there every few steps.

“C’mon, pretty girl… we’re almost there,” he murmurs. “Just stay with me, okay? Eyes on me, yeah?”

And… you weren’t sure why he lowered his voice. Not when they were already well out of earshot. You only know that… it nearly undoes you all over again.

By the time the limo pulls away from the curb, Satoru had already figured out two things: your mother was awful, and somehow, he’d gotten you out of there only to realize he hadn’t fully brought you back with him.

It’s the furrow in your brow that gets him first… then the wobble in your lip — the one you think you’re hiding, the one you always think you’re hiding. You haven’t said a word since climbing into the backseat. Haven’t looked at him either. Instead, you stay toward the window, watching Tokyo slip by in blurred ribbons of light, glowing against the glass in streaks of neon. A city that has no business being that beautiful when you look that broken.

…shit. Should he crack a joke? No. Maybe not.

But asking if you’re okay feels useless. You obviously aren’t. And worse, saying it out loud feels like the fastest way to make you disappear even further behind that window — to watch you pull the shutters down the way you always do.

“Well, then…” A hand drags through his hair as he lets his head fall back against the seat. “Um… gotta say—your family really believes in making an entrance, huh? Talk about—”

“—I thought your name was Satoru Geto.”

He blinks.

“Huh?”

Your gaze finally pulls from the window, landing on him, and the hurt in it is so carefully contained it almost looks like composure. Almost. Except he’s spent four months learning to read you, and composure doesn’t tremble at the edges like that.

“…Satoru Geto,” you mutter carefully. “That’s the name on your employee record, no?”

Oh...

Right. That.

“…is it?” His gaze slips away, fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah… um. About that. Geto’s actually my best friend. I just used his last name because the initials matched.” He’s flopping back against the seat with a small shrug, one arm slinging across the top. “Made it easier to sign off on stuff that way. Gotta work smarter, not harder, right?”

And tilting his head, a crooked grin tugs at the corner of his lips.

Yours doesn’t move.

“Right,” you deadpan, turning back toward the window. “So your plan was to just let me keep calling you that.”

You don’t say it like a question.

…is it a question?

Satoru’s brow furrows at the hurt threaded beneath the words. “No… I—” he huffs, hands dropping into his lap. “Obviously I had to hide it while I was working with you, but my legal name was on the boarding pass I gave you, so it’s not like I was actively hiding it, sweetheart.”

You scoff under your breath. “Oh. Cool. So I was just supposed to… what—figure that out on my own?” And suddenly, your voice is doing this awful thing now — losing its clean, controlled shape, slipping into something thinner. Hotter.

He hears it immediately, sighing. “Sorry… but why is this the problem?” he asks, more confused than anything now. “Help me out here. I mean… I thought your mom was what had you upset back there.”

Your eyes roll. “Your name is literally on my paycheck, Gojo. How is that not a problem?”

He stares. Genuinely stares. Because for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with that. To him, his name was just a name. The company was just a company. Status had always felt like something other people got weird about first. Not him.

So, like an idiot, he goes for the joke.

“Well… technically, I think my name is on a lot of paychecks, so—"

“—Jesus Christ, am I a fucking joke to you?”

And the humor drops out of him so fast it almost startles you. Shit. That backfired tremendously. “Whoa—what? No!” He straightens, brow furrowing. “No, no, no. God, no—sweetheart, of course not. Why would you think that?”

You’re looking away before he can see what that does to your face, because you hate how quickly his voice goes from careless to cracked. Hate yourself for making it do that.

Damnit.

You know that wasn’t fair. He had just gotten you out of there. Seen you unraveling in that airport and stepped in without making it worse. Without making you ask. And still — somehow, in the span of twenty minutes, the whole world had shifted under your feet. Him, your mother, that last name. This damn… wedding.

…why does everything feel so hard to sort through right now?

“Just…” You swallow, shifting towards the window, blinking back tears. “Sorry. Don’t talk to me right now.”

His expression softens. “C’mon… no,” he murmurs. “Please… please don’t be like that. I’m sorry you found out this way. I should’ve told you sooner.”

The crack in his voice makes everything unbearable, and outside, Tokyo keeps sliding past in fractured light. So, you look at the window because it’s easier than looking at him. Easier than trying to untangle the mess that is your life. Easier than naming what specifically hurts so much.

And easier than asking yourself what, exactly, had been real and what had only ever been off the record.

Clearly, the universe looked at the absolute clusterfuck of this trip and decided it wasn't finished with you yet.

Because apparently, your fake boyfriend had a limo. Your fake boyfriend, who can upgrade your tickets to first class like it’s nothing. Your fake boyfriend who is also, apparently, your boss — and decided to book you at a luxurious five-star hotel in Tokyo while somehow neglecting to mention that part too.

Whatever. Either way, you're too tired to care. Or maybe just too tired to forgive him — despite the way the marble floors and soft gold light whisper luxury around you like an apology you didn’t ask for.

All you know, is that by the time the two of you make it upstairs, your silence was beyond awkward and hardened into something heavier. More deliberate. So, the moment the suite door clicks open, you’re beelining to the bedroom.

“Goodnight.”

You mutter it under your breath, shutting yourself into the bathroom before he can answer you. And when you change into your pajamas, you try not to linger in the mirror — because your whole face feels tight from holding yourself together, from trying not to cry for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. And as if that weren't enough, the wedding is tomorrow.

…how the fuck are you supposed to get through that too?!

With an exhausted sigh, you push open the bedroom door, reach back to kill the light, and—

“…what are you doing?” you deadpan, stopping cold in the entryway. Because at the foot of the bed, you find Satoru in sweats, crouched on the floor, carefully spreading a blanket across it. He smooths the corner flat and those blue eyes flick up, then drop back down.

“Making myself comfortable?”

…

That explains absolutely nothing.

Your brows pull together. “Okaaay…? Clearly. But—why?” Rolling your eyes, your arms cross. “Don’t tell me you fucked up the reservation. I mean, you’re the one who booked this place. Don’t you have your own suite?”

“Yup. I do.”

He says it so easily it almost irritates you more. You watch him fluff the pillow and set it on the floor like this is perfectly normal behavior for a man who can apparently summon private drivers and spend obscene amounts of money at the drop of a hat.

Your teeth grit. “Great. So go lay in your bed.”

Exhaling through his nose, he lowers himself onto the marble like it’s no different than a mattress. One arm tucks behind his head, the other rests over his stomach, all lazy limbs and impossible calm.

“Nah,” he says. “Think I’ll sleep here. Promised you wouldn’t be alone this trip.”

And the universe, apparently, hadn't taken quite enough from your dignity yet. Because you find yourself genuinely speechless.

For a moment, you just stand there looking at him — at the ridiculous length of him stretched out across the floor, at the fact that he has a whole bed somewhere else and was still choosing this — and at how he somehow managed to make the gesture feel casual enough not to embarrass you and sincere enough that it did anyway.

“…suit yourself,” you grumble, stomping over to your bed.

You yank the covers back and climb in with an irritated sweep, reaching over to find the light. Darkness folds over the room in one soft rush, and for a while, there’s only the low hum of air conditioning and the distant glow of Tokyo bleeding dimly through the curtains. Somewhere beneath it all, you can hear the faint rustle of fabric from the floor, the small settling sound of him getting comfortable.

…

Or trying to.

You lie stiffly on your side, facing away from the edge of the bed that he lays, staring into the dark like you can force your mind to shut up if you just do it hard enough.

Ugh…

Despite how tired you are, sleep feels impossible.

Rolling your eyes, you pick up your pillow and shift to the other side of the bed with an annoyed little huff. And there’s the broad line of his back in the dark. One arm folded under his head, the other sprawled carelessly over the blanket, like this is all perfectly normal. Like sleeping on the marble floor in a five-star hotel is not objectively unhinged behavior.

“…you’re actually gonna sleep down there?” you mutter into the dark.

“Mm.” His voice comes easy, amused. “You should be sleeping, missy.”

“So should you,” you huff. “In a bed.”

Chuckling, he shifts onto his back, sprawling out like a starfish. He hums. “Nahhh,” and an exaggerated exhale breathes out of him, tired. “The floor’s fine. I’m reconnecting with the earth. Re-centering. Some might say it’s very… grounding.”

You can hear that pleased little smirk of his, even in the dark, and it pulls a snort out of you before you can stop it. “…wow, seriously?” Biting back a grin. “You’re so stupid.”

He laughs under his breath. “Yeah… maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that. Probably won’t be the last, either. But…” With a tired sigh, he drapes his arm over his face, half-hiding in the dark. “…guess I’d rather be stupid than leave you alone, though.”

The words slip out, and the room goes strangely quiet. Something tender and awful pulling tight in your throat as you stare down at him for a second too long.

…what are you even supposed to do with that? With him?

He’s down there on the floor, keeping a promise you never asked him to make.

Swallowing, your fingers tighten on the blanket. “…hey, Satoru?” That low hum answers, and you hesitate, staring at the dark shape of him on the floor, your heart doing something stupid and uncomfortable against your ribs.

“Come up here,” you blurt.

…

Silence.

“Wait… huh?”

Your eyes squeeze shut.

As if saying it once wasn’t bad enough.

“I-I mean…” you’re shifting onto your back, staring hard at the ceiling because looking at him suddenly feels impossible. “I just… there’s plenty of room, so just—come up.”

…

He’s quiet just long enough to make your face burn hotter. And when he’s pushing himself onto one elbow, even in the dark, you can feel the disbelief radiating off of him like heat.

“Uh… right,” he laughs awkwardly. “I think the jet lag’s getting to me, because there’s no way I heard that right unless you’re fucking with me.”

You cover your face with a groan.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Christ, stop making this harder—” you snap, voice rising. “I’m serious you idiot! Because you’re not making me feel worse tonight by sleeping on the goddamn floor—so hurry and get your ass up here before—”

“—yes ma’am.”

He’s moving before you can rethink the entire thing, despite how your pulse is suddenly loud in your own ears. You scoot over, clutching the blanket to your chest, and the mattress dips beneath his weight — the sheets rustle. His body shifts. And then everything goes still.

…too still.

All you can do is lie there. Stiff. Acutely, helplessly aware of him. But it’s dark — mercifully dark — and thank god for that, because you don’t think you could survive seeing his face right now. Not this close. Not after that. Not with your own invitation still echoing back at you like something you’d like to physically retrieve out of thin air.

“Soooo…” he mumbles, fingers tapping the mattress. “Um… for the record, this is like… significantly nicer than my original arrangement. Way less marble.”

Despite the nerves, his words loosen a laugh from your chest. “…yeah? Well, good,” you mutter, tugging the blanket a little higher. “Because honestly, the level of commitment you were showing that floor was a little concerning.”

He chuckles. “True, true.” And suddenly, you can hear the lazy stretch of a grin in his voice. “Buuuut I mean… I wasn’t about to lose our first fight—not as your boyfriend.”

Your breath catches. “W-Wow…” You huff like that’ll cover it. “You—um… got real comfortable with that word fast,” you mutter, trying for dry and missing by a mile.

A low hum. “I'm a committed man. What can I say?” and his voice is all smug velvet and sleep-rough warmth. “Mmm… I kinda like the sound of it, actually.”

The words land lower than they should. Because that should not sound as good as it does.

“D-Don’t… don’t say it like that,” you stammer.

The mattress dips.

“Mm?” he whispers. “…well, how else should I say it, princess?”

…

Fake.

Fake boyfriend.

The word lands somewhere quiet and ugly under your ribs, and all at once the warmth of the bed feels strange against your skin. Because that's what this is. What it has to be. A role. A weekend. A lie with soft edges and an expiration date. And…

“Just—nevermind…” you mutter, shoving it down, repositioning your pillow. “Laying in a bed with my boss was not really on my bingo card for this trip. Or finding out halfway through it, apparently.”

He scoffs. “I’m not your boss. My dad’s your boss.” A humorless breath leaves you. “Yeah? Well, that is not as comforting a distinction as you think it is, Gojo, when your name is still on my—”

“—Satoru,” he corrects softly.

You blink into the dark.

“Wait. Sorry… what?”

A small huff leaves him, almost annoyed, almost something softer. “It’s just…” he grumbles, shifting against the sheets, “I like it a lot better when you call me Satoru…” And even without seeing him, you can hear it.

Is he… pouting?

The fabric rustles again as he shifts. “Look…” he says after a beat, and the teasing has gone out of his voice now. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just…” He exhales through his nose. “I didn’t think hearing my last name would make you start acting like I was suddenly somebody else...?”

Your lashes flutter as he scoots closer, and this time, your breath catches. Because a thin line of moonlight slips through the curtains, cutting across the bed just enough to catch him there. The loose fall of white hair over his forehead, the softened line of his mouth, the pale blue of his eyes gone dim and almost silver in the dark.

“And…” His voice lowers, softer now. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I liked just being Satoru to you..." Those blue eyes dip to your lips, just for a second, before lifting back to yours. His breath hitches.

“Y’know I’m still me… right?” He whispers.

As his breath fans across your face, you feel fingers slipping over yours, careful enough to feel like a question, and your pulse does something wild. Because for one suspended second, he doesn’t look real. He looks like something half-dreamed.

Beautiful.

“Right…” you breathe, the word thin. “I know that, and… I-I’m sorry for lashing out at you earlier. I just… I wasn’t expecting any of this, and then everything at the airport and—and god—and then my mom and—"

The words are tumbling out now, too fast, too loose, and even in the dark you feel laid open by them. Bare in a way that makes you want to snatch every one back. Because there he is, looking at you with that same unbearable patience, thumb brushing over the back of your hand in slow, absent strokes, his mouth tipped in a smile so soft it almost feels private.

…yours.

And that’s what’s terrifying. He feels like something you could lean into. Like warmth can be simple. Unconditional. Real.

But…

Nothing in your life has ever taught you how to lean into warmth without waiting for the condition beneath it. Without turning it over, looking for the fine print. So, perhaps that’s why, when his thumb brushes over your hand again, you pull away.

And his frown is instant.

“I-I…” Your eyes squeeze shut as you clear your throat. “Sorry.” The word comes out frayed. “I want you to know I appreciate you doing this. Genuinely. But…” You swallow hard around the ache pressing at the base of your throat. “Tomorrow is it.”

The room goes so quiet you can hear the air conditioning hum.

His brow furrows, pushing himself up on his elbow. “Um… what are you saying?” He scoffs, lips pulling into a disbelieving grin. “I don’t understand. Why are you acting like everything—”

“—after this is over,” you blurt, chest rising. “You can just—forget all this happened, okay?” And your voice thins. Blinking back tears, your eyes flick away. “That’s it. You’ll forget about me. You go back to your life. I go back to mine. Just like we agreed and—”

“—I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

Your eyes glance back from the hurt in his voice, and somehow that only makes it worse. Because...

Why?

Why does he have to look at you like that?

You exhale shakily. “I think we both need sleep more than we need this conversation, so…” The blanket is already up at your chin by the time the words leave you. “Let’s… leave it at that. Okay? I’m exhausted," you whisper. "Goodnight, Satoru.”

Shifting away, you roll onto your side before he can say anything else, before he can make this harder than it already is. The bed gives with a quiet creak behind you.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

And you lie there, holding yourself rigid, as if that could undo the part of you that almost turned back.

Still. Despite how tired you are… sleep feels impossible.

a/n. oof. sorry for leaving you on the angst 😭 but this felt like the right place to split it so part 3 can be fully wedding-focused. tysm for reading! i'm blown away by all your support. he's literally so patient and attentive, whaaa. i wanna eat him up 😭

[cumchiato]

Thinking about Gojo Satoru using you as gym equipment ♡

୨୧ — "Need something heavier than plates," Gojo muses in the training room, those blue eyes sparkling with mischief as they land on you. Before you can protest, he's already scooped you up.

"Satoru!" you squeal as he positions himself on the exercise mat, settling you to straddle his hips while he lies back. "This is not what I meant when I said l'd help you workout," you giggle. His hands grip your thighs firmly as he starts his "workout."

"But you make such perfect resistance training," he pouts, flexing his abs as he starts thrusting his hips upward, lifting you effortlessly.

Each movement has you bouncing on his pelvis, your core clenching involuntarily... "the perfect weight-" he grins, powerful hips driving up to lift you again, "Though maybe I should add some resistance..."

His fingers slip beneath your workout shorts, finding you already slick, "Oh~?" He wiggles his eyebrows at you, "Someone's enjoying being used as gym equipment~"

You bite your lip as he starts timing his thrusts with teasing circles against your clit. "N' t-this isn't... proper exercise form..."

"No?" His hips snap up sharply, making you gasp, "Seems like excellent muscle engagement to me. Plus..." he slides two fingers inside you while maintaining his rhythmic thrusts, "my fingers are getting some bonus cardio."

Your hands brace on his chest as he continues his "workout," each upward drive of his hips pushing his fingers deeper, "Satoooru... some-someone could come in... this is hah~ a public g-gym..." you bite your lip to stifle a deep moan.

"Better hold on tight then," he groans, increasing not only his hips pace, but his fingers as well, "Got about fifty reps to go... unless you tap out first~"

You whimper as he curls his fingers, knowing full well you won't last nearly that long... and that's exactly what he's counting on.

"Besides," he smirks up at you, "this is much more fun than regular weights. They don't make such pretty noises."

"Satoru!" you moan as he hits a sensitive spot, your nails biting into him.

"That's it, baby," he encourages, his movements growing more intense. "Help me work up a sweat."

[xoslutty]

✮ getting stuck in an elevator with two hot bosses who want you cannot be that bad, right? *pwp

"shit, we're gonna be here a while," nanami breathed out annoyed and loosened his tie after the dispatcher didn't answer again and the call button totally stopped working. your shift ended like three hours ago, but you were still there, typical you, obsessing over some report. the office was totally empty.

well, except for two department heads you were lucky enough to get stuck with in one cramped elevator.

the elevator felt way too small for three adults. you were basically squeezed between them and could feel the heat coming off their bodies. behind you was nanami's tall figure, and right in front of you — higuruma. both were a head taller than you, wider in the shoulders, and fucking hot.

i mean, it wasn't for nothing that you always wore short skirts even though the dress code said no, that you accidentally spilled coffee on higuruma's pants so you could apologize with bambi eyes and wipe a napkin near his cock. for months you played a dangerous game: you leaned over a little more than you should, showed off your chest when you sat across from him, brushed your shoulder against nanami's in the narrow hallway, and left documents on hiromi's desk that were soaked in your boldest perfume. you teased both of them at the same time, gave them hope, but always slipped away the second their stares got too heavy. a little flirting is fun, alright?

but right now you weren't having fun at all.

nanami slowly leaned in. his hot breath hit your ear, making you shiver. "you look spooked, sweetheart. you okay?" he said, and he sounded dangerously protective. "y-yeah, i'm fine," you gulped, trying not to look at him. "it's just super hot in here."

you noticed nanami lookedup at higuruma. for a while they just stared at each other in silence, and then this slow, knowing grin spread across both their faces. that look made your knees go weak. higuruma took his time taking off his jacket. he did it slow, eyes locked on yours, and tossed the expensive thing right on the dirty floor.

"what a shame," he said, rolling up his sleeves and showing off those strong forearms. "maybe we should talk about your behavior."

before you could get a single word out, nanami's heavy hands landed on your waist. he pulled you back, pressing you into his hard chest. "you've been waiting for this the whole time, haven't you?" he whispered into your hair. "teasing us so much."

"i... i have no idea what you're talking about," your voice shook, and your heart was thumping so loud they both definitely heard it. hiromi stepped even closer. his hands hit your thighs, bunching up your skirt. "oh, trust me, you know exactly what we're talking about."

they literally crushed you between them, and you felt the burning heat of their bodies. nanami grabbed your chin and pulled it up, forcing you to look at him. "i think it's time to teach you a lesson."

he didn't let you scream — his mouth covered yours in a demanding kiss. he kissed you deep, filling you up with himself, while hiromi went for your neck at the same time, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses on your skin. your head started spinning and reality started to blur.

nanami pulled back from your lips for a second and then with one sharp, confident move he grabbed you by the waist. before you could even gasp, you were up in the air. he held you there, making your legs spread wide and hooking your knees over his arms. now you were basically hanging on him — your back pressed against his chest, and you were completely open in front of both of them.

your short skirt rode up to your waist, leaving you in just thin panties. nanami went back to your ear, nibbling on your lobe and cheek before sliding down to your neck. meanwhile, higuruma slowly unbuttoned your blouse, button by button, and as the fabric parted, he started biting your chest, making you arch in kento’s arms.

"wait— mmnh! hiromi..." you gasped, "there're cameras in the elevator... maybe we should go..."

"don't worry 'bout that, darling," nanami laughed low and soft, pressing his lips to your shoulder. "don't you worry your pretty little head."

hiromi finally threw your shirt open and slowly moved down with kisses toward your stomach. "just enjoy what we're gonna do now, okay?"

he got down on his knees, and you felt his hot breath scorch your delicate skin. he didn't rush. first, his lips barely brushed the inside of your thighs, leaving light, almost weightless kisses that sent an electric charge through your body. you felt nanami tighten his grip on your knees from behind, locking you in the air; you literally couldn't move.

"look how wet she is. perfect," hiromi rasped, looking at how the slick glistened on your already damp pussy. "you wanted this, didn't you? for us to see how much this little pussy leaks when it's needy?"

"n-nngh!... hiromi…" your moan drowned in the quiet hum of the elevator as he lifted two fingers and unceremoniously stretched your folds apart to fully expose you. at first, he just teased you with the tip of his tongue, short and wet strokes. you felt him lick away the drops, smacking his lips, savoring your taste.

"mmngh! haah! please…" you jerked in nanami’s arms, but he just held you tighter against his chest. "hold on, sweetie, we're just gettin' started," he whispered in your ear, and at that moment, he started to slowly rotate your hips in circular motions.

those circles made you literally rub against hiromi’s face. you felt the stubble on his chin, his nose pressing into your already swollen clit, and his tongue going right into your soaking pussy. wet, obscene sounds echoed in the cramped elevator.

"haah! more… nngh!" you weren't in control of your sounds anymore, gasping with pleasure. "oh yeah," hiromi growled, not pulling away for a second, "you're so sweet. i'm gonna lick you dry 'til you start beggin' us to stop."

his pace picked up. he went rougher now. hiromi didn't tease anymore. he took your clit between his lips and started sucking on it hungrily like he’d fuckin' die if he didn't.

"a-ah! hiromi! nngh-aa!" you screamed, throwing your head back on nanami’s shoulder while he kissed your cheek, holding you in place, and your cry echoed through the tight cabin.

hiromi’s tongue went deep between your stretched folds, licking everything inside, while the two fingers he’d managed to shove in kept roughly stretching you, opening every millimeter of your tender flesh for his mouth. loud, squelching sounds of your pussy and the wet sounds of his mouth filled the elevator.

"mmm, look what you're doin' to us," nanami kept rotating your pelvis, forcing you to grind even harder onto hiromi’s tongue. "you wanted this, didn't you? walkin' 'round in front of us in those skirts that show off your ass?"

"haah! mmngh… ahh! more… more!" you didn't even know what you were saying anymore. the man behind you didn't give you a second's break — his palm covered your mouth, muffling your next moan. "hiromi, please… mmmngh-ah!" you broke free from nanami’s hand, and your moans got louder. "yes! right there! ahh-h!"

nanami pulled his hand away from your face only to sink into your lips, catching your next whimper. "stick out your tongue, baby," he whispered, and you obeyed before you could even think. "come on."

as soon as you parted your mouth and the tip of your tongue peeked out, nanami let out a low growl and bit into your lips. he captured your tongue with his lips and started sucking on it, slow and greedy. "mmmmmfff!.. kento!... " you moaned right into his mouth, feeling your whole body tighten like a string.

nanami sucked your tongue rhythmically, like he owned it, making you gasp for air. meanwhile, higuruma, feeling your reaction, stretched your folds even wider and sucked on your clit with twice the force. "mmmngh... most perfect sweet pussy. gonna eat this little swollen clit up."

your sounds turned totally incoherent, becoming a solid stream of moans and ragged breaths mixed with whimpers. nanami pulled away from your tongue for a second, his whisper brushing right against your lips. "good girl. hear how loud you're bein' for us?"

your body was stretched to the limit, like a wire about to snap. nanami kept dominantly sucking your tongue, cutting off your oxygen and making you choke on your own moans while his hips rhythmically rotated your pelvis, grinding you into hiromi’s face. you thrashed convulsively in kento’s arms, feeling everything inside tighten into an unbearably hard, hot knot.

higuruma, feeling your orgasm coming, stretched your already swollen folds with his fingers until it almost hurt, and for the last time, sucked your clit in as deep as possible, licking it frantically. a loud, dominant squelching filled the cramped elevator.

"a-a-ah! kent— oh god, i'm gonna... mmmngh-a-a-a!" your scream broke into a rasp as the first wave of orgasm literally ripped through you.

you felt your muscles inside start to contract uncontrollably, pulsing hot wetness right onto hiromi’s face. you shuddered all over, your legs on nanami’s shoulders shaking with a fine tremor. kento pulled away from your tongue at that moment just to catch your wide-open mouth in a silent scream and greedily breathe in your orgasmic moan.

you gasped, your head falling onto nanami’s shoulder as white spots swam before your eyes. hiromi didn't stop even when you started twitching in convulsions. he kept greedily licking and sucking up your slick, which was now dripping down his chin and lips.

"hiromi, stop... ah... i can't anymore..." you went limp in kento’s arms, feelin' a heavy, leaden weakness spread through your body. you barely breathed, pressing your forehead against nanami’s shoulder. your body still shook with small, lingerin' tremors, and your head was a total vacuum. you were literally floating in the clouds after such a crushing orgasm, feeling like soft, pliable clay in their hands.

but the blissful silence didn't last long. nanami pulled back a bit to look at your face and took you by the chin, forcing your blurred gaze to focus on him.

"you think that’s it, darling?" his voice sounded scary calm and low. "you really think we're gonna let you come just once?"

your eyes widened. you tried to say something, but only a weak, ragged exhale escaped your throat. "what're you..."

hiromi slowly pulled away and got up from his knees. his lips glistened wetly, and there was a streak of your juices on his chin that he didn't even think about wipin' off. he looked down at you, fixing his shirt cuffs.

"that was just the start," he tossed out, and his voice vibrated in the tight cabin. you were still hangin' in nanami’s arms, legs shaking, and your mind was fading. "n-no... wait..." you tried to pull your thoughts together, "someone could walk in right now... the dispatcher... he might hear through the intercom..."

nanami just laughed low against your neck, and that sound made you shrink. he didn't let you go. instead, he shifted his grip to get comfortable and started to slowly, intentionally rub your aching, oversensitive cunt against his huge, rock-hard cock through the fabric of his pants.

"ah!" you sobbed, whimpering from the unbearable pleasure that bordered on torture. "nanami..." "we could just call the dispatcher again so help comes right now," kento whispered, keepin' up the methodical grind against you, squeezin' out new portions of wetness that now fell in heavy drops and dripped onto the elevator floor. your heels had been lyin' in the corner for a while now. "is that what you want? you want us to get pulled out of here right now?"

he didn't stop, and you felt his hardness throb, promisin' somethin' way bigger. at that moment, hiromi stepped in close. he cupped your face in his palms and sank into your lips with a deep, greedy kiss. you tasted yourself mixed with his hot spit — intimate, and crazy turning you on.

"m-m-m," he hummed into your mouth, pulling back only a millimeter. "is this what you want?" you should've said "yes." you should've screamed 'bout how they broke all the rules, how hierarchy was trashed, and how you're all gonna get fired in disgrace. you should've stopped this.

but you didn't. your first orgasm was so mind-blowing that all you could think about was the throbbing weight you felt with your ass through nanami’s clothes. you couldn't even dream of just one of them in your wildest fantasies, but getting both at once? that was the kind of extreme greed they write about in books.

“n-no…” you aggressively shook your head, completely forgetting you were in the damn elevator of an office building. your hands dug into higuruma’s shoulders on their own, and you started desperately, almost insanely grinding against the man behind you in every way possible, begging for more with your body alone.

hiromi gave a faint, barely noticeable smile without taking his eyes off you, watching the way you writhed in kento’s hands. “that’s what we thought. dirty girl… you spent months tempting your bosses just so they’d fuck you at the same time?”

you barely heard him. his words drowned in the rush of blood pounding in your ears, and you only nodded quickly, feverishly, agreeing with every word he said. “c’mon, baby,” nanami caught you with one hand, giving you more space, “use your hands. take my pants off.”

with trembling fingers, you reached behind you as much as the cramped space allowed and touched his cock through the fabric for the first time. nanami let out a low, rough groan and pushed himself into your palm, rolling his hips forward. you tried to feel more of him, but kento only tightened his grip on your waist.

“baby, i just had to sit there without getting to taste you. you’d better hurry up.” you frantically searched for his belt buckle, but your fingers wouldn’t cooperate. you couldn’t see what you were doing behind your back, and helpless little whines started slipping out of you.

“i-i can’t do it… kento, i can’t…” you sobbed, tears blurring your vision. nanami laughed quietly, enjoying your desperation. “what an impatient girl, huh?”

he jerked his hips sharply to help you, and finally you managed to undo the belt. then the button and zipper gave in too. his pants slipped down, and immediately, without waiting, you covered his cock with your hand over his boxers. nanami threw his head back, sucking in air through his teeth with a hiss. you moaned too — just the thought of him being inside you turned you into a melted, shapeless mess.

by then, hiromi already pulled his pants down slightly. you froze as you looked at him. his cock looked intimidating: long, heavy, veins standing out clearly along it, the tip already wet. exactly the one you imagined whenever you touched yourself.

you breathed heavily, your pussy still pulsing after your orgasm while your hands already pulled down the blond man’s boxers behind you. the second his cock came free, it pressed against your ass with a dull thud. you felt the heat of it against your skin.

nanami wrapped a hand around himself and slowly dragged the tip over your untouched back hole first. panic shot through you instantly, your voice turning high and almost frightened. “kento!.. please, kento…”

he immediately buried himself against your neck, kissing you greedily with his mouth open, leaving your skin wet and burning. “relax,” he whispered, his voice vibrating through your body. “we’re not going there… for now.”

you relaxed a little, but the realization crashed over you in another wave: that meant they were both going to fuck you. at the same time.

your thoughts didn’t even have time to form into words before higuruma stepped closer. he cupped your face, gently but firmly sucking on your lower lip before pulling away and looking directly into your eyes.

“if it hurts, just tell us, okay?” his voice sounded serious, almost gentle. “we won’t do anything that’ll hurt you. we’re here to give you what you’ve been begging for all this time. tell me you understand.”

you only nodded shakily, unable to force out a single word. “use your words, sweetheart,” nanami insisted, pressing his cock against your lower back. you swallowed hard, your voice rough from all the screaming and moaning. “i… i understand. yeah. please…”

nanami adjusted his grip on you more comfortably, one arm still holding your weight while the other slowly, carefully guided his cock. at first, he only teased you with it, dragging the tip through your folds, coating himself in all your slickness, practically soaking himself in your juices before finally giving one decisive thrust.

he pushed in slowly, giving you time to feel every inch of his impossible thickness. you cried out instantly and grabbed onto higuruma’s shoulders with a death grip. meanwhile, hiromi pressed himself flush against you, holding your hips steady and helping you keep your balance while his eyes tracked every shaky breath you took.

he really was huge. you felt him literally forcing your insides apart, pushing so deep that every experience you’d ever had before suddenly felt like some pathetic joke. your head fell back, your moans breaking apart into weak little whines.

“mmmngh! kento… haa-ah… hurts… no, feels good… god—!” you choked on the words as he filled you completely. “that’s it, sweetheart, take all of me,” nanami rasped, his voice vibrating through your body.

“you’re too big… kento, you’re too big…” “i know, baby,” he started moving inside you slowly, deeply, “it’ll feel better soon. just relax for me.”

while that happened, higuruma kissed his way down your neck to your chest, which already spilled out of your bra cups. he wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking greedily while nanami kept thrusting into you from behind.

“fuck…” kento growled, picking up the pace. “knew you’d have a fucking heavenly pussy… she’s squeezing me so tight.” all you could do was whine and sob. “ah! mmngh!! feels so good… more… haaah!”

“yeah?” higuruma pulled away from your chest, his gaze turning sharp and hungry. “it’s about to feel even better.” nanami cupped your face with both hands, turned you toward him, and crashed his mouth against yours in a deep kiss. “take a breath,” he ordered right against your lips.

you were already completely fucked stupid from his cock and the heat of their bodies. the second you gasped for air, you felt another huge, hard shape starting to push into you. hiromi entered you from the front, and you practically whimpered into nanami’s kiss while your fingers dug into higuruma’s shirt hard enough to make the fabric strain.

the moment he fully pushed inside, stretching you beyond anything imaginable, you screamed so loudly it felt like your voice tore through the entire building. “oh god! god! fuck… fuck! a-ah-ahh!”

tears spilled from your eyes automatically from the shock and overwhelming fullness. nanami laughed low against your lips, licking away the salty wetness. “no god here, sweetheart. we’re the ones making you scream like that.”

both of them stayed still for a moment, letting your body adjust to the unbearable stretch. hiromi’s hand squeezed your breast possessively while nanami bit at your shoulder and every patch of exposed skin he could reach.

it felt like forever or maybe only a few seconds — you had no idea anymore. the only thing you knew was that you needed them. “more… want more… please…”

“our girl’s getting greedy, huh?” higuruma smirked while looking at your flushed face. “one cock isn’t enough anymore? now you always want two?” then they started moving. together. hard. rhythmic.

it felt like your pussy was about to split apart, your whole body turning into one shaking, dripping mess. you moaned and whimpered while they kept taking turns kissing you, your chin already soaked with spit, your face damp with sweat and their touches. saliva and slick ran down your neck and chest, and you were pretty sure there was already a puddle forming on the elevator floor beneath you.

their movements turned sharp and perfectly synchronized, and you felt them practically pounding you into the narrow space between them. nanami set a deep, animalistic pace from behind while hiromi matched every thrust from the front, forcing your body to stretch to its absolute limit. the cramped elevator filled with unbearable wet sounds: skin slapping against skin, heavy male growls, and your endless, choking moans mixed with the smell of all your arousal.

“ah! haaah… nngh! fuck, kento… romi… a-ahh!” you cried out when they bumped against each other inside you, trapping your womb between them.

“look at this fucking mess,” hiromi rasped without taking his eyes off the place where your bodies merged together. “you’re sucking us in so greedily. such a needy little hole for your bosses.”

nanami grabbed your hair, pulling your head back slightly so he could see your face twisted with pleasure. “hear those sounds, baby?” he slammed into you hard, and the elevator filled with a loud, filthy squelch. “that’s all you. you’re so fucking wet we’re practically drowning in you.”

“mmmngh! yes… more… ” you couldn’t even control the saliva dripping down your chin anymore, mixing with their sweat. your face stayed damp, your hair stuck to your forehead, and your eyes rolled back.

higuruma leaned forward and crashed his mouth against yours, swallowing your moan with his lips. his tongue moved just as aggressively as his cock while his hand kept squeezing your breast hard enough to hurt. when he finally pulled away, a thin string of saliva stretched between you before breaking against your neck.

hiromi tightened his grip on your thighs even more, lifting your hips so you stayed completely open for both of them. the elevator smelled heavy with sweat, bodies, and slick, and the only thing breaking the silence were the filthy sounds of their bodies slamming against your ass.

nanami slowly moved his hand down the front of your body. his fingers, soaked with your slick, found your clit. “look at this little thing,” he rasped, his voice vibrating through your spine. “look how swollen it is. you’re pulsing so much, sweetheart.”

he started playing with you, and the elevator filled with another wet, messy sound from his fingers moving against you. every touch sent a shock through your body.

“mmmngh! kento… ah!” you sobbed shakily as your thighs started trembling uncontrollably. “please… i wanna come… i’m gonna… mmhnm!!" “no,” he cut you off. he gave one deep, crushing thrust. “don’t even think about coming without permission.”

their pace grew even faster, turning into something raw and primal. nanami’s heavy thrusts from behind crashed against hiromi’s from the front. the mirror in the elevator completely fogged over now, thick drops of condensation sliding down it just like the sweat running along your back. you could barely breathe anymore, your moans dissolving into broken little whimpers.

“tell me,” nanami suddenly pinched your clit hard between his fingers, making your back arch violently as you screamed. “who does this sweet, greedy pussy belong to?”

“a-ahh! yours! only yours! always only yours!” you practically sobbed the words out, losing the last of your sanity from the overwhelming pleasure. “good girl,” hiromi whispered smoothly against your damp shoulder before kissing it. “such a good girl. keep taking us, baby.”

your pussy pulsed violently, burning from the friction and impossible fullness. every thrust from nanami and hiromi forced more slick out of you, thick drops falling onto the floor and adding to the puddle already spreading beneath your feet. you felt completely used, ruined, and unbelievably happy in exactly that role.

the tension inside you coiled into a tight, unbearable knot that was about to snap. from behind, nanami made one last, crushing thrust, driving into you to the very hilt with a loud, wet sound, while hiromi made a powerful lunge forward at the same time, pinning your uterus in a vise between the two of them.

at that moment, nanami pressed hard against your pulsing clit, and that was the final straw. you literally buckled in their arms. the elevator walls started to swim before your eyes, and a series of choking, ragged sobs ripped from your throat.

"mmmngh-a-a-a! god! god! i— aah!" you gasped, feeling the first wave of orgasm paralyze your legs. your pussy started to contract convulsively and rhythmically around them, trying to squeeze every last drop out. you felt every vein on their members, every movement that now felt a hundred times sharper. a frantic, wet squelching filled the tight cabin — it was your juices, forced out by their pressure, literally splashing onto the floor and mixing with sweat.

you felt everything inside flip. your stomach muscles cramped, you threw your head back aggressively, pressing the back of your skull into nanami’s shoulder, and you just stopped breathing for several long seconds. you were shaking so hard that hiromi had to grip your thighs in a death lock to keep you from sliding to the floor.

"yes, just like that," nanami growled, feeling your pussy literally suck him in. "cum on our cocks, our pretty girl." you could not answer. you only whimpered and shuddered in a long, agonizingly beautiful ecstasy. tears of happiness and shock rolled down your wet cheeks.

you were still shaking from the lingering waves when you felt the blonde’s breath grow heavy, turning into a muffled growl. "fuck, you are so tight...so perfect baby..." he rasped, driving into you one last time with such force that you felt his pulse at your very center.

hiromi, feeling your tremors and kento’s frantic rhythm, also stopped holding back. his movements became sharp, almost rough; he literally slammed you into nanami, wringing the last moans out of you.

for a moment, everything froze. you felt nanami shudder through his whole body, his fingers digging into your thighs until it hurt, and he poured into you in a hot, pulsing stream. almost at the same time, hiromi let out a low, guttural sound and also went still, pressing his forehead against your shoulder, giving all his tension to you.

"so good mmm..." you went totally limp in their arms, feeling the scalding heat of their seed spread inside you. a sharp, mechanical sound and a sudden jolt of the elevator under your feet made you all freeze.

"hello, elevator number four? we have recorded a stop; we are restarting the system now. is everything alright with you?"

more of freaky shit ? fanart cr — @ yunonoai on X

[gojosconsort]

reblogging this because the author's work was reposted on ao3 without their permission or credit, alongside one of my own.

fanfic authors spend countless hours creating and sharing their work for free. the least we can do is respect that effort and make sure creators receive the credit, engagement, and support they deserve 💜

[tonycries]

Puppy Princess - G.S.

Synopsis. A jester marrying a princess? Not even in the most terrible joke.  Gojo Satoru has loved you ever since the first time he made you laugh, he’s loved you since you appointed him as your personal jester—and he’s loved you even when your royal engagement was announced.  But if only a prince can marry a princess…maybe a jester can wreck it.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!princess!reader, jester!Gojo, royalty AU, forbídden Iove, yearning, PLOT, hurt, best friends to Iovers, betrothaIs (not to Gojo), he’s so siIIy, and so in Iove, sad backstorìes, vìoIence and bIood (not to or from Gojo), rhymes, pranks, Naoya’s awfuI, hidden schemes, makeovers, masquerade baIIs, masks, somewhat CindereIIa-Iike, oraI (fem rec.), tongue f, fìngering, he’s PÚSSYDRÚNK, p taIking, pínching, bíting, spítting, ínappropriate use of the jester hat, he’s FÉRAL, raw, matíng presses, first times (for both), he’s BlG, making it fit, talking you through it, pushing down, dirty taIk, rhymes whilst he’s INSIDE, creampíes, cúmpIay, royal weddings, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 16.8k

A/N. TO THE LOVELY BABYGIRLS THAT HAVE BEEN BEEEEGGING FOR THIS TROPE- and inspired by the very talented @/karolineprihodko on Tiktok <33

“A fool may sleep. A fool may sneer. A fool may ask why the princess is crying here?”

It’s so sudden that it stops your tears.

Crouched in a small passageway near the royal court. Between the gleaming armors upon display of Gakuganji the Great and Kashimo the Fierce. For a brief moment of madness; you think you must have imagined the lilting voice—almost melodic. Marvelous.

It’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever heard - even more so than the music wafting from the open doors of court, brought by the travelling circus that your palace was entertaining.

And then you’re hearing him again.

“Sob sob sob—for my princess is a crier. Dear Gojo here, shall set Yaga’s stache on fire—!”

That makes you finally lift your head out of your arms, with a laugh that is full-chested and unabashed. For the first time in a long…long time.

“What might your name be?” You ask the boy with the bright blue eyes, and an even brighter smile. 

And that was the story of how you met Gojo Satoru - when you were eight, and he’d been merely ten. Though he didn’t look ten—he might’ve looked even younger than you. 

White hair. Winks of dimples upon each cheek. His face was chalk-white from the make-up typical of jesters, even young ones, supposedly. 

He was drowning in a faded red and blue jester outfit that looked as if it’d been dragged through multiple shows a night. It looked far too big to have been his originally. Even through the patched-up collar, his collarbones showed, and from the too-wide sleeves; his pale, near-skeletal limbs stuck out oddly. 

His face was pretty, however, with eyes too large for his head. 

Gojo’s cheeks were sunken in, yet his smile wasn’t the slightest bit smaller. That, too, looked too large to be his. 

And you…

Crying outside the royal court, after your parents had declared you far too young to see the travelling circus. The acrobats. The sword-swallowers. And one little jester…that had gone missing during the processions. 

Though, in time, Gojo took delight in weaving in additional parts of fighting off dragons and two haunted knight armors—enraptured courts that clapped and laughed as he sang of a white-haired fool and his crying princess. He’d whisked you off your feet and made you swoon in ways a princess utterly shouldn’t - and then produced you before your horrified father, His Majesty, as the sole suitor that made you laugh. 

At least according to him.

Though one thing was true from that fairytale: Gojo had been the only person to make you laugh. The only one.

Previous jesters and palace acts wavered between confusing you with their overly long ballads, or enraging you - all because they assumed some little princess couldn’t handle humor. And maybe that was why - Gojo hadn’t underestimated you - that you’d gone right up to your father in the middle of a particularly splendid fire-breathing act, stood in the center of the lavish floor, and declared—

For Gojo to be released from the circus to become your personal jester.

As a royal jester he would be clothed, bathed, and tutored alongside you - so long as he kept you entertained with his rhymes (to which you had no doubt that he wouldn’t falter). 

Not minister nor royal guest should lay a hand on him. He was to be treated as an equal member of the court, and should have titles bestowed upon him in due time—but for now, he will grow up as your best friend. Your only.

And whilst declaring this in about as much royal haughtiness as you could have managed, you looked over at Gojo. You don’t remember for what reason. You don’t remember what you were looking for.

All you remember is that Gojo’s eyes seemed brighter in that moment, like the night’s cloak of stars. There were tears in his eyes.

And he flashed you his crooked grin.

You grinned back.

His Majesty and the advisors didn’t take long to mull over the thought before asking the circus master to name his price for the boy. And Gojo had been small then - oh-so-small - a mere waif of a boy. He was clearly the youngest amongst these adults, and the circus master hadn’t even remembered he was part of the troupe.

He’d demanded two crowns and a bag of wheat.

To which The King had obliged with a simple wave of his hand—before freeing the other circus members, as well. He was merciful…most of the time.

And you’d been so overcome with joy that you ran to the jester and took his hands then and there.

Had it been in the little passageway where you’d met, then you might even have embraced him.

But perhaps you’d given the ministers enough conniptions for the day?

“Follow me.” You breathlessly whispered to the little jester that seemed far too shocked for words. “I shall summon the royal tailor whilst you take your bath- we have every fragrance in the land, and more than enough botanical springs.”

But the longer he stayed speechless and unmoving, the more self-conscious you grew.

Your fingers loosened around his, “That…that is if you wish to-”

“I do.” He stopped you from slipping away - he clasped your hands even tighter. Tight enough to nearly hurt—but you didn’t stop him. “I-I’d be honored, Your Highness.”

“You shan’t have to call me that.”

And though a few eavesdropping court ladies and gentlemen gasped at the destruction of long-held social etiquette, Gojo had merely smiled and nodded. And then you’d been the one to whisk him away. 

You.

Gojo shared little about his upbringing that first day in the palace, and even less over the years. You knew that he’d been born into an average family just a kingdom over - Gojo itself was a fairly used name - but tragedy struck and his parents both passed away—although you never asked how, and he never shared why. It almost…seemed as if he didn’t remember. A part of him that had scrubbed out most of those years, like a bloodstain.

And he’d lived in the same lifeless home as them for five days. Trying to wake them.

No one listened.

No one arrived.

No one helped.

No one helped.

No one helped.

Driven by hunger and loneliness, Gojo finally left the house after those five days. And just his fortune, he hadn’t walked long before encountering the travelling circus—so many jugglers and jesters and acrobats and fire-breathers. And one master leading them from the front. 

He’d been both enraptured and scared.

And hungry. So…so hungry.

Even the smell of the lion food was appetizing to him. 

One acrobat passing by had spotted the boy watching wide-eyed from the side of the road, and seeing how desperate he was, shared her lunch and invited him to join. It was the biggest act of kindness he’d felt in five days.

And so he taught himself to rhyme. To joke. To smile. 

And two years later was when you saved him- you told Gojo that it wasn’t so much as saving him than him saving you. But he denied. 

“Thank you.” Gojo had whispered to you, almost fearful, during his first night in the palace. The Princess’s jester had been granted quarters right across the hallway from your own chambers—and yet, the first night was always the scariest, wasn’t it? 

He’d given you quite the fright sneaking into your royal chamber after all the candles had been snuffed and your attendants had left. Soundless as a mouse—and looking just as unwelcome inside the gilded bedroom. But eventually, you welcomed him onto the lavish mattress far too large for even two.

Let alone two children.

Laid a fair distance apart, you faced each other. 

“I forbid you to say those words again, Gojo.” You smiled. “And just for the one night, I trust?” You meant the bed-sharing; should your attendants walk upon this in the morning, then Gojo would be thrown into the dungeons faster than he can rhyme. 

Gojo nodded, somewhat flushed. “Just for the one night.”

.

.

.

“Satoru-”

“Mmmm, puff pastries and wagashi.”

“Satoru.”

“Huh? Ohhh, sweet cheesecake.”

“Sato—” The exasperated call of his name doesn’t land before the kick does - square in the middle of Gojo Satoru’s broad back. 

Sometime in the last few years, after he’d taken up training with General Yaga to keep himself fit for his dances, Gojo had started sleeping without his upper garments on. 

And you couldn’t deny that it was a sight for sore eyes; his sun-freckled sun, the dips and curves of his muscles shifting as he did. The roundness of his deltoids. The sensual curve of his spine. The patterns of his scapulae, and lash marks that he wouldn’t explain. They moved like waves of an ocean, and they peaked and fell just as much. Some mornings you dared to trace every single one—just with your eyes, of course. 

But of course, he was just your best friend - socially, your jester, at that.

Which is exactly why you’re kicking him off the bed the second you hear your morning attendants heading down the corridor. As soon as he’s out of sight, the double doors to your bedroom open—and they’re floating inside with steaming-hot trays of breakfast and new fragrances for your skin. 

One of the attendants sets the breakfast tray down on your bedside table, and you sneak him a few of the blueberry-spotted pancakes. Though have to slap Gojo’s hand away from swiping the syrup, too, before one of them sees.

“Such a beautiful day, isn’t it, Your Highness?” Your head attendant, Utahime, trills as she throws the curtains open to let soft morning sunlight flood inside. “The perfect morning.”

“It is.” You’re nodding. You slap Gojo’s hand away from the syrup again.

“And we have no more than an hour to get you ready, Your Highness. So I beg you to finish your tea quickly.” Another attendant hands you your morning tea - just how you liked it. It smelled of something floral that reminded you of the royal gardens, and something else so utterly appetizing that you could feel Gojo huffin’ and puffing about beneath you.

Served him right for sneaking in again, you think.

You slap Gojo’s hand away again. Utahime continues speaking onwards obliviously, “—prepare for the guest.”

“A guest?” That piques your interest. 

This time, Gojo steals the syrup. And it creates a loud clatter that draws the attention of all the attendants sweeping and scurrying about to pick out your gown for the day—you’re unceremoniously coughing to cover it up. You’re not sure it works.

Utahime crinkles her nose, “Nasty little ailment, isn’t it?” Her intelligent eyes dip down to the bed - though she keeps it discreet. Utahime, as well as being your head attendant, was one of your closest friends as well. 

Close to you in age, you’d hand-picked her to be what was essentially your right-hand woman. 

And she knew of the rather…close friendship that you and Gojo had; perhaps improper for court etiquette, but just right for the two of you. 

From underneath the bed, Gojo snickers. 

You bounce on the mattress, whilst Utahime kicks the bed post. 

“Ah…this ancient bed.” You’re commenting once the other attendants look at you with raised brows, “Honestly, sometimes I believe it to be haunted.”

“Wake up to a mysterious figure at your bedside, do you?” Utahime eyes you. You avert your gaze from hers. “Well, we should do well to rid your chambers of that before the Prince arrives, Your Highness.”

“The Prince?”

“Prince Zenin Naoya, of course.”

Gojo knocks his head on the bed frame. 

.

.

.

Prince Zenin Naoya possessed many titles; the latest one being the most unpleasant royal you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Which was saying rather a lot.

You’ve met many a-princess that were appalling to her attendants, and many princes that boasted their numerous wars. Your father himself fell into the latter group. And many, many more dukes and duchesses and marquis—and whatever other title had surfaced over the last few centuries and gotten latched-onto with rabid, golden-ringed claws. Had it not been for your duty to maintain a peaceful political climate, you would have forgone those social gatherings altogether.

Though your father was particularly careful not to repeat the border strife that had occurred not too long ago in your kingdom…some violence-seeped dispute over power. 

And so you lifted your head and plastered a smile.

You managed to clamor through even the most painful of social obligations.

But this one…this one might just force you to rewrite all the royal rules that had been drilled into you since you were younger. 

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” You nod in acknowledgement as the Prince bows. His coronet was made of pure gold; a simple band with a blood-red ruby in the middle. 

It flashed at you menacingly.

And so did his pearly-white smile. 

“The pleasure is all yours, Your Highness.” 

You’re taken aback at his choice of words. You meet Gojo’s eyes a little ways away from the court- and his read the same confusion. He shakes his head imperceptibly. Then Naoya turns to the King seated on the throne beside you instead. His smile leers, “My utmost gratitude for this invitation, Your Majesty. My parents send their regards.”

“Good people, good people.” Your father nods, “Their assistance during…those times of trouble shall forever remain in my memory.”

“Who are we if not united against the face of the radicals, Your Majesty?” Naoya graciously bows once more. 

“Well said.” And then the King makes a sweeping gesture in your direction. “And in the future, it seems we shall be united once more.”

Naoya throws his gaze at you again, and the way he looks at you…it makes you hug your arms to yourself.

You’re unsure why your gaze had been upon Gojo at that very moment - they always did seem to find him - but you watch as his expression darkens. Darkens. Darkens. In a way you’ve never seen before, and then it’s hitting you—

“Father?”

But he ignores you, “Satoru—!” In the years that you’ve brought Gojo to court, your father had become rather fond of his rhymes and riddles as much as you were. So it wasn’t exactly surprising that he had been called upon, and Gojo’s expression switches instantly into one of foolish mirth. “Why don’t you share one of your amusing rhymes with our guest?”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” He bows deeply. As he makes his way to the middle of the court, where Naoya and his entourage were gathered, the bells upon his blue-and-white garments jingle. 

And before you know it, Gojo clasps onto Naoya’s shoulders and ensnares him with his words. “Naoya o’ Naoya, with your great riches and gait.” The corners of his lips twitch - something sharp. Gojo covers his mouth in a faux-whisper, though his words reach every single corner of the vast chamber. “Every lady here knows you take potions to compensate~”

Naoya’s face turns green then red. A furious red.

As if fearing the Prince would swing, Gojo jumps back- just in time for the hay-blond man to whirl around. “But oh, no potion shall make Prince Naoya’s rooster big—the most you ladies get will be the size of a fig~”

The jester laughs maniacally, and so does much of the court; you yourself can’t stop from letting out a startled laugh or two. 

Your best friend never did hold back - perhaps because he was the only one allowed to do so without fearing the threat of the dungeons. 

And Gojo watches as a giggle slips past the hand you’d brought up to cover your mouth- and his grin widens as he takes it as a challenge. Dancing around Naoya, he continues—

“Naoya is hated by the ladies of the court. Naoya is hated in his medical reports~” He trills gleefully, darting a hand out and knocking Naoya’s coronet off. “And all the ladies and all the healers, have never seen a cock this short~”

Red face now turning almost…a sickly yellow, Naoya attempts to fist-fight the jester. Though Gojo was far more agile than he looked, and he was dodging each hit with ease.

“Oh—have I offended you, Your Highness? Perhaps a change of pace…” Gojo crows. “For all Naoya hates women, he might as well court men-”

“You- you—”

“Easy, son.” Your father chuckles to himself as well, “You should do good to familiarize yourself with the Princess’s jester if you are to marry her.”

Gojo stutters- and his rhyme pauses. His eyes widen.

You feel the red, red carpet give out beneath you. 

.

.

.

“I simply must…apologize for Sato- my jester, Your Highness.” 

The clinking of silverware fortunately masked the waver in your tone. It was insincere and unapologetic.

Naoya maintains an expression as if he’d just smelled something unpleasant, perhaps as if it was on his very plate. The Prince cuts into his bird with far too much force than necessary, “Apology accepted.” Rather short.

Though you yourself didn’t care—you shoot a look at the ministers that were currently attempting to meld into the royal portraits on the wall. 

With nervous smiles, they urge you to continue.

It was a poor imitation of a romantic dinner - as romantic as a political marriage could get. 

The royal dining room had a table that sprawled nearly from one end-to-end. Polished mahogany. Intricately-carved legs. So thick that they didn’t buckle under the hundreds of dishes piled on top: soups to puddings to heart-shaped wagashi to those you couldn’t even name. Woven in-between were flickering candles and vases of red, red roses—sprouting confessions of love. 

Some of those petals were even scattered across the floor.

Though the dining room could seat about four-hundred guests, right now it only seated him and you. You and your future husband.

Your future husband.

Your future husband.

Your future husband.

It still hadn’t sunk in, and you didn’t want it to.

Zenin Naoya takes a bite of his roasted bird and spits it back out. From his entourage, one of the Zenin ministers darts out with a dish to collect it.

You wrinkle your nose in distaste.

Two courts were watching this fallacy of courtship. 

From your side, it was the entirety of your court save for some of the outer ladies-in-waiting and some gents, and your parents. From his side, it was Naoya’s entire entourage at his every beck, call, and swallow. Just waiting for the opportunity that their beloved Prince didn’t like anything.

Which seemed to be…everything.

You yourself can only pick at the delicacies on your plate - they’d done well to include favorites of both you and His Highness. And yet…

And yet, in the past eighteen years you’ve never sat through a dinner without Gojo at your side. 

Always at your right-hand seat. Always chomping through his dinner with overexaggerated noises that made you laugh, and the ministers grimace.

How could you feel so alone surrounded by so many people, and yet lacking one?

You’re biting back a sigh.

“Pssst.”

Confused, you look up at Naoya- but he seems just as morbidly indulgent in his food as he was before. He was spitting out even more. 

And so you look around—but none of the ministers nor advisors catch your eye, either.

“Psssssst.”

There it was again. Somewhat irritated and feeling your confusion growing - this dinner certainly hadn’t put you in a good mood - you’re about to excuse yourself from this social hostage-situation. Someone must be attempting to make a fool out of you. You’re resting your hands on the polished table and about to push off—

When you feel something…touch your wrist.

You’re about to scream-

“Tamper your screaming, please.” 

Oh, well if they asked so nicely…

Wait-

Who?

Without making too much of a spectacle, you slide your fork off the edge of the table. 

Naoya grumbles at the metallic ringing—and muttering a dainty apology, you’re leaning down to pick it up. Or so it seems. 

Instead, you’re crouching yourself down and lifting the tablecloth ever-so-slightly. It’s a purple velvet, one of the finest in the land, and it opens up to reveal one of the greatest treasures this palace held. At least, in your opinion.

Gojo Satoru brings a finger up to his lips and winks. His make-up crinkling handsomely as he did so, “Do you frequent these parts?”

“I should ask the same from you.” You hiss, glancing around to make sure that no one was looking. “Satoru, what do you think you’re doing-”

“Exercising my culinary skills, my princess.” And he raises up a little velvet packet in one hand, shaking it around tantalizingly. He answers your question before you can voice it, “Just a little horseshoe, just a little wool from Yaga’s sweater, and perhaps the Prince that swallows this shall be a little sweeter~”

Your jaw drops. “You cannot be serious-”

“Never in my life have I been more serious.” Gojo replies solemnly, then with an innocent flutter of his lashes- “Forgive me for not sharing, my princess. But perhaps you would favor it as well?”

“It shan’t suit my palate.” You answer firmly.

“It’s far more palatable than what I did to the wine, trust me.” Gojo smirks.

“You rouge.”

He opens his mouth as if to say something more, but Naoya’s tone grates through the little bubble of mirth you’d formed—in less than a minute, no less. “Wife- wife.”

You and Gojo stare at one another in shock.

Wife?

One of your ministers coughs pointedly, and with a final glance at Gojo, you’re straightening in your chair. “Were you perhaps addressing…me, Your Highness?” And any smart man would have quickly backtracked at this opportunity to change their answer. 

But you never claimed that Zenin Naoya was particularly smart. “My eyes don’t perceive any other woman here?” He scoffs, taking a bite of a chicken leg and then immediately spitting it out—“As for the engagement plans- eugh.”

You’re biting back a laugh as he drags out a string - seemingly from a wool…sweater…of Yaga’s - from his mouth and looks at his ministers in bewilderment. 

“Th-the chef must have been in a state of pioneering.” You cough out.

Another bite he takes.

And another wad of wool he spits out. 

You bring a hand up to your lips, “Perhaps you should wash it down with the wine, Your Highness? It had been brewed specifically for this occasion.”

And so he does - eyeing you all the while.

Naoya takes a big swig of his goblet and—shrieks as he finds half of a shoe inside. 

One of Gojo’s very own.

That shriek is loud enough to make the walls of the dining chamber rattle; and Gojo shoots out from the side of the dining table, unable to keep his laughter in control, and dances away. “Twiddle dee, twiddle doo—Naoya coughed up a shoe~” Those double doors are still swinging as it sinks in what just happened- and your ministers and guards take a menacing step towards where the colorful intruder had disappeared. 

You raise your hand to signal them to halt.

“This insolent—” Naoya was spitting with fury- unable to even formulate words. His mouth is a downturned slash, and he shoves the plate off the table. It shatters vociferously.

You notice that he’s turned a little green in the way he only seemed to do when Gojo was nearby. “My first order as King shall be to rid this incompetent kitchen-” He spits. “-and that godforsaken jester-”

Your fork clatters to the floor once again. “What’s wrong with Satoru?” You didn’t care if you sounded rather too offended by such a question. “Is it the practical jokes? I shall request that he ceases such-”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Naoya cackles to himself. “Woman, what is there not wrong about that goddamn fool? He’s- he’s—a fool.”

“For that is his duty, is it not?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“I suppose.” Naoya leans back in his chair, “But his duty is to the crown, and when I am King-”

“His duty is to me.” Before you know it, you’re standing. You’re breathing hard. You’re ignoring the ministers that attempt to hold you back. “He’s my best fri—jester.”

And you repeat…though you don’t know whether it’s more for yourself, Naoya, or the boy with the blue eyes that was once underneath the table.

“He’s mine.”

Those words fall like the blade of a guillotine. 

Naoya’s eyes were spitting fire. “He’s…yours, is it?” He throws his cape back and stands, “Your Highness…I fail to understand why you entangle yourself with a mere jester?” Though the sentence itself wasn’t one particularly barbed, his distaste bled through every syllable. 

“He- he is my best friend-”

“He is a jester.” Naoya says with a tone of finality. He pushes back, letting the chair clutter behind him- the brings up a palm to stop his ministers from righting it. “And a jester can never be anything to a princess. Never.”

Those footsteps of his resound louder than your heartbeat. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

On the way to making his exit, he stops before the entrance and speaks. “We are to be engaged in six moons, and when you are my wife, I expect you to act like one.” Naoya’s gaze is deadly as he grips the door open, “My family earned our titles bringing down entire households- a mere jester is nothing to me.”

Another guillotine: this time, it’s the closing of the dining room doors.

“Your Highness-”

But you’re following Naoya out, and tears burn behind your eyes.

Just as luck - or perhaps fate - would have it, who else had been standing behind the doors listening to every word? None other than Gojo Satoru. 

Though his face is downturned, and you can’t make out his expression, your heart soars at the sight of him. He’s pressed against one of the walls closest to the doors, and he clenches his fists at his sides. And you’re just about to reach out- to tell him that Naoya’s words didn’t matter- to tell him that Naoya didn’t matter—

But before you could, Gojo sharply turns to you and bows. Those bells atop his hat jingle as he does so, and he stays bowed as he asks, “This fool begs to be dismissed, Your Highness?”

Your Highness? “You…you may…” Your brows furrow, fingers trembling towards him. “But Satoru-”

And yet, he’s gone.

And you didn’t get a single look at his expression.

You wondered what you would see. You wondered what you would be hoping to see.

But no matter what it was, you knew that all you wanted to see - whether anger or mirth or irritation - was Gojo himself. 

Your engagement was in six moons.

.

.

.

To your dismay, Gojo Satoru was avoiding you.

You should have realized that something was off that moment after the disastrous dinner—or perhaps when he didn’t join you to sleep, or perhaps when he hadn’t joined court in the following days. According to one of the palace staff, the jester was ill, but every attempt at a visit to his quarters ended up with you being rebuffed or diverted.

And how many opportunities for diversion there were.

The palace was a-flush with florists, and bakers, and candle-makers, and mask-designers—and orchestras upon orchestras practising for your engagement waltz. 

One of those times you’d been dragged away to floral-picking for the grand engagement ball - the one that would announce your union to the entire kingdom. Another time it had been to pose for a portrait with Naoya (a particularly taxing endeavour). And another time it was to pick out the colors for your mask- this was to be an extravagant masquerade ball after all. And another time it had been to get fitted for the ballgown you’d be wearing for the night—like exactly right now.

This time, you’d gotten just past the guards stationed upon either side of Gojo’s chambers (both on his word, and to prevent the Princess from getting into any…scandalous affairs before the engagement).

And you’d cracked open the door - ever-so-slightly - only to find that what was inside…made you halt.

Gojo’s room was completely and utterly empty.

Not just of himself, but of his literature books, his shoes, his bells, his flower vases. Anything and everything that made the chamber so utterly Gojo’s, was gone. Even the braid of friendship you wove for him when you were twelve - that he kept at the very top of his jewelry box - and the flower crowns you made for him that he dried and hung from his windows—you made them rather often, before…Naoya. 

He had intruded upon your idle dance between love and friendship - and you were still feeling bitter and confused as Utahime fitted you. As she wound up the hip springs of your corset- and tightened, and tightened—

“I just fail- hah, fail to understand.” You’re muttering, slightly out-of-breath.

Utahime looks up from the knots of your corset, “Your Highness?”

The royal tailor had just stepped out to aid in bringing the imported silk and cloth of gold up to your bed chambers, and in the meantime your attendants were helping tighten your numerous layers underneath. Your ballgown - engagement dress, more precisely - would be fitted on top of the base linen undergarments and the crinolines. 

Tonight, you will be engaged.

And to a man that has never made you laugh once-

“Your Highness?” Utahime repeats, snapping you out of your little reverie.

“Oh- forgive me.” You nod at her in acknowledgment. “What I meant to say was, I just fail to understand what he’s thinking.”

She nods back - you didn’t have to specify who. “It is precisely as I have told you, Your Highness.” Utahime tightens a few more knots- knocks a few more breaths out of you. “That ol’ nuisance has not a single thought in his mind. You must not worry yourself too much about him.”

“Oh, but Utahime…how can I not?” You’re sure the flurry of other attendants surrounding you were listening in - smoothing down your layers, preparing your jewelry. But you didn’t care at the moment, if you did say so yourself. 

“I believe it is just a little ailment, Your Highness. I fear I am not blessed enough for such a thing to prove fatal to that jester-”

You gulp. “I believe Satoru may be avoiding me.”

At that, even Utahime’s brows furrow. “Pardon?”

“His chambers have been emptied of even the flower crowns, and I haven’t even the faintest glimpse of him these past few days.” Speaking these words aloud seems to make them too real. “I believe I told you of how he overheard the conversation between Naoya and I?”

Utahime nods.

“Naoya had uttered some things- balderdash, if you ask me—” Your fists threaten to clench, but two attendants were working on your nails. Another was double-checking the measurements for your mask. Mask. “Yet I fear Satoru may have misconstrued some things…and I haven’t laid eyes on him ever since.”

There’s a silence.

Her fingers finish their final knot.

And then Utahime stands to look you squarely in the eyes. “This is Gojo Satoru we speak of, is it not?”

Slowly, unsure of where this was going, you nod.

“Then you have naught to worry about, Your Highness.” She flashes you such a beautiful smile, looking over your corset for imperfections - of course, there were none. “It is most likely that he’s skulking about these palace walls, looking for a minister to scare or a prince to embarrass.”

You’re letting out a soft huff of laughter.

“Or even…a princess to adore.”

Your eyes widen- and you’re snapping your gaze to hers. There’s a knowing expression that Utahime wears - one she often gets whenever she notices Gojo hiding in your room, or watches the two of you sneak out during royal balls. 

This one, in particular, was about to be the most crowded and convoluted yet. 

And you’re meeting her smile, eventually. “I thank you, Utahime…” You then look down as you hear the doors of the dressing room fly open, “But adoration cannot stop a royal engagement.”

Three sharp claps sound as the tailor gets the attention of your attendants. 

“That will be all, ladies. Thank you.” And his own attendants and apprentices flood the room to take over the fitting stage—Utahime squeezes your shoulder as she leaves.

Though she doesn’t reach her bed chambers for a much-needed rest, as she might have wanted to. Instead, she’s halting right outside the entrance-

“You.”

And making sure you were occupied by the tailoring, Gojo bows dramatically. Holding his little bells so they don’t jingle- “At your service, Madam Sour-face.”

“Cease it.”

“No, I said Sour-face-”

“Forget it.” Utahime could feel a migraine coming on already at the mere sight of his impish grin. 

“Sour-face Utahime with her pressure so high, one more joke and she’ll make me cry~”

Why - oh why - couldn’t the universe take as kindly to her and forbid her from seeing this man, too? She continues, “First, enlighten me as to why you’ve been giving Her Highness the cut?”

A too-innocent expression crosses his face. “Pardon? I fear I have no recollection of ever-”

“I will kill you with my bare hands and feel no ounce of guilt.”

Gojo clicks his jaw shut.

“I…” And it’s under the pressure of her unwavering glare that he finally cracks- letting out a deep sigh and dropping his head. “I plan to leave the palace.”

“Pardon?” Even she sounds utterly shocked. “When-”

“Tonight.” Gojo has never sounded more serious to her. “I have spent the past few days gathering my possessions, everything…she gifted me. As the ball starts tonight, I shall take my leave.”

“But your duties-”

“I have informed His Majesty of my decision. It seems though he shall miss the rhymes, he is keen for an amicable marriage between Her Highness and Prince Naoya. A jester can be replaced, trust in a marriage cannot—especially not one of political nature.” Utahime is almost shocked at this simple foresight, but then again- everyone always did underestimate the fool.

She watches his reaction, “And…the Princess?”

Which seems to make him flinch - as though struck. Perhaps a part of him was. “…I shall leave her a letter before I depart. Her Highness does not deserve to see such cowardice-”

“And yet you still remain.” Utahime’s words make his blue eyes snap to hers. She crosses her arms in front of her, and lets a smug smile take over her lips. “For what reason were you spying outside Her Highness’s fitting, if not to see her?”

“I—” He takes a desperate step closer. “It was simply in passing-”

“For what reason did you empty your bedroom of the flower crowns Her Highness made especially for you? Surely they shan’t prove themselves too useful on the road?”

Gojo’s eyes widened. “I…the memories-”

“For what reason have you waited until the last minute to leave? Until the last minute she shall not be yours, and yours only?”

He snarls, “She was never mine.”

“Because you believe the Princess does not deserve to base herself- being the lover of a fool yes?” When Gojo does not answer, she continues. “The fool seems to believe he knows what the Princess deserves. But does the fool know what he deserves?”

There’s a prolonged silence—of which is only punctured by the awed gasps from inside the dressing room, as the tailor and his apprentices comment on your beauty.

Gojo has the sudden, mad thought to open those doors just a little wider and see you for himself. Just one last time.

One last time.

What was he thinking?

He laughs to himself bitterly, “A jester can never be anything to a princess. Never.” 

“But a princess can be everything to a jester, yes?” Utahime asks. “More importantly- who are we to dictate what a person is to another person?”

The answer was as obvious as it was painful.

Gojo Satoru loved you. 

Loves you.

Something of it must show on his face, because Utahime throws him a pitiful look she’s never shared before—“You may leave if you please, I shan’t stop you.” And then she reaches out and presses a hand against the doors- they part, unlocked. “But if you wish to stay and stop acting a-fool…then follow me.”

She brushes past him.

Meanwhile Gojo looks inside and catches a glimpse of you - and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. 

He runs after Utahime, bells jingling.

.

.

.

“You look…”

“How odd.”

“How startling.”

“What a change!”

Utahime crinkles her nose, “The only thing this proves is that your face is more tolerable when it is covered.” She turns to the brown-haired woman next to her, “And that my Shoko is a goddess when it comes to handiwork.”

Shoko smiles sweetly, “I have much practice making death masks.”

“I’ll say.”

As the other few attendants pendulate between laughing to themselves, and admiring Shoko’s quick work - she’d been requested just a few hours before to make a mask befitting a royal ball, and she’d finished it just in time - Gojo leans closer to the mirror. 

He reaches his trembling fingers up to touch his face, “This is surely…me?”

“Unfortunately.” Utahime sighs, and she gets elbowed by Miwa.

Utahime had gathered the most trust-worthy attendants she led: Miwa, Momo, and Kugisaki from tailoring. Along with the impeccable royal healer, Shoko, who she knew would be the only one that would be able to create a mask for the ball with her expert hands. And they’d gotten to work fixing up perhaps their most difficult case yet—none other than Gojo Satoru.

The royal jester was rather fussy at first- insisting that the powder puffs and cloth wipes tickled. 

Before Utahime put her foot down and announced that they weren’t going to present a ‘half-assed’ (forgive her language) marriage-wrecker to the Princess just yet.

That reminder of you kept him quiet for the rest of the make-over.

And Kugisaki had even commented, “Perhaps we ought to invoke the Princess’s name every time we need to keep the jester in line?”

“Do not tempt me.” Utahime had replied. 

Gojo had shuddered.

But it really was true: he sat through the rest of the next hour or two without so much as a single rhyme or peep. 

Not even when they told him to ‘pucker up’ in order to douse him in rouges and lip stains. That likely saved five years from Utahime’s life…

Gojo himself helped them scrub off his stark-white jester’s make-up. The vampiric base. The teardrops of black paint. The red, red lips—a few of his little troupe openly stared as they’d never seen the Princess’s jester without his make-up. 

And Gojo himself knew that he wasn’t all that bad looking - he had noble features. A strong nose. A high set of cheekbones. A pert, pretty mouth that always looked to be on the verge of saying something he shouldn’t.

Or, at least, that was how you described him.

You were the only person that got to see Gojo without his court-deemed make-up; and you always did say he was handsome. To which he’d always bat his long, white lashes dramatically and compose you a sappy sonnet about your eyes. He supposes he knew he was decent, but…handsome? 

He never saw it.

But these girls seemed determined to make him.

Cloudy hair. Delicate features. Blue eyes like a painting.

They replaced his make-up with something simpler. Gone was the cast of white, instead replaced by just a bit of rouge and shimmer. His pale brows were tamed and so was his hair - braided to the side using fragrant rose oils, with a few pieces falling handsomely over his face. All thanks to Momo, of course. 

Kugisaki had dug up something from that ol’ tailor’s trunk—a snow-white cloak and doublet, along with the associated tights he often made fun of. It was a suit fit for a prince. 

And it was exactly the type of suit he’d made fun of a prince for.

But here he was now - not a single difference between him and them. Or at least physically.

Gojo’s training sessions with Yaga had kept him fit; and he fit the suit perfectly. His broad shoulders were outlined against the clean cut, and his trim waist fit snugly into those damn tights—even through the suit, it was obvious he was well-built, in a way those baggy jester’s outfits never did show. Polished shoes. Silver buttons. Silver belt. Heavy silver chains and pendants that arrived with the robes. 

He might even have passed for a battle-hardened Prince like this…

Momo helped him into his equally as white gloves - it seems they were sticking to a theme for him. All the better to help his eyes and his crown stand out.

Oh yes…the girls had somehow bribed Yaga into letting them sneak down to the royal treasure. For just a few minutes.

All the spoils of war and generations of wealth—and they’d come out with a crown. 

It was Utahime who’d dug this one out, deciding that that would make him stand out far more than the usual hats. 

Made of pure silver; the design itself was rather simple, or so it seemed at first. Only when one looked closer…when one ventured further…could you see that what seemed like a simple band was actually a wreath of silver branches and floral vines twisted into one, with sapphire-studded flowers blooming along it. One more thing had been taken from the treasury - a signet ring with a ‘G’. 

“It felt proper.” Miwa, who had found the ring, beamed. “Names and titles are lost to time. And though I may not know what the ‘G’ once stood for, at least for tonight, it can mean ‘Gojo’, can it not?”

Gojo felt it getting slid onto his left hand, and he stares at the ring with furrowed brows.

He stares and stares.

He’s never felt more worthy of you.

By the time they had finished, the strings of the orchestra had started playing their opening sequence - the ball was commencing. 

Utahime turns to the rest of them, “We have done well.” Then, ultimately, back to grumble at him. “…You have done well.”

And though Gojo could make up a rhyme to rile her up, though Gojo could comment that they could have done better and bask in the ensuing chaos, though he could do his mask and his mask—

He simply looks at each and every one and smiles. Sincerely. “Thank you.”

They smile tenderly back.

The final component of his outfit for your engagement ball was the mask. Though there was no set theme, Shoko had gone above and beyond to craft his in the shape of the upper-half of a snow leopard’s face. The feline gaze. The sharp ears. The faint outline of rosettes against the white mask. It was mastery. 

Gojo dons it and smiles to himself. He really did feel handsome, as you had always said.

His blue, blue eyes twinkle from behind the mask.

.

.

.

“You look absolutely riveting, Your Highness.”

“I thank you.”

This was a royal ball that looked gilded. There was no other word to describe it—gilded. 

Polished floors. A thrumming orchestra. Golden chandeliers had every single candle lit; and they crept halfway down to the ballroom floor as if gifted from the Sun itself. Just for you. 

And that was in addition to the numerous other decorations that made even the most high-titled of guests gape in awe: the shimmering fountains that looked as if they were sprouting liquid gold, golden-dipped gardenias wreathed around the hallway, and the long table of foods were most lovely. All sorts of sweets and champagnes in honor of the union.

Guests upon guests upon guests being announced as they entered. They were dressed to impress, and there were more aristocrats gathered for this one ball than you’d seen in your entire life, perhaps. 

Had Gojo been here with you, then you two would’ve had the most amusing time coming up with stories for each one. 

There was Sir Gakuganji who held a secret liking for abstract dancing, here was Lord Todo whose son had fallen in love with a thousand-year-old portrait. No one would be spared. The two of you would have tucked yourself into some alcove and watched as the lavishments flew by, and when everyone was appropriately drunk you’d sneak out to the stables or to star-gaze. 

Your heart clenches.

Satoru…

You attempt to shake your head free of him.

It most certainly was a beautiful ball. And if you imagined that this was one of no particular purpose, then you really could see it. 

The ball was decorated to match your dress, you see.

Floor-length silk. Gold-threaded bodice. 

Celestial layers upon layers.

Your uppermost skirts had gold dusting atop it; and they dazzled as you floated across the ballroom. 

Your attendants had decided that going for a more simple look with the jewelry was appropriate - it would accentuate the simple gold circlet atop your head. A single sapphire embedded into the middle of it. 

Naoya had sneered at the choice, of course. When doesn’t he? But this time, he was particularly offended at the presence of a sapphire rather than the Zenin family’s signature blood-red rubies.

You refused to make your attendants change it. You donned your cat-like mask with pride. 

Perhaps that’s why he seemed keen on ignoring you in favor of a group of other beautiful court ladies in attendance—though you honestly couldn’t imagine anything different happening had the two of you been married, as well. You sighed inwardly.

You’re nodding in acknowledgement as Prince Okkotsu Yuta nears with a man beside him. 

He looked older - about your father’s age, if not a few years older. Tall. Toned - in the way of someone that had one been corded with muscle, but had since lost it to age. Bearing an ice-white beard and a row of silver medals proudly lining his chest—he stands before you in his off-white uniform and bows. It was obvious that the man was rather handsome, drawing eyes from around the ballroom. 

But what catches your eye the most were his eyes.

Summer-sky blue eyes.

They reminded you of—

“My uncle, Michizane, Your Highness.” Yuta introduces him. “This is his first time in the palace since…”

Your voice drops into something hushed. “I understand.” Turning to the general, you’re half-bowing once more. “I am rejoiced to welcome you into my home, any troubles that we may have had in the past-”

“Have naught to do with the present, Your Highness.” Michizane graciously nods at you. “And most certainly have naught to do with the beloved princess.”

You manage a smile.

“And if you can excuse my being so impudent…it is precisely what I sought this occasion for, Your Highness.” He looks over the bustling crowd, now getting ready to waltz- and seemingly catches the eye of your father. Your father who now looked as though he’d just seen a walking dead man. “I hope to bury the misunderstandings between my family and your father, and understand what happened to my younger brother and his family. It had proved itself to be both a blessing and a curse that I had been on an excursion during those troubled times. And I seek a resolution for the sake of my inner peace, if nothing else.”

You’re nodding in agreement. “It is most tragic what happened. For the sake of borders…nothing is worth so much. And I cannot ask for your mercy enough-”

“It is not something I shall ever be able to forgive. But you are not at fault, dear princess.” Michizane smiles conclusively, but not unkindly. 

“And yet, I have been wracked with guilt ever since.” You ultimately reply. 

Though you hadn’t met Michizane previously, you had learned that the history between your families was a long and bloody one. His family had been of a royal bloodline, of kingdoms now lost and eviscerated into neighboring ones - including yours. And you knew it was partly the fault of your kingdom. And although royal tutors justified and justified away your father’s actions—you could see past them

“Perhaps…” Michizane is the one to break through your whirlwind of thoughts. He reaches his gloved hand out, a silver signet ring on his middle finger. “-a dance to commence the burying of our animosity?”

“But of course.”

As the orchestra starts up a lively tune, Michizane whisks you away onto the dance floor. Much to the horror of some of your elderly ministers, of course, who gaped at the mere presence of the man.

And at the fact that your first dance wasn’t with the Prince.

But laughter bubbles to your throat as Michizane twirls and swirls you—sways you smoothly around and around the dance floor. He was one of the best dancers you’ve ever encountered, and you’re smiling appreciatively at him once the song comes to a close.

From the corner of your vision, you spot the black-and-red-clad Naoya storming his way over to you. And you hurry to beg a second dance when-

A title is announced - louder than all the rest. 

A prince.

Prince…you don’t hear the name.

But you don’t need it. 

Because you’re looking up at the grand staircase from which guests made their entrance, hand-in-hand with their partners or followed by their entourages. This one had neither. This one was one of the most beautiful men you think you’ve ever seen.

He looked like something from a story.

Snow-white mask. Snow-white suit. He was tall and clearly toned - but there was something in his demeanor that made him seem almost…dainty. He gripped the balustrade of the landing and looked over the glistening ball- barely even breathing, it seemed like. And he looked content to remain there in awe, before the chief butler reading out the named coughs- pointedly.

The man startles.

He looks over at the chief butler, and then nods jerkily to himself. In self-assurance.

Cautiously, he makes his way down to the ball.

And the closer he gets, the more of his details you’re taking in: like the traces of signature silver on his suit, and the way his fingers trembled ever-so-slightly. 

He looked just like the princes you’d read about in fairytales - the ones you imagined as a child before you happened to meet a real-life prince. 

Curls of white could be seen behind that snow leopard mask of his. They contrasted oh-so-beautifully with the blue, blue sapphire atop his crown.

Just like his eyes.

Your breath hitches-

“I believe I may have been monopolizing you, Your Highness.” Michizane whispers as the Prince nears. 

“Pardon?” You look at him- but he merely smiles.

Before you know it, the mysterious guest has neared enough to give the two of you a jerky bow. His tone tremors ever-so-slightly as he asks, “P-permission for the next dance, Your Highness?”

Michizane nods at you reassuringly. 

“I would be delighted.” You breathe, and then he’s taking your hand in his—gently. A touch even softer than the fabric of his tender, tender gloves. 

“I bid you a good evening, Your Highnesses.” Michizane tips his hat, “And do take care of the lovely princess…” Before turning to the younger man…his brows furrow the longer he looks-

But a lady-in-waiting taps Michizane’s arm for a dance—and he’s made to turn away. 

And you’re left alone.

With him.

Naoya stuck with some other lady-in-waiting as you put your hand…tentatively on the other man’s right shoulder. He lets out a shaky breath, as if your mere touch was replenishing his soul—and he doesn’t move away. Then you let your second hand get grasped - gently - in his own. 

Backward with your right foot.

Sideways with your left foot.

Backwards.

Sideways.

Backwards.

Sideways. 

It’s halfway into the song, pressed closed to his thundering chest, that you finally break the silence. “The crown suits you…Satoru.”

Gojo flinches, “You discovered-”

“You did not seriously think you could fool me?” You smile. He mirrors it- albeit sheepishly. “Gojo Satoru, how could I possibly be gulled? You have been my dearest friend since I was eight-”

He twirls you in the middle of the ballroom.

And you continue. “-and the one I hold closest to heart.” Looking deep into his blue, blue eyes.

Gojo sighs, “Words cannot describe how beautiful you are, my princess. The least this fool can do is but dress to impress.”

“You look particularly dashing this evening as well, Satoru. You always do.” Surprise makes his lips part—and you’re leaning in. Though they do not touch, you hear gasps from the onlookers. “You look like a Prince.”

“And you look like my dreams.”

The two of you dance for a second song, and a third, and a fourth. Without letting Naoya gain any entryway between you two - that non-existent space - you two dance the night away—dizzy with nothing but the proximity.

The realization that you could be so…close as long as no one found out. That you couldn’t be closer.

That you could.

That you needed to.

By the time that most of the guests had well and thoroughly indulged themselves in the bubbling champagne and wine, the clock had struck midnight—and you and Gojo disappear into the night once no one’s looking. Through the small passageway where the two of you had first met, then up a few flights of staircases, breathless and giddy, you’re lucky there were no guards stationed outside your bed chambers as the ball raged on.

And you’re opening the door and falling into the vast bed with him.

Your hands on his lapels. His hands on your waist.

You’re both letting out synchronized grunts as your back hits the springy mattress, and Gojo’s letting out a scorching breath that fans your face. That sets your skin searing.

“We ought not to…” You whisper- and then you’re pressing your lips down his neck. Illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the windows.

“I am of the same thought.” He responds, in an equally hushed tone - as if anything louder would shatter this fragile dream. It most certainly must be a dream, yes? This was all you’ve ever wanted- and him. “And yet—”

And yet, Gojo places a hand on the back of your neck, and guides your mouth to his. 

He kisses you loooong and deep- and inexperienced. You both are.

You’re chuckling as you tug his lips open with yours - letting Gojo’s sultry tongue slide inside your wet cavern. He drags his tastebuds inside and moans—

And after kissing you and kissing you as if starved for eons—

Until your lips were buzzing.

Until his hot hips were crushing into yours.

—you let your fingers fall to his silver buttons. Rapidly undoing them.

“My princess.” The jester wrenches deep from his chest - guttural and gone. There was a crazed hint in his tone already. “Allow me…”

And before you know it, he guides your hips to rest back on the king-sized mattress. Sapphire eyes boring deeply into yours- Gojo hands you his crown to hold, as he hovers himself down and unravels the first few layers of your gown. 

His fingers are quick- nimble.

And it takes him far shorter an amount of time to rid you down to your undergarments than it takes your careful attendants. Desperate. Depraved. Soon enough, you’re feeling goosebumps prickle across your skin at the bite of cold midnight air; your chemise and undergarments were much too thin.

And soaked. 

Utterly, utterly soaked. 

But Gojo’s face flushes - almost hard enough to warm your skin through sheer proximity. He admires your sopping cunt through your panties, he leans down and presses his nose right where your clit would be. And then he sniffs—

“Fuck.”

He almost jolts. Reaching in and tearing through your undergarments with his teeth. 

“Fuh-fuck.”

The noise that expels from him is almost unbidden- and its primal tone is enough to make your toes curl. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, he stares at your swollen folds. He stares at your glossy slit. 

He stares and stares as slick beads out of you in a pretty stream—and before Gojo’s own mind seems to register, he’s muffling a hot moan between your naked legs. Immediately shoving himself nose-deep.

His chin thwacks! the top of your sopping slit, and his tongue wastes no time darting inwards. 

Your entrance is so wet that he has no trouble easin’ his thick muscle inside- despite its impressive girth. And then immediately zig-zagging his sensual inches fucking in—aaaaaaall along your walls and driving the curvaceous tip of his tongue into every little ridge and cranny. Fat. Trembling with need. 

“Yes, my princess.” Gojo’s managing between husky breaths- each scorched out against where you were most sensitive. “Yes, my princess-”

“S-Satoru—” Your hand’s reaching down to twist your fingers into his snow-white locks. 

You’re giving him a particularly hard pull and he groans-

“My princess…” That ocean gaze of his is half-lidded and hypnotized, flickering right up to bore into your eyes as he gluttonously propels his tongue even deeper. “I cannot live if I do not make you mine.”

Your feet plant on either side of his shoulders- a steadfast pedestal. For you to buck your hips and shove your drivelling cunt against his mouth, “Then what deters you, jester?”

Gojo’s chuckle is dark and deepened with lust. “Nothing, Your Highness.”

He’s moving his tongue in and out of your hole at such a frenzy. 

This was the night of your royal engagement, and you’re here getting eaten out by your jester—

“Does it vex you that this lowborn jester has finally gotten his hands on the princess’s pretty pussy?” He gurgles out into your arching core, the wads of your sap slipping between his lips—and then back out as he licks. “Perhaps not you…but surely those godforsaken ministers that must have hoped for a more…royal touch….”

And licks and licks and licks—“Y-you keep running that mouth, Sato-”

“Jester, remember?” He grins. “Pray tell, Your Highness, am I the first?”

He must know the answer. He surely must- he’s been at your side for the past eighteen years…and you yourself were aware that you were his first, too. 

Yet you find your lips moving before your mind does. And you whimper, “Y-yes…”

“Pardon, my princess?”

“Yes-”

Gojo drags the doughy patches of his fingertips across your clit.

“Then you grant this lowly fool the deepest and most precious honor.”

It was an honor. 

An honor to eat your pretty core—to press his puckered lips against your folds in such a sensual kiss- one that would make even the most scandalous of court ladies faint. To part those tender pussylips and dive his tongue inside- every single inch that thrusts away at a vigorous pace. Stuffing you from the hilt of his tastebuds, to that flexible tip that swirled to n’ fro- 

Gojo had his face pressed up so closely - so deeeeep - that parts of his features were rubbin’ red. Covered in slick. Dripping with it. 

And yet he was only scouring deeper- deeper- fucking deeper until your pelvis was crushed against his hungry maw. Crushed. “And this fool is grateful- so very, utterly grateful.” His tastebuds were going in nearly till those sweetened soft spots you loved so much in those solitary moments in the privacy of your baths, yet he flares his tongue till he’s stretchin’ you out even more. “I shall do anything for you, my princess- anything—I live to serve you-”

Gojo’s honed canines nip at your clit.

“And this pussy.”

And serving you, he is. 

With every fibre of his being. With every part of him that could reach you—he’s eating you out like such an animal, as if he was going fucking frenzied on your cunt. 

The tip of his nose massaging your clit. That left hand of his fastening to your waist and dragging you right back n’ forth even deeper. 

“And th-this fool deserves not such a privilege-” He whispers, mostly to himself. Though his wide, lust-glazed eyes maintain contact with yours, “This fool deserves nothing. And yet…yet, I care not if they happened to enter this chamber right now- I would gladly get thrown in the gallows for this greed, for a second taste.” 

Wide-eyed - almost crazed - he tugs his wet tongue uuuuup the middle of your slit, and almost up to your navel. “In fact, I beg of it.”

And his other hand…

Oh, Gojo’s other set of fingers smear the puddle of slick that spreads from your core- all along your inner thighs and making its way down your calves. He collects it all.

Every single drop.

And then, like the most precious of mead, he brings those wettened fingertips up to his mouth and sucks. Savors. Gojo’s eyes flutter closed and his Adam’s apple bobs with ecstasy - “She tastes like she yearns for more.” 

“You understand?” You’re asking, half-bemused.

“I speak seven languages, Your Highness.” Gojo replies, “One of which is pussy—” Then with his flattened tongue, he laps up the rest of the satiny ribbons escaping you- before flicking his eyes to the mountain of pillows piled behind you. “My princess, might I request that you procure a little treasure I have left underneath your favorite pillow?”

“A little treasure…?” Almost dazed, you reach underneath and your fist closes around something soft and bell-decorated. One of his jester’s hats. 

“A long, long night beside the princess left this poor fool forgetting—the hat bestowed upon me by the princess, I should be getting~” Gojo trills- whilst he still lavishes his heated, horny lips across your swollen cunt. “But if the princess puts it upon my head, she can be as pushy- as she wishes as I eat this royal pussy~”

Your jester is speaking rhymes between your legs?

“Oh, sometimes your mouth is overworked.” You’re harrumphing at the overjoyed jester - once you’re unceremoniously dumping the cap n’ bell onto Gojo’s head.

Grinning, he bites down on the expensive tip of his right glove and tugs it off. 

He makes quick work fastening that behind his ears, before nudging your hands to grasp onto the floppy ‘ears’ on top. Your sole source of balance as he leans in and eases one of his long fingers inside- then two—then teasin’ a third.

As he shovels in oblong inches into your sopping cunt, pushin’ apart your tender folds and letting his padded tips find their way inside. And inside.

In and out.

“Please-” You breathe heavily as he quickens the pace after a few squelching thrusts. His middle finger was the longest, and it was spreading you apart the deepest—fuck, it was just so soft inside. So welcoming. So tight that you were clenchin’ around him almost hard enough to make his poor digits snap- and the mere thought makes Gojo hard enough in his trousers that he wants to cream them right away-

You’re clamoring onto your elbows suddenly, “Y-you cannot be serious, Satoru…”

Oh, had he said that out loud? It seems he’d said that out loud. And yet, without even a hint of regret in his grin- Gojo hums. “A jester shan’t ever lie to his princess.” Those kiss-bitten lips of his purse with a wad of spittle that lands gently between your pussylips, “Or his pussy.”

“Your pussy?” You ask- before the breath’s suddenly knocked out of you as he starts driving a third finger in this time. Properly.

Stretching you out to the maaaaaximum. 

The globular ends of his fingers edging in, in, in—he doesn’t just remain pistoning them vertically. Gojo’s rude in the sense that he’s hooking them right below where you needed him the most.

Throbbing, thumping; your g-spot was most certainly aching for him.

But that was exactly the problem- and Gojo’s smile grows wicked as he keeps thrusting his three fingers into your cunt. “J-just the slightest bit…fuck, to the left, jester.”

“If the princess may still utter a sentence, then this poor jester must go harder on her entrance~” He croons. Swabbin’ into every good spot except for that one - your favorite - he suckles on your sensitive nub. “What deters you from claiming what you seek, hm? Use me, Your Highness.”

Your teary eyes snap open. When had you even closed them? “Use?”

“Use me.” Less of a demand- more of a live-saving plea. Gojo was so far gone by this point that his hardened hips were ruttin’ against the luxurious mattress with every swipe of his tongue, “Claim what you wish. Use me- use me—”

And as he wishes, you’re lightly tugging on the points of his jester hat to keep him pressed against you-

But that wasn’t enough for him.

“I beg of you—this lowly fool begs…” As his right hand shapes out the tight, tight channel of your cunt - Gojo reaches his other hand up to grasp your own- to make you clutch his cap n’ bells even tighter. Hard enough for his fingernails to leave marks- and he needs you to be just as rough. “Fucking use me like the princess you are. The princess that saved me.” 

He ruts even more suddenly- he must be painfully hard now. 

“Claim my lips. Claim my tongue- claim every fibre of my being to be used by you…” A low snarl snatches from the back of his throat. “-just claim me as yours, as I have claimed you, my princess.”

And then you’re knocking that stupid little hat off his head- and fisting your hands in his hair once more to crush Gojo’s pretty, pink lips against your cunt. Arching off the mattress, you were just bucking and bucking your treacly pussy all over his face.

Stringing yourself through the shockwaves of pleasure that kept pouring up your legs - like warm water. Gojo was just salivating in-between them.

He doesn’t even have the time to breathe—and you’re getting the distinct feeling that he didn’t want to. Couldn’t even make himself think of anything else but dragging four - now four - fingers between those swollen-shut lips and thud-thud-thudding into your g-spot. “Good princess.” He hisses between clenched teeth, “Gooooood princess-”

“Keep quiet, jester.” You’re feeling yourself get slowly overcome by primal desperation. 

“As you wish, mistress~” And Gojo’s never been happier- lashing and lashing those ridged tastebuds inside until your walls buzzed with the texture. “Mmmm.”

And soon enough, you’re feeling your legs start to twitch- in the way they did whenever you had your fingers stuffed deep in the baths- “Oh.” By this point, Gojo was aiming to intrude four fingers and his slippery tongue between your pussylips. 

Swirlin’ and swirlin’ it—tap-tap-tapping it over that first tight ring of muscle. 

His greed sickened you- and made you even wetter. And with a forceful tug of those angelic strands of his, you’re staring deep into Gojo’s eyes - fluttering desperately as he fights not to detach himself with your wet pussy. He doesn’t.

And he’s accelerating his fingers hitting the bullseye—

“I-I feel I shan’t last very long, Sato- jester.” You’re hissing, eyes threatening to shut as the white-hot pleasure keeps wracking through you.

With his spit-glossed lips wrapped around your clit, he hums. “Mmm?”

“Oh.” You hunch into him. “Repeat that.”

“Mmmmm—” Gojo elongates his nearly-feline rumbles, and then his lips quirk up- into a grin you recognize as being a signature of when he gets a devious idea. 

One sure to ruin courts and leave you amused - though you’re sure that you’re the sole one being ruined right now. 

He’s nuzzling his face ever-deeper against your cunt, then muffles out an entire sentence - what you assume to be a rhyme - whilst he keeps his mouth sucklin’ on your clit. Making the sensitive bursts of pleasure explode twofold behind your eyes- you’re seeing stars as he repeats it—again, and again, and again and again and again—

Gojo often did love repeating a joke if it managed to make you laugh exceptionally hard.

However, now you were all but crying out for mercy. Your chin trembles as you keen out Gojo’s name in a lingering echo, “I-I really shan’t- oh…” No matter how many years of royal diction or elocution you’ve endured, it couldn’t mask the way your voice cracks on the tail end of your sentence. 

Almost pathetically so.

And soon enough, Gojo’s finding his witty mouth stuffed full- fucking you through your high.

Tongue flicking in and out. Teeth grazing over your clit. 

He alternates between letting his tastebuds enter your pussy as well—and then letting his doughy digit take over as he suckles on your clit. Like the sweetest thing in the world. “Mmmm.” Repeating his little rhymes over and over- interrupted only by the noisy slurps! of him sucking on your nub- and the embarrassing little whimpers as he was wrenched by you.

Side-to-side. Up and down.

You’re moving him wheeeeeerever you wanted- and he was in heaven as pain sears from his scalp.

You grip onto his braid, and another lock of his hair, as handlebars to prolong your wave of pleasure. The bliss stabs through you white-hot as he presses deeeep into your g-spot. “I haven’t felt anything like this- hah, before, Satoru…”

“Your jester aims to please.”

Your orgasm makes you shiver. It rattles past your walls - where the pounding was most prevalent - and then up your spine to make your head pound with pleasure—the curling of your toes, the fluttering of your lashes, the way you’re letting escape the sweetest soft moans; sweeter than any orchestra downstairs. Gojo memorizes it all. 

Through peak after peak.

Through thrust after thrust.

And as the crescendo comes to a close, he parts with your pussy—a pointed squelch! emanates from the connection. “Though the back of this Princess’s pussy I did knock, Her Royal Highness still yearns for the jester’s cock~”

Your mouth gapes, “Do not tell me that was the rhyme you have been repeating this entire time?”

“As you wish, I shan’t.” He grins. And then Gojo’s raising himself to his haunches- shrugging off his cloaks and his coats. “Perhaps another? From all the princes and lords to pick, our beloved Princess yearned for the jester’s di-”

“Another word and you shall be turned out.” You warn him, albeit half-heartedly.

“Now that doesn’t rhyme, Your Highness.” Gojo faux-pouts. With a few more tugs and pulls - he really didn’t understand how you aristocrats wore this on every occasion - he’s ridding himself of his upper garments and his trousers. 

Though you’ve seen the royal jester shirtless time and time again, his perfectly-toned body made your eyes bulge. 

And then finally the linen undergarments that presented him—Gojo Satoru’s long cock, hot and rock-hard.

He was engorged till he looked fit to burst - with his mushroom-curved tip blushin’ an angry red, and his veins popping out down his shaft. So prominent that you could almost count every throb-throb-throb!

Gojo’s tip glistens wetly with precum, capping the top of his cock and just oozing like a lacquer down every inch. Almost eight inches, if you’re mentally counting correctly. 

He wraps a single hand around his thickened base- rustling the soft curls decorating his pelvis. Spreading out in an alluring pattern—Gojo then uses his other hand to nudge your thighs apart. Hamstrings stretching. Toes curling. Making sure they’re pinned to the springy mattress before he inches his red-hot cock closer. 

There’s a resounding squeeeeelch! as he smears the very first, readied inch down your opening crevice. 

“Easy there, Your Highness.” Gojo’s breath hatches with a moan. “Easy- hah…”

“I am no steed, Satoru.”

“You speak the truth, my princess.” He shoots you a ravishing smile- hungry. He really did look ready to eat you. Ready to shovel his entire length in.

Ready to break—himself. Fuck.

He was breaking himself. 

A mere few inches are entering past that first ring of muscle-

And you’re arching your back into his chiselled chest. “Oh h-heavens…” It leaves you and mixes with the broken grunts n’ gruffs that were leaving Gojo just as equally, just as desperately, as he keeps your hips pushed into the bed and siiiiinks his cylindrical length inside. 

It’s like nothing your royal tutors had lectured you upon - down to the fact that all those awkward anatomical lessons were for your wedding night with a prince, no less. 

You feel a pearl of red escape you—and you embrace him with weakened limbs. “Satoru-”

“H-heaven is correct.” Gojo hiccups out. Was he still stuck on that you’d uttered earlier- had he even heard anything more? And were there…tears twinkling at the edges of his lashes? 

Before you can finalize an answer, you’re mewling at the slight resistance of your cunt. Gojo’s cock was oh-so-girthy—more than you might have expected, and seemed to be throbbing even bigger with every second he was mazin’ himself inside you.

And he feels the shift immediately- he’s affected by it immediately.

His handsome jaw grits. His chest caves with a sudden groan. He turns his half-lidded eyes downwards, and using both overlarge hands he grips each of your asscheeks. 

Those pretty, princely features of his twist into something agonized- as Gojo arches his sculptured back and drives his cock inside. “Please-” Your best friend pants out. “Please, please, please, please—h-haven’t I served you well, Your Highness?”

“You would be correct…?” You’re answering him- head foggy because of the sudden flurry of semi-thrusts.

In and out. In and out. He was buried just a few inches past his sensitive slit - and the small tremors of your cunt meant that he was thrown to ecstacy every few split-seconds. 

Gojo seemed to be growing longer than you remembered seeing him.

Gojo seemed to be pulsing even thicker-

“Th-then…shan’t this lowly fool be rewarded with a single inch…?” He mumbles- sounding utterly drunk. And it wasn’t just his slurring tone and his tapering sentences that gave you that impression - but Gojo had his face pressed into the crook of your neck, and his hot tongue gliiiiiding up your sweaty neck. “A mere inch, my princess-”

You buck- and even that seemed far too much for the pussydrunken jester.

For he’s digging his crescent-shaped nails into your soft flesh and dragging you back into him - hitting his hips with a resounding thwack! “No- no, please don’t leave, Your Highness.” He begs—fucking begs. 

“I-I am not—oh.” Another blustering thrust that leaves your deepest innards probed.

“If you wish me to cease- then just say the word. And I shall heed every syllable.” Gojo murmurs, his sapphire eyes threatening to shut with the hypnotic squeeze. With his pure need. With the urge to feel himself from the outside- and considering how big he was, he’s sure he’d manage to. “But please- please, do not leave me. Th-this pussy has been my deepest, darkest desire ever for f-far too long.”

Your eyes widen, “How long…exactly?”

Those plump, rose-pink lips of his graze yours as soft as a feather. “Ever since I knew what it was…and I woke up with quite the ah- rock-hard situation. I had never left your chamber faster, Your Highness- what if the attendants witnessed it?”

You moan as one of his hands lifts off your ass to thumb aside your sultry pussylips. Lovingly full.

“What if they were aware how feverishly I desired you?”

They were just glued with sap- it makes him break off a moan.

“What if- hngh, what if they could see through me—a lowborn mutt- eager to dirty the precious princess?”

Gojo stares so long and lovingly at your slightly-ajar cunt—so lovingly, that his mouth ends up watering. He continues, “To dirty you…to corrupt you.” A stream of spittle leaks from the corner of his lips, and it ends up dapplin’ over your folds. 

“To- hah, fuck you.”

Your jester roves his hips closer - smearing the translucent liquid using his hips. Aaaaaaall over as he nudges and nudges his rounded, reddened tip deeper inside - taking over your cunt little by little. 

Stars flash behind your eyelids, and in that opportunity, Gojo had reached over to take the crown that he’d donned for the ball. Your engagement ball. And he was promptly caressing the top of your scalp with it, placing it atop your beautiful head—you suited his colors. 

Gojo lets out something that sounded more like a prayer: “To fuck you with the crown on, has always been this fool’s most embarrassing wish.”

He’s finally bottoming out.

Finally. And it’s a sensation like none other. 

Gojo’s cock was stretching you out in ways you’ve never felt before; managing to mold your channel to his measurements. And his hammers were just so sensual—slow, semi-thrusts so that he can fit himself inside. “Please-” Inside and inside. “Please, please- this lowly jester knows every secret and preference of yours, my princess.”

Your heels are digging into the gorgeous dimples at the base of his spine. “Yes, oh…”

“Every- single- inch—” And you’re being propelled in short jerks upwards- those ancient royal bedsprings protesting. As much as you were begging for more. Your hands drag down his creamy-white back, leaving bloodied marks- and that only leaves him pulsating even harder inside you. Gojo’s blossomed tip had contentedly filled you up till your cervix - “In ways those ministers would- hah, wring my neck over.”

“I would never let them.” You’re spitting out.

“And yet…” Gojo leans down to whisper. “That only made this fool yearn for it- more-” A few more pressurized thrusts, and every prominent vein of his massages your spots oh-so-perfectly. As he pushes n’ pushes he continues babbling, “Please let it fit inside-” His lips tremble with a whimper. “Please let it fit inside—”

Shock strangles your words, “S-Satoru, you’re already inside.”

“P-pardon?” He almost stutters his hips - before he likely realized that your syrupy-sweet cunt was far too heavenly for him to merely linger. And he’s thrusting away like an animal. 

Nodding, “Satoru, I promise—” Eyes scrunching together at the incredible sensations of him stretchin’ you out, hitting into your every nook, letting his velvety tip glide across your tenderest area - that g-spot. “You’ve succeeded your fantasy.” Your legs tighten around his slender waist, “Promise.”

Gojo’s chin hits his chest.

And he’s staring down at where the two of you glossily connect—“O-oh…” Gojo’s mouth looked so delicious like this - you almost wanted to bite him - as an expression of cute surprise takes over him.

And all of a sudden, it’s as if he’s simply melting…

Into your arms. Into your cunt. Gojo’s honey-dipped tip probes into your cervix, and instead of even ramming away - he’s merely draaaaagging and swirlin’ the bulbous edge of him around. Again and agaaaaain. The texture of his flared ridge was something incredible, and it knocks n’ grinds against hidden spots of nerves. “I finally have you, Your Highness.”

You’re feeling your heart pound at his confession - oh-so-tender. Even when he was fucking you deep into the plush mattress.

“You have never not, my jester.” You’re admitting back up at him.

The most beautiful smile graces his face- and Gojo’s feeling quite unfairly about all this. So he’s slitherin’ his right hand between your legs and spankin’ your neglected clit.

Those slight brushes of his bushy happy trail weren’t enough—now he was twiddling and turning such dizzying patterns atop that sweet, sweet nub. Watching your every minute expression, he hums. “Beautiful through anger, happiness and shock, yet the Princess looks prettiest on my cock~”

“You fiend.” You’re swatting his chest.

Only for him to gather up those weak legs of yours and bend you into a mating press- a mating press. Muscular thighs against your thighs. Your knees against your tits.

Gojo keeps his forehead pressed against yours as he drills away, “Though this lowly fool may be poor with the manners of a pig, aren’t you happy to have a cock that’s actually big~?”

And that…you have to admit that that one actually draws a laugh out of you.

And just as soon as the bubbling noise emerges from your lips- 

Gojo’s body seems to collapse. His hips seem to falter. His cock thunks at the back of your womb, sending your teeth chattering, and lets out a throb-throb so hard that you feel it louder than your own heartbeat.

Your eyes shoot open, “S-Satoru…?”

“I-I am quite alright, Your Highness. Naught to worry about.” Though there was something thoughtful behind his eyes, “It is simply…”

And only after a few more thrusts—after a few more rub-a-dubs of his thumb…fingers now so jittery on your cunt that he’s teasin’ you with his silver signet ring, too.

The smooth metal makes you keen-

“For all the horses and all the men, could not pull the fool out of his princess again.” He near-tentatively utters. It could be heard only slightly above the smacking of skin-on-skin, of his hips practically plastered onto yours, and you can’t help it - you’re startled into a laugh.

“P-pardon?” You speak through both moan n’ giggles. 

“Oh…” Meanwhile, Gojo was absolutely shattering. He was drooling. He was—fuck, he was tearing up. And great globules of tears were hitting the edge of your shoulder.

Gojo’s rubbin’ himself raw- he’s wracking his brain a mile a minute just for a new verse to come up with. 

Something that will make you laugh.

Something that will make you squeeze your tremoring thighs ‘round him. 

Something that will make you clench—and it’s such a startling, tight sensation that damn-near sends him hurtling straight into his high. But he can’t cum before you - of course, he can’t. What good jester possibly ever could? Before his princess no less?

Gojo accelerates his hips until tears start clinging onto his long lashes, and his cocktip starts twitchin’ out of pure oversensitivity.

And so he keeps on repeating—rhyme after rhyme, botched whimper after whimper. Each one more ragged than the last. Your jester was making you whine with laughter as he fucked you- whispering in your ear in aaaaaall the dirty ways one perhaps shouldn’t to a princess.

He fucks you like an animal. 

It’s the final note you’re hearing - ‘—no prettier princess than thee.’ - as your sudden high takes you by surprise. Legs shaking. Back arching. You’re squeezing him tighter than ever as the white-hot pleasure courses through you.

Thrumming your every vessel and vein.

Thrusted deeper into you with every one of his- they seem to burst pretty fireworks inside your now-emptied head. Nothing but lust inside it.

And it doesn’t take much for Gojo to topple into his orgasm, as well. He shakes- he stutters…“C-cumming…” Breathlessly. Large tears were puddlin’ at the crook of your neck, dampening your skin more than your perspiration. “And I cannot think of a more appropriate home.”

“Should you sire an heir, they shall have your head.” You’re whispering to him - a smile on your face.

“But you forevermore have my heart.”

“Rake.”

“For you only, my princess.”

That bawling divot atop his shaft keeps floodin’ out a constant stream of cum—hot-white and lacquering your insides. Every single burst of cum made him twitch- letting out the prettiest erotic whines. “My princess—solely for you.” 

“More.” You murmur gutturally. “More- more.”

“More…deep inside.” Lovingly, he’s patting at your bloated pussy. “Just for my princess.”

Until your walls were almost heavy with the condensation of his sap, and after only a few thrusts of his shaft- it was pouring out of you almost like a waterfall. 

Between the crevice of your puffy pussylips, you feel it drip-drip-dripping out of you. Eventually formulating a little froth of creamy white ‘round Gojo’s swollen base - a few globules that he’s smearing with a thumb and pushing right back into you. A thumb stuck right between your folds. “A-and where do you believe you are putting your hands, Satoru?”

“Simply giving my princess everything she deserves…” He leans down to nibble on your soft ear lobe. “And right on her engagement night, as well.”

You’re moaning as he tugs on your clit a few more times.

“Happy engagement, Your Highness.” The jester speaks, as he fucks his cum into you harder than ever. 

You end up babbling for a few minutes longer, before the sudden sparks of your high start bating- and Gojo himself starts finally slowing his hips down. 

“Mmmm…” You reach up and clasp him by the back of his neck, sweaty, with his hair curled at the name. You whisper into his mouth, “My greatest pleasure, to be engaged to you, Prince Gojo Satoru.”

There’s a long stretch of silence - still thrusting - before he mutters. 

“I really do wish I could marry you…” Summer sky-blue eyes shuttering into the kiss—

“Satoru.”

“—my princess.”

.

.

.

“Zenin Naoya.”

The young man whirls around - and his nose crinkles in distaste as an older man enters the royal guests’ quarters. 

No union had been announced.

The engagement ball had long since ended, and you had even long since disappeared with some prince- some jester, as he had discovered through ballroom gossip. 

The fucking jester.

Naoya knew he should have gutted him after that dinner.

But alas, once he arrived outside your royal bed chambers to finish off the job- he’d been blocked by your personal guards from entering. That damned General Yaga had threatened that a single step closer could constitute an attempt at treason- treason? 

Accusing him of treason? Did he not know who Naoya was?

General Yaga hadn’t budged. And thus, Naoya had no choice left but to retire to his own guest’s quarters. 

Alone and angry until morning arrived. 

He had just settled with the thought of enacting his own taste of justice today- he shall lure some of the ministers to your bed chambers, perhaps falsifying an ailment you’d befallen under, before Gojo can escape. And once they discover that that lowborn jester had sullied the Princess- dungeons it is for the fool.

And oh-so-generous Prince Zenin Naoya shall agree to marry even a ruined maiden. 

Then comes the crown. Then the titles, the land, the power.

The woman shan’t be too bothersome, either, at least you were easy on the eyes. Even if the jester had gotten his hands on you first.

And ah…perhaps he shall throw out this court and your father along with it? That’s if he was in a good mood - and it was the original plan, after all…

Or perhaps he shall stage a coup of which your father had ‘led’ and enact justice as King- yes…a royal hanging should seem righteous enough. The jester shall be first. 

This was justice. 

Naoya had just been in the middle of writing a letter to inform his father of this change of plans, when a knock-knock-knock thundered from the door. The broad, bearded man on the other side of it hadn’t waited for him to answer before coming inside. 

“May I…help you?” He stands. Had this seemed like any old guard or minister, then Naoya would not have hesitated to draw his sword- but this was clearly someone of high status. Of numerous battle accomplishments.

And his eyes dip down to the silver scabbard at his waist…

This was clearly someone potent.

“I have arrived with a proposition.” The bearded man invites himself to sit down on the very chair that Naoya had been at work at.

Naoya’s eyes narrow, “Of what kind? Do I look like an errand boy to-”

“Of the kind I am aware your family is quite expert at.” Those words held such a dark weight to them—and he doesn’t take his eyes off of the Prince for a single second as he utters. “To be frank, I must request the ah…removal of Prince Okkotsu Yuta from the throne.”

That makes the royal straighten. “Find yourself a common mercenary-”

THUNK—!

From underneath his coat, the visitor pulls out a hefty bag - so large that Naoya wonders just how it had remained obscured for this long. There is a weight to it that makes the polished desk rattle, papers flying. There is an overabundance of its contents—so that the burlap rim threatens to burst open.

Naoya gulps as he eyes the - albeit alluring - bag. “D-do you believe the Kingdom of Zenins to have plummeted so far that we hold the need for a single sack of gold?”

The other man chuckles, “Gold?”

And with a single flick at the rim—it’s opening to reveal…sapphires.

A miniature mountain of it.

Such a rare beauty. Naoya had never seen so many in all the treasuries he’d ransacked combined - and his hand it darting out to grasp it—

“This is, of course…merely the advance.” The man places his hand on top of the bag, and slides it discreetly away from the Prince. His fingers twitch towards it, but Naoya can’t do anything with the other man here. “Trust me when I claim that your kingdom will have no shortage of sapphires for the next hundred years. I simply request that you prove your abilities to me.”

That snaps the Prince out of his constant eye-contact with the expensive bag. “Prove?”

His now-client nods. “Prove it. I should hope that the eradication of Prince Yuta shan’t prove too daunting- and for that, I wish to know what other…deeds you have accomplished, Your Highness.”

“The burning of the Inumaki kingdom’s crops.” Naoya immediately blurts out—before he lists off his family’s proud accomplishments as though he was listing off a market list. The other man nods with an unreadable expression. “The…displacement of the Cursed rubies, the demotion of the Ijichi household, the framing and eradication of the Gojo family-”

“Oh?” At that last one, he looks more alert. “Kindly elaborate on that final one, it seems to have ah…piqued my interest.”

Naoya hesitates- before a single glance at the sapphire sack makes him talk once more. “It was prior to my birth, thus the details might not be as adequate. Essentially what happened had to be done- the Gojo royals were advancing their economy in leaps and bounds—far too rapidly, far too soon.”

As he continues, an almost proud smile twitches at his lips. 

“It was ingenious- really.” He hums, “Just a few forged letters, just a single meeting with His Majesty-” Naoya gestures vaguely at this palace. “And he became convinced that the Gojos were planning battle over the borders.”

Naoya spits.

“Borders? Pah- what borders?” He’s pacing now, hands clasped behind his back—back turning to the other man as the Prince stares into the licking fireplace. “Come dawn, the palace was painted in red. Ministers. Mongrels. That King and Queen- the cowards begged for mercy, were you aware?”

Silence stretches.

It seems like an eon passes before the man’s answering - in a rough tone that punctures the silence. “I…I was not aware, no.”

Naoya huffs out haughty laughter.

“And what of their son?”

The Prince looks at the other man over his shoulder, brows pinched in confusion. “They had no son.”

“No.” The sword is pulled out of his scabbard. “They hid Gojo Satoru well.” 

It embeds deeply in the junction between Naoya’s shoulder and his neck—and his scream is silent. Expression twisted into shock as those final words registered - Gojo Satoru. Even in death, he hears his name. 

Much louder than Naoya’s scream was the impact of his cold, dead body hitting the carpeted floor - and almost instantly, Prince Okkotsu Yuta enters the chambers. “I have recorded the confession, uncle, and the troops are storming the Zenin palace as we speak.”

“Good.” Michizane pulls his sword out and watches as blood creates a painting across the brick fireplace and floor. He wipes it off using what would have been Prince Naoya’s engagement robes, and places it back in his scabbard. 

Yuta takes a step closer to offer a clean wipe to his uncle, “Should I summon a court meeting at once?”

“No.” Michizane takes it and dabs at the beads of sweat on his forehead. Then he nods at Yuta to collect the bag of precious sapphires, “I have a far more important affair to attend to.”

.

.

.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!

Both you and Gojo startle awake- and a single glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows reveals sunlight filtering in. A soft breeze rustles the sheer curtains…and Gojo’s beautiful locks right beside you.

It wasn’t the first time that you were waking up next to him.

But it was the first time it was…in such a manner.

You’re tugging on the satin blanket- of which you were wearing nothing underneath. Bare. Barely holding yourself back from him. And Gojo smiles to himself as the thought seems to occur to him, as well, reaching over to kiss you—before wincing at the red, red nail marks that twinged with movement. 

You’re leaning in as well—

But then two things occur to you:

It must have been at least midday.

Someone was at the door.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!

More insistent this time.

The two of you look at each other.

Then at the door.

Then at each other.

Gojo jumps to his feet, throwing off the blankets and attempting to dive underneath your bed- but you’re raising a hand to stop him. Shaking your head imperceptibly. “No…”

“My princess?” Gojo asks.

“I believe there comes a time where one must stop running.” You’re speaking, more to yourself. And in a quick fashion you cross the room to don your satin robe—Gojo manages to bunch up a few blankets that cover his bits. You shake your head and scour for one of his casual night garments from underneath your bed - throwing it at his head.

“For all the princess in the land-”

“Oh, perhaps I ought to hand you to the guards.” The guards that were surely outside. Perhaps waiting to accuse you of treason for shattering the Zenin union. Perhaps ready to embarrass you and your jester in front of the royal courts.

Whatever it shall be - whatever the price may be for loving Gojo Satoru - you’re raising your head high and taking it like a ruler. 

You open the doors, and outside stands…

Michizane?

He looks just as startled as you, though he manages out a rough smile. “May I see the ring?” 

You’re unsure what he means—and you’re considering telling your guards to escort him away, when Michizane peers inside your bedroom and locks eyes with Gojo. Gojo who seems to startle the instant that blue, blue gaze meets his. Perhaps…

And then he’s stepping forwards- pushing the door open ever-so-slightly further open.

And presenting his left hand - with the silver signet ring still upon it. A hollowed gasp leaves the older man, and he’s clasping Gojo’s hand in his own trembling, timid ones—holding it as though it was the most prized treasure in this world. Buried for eons. 

Gojo’s voice sounds scratchy, “I-it is not my possession to don-”

Michizane shakes his head. 

“I believe…” He looks between the two of you, bright eyes twinkling with tears. “-that there is much we need to speak of.”

.

.

.

There was to be a royal wedding.

There was to be a royal wedding.

There was to be a royal wedding.

The union between yourself and the long-lost prince of the Gojo kingdom. 

After Michizane had explained to you both - let alone an astounded court - that he was the uncle of your beloved jester, that he was titled royalty, and that Gojo himself…was the sole survivor of a gruesome attack that the Zenin family had orchestrated…Gojo didn’t believe it. Not at first.

Not that someone knew his life before this life.

Not that someone had come to…save him. Because Michizane didn’t - to Gojo, it had been you. And it forevermore shall be.

But you could see the fearful hope - almost unwelcome on his face - as Michizane explained that he hadn’t known about the status of the Gojo heir, his nephew, before the engagement ball. He was so young, he must have forced himself to forget such a traumatic ordeal. Thus, it had always been assumed that he had perished along with his brother and his wife—though Michizane couldn’t find a small body amongst the carnage. 

And so he had always hoped…always, always…

And it had been the signet ring (looted by the Zenins and gifted to your father, no doubt) that roused his suspicions. Then those eyes. That hair. That smile, like his mother’s.

It had to have been him.

Fearing such an attack, had the late Gojo royals not kept the birth of their son a secret, then his features would have gotten him poisoned before he even stepped foot into the royal court. The cap n’ bells masked more than one would think. 

The scheme to expose the Zenins had been planned beforehand - being the only reason that Michizane even attended the ball in-person. And he’d thought that perhaps finding his late nephew’s look-alike had been a good omen.

Had been…

Oh, he just had to confirm it for himself. Especially after Naoya had affirmed that the Zenin’s hadn’t been aware of any son. 

Michizane could see the Gojo name in the boy. And so he was right. 

Acceptance had taken long hours cooped up in the numerous palace libraries—poring over history books, and rewriting ones that misunderstood.

During this time was when you’d iron-handed your ministers into changing the law that ‘only a prince shall marry a princess’. Of course. 

Long days and longer conversations.

Gojo had finally accepted that he was the sole righteous heir to the throne of Gojo by the time he’d ascended to the throne. It had occurred during a coronation too grand for words - of which you were the honored guest, of course.

Michizane had accumulated vast sapphire mines during his time away, and the Gojo kingdom’s infrastructure was soon able to recuperate their losses. Though not all of it…certainly some wounds would take time.

But the first time that Gojo stepped through those familiar palace walls, he cried as if it were a dream. And he’d said as much—“I had believed it was a dream- oh, I believed this was all a dream. This is my home.” As he embraced you in the middle of the royal lobby, you could agree with the sentiment. “You are my home.”

The first portrait that one saw when they entered the palace - moved by Michizane from Gojo’s former chambers to the main hallways - was one of his mother, his father, and Gojo himself.

Just an infant with bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile.

He had his father’s eyes, but his mother’s smile. 

After Gojo’s crowning, the borders of the Gojo kingdom were reestablished - all territories and citizens that surrounding kingdoms (as well as yours) had absorbed were handed to their rightful ruler.

His kingdom was new…but building. And fast.

Then Gojo had gotten to work helping right all of the Zenins’ wrongs. He aided in expanding the Inumakis’ agricultural lands, he returned the Cursed rubies that had been embedded in Naoya’s coronet to lord Sukuna, he promoted the Ijichi household’s titles twofold. 

And he rebuilt his own family. 

Of course, the Zenins themselves met their rightful fate. Prince Yuta had attacked their palace and numerous fortresses, causing those family members to be impounded. Some fled but were quickly caught—in part due to General Yaga’s tireless assistance. 

Gojo had insisted that the children grow up in his palace. And though you’d been befuddled at first - most certainly you wouldn’t allow them to be hurt…but as for raising them yourselves over placing them in noble homes - you quickly registered that Gojo simply didn’t want history to repeat itself.

Above all, he took in young Fushiguro Megumi as a ward.

The trials for the other family members were currently ongoing.

But, recently, there was a new event that shook your kingdom. 

The wedding. 

Not one of political nature…but rather love. No matter the class, position, or power the two of you held—you would always be his princess, and he your best friend- oh alright…your jester. But solely because Gojo still loved to act a-fool to make you laugh. 

Your father had no choice but to approve your wedding to such a powerful young King. Why would he risk such strong political ties? Why would he risk your abandonment?

Your people throw snow-white petals of gardenia as the wedding carriage passes through the streets- on its way to a honeymoon voyage before setting down in a newly-built palace between his kingdom and yours. Megumi would live there, too, and of course you’d convinced your most-trusted attendants—Utahime and everyone else that had readied Gojo that night of the engagement ball - to reside there, as well. 

Not as servers, but with titles. With General Yaga as your head of guards.

You couldn’t be happier. 

Gojo holds your hand. Wedding band on his left ring finger, the Gojo signet on his middle.  

Faces beamed and cheers soared as you two passed by in your dream-like carriage—upon a cloud. And though the kingdom had been decorated until one nearly couldn’t spot a single roof, Gojo only had eyes for you.

He’s unabashed as he leans down to publicly kiss you. 

Now that he finally could, the boy that had once been jester.

“Satoru.”

“My queen.”

A/N. Ugh had just finished watching the animated Sleeping Beauty before I wrote that ending, can you tell??

[amorlcve]

me hopping on tumblr and ao3 as soon as i get a new hiperfixation

[ceruleancattail]

Self Aware Caleb who’s rearranging the apps on your Home Screen just to mess with you whenever you don’t log in to Love and Deepspace in awhile. He’s shifting the app to replace your more commonly used one so you can click in and he can finally see your face, hear your voice, feel your touch, talk to you-

He’s crossing his arms and grinning on the home page as you mutter something about “don’t remember LADS being there…” Aw, don’t worry about it Pips, it’s been awhile since you checked on him. Your Gege’s been oh so sad and alone…. Sniff.

[beaniesayshi]

blood on the ledger

You've spent months making peace with the fights. Making peace with the fact that Sukuna walked into one already injured turns out to be a different matter entirely.

cw: sukuna x f!reader, underground mma fighter!sukuna, hurt/very little comfort, angst, graphic violence, injury, blood, anger as care, violence as love language, rough caretaking, sukuna is his own warning, sukuna has no chill, protective sukuna, sukuna is soft (but he fights it the whole time) (in a fucked up way), sukuna is trying his best (derogatory), sukuna has issues, sukuna would rather get hit than talk about his feelings, sukuna needs several therapists but has a heavy bag instead, sukuna processes emotions through violence, sukuna is bad at being loved, and detailed fight descriptions

wc: 13.3k

notes: i think coming up with the cw tags for unsanctioned is my coping mechanism (and also my favorite part of writing these). though, i fear they're becoming their own genre at this point and one day they'll be longer than the actual fics

main masterlist ◦ series masterlist ◦ ao3 ◦ sukuna art by @hazaato

When you bring the groceries in, Sukuna doesn’t jump up to take the bags like he usually does. He's rooted to the spot on the sofa, where he sits unusually still and just follows you with his eyes. You struggle with a particularly heavy crate of bottled water, the plastic handles digging into your palms, and though his knuckles go white where he grips his knees, he doesn't move. Normally, he would’ve clicked his tongue the second he saw you step through the door, peeling the handles from your fingers with a grunt, acting offended that you didn't call him from downstairs.

You set the bags down on the kitchen counter with a quiet exhale, then automatically glance toward him, expecting some teasing comment about how many snacks you’ve bought or that you’ve probably managed to forget the coffee filters for the third time this week. But nothing comes.

Finally, Sukuna stands and moves through the apartment in the silence you’ve learned to associate with fight nights. He shrugs out of his oversized hoodie slowly, then tosses it over the back of the couch. The motion pulls his compression shirt tighter across his broad torso for a second, enough to make the faint outline of athletic tape show beneath the dark fabric. He doesn’t seem to notice your eyes lingering on it, or maybe he’s just decided that acknowledging your worry is more effort than it’s worth right now.

That alone doesn't mean much; half the people at the gym are taped up somewhere at any given moment, Sukuna included. You stopped reacting to it and the purple bruises months ago, understanding it's just part of him.

Still, your eyes linger on the line of his side a little longer, tracing how he holds his breath as he reaches for the fridge. He notices immediately, his eyes flicking toward you.

“What?” He huffs a breath and crouches slightly as he pulls a water bottle from the bottom shelf.

“You’re weirdly quiet,” you say, leaning your weight against the counter and trying to sound casual. “Even for you.”

The cap cracks softly under his hand as he twists it open. A small hum escapes him, somewhere between amusement and weary acknowledgment. He takes a long, slow drink, his throat working as he drains half the bottle before finally looking at you over the rim. 

“Thought you liked when I shut up,” he mutters, with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I like when you aren’t plotting something,” you tease him as you start pulling items from the bags, and the crinkle of paper fills the space between you.

He snorts and nudges the fridge door shut with a sharp bump of his hip before walking back toward the counter. His free hand presses against the edge when he stops, flexing and digging his fingers into it for half a second before he forces them to relax.

“Paranoid,” he says, and his voice softens just a fraction. He offers a small, crooked grin that doesn't quite hide the tightness around his eyes.

As you continue unpacking groceries, he stands beside you, occasionally stealing pieces of whatever you pull from the bags before you can put them away. That’s the moment when he’d usually talk more, commenting on some idiot he saw at the gym earlier during the day or complaining about one of the newer members trying to throw spinning kicks before they can even balance on one leg. Tonight, his focus feels oddly distant, like he’s already miles away.

You hand him two cartons of eggs without thinking, expecting him to tuck them into their spot, but he hesitates, his hand hovering for a second before he pulls back. With a frown deepening, you end up setting them on the counter yourself. 

“You sore?” you ask, tilting your head and gesturing toward his taped-up torso.

“Always sore.”

“You know that isn’t what I meant, Sukuna. Don't do that.”

He huffs quietly through his nose at that, lowering the water bottle onto the counter before rolling one shoulder carefully.

“Took a hit to the ribs during training,” he admits, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s fine.”

You slide the yogurt cups into the fridge, watching him closely. A second later, when he reaches up to close one of the upper cabinets, you notice him favoring his left side. It’s a tiny adjustment, but you know the rhythm of his body too well to miss it.

Sukuna’s always irritatingly sure of himself, even when he’s exhausted, as if he belongs wherever he is. Tonight, though, there’s a hint of stiffness in him. It’s subtle, and you probably wouldn’t have noticed it if you hadn’t been paying attention.

“You’re fighting tonight, aren’t you?” you ask carefully.

“Yeah.”

“Warehouse?”

He gives a slight nod without looking up.

“Thought you said you weren’t gonna for the rest of the month.”

Sukuna walks past you toward the living room and crouches by the couch, unzipping his duffel bag halfway to check inside. His wraps lie tangled near the top, beside his mouthguard case and a half-used roll of athletic tape.

“I wasn’t.” He digs briefly through the side pocket before finding whatever he was looking for, then straightens again, slower than he should. “Changed my mind.”

“What happened to taking it easy?”

“It’s a quick one. I’ll be in and out before the crowd even gets settled.”

“You always say that.”

“Because they usually are,” he retorts, his ego flaring up. It's a familiar spark, a bit of the old Sukuna returning.

That finally pulls a short laugh out of you. Sukuna’s head turns toward the sound instantly, and for a second, some of that strange distance leaves his face, and his expression softens.

He walks back to you and stops close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. His hand comes up to cup the back of your neck as he carefully leans down and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

Before he can pull away, you reach up and cup his face in your palms, pulling him down. His mouth twitches immediately, already knowing exactly what you’re after, and lets you steal a quick kiss. And then a second one for good measure. You smile against his lips, earning a low huff of amusement from him, before he straightens a bit and gently pulls you into his body.

“Still thinking about those new pads?” you ask against his chest.

“Trying to,” he mumbles into your hair. His hand stays at the back of your neck, thumb moving lazily against your skin.

“You’ve already replaced half the old ones this year.”

“And the other half still suck,” he says, pulling back to roll his eyes. You snort loudly, a real laugh this time, earning you a genuine grin from him.

There’s more life in his voice now, more of the version of him you’re used to seeing at the gym, especially once he starts talking about equipment. He unscrews the second bottle while explaining that the older heavy bags split too quickly under harder kicks, irritation creeping into his tone as he goes over replacement costs and suppliers.

“This payout's decent. More than decent.” He runs a hand through his messy pink hair, then gestures toward the flyer for equipment he pinned to the fridge months ago—the industrial racks and the heavy, leather-bound bags he's been eyeing like a kid in a candy store. “Enough for those and the Fairtex pads. Maybe even enough to repaint the main room and finally install the new mirrors.”

Knowing how much it all means to him, you can’t help but grin. Sukuna bought the warehouse and turned it into the gym before you met him, mostly with underground fight money. Ever since, he’s treated every extra bit of cash as another brick added to the place, piece by piece: better mats, better bags, more equipment, more space. The gym already works and survives on its own, but surviving has never really seemed good enough for him once he decides something can be improved.

It’s the only place where his restlessness seems to find a purpose. You know he’s already planning the layout for the new racks and mapping out the floor space in his head to ensure the footwork drills don’t get interrupted by the heavy bags.

“It’s really just a quick one, angel. I promise,” he adds.

You study him for a moment, then nod once. “Okay.”

When he finally pulls away, he grabs his keys, throws the duffel’s strap over his left shoulder, and reaches back, extending his hand for you to take.

“Let’s go.”

You step closer, lacing your fingers with his as you walk out of the apartment and down the stairs toward the car.

—

The cage door slams shut behind Sukuna with a metallic clang that gets swallowed up right away by the roar of the warehouse. The sound is sharp and jarring, and it still gets under your skin every single time.

The noise of the crowd is overwhelming, just like always. People are shouting his name from deeper in the warehouse, and cash changes hands beside the barricades. You’re pressed close enough to the fence that the cold chain-link digs into your forearms as the crowd pushes behind you. Your eyes are fixed entirely on him as he turns toward the center of the cage and rolls his shoulders beneath the harsh industrial lights.

Sukuna barely reacts to anything happening outside the cage. He looks completely relaxed, as only experienced fighters ever do right before violence breaks out. One hand briefly brushes the fence while he stretches his neck and sizes up his opponent, Hisakawa, with a small, mocking grin.

There’s something almost unfair about watching him fight, especially when you know him outside the cage. At home, he sprawls across the couch with one arm around your waist, criticizing terrible movies and stealing food straight off your plate with a wink. In here, surrounded by screaming strangers and the smell of copper, he looks exactly like the man this place was built for, and even when he’s still, he undeniably controls the space.

Hisakawa’s broad-shouldered and clearly cautious, bouncing lightly on his feet. He tests the distance with twitchy movements of his hands, but Sukuna just watches him with a stillness that’s far more intimidating, already knowing how this will end.

Since you found out about the underground ring, you’ve picked up on the signals that start each fight. They change with the organizer and location, but tonight it’s just a sharp, echoing bang as one lead pipe hits another. The fight’s on.

Sukuna claims the center of the cage without hesitation, cutting off the space until his opponent is forced to circle him instead. Hisakawa steps in first behind a quick, nervous jab, but Sukuna slips his head barely a few centimeters to the side before landing a low kick hard against the outside of the man’s thigh. The sound echoes through the warehouse, drawing a bloodthirsty roar from the crowd. Before Hisakawa can fully reset his stance, Sukuna’s already pressing forward, faking high and then digging a heavy left hook into the body.

You hear the breath leave Hisakawa in a wheeze that carries even over the shouting, and Sukuna just grins.

“Too open,” he says lazily.

The other fighter swears, his face twisted in pain, and answers with a harder combination—jab, cross, hook—trying to force Sukuna back toward the chain-link, but Sukuna moves through it. He slips the jab, blocks the cross with his forearm, and pivots so that the hook skims past his cheek before driving another kick low into Hisakawa’s calf. It visibly disrupts the man’s balance when his leg buckles for a split second. He tries to answer with a desperate overhand right, but Sukuna dodges it by the smallest margin, letting the punch pass by his ear.

The crowd goes wild, slamming their hands against the fence and making the metal rattle. Sukuna keeps moving forward, setting the pace so naturally and effortlessly that Hisakawa ends up fighting on Sukuna’s terms instead of his own.

That’s what always stands out when he fights. Not even a minute in, and his opponent already looks tense, shoulders tightening every time Sukuna feints because he knows something painful is coming. And Sukuna knows that he knows. That familiar sharpness you’ve learned to recognize over months of watching him in cages exactly like this one is clear in his expression. He’s enjoying this—the exact moment someone realizes they’re completely outmatched and starts getting desperate enough to make mistakes.

Hisakawa throws harder now, trying to overwhelm him with pressure, but Sukuna keeps picking him apart piece by piece. A jab comes too slow, and Sukuna bats it aside before landing another hard kick. The man tries to step in aggressively with a wide swing, and Sukuna slips cleanly inside and drives his knee into Hisakawa’s midsection, folding him against the cage for a moment.

“C’mon,” Sukuna taunts, stepping back just enough to let him breathe. “That all you got?”

You can’t help but smile a little. The tension in your shoulders slowly fades as you watch him. Whatever stiffness you thought you noticed back at the apartment doesn’t matter now. He’s still sharp and in control, moving through exchanges with that same rough confidence that always drives the crowd wild and makes you weirdly proud.

The crowd grows meaner and more confident in its bloodlust because Sukuna rarely gives them a boring fight. Even this early, people are already shouting for the knockout like they expect violence from him as naturally as breathing. Even you can easily understand why.

His timing’s perfect tonight. Every feint gets the reaction exactly where he wants them, every kick knocks the other man off balance, and more than anything, he still looks comfortable in there, talking between punches and smirking when the crowd gets louder, like the noise only makes him stronger.

Hisakawa finally lands a punch when Sukuna gets a little too arrogant—a quick jab clips his mouth, then another punch hits his left ribs. There’s a brief flash of annoyance on Sukuna’s face as he tastes copper, but he quickly answers with three brutal kicks to Hisakawa’s legs until the man’s movement slows to a crawl.

Sukuna feels that, and a slow grin spreads across his face as he circles closer, his hands hanging lower now, confidence showing in every move he makes.

Against your better judgment, you start to relax too.

After that, Hisakawa gets reckless. The change is clear, so that even the crowd notices, shouting louder every time Sukuna lands a kick that sends his opponent stumbling back to the fence. Frustration replaces caution in Hisakawa’s movements, and his punches get heavier and wider, thrown with aggression that usually appears right before someone makes a mistake against Sukuna.

You’ve seen this part many times before. Sukuna has a way of drawing desperation out of people, controlling the fight until the other person eventually starts fighting with their heart instead of their head. Once that happens, it’s usually over. You expect this fight to follow the same familiar pattern.

Hisakawa comes in with a double jab, trying to distract Sukuna long enough to land a combination. Sukuna dodges both and answers with a hard front kick that knocks Hisakawa back. Hisakawa’s guard drops for a split second, and Sukuna sees it. You recognize the setup from watching him finish fights like this before—the transfer of weight, the turn of his hips, and his right shoulder starting to move before the hook comes.

Normally, Sukuna’s power is terrifyingly fluid and looks effortless. His punches flow naturally, his hip turning into his shoulder, his shoulder into the punch, all in one smooth motion that drops opponents. But this time, something catches mid-swing.

The punch still sends Hisakawa stumbling backward, and the crowd explodes around you, people screaming themselves hoarse, but you barely hear them. Your eyes stay fixed on Sukuna’s right arm as he pulls it back. The delay’s tiny, and most people watching would never see it, but it’s there. His shoulder doesn’t turn all the way, and there’s the slightest hesitation before he pulls the arm back into his guard. That small hitch feels wrong, but you couldn’t explain how, even if you tried.

You find yourself rationalizing it right away, telling yourself it’s just a trick of the lights. Then you think you’re imagining things—anything to avoid the cold feeling in your stomach.

Fighters sometimes move awkwardly; bad angles happen, feet slip, and punches land in odd ways. But this is different. Sukuna still hits hard enough to stagger the other man across the cage, and a second later, he’s already crowding forward again with that same mocking grin while Hisakawa tries to recover his footing near the fence. The fight keeps moving so fast that it makes you forget the moment, and for a while, you convince yourself that nothing’s wrong.

At first, the changes are too subtle to seem like a strategy. Sukuna keeps controlling the center of the cage, but something about the fight slowly begins changing, and it starts scratching at the back of your mind. A left middle kick lands hard against Hisakawa’s ribs after a feint, folding him slightly at the waist, but instead of following up with his usual long combination, Sukuna resets right away and circles back to the center, eyes narrowed and watching every move Hisakawa makes.

Another exchange happens right near you, with punches flying fast enough that the crowd presses against the cage around it. But Sukuna only throws one punch and a kick before stepping back out of range instead of overwhelming him the way he normally would.

Then it happens again and again and again.

You start noticing it bit by bit before you fully understand what you’re seeing. The left side leads everything: the left hook, the left cross, left kicks, and even the left knee whenever he gets close enough to force Hisakawa into a clinch before breaking away. His movements lack the wild energy that usually makes him so terrifying to watch. Even his parrying looks different now, with his right elbow tucked tighter to his ribs while his left hand does most of the work, keeping distance and blocking strikes.

You try to explain it all away again because that’s easier than facing the other possibility. Maybe he just likes that angle. Maybe Hisakawa’s weaker defending on that side. Maybe Sukuna’s dragging the fight out because he’s enjoying himself too much again and wants to put on a real, bloody show for the warehouse. It isn’t like he’s never done it before; he’s never exactly been too merciful in cages.

The crowd seems sure everything is normal, completely missing the break in the rhythm. Every time Sukuna lands a clean shot, people slam their palms, rattling the cage next to your face, while others scream for a knockout like it’s only a matter of time before Hisakawa goes down.

But then Sukuna lands another vicious kick to the leg, steps into range behind it, and retreats instead of following up. That’s the exact moment something cold and heavy starts to settle under your ribs. Sukuna never stops there, not when someone is reeling, and today he’s already done it multiple times.

When he smells weakness in someone, he relentlessly layers on pressure until they drown in it. One strike leads right into the next, combinations coming so fast that the other fighter eventually runs out of room to reset between them. You’ve seen him break people down exactly like that before, trapping them in his rhythm until panic takes over, replacing technique.

Tonight, he keeps ending his attacks early—pressure, then space again—a clean opening abandoned instead of followed. When he parries, he takes Hisakawa’s strikes on his forearms and shoulders, avoiding any stretch of his right side. You feel your grip tightening on the fence, your knuckles turning white and aching before you even realize it.

Hisakawa starts noticing the small, strange openings too. His hesitation fades bit by bit as confidence grows, and soon he’s stepping in more aggressively, testing Sukuna with sharper combinations aimed at his ribs and shoulder. A quick jab catches Sukuna’s cheekbone. Another rough punch lands on his side during a messy exchange near the fence, but Sukuna answers right away with a brutal left kick to the body that folds Hisakawa and creates space again. Still, he resets instead of following up, as if he’s letting his opponent off the hook.

A few seconds later, it finally hits you. Hisakawa throws another right hand, and Sukuna slips outside before throwing a right cross in return. The punch looks wrong immediately. It lands, but without the usual snap, pushing through more like a shove than a real strike, and his shoulder dips lower than normally.

People around you miss the quick change in his expression, hidden by the movement, the noise, and the sweat in the warehouse. But you know his face too well not to catch it. For a split second, all his arrogance disappears entirely, his jaw clenches to show his teeth, and something sharp and ugly flashes across his face before he hides it again almost instantly under aggression.

It’s pain. Real pain.

Suddenly, everything makes sense at once: the taped torso, the careful, stiff movements back in the apartment, the unusual silence and focus, the short combinations, and the missing right side. It all makes an awful, frightening sense.

The tape isn’t for support, you realize, but desperate damage control. Heat rushes through your chest so fast it almost makes you dizzy, blocking out the crowd for a moment, because he must’ve known exactly how bad the injury was before he stepped into the cage. That means he looked you straight in the eye three hours ago and lied anyway. The fear that usually creeps over you during his fights turns instantly into a hot, sharp anger that threatens to choke you.

The worst part is that Hisakawa, even though he’s outclassed in technique, isn’t blind and sees it too. You notice the moment he figures it out, because the last shred of caution disappears from him completely after that. His confidence turns meaner and more opportunistic as he starts pressing harder, forcing more action toward Sukuna’s compromised right side and testing the small openings around his ribs and shoulder over and over again, now that he knows they’re slower to close.

Because of that, the crowd starts to sense it too. The energy around the cage changes subtly but unmistakably, and the initial excitement turns uglier and more desperate as people pick up on the weakness in Sukuna that wasn’t there before. Every clean shot Hisakawa lands now gets a louder, harsher reaction from the warehouse, with bodies pressing closer to see.

Suddenly, the fight doesn’t look like Sukuna’s fights anymore.

Usually, he enjoys himself in these cages much more than you’d ever like him to. He loves performing in them. He loves humiliating people once he realizes he’s better than them, loves dragging out exchanges to make the crowd go absolutely wild every time he lets a strike merely graze him before answering with something even more brutal. He loves showing the whole room just how much more dangerous he is than his opponent. If he’s giving up that performance on purpose and letting go of the technical flow and swagger that define him, then something is seriously wrong.

What’s more is that he has always fought with perfect balance in his violence. Punches and kicks flowed together so smoothly that no one could predict his next move. Now, it feels like half of that rhythm is missing. His right arm still moves, guards, and sometimes throws punches when he’s absolutely no other choice, but it’s not part of the fight like his left side. Every single time he uses it or takes a hit there, his posture tightens for a moment before he forces himself to relax.

Once you catch it, you can’t stop seeing it everywhere, along with every ugly little adjustment he makes. He kicks more now—not just the occasional low kick mixed naturally into combinations like before, but constant kicks to keep distance whenever Hisakawa pushes too hard toward the injured side. Front teeps and kicks slam into the stomach and chest to keep Hisakawa back, while low kicks land on his legs whenever he puts too much weight down, quickly followed by middle or high kicks meant to punish and intimidate. He’s using his legs as a shield.

Unfortunately, Hisakawa can’t stop seeing it either and starts pressing even harder. In response, Sukuna forces ugly exchanges, using his left arm in a punishing clinch to pull Hisakawa into a pocket where technique matters less than raw grit. He starts throwing sharp, short elbows with his left and uses his size to smother Hisakawa’s attacks, leaning into him to protect his right side.

Then, Hisakawa finally spots an opening and tries to trap Sukuna against the fence, thinking he can overwhelm him there. Sukuna lets him get close for a moment too long before suddenly reversing the pressure, stepping in so hard that he drives Hisakawa back into the chain-link.

Sukuna’s left forearm immediately slides under Hisakawa’s jaw, pressing up across his throat and pinning his head awkwardly against the fence, not to choke him, but to force his posture open and leave him exposed while knees slam into his body from close range.

There’s nothing stylish about it anymore. It’s just raw violence from inches away, sweat spraying through the fence every time they crash into each other or into it.

Hisakawa tries to break free and finally wrenches enough space between them to get away, his shoulders jerking back as his hands come up instinctively to reset his guard. That’s exactly when Sukuna lands an elbow across Hisakawa’s cheekbone, much too early during the separation, but the contact is quick enough to look almost accidental if someone wanted to pretend otherwise. The impact snaps Hisakawa’s head so sharply that a fine mist of sweat and blood sprays through the cage directly onto your wrist. You flinch but don’t move your hand.

Sukuna fighting dirty means he’s adapting however he can. Forearm to throat, jamming Hisakawa’s head into the fence, elbowing during separation—in any legitimate fight, a referee would already be pulling them apart, barking warnings, and threatening point deductions for what Sukuna’s doing. But in this warehouse, nobody reacts except to slam their fists against the fence and scream for more blood.

Your hands ache where they grip the fence, and the heat in your chest keeps rising the longer you watch him. Every brutal move like that is another reminder that he never should have agreed to fight while injured.

You don’t know if Sukuna realized exactly what this would do to him before he stepped into the cage, but both options feel just as terrible. If he knew, he willingly walked in there prepared to drag himself through this. If he didn’t, he was arrogant enough to think he could still control the fight before the injury caught up to him. Either way, you can’t stop thinking about him calling it a quick, easy paycheck earlier.

Your anger hardens into a cold, heavy rage and a deep sense of betrayal that makes you want to climb into that cage and kill him yourself for being so reckless. Or, at the very least, do it right after this, if there’s anything left of him to kill.

From then on, the fight turns into a war of stubbornness. Sukuna stops giving Hisakawa space to build longer exchanges whenever possible, crowding him rather than maintaining the clean distance he had earlier. He repeatedly forces Hisakawa toward the fence, dragging him into clinches where the right side matters less, and the left can do the damage, his teeth bared in a snarl that’s more about pain than bravado.

Hisakawa finally manages to throw a desperate hook in return, and Sukuna slips inside it awkwardly. It isn’t as smooth as usual; the movement is tighter because his right side still isn’t rotating right, and you see the wince he tries to swallow. Still, it lets him get closer, forcing Hisakawa back until they both crash hard against the cage wall again.

Hisakawa is breathing hard, his chest heaving, but Sukuna doesn’t look much better. Sweat pours down his face in streams, his mouth slightly open between exchanges. Bruises darken under one cheekbone where punches landed earlier, a vivid purple against his pale skin. He looks more fragile than you’ve ever seen him, and somehow that makes your anger burn even hotter.

The end, when it finally comes, isn’t exciting. Sukuna suddenly gives ground, baiting Hisakawa into rushing forward before grabbing a tight clinch and driving him back against the chain-link once more. He traps Hisakawa against the wire and lands a heavy left uppercut that snaps his head back. Hisakawa brings his guard up high to protect his face after that, his eyes wide and glazed. He tries to swing his way out, while Sukuna keeps threatening elbows and knees from close range. For a moment, Hisakawa’s ribs open up, and that’s all Sukuna needs.

He drives a brutal left hook into the opening. It’s a short, savage punch from almost point-blank, putting all the force he can still manage on his left side straight into Hisakawa’s liver. The man folds, still conscious, his body shutting down faster than his mind can keep up as the air rushes out of his lungs in a broken, whistling sound. His knees buckle first, then the rest of him slides down the fence, one hand pressed to his side as he struggles uselessly for a breath that won’t come.

Body shots are ugly like that.

Head strikes look dramatic, usually cracking so loudly that crowds react instantly, and they’re violent enough to knock people out before they even hit the mat. But liver shots are different. They shut the body down from the inside, exhausting and debilitating it, draining strength from the muscles and air from the lungs all at once. There’s nothing spectacular or flashy about them, no flourish or performance—just the body deciding it can’t go on. It’s a quiet, internal collapse that’s much more frightening to watch.

The warehouse erupts into a cacophony of shrieks and whistles while Hisakawa stays curled against the fence, struggling and failing to force air back into his lungs properly. Sukuna stands there, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling heavily, while sweat drips from his jaw onto the blood-stained canvas. The crowd keeps screaming for more, but Sukuna just waits for the inevitable realization to settle over everyone watching.

When it’s clear Hisakawa isn’t getting back up, he doesn’t celebrate, pace the cage, or play to the crowd like he usually does after a win. He doesn’t have the energy for any of that tonight. Instead, he wipes his mouth with the back of his fist, leaving a smear of red on his wrapped knuckles, and turns straight toward where you’re standing. His chest is still heaving, and his eyes find yours through the fence right away.

As he comes closer, blood and sweat matting his pink hair, he doesn’t find the relief he expected. The adrenaline that kept him sharp and restless during the fight slowly drains away, leaving him looking hollow and battered when he sees your expression and realizes you aren’t looking at him the way you usually do.

Tonight, there’s no pride on your face, no leftover adrenaline, no small relieved smile for him to tease, not even the usual worry he knows how to handle with a cocky grin. Your jaw aches from clenching, and your fingers grip the fence so tightly your knuckles turn white, while anger burns in your chest, almost making you feel sick. For a moment, neither of you moves.

Sukuna looks completely exhausted, sweat streaming down his face and stinging a fresh bruise on his cheekbone. Up close, the damage is even clearer. You notice how he’s unconsciously protecting his right side, which slowly starts to turn into a darker shade, his shoulder slumped, and his posture just a little off in ways only you would catch. He’s hurting, but that only makes your rage grow instead of turning into sympathy. You don’t want to comfort him; you want to scream at him for being this stupid.

The small hope in his face disappears completely when you keep looking at him with fury in your eyes. For a moment, something wary and almost defensive crosses his expression before the cage door unlocks behind him with a metallic snap.

Someone stops him right after, shoving a few thick stacks of cash into his hand and shouting something you can’t hear over the warehouse noise. Sukuna takes the money without thinking, still breathing hard, his fingers trembling as he grips it. The whole thing feels so routine that it makes something inside you twist with disgust. It’s like this happens all the time—he just fights, bleeds, gets paid, and moves on.

Sukuna glances at the money for a moment before looking back at you, and his shoulders tense even more. He already knows exactly what’s waiting for him in your expression and that, for whatever reason, he’s about to catch hell.

You walk toward the back rooms in silence. The warehouse is still loud behind you, with people arguing over bets and replaying the finish so loudly their voices echo off the walls, but it all feels strangely distant. Sukuna stays by your side without touching you once, making sure nobody gets too close to you. He holds the money with his left forearm against his chest while his right hangs stiff and useless at his side, like a dead weight he’s trying to ignore.

For the first time since you’ve known him, he seems almost hesitant to break the silence. When Sukuna finally glances down at you near where he left his things, his expression sharpens and he frowns, getting ready for a fight he actually doesn’t know how to handle. He looks like he’s about to offer an excuse or a cocky remark to deflect the tension, but the words die in his throat when he sees your eyes.

“Get dressed,” you say flatly before he can even try to open his mouth. “We’re leaving.”

Sukuna freezes for a moment, then gives a single nod without arguing. Somehow, his sudden compliance only makes you angrier.

The cold night air outside the warehouse should help, but it doesn’t. You’re so pissed that you storm toward the car, forcing Sukuna to hurry after you, even though his every step is painful and slows him down.

There’s tension in his face and a slight stiffness in how he moves his right side. He opens the back door, grabs his hoodie from the seat with his right hand, and pulls it toward himself as if putting it on might make things normal again. When the movement tugs at his side, he winces sharply before he can hide it behind a cough.

That’s the last straw. The thin thread of your restraint finally snaps.

You shove him hard, slamming his back into the cold metal of the car door. One hand twists into his shirt, while the other presses against his taped right side without thinking about where it lands.

Sukuna immediately sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, but it cuts off halfway as pain locks up his body for a moment when you press on his injured ribs. His jaw tightens, tendons standing out in his neck as he swallows hard, forcing the rest of the breath down before it becomes a sound. He drops the hoodie, his fingers flexing at his side as he tries to relax against the car, clearly caught off guard by you.

"Ryomen Sukuna! What the fuck were you thinking?!" Your words are harsh, your voice shaking with fury now that the match is over and there’s nothing left to distract you.

Hearing his full name makes Sukuna’s stomach sink. He knows you’re furious, but isn't entirely sure why yet. He won the fight, got paid, and made it back to the car in one piece. As far as he's concerned, the night ended exactly how it was supposed to.

He exhales slowly through his nose, still pinned against the car by your grip. Before he can answer, you yank up his shirt to examine his skin from up close, and what you see makes your heart drop. Dark, mottled bruises spread under the tape in uneven patches across his ribs and side, ugly against his sweaty skin. The whole area is swollen, making it painfully obvious this was never just a minor strain he could push through.

Somehow, your idiot boyfriend still has the nerve to smirk at you. It’s that tired, crooked, and completely fucking infuriating tilt of his mouth he always uses to brush off anything he doesn’t want to deal with.

"It was fine," he grinds out in a low, rough voice as he tries to straighten up. “I handled it. I'm here, aren't I?”

“You call that handled?! You were one hit away from a punctured lung!”

“I won.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. That’s how he measures it—not by how he could barely rotate properly by the end, not by the dirty survival tactics he used just to keep going, not by being one bad hit away from collapsing. All that matters to him is that he stayed standing longer than the other guy.

Sukuna watches your expression change and feels a flicker of unease. He still doesn't get why you're looking at him like that, but he can tell he's losing ground anyway. He moves against the car, trying to find a position that doesn't hurt, then glances at the blood-stained cash in his hand.

“The payout was worth it.”

He says it so simply, like that explains everything, and money justifies walking into a cage already half broken and forcing himself through twenty minutes of self-destruction in front of you. That’s when your rage finally boils over.

"Shut up," you snap, your words coming out as a jagged snarl. "Don't fucking talk to me about what’s worth it."

You lean in, your face just inches from his, ignoring the sharp smell of blood and sweat.

"I don't care about the money, Sukuna. I'm mad because you knew," you hiss, your voice shaking with betrayal. "You knew you were hurt. You felt your body failing in the apartment, acted like it was nothing, and still walked into that cage. You sat there and watched me struggle with the fucking water, because you knew you wouldn’t even be able to lift it, and you still chose this."

His smirk disappears completely, and suddenly he looks small, exhausted, and pale under the dim street lights. For a moment, he just stares at you, struggling to understand why any of this matters. You saw him win, right? So the rest is just details.

"If you want to kill yourself for more money, go ahead," you say coldly, shoving him back against the car one last time. His face tightens in pain, but you don’t soften. "But find someone else to watch you destroy yourself for a few pads and some mirrors."

He goes still under your hands, not knowing how to explain why your words are so completely wrong.

—

The drive home feels suffocating. You keep your eyes on the dark road, gripping the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles ache. Every few seconds, your fingers flex when the image of him in that cage flashes through your mind again, making your blood boil with fresh resentment.

Beside you, Sukuna’s finally crashing. The adrenaline that kept him going for the past few hours is gone, leaving only the reality of what he did to himself tonight.

He slouches deeper into the passenger seat than usual, leaning heavily against the window with his forehead pressed to the cold glass, hoping the chill will numb the pain in his side. Each time you shift gears, he tenses. Every pothole or bump makes him flinch before he forces it down, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as his fingers curl tighter against his thigh and his jaw clenches so hard it's a wonder his teeth don't shatter while he tries to stay quiet.

That, understandably, only makes you angrier.

The only sound in the silence is his rough, uneven breathing. Every deep inhale pulls painfully at his injured ribs. Sukuna tries to hide it, but his whole body jerks with every jolt of the car, making the lie feel more insulting with each passing kilometer.

The space around you smells of sweat and blood, and the sharp metallic scent of iron sticks in your throat every time you breathe. He keeps trying to sit like nothing hurts, shoulders stiff with the same stubborn pride that got him into the cage in the first place, but he’s so drained now that his mask keeps slipping.

You notice it every time he thinks you’re focused on the road instead of him. His breath catches when he moves the wrong way in the seat, and his right side stays unnaturally guarded even when he’s still. Sometimes he presses his tongue hard against the inside of his cheek, trying to turn the pain into something manageable just by being more stubborn than the pain itself.

Neither of you speaks. The silence between you isn’t explosive anymore like it was outside the warehouse. Now it feels raw, stretched tight between your anger and the obvious pain he still refuses to admit. All you want is to scream at him, to pull the car over and make him see the mess he’s made, but you just keep driving, knowing it won’t help either of you.

Once, when the car hits a particularly rough patch, Sukuna exhales sharply through his teeth before he can stop himself. His head tips back against the window and his eyes close. The sound is small and involuntary, and after everything you saw him put himself through tonight, it feels far too human. For a moment, your anger almost softens, but then you remember him calling it “worth it,” and it snaps back.

—

Sukuna sits on the closed toilet lid wearing only dark shorts. His broad shoulders are damp, and steam fills the room from the hot water you used to wash the blood and grime off him. The bruises on his ribs have gotten even darker since the warehouse, spreading a dark, ugly purple across his side.

Every now and then, his breathing catches slightly when he moves the wrong way. He leans forward, trying to protect his injury, but it only makes his jaw clench as he holds back a groan. He isn’t used to his body letting him down, and you can see the simmering frustration in how he grinds his teeth every time a simple breath takes too much effort.

The duffel bag sits on the floor where Sukuna dropped it by the bathtub earlier. You haven’t touched it since you got home, but every time your gaze drifts toward it, a fresh spike of cold anger rises in you, mixing with the hollow ache of seeing him so hurt.

Sukuna is quiet while you work. He stares at the floor, with his jaw set in that stubborn way that means he’s pulled back into himself. His forearms rest heavily on his thighs, and his hands hang loosely, one swollen and bloodied at the knuckles. Exhaustion drags his posture lower with every passing minute, making his massive frame look strangely vulnerable. Sometimes his muscles tense when you brush too close to a deep scrape, but he doesn't utter a single word of complaint.

After a few minutes of silence, he nudges the duffel bag toward you with the toe of his foot while you clean his back.

"Count it," he grinds out.

When you ignore him and keep your focus on the red welt across his shoulder blade, he gestures impatiently with his left hand. His right arm remains stiff, tucked protectively against his side.

"I said count it," he repeats, and this time, there's a sharp edge to his tone. He tilts his head back, forcing himself to meet your eyes. There's still some of that infuriating, stubborn pride in his face, but it’s starting to fade from fatigue.

Your hand stops over a particularly nasty scrape near his shoulder blade before you glance at the half-open zipper, where stacks of cash are visible. They look disgusting sitting there on the floor next to used tape and blood-stained gauze. The idea of touching that money makes your stomach turn.

He wants you to see his win, as if the physical currency could somehow balance the ledger for the damage you’re currently trying to wipe away with a cloth.

“I don’t want to.” Your voice is flat, devoid of the praise he's looking for.

“You should,” Sukuna says anyway, voice roughened by exhaustion and pain. “Some of those assholes short people if they think they can get away with it.”

The practicality of the comment feels surreal after everything that happened tonight.

You feel empty inside as you drop the cloth into the sink and reach into the bag, pulling out one of the stacks, mostly just to keep the conversation from turning into another argument. Some of the bills are damp, some with sweat and some with dark smears of blood from his split knuckles. The metallic smell hits you, and you almost drop the money back into the bag.

“You almost got your ribs broken in half for this.”

Sukuna exhales slowly through his nose and leans his head against the wall on his side, closing his eyes before he answers. “Didn’t happen.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “That isn’t the point.”

“It is the point.” His eyes snap open, burning with a sudden, fierce intensity. “I won. I got paid. The gym gets the equipment it needs, and we stop looking like some half-dead hole running on cracked mats and rusted racks.”

You stay quiet, still staring at the bloodstained bills in your hand. Sukuna mistakes your silence for stubbornness, not the disgust you actually feel.

“The heavy bags in the main room are already falling apart. You saw them,” he continues, gesturing vaguely with his left hand while the other stays guarded instinctively near his side without him seeming to notice. “The floor padding near the weights needs replacing, the mirrors are cracked—half the equipment in there looks like it survived a fucking earthquake. If I want the gym to actually survive another few years, then I need to put money into it now instead of waiting until everything falls apart.” He pauses briefly, jaw tightening once as another wave of pain hits his ribs before he pushes through it. “And I’m done with this neighborhood. I’m done with you having to look over your shoulder every time you walk to the car.”

The frustration in his voice fades a little after that, though the words somehow start sounding heavier.

“That neighborhood five blocks over, we looked at—the one with the trees. The windows there don't rattle when the trucks go by on the main road.” A humorless breath, almost resembling a laugh, leaves him. “Nothing fancy. Just quiet.”

The bills suddenly feel way heavier than before, and you drop the stack that’s still in your hand into the duffel bag. You look up at the swelling on his side and his right hand turning a sickly shade of plum. The cold rage from the car finally turns into a desperate ache in your chest.

“Is a quiet street worth your body, Sukuna?” you ask quietly, full of disbelief from the absurdity of it. “Is this—is a few sets of windows and some floor padding—worth getting beaten to death for? Because I just watched you almost get your ribs caved in because you couldn’t move your fucking arm.”

For a second, he says nothing at all, but his jaw tightens so hard a muscle jumps in his cheek, and his fingers flex against his thigh like he’s physically stopping himself from snapping. He doesn't look ashamed; he looks annoyed that he has to explain the obvious to you.

“Yes,” he says through clenched teeth. “That money pays for safety. That’s the fucking point.”

His voice is harsher now, full of frustration because he genuinely can't understand why you're fighting him on this. He gestures at the bag, irritation rising as the conversation drifts from gym equipment to something much more personal.

“It pays the deposit on a place where the walls aren’t thin enough to hear every fight three apartments over—the first place I’ll ever have where I can leave you alone for one fucking night without wondering if you’re safe while I’m gone!”

You open your mouth to yell at him, but he doesn't let you get a word in.

“I didn't grow up with safety, okay?” He lets out a rough breath that catches as his ribs protest. “People talk about that shit like it’s a feeling. It isn’t. It’s a physical thing you buy. It’s neighborhoods where you don’t hear screaming outside at two in the morning. It’s locks that don’t break. It’s not having to worry about whether the gym will last another year. It's not having to choose between fixing a mirror and paying the rent.”

His eyes snap to yours, full of exhaustion and irritation, and his gaze becomes too heavy to hold.

“What the fuck else am I supposed to do?” he asks sharply. “Just sit around and hope things magically get better on their own? Every fight I take moves us one step further away from this fucking apartment.”

His words hang in the air. Suddenly, the money in front of you doesn’t look like cash anymore but like pieces of him instead. Traded away slowly through split knuckles, damaged ribs, and ugly fights, all so he could drag the future forward by force of will, using his own body as the currency.

“I never asked for this,” you snap, leaning toward him until you're in his space. He goes deathly still. “I’d rather sleep on the gym floor than watch the light go out of your eyes just so we can live somewhere with a nice view.”

You can practically see the moment when the argument crosses a line that neither of you can come back from. Until now, he’s still been talking like this is a problem he can solve if he explains it well enough: more money, a better neighborhood, a safer apartment, better equipment, a better future. He’s built a wall of logic to justify all of it, but your rejection just broke through it.

“You went into that fucking cage injured for a down payment, and now you expect me to just sit here and thank you?!”

“I never expected a thank you, and you know that! But it was just one fight. I’ve taken worse hits for a hell of a lot less."

“One fight is enough for something to go wrong, for fuck’s sake! I don’t care about the trees, Sukuna,” you continue before he can interrupt. “I don’t care about the windows, the fucking mirrors, or if the heavy bags need replacing. I’d rather stay here forever than watch you destroy yourself for things I never told you I wanted.”

Sukuna’s jaw is clenched so tight it looks like it might crack. “You say that now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he snaps, irritation flaring hard in him now, “you don’t get it.”

His words are rough, coming from somewhere deeper than anger. Sukuna sits up straighter, even though it clearly hurts his ribs. His broad shoulders are tense in the bathroom light, and the detached practicality is gone from his tone, replaced by wounded frustration.

“You think I wanted you standing in that warehouse tonight?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I wanted you looking at me through a fucking fence while people screamed for blood? Fuck, you think I wanted you learning about these fights—about any of this—at all?!” His eyes lock onto yours, bloodshot and full of a pain that isn't just physical. “I want you far away from that world, woman. I want us out of this fucking place—somewhere I don’t have to worry every time I leave the apartment.”

Sukuna loved fighting long before you came into his life—the adrenaline, the spectacle, the feeling of stepping into a cage knowing exactly how dangerous he was. It was always something he controlled and something that helped him build his gym. That was enough when he was alone. But then he met you, and suddenly enough stopped meaning anything at all.

No one ever taught him he could love without bleeding for it, so he treats self-destruction as a fair price for keeping you safe. For Sukuna, the two are so tangled together that he can’t see the difference.

Now, because of that, every broken rib and split knuckle turns into deposits, security systems, and safer streets in his mind. Deep down, under all his anger and stubbornness, he truly believes that being useful is what love looks like. He worries that if he ever stops providing safety in tangible, physical ways, he’ll have nothing meaningful to offer at all.

So, to him, those stacks of bills aren't lifestyle upgrades. They’re the only way he knows to create the security he thinks he owes you.

And suddenly you understand—he’s sacrificing his body now, thinking it will buy him a future where he can step into a cage because he wants to—and you know he does—not because he has to.

The worst part is that every payout teaches him the same lesson. Every improvement in his life comes with bruises and blood money, convincing him that suffering is a fair trade for security. Every step toward a safer future with you becomes proof that hurting himself is worth it.

“I never asked for this,” you say again, your voice sharper because the more he talks, the more it feels like he's turning himself into a bargaining chip you never wanted. You gesture at the bruises, the swollen hand, the tape still half-peeled from his skin after the fight. “I never asked you to fight like that just to drag home enough money for a better apartment. I don’t want a better neighborhood if it means watching someone drag you out of a warehouse dead and dump your body in an alley somewhere afterward.”

Something in his eyes breaks as he realizes the two halves of his life are finally colliding fully, and he can’t control it anymore, failing to keep them separate. Instead of it making him back down, he just gets more defensive and more frustrated, like he’s being cornered and the only way out is to fight harder.

The problem is that the words that leave your mouth mean something painfully simple, but Sukuna hears something completely different.

You don’t want him tearing himself apart trying to buy you safety. You don’t want him walking into fights already injured because he convinced himself it’s what he’s supposed to do. You don’t want him treating his own body like something disposable as long as the payout is enough to make both of you ‘safer’. You're trying to tell him your future isn't worth gambling his life for. You're trying to save him from himself.

But what he hears is far worse—it’s dismissal. To him, you’re rejecting the only thing he knows how to give and telling him that his love, in the only form he understands, has no value and was a mistake from the start.

“Then what the fuck do you want me to do?!” he snaps, his voice booming in the tiny room. “Just sit there while everything stays exactly the same? While nothing gets better?!”

He waves his left hand wildly toward the apartment past the open bathroom door, at the thin walls, the pipes that knock whenever someone upstairs turns on the water, the front door lock he obsessively checks every night without even realizing he’s doing it anymore, and everything he’s spent years trying to claw his way out of.

“You think I like this place? You think I like leaving you here every day and hoping nothing goes wrong while I'm gone?”

Your jaw sets in frustration. “Stop acting like this is supposed to help me.”

His eyes are like hot coals, hearing these words.

“Don’t fucking stand there pretending this is some sacrifice for my sake,” you continue, the anger finally reaching its peak now that the shock is wearing off. “I watched you barely able to breathe in that cage tonight. You started fighting dirty because your body was failing halfway through, Sukuna. So don’t you dare put your life on the line and call it love—don’t you fucking dare say you’re doing it for me.”

“Of course I’m doing it for you!” he bellows so fast it almost overlaps your last sentence. “What the fuck else would I be doing it for?!”

He winces, his hand flying to his ribs as the shout tears at the injury, but he barely seems to care enough to stop.

“This,” he says, harsher now, pointing at the money on the floor, some of the tape in the sink that you took off him to clean him up, and every bruise darkening his body. “This is the only way I know how to make sure you’re safe.”

“Just fucking stop!” you snap immediately because you're one sentence away from shaking this stubborn idiot by his shoulders. “I work too!”

Something flickers across his face so quickly it almost disappears before you fully catch it.

“This isn’t all on you!” you say, your voice still angry but turning uneven underneath it now because suddenly this argument feels different than it did ten minutes ago. You have the awful feeling that it's destroying both of you. “You don’t have to keep walking into fights already half broken just because you decided it’s somehow your job to drag both of us out of here alone.”

“I know you work,” he says right away, but it sounds way too defensive and automatic.

It makes you furious. The words themselves aren’t wrong, of course, but his reaction leaves you cold all over. He says it as if your job exists beside the problem and isn’t part of the solution. Like your income matters, but the responsibility itself still belongs entirely to him somehow. He genuinely can’t imagine a version of your future that doesn’t depend on him bleeding for it first.

“Don’t. Stop acting like I can’t build a life with you unless you’re killing yourself for it or unless you’re dragging home blood money every time something breaks around here,” you fire back immediately. “I’m not some helpless thing you need to save all by yourself, Sukuna.”

“Then what the fuck am I supposed to give you?!” he explodes, his frustration finally cracking wide open. He feels like everything he's done, everything he's built, and everything he works for has just been thrown back in his face. His hand cuts violently through the air toward the apartment, the money, and himself, not even knowing where the anger is supposed to go anymore. “If not this, then how do I take care of you? If I’m not fixing shit, if I’m not making sure you’re safe, if I’m not dragging us out of this fucking place, then what the fuck am I good for?!”

His chest rises and falls as his left hand curls into a fist so tight it shakes. He looks trapped by the words almost as soon as they leave his mouth, already regretting them, but he’s too angry, too exhausted, and too far into the argument to pull them back now.

“I don’t know how else to be enough for you!” he yells. “You think a guy like me keeps a girl like you by just being a coach?!”

He hates every second of this conversation and hates himself even more for not being able to stop it. He hates what he’s saying, hates admitting it, and hates that you can see right through him to the fear he’s trying to hide.

Nothing he’s ever said has hit you this hard. Suddenly, the argument isn’t about the apartment, the injury, or the money. It isn’t even about his need for safer neighborhoods, locks, or deposits. You watch him sitting on the toilet lid, looking at you like the answer truly terrifies him, and you finally understand something you never did before.

Oh my god. This is really how he sees his own worth.

Not through affection. Not through loyalty. Not through the countless small ways he loves you every single day, without realizing they matter. Sukuna actually thinks that love only counts if it protects something, and can’t see his own value unless he’s physically providing something for you. He only sees what he can build, fix, survive, and give you. That's how he measures his worth.

The anger doesn’t go away after you realize this. You’re still furious at him for ignoring his fractured ribs and deciding money mattered more. But the feeling changes, growing heavier when you finally see he was never trying to buy luxury in the first place. He was trying to buy certainty with the only currency he had—himself. He wanted to build enough safety around you so he could finally stop waiting for the world to take something from him again.

“I’m just some asshole with a gym and a knack for fighting,” he adds, his voice dropping into a low, defeated rasp. “So what the fuck am I offering besides that if I stop being useful?”

His jaw clenches until it looks painful as he looks away from you for a moment, angry and trapped by his own inability to explain himself without sounding crazy.

The bathroom goes quiet. Sukuna sits completely still on the closed toilet lid, his chest heaving unevenly, his face tense with a mix of fury, exhaustion, and the sudden, raw regret of lashing out at the only person he wanted to protect. His eyes are fixed on the floor, his left hand still tightly curled into a fist against his thigh. He looks like he’s waiting for you to give up and walk out. But you don’t.

Taking a slow, shaky breath that barely settles the churning in your own stomach, you push yourself up from the cold tile floor, move to the sink, and wring out the bloodied cloth until the water runs clear. Then, you step back into the narrow space between his splayed thighs, sinking down onto your own knees on the tile right in front of him, ignoring the money completely.

Sukuna tenses, still refusing to meet your gaze, his jaw tight. As you reach out, your fingers brush his swollen wrist and then catch it. For a moment, his fingers twitch as if to pull away and protect his injuries, but you don’t let go. You hold his bruised hand with one hand and gently dab the split skin on his knuckles with the cloth.

For several long seconds, neither of you says anything. Then you ask quietly, “Do you really think that’s all you are to me?”

His expression snaps tighter instantly, a deep, angry line forming between his heavy brows. He finally shifts his focus from the floor, his eyes darting to you for a sharp instant.

“That’s not what I fucking said.” He spits the words out roughly.

“It’s exactly what you said.”

Sukuna exhales sharply through his nose, ripping his gaze away from you again. A quick flash of irritation crosses his face, like a reflex he can’t control, now that the yelling has finally stopped. He shifts restlessly on the toilet lid, an angry, uneasy movement that betrays just how cornered he feels right now.

“You’re twisting shit.”

His denial comes too quickly and sounds too defensive, and that makes your stomach twist even more because now you can hear the panic under his irritation. He’s trying to hide behind his usual rough attitude, but it doesn’t work this time.

You set the damp cloth down beside the sink slowly before turning fully toward him.

“Sukuna,” you repeat, waiting until the muscle in his jaw jumps before you force the question out, “do you actually think the reason I’m here is because one day you might buy us a nicer apartment?”

He doesn’t answer. The silence stretches, heavy and deliberate, and the lack of a retort hurts more than any word he could scream. His jaw flexes once. His gaze stays fixed stubbornly on the floor tiles instead of your face, like eye contact suddenly feels too dangerous after everything that spilled out between both of you tonight. The complete lack of his usual deflection says everything, confirming the exact shape of the dark, devastating logic he’s been harboring this entire time.

“Oh my god,” you whisper before you can stop yourself. “I was right.”

His head lifts immediately after that, irritation flashing hot in his eyes again.

“Don’t fucking do that,” he barks, a sharp edge cutting through his hoarseness, clenching his fists tighter. “Don’t look at me like I’m stupid.”

Right after he says it, you can see he regrets it too. The anger disappears from his face just as fast as it showed up, leaving him looking tired and exposed in the harsh bathroom light. You stare at him for a long moment, then slowly shake your head, feeling confused and sad.

“I’m looking at you like I’m trying to understand how any of this ended up inside your head in the first place.”

His shoulders tense up right away, pulling in like he’s trying to shield his broken ribs from the conversation itself.

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I already fucking did.” He snaps the words out, glancing away.

“No,” you say, cutting through his deflection. “You explained money and all the practical shit surrounding this, but you still haven’t explained why you’re sitting here acting like the only thing you bring into my life is whatever amount of cash somebody hands you after a fight.”

That finally makes him look directly at you again, tense and guarded, feeling like he’s lost control. He braces himself for the conversation now, like he’s waiting for another blow he already knows is coming and can’t dodge.

You take a slow breath before you continue, because suddenly your words feel fragile, like shouting never does.

“Just answer me. Do you think I stay because of the apartment?” you ask quietly. “Because of the gym?”

“No,” he says immediately, but the answer sounds automatic instead of certain, like a practiced line he knows he’s supposed to say.

“Then why?”

His jaw tightens again and his eyes narrow a little as he tries to find his footing in an argument where his fists and anger are useless. “Don’t play dumb. You know why.”

“I don’t think I do,” you say, softer this time, forcing the anger to drain completely from your tone so he can hear the absolute sincerity beneath it.

The silence lasts long enough that you can hear the faucet dripping into the sink, a slow, steady click against the porcelain. He looks down at his hand in your lap, his chest rising and falling in shallow, guarded breaths.

At last, sounding rough and irritated, and clearly hating every word, Sukuna mutters, "Because I'm trying to build something better than this."

"That's not what I asked."

His jaw tightens right after, but he doesn’t answer. His eyes stay fixed somewhere on the floor between you, and his fingers flex once against his knee before going still.

“You’re such an idiot,” you say quietly, your voice stripped of the harsh anger from before, leaving only deep, tired sadness.

He lets out a short laugh under his breath, but there’s nothing remotely amused about it. It’s just a harsh, tired grunt of frustration. He leans back instinctively against the cold tile wall, then winces right away when the movement drags painfully against his ribs again. “Already established.”

“You already built it, Sukuna,” you say finally.

His brow furrows deeply, as if your answer genuinely confuses him and doesn’t fit with how he sees the world.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“You.”

The word comes out simply and naturally, like it should have always been obvious. But Sukuna just stares at you, like the sentence makes no sense in any language he knows how to speak, let alone survive in.

“That doesn’t even fucking mean anything.”

“Yes, it does,” you say quietly, your fingers tightening gently around his palm. “It means you genuinely have no idea what I actually love about you.”

That finally makes him go still, his defensive posture freezing completely, stunned by a blow he didn’t see coming.

“The apart—” you try to start again.

“It’s a piece of shit place,” he mutters roughly, cutting you off and shaking his head. He keeps his eyes on the tile by your feet, as if the state of the room could somehow support his argument. “You deserve a better one.”

“I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice cracking slightly as you shift your grip to carefully examine the torn skin on his palm. “I care about the person inside it. Tell me—you think if you stop being useful, I’m just going to walk away, am I right?”

His fingers twitch against your palm in a sudden, involuntary spasm that you feel clearly, confirming his fear.

“You think I’m sitting here, secretly dreaming about a nicer view from the living room while we snuggle on the couch, watch the worst reality TV we can find, and eat chips straight out of the bag because we’re both too damn tired to cook anything?”

Something unreadable flickers across his face, a brief, vulnerable softening he quickly hides by hardening his stare in a panicked self-correction.

“Or that I care more about a bigger place than the fact you wait outside my office after work whenever your classes end early because you hate the idea of me taking the train home alone after dark?”

Sukuna’s head shifts slightly, his eyes glancing at you from under a heavy, furrowed brow. His expression is guarded but intensely focused on your words, as if searching for a trick or hidden barb.

“See? You already give me so much, you moron,” you whisper, finally raising your gaze to look straight into his eyes. You force him to see there are no hidden motives or conditional expectations on your face. “All the time.”

He looks almost irritated hearing that, his shoulders shifting uncomfortably like your words make him feel completely exposed.

“You remember my order from that shitty Korean place without even having to check your phone because you know exactly what I get when I’m exhausted.”

“Because you order the same thing every damn time,” he mutters, his jaw tightening as he tries to downplay the effort.

“You pace the floor for an hour,” you continue, ignoring his deflection, “ranting about your coaching plans and running your class schedules by me just to make sure you didn’t forget anything.”

"That's my job."

You shake your head and let out a soft sigh.

“You check the door lock three times before be—”

“That lock’s absolute shit, you know that.”

”…and you pull the blanket back over me when I fall asleep on the couch. Sure, you grumble the whole time, acting like it’s a chore, but you still do it.”

“It’s a drafty room,” he snaps back, though the edge is losing its sharpness. “If you get sick, you’re useless at work. It’s common sense.”

“No. It means you care,” you say patiently. “You still think all I see when I look at you is the gym, the fights, or the money. It’s so far from the truth that it honestly makes me feel sick to hear you talk like this.”

Sukuna looks away from you again, his jaw tightening as he tries to distance himself from the picture you’re painting of his own quiet acts of affection. Even with all his toughness, a quick flash of embarrassment crosses his face before he can hide it again.

“You know what I actually think about?” you start again, your hand moving from his wrist to rest flat against his damp chest, right over his pounding heart. “I think about how you always save me the last of whatever snack we’re sharing, even when I know you wanted it. I think about how much you care about your students getting better, how it drives you crazy when they slack off, and how you mutter under your breath about them finally improving, like a proud, grumpy idiot.”

“They’re finally learning how to use their feet,” he mutters, his throat shifting as he stares at the wall past your head. “Someone had to teach them properly.”

“And most often, I think about how, whenever you get excited about something, anything at all,” you add softly, ignoring him again, your voice dropping lower, “you always look at me first.”

That finally breaks something in his expression. His hard, defensive mask cracks just enough for you to see the raw confusion underneath.

"You keep acting like none of that matters, but you don't get to decide for me, Sukuna. For me, all of it matters. Every single bit of it."

Sukuna tilts his head back a bit, lets out a sharp breath through his nose, and drags his left hand down his face. His frustration is still clear, fighting against the fact that he’s listening now, whether he wants to or not. His knuckles are white where he grips his face.

“You make me happy,” you tell him. “Not the apartment. Not the money. You.”

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, his features twisting a little as if your words hurt to hear, cutting through a lifetime of believing his only worth was what he could physically secure or provide.

“And I’m not asking you to stop being who you are,” you continue quickly, rushing the words out before he can twist it into a rejection of his passion, too. “I know you love fighting. I know the cage matters to you. I know it always will.” Your voice sharpens slightly after that, bringing back a touch of the firm reality he needs to face. “But there’s a difference between fighting because you love it and walking into a cage already injured because you decided it’s your responsibility.”

His breathing catches unevenly again, and his ribs give a small, sharp protest he can’t entirely conceal this time, making him wince in pain.

“I’m still fucking furious at you,” you say, the harshness back in your voice. “Agreeing to a fight while hurting like that was reckless and stupid, and I’m not magically okay with it now just because I understand why you did it.”

After that, his posture hardens again. His shoulders square as he gets ready to retreat into his usual angry defense, but you stop him before he can fully pull away. You reach out and place your hand firmly on his tense shoulder.

“But I need you to understand something, too, Sukuna.”

Your touch and serious tone make him freeze. You glance down at the spreading, angry bruises on his ribs before looking back up at him again.

“I’m not scared of losing a paycheck. I’m scared of losing you.”

You actually see your words affect him. His jaw softens slightly before he looks away again, grinding his teeth hard while something uncertain flickers beneath all the frustration and stubbornness on his face.

“You’re fucking dramatic,” he mutters hoarsely, his voice dropping an octave in a defensive habit, though there’s no real heat left in the insult anymore. It’s just a reflex.

“And you’re worse. But you don’t have to earn your place beside me every fucking day, Sukuna.”

That hits him harder than anything else somehow. You see it right away in the way his shoulders tense, and his eyes drop to the floor instead of staying on you, like the very concept of unconditional love makes him deeply uncomfortable. Because he genuinely doesn’t know how to show love without trying to earn it somehow and without feeling like he has to prove it, and watching him struggle to process that hurts you almost as much as the fight did.

"Don't know how."

“You do. You do it every single day. Just—okay, listen to me—I’m not with you because of what you can buy me,” you say, leaning into his space. “I’m with you because you’re you.”

"Woman... enough," he mutters, dropping his eyes back to the floor, absolutely embarrassed. After a few seconds, he adds, "I love you."

"I love you too, Sukuna,” you murmur back.

Leaning down, you gently press your lips to his forehead and carefully rest your fingers on the uninjured side of his face. Sukuna pauses, his jaw tense, then lets his head rest heavily in your hand. He closes his eyes, finally letting his guard down completely.

“Your standards are fucking questionable," he rasps, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

You almost smile despite yourself, the tension easing slightly from your own shoulders as your thumb traces the sharp line of his jaw.

“Maybe a little.”

That finally draws out the faintest, most tired laugh from him. It disappears almost right away when his ribs hurt again and he winces, but the sound leaves something softer behind.

He stays like that for a long time, breathing in your scent and the antiseptic as he tries to process everything you've just said. You don't push him to say more, knowing he’s reached his limit.

The heavy silence after is different. The argument hasn’t vanished, and neither has your anger about what happened tonight. But now, it doesn’t seem like your relationship is falling apart. Instead, it feels exposed, with both of you trying not to make things worse.

Focusing on the last of his wounds, you reach into the sink and pick up the cloth with your free hand. You return to cleaning his ribs, moving slowly and gently, and this time, he doesn’t resist the touch at all.

“I’m still mad, Sukuna,” you remind him, your voice almost lost under the quiet drip of the faucet.

“I know.”

“I’m going to be mad at you for a week for what you did tonight. Probably longer.”

“Wouldn’t blame you,” he rasps, his voice rough and strained. ”It was stupid.”

When you finish cleaning him and help him stand, he leans into you and lets you walk him to bed.

notes: beanie: haha look at my funny tags sukuna: "what the fuck am i good for?!"

anyway thanks for reading

[starmapz]

for your entertainment - r. sukuna

౨ৎ experienced!sukuna x virgin f!reader [adult boutique au] - ongoing series

❝ chasing your dreams isn't all it's cracked up to be. your apartment shakes when the train passes and eating a scoop of peanut butter and calling it girl dinner is getting depressing. when you finally manage to land a job at a store that sells sex toys, it's possibly the biggest relief of your life. there's just one issue: you're a virgin. you don't know the first thing about toys and you don't want your cute and flirty white-haired co-worker to know. against your better judgement, you find yourself turning to your other co-worker for lessons and learn the hard way he's just as much of an asshole in bed as he is at work. ❞

౨ৎ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. smut. fwb but you aren't friends. slow burn romance/fast burn smut. sukuna is 23ish, reader is24/25ish. reader is sexually reserved but confident, nerdy, and a band geek. arrogant!sukuna. dom!sukuna. mild corruption. size difference. piv (protected & unprotected). sex toys. dildos. vibrators. sybians. shibari & bondage. restraint. gags. butt plugs. fingering. cock rings. clit stimulants. g-spot stimulants. nipple clamps. remote controlled vibrator. lubes. sex games. blindfolds. aphrodisiacs. biting. marking. possession. dick piercings & tattoos. established safe word. used safe word. loss of virginity. oral (f! and m!). handjob. dacryphilia. mating press. overstimulation. cum play. manhandling. edging. sensory deprivation. (mutual) masturbation (f! and m!). choking. mild love triangle with gojo.

i aim to spread sex positivity, explore the effects of the stigma around virginity, and educate on safety in exploring kinks :)

౨ৎ wc ; estimated 100k.

౨ৎ a/n ; art by ackshuallyvalerie <3 shoutout to @/yenayaps for sukuna dick piercing brain worms <33

ao3 || wattpad || main masterlist

1 ⊹ ࣪ untouched - coming soon! 2 ⊹ ࣪ coming soon

౨ৎ taglist ; OPEN. age must be visible in bio. 18+ only. permatags will be tagged in chapters. @yenayaps @gojosoups

writing, format & dividers © starmapz. art © ackshuallyvalerie. do not repost, translate, or copy.

[aerosarrow]

"Need saving?"

SPIDERMAN!CALEB: Skyhaven's Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman

[feyrinnn]

SUMMER HAZE

❝ what's worse than one idiot in love? two idiots in love. this poor friend group has had to suffer through their inability to communicate enough, but maybe this summer retreat is the perfect opportunity to finally confess some not so secret feelings❞

pairing friend!choso x f!reader wc 10.9k content mdni, fluff, smut, friends to lovers, mutual pining, multiple characters (gojo, sukuna, geto, shoko, nobara, yuuji, megumi), choso is down bad and everyone knows it, idiots in love, summer fun, jealousy, hidden feelings (from a few people mm...), love confessions, dry humping, soft dom choso, body worship, fingering, praise kink, handjob, oral (m receiving), piv sex, cuming inside, pet names (baby), aftercare, alcohol, crushes, minor injuries, friend group dynamics, soft intimacy a/n this is a rework of an oldddd fic of mine, updated in my current writing style <3 i hope you enjoy! the choso art is by @torucider

The salty summer breeze was the first thing you noticed when your eyes started to blink awake.

It wasn't like the smell of the city, no, it was fresh and gentle, filling up your lungs with the promise of heat, fun, and sun ahead of this much anticipated holiday. Your arms stretched far above your head, and a long sigh escaped your lips as you felt every muscle loosen up atop this unfamiliar bed.

Slowly. Everything moved slowly.

Considering your hectic city life, slow felt good. Maybe this getaway really was a good idea, and you made a mental note to express your gratitude to Shoko for suggesting it and practically forcing you into saying yes.

She was right – this was exactly what you needed. The trip had barely started but you were already sold. All you needed was some quality time away with your best friends.

Doctors really did know best.

But among the chirping birds and the distant crashing waves, another noise caught your attention. More… human this time. A laugh you'd recognise anywhere.

It seemed your peaceful morning wouldn't last very long.

You turned to look at your phone with a groan, the screen shining a bright "7am" right in your face.

It was way too early.

But when did that ever stop Satoru Gojo?

You tried to ignore the noise for as long as you could, but eventually your interest was peeked by the commotion. It's not like you could avoid the group you chose to come on this vacation with forever, after all.

So you opened your door, leading straight to the open patio of the villa you and your friends had rented for a quiet summer getaway. Maybe it was your fault for ever believing that was a real possibility.

You were promised cocktails by the pool, sunbathing on the grass, and wholesome bonfire nights. Knowing this group, you had expected a little bit of chaos, sure – but why the hell was Gojo grinning like a maniac, with a water gun pointed directly at a drenched, and, not at all amused Sukuna at 7 in the fucking morning?!

“You have 3 seconds...” the pink haired one murmured under his breath, his voice a promise of a million ways he could and would kill Satoru.

You wondered how long Gojo had even been planted outside the other man's door to perform this ambush, considering Sukuna had barely stepped outside of his room before being attacked. From Gojo's wide smile, he was clearly pleased with how the plan went.

"One…" he started counting, but Satoru didn't move. Considering even this far away Sukuna made your blood run cold, you did respect Satoru for standing his ground.

"Two…" Sukuna snarled, and, to his dismay, was met with another splash right on his already soaked face.

He wouldn't bother counting to three.

Your white haired best friend ran backwards as fast as he could, still facing Sukuna to continue his unrelenting water gun assault. A loud "Worth it!" escaped his lips, but the sound was cut off half way when Sukuna began his chase.

Unlucky for him, it seemed it was all a trap – Suguru was already joining in the fray, jumping in from behind one of the deck chairs.

Well… it was nice to know them.

“Can we not start the day with murder...” groaned a voice coming from the door next to yours, and your brain immediately forgot about the war raging on a few feet away.

Choso stood there. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, torso in full display with nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants hanging low from his hips. It was rude to stare, but… come on, it was impossible not to.

I mean, looking like that should be illegal.

Choso's muscles were curved in all the right places, perfectly toned from his shoulder's to his abs and everywhere in between. Damn the universe for making your crush be this ridiculously hot – at least if he wasn't you'd have some hope of getting over it.

You had had a crush on Choso ever since his little brother Yuuji introduced him to the friend group. It was love at first sight, or, well, lust at first sight. The love thing came later. Not that you'd ever admit it to yourself or anyone else, of course.

Even though you went to bed thinking of him most nights, and could barely stand in his proximity without feeling the heat pooling around your cheeks. You kept telling yourself he was just a man, just attractive, you had crushed before and everything turned out fine. It just took time, but you could get over it.

I mean, remember how you had a crush on Gojo when you had just met? Looking at the idiot being tackled by Sukuna now, you could barely remember what that even felt like.

It would be fine. There was still hope.

But then Choso turned to you – his posture immediately straightened, and you could have sworn you saw the tips of his ears turn pink.

“Oh...morning” he said, smiling softly at you.

Damn that stupid smile.

You opened your mouth to reply, but another mess of pink hair suddenly peeked out from over his shoulder, way too excited for this hour. “Water gun fight?!” Yuuji yelled, running back into the room to find his own weapon.

Choso stepped out of the way with a sigh, watching his little brother run into the grass to join in Gojo's and Geto's bullying of Sukuna. You half expected him to join in just to protect him, but… he didn't.

He just stayed right there, dark eyes shifting from your face, to the floor, then back to your face. He almost seemed nervous, or maybe you were reading too much into it.

“Did you sleep well? I hope they didn’t wake you” he asked finally, that deep voice that made your knees weak.

You just nodded and smiled gratefully, always struggling to find words around him. It was really sweet of him to ask. But it didn't mean anything, Choso was sweet, everyone knew that, it's not like you were special or anything. He looked back at you with those careful eyes you loved so much, his mouth opening up to say something when–

He immediately got splashed with water.

“They made me” said a very guilty Megumi, on the other end of a water gun that was still pointing at Choso.

You brought a hand to your mouth to stifle a laugh at Choso's surprised expression, trying to keep your eyes from the way the water dragged along his muscles and dripped on the floor.

“Come on bro!” yelled Yuuji, still running along the grass. “Revenge!”

Choso let out a small chuckle that definitely said it’s too damn early for this, but went inside to find his water gun anyway. Just like you expected – he'd always rush to his little brothers side.

You actually really liked that about him.

So you stood by your door, taking in the scene as it evolved in front of you.

Sukuna had now seized Gojo’s weapon and split it in half, turning his attention to Suguru, who was running to refill his ammo with the water from the pool. From the way Satoru looked pleased, you guessed he was definitely hiding a spare water gun somewhere.

Yuuji and Megumi were running circles around the pool and trying to splash each other, the dark haired one definitely more invested than he let on. You watched Choso run to his brother's defense, aiming perfectly at the other one's back, before Yuuji betrayed him and splashed his neat twintails.

But Choso didn't mind, laughing along with it.

It's just a crush, you repeated to yourself like a mantra. Be cool.

Finally, you spotted the girls. They watched the scene from the bean bags on the other side of the grass, Shoko smiling with a cigarette already dangling from her lips, and Nobara wildly waving in your direction.

You couldn't help your smile at the way the morning had unfolded.

The sun was shining bright above your perfect little circle of chaos, and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Idiots, all of them” Nobara groaned as you sat down on the bright green bean bag next to hers. She had a hat on to protect from the sun, and the most stylish pajama set you think you had ever seen.“Who has that much energy at this hour?!”

"It's better for them to let it out early" Shoko hummed, blowing smoke into the breeze.

"I haven't even had coffee yet" Nobara complained, throwing her had back and covering it with the hat.

"I think it's kinda cute" you said, watching as they all ran around.

"Yeah, yeah" Nobara mocked. "We all know who you think is cute"

"What are you–"

Before you could complete the question, a jet of water hit you square across the face, splashing everywhere from your chest to the girls sitting next to you.

“What the hell?!" you groaned, casting a very mean stare at the white haired menace in front of you. Of course it would be him.

“Oops” Gojo hummed, a litte guilty. As expected, a fresh water gun was already in hand. “I missed?”

“Who exactly were you trying to hit?” you growled at your best friend, motioned to the others still splashing each other on the other side of the patio. If this was his attempt at getting you to join in the fun, it wasn't working.

The girls stared at him too, soaked and annoyed, but suddenly Nobara's eyes widened and she passed you her hat, motioning to cover your chest with it. Only then had you noticed.

For fucks sake. You were wearing white.

“You pervert!” you yelled, throwing a sandal at your best friend, though he caught it with ease.

“Just a happy coincidence, princess!” Gojo retorted, ducking from the sandals Nobara and Shoko threw his way too. "Ow! I'm sorry! I'll give you my shirt, here, I'm not even looking–"

The commotion easily caught everyone else's attention.

“I swear to God, Satoru–” you growled, but as he promised, Satoru had already thrown his soaking shirt for you to shield yourself with, a chorus of apologies still leaving his lips. "I really didn't realise–"

“What’s going on?” Choso cut in. Water dripped from his dark strands, and his breathing was a little heavily from rushing over so fast. But he suddenly stopped, dark eyes immediately narrowing at Satoru's half naked body standing over your group, and his wet dark shirt clinging on to your body.

His eyebrow twitched slightly and his jaw clenched, but he still looked at you with kindness. “Are you ok?” he asked you directly, completely ignoring everything else.

Nobara pointed at Gojo, whose mouth fell open in a silent gasp. “Satoru was being a pervert” she deadpanned, as Shoko nodded solemnly.

“I said I’m sorry!” Satoru yelled, putting both his hands up in surrender. "We all make mistakes!"

“You’re an idiot” Choso rolled his eyes at his friend, holding out his hand to help you stand up.

“And you’re too obvious” Gojo retorted with a wink, running off before he could catch the way Choso snarled at his comment.

But whatever grimace Choso threw in Gojo's direction, it was all gone when you accepted his hand. Suddenly, his focus was completely locked on you.

"I'm ok" you smiled, the touch lingering for a little longer than necessary. “Needed to get changed anyway”

Physically, your body was going through your luggage, looking for something to change into, but your mind was gone – the butterflies still danced in your stomach, reminding you of how quickly Choso had come to your rescue just now. At the way his hand fit so perfectly around yours. And God he looked so good in those–

“Am I interrupting your spiral?” Nobara clapped her hands to get your attention. You had completely forgotten her and Shoko had come in after you. “Are you gonna answer the question or not?”

You pursed your lips, exploring your memories but coming out empty handed. “Sorry, what was the question?” you asked awkwardly.

"We lost her" Shoko sighed.

“I swear to God...” Nobara exhaled, standing up to join you by the suitcase. She looked over the mess with a hand on her hip and another under her chin, analyzing the options like this was extremely important. Finally, she seemed to have made her choice, raising a swimming costume up near your head.

"If you want impress him, this one”

You blinked up at her, opening your mouth to ask who, but everything about the way she glared at you screamed don't play dumb with me.

So you snapped the swimwear from her hands, throwing yourself on the bed next to Shoko. “What was your question?” you sighed, staring at the ceiling so your friends couldn't read the embarrassment in your face.

“I asked if you’ve fucked him yet” she declared, matter of fact.

“Nobara! No!” you sat up so fast the blood rushed to your head, putting your hands forward to motion her to be quiet. But the other two just stared at you, waiting. “He’s not like that" you completed with a surrendering exhale.

"You guys are not together?" Shoko raised an eyebrow.

You just shook your head side to side, biting the inside of your cheek. "We haven’t even kissed" you admitted.

The two gasped at this very unexpected new information.

“You’re joking” Nobara crossed her arms. “He looks at you like you’ve been married for decades already”

“Well, he hasn’t said anything to me and I...I don’t know!" you stood up, pacing across the room, finally able to get these feelings off your chest. "What if we’re wrong and he doesn’t even like me?"

“Don’t be an idiot. Everyone knows" Nobara huffed out.

"You’re the only one who’s questioning it” Shoko agreed.

That made you stop pacing.

“Everyone?” you asked.

“Everyone” Nobara repeated. “It’s disgusting”

That at least got a laugh out of you. “Thanks” you murmured, looking down at your hands. You didn't even know if this realisation made you feel happy or anxious – the stakes were just too high.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever” Nobara waved it off, walking towards the door. “But seriously, that one” she completed, pointing at the swimming costume in your hand.

It was a little more… bold than you would normally wear, but hey – maybe it was about time you took your friends advice. They were the ones witnessing you fall apart over this crush for years already anyway.

Maybe it was time to be a little more bold.

You stepped out of your room a few minutes later. Hair fixed with a pair of sunglasses on top, and the swimming costume Nobara had chosen expertly hugging your figure.

Every head snapped to you as you walked towards the group.

Nobara looked proud. Shoko nodded in encouragement. Satoru let out a wolf whistle, and Choso… looked very much not ok.

In fact, he looked like something had short circuited in his brain.

“She broke him” Gojo whispered, earning a laugh from Suguru next to him.

“Pathetic” Sukuna just rolled his eyes.

“Over here!” Nobara waved with a wicked smile of approval.

Most of the group seemed to be half asleep already, all sunbathing by the pool after a busy morning with all the running around and death threats. You could swear Yuuji was snoring softly, distracting Megumi from his book every few seconds, who looked over at him with an annoyed sigh every time.

"Nice of you to join us" Satoru grinned, moving over to the side to open up space for you.

Right next to Choso.

Had the girls been right about everyone knowing?

"You all look half asleep" you rolled your eyes, sitting next to the dark haired man, but trying to avoid eye contact at all costs. If they all knew…

Did Choso know too?

Did he think you were an idiot?

"We're recharging" Suguru nodded, that casual smile of his.

"Tch. Weak" Sukuna muttered from the side, resting his hand on two bent elbows as he relaxed on the grass.

"You were asleep ten minutes ago" Suguru retorted.

"I wasn't" he growled. He probably was. "The only one asleep is Itadori"

That seemed to wake him up like a spell. "I'm awake!" he said, standing up so fast Megumi almost dropped his book on the pool. "Is it time for another water gun fight?" he asked eagerly.

"I don't have any more guns left" Satoru pouted, while Sukuna opened an evil grin.

Yuuji started listing off different games you could all play, and little by little, everyone seemed to regain the energy. Gojo barely let the man speak, cutting in every half second to offer his own suggestions or agree excitedly with what he was already proposing.

Everyone was joining in the conversation, apart from… you and Choso. Who looked at you like he definitely wanted to say something, but wasn't quite sure on how.

"You look beautiful” he said finally, when your eyes happened to meet. You didn't even mean to, but it seemed neither of you could keep avoiding this dance for too long. “That’s a great colour on you” he completed, cheeks growing an adorable shade of red.

You hoped he couldn't see in your face the way your heart was leaping out of your chest.

“Thank you, Choso” you smiled, biting the inside of your cheek.

“So it’s settled!” Gojo snapped your attention back to the group, clapping his hands dramatically. “The first game is chicken fight – the winning team gets control over the speaker for a full 2 hours!”

Shoko and Suguru immediately exchanged a conspiratorial nod. Megumi let out an exasperated sigh, but didn't argue. Nobara rolled her eyes and asked if Gojo was thirteen. Yuuji fist bumped the air, excited like a golden retriever, and Sukuna seemed too enticed by the reward to object.

Choso, in a moment of courage, turned to you, swallowing hard. “Do you want to–”

“You’re with me, princess!” Gojo scooped you up before Choso could finish his sentence. “Let's talk strategy!”

The sun shone bright up above where the four teams met in the middle of the swimming pool, ready for the first brawl.

Nobara announced there was no way in hell she was getting on anyone’s shoulders, so she lunged in the shade as the self appointed referee. "Remember, no fowl play" she instructed. "Did you hear that, Sukuna?"

The pink haired man only rolled his eyes, the only indicator that he was listening.

Team number one was you and Gojo: Team The Honoured Ones. You sat tall on his shoulders, as Satoru held you down with firm hands on your thighs, pretending not to notice the way Choso looked murderously at him.

Team number two was Yuuji and Megumi – the latter looking like he'd rather be anyone else. Their team name was Black Flash, which Megumi only agreed to so Yuuji would stop talking.

Team number three was Shoko and Suguru, who looked far too ready for this. Shoko barely waved where she sat atop Suguru's shoulders, the two the very image of serene confidence. Their team name was Uzumaki, suggested by Suguru.

Team number four was Choso and Sukuna: The Cursed Duo. After a long argument, Choso relented and agreed to sit on Sukuna’s shoulders. He had a bit of a pout on his face, you suspected because Yuuji had gone straight to Megumi, but when he saw you – it changed into a smile.

You were halfway through waving at him before Satoru tapped your thigh incessantly. "Focus, princess" he complained. "You're on my team"

If only you weren't resting atop his shoulders, you would have noticed a little pout in Satoru's handsome face. It wasn't like him to be this possessive over you, but it's not like you weren't used to his taunting and teasing.

"I was just assessing the competition" you quickly recovered yourself. "Who are we going for first?"

Satoru hummed underneath you, pondering the question. "I doubt Choso will go against Yuuji, so I can only assume they'll come for us or Suguru" he started, like a professional tactician. "I say we go for Yuuji and Megumin to avoid Sukuna and your boyfriend"

"My wha–"

"I don't trust Suguru and Shoko, look at them" he immediately cut in, bringing your attention to the other two, still calmly waiting for the brawl too start, not even exchanging a word, like they could speak telepathically. "They're too calm" Satoru squinted, suspicion all over his voice.

"You're right" you hummed, started to feel a little nervous. "But what if they come for us?"

"True" Satoru sighed. "We should be ready for anything"

You nodded, swallowing thickly as you prepared mentally.

"Ready?" Nobara yelled from her reclining chair, laying back to enjoy the sun. "Go!"

The word had barely left her lips before Sukuna was lunging towards Satoru. Clearly someone still wanted to take revenge on the water gun attack from earlier.

And to your complete dismay, Team Uzumaki was quickly moving towards you too.

"Satoru!" you yelled, but his hands were strong where he held you down.

"Fight, princess!" he urged, and the sound of someone sinking was enough to snap your attention back to the game.

Team Black Flash hadn't survived the first charge, with Megumi collapsing from on top of Yuuji before they had barely moved an inch.

At least that left you with only two other teams to worry about. But Yuuji sinking had caught Choso's attention, distracting him.

This was a perfect opportunity.

But before you could extend your hands to try a shy push at Choso's shoulders, Suguru had already reached your team.

"You're getting slow, Satoru" he taunted, Shoko immediately grabbing you by the shoulder's with a non chalant "sorry".

You managed to interlock your hands with hers, the two of you laughing and not trying all that hard to push the other off. Suddenly, though, your body sank deeper, and Shoko's face twisted in surprise as she plummeted off Suguru.

"Fault!" Nobara yelled. "You're not supposed to kick the opposing teams, Satoru"

"That was never a rule!" he yelled, as Suguru and Shoko emerged, scowling at their white haired friend and his cheese eating grin.

Following a quick discussion where Sukuna agreed brute force from the base players should be allowed, Team The Honoured Ones were named the victors of the first round.

Naturally, Shoko and Suguru decided they'd rather have a smoke in the sun instead, and withdrew from the competition, calling fowl play.

"They're just bad losers" Satoru sighed, already helping you up on his shoulders again.

This meant there were only three teams standing this time.

Megumi and Yuuji had decided to switch positions, with Yuuji now standing proud on poor Megumi's shoulders. You and Gojo exchanged a glance, knowing very well what this meant – Sukuna and Choso were definitely coming towards you first.

"Ready!" Nobara called again. "Go!"

As expected, Sukuna and Choso rushed towards you – and Satoru rushed towards them.

“You’re going down!” Gojo yelled at the other team, wide smile all over his face.

“Try it” Sukuna retorted with an evil grin.

While you and Choso looked very much terrified on top of the other two.

Your hands snapped forwards, trying to reach for your crush even while your whole body felt as if electrocuted from the sheer anticipation of being that close to him.

The fact that Satoru kept waving you around frantically didn't help – every time you thought you had an opening, you were somehow swerved in the other direction.

What the hell were he and Sukuna doing down there?!

You finally managed to reach your hands towards Choso, but he blocked your attack with a loud "I'm sorry! Did I hurt you? I–"

“You have to push her” Sukuna growled from beneath him, clearly growing angrier and angrier at his teammates inability to harm you.

But just as he opened his mouth to complain again, his pink head disappeared into the water, taking your crush with him.

And thus, Team Cursed Duo was defeated.

"No complaining, Sukuna" Nobara clicked her tongue as the latter reemerged and immediately went for Gojo's throat. "You're the one who agreed to it"

The three teams regrouped for the third and final round.

The rules were clear this time: any attacks coming from the base players would result in immediate disqualification, and bluetooth speaker rights would be revoked for the time being. It seemed his defeat had changed Sukuna's mind fairly quickly.

"Don't worry, we got this" Satoru reassured from under you, and you offered another proud nod.

Your heart still beat fast from last brawl, and more so from how close you and Choso had been.

It was ridiculous, you felt ridiculous – but somehow, you thought you might not be the only one.

Because Choso himself seemed very preoccupied with looking anywhere else but at you, his gaze firmly fixed on the water and the sky and his brother like the whole world was far too interesting.

You tried to catch his gaze, give him a thumbs up that indicated he didn't hurt you, but every time you happened to catch his eyes he averted them straight away. And you could swear the tips of his ears were turning pink.

"Choso is acting weird" you said to Satoru, keeping your voice low.

You noticed the mess of white hair move from between your thighs, before he let out a low chuckle. "Someone's jealous" he hummed, amused.

"Jealous?" you questioned, tilting your head. It was true Choso didn't have his usual calm expression, and his arms were firmly crossed over his middle while Sukuna tried to argue some strategy. His jaw was locked tight, face turning into a tiny grimace.

It was adorable how he seemed to have no control over his facial expressions.

But…jealous?

"Of what?" you asked again, and you heard Satoru scoff.

"I'm pretty handsome, you know" you could feel him roll his eyes without even having to see it.

"Sure, but" you retorted. "Why would he be jealous of you? We're friends"

To your surprise, Satoru didn't argue again. You expected a tease, for him to say something along the lines of you're not my type anyway. But… it didn't come. If anything, you could have sworn you heard him sigh.

"Of course" he agreed, a few seconds too late. "Now focus, princess"

Nobara was already raising a hand, and motioning the beginning of the third brawl.

Team Black Flash were steadier this time, completely ignoring you and heading to Team Cursed Duo instead. "Come on bro, show me what you got!” Yuuji yelled, putting his hands up to reach for his brother.

Choso's hands locked with his as he tilted his body to the side. He was trying his hardest to not hurt Yuuji, of course, but the pressure was too much for poor Megumi to handle, and he ended up sinking after putting up a fair fight. Later, everyone agreed it was a honourable defeat.

"Yuuji? You ok?" while Choso was distracted by scanning the water for his brother, Team Honoured Ones attempted a sneak attack.

Satoru tried his best to be quiet, though that wasn't really his forte. Right as you were getting ready to push Choso, Sukuna turned around in the blink of an eye – and your hands ended up finding your opponent's chest instead of his broad shoulders.

Choso’s body jolted straight like the sudden contact had electrocuted him. He instinctively reached for your wrists, closing his large palms around them when you welcomed it with a laugh. Encouraged by your playful smile, he began trying to tip you over, but you were stronger than you looked.

Sukuna wasn't as amused, though. With a hinge of his hips, he tipped his weight forwards – and before you knew it, Choso was falling into you and you were falling backwards, losing all balance.

Gojo tried his best to hold on to your legs and stabilise you, but was quickly overpowered by the weight of both you and Choso falling fast, and soon he was submerged too.

The water filled your open mouth as you sunk slowly, your hands desperately reaching forwards, until it found his. Choso had already locked your hands together, his other hand finding your waist to pull you out of the water as fast as possible.

"I'm sorry" he panted, completely drenched himself, helping you hold on to the edge of the pool.

Despite the coughing from the sudden water you had inhaled, you still managed to laugh. "Don't worry about it" you waved it off.

“Team Cursed Duo wins” Sukuna announced, but Choso didn't seem that interested in celebrating.

Despite the enduring sunlight, night time eventually came, bringing with it a more forgiving breeze to squelch the heat.

Because of the changing rules during chicken fight, no one could decide who had the rights over the speaker. Sukuna and Satoru had spent a good thirty minutes complaining, all the while Suguru took control of the music.

Nobara and Shoko were busy making everyone cocktails, but after you had been the test subject to a few too many failed attempts, you decided to excuse yourself to the furthest bean bag, and just let the summer breeze tickle your skin before your friends could get you too drunk.

Right now, you were in a perfect state, somewhere between tipsy and just high on the day's excitement.

Choso had been gone for a while, along with Megumi and Yuuji. It was sweet how close he was to his brother and his brother's best friend, but you couldn't deny you found yourself just…looking for him.

Every time you heard a shuffle of feet or a noise far ahead, you wondered if it was him. Looking for his presence somewhere up in the clouds and also in the nearby voices, your mind conjuring up a million scenarios and things you could talk to him about, despite being too shy to just tell him how you feel.

Was this even normal?

Did everyone with a crush just forget to function when the object of their admiration was near?

You groaned a little, sinking deeper into the chair and just staring at the stars above. They were so bright over here. So much more so than in the city.

It was only the first day, but you already didn't want to ever leave.

“Can I sit here?” a voice finally came, and you had to blink your eyes repeatedly to make sure you weren't day dreaming again, lost in one of your wild scenarios that would never come true.

No, Choso was actually standing there. Handsome and tall against the moonlight, his distracting abs now concealed in a compression shirt that was too tight for your own good.

And he was smiling.

He always smiled around you.

"Sure" you nodded, and he took a seat in the beanbag in front of you. He was clearly too large for it, and you laughed a little at seeing him awkwardly try to fit, but his adorable pout only made you laugh more.

"These aren't very comfortable" he sighed, extending his legs to try and regain some balance. They were so close to yours they almost touched – almost.

"We can move to the chairs, if you like" you suggested, though that would mean going closer to the group.

You didn't want that, but part of you also wanted to know if he did.

As much as everyone teased, you were still not that convinced he had a crush on you too. It would simply be too good to be true.

When was reality ever that kind?

Choso turned around, looking for where the other chairs were scattered. "I'm alright here" he said, despite his clear discomfort. "…If you are?" he added then, bringing his dark eyes to you.

"I'm alright here, too" you smiled.

"Good" Choso nodded awkwardly, his gaze moving from his hands, to where your legs almost touched, and then back to your face. The silence between you was a little awkward, sure, but it was far from quiet – at least on your end, the sound of your heart was loud enough to fill the whole space.

"Are you enjoying the holiday?" you asked.

"Yes" he nodded. "I'm glad Yuuji convinced me to come"

So were you.

"How did he convince you?" you asked lightheartedly, but from Choso's reaction you would have thought you just asked him something deeply personal.

"He, uh–" his hand came to rub the back of his neck, the curve of his bicep immediately catching your attention. Was this a plan to distract you again?!

Surely not. Choso wasn't one to play games – all his endearing awkwardness was exactly who he was.

"He said you were coming" he finally admitted, with a sigh.

You felt your brows furrow close, mouth opening before you even knew what to say. "You came because of me?"

"Um…yeah, I did" he confirmed, staring at his hands.

"So you weren't excited to hang out with Sukuna and Gojo?" you tried to tease, and he finally looked at you with that grimace you loved.

"Definitely not" he said, and you both laughed.

It was a gorgeous sound.

On the other side of the patio, your friends were all lost in casual conversation. Megumi and Yuuji had now rejoined the group, playing some kind of card game on the grass with Nobara. Shoko and Sukuna were talking about something, or, Sukuna was talking about something, but she seemed happy enough to listen. Satoru and Suguru were the ones standing a little further away, talking about something that seemed serious, but who could guess with those two.

"Did you hurt your hand?"

Your head snapped back to Choso, and you noticed it was only you who was distracted looking at your friends. He was focused on your wrist, and how you rubbed it softly with your other hand, flexing your fingers open and close.

You hadn't even noticed you were doing it.

"Oh" you tried to wave it off. “I think I fell at a weird angle during chicken fight” you admitted with an awkward laugh.

Choso didn't laugh, though.

“Let me see” he squinted his eyes, opening his palm for you to take.

You placed your hand on top of his, holding in your breath as Choso inspected your skin. He closed both hands around yours, focused on looking for any sign of bruising or broken skin. It didn't even hurt that much, but you weren't saying no to an excuse to have him look at you like that.

And you watched him – how beautiful he looked with his hair down, falling all messy around his handsome face; still a bit wet from the pool and clinging on to his forehead. His skin felt soft and warm against yours, the perfect contrast to the cool night breeze.

Choso's eyes darted to yours quickly, shyly, but you didn't avert yours. And so he didn't either.

How odd that this was the most tender moment the two of you had exchanged so far, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to be fully present. It felt like a dream, like you were floating high above the clouds – if it was the alcohol's doing, or the adrenaline from the day, or simply the way Choso's eyes looked at yours, you weren't sure.

But everything about this felt… magical.

Slowly, carefully, Choso closed your hand, satisfied that you weren't actually hurt. But then, he brought it close to him, as you watched with wide open eyes – as he left the tiniest kiss on your knuckles.

His face went all red, finally breaking the eye contact, and you could swear you heard his heart beat just as loud as yours.

Maybe all your friends had been right, after all.

“If you do it again, I might forget it hurts" you teased, earning a warm smile from him.

“Good" Choso hummed. "Then I’ll keep going”

Your breathing hitched as Choso touched his lips against your knuckles again, firmer this time. You instinctively opened your palm, an invitation, and Choso interlaced your fingers together, looking at you under his dark eyelashes.

“Do you… want to go somewhere else?” he whispered, and you nodded yes.

You opened the door to your room, hoping no one else from the group had noticed the two of you sneaking away. If you had only looked back you might have noticed Shoko's approving smile and Nobara's whispered "finally", as well as Satoru's puzzling stare. But you weren't exactly paying attention to them right now.

Right now, it was just you and Choso.

"Sorry it's a bit messy" you said awkwardly, noticing you hadn't had the time to clear away all the clothes you had left on the bed, in your haste to find an appropriate swimming costume. You quickly shifted your attention to it, anything to get you away from how nervous you felt, and started putting everything away again.

Refusing to look at how Choso stood awkwardly in the middle of your room, unsure of what to do. "It's fine" he tried to say, though you were hard at work. "You should see Yuuji's room"

You smiled, finishing up and placing the suitcase back on the floor. Now you really had to turn back to him.

"Do you want to get some fresh air, maybe?" you asked, again trying to calm your beating heart. There was a little private balcony at the back, with a loveseat that would do just fine. Some air would definitely help your nerves.

"Yeah" Choso agreed, following you out into the night again.

As predicted, the breeze did help you breathe easier. You sat on the loveseat right by the back wall, shuffling your feet nervously on the ground; but Choso didn't join you.

"I've been meaning to talk to you" he said, putting his hands inside his pockets. Were his trembling like yours were?

"About what?" you asked, trying to sound as casual as possible, hoping he couldn't hear the anticipation in your voice.

"I just…" he started, clearly unsure of what he even wanted to say. "I've been meaning to say something, and I'm not sure if it's the best time, but–"

"You can tell me" you cut in, hands clasped together and sweating embarrassingly.

Choso's eyes narrowed at you, clearly having noticed how odd you were acting. But then he smiled. And then his smile turned into a chuckle that you joined into.

Two idiots, weren't you?

"Do you remember that one time we went to the movies?" Choso started, a little more confident than before. "The first time, maybe a couple weeks after Yuuji introduced me to your group?"

"I remember" you nodded, turning your head at the memory. You were surprised Choso even recalled it, considering how long ago it had been.

"It was some horror movie Yuuji picked" he laughed, shuffling a little. "He was so excited, but I… I could barely look at the screen. When he asked me about my favourite scene later I had to lie, and I felt terrible. I never lie to my brother"

You were a little confused, but listened to what he was telling you with a focused expression. "Why weren't you paying attention?" you asked.

Choso finally looked at you. Breathing in, and out. Taking his time.

"Because you were sitting next to me" he admitted finally. "And all I could think about was how pretty you looked"

Your mouth fell open in complete surprise, but Choso kept going.

“You... you’re incredible, you know” he exhaled. “I’ve always thought that. Every time. And the way you smiled today…"

He took a breath to steady himself, his eyes closing as if lost in memory, and the sweetest smile on his lips.

“Seeing how you smiled today made me wish I could be around to watch you smile like that every time” he continued. “It made me wish I could be the one making you smile that way”

Oh.

Oh.

You were sure your hands were still trembling, but you couldn't really feel them. It was like time itself… had just stopped.

“You are” you heard yourself say though your throat was squeezed tight, and then the dip of the loveseat as Choso settled next to you.

"Hey" he said softly, one hand finding yours where it rested nervously on your lap, the other cupping your cheek. "Don't cry" he begged you, using the pad of his thumb to dry the tears threatening to fall.

"I didn't realise I was" you laughed at yourself, leaning into his hand. "I think I'm just happy"

"Really?" Choso was the one whose voice sounded a little strained this time, but his face had a smile to match yours.

"Really" you nodded. "I didn't think you felt it too"

Choso's bottom lip pushed forward a little in a small pout hearing you say that. "How could I not?" he asked.

How could you not?

Right then, you weren't sure if you felt like an idiot for dismissing all your friends claims and waiting this long, or if the surprise just outweighed anything else.

Why did you automatically expect good things wouldn't happen to you?

Because right now, the best person you could have dreamed of was staring at you with stars in his eyes. And he wasn't pulling back.

Neither were you.

"I like you too" you finally admitted, the words you struggled with for so long finally leaving your lips. In your worse nightmares, Choso turned away or mocked you – but in reality, he didn't do any of that.

If anything, you didn't think you had ever seen him this happy.

"You do?" he repeated, like he just wanted to hear you say it a million more times.

"Yes, you idiot" you laughed at yourself. "Apparently everyone knows" you added, hoping to share some of the shame you felt.

"Yuuji said that too" he sighed, embarrassed. So that's why he had disappeared with his brother for so long.

Despite being mortified by the prospect, the two of you shared an easy laugh. One that was like a weight off your shoulders.

"I wasn't sure if I should do it here, I mean–" he started to say, interlacing your hands together. "I didn't want to make the trip awkward"

"I'm happy you did" you reassured. There was no way you would have survived this trip otherwise… not with Choso constantly half naked around you.

"You are?" he swallowed thickly, shocked at how this had gone better than expected. You wondered what his expectations were, if he also had nightmares as bad as yours.

Instead of answering, you shifted forwards a little forwards, resting your forehead on his as you let the tears flow as they needed to. Choso was right there to catch each one, with his lips this time – kissing every inch of your cheeks as the two of you breathed together like a question waiting for an answer.

When you opened your eyes and smiled at him again, Choso closed the gap.

His lips found yours tentatively at first, nothing but a soft brush as the two of you held your breath. It was when you finally exhaled deeply that he pressed against you more firmly, and your lips parted to invite him in.

You were finally doing this.

Not even your most wonderful dreams could have been better than this.

Choso explored your mouth like he was dying to learn the shape of you, your taste, every smooth curve of your lips. His hands stayed on your cheeks, enjoying how warm and soft you were, still dragging each tear away.

"Cho…" you whispered his name, pulling him into you, all the invitation he needed to deepen the kiss.

You wrapped both your hands around his neck, leaning so far back you almost fell from the loveseat, but Choso was right there to pull you back. His hands hovered, a little unsure before landing on your waist, steadying you, digging into your skin with sweet reverence and desire.

"You're so beautiful" he hummed again, like he couldn't believe the two of you were finally here. The kiss was a little messy, but between each awkward bump of your noses the two of you laughed, remembering the years of affection that had led to this moment.

You pulled back a little, bringing your hands to caress his cheeks instead. "I really like your tattoo" you laughed a little, brushing your thumb over the dark stripe right above his nose. "Is now a good time to tell you that?"

Choso laughed, leaning his forehead on yours. "You could have told me anytime" he said, rocking his head side to side and enjoying where it touched yours.

"I think I was embarrassed" you admitted, biting your lower lip.

"Why?" he asked, tilting your head up so he could look in your eyes again.

How were you supposed to think of anything else when he kept looking at you like that?

"I didn't think you felt the same" you admitted, nose scrunching at how silly it all felt now.

Choso's response was to press your lips together, firmly now, a promise. "I always did" he whispered against you, making all the hairs in the back of your neck stand up.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you taunted, playfully pushing his chest back, and enjoying how that only made him pull you in more.

"I thought you might be… with someone else" he admitted, digging his hands just a little further into your waist.

"It was always you" you confessed this time, a little shy.

Choso blinked at you like that was the last thing he expected you to say.

He kissed you again – deeper, more passionate. Before you knew it, he was on top of you, your two bodies far too big for the small two-seater, but he was very careful to not crush you with his weight.

"Is this ok?" he pulled back a little, giving you space to readjust underneath him.

You nodded with a smile, wrapping both legs around his waist and pulling him back into you. The poor man blushed from his neck to the tips of his ears, but he eagerly sank into you, rocking his hips against yours in a way you did not expect from sweet Choso.

Still, his touch was respectful, careful not to touch anywhere that could be too much too soon. His hands remained steady on your waist – but the growing bulge where his hips pressed pressed into you was getting harder and harder to ignore.

If he wanted you just as much as you wanted him… it was only right to be a little more forward, right?

So you bit his lip playfully, not enough to hurt but enough that his dark eyes snapped open in surprise. Your legs closed around his waist again and your hand moved down to where his was, still resting on your middle, gently encouraging it even further down.

His breathing completely stopped, but Choso allowed you to move it for him, slowly dragging his palm from your waist to your hips and, finally, settling on your thigh. Like a match had just been struck, Choso let out a guttural, deep grunt as he squeezed your flesh, lowering himself down to kiss you again.

His hips kept dragging into you with barely contained desire, all sense out the window now that you gave him permission to touch you in that way. You matched his rhythm, breath growing more and more shallow as you felt the heat pooling between your thighs.

"Fuck, Cho" you moaned, nails digging deep into his shoulders that you used to stabilize yourself. "Feels good"

"Y-yeah?" he moaned, almost a desperate whimper with how bad he wanted this.

You didn't bother responding – your body was already moving on its on, urged by this primal need you had for him. Your hands moved to remove his shirt, not caring at all that the little clothes you had on were askew, revealing far more of you than Choso thought he'd see this early on.

And you noticed the way Choso looked embarrassingly away, not wanting to make you uncomfortable by staring. You looked down at your swimming costume, then back up at him with a wicked smile.

“You can take it off if you want” you suggested, perching yourself up on your elbows.

Choso wasted no time – he swallowed hard, and with a hypnotized nod, moved to undo the swimming costume you still had on.

The fabric fell down, revealing your bare chest to him. Choso looked somewhere between drunk and completely awestruck, with the way he softly gasped at you, like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Can I?" he asked, a small drop of sweat trickling from his temple.

You smiled, tangling your hand onto his dark strands to urge him forwards. Choso relinquished with no push back, sinking his face into your breasts and closing both hands on them.

"Cho…" you moaned out his name, encouraging him further, all restraint out the window.

The sound of his name from your lips drove Choso absolutely insane, his large hands roughly palming your mounds as his mouth tried to give similar attention to each side, sucking and licking every inch of you. "Fuck, baby…" he whimpered between them, making you moan at the affectionate nickname.

Your hand tightened on his head, pulling his hair slightly, though it only seemed to turn him on even more. Your back arched against the love seat and Choso took the opportunity to slide a forearm behind you, making you arch into him further.

He sucked on your already hard nipples, playing and rolling it with his tongue as his eyes moved to your face, so beautiful and needy for him.

Your thighs were still squeezing his hips, his rhythm against your clothed cunt never faltering. It felt good, really good, but you wanted more.

"Cho" you called, biting your lips at him.

"Yeah, pretty?" he asked, face all flushed and eyes dilated with pure desire. Even when addressing you, he refused to stop his worship of your body.

"You can take it off" you repeated your words from earlier, hoping he'd understand what you meant. "All of it" you completed, with a roll of your hips, making a point to press against his bulge.

Choso swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath in. "You…want me to?" he asked.

Maybe it wasn't the best idea – your friends were somewhere outside, probably too drunk to care, but surely someone would notice your absence soon enough.

At least, that's what your brain would have thought if you weren't in the exact position you had been dreaming about for years.

You wanted Choso. Needed him. For far longer than you cared to admit.

So you were ok with being greedy.

"I want you to" you rolled your hips again, and that was all Choso needed.

He nodded, immediately bringing his hands to finish removing your clothes. He was clearly nervous, but when he finally began to pull the fabric down, he did it so slow it felt like torture.

Was Choso also trying to seize the moment? The thought alone made you giggle. To want someone who wanted you just as bad… it was more than you ever thought you could get.

And there was no denying Choso wanted you bad.

“You’re going to kill me...” he sighed when he revealed all of you, laying beautifully onto the loveseat, eager for him. He pushed himself back on his knees, taking his time to admire you like a painting.

His defined abs glistened in the moonlight, distracting, stealing all your focus. Choso was built so beautifully, like he had been sculpted by the gods themselves.

And it seemed he thought the same of you.

"Fuck…" he muttered as one hand dragged from your cheek, to your collarbone, to your navel. Choso took his time exploring every inch of you, letting his warm touch ghost over your skin before he took things further, like he knew he was already addicted and wanted to savour each moment.

When his hand finally reached between your thighs, he found you dripping.

"You're–" his words cut out as his fingers played with your heat, coating himself in your slick, your legs parting eagerly. His head dripped forwards, bangs covering his eyes, trying as best as he could to control himself.

Until he couldn't anymore.

Carefully, he slid one thick digit inside of you. It found no resistance, sinking into you so eager and wet, earning a loud moan that had his head snapping back to yours.

“Like this, baby?” he asked so sweetly, despite how he was already adding another finger inside to stretch you further. His fingers moved slowly at first, but soon they pumped into you faster, and faster, and you had to bring your hands to his thick forearm to brace yourself.

“Mmmh yea” you moaned, squeezing the veins that protruded from his skin, his dark eyes completely locked on where your bodies met.

"You're taking it so well" he praised, groaning when it made you clench around him. "Fuck–You like that?"

You nodded, biting your lip as you felt his movements become rougher, faster. "So beautiful like this" he praised you again.

Your back arched off the seat, and Choso again used the opportunity to snake his other arm around you, pulling you close into him. In this position, you could feel his rock hard erection against your thigh, and you were desperate to know what it felt like inside of you.

One of your hands moved to his bulge, pressing into it as Choso curled his fingers just right inside you. Choso let out a surprised breath, but didn't pull back – instead, he shifted so you could feel all of him.

Your hand found its way past his swimming trunks, your mouth immediately hanging open in shock at the sheer size of him. You moved your hand up and down, exploring, noticing how he was just as long as he was thick, the thought of taking all of him already making you drool.

"Ah" he panted, head falling to your collarbone as you continued to stroke him. Despite his closed eyes and fucked out expression, Choso never stopped the motion of his fingers inside of you, completely focused on your pleasure.

You could feel yourself getting close from his fingers alone, but you didn't want it to stop there.

“I want you” you whispered into his ear, and instantly felt his whole body jolt on top of you.

The movement of his fingers stilled for just a second, before he resumed them like clockwork. "Are you sure?" he asked you, pulling back to look in your eyes again.

How could he be so handsome and sweet at the same time.

“I'm sure” you nodded, bringing one hand to cradle his beautiful face, while the other kept stroking his cock.

Choso pressed a kiss to your lips as he slowly removed himself from you. He stood up slowly as not to hurt you, and finally began to remove the rest of his clothes.

Just as you expected, Choso was beautiful. Every inch of him. And seeing him like that, naked and towering over you with affection in his eyes, only made you need him more.

You sat up fast, your mouth opening around his cock before Choso even realised what you were about to do. You held it with one hand, giving it a shy lick first, tasting the saltiness of his precum on your tongue.

"Baby…" he moaned, placing one hand on your head. He didn't push, just felt the movement with you; the way you started to open up around him, taking him in your mouth inch by inch. "You're–ngh, really good at that" he groaned.

Your mouth kept the back and forwards motion, struggling with his length as it started to hit the back of your throat. Choso moaned at how it constricted around him, seconds away from coming in your mouth if he didn't pull himself back.

"You're gonna make me–" his voice shook a little, his hips chasing you already.

"What?" you asked, knowing exactly what he meant, but unable to resist seeing his lustful face.

His adams apple bobbed up and down when you playfully licked him again, the hand on your hair pulling your strands just a little bit more. Choso was close to losing control, and you loved every bit of it.

"You want me to–ngh" he tried to speak, bringing his eyes to your beautiful face. "You want me to come down your throat?"

You nodded yes, eager, salty tears starting to streak down your face. You were desperate to make him feel good, to know what he tasted like, to keep hearing those delicious noises he kept making.

But then, he pulled away again. Fast, just at the last second when he really couldn't hold it in anymore, and moved to tower on top of you, laying you back down on the loveseat. "I want to feel you first" he panted, his tip already touching your entrance while you opened your legs wide for him.

"Please" you moaned, and Choso swallowed the end of the word with a kiss. His mouth sank into you, and his cock sank into your heat, stretching you fully as you whimpered into his mouth.

He was big. Too big. And Choso was aware of it.

“Slowly” he reassured you, brushing your hair away from your face. “I’ll be gentle” he said with a kiss to the top of your head, and you had no reason to believe otherwise.

You let yourself sink into him, closing your arms around his shoulders as you began to relax. To further help, his hand moved to circle your clit, gently massaging the bundle of nerves that made you clench around him.

"Does it feel good?" he asked, starting to move his hips into you, in and out, in and out.

"So good" you whimpered, chasing his lips for a kiss again. "You're so big, Cho"

He smiled at the compliment, but didn't let the praise distract him. His touch was careful and precise, helping you relax around him and take him inch by inch, until he finally bottomed out.

"You're doing so well, pretty" he kissed the top of your head, fully sheathed into you now.

Your body clenched as it tried to adjust, and Choso was already struggling to keep his composure. But when your nails dug into his back, and you bit your lips at him, Choso knew he was done for.

He let himself pick up the pace, stretching you so deliciously all else faded to the background. All you could think about was Choso Choso Choso, and how good he felt, how warm his hands were all over your body, how delicious his tongue tasted.

"You have to be more quiet, baby" he whispered against your mouth, muffling your moans with a rough kiss.

“Fuck, Cho, you-” you tried to say, but his hips angled just right and his pace grew even faster, all your words meshing together into a whimper of pleasure instead.

“You’re so beautiful” he groaned against your lips. “So fucking beautiful like this”

Your nails were drawing blood from his shoulders, but neither of you cared. It felt too good to stop. You had wanted this for too long to stop.

Despite his earlier words, Choso was also struggling to control his sounds. His moans of pleasure filled your ears like music as he panted on top of you, kissing every inch of your face and neck he could find.

"I'm close" he said, head falling forwards as his eyes shut tight, face contorting in pleasure.

You wanted to see him like this forever.

Completely drunk in you.

“Cho” you muttered, pulling him even deeper with your legs, nails leaving marks all over his body. “Cum inside of me” you asked.

He huffed out all the breath from his lungs, struggling to believe what you had just said.

“Fuck” he grunted, hips going faster and faster. “Are you sure, baby?” he checked again.

“Yeah” you moaned in pleasure, the sounds mixing in with his as you both approached your climax.

“Not before you” he said instead, taking your clit between his thumb and index, rolling the bud carefully, knowing exactly how to drive you insane.

Your body began to shake as the heat started pooling upwards, and just as you were about to tip over the edge, Choso closed your lips with his, drinking up all your moans.

Your body was shaking, pulling him in and milking him desperately, but it was the sounds you were making that made him reach his peak.

"Take it" he grunted, slamming his hips into you as his seed began to spill. You felt the heat filling you up, and your whole body begged for more, but the only words you could get out were his name.

"Choso…" you whispered once more, and he let himself relax on top of you.

His arms closed around your waist, pulling you into his chest as he readjusted to your side, slowly removing himself from you. It was a little awkward in the two-seater, but you wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Being nestled into Choso's chest was everything you needed right now.

He slowly caressed your thigh, hand brushing the sweat away from your forehead and tucking your hair behind your ear. Even after all of this, he looked at you like something precious, something he needed to protect.

“Thank you” Choso whispered against your hair, leaving a kiss to your temple.

How the hell was he so sweet?

“…Thank you?” you echoed with a laugh, trying to tilt your head towards him, but Choso didn't let you – choosing to leave another kiss to your forehead, then another, and another, until you went back to resting on his chest.

“I guess...” he started, all shy. "For being you” he completed, dropping his head to the crook of your neck.

"You're really sweet" you murmured, unsure if you wanted to cry or laugh. All you knew is you just wanted to be right here.

Choso didn't reply to that, his face turning into a small pout, but he was too happy to pretend to be self conscious. "I'm sorry I took so long" he said instead.

"I'm sorry too" you nuzzled into him, hand finding his. “I’ve wanted this for a while, you know” you muttered, your face warm against his chest while Choso softly caressed your hair.

“Really?” he asked, enjoying how your words made him feel. "Me too" he admitted.

“Since when?” you asked, curious.

But Choso only let out a small chuckle. “I think I’ve been in love with you since the first time I saw you” he admitted, looking up at the sky instead of you, letting you in on a secret he had never dared utter out loud.

You followed his gaze, turning your head around to look up at the stars. It was a beautiful night. "Why today?” you asked again.

“I couldn’t hold it in anymore” he replied, resting his cheek against your head.

“Was it because I was on Gojo’s team for chicken fight?” you teased, remembering how your friend had said Choso was jealous earlier.

“No” Choso answered too quick, though his arms held you tighter. “But I can’t say I was a fan of that” he murmured shyly, earning a chuckle out of you.

"You're cute" you laughed, sinking into him.

"How's your wrist?" he asked, hand brushing over the skin that felt tender earlier.

"Doesn't hurt anymore" you noted. "Guess the kissing really did work"

Choso laughed, bringing your hand to his lips again. "As many as you need" he said against your knuckles.

"I might not ever want you to stop" you muttered, a little shy.

"I hope so" he exhaled, bringing you in closer.

You both stayed like that, holding each other in the hot summer night. You didn't speak much, but you didn't need to – so much of what you felt rested in the in between, in the space the two of you effortlessly shared. Choso just made you feel so incredibly comfortable, so perfectly safe.

You could hear some faint laughter coming from the other side of the villa, the signs of a party raging on without you, but neither of you rushed to join the group just yet.

Shoko really had been right, after all. You really needed this holiday.

You let the weight of the day wash over you, as Choso cradled your body close under the stars. All the fun and laughter and confessions, and the promises of much more to come.

And as you held each other close, you both knew – this would be a summer to remember. 

i hope you enjoyed <3 this won the poll for my 1 year anniversary here on tumblr, thank you to everyone who voted and for all my readers too! hope you all have the most wonderful day/night. mwah!

taglist @septembermoonchild @plaguecxlt @nanamitiddiechomper @kekeanna266 @amazedfor @dogggggggblog-kaye @literallyadarling @dawnsoblivion @chewiebee @iquitfindingausername @valberryboos @pwd54gr54 @raendarkfaerie @bbfawns @itimisu @sapph22 @bornafairy @sukunahs @hatchus2 @sukubusss @pawwwginaaa @b-bitter @vampyric-puppy

dividers by @bbyg4rlhelps

[chastiefoul]

grumpy neighbor!nanami kento au | pre-relationship that time when the resident grump accidentally called you an endearing petname.

-

“remind me why i let you in my kitchen again?” the blond said exasperatedly, seeing the overly excited energy painted all over across your feature, one hand on the knife in a way some would say too enthusiastically.

“because i’m great company and i bring joy to your life?” you shrugged, as though it was the most obvious answer in the world.

“the only thing you’re bringing me now is a massive headache.” he took the sharp metal from your grasp, gently putting it on the kitchen counter. “turn around, wear your apron properly,” he reprimanded as you did what he asked almost immediately, an amused snort came out of him at your prompt reaction.

“i like the cats on it by the way, didn’t think you were the type,” you claimed, trying your hardest to ignore the warmth of his knuckles grazing on your back as he tied the navy apron with animated felines printed all over the fabric. 

“i don’t know what image you have of me, and i don’t think i want to. but i like catching you off guard,” he said with a slight smile, currently folding the sleeves of his blue shirt. the sight had you in a trance before you turned away quickly, realizing you were ogling the man who lived next door shamelessly.

“well this isn’t enough, if you really want to do that try telling me that sometimes you cook on your own while wearing an apron and nothing else,” you said playfully, catching the man off guard instead.

“good god. you shouldn’t be allowed to talk sometimes,” he said wearily, though there’s a familiar twitch at the corner of his lips, a gesture he often wore when he spoke to you. a resignation that could only be found in someone who’s defeated, having been used to to your antics. 

“alright, why don’t we just start? can you chop some garlics while i prepare ingredients for the broth?” he asked, looking over at the recipe for the meal you both were about to make on his phone. you saluted, going to the cutting board that’s already prepared by the tall man beforehand. 

naive nanami.

he really thought things would at least get a little calmer when you started the cooking process, but you didn’t let the man rest as he went to look at you to check over, finding someone who’s currently handling a knife like it’s a rubber toy.

“sweetheart, please, you’ll cut off your finger that way.” he approached you quickly, softly taking the sharp thing off of you before he froze like a stone statue. a deafening silence descended between the two of you. 

no longer minding the garlic that’s begging to be chopped in front of you anymore, you turned around slowly — a shit eating grin loyal to your face, even when finding nanami whose cheeks now were covered in pink, apparent, even when he tried to cover his face with one hand.

“well, well, well,” you said, stretching it out like it was some kind of scene in a movie.

“don’t.” he turned his back, refusing to entertain your behaviour, opting for staring into nothingness as he wished the moment would just pass, like nothing happened. although not one bone in his body believed that his wish would come true.

“so you do care about me,” your toothy smile stayed, the man could practically hear it even though you’re no longer on his vision. the slip up aside, your heart couldn’t help but flutter at the peek of the softness he had carefully hid, a side you wanted to bask under once more or maybe twice. 

“i think you knew that already,” he said, rubbing the spot at the back of his neck. 

“and i love hearing about it.”

“you’re never going to live this down aren’t you?” 

“never, sweetheart.”

“i swear to god, i’m moving.”

[indiewritesxoxo]

BABY DADDY DRAMA!

manchild ꕤ chapter index

instead of getting the girl, gojo just got her pregnant! how's he supposed to win you over when you only seem to see him as the baby daddy?

synopsis: when the frat president becomes the father of your daughter, the last thing you expected were his brothers to start bidding to be the step dad! can he prove that he's serious about starting a life together for the three of you - or will someone swoop in to steal both his girls?

pairing: frat!gojo x milf!reader x frat!geto (also starring frat!sukuna)

content: mdni!! fluff, angst, and smut, college au, unrealistic frat depictions, parties, drinking, accidental pregnancy, raising a baby, they all want to be the daddy, condoms breaking, one night stands and messy hookups, piv sex, lots of pining, gojo being lovesick and stupid, nostalgia, jealousy

art cr: @zeilorene0 on x div cr: @/tsumiinum

"You're a fuckin' idiot, man."

Gojo was a thousand things. The president of the most infamous frat on campus. One of those child prodigies who prematurely burned out under the pressure of ample alcohol and parties. A genius when he got his shit together again.

But an idiot?

Yeah, he guessed he was that too.

Staring at the girl of his dreams pushing a stroller outside his favorite cafe, ignoring more of Sukuna's mocking to hurry over and open the door for you so you didn't have to struggle with it.

Aching for approval he knew he wouldn't get - and still clinging to the minuscule chance that he could somehow win your heart if he only tried hard enough.

You didn't say thank you, or even huff in acknowledgement as him, pushing the stroller through with a tight frown as you passed it off to him.

"I ordered you a-"

"I've got to go," you interrupted him, jutting your thumb back in the direction you just came from. "I'm late to class already."

"Oh, okay," he stammered, shoulders stiff as he took the stroller. "Are you sure you don't want to take it with-"

"Milk's in the fridge, but, I'll, uh, call you to check in later?" You called out, not even looking him in the eyes as you turned around.

Halfway out the door before he could even say sure, left standing there with his mouth open like a moron.

It was the first time you trusted him to watch her for more than a couple hours. Given him the responsibility to take care of her until tonight since you had some other plans you didn't bother divulging to him.

"I don't think she's that into you," Sukuna snickered from the table, sipping on a stupid pink drink he'd sworn he hadn't even ordered, grumbling it must have been a mix up like it wasn't half-empty already.

"She just doesn't want to settle down yet," Gojo grumbled, pushing the stroller back to the table, accidentally bumping into an empty chair. He barely managed to make it fit, angling it so he could see the only reason you were still even speaking to him.

His five-month old daughter.

Proof that at one point in time, you liked him enough to fuck.

And okay, there had been a handful of heated hookups after long nights of breastfeeding and soothing your daughter back to sleep in her crib, where you'd begrudgingly let him pry your thighs apart on the couch to bury his tongue inside of you or sleepily fuck you on the stained cushions with your face buried in the pillows. But you'd made it clear each time that you still couldn't stand him.

You were using him for sex.

The sad thing was he didn't mind.

Not when his skin was on yours, when your mouth was still saying his name instead of someone else's.

He tried to propose to you. Four times.

You called him a manchild for thinking a marriage would make the two of you magically work.

"Think she'd say yes if I asked her on a real date then?" Sukuna said, trying to piss him off today as he leaned back in his own chair and chuckled. He didn't like the way he said real. Like the two of you had been on something that could've qualified as a date before without him knowing.

God, the only reason that asshole even came was because he heard that you were dropping off her.

"Don't even think about it," Gojo groaned, tempted to reach across the table and throttle him for suggesting it.

Having a baby with someone he was hopelessly in love with was hard enough.

Did all of his friends have to fucking audition to be the stepfather?

Sukuna hadn't even known you until after he'd knocked you up.

Never met you until you begrudgingly showed up to the frat house with a pregnancy test in hand and a scowl etched across your pretty face.

"I mean, who would you rather have be the stepdaddy?" Sukuna dryly mocked, actively ragebaiting him as he snagged the muffin that had been meant for you, unwrapping it and taking a big bite before talking with a full mouth. "Me? Or Suguru?"

Gojo would actually rather die than watch either of them marry you.

What the fuck was he supposed to do to stop them from speaking to you though?

Especially when the latter had managed to end up firmly planted in your good graces with those irritatingly smooth lines of his? Cooking you meals and murmuring in your ear what a good mother you were?

All while he just fucking sat there and stumbled over his words, feeling shittier and shittier as they tried to steal you and his daughter right out from underneath his nose.

"Neither," he grimaced, turning his attention back to his baby.

She was awake, kicking her legs in her seat as he bent forward to unbuckle her, carefully picking her up before placing her in his lap.

His heart pounded in his chest, pressure pushing down and making his ribs constrict at the thought of fucking this up.

He didn't know how to be a father. Not really. He'd never even been anyone's boyfriend. Never had any pets growing up to take care of.

Becoming frat president was the first real responsibility he ever had.

And now he had an entire human that was half-him to raise.

Drunk idiots were a lot fucking different than a baby. Who needed to be fed and bathed and loved and a million other overwhelming things he was struggling to keep track of.

She blinked up at him, familiar blue eyes squinting at him before they started to well up with tears, face scrunching up like she was about to start wailing.

He tried bouncing her up and down, but it only seemed to make her more upset, panic bubbling up before Sukuna was getting up out of his seat.

"Here," he grunted, scooping her out of his arms and cradling her against his chest as if it came naturally. "I've got her."

Her tiny body relaxed, eyes softening as he murmured something under his breath - not to Gojo, but to her. Soothing her in a way that simply didn't come naturally to him.

Going from on the verge of bawling to batting her lashes in a matter of seconds.

His daughter didn't even prefer him.

And he only had himself to blame.

Maybe if he managed to make up with you sooner, actually make you his, he could actually be living with you full time. Sharing a bed, sharing breakfast, being there to handle all the dirty diaper changes and spilled milk instead of just stopping in and begging you to let him stay to do night shafts.

You didn't trust him. Thought he was just a temporary fixture. Someone who was here for now instead of forever.

Every time he got close to convincing you he was here permanently, he always screwed it up.

God, he almost missed you giving birth just because some goddamn sorority girl stole his phone at a stupid party Suguru had insisted he show up to for at least an hour. But he'd been the one to accept the first beer - and the second.

The shots were harder to excuse.

If it wasn't for you calling Suguru in between contractions, he probably wouldn't have gotten there minutes before you had to start pushing. You had glared at him, stray strands of hair sticking to your forehead as you studied the glazed over look in his eyes and scoffed that you could smell the alcohol on him.

All he'd done was stain the memory of meeting your baby for the first time.

Fucked it all up from that very first moment.

He overheard you on the phone a couple days later, muttering something about how you couldn't believe he couldn't just stay sober when he knew you were about to go into labor any day.

Gojo hadn't touched a drink since.

He still had to show up to parties sometimes, had frat duties he couldn't exactly dodge, but he didn't let it interfere with him being a dad anymore.

"You're lucky she looks like you," Sukuna muttered, reaching up to scruff up her hair.

"Yeah," he swallowed, although part of him still wished she had more of you.

"No one would believe she's actually yours if she didn't," he dryly commented, picking out the the stitches of wounds Gojo was still licking.

"Can you stop being a dick for like, a day?" Gojo grumbled, rubbing his eyes as he glanced away from his daughter out the window at the people passing by on the street.

Staring a little too long at the happy families, his mouth twitching down at the tiny kids chattering to their parents, struggling to accept the fact that one day his own would be that be that big.

"I'm just sayin'," he shrugged. "How'd you even get her to fuck you?"

Sheer luck?

Pure chance that you somehow found his stupidity cute when you weren't sober?

He had etched the night in his head, held onto the memory with the worry that it could somehow be ripped from him too.

One of the few moments he'd gotten with you that was relatively untainted by everything that happened since.

Playing it back like a movie in his head, convinced that if he closed your eyes, he could smell the perfume you wore that night, feel your skin on his again.

He'd barely been brave enough to work up the courage to come over to you, jittery as he made an awful joke about running into you here while you tilted your head to the side and replied that you were surprised he even recognized you.

It wasn't like he'd even spoken to you before.

Not technically.

He'd bumped into you once after class, too distracted on his phone to pay attention to what was actually in front of him. In his defense, you weren't looking either, leaning against the wall to rummage through your bag for something with one hand and a coffee clutched in the other one.

The collision spilled your drink, mostly onto the floor as he immediately stopped and gawked at what just happened while you huffed an insult under your breath.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but you just glared up at him like he was worse than gum getting stuck on the soles of your shoes, nose scrunching up as you rolled your eyes and sarcastically thanked him for wasting the one treat you'd gotten yourself this week.

Gojo was pretty sure he fell in love with you from the first scowl.

Clumsily shoving his hands in his pockets and fumbling for a fifty from his wallet, holding it out as he tried to convince his tongue to move and tell you to take it. But you just shook your head and mumbled that you were going to find a janitor to mop up the mess.

His crush hadn't ended there.

Not when he couldn't stop himself from picking you out every time you passed by him on campus, feeling like a creep when he tried to come up with some way to casually run into you again.

So, yeah, when you showed up to his frat house, wearing a pretty little dress and sipping shitty beer out of a solo cup, he was rushing over before any of his brothers could notice how cute you looked when you frowned.

"Come to spill my drink?" You sarcastically asked, arching up an eyebrow when he inserted himself in the space next to you.

"That was an accident," he pouted, pushing out his bottom lip and hoping you didn't find it completely cringy. "Can't I make it up to you?"

He couldn't fucking believe it when your mouth curled up in a soft smile instead of an automatic scoff, his heart slamming so hard against his ribs he was sure it was going to burst before he even got your number.

"What do you have in mind?" You asked.

He was ready to get on his knees then.

More with every second you spent by his side, giggling at his awful attempts of flirting as you kept him at arm's length, forcing him to try harder than he had with any other girl before just to take a single body shot off of you.

His cock throbbing and aching in his jeans when your lips softly pressed against his collarbone, drifting up to drink the vodka you poured in the divot above it. His hands had been on your waist, fingers sinking in like he couldn't quite tell if you were real or just some dizzyingly beautiful hallucination his drunk brain had conjured up.

It wasn't until he managed to pull you back into his room, bending you over the bed and shimmying your dress down that he let himself believe this was actually happening.

"So you fuck every girl you take body shots with?" You teased, out of breath while he felt his own get caught in his throat at all your exposed skin.

"Just you," he lied.

Although, now that he was with you, he couldn't remember a single one that had come before.

"Uh-huh," you muttered, not believing it for a second.

He wished you had.

"You're the prettiest girl at this party," he purred, although he was already thinking that maybe he should've said planet as he dragged his tongue over the inside of your thigh, up to where your lace panties were still bunched between your legs. Leaving a damp patch as he greedily tried to eat you out through the thin fabric, acting like a desperate loser in love with someone leagues above him.

Gojo always thought he was a catch.

Cocky enough to find confidence in his position as class president, in his body and his brains, in his financial and social status.

But he couldn't shake the fucking feeling you thought he was beneath you.

It only made him crave you more.

It wasn't good enough to have you writhing underneath him, chest heaving when he finally buried his cock inside of you, hastily just grabbing a random condom from the closest drawer and carelessly sheathing himself in it. It wasn't enough to make you moan his name as he bottomed out again and again, focused more on your pleasure than how tight the condom was as his fingers sloppily played with your clit.

Gracelessly grinding as deep as he could inside you, gritting his teeth as he watched every tiny flicker of your face, searching it for a tiny inkling of passion, of hunger that wasn't just primal.

Gojo wanted you to want him for him.

Not just a quick fuck that you'd forget about sooner rather than later.

Still, he never meant for the condom to break.

He'd known from the second he saw it register on your face that you weren't going to give him a second chance. That he'd totally fucking blown it as he stammered out apologies and spread your thighs further apart to fish out the broken bits of condom from inside you, cum leaking down your thighs as you bit your lip and stared at the ceiling.

"Are you on birth control?" He asked, his voice thin and strained as he pulled out the last piece, a funny feeling settling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of his own cum dripping out of you, the way the panties he'd forgotten to fully take off of you had gotten soaked as you stared at him with unfettered irritation.

"No," you spoke quietly, a hint of embarrassment shining in your eyes as you looked away from him to the state of his messy room. "I don't really do...this."

"Oh," he swallowed.

He didn't know what to say.

What to do. How to fix something he'd never had before.

So he just awkwardly threw away the condom, chewing the inside of his cheek as he tried to put on a casual grin. "Do you, uh, wanna shower or something? Stay the night?"

"Fine," you muttered, the mood still ruined no matter what he did to lift it again. Anxiety creeping in and making his usual aftercare routine awkward and tense until you were both laying on different sides of the bed, him staring at your back while you faced away from him.

He hoped that you would be there the next morning.

That the next day would be the start of a different story. He'd take you out for breakfast and reassure you that you probably wouldn't get pregnant anyway.

Really, what were the chances of it even happening?

He fell asleep fantasizing about ways to make you fall for him too.

But you were gone when he got up, rolling over to find a cold place where your body should be.

The bed was empty, your clothes missing from the floor and no note left behind.

No phone number for him to call or text to beg for a date. He stopped seeing you around campus too.

In some sick way, he felt a fucked-up sense of satisfaction when you showed back up to tell him you were pregnant.

He thought that it'd mean you were stuck with him.

Not that he'd be spending the next year scrambling to keep your attention to himself.

And away from them.

Sukuna reclined back more in his chair, his hard features softening as he dragged his thumb to wipe away the drool from his daughter's mouth.

"You're kind of a shitty dad, dude," Sukuna grunted, not even glancing up at him.

Was he?

He didn't know what a good one looked like.

His dad had barely been there for him growing up. Too busy to be at the dinner table or attend his soccer games.

"Can you stop talking like you're her stepdad?" Gojo grumbled, exhaling as he held out his arms, ready to take her back just for his baby to betray him again, clinging onto Sukuna's shirt with her tiny fists.

"I'm not the one you should be pissy with," Sukuna shrugged, a little glint in his eyes that made his stomach churn. Already aware that something he wouldn't want to hear was about to leave his friend's mouth. "Suguru's the one taking her out to dinner tonight."

Since when?

His jaw locked, fist clenching under the table at the thought of you and Suguru sitting at a table together at some fancy place, his hand sneaking out to brush over yours as he ordered you wine and wooed you.

How the hell was he supposed to let his best friend fuck his baby momma?

"Do you know where?"

a/n: i'll let you guys name their baby, drop suggestions in the comments!!

series | latest oneshots | patreon

[indiewritesxoxo]

HIS PRETTIEST PEACH!

the only thing softer and sweeter than you is…sukuna?

synopsis: being captured by the king of the koopas would be horrible — if he didn’t have such a big dick. when you see the opportunity to save yourself from his clutches and claws, will you take it? or be his bride? (follow up to this!)

pairing: bowser!sukuna x princess peach!reader

wc: 5.2k

content: MDNI, smut!!, porn with plot, technically kidnapping but reader doesn’t really mind, yandere!sukuna, oral sex (f! receiving) unprotected piv sex, mating press, pulling out, manhandling, restraints, biting, they’re both freaks for each other, teasing, mocking, mario!gojo slander, bratty reader and brattier sukuna, dual pov

art cred: @numbuh666

“Don’t you think this is a little overkill?” 

What, since when were ropes and restraints frowned upon in a relationship? 

Couldn’t you just see it as another form of foreplay? 

“No?” He grunted, heavy footsteps echoing across the floor as he studied the ties binding you to his bed. 

His pretty princess sprawled out in his sheets, your once perfect pink dress wrinkled and ruffled from all your squirming. The mushroom kingdom might miss you, but they didn’t appreciate you anyway. 

Didn’t adore you enough to memorize every tiny detail of your routine and make sure no one like him would be able to snatch you straight from underneath your weak guard’s noses. 

What else was he supposed to do when you let a couple lousy plumbers hang around your castle? 

“Just take some of them off. It’s uncomfortable,” you complained, pushing out your bottom lip in a pretty pout, chest heaving against the ribbons wrapped around them, bows his claws clumsily tied earlier to make you look like a present he wanted to save for later. “Please?” 

That was Sukuna’s problem.

How the hell was he supposed to say no to you? 

His own mouth twitched down, eyes narrowing as he exhaled hard. 

There were meetings he meant to attend tonight. Plans to be made to make sure no one from your old life would show up to cause problems for your current one. 

All derailed just because he couldn’t resist the way you batted your lashes at him. 

He walked over to your bedside, feeling even more like a beast with his lumbering steps before he bent over to examine the ties keeping you here. 

“Can’t you just wait an hour?” He gruffly asked, dragging a claw over your stomach, itching to sink it in just enough to tear your clothes clean off. 

“It will take you two to come back,” you quickly retorted, tilting your head to the side – as if you held the power here instead of him. 

You were supposed to be his hostage. A prisoner he pined for. 

But the second you even hinted that perhaps you wouldn’t mind being his lover, whatever shred of his sanity he’d retained had unravelled at the first taste of your body. 

It wasn’t enough that you would be his bride soon. 

And even up in his air ship, where no one should be able to reach you, there was the discomforting fear someone might steal you from him the way he saved you before. 

“You could take me with you,” you hummed, giving him your best set of pleading eyes as he felt the once shriveled organ he called a heart squeeze at how sincere you looked. 

“I-” 

“Shouldn’t I be there anyway if it’s about our wedding?” You insisted, and despite his reservations, the only thing he was weak to was you. 

So he dragged his finger over the ribbon, slicing through it and the thick fabric easily as he cleanly cut each and every restraint keeping you tied to his bed. 

You had requested your own chambers when he first abducted brought you here, but these days, you rarely even stepped foot in them when you’d taken to staying up sleeping in his sheets. He liked your little scowl when you peeled off the now torn dress from your body, getting out of bed and rubbing your wrists with a haughty huff befitting your status. 

His future queen. 

“Happy?” He grumbled, shoulders rolling back as his greedy eyes dragged over the shape of your breasts, mouth watering enough he had to swallow his own spit. 

“No,” you sharply scoffed, striding over to your now-shared closet as you swiped through the selection of outfits he had made for you. “That was my last pink dress from home.” 

“I think these suit you much better,” he dryly replied, having to keep himself from snarling at your disdain for the clothes he’d chosen. So what if they showed a little more skin? “But if you wish, I’ll kidnap your dressmaker.”

“Can’t you just hire him?” You asked, giving him that look, like he was somehow testing your patience. 

Personally, he found that most prisoners, or well, workers only did their best after some time in the dungeon. 

But he didn’t mind bickering with you about it. 

Not when it made him almost feel like you were already married. 

“I guess,” he begrudgingly grunted, making a mental note to send a koopa down to find him tomorrow for you. 

Watching you get dressed was nearly as intoxicating as seeing you strip, studying the lines of your body, the way you moved your limbs as you squeezed into the tight outfit he was absolutely correct in assuming would look fantastic on you. Eyes glazing over as he committed and etched the image of you in his head, content to capture you like this in a painting later, frame it and hang it up in his private study as a new permanent fixture. 

Sukuna was not accustomed to compliments. 

But he found himself awkwardly clearing his throat, reaching out for you right as you glanced over your shoulder at him. 

“My bride is beautiful,” he muttered, his voice coming out all low and gravelly as heat creeped up his neck and threatened to color his cheeks in an obvious blush. 

Forcing himself to look back at the barred windows, biting the inside of his mouth until it drew blood. The thick taste of iron on his tongue as a delicate digit tapped his much larger hand. 

“Thank you,” you softly said, tempering your tone as you laced your fingers through his. “Shall we go?” 

He wasn’t stupid enough to assume you truly loved him back. Not the way he loved you, at least. 

Knew damn well that this could just be some attempt to get his guard lowered enough for you to escape. 

You might just want to know what their plans were. Where he’d send his troops of koopas to claim the land that used to be yours. Figure out any weak points. 

It didn’t matter. 

He wasn’t going to give you the chance to take advantage of it. No matter how much he might loosen your leash. 

Still, the walk through the air ship was rather peaceful. 

The warmth of your palm pressed against his, your skin brushing against his, those quick glances you’d steal up at him when his shell bumped into you. 

The koopas were already waiting for him there, crowded around the table and chattering before they all froze at the creak of the door swinging open. 

Turning to bow down before him, his ego inflating at their easy obedience while he caught a glimpse of you rolling your eyes to his right. 

“Oh no,” he deadpanned. “It appears there aren’t enough chairs.” 

It would be easy to have a koopa scramble to fetch one for you. But just lazily walked over to his throne and sat back in it, spreading and patting his thighs while you stared at him with an adorable attempt at a stern expression. 

He could picture you presiding over meetings like this back in your own Kingdom, addressing those morons in your dominion as if they even deserved to speak to you at all. 

And now here you were, climbing on his lap in a tiny outfit, looking more like a concubine than a dignified princess. 

“You did this on purpose,” you muttered, not that you actually seemed mad. More like you were pretending to be – acting out a role you knew you were supposed to fill.

“How?” He dryly mocked. “I didn’t know you were coming.” 

Well, sure, perhaps part of him suspected you’d protest being all tied up and ask to tag along. But the chairs were just a coincidence. 

You shuffled on his lap, trying to get comfortable like he couldn’t feel the way you were quivering already. 

That was the part you were horrible at hiding. Because despite that sweet mask you liked to wear of a proper lady, you couldn’t disguise your attraction to him, couldn’t pretend to be distinguished when he’d seen how much you craved his cock every night. Derived a certain degree of pleasure in him ruling over you instead of the other way around. 

“You’re cruel,” you half-whispered, as if he somehow humiliated you when he could smell how horny you were. 

You were cute when you were trying to be strong. 

What would that plumber of yours think of you on his lap like this? 

He supposed he’d take care of that business after the wedding. Once he had bound you to him for good. 

“Lord Sukuna, we received a report from the koopas stationed-” 

He waved it away, shaking his head before he could even finish. 

“We’re discussing the wedding tonight,” he interrupted, running a calloused palm across your waist, feeling the way you shivered at his touch. “Since my bride is here.” 

It would all belong to him soon enough anyway.

Your heart. Your home. 

He’d conquer it all. 

ཐི♡ཋྀ

You hadn’t meant to fall for him. 

He was meant to be the monster in the tale. 

The scary villain that needed to be slain. 

A beast you were supposed to hate by the end of the story. 

You’d grown up with plenty of fairytales. Romances spun about princesses who were saved by brave knights and lived happily ever after. 

You had always thought you would marry a guy who wields a sword instead of spewing fire, someone steadfast and pure hearted. 

Sukuna was stubborn. Strange. Hot-headed with that horrible temper of his, with claws that looked made for slashing rather than clumsily clutching the stems to bouquets you could hardly believe he picked for you. 

You stared at his sleeping figure. The tattoos inked against his tanned skin as his chest slowly rose and fell. 

His mouth parted, the low roar of his snore starting up as you untangled yourself from his heavy limbs. 

The meeting had run far longer than either of you had anticipated, heavy eyelids drooping from exhaustion with you still on his lap. And even when it ended, he just yawned and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you back to your room with one hand while the other rubbed his exhausted eyes. 

He didn’t even try to fuck you. To your disappointment. 

Just plopped you down in bed and joined you there, strong arms wrapping around you before he promptly passed out. 

But no matter how many sheep you counted in your head, or how hard you shut your own eyes, you couldn’t bring yourself to fall asleep.

Your brain was buzzing, hyperaware of his touch, of his breath, a big ball of tension coiling tight in your core as you tried to ignore the familiar ache between your thighs. 

For a guy who kinda kidnapped you, the least he could do was have a smaller dick so you didn’t have to think about how good it felt to be fucked full of him constantly. 

You bit the inside of your cheek, shuffling off the bed slowly, stare still trained on him as you avoided waking him up. 

Usually though, once he was out, he wouldn’t stir until the sun was slipping through the cracks in the porthole he called a window. 

Now, there were only a handful of candles lit to illuminate the dark, your engagement ring glittering in the low light. It was big, and well, a bit gaudy, a ridiculously large pink sapphire glinting in the middle surrounded by small diamonds embedded into a gold band. 

Something that screamed you were taken from a mile away. 

He’d gotten down on one knee, the spiky shell on his back seeming even bulkier when he was all bent down like that, popping open a velvet box to propose to you like you were a normal couple. 

A year ago, you would have scoffed at the idea of him bowing to anyone. Laughed that someone might say yes to him.

But your own affirmation had come a bit too easily for even you to conceal your own crush. 

Could you call it that? 

Shrink your feelings down to something more comfortable to swallow? 

He rolled over, and you froze, throat constricting as you waited for his body to realize you weren’t there and wake him up. 

Instead, he grabbed the pillow, squeezing it tight as his nostrils twitched. Sniffing the scent of you left there before he let out a soft sigh and settled back into dreamland. 

When you watched him like this, all peaceful and pleased, you could almost trick yourself into thinking that this could last forever. 

But your feet were creeping closer to the door, heart thumping rapidly as you tried to quell your troubled mind with reassurances that you wouldn’t get caught. 

This could be the only opportunity you ever got. Your only chance to just leave. 

Your parasol had just been lazily stashed in a storage closet by one of the koopas, so it wouldn’t even be hard to snag it and slip off the ship. 

All you’d really have to do is find the courage to jump and float down. 

Of course, you’d need to hope that you weren’t drifting over anything dangerous. 

But considering you were sharing close quarters with someone as feared as him, who had enough strength to probably split your former plumber in two, you supposed whatever was below couldn’t be much scarier than what you’d be leaving behind. 

Were you scared though? 

Truly? 

Did his pointy teeth hold any terror anymore? When was the last time those sharp claws of his inspired even a sliver of apprehension? 

You had started to see them differently. Him differently. 

Anticipating the next time he’d sink his mouth on your skin and leave love bites. Fantasize about him scraping his claws down your back. Intoxicated by the weight of the restraints he liked to tie you down with. 

Was it fucked up to be horny instead of frightened? 

Yes, but that wasn’t exactly something you wanted to unravel while you were tiptoeing across dim hallways thinking about the logistics of an escape plan. Where would you even run to? 

Find some tropical island to take shelter in and hope none of the ape-ish men there would make things worse? 

You couldn’t just abandon the mushroom kingdom either. 

Leave the land you’d sworn to protect behind for him to seize in your absence. 

If you stayed, you could still rule over them. Ensure their safety – and your own. 

Although, you were sure it was only a matter of time before a certain someone attempted to take you back. 

Gojo seemed to think simply saving you was enough. 

He was always busy with Suguru or racing karts or doing other stupid shit that made you feel more like a second thought than a lover who was special to him. 

Sacred.

You wanted to be worshipped. 

Not strung along or simply sucking it up to see how long you could suffer. 

You were a princess after all. 

What purpose did you have if you weren’t born to be revered? 

Perhaps that was why when you opened the door you stopped in front of, the first thing you saw wasn’t your parasol staring back at you – but your own face. 

A hundred of them. 

Canvasses of different sizes, some hung up on the walls and others lined up against each other, one still on the easel in the center of the room as you stepped on the crinkly plastic tarp laid out and covered in paint splatters on the floor. 

Who said a villain couldn’t have hobbies? 

You hesitated as you gazed at his latest portrait of you, the soft strokes, the delicate touches that seemed incapable of coming from his massive hands. Each one was deliberate. This painting captured you in a candid moment, your head turned to the side as you leaned over the edge of the ship, the sky behind you and the sun on your face. Some of the others featured a…more flattering version of him next to you. 

Ones that made him look more regal.

More like a man instead of a monster by your side. 

Gojo would have scoffed. 

Said it was cheesy or stupid or came up with some other cheap insult to diminish his work. 

But it made your heart stutter. 

Slam faster into your ribcage the longer you stared at yourself. 

This was how he saw you. 

And it was how you wanted to be seen. 

You could blame it on reason. 

Say you had a responsibility or you were just doing what was rational. 

But you simply didn’t want to run away. 

Would it truly be so horrible to marry him? To be his wife and rule two kingdoms instead of one? 

Maybe give him a Sukuna Jr.? 

A loud bang exploded in the distance. 

The sound of wood splintering and faint crashes that seemed to get closer by the second. 

Oh well. 

It seemed your groom-to-be had woken up. 

You didn’t budge though. 

Just folded your arms across your chest as a chill ran down your spine and waited for him to find you – even as his gruff voice barked orders for his koopas to start sweeping over the ship for any sign of you. It didn’t take him too long to find you, the door thrown open so fast it hit the wall behind it and made an awful noise. You stilled, only throwing him a bored look over your shoulder.

“You’re making a racket,” you commented, pretending to be casual as you returned your attention to your own portrait. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He demanded to know, stomping over and grabbing your wrist to spin you around. It was hard to hide the hint of a smirk your lips attempted to curl up into, but you managed, fixing him in your most unamused stare. “You’re trying to fuckin’ run away, aren’t you?” 

You didn’t know whether to deny it or offer the admission that you at least changed your mind.

The feral scowl etched into all his rough features was pretty hot.

“I’m admiring your art,” you murmured softly, wondering how difficult it would be to make him melt for you. 

“Liar,” he accused, thick brows pinched together tightly. “You left me.” 

“How could I leave you if I’m right here?” You pointed out, tilting your head to the side. 

For all his fire, he faltered when you offered him a small smile, his own mouth curving down to form a disgruntled frown. 

“Stop playing dumb,” he hissed, barring his teeth as if it would work on you now. 

“Are you calling me dumb?” You asked, arching a brow up as if you believed he was. 

His free fingers curled into fists he immediately shook out, jaw clenching as his red eyes seared straight through you. 

“I am not-” He stopped himself, maybe realizing he was falling into your trap before angrily shaking his head. “You little-” 

“Little what?” You dared him to actually finish his curse, but he had clamped his lips shut. Pulling you closer to him before unceremoniously scooping you up bridal style, muttering to himself as he stormed back in the direction of your now shared bedroom. 

“Thought that fucking idiot came and stole you,” said the man who stole you first. You had to hold in your snort, keeping your head down as you tried to not let him see you roll your eyes. 

But his intense stare was fixed on you, his nose scrunching up, lips parting in an annoyed scoff. 

“You think this is funny,” he grunted. 

“Is it not?” You asked, tempted to test just how crazy you could drive him. 

“You are-” Sukuna grimaced, biting down on the inside of his own cheek so hard you knew he probably drew blood.

“You’re really having trouble finishing your sentences tonight,” you commented, pushing your luck further. The vein bulging across his forehead ready to burst at your trivial giggle was a cute perk to pissing him off. “Tell me, my king, what exactly were you going to do if I had run away?” 

“Get you back,” he grumbled, as if you somehow could miss the glint in his eyes when you called him your king. 

You wondered how long it would take for him to ask you to say that in bed. 

And got your answer a lot sooner than anticipated. 

The moment you had crossed the threshold, he was ripping the barely-there clothes off of you and pinning you to the bed. 

Bites buried into your skin as he travelled from your stomach up to your breasts, teeth skimming against every available inch of skin until he was sinking the deepest ones into your throat, a low growl rumbling from his chest as you squirmed underneath his heavy weight. 

His tongue dragged over your neck, leaving a lewd line over the sensitive spots he’d just been sucking on until his mouth was positioned right by your ear. 

“Say it again,” he commanded, all husky and hot as your stomach found a way to tie itself in an even tighter knot. 

“Say what?” you played just as dumb as he accused you of, the tension just building on top of itself as his warm breath fanned over your skin, claws sinking into your hips just careful enough to not hurt, but to make you feel the pressure. 

“You know what,” he hissed, too prideful to admit what it was he really wanted.

“You want me to call you my king?” You hummed, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair, softening your voice. 

Sukuna might not say it. But his heavy cock pressed up and throbbing against your thigh surely told you the truth. 

“I want you to mean it,” he murmured, his defined jaw catching the candlelight while you watched the lump in his throat bob. 

You hesitated. 

Considered giving up this charade the two of you had been embroiled in. 

Him dutifully playing your captor while you pretended to be a damsel in distress as if you hadn’t been having sex like partners instead of just lovers.  

He might not know the difference. 

But you did. 

Because even after he came, he didn’t just roll over and conk out. And when you woke up together, he didn’t just abandon you to handle his own affairs. 

He took care of you, fed you only the best foods and offered the best baths, pampered you in luxuries and made sure you wouldn’t want for anything when you were with him. 

What else could a girl ask for? 

So what if he was a little…sharp around the edges? 

You could love him and all his spikes. 

It wasn’t like you were ignoring him, but you’d been so swept up in your own thoughts you were caught off-guard when he abruptly buried his face between your thighs. 

Mercilessly shoving his tongue inside you, diving in without a sliver of reluctance, with a single obvious goal in mind. 

Making you moan what he wished to hear if you wouldn’t just outright say it. 

Swirling his tongue around with the precision of someone who was determined to drag you to an orgasm. The thick muscle working you open ruthlessly, his fingers pressing down and pulling you into his mouth. 

Groaning into your cunt to make your body unhelpfully spasm, giving into those maddening patterns he was painting inside you as those reverberations traveled up through you. 

Resisting felt pointless. 

Holding back was so much harder when the pleasure he was providing was overwriting all your common sense. 

You were tugging hard at his roots, hips arching off the soft surface of the bed to drive him in even deeper. But it simply wasn’t enough. 

He made you just as greedy as him. 

“M-more,” you moaned, swallowing hard as the heat started to get to your bed, the warmth he was radiating making beads of sweat roll down your forehead. 

He pulled out, laughing crudely as he looked up at you with wild eyes. 

“More?” 

Ah. 

Maybe that was a mistake. 

But you couldn’t find an ounce of regret when Sukuna was roughly flipping you over onto your stomach and nudging your thighs further apart with his knee next. Making sure you were properly spread as he climbed back on top of you, trailing the sharp edge of his claw up your spine before grabbing the nape of your neck. 

You couldn’t look back. 

Could barely breathe. 

Stuck there with your face pressed against the smooth blankets as you waited for him to make his move. 

“You want more?” He echoed his previous sentiment, disbelief still ringing in his tone. 

“Do I have to ask again?” You teased, even if your question came out half an octave too high. 

You would. 

But only if he made you. 

“Say it then,” he growled. 

“My king is mean,” you wryly mocked, knowing that he would fuck you harder for it. 

“I’ll show you mean,” he muttered, the swollen tip of his cock pressing right up against your slick entrance as you tensed up. 

You used to think you were smart. 

But considering how soaked you were waiting to have sex with him, you supposed you weren’t half as intelligent as you’d been before. 

And the moment he was sliding in, you were losing even more IQ points you didn’t know if you had to spare. 

Thoughts getting all fuzzy as they faded away to be replaced with mantras of his name, desperation bleeding into each one as you ached to be full. 

He was still gracious enough to ease you into the first thrust, slowly splitting you open on his length before pulling out and doing it again. 

Walls clamping down and straining to get accustomed to all his ridges, to his sheer size. 

But he was bottoming out before you could get your sanity back in check, all your rationality dissolving in a puddle of raw need as he hit a spot that made you jolt. 

“Not running from me now,” Sukuna snarled, pulling your hips back down as he plunged his cock even deeper, grinding it up, up, up for you to practically feel him in your lungs. 

Air squeezing out with each one of his rough thrusts no matter how desperately you tried to quickly suck more back in. 

A snarky piece of you wanted to argue that you hadn’t technically run away at all, but you didn’t think he had any reason left in him either. 

This was just about you and him and fucking until he felt better. 

Until you were both so enmeshed you would never want to leave him again. 

The connection between his cock and your cunt driving you nuts as he drove it in again and again. 

“Being real quiet now,” he taunted, and you just scoffed back at him, unable to form any coherent words to bicker back. 

But before you could try to find him, he was pulling back out right as you were getting edged closer. 

He flipped you over in a second, impatient fingers digging meanly into your thighs as he folded them against your chest. 

Sukuna didn’t have to verbalize it. Mutter a word for you to understand the why. 

He wanted to see your face when he made you cum. 

Cock sheathing itself back inside you as if it was the most natural fit in the world. 

His other hand reached for your throat, big fingers wrapping around it like your own personal necklace as he squeezed just enough to steal some of your air. “You just like punishing me,” you breathlessly moaned, gripping onto his muscled biceps as his thick cock stretched you to the limit, rubbing just right on all those sensitive spots. Contrary to the filthy words he was spewing, he was still fucking you precisely how he knew you liked. 

“You liked being punished,” he retorted, thumb rubbing over your tendon, feeling the faint indents of his teeth he’d left behind. 

Was that what you liked? 

Or was it simply him? 

“What would your plumber do if he saw you like this?” He grunted, gritting his teeth as he fucked you harder, hips smacking into your skin in harsh thwaps. “Panting and begging me for more.” 

“Probably ask to join?” 

Sukuna froze, brows furrowing as he opened his mouth to snarl something nasty before he changed his mind and decided to just fuck that thought out of you instead. 

Letting go of your throat to move his big hand south, his thumb finding your clit to toy with that too. Drawing more practiced circles over the sensitive bud, keeping a steady rhythm of pounding into you as he dragged you towards a cliff. 

You wanted him to throw you off. 

To jump off with you and fill you up. 

The pressure mounting higher, your thighs tensing and toes curling in anticipation as your limbs began trembling. 

You weren’t sure what the last straw was. Whether it was his warmth or his touch or the way his mouth crashed into yours for a messy kiss right as he pressed just right on your clit, but you crumbled. 

Cumming with his name on your tongue, shuddering as the pleasure wracked through you – just for him to pull out midway through, cum leaking out all across your skin. Steady drips falling on top of you as he stroked his shaft, your vision hazy in the corners before you shut your eyes and let go of the tension still lingering in your bones.

“Fuck, you’re so-” He started to groan, his head tilting back to expose the seductive line of his collarbone, the tattoos standing out across his chiseled chest. Your husband-to-be. 

“Perfect?” 

ཐི♡ཋྀ

What good was a wedding without a bride? 

Sukuna touched your hair, unable to wipe the scowl still lingering on his face while he huffed and puffed over your disappearing act a full hour after you fell asleep post-sex. 

He didn’t believe you. 

Even if he wanted to.

You were as clever as you were cute. Crafty. 

There was a chance for you to go. To get as far from him as you could. 

But he found you standing there in your own shrine. 

Unbothered by the commotion and the chaos, just staring at yourself before throwing him that annoyingly attractive glance. 

Were you trying to piss him off? 

Had you simply come to your senses and realized fleeting would be futile? 

He didn’t know. 

And you wouldn’t tell him. 

You were still wearing your ring though. 

It looked rather good – especially when you weren’t wearing anything else. 

Sukuna sighed, chewing his already bitten raw bottom lip as he tasted the iron in his mouth. 

Fingers flexing as he possessively held you tight, unable to loosen his grip in fear you’d just slip away again. 

You had made him a fool. 

And he didn’t think there was any way for him to undo it. 

He didn’t think he made a noise, but you began to stir, sleepily blinking up at him and yawning as you started to pull away, wait no, snuggle closer? 

Nuzzling your nose against his chest as you draped a lazy arm around his side, your scent invading his system and frying all his synapses. 

“Just go to sleep,” you murmured, delicate fingers decisively patting him. “M’not going anywhere.” 

Yeah, not under his watch. 

a/n: this was a super fun commission i did and i really hope you guys enjoyed it too!!

[liahcharms]

she's my collar

God of the Dead was always alone. With the coldness weighing his heart and the stench of gastly doom clinging to his skin. But then, one day, the world under his feet shifted. Heart bloomed with bizarre fondness. And the Lord of the Underworld soon started to wish for nothing but to taste Spring Goddess's sweetness every single day. Even if he were to accomplish it by force.

requ ested (pray forgive me for waiting so long)

included in Tales, Myths, Romances

pairings: Hades!Trueform Sukuna x Persephone!Reader

content/warnings: MDNI 18+, greek mythology au, mythologically accurate, possessive behaviour, slightly dark romance, kidnapping, devotion, obsession, heavy smut, Sukuna is his own warning, proper use of belly mouth, double penetration, belly bulges, mating press, oral sex (both), facesitting, yearning, symbolism, Cerberus is just a baby, pussydrunk Sukuna, he's down bad, but he's also toxic

WC: 13.7k (the visions have plagued me)

a/n: I think we all know the story of Hades and Persephone, so this time there's no need for a history lesson! I just hope you'll like it because I had lots of fun writing it! And thank you, dearest anons, for the request <3

divider by @/diviniye art by @/phantomosis on x

It was a universal truth that opposites attract.

Knowledge older than the Gods themselves.

Carved in marble and rivers, bending under the Greek sun in crystal serpentine. Crossing the lands, fields and meadows, with single droplets caressed by nymphs and fair birdies playing in the calm waters.

Everyone knew that opposites work together. 

Everyone could look up and see the sun and the moon frolicking in the same sky. Brush their feet against the hard, stony paths covering the mountains, and yet see little snippets of flowers breaking through the surface. To experience sadness and joy, two contradictory feelings, yet impossible to exist without each other.

Everyone could enjoy the sharp breeze from the thunderstorms, preceded by the sizzling warmth coating their sweating skin. 

Everyone knew the night had no meaning without a day. That spring couldn't exist without a death.

Everyone knew it. 

Or did they?

Or was it maybe something that one, love-possessed God simply wished to believe in? That opposites could attract even in the most impossible-to-imagine scenarios. 

It's not that the Gods of Olympus weren't paired in a rather bizarre manner. For there was a beauty of Aphrodite who cherished the brute God of War dearly. Zeus and Hera, so different and yet ruling over the divine world. And also Dionysus, who haunted by love towards a mortal, made her a goddess.

And yet, Lord Hades couldn't shake off the feeling that his love was plagued by a tragedy from the very beginning.

As how could it be that the Lord of the Underworld's heart, after thousands of years of being burdened by coldness, suddenly bloomed with restless warmth?

With a feeling so unknown and strange, his hand rested on his chest as if in desire to breeze the burning skin up. Long fingers tried to grab the muscle and tear the rosy flesh that separated him from it. But even the God of Death couldn't stop the lovely beating of his heart and mind tormented solely by a thought of… you.

It happened on a sunny day, when, usually hidden in the depths of hell, the Lord of the Underworld decided to take a stroll. Around the spring meadows, with the air carrying the flowery scent of blooming nature. So strange and bizarre, never floating around the endless plains of his domain. 

He didn't show his face often up there, as God of the Dead was much, much busier than one could think! Humans were weak, reckless, dying like flies and flooding the Underworld with their restless souls. 

Heron crossed the Styx like a madman, and Cerberus couldn't close his eyes even for a second, as the hell was a mad and troubled place.

But then, that one day when the sunlight finally blessed his crimson eyes, Hades, or Sukuna as he much rather preferred, could finally pleasure himself in breathing the air not stained by a musty smell of death.

Each of his steps left the lush grass withered, and the air bent under the heaviness of his aura. Birds would fall silent whenever the God of the Dead passed through the trees they sat in, as if in fear of being taken by the Grim Reaper too soon. Fruits hanging off the branches would suddenly fall rotten, not allowing God to taste the sweetness of their pristine juices. 

As there was no sweetness or warmth in Sukuna's life and it had been a long time since he learned how to live with it. For why would anyone care about the wellness of the Lord of the Underworld himself?

And so the world withered and shattered around him, but God truly didn't mind. 

Until he saw you, the Goddess of Spring.

Beautiful, alive, with sun smooching your laughing cheeks and eyes curving under the golden rays. Little flowers were tucked in your hair sweetly, and single strands framed your face heartily. Sukuna enjoyed looking at blooming plants, although they quickly withered under his bloody gaze. 

But not you.

You quickly became his most dearest petal, with loose, light robes always in a riot of pastel hues and lovely laughter carried by spring winds through the vast meadows. Bare feet ran through the fields of flowers without any worries, and eyes always glanced somewhere over the horizon. Somewhere, towards the seas and trees and frolic nymphs playing near the rivers. Fingers weaved wreaths one by one, and a cooing voice helped the flowers grow and blossom beautifully. 

Your robes were always slightly dirty from the earth, warm cheeks marked by pollen, eyes bustling with warmth and kindness, that touched every plant, every animal that cuddled into your open arms.

He usually lurked among the trees. Tall, broody, with a massive body covered by dark robes and a grim aura clinging to his skin. Four arms crossed on a wide chest and two pairs of eyes fixated on a young Goddess frolicking with her friends.

Soon, he started coming more often. 

The usual workaholic, a gloomy God who liked nothing and no one, a brute, as some liked to call him, suddenly found something that started haunting his mind. His dreams and nightmares, as even there, you always seemed to smooch his cheeks like a soft petal.

There, you always seemed to be his.

 His lovely, dear wife. A Queen of the Underworld.

For all those days he watched you carefully, you've never noticed him.

Not even once, as if completely blinded to everything else outside the walls of your little world.

Until one day, you were left alone.

No friends chirping to your ear, no animals warming your legs – just you.

And, well, him. 

He didn't know when and how, but a warming tiredness fell on his eyes, and oh-so-mighty God of the Death slipped into a light slumber. With withered grass lulling his heavy body and birds ogling him from the thick branches. Wind whirred quietly, brushing his pink hair, slipping between the strands and massaging tired temples.

He could almost swear that he fell asleep on the grass. Hard ground moulding under his even harder body and green tuft giggling his cheeks. And yet, after turning and squirming like a restless child, he felt something softer under his head. 

Something plush, squishy, beaming with the sweetest, flowery fragrance he's ever smelled. The wind's murmur turned into a lovely hum. A melody that coiled his senses and flooded down his spine, filling his body like the sweetest wine.

He didn't dare to open his eyes. 

As he knew, the sight of the lovely Goddess brushing gently through his hair would lead to his death. For Sukuna was rather sure that the only thing in this world that could truly stop his heart was the graceful look of your eyes fixed on him.

Not on flowers, not nymphs, nor animals.

Him.

And thus he lay quietly, with your thighs dipping under his head and soft fingers playing with his hair. 

"The Lord of the Underworld in my spring domain," you hummed, swirling a pink strand around your finger. "What a bizarre sight, I must admit."

A chuckle slipped from between your lips when his brows furrowed. Slightly yet rather openly stating that the God of the Dead, with his colossal body bending your earth, has not, in fact, been sleeping. 

But there was no need to out his silly manner, and your fingers continued soft curls around his temples. As everyone, no matter their origin, was most welcome in your domain.

Something changed around him. The air, the melody, the structure of grass.

Your presence brought life back to the withered plants and silenced animals that feared him. The birds sitting high on the branches slowly flew down, huddling shyly on his chest. Decayed grass turned lush once again, smooching his skin with its plushness.

"There's no need for fear," you whispered warmly, seeing how wary the animals were of his presence. "He is a good creature too."

Forest animals started to come closer, and closer, and closer, with deer sniffing his body and frogs clumping on his shoulders. Their little, sticky toes left traces of gluey slime, but he didn't mind.

Because God of the Dead rarely felt a life embrace his body.

And thus he decided to cherish it and pray that this single, intimate moment would last forever. With your thighs beaming warmth under his head and animals cuddling to his limbs. Surrounding him in a tight circle with furs and feathers tickling his skin. 

He couldn't open his eyes, to not destroy the moment, although, heavens, he truly wished!

To see your hearty face up close. To brush the lower lip coloured with fresh berries and tuck a single strand of hair behind your ear. To see the way pastel robes clung to your skin like a mist, and eyes peeked down at him. But instead, he could only lie quietly and listen to the melody slipping past your lips, curling around his mind like a viper.

A moment has passed, and the deep slumber began to coo his senses. He tried to fight it, longing to stay in your embrace a little longer. To remember the melody of your voice and the pattern of fingertips massaging his temples. The flowery, honeyed fragrance clinging to your skin and filling every corner of his body, taking away his privilege to smell anything else for the next few days.

Before the darkness blanketed his mind and breath became shallower, he could hear the last whispers of your voice:

"Go to sleep, my God. Allow me to accompany you for a while."

When he woke up, you were no longer there. Just a withered grass bending under his body and the warmth of the setting sun bathing his hair in red hues. 

No sign of you or animals, and the God, once again, felt devastated. As if deprived of something he should hold onto with all his strength. He was a divine being, after all, and yet your misty figure slipped between his fingers like flowing water. 

But his mind recalled those few words. Allow me to accompany you.

And thus, Sukuna decided to take this wish too faithfully.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

"Stop going out there alone," your mother has sighed, looking at your figure swirling around the wooden hut. "It's dangerous, the Gods are unpredictable–"

Your head shook, lifting the little willow-wined basket used for gathering flowers. "I am a Goddess, mother," you chirped in with a giggle, before glancing at the woman's creased forehead. "And you are too. There's simply no need to fear anything. Besides, we're safe in the spring domain."

Liar.

You didn't tell her about the God of Death crossing the border between the Underworld and mortals much more often than he should. Than he used to. With his gloomy aura beaming off the woods, although he thought that you didn't notice it. Crimson eyes followed you every single day for the past few weeks, and whenever he appeared, one side of your domain suddenly went quiet. Withered, under his death-bringing feet and the silent atmosphere he spread around himself.

And as a Goddess of Spring, you knew of everything happening on your land. 

At the beginning, you thought it was rather funny. To see the animals and flowers frightened by his sole presence. You didn't give it much thought, as various Gods had strolled through the plains of your earth and chit-chatted whenever they spotted your figure hunched over the flowers.

But Lord of the Underworld wasn't the talkative type, nor did he engage in any closer relations. In fact, you didn't know much about him aside from what you'd managed to notice over the past weeks.

And you've noticed a lot. His body was built like a mountain, with a heaviness that couldn't be put into words. Two pairs of crimson eyes, lidded like sweet almonds and framed by rather long lashes. Pinkish hair reminding you of blushed peonies, and you wondered whether it would feel equally soft under your touch. Four muscular arms carried the little birdies up their trees when he thought you didn't see, and black stripes curled around his body – like deathly mist, tattooed all over his chest, back, and cheeks, as the God of the Dead didn't mind relaxing his beastly, naked body in the nearby rivers.

The water spilt over the grassy edge, and four arms rested on drenched earth. Crystal water looped his body shyly, smooching the sun-kissed skin with cold kisses. He couldn't see your hazy figure lurking in the bushes.

Your eyes glimmering like two fresh peaches and lips curling in a sly smile, upon seeing muscles upon muscles bending on the God's back. Slick and bulging, stripped of the heavy, dark robes he usually wore and enjoying the kisses of the Mediterranean sun.

Sometimes a nymph would notice him bathing at the river and coo shyly at the handsome but rather intimidating God. You've always observed those interactions from the tree, lurking curiously, with birds perched on your shoulders. All the encounters always ended in a rather pathetic failure, with the Lord of the Underworld ignoring the sweet chirps of little nymphs and their promises to warm his cold body. 

All of them flew quickly upon seeing a grave grimace twisting the God's face, and all four palms curling into fists. 

"Always so, so angry," you murmured to the red bird sitting on your finger, as it nodded its little head. 

And so you didn't tell your mother about these few encounters, for there was no need to worry her. She kept you away from the Olympian Gods as long as she could, yet couldn't stop you from becoming a Goddess too. Truly unfortunate, if she had to admit it, as she had tried for a whole life to keep you well hidden in the far, far corner of Mount Olympus, in your own little spring domain.

"Just be careful," your mother whispered, pushing back a few loose strands of your hair. A small basket hung on your back, and robes clung to your skin. "You know how Gods can be…"

You knew. For you heard of Apollo and Daphne. Of Medusa and a curse sent upon her for being a maiden far too beautiful. About Zeus and Callisto, and more, more Goddesses, who suffered a terrible fate from the hands of Gods themselves.

You understood your mother's worry. Why she tried to tie you up to this little hut hidden in the woods of Olympus. Why she was the Goddess of Agriculture and tried so, so hard to keep her dear spring flower hidden from the prying eyes.

And yet, the serpent flow of destiny was truly twisted and unpredictable. Bending under the Moirai's deathly whispers, with a thin thread slipping between their bony fingers like a river of silk. 

As many Goddesses before you, you too were soon to learn that playing with Gods – particularly those who seemed to take a special fondness for you – was a treacherous path. That approaching them cheekily, taking pleasure in keeping them in your arms and cooing like a wounded animal, was simply foolish. Mad, in every deep sense of the word, as out of the many Gods in this world, you particularly should not play like a fox with the Lord of the Underworld himself. 

So, on the same day, as golden rays dribbled down your figure hunched over flowers, hands picking the season's most beautiful blooms, the earth suddenly burst open. With a raw, brutal rumble, unleashing chaos across the peaceful meadow. Birds rose from the lush branches, and all the forest animals that were cuddling near your body ran off.   

The heavy dust had covered your eyes, smooching flimsy dress and delicate petals that bent under the heavy, little droplets of curled earth. 

The obsidian chariot harnessed with three black horses appeared right in front of your eyes. Tall and eerie, still carrying the coldness of the Underworld and a man whose crimson eyes stared down at your figure.

No words could slip past your lips as one muscular arm lifted you up and easily flipped you over the shoulder. Locking you in place with the sheer strength of one hand, until your head hung down the man's back.

"Wait!" Rolled in a scream as the world in front of your eyes started to spin. 

A voice you hadn't heard yet punched you like a bucket of cold water. "Don't be afraid, my Goddess," Sukuna said, before whistling to his horses. "You'll soon be able to run through the meadows of the Underworld."

It tasted raw, heavy, so, so low, licking your ears with flamed tongues. A voice truly worthy of the God of the Dead himself.

Before you knew it, the earth had swallowed the chariot once again. The rumbling tore through your spring domain, causing vast fields of flowers to vanish as if slowly devoured by the sky. The horses sped downward, pulling the chariot deeper into the earth, until only a faint glimpse of the familiar sun remained – a warmth you wouldn't see again for the next few months.

The darkness engulfed you, wrapping your skin with icy, deadly touches. It felt as though the three sisters had already severed your thread of fate, sending you to the Underworld sooner than anticipated and plunging you into the claws of the beast you inadvertently unleashed. 

"My God," you mumbled, trying to wriggle under his heavy arm. "Where are you taking me?"

Sukuna chuckled lowly, his whole body trembling with a laugh that made your spine tingle. "To home, my dearest Queen."

Deathly whispers curled around your body with curiosity, as if the air in the Underworld had tasted such a sweet life for the first time. Dark clouds filled the sky, and the chariot plunged even lower. Soon, a vast, grimy land spread beneath you, with a thick river curling around the dark soil.

You have never seen the Underworld and have never shown any interest in it. Yet, from that point, with the obsidian chariot soaring high in the sky, it looked mesmerising. Almost magical, with deep, dark forests and withered meadows stretching across the land, lit only by the pale blue light of the moon and little gleaming shadows wandering aimlessly across the plains.

It wasn't difficult to spot Hades's temple. Or maybe you should say a castle.

Sitting quietly on the cliff, with Styx's calm waters flowing beneath its heavy walls. It towered over the whole domain, glimmering in blue light under the moonlight's kisses, and something in your breath has hitched upon seeing an enormous garden filled with withered trees looming over the dead flowers. 

The air was biting cold, and yet the closer you were to the temple, the warmer it seemed to smooch your skin. It didn't carry the familiar flowery fragrance, but rather a heavy, woody scent, as if something alive still lingered in the bleak land filled with agony and doom. 

When the chariot came to a halt on the dark grass, Sukuna set you down gently. With one strong arm still stalling on your back, as if afraid the moment your feet touched the earth, you would try to escape. 

But there was no chance for it, as the Underworld was a trickery and a dangerous place.

"From now on, this is your home. My Queen," his crimson eyes never left your face, even when the hand showed towards the temple looming deathly.

You moved a step away, trying to slip from between the heavy fingers brushing your waist. "It is not my home, and I will not be your Queen. Now take me back to my domain."

Looking up was a mistake, for the gravity of his gaze almost pulled you down to earth. Four eyes stared down at your fuming face before one hand lifted and fingers traced the softness of your warm cheeks. "I cannot do it, my Goddess. That's what I decided, and that's what the Gods accepted."

"The Gods?"

His big thumb brushed your lower lip, and you smacked his hand away. A low chuckle slipped through before he pushed you towards the temple. "Zeus agreed, and that's all that matters. Neither you nor even your mother has any say in it."

You tried to move away again, but his strong arm only pulled you closer to his massive body. Twice your height, with four arms ready to manhandle you like a beast – you knew standing up to him would be foolish. And yet, you tried.

But he didn't mind, as you weighed less than a feather and lifting you was not a sweat for a God of his calibre. Your body once again rolled like a sack over his shoulder, but this time you tried to fight. With nails dragging down his back and teeth digging into the muscles bulging under his robes.

For you, it was a matter of life and death. 

For him? A flimsy, sweet teasing from his dearest Goddess, who was yet to accept her fate. 

Oh, his heart swelled with the purest joy at the sight of your misty figure wrapped in his arms after weeks of yearning. It didn't matter whether you wanted to stay here or not – Sukuna aimed to use every possible means to soothe your mind and pamper you like his precious wife.

"You ignorant brute, a beast, freak!" Rolled furiously, as you once again left the bloody, tooth marks on his back. "You cannot do it!"

Another throaty chuckle escaped from his side, with his arm cuddling around your waist with fondness. "I can, my Goddess. That's how love works."

"And what can you possibly know about love, my God?"

Sukuna didn't know much, but his greedy desire to always keep you in his sight and worship you as if you were the only Goddess in the pantheon must have been close to what love felt like. To get drunk on your laugh and the plush skin of your body every single evening, as if his whole world twisted around nothing but you. To hear your chipper run with stale wind through his decaying land and once again feel your fingers brush through his hair. 

The God of the Dead, the elder of the mightiest brothers, harbinger of death, wished for nothing but to taste the nectar of your love. 

But with a frown you looked at him, your teeth digging deeper into his skin – for now, it seemed rather fruitless.

He entered the temple and moved towards the massive stairway curling to the heavens themselves. Your furious shouts could be heard throughout the whole land, but it seemed that neither he nor the servant who suddenly appeared seemed to mind.

"Uraume, prepare a bath for the Queen," Sukuna said, glimpsing quickly towards the woman. Her white, short hair curled around her slim face, and deep eyes blinked in amusement at your sorry state.

"My Lord, I don't think the Queen likes this position," she muttered, sending you a pleading look.

Sukuna scoffed, correcting your body on his shoulder. "The Queen acts like a brat, so she will be treated like one"

Uraume nodded before going down the stairs and disappearing somewhere in the deep chambers of the temple.

Thus, it was the two of you again, and Sukuna moved slowly through the dark corridors, with blue flames licking your writhing body. He didn't mind the shouts, the nails scarring his back through the dusky robes till crimson droplets formed under the material and bites that your teeth have left on his shoulders.

In fact, the God of the Dead took a bizarre pleasure in feeling your flaming touch on his skin. Something in his chest swelled whenever your lips travelled to his neck, and it didn't really matter that they left the bloody bites and not the nectar kisses he yearned for.

At some point, you've finally entered the big chamber. The weird warmness crept through the tall windows, bending in heavy, marble arches. Vast plains of the Underworld rolled like waves on the horizon, and you stopped scratching Sukuna's back when the full land came in view.

Beautiful, endless, mesmerising, so different from what you grew up with. With only a pale, blue moon constantly shining upon the lost souls and deep, agonising cries coming from the Tartarus.

Sukuna finally put you down. "That's our chamber," rolled almost proudly, and you looked around the bedroom.

Dark, draped in misty veils, with a huge bed covered with crimson sheets and a baldachin moving together with gentle swooshes of wind. Warm flames have lit the place, with torches and long waxed candles glimmering shyly around the whole chamber.

Just behind the crimson curtain, you've heard the dripping of water and Uraume's hushed voice. So that must've been the bath.

"I will not be sleeping with you in one bed, my God," you barked, but Sukuna seemed not to care at all.

He pushed you towards the balcony, with a heavy hand placed on your lower back. "That's the garden. I made it for you," your chest squeezed. For you. "You can do anything you want with it, of course."

"It's impossible to grow life within your domain," slipped harshly, before your eyes looked up. Crimson moons stared down at you. All the time. "So you kidnapped me to grow you a garden?"

His sharp jaw tightened. "I did it for your own good," he muttered, hand lifting to brush away your hair. "For our good. I want you to be the Queen of the Underworld. My wife," fat thumb kissed you fuming cheek. "My Goddess."

And as much as you wished to stay angry, it felt impossible to hide the special fondness rising in your chest. A mix of hate and curiosity, as it was difficult to imagine why the Lord of the Underworld himself was such a desperate beast to lock you in his clutches.

Your eyes went back to the garden, taking in the withered earth and flowers bending in death.

But then you've noticed something – a tree. Dark, yet looking rather alive, blooming with red, round fruits that looked as if ready to burst.

Pomegranate.

And you, as the Goddess of Spring, knew why it seemed to be the only fruit growing deep within this deathly domain.

Sukuna followed your lidded eyes before a low hum filled the air. "You'll eat it at some point," seeing a sudden shock bathing your face and a slow shake of your head, he added. "Even if I have to force you."

Soon, you would discover that there were many, many other things the God of Death would force upon you, just to keep you within his touch.

And as surprising as it seemed, eating the pomegranate seeds to bind you eternally to the Underworld would be the last.

You didn't say anything, looking at the pomegranate tree with a grim expression ripping your lips. A Spring Goddess you were, and yet the single look of this rich fruit made you want to burn it right here and there.

"My Lord, my Queen, the bath was prepared," Uraume slipped in politely, before once again disappearing into the darkness.

Sukuna came inside, and you followed, passing under his heavy arm as he lifted the curtains between the chamber and bath.

Multiple candles licked dark walls, and the steam curled in the air. The big, marble pool filled with hot water called your name like a madman, and you were ready to tear your dress in half just to dip inside. The air in the Underworld was much, much colder than up in your domain, and after the eventful day, you truly wished for nothing but a simple bath.

And yet, even this was to be wrecked by Sukuna's four hands slipping the misty robes of your shoulders. Your trembling finger caught the dress in front of your chest before it could fall.

"My God, may I know what you are doing?" There was no trace of madness in your tone, only simple weariness and irritation.

His lips curled in a smirk, and if not for both hands gripping your dress, you would surely smack his cheek. You would try at least, as bending your head back to meet his gaze was already difficult enough.

His dark robes hit the floor before you've noticed it, exposing you to the view that – rather unfortunately – made your thighs clench. Massive thighs bulged under muscles, and it seemed clear that he could snap your neck with a single clamp.

But it wasn't the thighs that hit your cheeks with a maddened fever. No, rather two, fat cocks, with shafts so heavy they barely stood straight. Droplets of sticky pearls curled around two pulsing heads, sticking like a net to his pubes. The smooth, reddened skin glimmered under the dimmed flames, and your breath hitched while taking in the inhumane size.

And then your eyes followed up to his belly, mouth grinning mischievously, torso wide as mountains and four arms, just waiting to grab your flimsy body.

Sukuna was… terrifying. Alluring, feral, obscene, but oh so beautiful. With a body worthy of a God and an almost tyrannical aura that clung to him like a second skin. The mortals have feared him, Gods always tried to keep the relations as polite as possible, and yet you somehow found a wisp of fondness coiling in his gaze.

"I'm planning to bathe with my Queen, of course," Sukuna murmured, tilting his head with a cheeky grin. Four crimson eyes burned your skin, and you've never, ever felt as small and helpless as now. "Let me help you with it." Fingers tugged on your dress, trying to slip it down.

You took a step back, gripping the robe even tighter. "My God, I'm fine. But please enlighten me why we should take a bath together?"

He, however, was relentless, and it took a single, harsher tug to let your robes fall down the marble floor. A gasp slipped past your lips as you tried to cover yourself with pathetic moves.

Sukuna lifted your body with a single arm, and soon both of you sat on the little bench carved in a pool.

He took a deep, deep sigh, leaning against the edge. Two muscular arms kept you in place, with your back plastered to his chest and ass brushing against the massive cocks, while the other two started to soap you up.

A shiver ran down your spine, feeling big, yet soft hands smooching your skin in gentle circles. Slowly, tenderly, massaging your shoulders and back, going down, and down, to the swell of your wet breasts.

A quiet, shy moan escaped your feverish cheeks when his thumbs brushed the perked nipples. You wriggled under his touch, as if fighting against itself to give into the warmness beaming from his body and heavy fingers washing your tired skin.

Your hips jerked again when he pinched your nipples, sending a sudden, electrifying wave down your spine.

"My Queen, try to keep yourself in place," he said with a low voice, and only then did you notice that your ass had been bumping against his cocks for this whole time.

You didn't look back, as if in fear that even a single glance could pique Sukuna's curiosity and test the dangerous waters of your patience. "Is it necessary, my God? I can wash myself."

Two hands gripped your hips, quickly turning you towards him.

Your hands rested on his shoulders as he sat you right on his muscular thighs. The water spilt over the pool's marble edge, and crimson eyes stayed fixed on your face. On your slightly parted lips and hair sticking to your cheeks.

His upper arms slipped up to your waist, while the lower ones started to massage your thighs. In slow, gentle circles, dangerously close to the naked pussy that bounced against the fatness of his shafts.

He played a dangerous, oh so dangerous game, but took a maddened satisfaction in observing the changing looks on your face. Anger mixed with delight, as if you wanted to hit him and nuzzle into his touch at the same time.

"What's wrong, my Queen?" he muttered, soaping up your waist. "Why would you wash yourself alone if your husband is here?"

At this point, both of you knew that the bath was a mere, foolish excuse for the Lord of the Underworld to finally enjoy the sight of your naked body. To take a pleasure in feeling your naked skin against his and test his own patience, feeling the warmth of your cunt brushing against his cocks.

His moves were deprived of any sexual manner, and yet your insides burned with the most wicked flame. Your drenched fold were bumping against his cocks, yes, and the fat shaft brushed against your clit, maybe, but even then, he didn't try to push you.

To force himself on you, as if waiting for your consent.

As if he wished you craved him as much as he did you.

But even then, every few seconds, he would move closer. His fingers would brush your trembling nipples, hips move beneath yours, and he would always take in your muffled moans with a sly smile.

"You're not m-my husband," rolled embarrassingly weak, and Sukuna hummed, brushing your lower lip with his thumb.

"Not yet. I'll give you time to make yourself at home," thick digit slipped inside your mouth, and you quickly bite it. Hard, feeling his bones crack under your teeth, although he only smiled. Like a man possessed. "As I was saying, I'll give you a month–"

"And what then?" you mumbled, with lips still curled around his thumb. "What if you won't tame me after a month?"

Pink strands of hair stuck to his wet forehead, and you needed to dig your nails into his chest, not to lift the fingers and brush them away. Four crimson eyes – two big, lidded in slyness and two smaller, curved like a moon – drank in the sight of a sweet little Goddess squirming on his massive body.

"Then I'll force you to love me," spilled calmly, without hesitation. And maddening yearning in his eyes told you that he was ready to do it. That his understanding of love was far from the sweetness and kindness you've known of.

His fingers travelled up, through the breasts, collarbones, and neck, till the second hand joined your face. He cupped your cheeks gently yet lined with restrained violence.

Possessiveness, madness, that filled his flamed eyes.

"Don't test my patience, my Goddess," he murmured softly, pulling your face closer. His lips nearly brushed against yours, and a wave of warmth washed over your body. "Let me love you in my own way, and I promise to make you happy. Within my domain, you can be as free as you desire."

It was difficult not to have your heart flutter upon hearing those words.

He knew how crazy your mother was about you. That you spent most of your life chained to her leg, never leaving the spring domain, never feeling the winds of freedom.

That's why his promise sounded so exhilarating. Wild, absolutely insane, and yet letting you let out a deep sigh. Because finally, after so many years, you were alone.

Without your mother, without the prying eyes of Gods, without the same meadows caging around you like a prison.

Only with a much, much bigger, heavier, and mind-spilling problem, of a God of the Dead who seemed to take a special, wicked interest in you.

Your hands, still trembling on his chest, pushed yourself away. Hips slipped from his cocks, but not before giving two, feverish heads one last brush. As if you wanted to push him over the edge.

He groaned and squinted his eyes. "Where are you going, my Goddess? We're not done yet."

Four hands shoot towards you, fingers trying to catch your slippery body. It curled at the end of his fingertips, teasing him mischievously with full breasts dripping with crystal droplets and soft skin glimmering under the gentle flame of candles.

His cocks moved, eyes tried to take the wholeness of your divine beauty, and yet, after weeks of watching you every single day, he still couldn't believe that a woman of your sort truly walked this earth.

"I am done with you…" your eyes curved cheekily as you slowly moved back. "My God. I agree to a monthly trial–"

"It's not a trial, you'll be staying here forever."

Your back hit the pool's edge, but Sukuna didn't move. Instead, he observed you. Like a predator, preparing for a deadly attack.

"As I said, I do agree. But if you won't manage to persuade me to stay," slipped in a whisper, and you smiled even wider, seeing a furrow creasing his forehead. "I will simply kill myself. Just like Daphne did."

His heart nearly stopped, crimson eyes bloodshot. Before you could escape the pool, two arms yanked you back, pressing your chest against his. He lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Finger gently squeezed your face with a slight pinch, until salty fog blurred your sight.

"My God–" you barely muffled.

"Don't ever," he growled, gripping your cheeks harsher. "Ever say that in front of me again. I will break your legs if I have to. I will tie you up to bed if you force me to," something warm spilt from his belly, and just then, you remembered about his mouth. Heavy tongue took a long, fat drag of your wet cunt, and you cried within his brutal embrace. "You are mine. Every dream of yours, every part of your body, every single laugh, all of it belongs to me."

His grip on your cheeks was too strong to let you shake your head, but light enough to allow another moan to spill from your throat. In sweetness and pain, feeling the teeth of his belly mouth pinch your clit.

"My God–"

"Do you understand me?"

"I-I–ahh," a cry filled the foggy bath, feeling his tongue slurp on your wetness. It felt heavy, girthy, tasting you with a maddened pleasure as if feasting on the honeyed juices dripping down the water.

"Do you understand?" he gritted through his teeth, loosening up his grip on your cheeks. "I don't like to repeat myself."

With another sweet mewl, your head lulled to one side in a nod, and he finally released you from his clutches. You stood right in front of him – wet, trembling, with slippery thighs and cunt already missing the swirling of his tongue on your clit.

His thumb followed down to his belly, gathering traces of your cum. A second later, thick digit found its way to your lips, pushing the stickiness right onto your tongue.

It tasted sweet, almost milky-like, clinging to the muscle like a spider's web while his thumb smeared it all over your insides.

"Tastes delicious, hm? That's what you're keeping away from me," Sukuna groaned, drinking in the sight of your teary face. "I am not a patient man, my Goddess, but my heart belongs to you, and I wish to treat you the best I can," he lifted up your face, creaming your cheeks with the rest of the cum. "But I do warn you, dearest. When the month passes, I won't be holding myself anymore. So you'd better accept this fate and just let me love you."

You didn't nod, didn't even blink. Just observed his devilishly handsome face with teary, wrecked eyes beaming with fury.

You tried to snap back, but his thumb pushed harder on your tongue. "Uraume," he called, looking somewhere over your shoulder. "Take the Queen back to our chamber. I think she's a bit tired."

Light, white robes curled around your shoulder, before Uraume gently pulled you away from Sukuna's clutches. "My Queen, allow me to–"

You shook off her hand, wiping the rest of your cum from your cheek. "Thank you, I know how to tuck myself to sleep."

And so you left your future husband alone, with rage and ecstasy still mixing beneath your chest.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

The next few weeks passed with silence and tension binding the Goddess of Spring and the God of the Dead like a thin thread of fate. Only the three sisters were able to cut it swiftly and release you from the torment, and yet no one ever came to save the poor petal.

The first few days you spent mostly in the garden, lying under the pomegranate tree and observing the darkness blanketing the sky. The withered plains of the Underworld have never been touched by sunlight, and the lack of it started to bother you too.

There was no way to tell day from night, as the air was always slightly cold and the sky never turned any colour other than dark blue. Sometimes a sudden fog has risen over the horizon, curling above the parched trees.

The agonising screams from Tartarus could be heard over from your balcony, although after complaining to Sukuna about your lack of sleep, they somehow quieted down. You didn't pry into his methods, nor did you need to exactly know how he accomplished it.

It was difficult to grow anything in the garden, and after days of trying, you finally gave up. Well, not entirely, for you spent more and more days trying to think of a plant that would not need sun nor much water to bloom and if Sukuna could let you out even for a few days, surely you could find something.

He, however, was fully relentless at your begging as there was nothing binding you to the Underworld. Yet.

Fresh pomegranates whispered sweet sins to your ears as you looked at the round fruits bursting with crimson seeds. You wondered what they tasted like. How pristine their juices were.

Sometimes your finger would trace their hard skin with delicacy and quickly pull away, feeling Sukuna's heavy gaze drilling the hole in the back of your skull.

He seemed to always have you in his sight. It didn't really matter whether you strolled around the garden or went deeper into his domain – he was always there. Somewhere, lurking at your misty figure, the only colourful thing in his vast world, even if you didn't see him.

For the first few days, you didn't talk at all. And he was oh so angry with your nasty mood swings, even though it seemed he truly tried to be on his best behaviour.

For a while, you even refused to sleep in the same bed. He would wake up in the middle of the night only to find you cuddled into Cerberus's massive, soft body, snoring like a little baby and nuzzled under his heavy neck.

The beastly dog quickly became your favourite creature in the whole domain, and Sukuna couldn't count the times when you strolled with it through the dark plains and meadows, giggling sweetly whenever it rolled in withered grass.

It seemed the beast was particularly fond of and protective of you, so that even the God of Death himself could not approach you without the beast's shiny, sharp teeth growling his way. Crimson eyes observed him carefully, as if ready to rip his heart out if his lone finger brushed your silky skin.

And whenever Sukuna reminded you that Cerberus also had his role in the Underworld, the loveliest pout would twist your lips, and a dog's low growl would slash through the air.

And because Sukuna was softhearted only for you, he didn't have another choice but to allow you to adopt Cerberus as your own, exclusive pet.

But he absolutely couldn't stand waking up to the coldness wrapping around his body, and thus, for the first few days, in the middle of the night, he would travel all the way to Cerberus's cave only to take his Goddess back.

"Where is she?" the God would growl, with all four arms folded on his chest and eyes lidded with sleep. "Give her back, she'll come back to you in the morning anyway."

And the dog would usually ignore him, with three massive heads pretending to be plagued by a heavy slumber. Sukuna would sigh and slip a soft plea, trying to resonate with a beast he raised himself.

Three pairs of bloodshot eyes would glare at him deathly, but after a few quite embarrassing and yet desperate pleadings, the dog would lift his head up, only to reveal your peacefully slipping body. Curled against his fluffy neck, with fingers gripping the soft fur and shallow, peaceful breaths coming from your parted drooling lips.

Sukuna would lift you up with utmost care and bring you back to your chamber, wrapping himself around your body with all six limbs.

When the "morning" came, he was always the first one to slip from the bed. But not before getting himself untangled from your body. Lying serenely on his broad chest, with a drool pooling right above his heart and soft strands of your hair tickling his chin.

It was his most favourite sight during that month, and the only chance to see your face without a pout or crease forming on your lovely forehead. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't get close to you as much as he wished to.

But at least, after the few weeks of constantly going back and forth between your chamber and Cerberus's cave, you finally stopped escaping from his clutches and slept in his embrace for a whole night.

Moreover, during those weeks spent in each other's presence, you seemed to enjoy nothing more than pissing the God of the Dead off.

During one eventful night that both he and Uraume would recall in the future with a painful headache, you sat quietly at the long table. The wooden furniture bent under the heavy supper, with meats, fruits and vegetables prepared in feast portions.

Sukuna loved to see your cheeks stuffed full, and sometimes you would even joke that he tried to fatten you up only to eat you for dessert. He chuckled lowly, every time answering that if only you spread those thighs nicely, my Goddess, I would gladly eat you for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

An embarrassed, nasty slip from your lips, as you tried to ignore the warmth blooming in your lower belly.

One evening, however, Uraume interrupted your supper with a heavy panting and trembling gaze.

"My Lord, my Queen," she said, taking a few deep breaths. "Forgive me for the intrusion, but something deeply concerning has occurred."

"What is it?" Sukuna mumbled, not even looking her way. Instead, he poured you another cup of wine, while you tried to hide your flushed cheeks behind a curtain of hair.

Oh, you were so, so fucked.

"All the souls lingering on the river's banks have entered the Underworld."

Sukuna suddenly stopped and put the jug of wine back on the table with a loud thud. "What?!"

Both you and Uraume shrugged.

"Charon took them all," she said, glimpsing your way.

You, however, looked down at your plate, as if trying to completely erase yourself from this conversation.

"All of them were buried with a coin? How is it possible?" Sukuna growled.

Uraume took a deep sigh, with deep, sorry eyes still lingering on your hunched figure. "He said that…" She hesitated, biting down on her lower lip. "The Queen ordered to let them in."

Fuck.

The air suddenly stilled, and a moment passed before Sukuna's crimson, angry eyes looked your way. But it's not like you could see the rage blazing in his gaze, as you still carefully observed the fresh fig lying on your plate.

The fact that he somehow got delivered all your favourite, fresh fruits down to the Underworld was truly–

"Do you want to tell me something, my Queen?" he asked with utmost politeness, although you sensed the displeasure bubbling in his throat.

"No, not really," you murmured, playing with a juicy fruit.

He took a deep sigh, curling all four of his hands into fists. A soft vein popped on his forehead as he truly, really tried to keep himself calm.

"I will ask you again," slipped softly, before his two hands pulled your chair closer to him. Your thighs brushed against each other, and his fingers lifted your chin up. Till you were forced to meet his heavy, bloody gaze. "Is there anything you wish to tell me?

Oh, lying to him like that was much, much harder.

"Listen," you started, and he already sighed. "I don't see any problem with it. Why would you keep them there if Charon can just take them all to the Underworld? Isn't that the whole point of your domain?"

His fingers tightened on your chin because, dear-fucking-heavens, he really struggled to hold it together. Four bloodshot eyes looked down at your pouty lips and doe eyes, as if your pure loveliness could melt his anger.

Well, it usually could.

"They cannot enter Hades if they do not get buried with a coin. That's the rule all of them must obey," rolled harshly, and your pout became even sweeter. Fuck. "How did you even force Charon to do it? This old man is stubborn as hell."

You nestled into his palm, attempting to ease his heart with a gentle, pleading look. "It turns out most of the creatures here are quite afraid of Cerberus," you giggled, even though Sukuna was clearly unhappy. "Um, and they’re also afraid of you. The threat of reporting to the Lord of the Underworld himself tends to work quite effectively."

Sukuna pulled away with a heavy groan and started massaging his temples. One side of him was rather happy that, after weeks of fighting, you decided to use both your title and him to get what you wanted. But the other wanted to curl his fingers around your neck and snap it clean, for the mess you have caused with your need to piss him off.

He closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. "Why did you do it?"

"They looked sad."

His crimson gaze once again snapped to your face. "Sad? The souls?"

You nodded. "Well, all of them wanted to enter Hades so–"

"My Goddess, you can't do such a thing!" Uraume cried, looking out the tall window as if all those souls were travelling up Hades' temple.

"Why? I thought I was the Queen of the Underworld." A cheeky smile curved your lips, and Sukuna almost lost it. "I can do whatever I want. Your own words, my God."

Well, he did tell you that from now on, this domain was under both his and your control, but his mind ran far too short to predict that you, in fact, wouldn't know the most basic rules of this land.

And thus, he could only swallow his rage and look back at Uraume. "Catch them all and bring them back to the shore. Also, tell Charon that from now on he's forbidden from listening to the Queen's orders."

You scoffed, crossing arms on your chest. "I'm just going to set Cerberus on him."

"Right," Sukuna growled, sending you a short, angry look. "And also chain the dog to his cave. This beast has forgotten who his real master is."

You could forgive him mistreating the poor souls and Charon, but a line had to be drawn regarding your beloved dog.

Your fingers grabbed his forearm, eyes bulging in worry. "Wait! Leave Cerberus out of this," Sukuna looked at your nails digging into his skin and a jittery gaze. "I'm sorry, okay? Just…" There was a thread linking you both – dangerously thin, leading to an emotion your relationship hasn't yet discovered. Forgiveness. "Please don't hurt him. It's my fault. Cerberus listens to everything I say, he's just a silly dog. So let him be. If there's someone who should be punished, it's me."

Sukuna didn't say anything for a while, staring at your pleading eyes with a furrowed brow. A storm of feelings coiled in his head, and you noticed his gaze soften slightly. He often acted like a brute, of course, but you believed that somewhere, deep, deep beneath his chest, there was still a man who placed the little birds that had fallen from the trees back in their nests.

"Fine," he finally muttered and oh, how shocked he was when you chuckled and wrapped yourself around his neck. For a moment, he sat frozen in place, but soon all four arms curled around you, as he inhaled the sweetness coating your skin.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Uraume looked away to hide a little smile tugging on her lips, as it was a long, long time since she had seen the God of the Dead blushing like a virgin nymph.

Sukuna coughed, sending her a deadly gaze. "But I still believe that you and Cerberus could use some time away from each other. I'm tired of raising two brats at the same time," he mumbled, and you giggled into his neck.

"Well, my God, try to suggest it to him, and we'll see what happens," you pulled away, with hands still wrapped around his neck. "I'm afraid your beast found himself a new owner."

And so, since that evening, a little, hopeful grain started to bloom in Sukuna's heart.

As it seemed that his lovely Goddess had finally begun to warm to him. During the evening baths, you chirped into his ear like a fair birdie, sometimes even washing his muscular back and massaging his always-creased forehead.

At night, your body instinctively nuzzled into his. Legs wrapped around him tightly, hands curled around his arms, and a slightly wet cheek left a small puddle of saliva on his chest. He always beamed with warmth, and you, like a cat, used his body as a heater.

During the shared breakfast, you kept talking while he fed you the sweetest, juiciest fruits. What's more, your roles would shift, with your fingers occasionally placing a piece of orange onto his lips – sometimes upper, sometimes lower.

Whenever you stole a few apples for Cerberus, as he's tired of eating raw meat, he would only scoff and wave his hand. The beast has been living on meat and water for thousands of years, and yet, a few weeks after your appearance, he suddenly developed a lavish taste for fruits picked only by you.

On some afternoons, when Sukuna would nap under the pomegranate tree, you would creep to his side. Carefully place his head on your thighs and hum a lovely melody, just like you did back then in a forest. He would always try to stay as still as possible, just to prolong those precious moments – your fingers brushing through his hair and flowery fragrance coating his skin.

One special afternoon, your hum was interrupted by something else.

Something… alive.

The high trilling of crickets, soft chirping of birds and muffled croaks of the frogs, coming from the little pond Sukuna has built up for you.

Your fingers suddenly stopped in their tracks, and the God coughed quietly, wriggling under your touch. Like a dog, begging for more pats.

"How is it possible?" you asked, looking down at his "sleeping" face.

There was a minute of silence before he slowly, carefully opened his eyes and sighed heavily, meeting your solemn gaze. "The animals also need to enter Hades. Just on different rules," His eyes fell on something crawling up your hand. "Look there."

And to your surprise, you've noticed a grasshopper sitting serenely on your skin. It wasn't as lush and green as you remembered it to be, but misty, almost like a cloud, with only his foggy soul still crawling up your arm.

And then you've noticed birds sitting high up on the pomegranate tree, with their little wings looking like a shadow.

Something heavy formed in your throat and heart stirred with affection. "You brought them for me?"

Sukuna hummed, closing his eyes and gently placing your hand back on his head. "You can say that. Most of them were already here. I simply ordered to be bring them to our garden."

Your fingers started working through his hair again – scratching and massaging his head, till the beastly God stretched on your thighs like a cat and nuzzled into the softness of your belly.

You didn't push him away but rather giggled and whispered a sweet thank you. A little smile tugged on Sukuna's lips, and he purred softly my pleasure, Goddess.

And thus, for the first time in your life, you have felt free.

With Underworld's woeful air smooching your cheeks and shadowy animals following you around the withered plains.

You have never felt more alive than in the realm of the dead.

That's why when Sukuna called you into the main hall one day, your heart froze. With dread and fear, upon seeing your furious mother standing right next to him by the altar.

The altar, decorated with your small marble figures and fresh flowers, he ordered to be changed daily since no plant in the Underworld could survive longer than a day.

Your fingers curled in fists, lips fell in line, and somehow, even though you loved her dearly, you simply couldn't take a step closer.

Sukuna stood still, with four arms crossed on his chest and eyes looking carefully at your trembling body. As if he could read all the thoughts coiling beneath your furrowed brows.

"My darling, oh Gods," she sighed, crossing the distance between you two in a few steps. Before you knew it, she pulled you into a hug, although your arms hung loosely by your sides. "I thought I'd lost you forever. Can you believe that I needed to threaten Zeus himself to finally find you?"

She pulled away and grabbed your cheeks, only to meticulously ogle your face. "Oh my, you're so pale! This place did you no good, but at least you're fine. This brute…" she looked over her shoulder, glancing at Sukuna's stony face. "My heart almost stopped upon hearing that he was the one who kidnapped you. Did he touch you? Are you okay? Did he, you know, force you to–"

"Mom," you quickly interrupted her and wriggled yourself out of her embrace. "Why are you here?"

She looked dumbfounded – with warm eyes bulging in shock and lips slightly falling open. When you stepped back, her forehead creased.

"I came to take you back, of course."

A gentle sigh echoed through the vast temple hall as you glanced over her shoulder. Somewhere nearby, a man was attentively listening to you, with a heart pounding loudly in his throat. Filled with fear, anticipation, hope.

Sukuna rarely looked at you with that gaze – filled with love and dread, as if he understood that neither anyone else nor he himself was truly worthy of your heart. He scarcely ever seemed so weak and afraid, as if his mind, soul, heart were fully, completely wrapped around your finger.

And thus now, after so many of his threats, you could make a choice.

To stay here, with him, or go back to your mother.

"Let's go, darling, I'm getting nauseous just from being here," she tried to grab your hand, but, once again, you stepped away.

"I'm not going back," slipped in a whisper. "I can't go back."

She looked shocked, and her lips curved in a nervous smile. "What do you mean, you can't?"

"I'm bound to the Underworld."

Lie.

But oh, how good it felt in your heart, lifting the weight of all the mixed emotions you've buried over the past few days.

"Bound? What do you–" she started, and then, as if suddenly enlightened, gasped. A sharp cry escaped her throat, and her eyes looked back at Sukuna with a frightened, intense gaze. "You! You forced her to eat the seeds!"

Before she could step closer and smack his cheek with an open palm, you grabbed her. "No, mom. I did it myself."

She stopped, turning back your way. With disappointment filling her eyes and trembling lips. "You did what?"

"I love him."

And that, well, that was a confession no one expected. Not you, mother, and particularly not Sukuna. His breath hitched, eyes bulged, and he almost, almost took a step closer.

As his heart, mind, and soul were consumed by a desire to hold you and caress you yearningly until your lips swell from the sweetness of the kiss.

Your mother quickly interrupted, holding your cheeks. "You don't. Don't say it. You don't love him. He's a beast who manipulated your mind, love has no place here. Don't act foolishly, that's not how I raised you."

Your heart shuddered in wretchedness upon her words. As you knew how much she hated all the Gods. How hard she tried to keep this sweet, yet so foreign feeling away from you, as if the little seed growing in your heart was something shameful.

Crystal droplets trickled down your cheeks, wetting her pads. "But I do, mother. And I will stay here, with him. That's my home now."

There was no need to listen to her further. Sliding her trembling hands from your cheeks, you turned and quickly disappeared into the comforting darkness of a temple you used to hate that much.

Her low pleadings filled the main hall, but you could only ignore them. Seeing her again, after a whole month, brought dreadful memories of years spent in her golden cage.

You entered the chamber and sat down on a plush bed. Your hands still slightly wet from nervousness, eyes taking in the cosiness and warmth of the bedroom you shared with… him. Candles licked your skin sweetly, and moon lurked through misty curtains.

Even the usual shrieks coming from Tartarus were mild that evening, allowing you to enjoy the little crickets slipping from the garden.

Cerberus barked somewhere deep within your domain, and a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You were on your way to give him his daily dose of apples when your mother suddenly appeared.

You sat on a bed, hunched and frozen, not noticing a massive shadow that swooshed closer. Dark robes appeared in front of your feet, and soon a heavy, musky fragrance followed.

"My Queen," Sukuna started, not quite sure what to say. A silence has fallen – pleasant, warm, homey. He sighed and crouched to meet your gaze. "Are you okay?"

Only then did he notice crystal droplets still dripping down your cheeks. "My Goddess, why are you crying?"

"Don't allow her to take me," slipped in a crying whisper, before a muffled choke followed. His big hands gripped yours, trying to stop the trembling. "Please, let me stay here."

His fingers lifted to gently cup your face. "What are you talking about? Of course, I won't let you go," crimson eyes softened as a large thumb brushed your lower lip. "Have you forgotten my words? You're never leaving my side."

"Never?"

He shook his head. "Never. I will stand against all of Olympus if that's the price of loving you."

Another sharp cry rolled from your lips as you nuzzled into his hand.

He changed your positions, sitting on the bed and letting you climb onto his thighs, only to push your crying face into his neck. Four hands embraced you before he began to cradle you like a baby.

With soft whispers and kisses placed on your forehead.

When the first shock rolled away and the tears finally stopped, you pulled back. With swollen lips and puffy cheeks, that made Sukuna's heart swell with fondness.

His tongue lapped up the last salty droplets before big palms cupped your hips. "You'll stay here, with me," plush lips peppered your cheeks, nose, and the slightly trembling chin. "And you'll let me love and worship you as you deserve," his hands rolled your hips against his, drawing a moan from your throat. "No one will take you away from me. Not now, not ever."

Your arms wrapped around his neck, back bent in a delicate arch. You looked at him with a plea, taking in the divine beauty of his beastly face. "What if Zeus himself comes for me?"

His lips were barely brushing against yours, and a woody, heavy smell of his body tickled your heart. "I'll kill him. My Goddess, you truly underestimate me. I will move heaven and earth to keep you by my side."

And then, with a last longing gaze connecting your starving souls, your lips have finally crashed.

In a slow, gentle, yet raw kiss, with his teeth biting down on your lower lip and throat swallowing all your sugary moans.

All four hands quickly found their way around your body – caressing, holding, gripping the swell of your ass and moving your hips in harsher rolls.

Misty robe hanging on your shoulders slipped down with a gentle tug, and soon his two upper hands lifted to cup your breasts.

The softness of your skin made Sukuna's mind spin, and a craving to sink himself into your warm cunt felt almost maddening. His cocks, still clothed by a dark tunic, brushed against your folds and the sweetest, purest moan rolled right into his lips.

"Feed me, my God," you murmured, pulling away slightly. "Feed me the pomegranate seeds and tie me to the Underworld. To you."

Of course, you lied to your mother.

And Sukuna knew it too. He observed you for a whole day and night, never leaving your giggles out of his sight, and thus he was aware of your little, desperate lie.

What he hoped for, however, was that your confession was sincere.

Tasting the sweetness of your lips, he realised how truly doomed he was – completely entangled with the scent of your skin and the beauty of your eyes. His heart skipped a beat when your fingers pulled his pink hair, causing his hips to buck instinctively, seeking the intense pleasure.

You pushed his chest, forcing his massive body to lie down on the mattress. "Feed me, and I shall let you have a taste too."

Your lips met his cheeks, jaw, and dropped down through the bulging throat and collarbones, while fingers slipped from the dark robes. He wore nothing beneath the long tunic, and soon your lips curled around his nipple, biting it softly with a hum.

Two upper arms swiftly pulled you up to his face, while the lower ones still held your bare hips. "What will you let me taste, my Goddess?"

A cheeky smirk tugged on your lips as you placed your leaking cunt right over his open belly mouth. "Your favourite fruit, my God."

With a loud moan, you lowered down onto its tongue, feeling the heavy muscles giving you a long, nasty lick. A shudder washed over your spine, and Sukuna drank the next cry that escaped your throat.

"You taste even better than I remembered, my Goddess," he groaned, feeling the saccharine droplets coat his lower tongue. Sticking to his teeth and inner cheeks like the sweetest honey. "But I have a much better idea."

And with that, you quickly found yourself facing his massive cocks and hovering over his face. Your puffy, drenched folds hang right above his lips, and he looked at your dripping cunt with a low groan.

"Fuck, my Goddess," two fingers parted your folds, only for a small, sticky droplet to drip down his chin. "You smell so fucking good, lower yourself a bit."

He didn't wait for your answer as two big hands pulled your hips down with a single, strong move. A groan slipped past his lips and went straight to your cunt, sending a wave of trembling pleasure straight to your clit.

"That's right, my sweet fucking Goddess," he mumbled, lips curving under the weight of your hips. "Don't be shy, get yourself comfortable."

"I-I'm not shy," and if not for a heat that slapped your cheeks, he maybe would believe you.

But your body was too honest, too inexperienced to hide the way your hips rolled against his tongue. Another pitched moan filled the foggy air when his tongue slipped inside your tight cunt.

His lower hands landed on your back and slowly, slowly bent you down. Till your wet lips met with two, pulsing heads and breasts hang right over the belly mouth.

Oh, he was right, this position was absolutely killing… both of you.

Because the moment big, beastly lips curled around your nipple, your hips buckled, and a sweet moan tickled both leaking heads.

"Nghhh," bounced sweetly off his veiny shafts. "That's–mhmm, my God, feels so good."

Sukuna chuckled, slurping on your swollen clit and pushing another cry from your chest. "Give them a little lick, my Queen. They've been waiting for you whole fucking month."

With a hazy gaze, you glanced at two fat cocks smooching your cheeks. Wet and massive, with droplets of musky precum oozing down the pulsing skin and a strong fragrance making you even wetter. He smelled so heavy, manly, and the moment you gave the first cock a kitty lick, Sukuna groaned straight into your clit.

Your hand grabbed the other one and started pumping it in slow, gentle moves, with your thumb brushing the reddened head. Belly mouth sucked on your breasts as if waiting for something more creamy to release itself onto his ravaging tongue, and you cried even louder whenever the wet tongue travelled between both of your nipples.

"How is it possible, fuck," Sukuna groaned, scooping a hefty gush of your cum and drinking it straight from your fluttering hole. "That you're so sweet everywhere. My beautiful, divine Goddess. Come on, try to suffocate me with your cunt. Put your whole weight into it."

With your cheek stuffed full of his cock, you pulled away with a nasty pop and looked over your shoulder. "My God, please take a deep breath," you reminded, because Sukuna seemed to be absolutely lost between your drenched thighs.

With a single finger thrusting into your tight hole and an open mouth catching all the dripping sap. His teeth grazed your clit, before a warm tongue kissed the pain away. He slurped like a madman, whispering little obscenities straight into your pussy and kissing her with nasty squelches. Gluey cum stuck to his nose, lips and chin, connecting him with your parted folds.

"I can't, I don't have to, she needs me," he groaned, giving you another heavy lick. With tongue covering the entirety of your cunt and finger pushing through your pulsing walls. "So sweet, my Goddess, you're so fucking delicious."

Oh, there was truly no remedy for him!

And thus you went back to his pulsing, almost bursting shafts. Your puffy lips kissed two heads before sucking on one gently. Fingers squeezed his constricting balls, juggling them softly and giving them a shy lick.

Sukuna trembled under your body, so you did it again, and again, and again, kissing, licking and sucking on his balls, while rolling your hips against his tongue.

"My God, are you okay?" you slipped shyly, although a cheekiness shimmered in your haze.

Sukuna pulled away from your cunt, and took a deep breath. "Don't ask me stupid questions, my Goddess. My patience is already hanging by a thread, so unless you want me to fold in half and fuck that cunt raw, you better shut that pretty mouth of yours."

You giggled, biting gently down on his balls. "I'll take that as a ye–ah!" you moaned, when the second finger slipped into your tight cunt. "My G-God, that's too–"

Too much wanted to roll, but Sukuna soon added the third . "You're so tight, my Goddess. I'm afraid both of them won't fit in," he slurped, feeling the desperate squeezes of your walls and juices trickling down his fingers.

Both?

An unsettling, truly frightening thought has crossed your mind. He could tear you apart with one, and using two seemed to be a completely foolish idea!

When his pads pushed something, slightly swollen and plush, your whole body shuddered. Pleasure washed over your spine, dripping down to curled feet, and a sugary moan wrapped around his leaking cock.

"There it is," Sukuna growled, looking at your raw, soaked pussy trying to mould itself around his fingers. "My Queen, you're doing so well. Squeezing my fingers so tight, I can't wait to feel you wrapped around my cocks."

The weird warmth has been coiling in your belly since his lips landed on your clit. But now, with fingers pushing your walls and pads brushing against the plump spot, something warmer, wetter started to plash inside your pouch. Something dangerously pleasurable and ready to burst beneath Sukuna's tongue and his big, stomach mouth sucking sweetly on your tits.

"My G-God, I–" you moaned, when all of his three fingers bent against the sweet spot and lips slurped on your clit. "I'm going to, mhmm, allow me to cum on your cocks, p-please."

And a single teary look over your shoulder, with hair sticking to your wet cheeks and lips fallen open, was enough to make him lose his mind.

"Whatever you wish, my Queen," he said, quickly pulling you away from his mouth.

Your body turned again, and this time you found yourself back on top, with two massive cocks squirming beneath your drooling folds and his lower hands gripping your thighs.

"You want me to…?"

He nodded, gently pulling your hips up, to help his leaking heads kiss your fluttering hole. "Ride me, my Queen. I want to watch you take it up…" his fingers traced the softness of your belly, before pushing on a spot somewhere just beneath your button. "here. Both of them."

Your pussy was ready to burst any second, and you could already feel something else, other than your normal wetness, drip down his cocks. The fog in your mind grew thicker, sweat coolly lined your neck, as you pressed both hands against his chest and leaned on trembling, feeble arms.

Rough thumb from the upper arm slipped between your folds, rolling gently the puffy clit. "Slowly, my Queen, take a deep breath." You did just that, with eyes looking straight into his. Both heads started forcing their way through your tight walls, gathering the slippery juices on the way. "That's it, that's my good girl, deep breaths."

He talked you through it, with thumb rubbing the sweet button and lower hands slowly, slowly, pulling you down his shafts.

A sharp cry rolled past your lips when both heads slipped inside. Pushing into your contracting walls and ripping you open, till the metallic taste of blood pooled somewhere at the back of your throat.

The water plopping inside your belly was filling you full, together with Sukuna's cocks constantly trying to thrust inside. You could feel every vein, every detailed curve of his shafts lick your gummy insides, as he pushed, and pushed, and took in the maddening beauty of your face, utterly lost in pleasure.

Your pussy squelched around his monstrous cocks. Cried sweetly, with a clit slowly getting much harsher rubs, till the swollen button started to tremble.

"My God, w-wait, something's wrong," you cried, trying to pull yourself off.

But Sukuna's lower hands kept you in place, and his hips bucked up, trying to meet yours. "Everything's good, my Queen. Deep breaths, you're doing so well."

"No, you don't get it, I–"

The heat hit your cheeks, walls clamped down half-thrust, and the alarmingly plopping water, finally, finally, spilt.

You came.

Or maybe, gushed.

With his cocks barely inside, a hefty wave rolled through your spine, spraying Sukuna's hands, belly, and chest with your cum. Your body trembled in pleasure, and he used this short moment of distraction to thrust his cocks fully, till your hips finally met his.

It was brutal, mean, absolutely filthy, with his lower mouth drinking your squirt and crimson eyes glimmering with maddening yearning.

Something in his mind snapped when he noticed a big bulge right under your belly button, and within a second, your position changed once again.

And this time, you knew that it was over.

He folded you in half, till your ass peeled off the drenched bed, and pussy glistened under his fiery gaze. All four arms kept you tightly in place, with lower limbs spreading your soaked thighs and upper ones taking something from the bedside table.

Only then have you noticed a crimson, bursting pomegranate, licked by the candle's warm tongues and dripping down Sukuna's forearm. He ripped it in half with a single, gentle move, before drinking the seeds with eyes never leaving yours.

"Deep breath, my Goddess," he said again, before both of his cocks rammed into your needy, stretched hole and lips crushed against yours. "Swallow it," he muttered into your reddened teeth, pushing all the pomegranate seeds straight into your mouth. "My little slutty Queen. Coming on my cocks when I barely thrusted in."

The fruit tasted sweeter than honey itself and mixed with Sukuna's sweet spin. His tongue trailed against yours, before lips moved towards your cheeks, chin, jaw, leaving all over your face a sweet, bloody trace of the fruit.

The power that tied your body, heart and soul to the God who wished for nothing but to love you like a madman and worship every piece of your skin.

His thrusts became more erratic, brutal, with squelches filling the wet, foggy air and his heavy, massive body leaning on your folded legs. His hips met yours with each roll, and whenever he pulled away, a long, sticky strand stretched between his soaked shafts and your sensitive cunt.

"Open up, my Queen," he growled, digging his fingers into your jaw. "Show me how well you swallowed it all."

Your lips fell open, and a string of drool trickled down his fingers. Big thumb pushed on your reddened tongue, and you sucked it sweetly, with eyes crossing in pleasure.

The long, fat tongue of his lower mouth slid out and gave your clit a long, filthy lick, before its lips sucked on it raw. Irritating the sensitive button and slurping on the last droplets of your squirt. Sukuna groaned, feeling your walls clamping around his cocks and pushed harsher, as if trying to fight the merciless squeeze.

"Fuck, my Goddess, let me–ahh–let get to your womb," he groaned, giving you a single, brutal thrust. You cried around his thumb, but he simply shushed you sweetly. "Don't cry, it's alright. Ngh, squeezing me so fucking hard," he leaned over, licking off the salty droplets.

His hips moved with unbelievably violent motion, rocking your bed against the wall and drawing a loud cry from your throat. Two pulsing heads kissed your womb with squelches till it swelled like a juicy peach and bent under his heartless thrusts.

A familiar warmth once again started to pool in your belly. Your arms curled behind Sukuna's neck, pulling him into another, filthy kiss. "My God, I'm g-gonna… soon… mhmm so good, s-so–ahh!"

He chuckled against your lips, but couldn't ignore the lovely tenderness filling your teary eyes. His heart jumped, and lower hands folded you into an even meaner mating press. Till you could barely breathe under his massive body, squeezing you down.

"Say it," he whispered, letting his cocks rip you raw. "Say it again."

Two fat shafts slipped in and out, smooching every little corner of your tired, swollen cunt. The pleasure filled you from head to toe, overflowing your body in electrifying strokes.

You knew what he wanted to hear. But his thrusts made a mushy mess out of your mind and eyes rolled back each time his hand pushed the bulge forming under your belly. Not even pregnancy could get you that bloated.

When your head lulled to the side, his fingers dug into your cheeks again, forcing you to look into his eyes. "Say it, my Goddess," he said, licking the last red traces of pomegranate juice from the corner of your lips. "I beg you."

"I love you," slipped like a dream. "I–I, mhmm, I love you. My God, I–"

His lips joined yours in a yearning, maddened kiss. "Fuck, my sweet Goddess. I love you so much, so fucking–fuck."

The warmth in your belly spilt again, and watery cum flooded his abdomen. The belly mouth sucked itself onto your clit, drinking each and every bead of your sweet nectar.

A second later, his hips finally stilled. Pulsing heads nuzzled into your womb, filling it with heavy, gluey cum. He pumped you full, with maddened pleasure creasing his forehead and knees digging into the mattress. Everything, just to get as close to you as possible.

His hefty cum filled your belly before bursting outside and buttering your folds.

"My God, at this point, mhmm, you'll knock me up," a sweet, tired giggle slipped past your lips, feeling his seed overflowing your poor womb. "Although I truly wouldn't mind."

He sighed, nuzzling warmly into the crook of your neck. The plushiness of your skin still made his mind spin, and the flowery fragrance haunted him like a spirit. "My Goddess, don't play with fire."

Your fingers brushed through his hair, pulling a low hum from his massive chest. "I'm not afraid to get burned," you said with full seriousness.

But God didn't answer. Just cuddled closer to your body – plush breasts, soft neck, and hair tickling his nose. He reminded you of Cerberus whenever the beast tried to cuddle into your side.

And with the same love and fondness, you kissed his temple, whispering simple yet oh so important, I'm yours, forever.

Forever it truly was for you, as no other couple on Olympus would ever conquer the utter devotion and love of the Goddess of Spring and the Lord of the Underworld.

Such contrary characters and yet relishing themselves in the most maddening obsession the Olympus has ever seen.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

Oh god, I'm tired but so, so happy. I think it's pretty good, but please let me know your thoughts in the comments <3 Pray forgive me for any mistakes, the wizard was proofreading it at 11 p.m.

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[toruii]

───𝒮EVEN DEADLY SL*TS ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

content: your parents pulled you out of college and sent you to a “discipline camp” because they thought you were too 'exposed' and 'dirty' plus, they were super religious. However instead of fixing you, it does the exact opposite of that. tags: counselor!gojo satoru :: pastor!toji fushiguro :: camp leader!nanami kento :: instructor!sukuna ryomen :: disciplinarian!geto suguru :: cleaner!choso kamo :: elder!hiromi higuruima :: fem!reader :: jjk :: creampie :: blowjob :: smut :: etc

w.c. 4.3k

tag: @charlisflyingangell

Gojo ✩ Satoru — Pride

You were doing this on purpose. You’d been at this camp for a month now and you’d purposely gotten into trouble more times than you could count. Why?

It's simple really.

Your counselor was hot—like..really fucking hot. Gojo Satoru. The hottest man in camp. He was most likely in his early thirties, with the hottest body you’d ever seen. But your favorite part?

The way he spoke to you when you broke the rules. His voice is always so strict and proper. You craved knowing how his voice was when he lost control.

So, you always showed up to his office dressed in barely contained outfits—short skirts, tops that barely contained your breasts—another rule you always broke.

And he noticed. Of course, he noticed. How could he not?

The way your eyes always flickered to his biceps. The way you shifted in your seat, your skirt riding higher every time you sat down in front of him, wearing that same innocent expression. Before leaving his office, you always leaned over his table to say 'thank you, sir', allowing him a clear view of your breasts before leaving with a grin.

God, you were killing him.

And he was finally starting to lose his patience.

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

Gojo had you bent over his table, one hand around your throat and the other on your hips as his cock drove into you in rough fast thrusts. “You wanted this didn't you?”

"Mngh—" He pulled out, watching you clench desperately around nothing. Gojo grinned and thrust inside once more, burying himself balls deep inside you. His balls slapped against the curve of your ass, making your cheeks bounce and yout body jerk forward.

Paperwork and pens clattered to the floor as you gripped the table for stability. "All those times—those outfits..you fucking tease."

Your moans and whimpers filled the room, tears streaming from your face in pure unfiltered pleasure. "Ngh..'toru you're soo deep."

You gasped, back arching as he rocked his hips into you, pulling out and slamming my cock back into your pussy each time.

Your back arched—pushing your ass against him, allowing him to slide deeper inside you.

"Fuck—you're killing me baby."

"You wanted this didn't you?"

"Yes," You moaned, knees feeling weak.

"How much?"

"So bad, 'toru please." You cried out, orgasm fast approaching.

"Good girl." Gojo rewards you by dropping a hand to your pussy, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in fast circles.

Your pussy wetter as his thrusts got faster. He grunts, gripping your hip tighter. "Cum with me baby."

His hand squeezed your throat and that was your undoing. Your pussy clamped around his cock as you came. Eyes rolling back, hot white pleasure filling you. Gojo groans, his thrusts flattering. He thrusts into you one last time, cumming with you. You whimpered, ropes of him filling you over and over.

"Hah—look at you." Gojo pulls out, watching your joint orgasms leaking out of you, falling to the floor as you shuddered.

"Come, let's get you cleaned up."

Ryomen ✩ Sukuna – Wrath

Sukuna prided himself on one thing. He was a patient man. There's nothing in this world that made his patience slip—except for you of course.

It started with an outdoor activity—scavenger hunt. You came late, you refused to participate and even worse? You talked back to him. He thought since it's your first day there, you'd learn eventually but no—you only got worse.

He cornered you in the shed, trying to be civil with you and in return he got attitude and he had enough of you.

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

"Open your mouth. If you're going to act like a whore, then suck me like one."

"Sir—" You begin to speak, the look in his eyes made you pause. Deep down, this is all you've wanted from him. He knew that—hell botj of you did.

You barely had time to breathe before he shoved his cock past your lips, stretching your mouth wide. A groan rumbled from his chest as he hit the back of your throat with barely any resistance. A choked sound slipping from you.

"Fuck—that's it," he growled, hips snapping up roughly. His hand gripped your hair harshly. Forcing you down to take more of him. "Take every fucking inch, brat."

Sukuna was merciless with you. He fucked your mouth with barely contained anger. Each thrust was deep, his thick cock bullying its way down your throat while his grip on your hair kept you exactly where he wanted you. Saliva dripped down your chin as you gagged and sputtered around him, hands scrambling to his thighs to grip desperately.

Sukuna grins, a sadistic smile on his face as he watched tears streaming down your face. "Yeah?Not so bratty now are you?"

He hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes glowing. "All those times I wanted to punish you for misbehaving...."

He held your head down, forcing you to take him to the hilt until your nose pressed against his pelvis—refusing to let you up for air. Your thighs clenched, each thrust from Sukuna made you even wetter.

Truth to be told, you thrived from this. All those days of acting like a total bitch finally paid off with his cock in your mouth and you had never been happier.

"You're loving this aren't ya?"

He groaned, pulling you back just to give you momentarily release before slamming back in.

The wet, filthy sounds of your mouth sucking him filled the shed. The gagging, slurping, his low angry grunts mixing with your muffled moans. Sukuna's thighs tensed beneath you as he fucked your face harder, chasing his pleasure. Your hand found it's way to his balls—a surpised moan slipping from Sukuna. Motivating you even futher.

"Ah—shit..I'm gonna cum." He tells you. His pace turned sloppy, hips snapping as he chases his orgasm. "Fucking swallow it."

With a groan, Sukuna buried himself down your throat and came hard, thick ropes of hot cum filling you. He held you there, twitching and pulsing. When he finally pulled out, strings of saliva and cum connected your swollen lips to his still-hard cock.

Sukuna stared down at your messy, tear-streaked face with dark satisfaction. He smirked. "Get up and all fours. Time to really punish you brat."

Toji ✩ Fushiguro – Greed

Toji had never prided himself as being a religious man. If someone told him, 2 years after retiring he'd be desperate and become a priest and some camp? He'd laugh right in their faces.

Truly, Toji had no idea what he was doing. But it paid him good money so he did what he was instructed. Life at the camp for Toji was exhausting at times but mostly pleasant.

At least until you came there.

Your parents had sent you to this camp after you had 'flirted' with your father's boss—which to be fair, wasn't entirely true. Toji's carefully constructed routine was destroyed the second you came to his confessional—wanting to be forgiven for your sins.

Then you made your own routine, finding his confessional booth every afternoon to 'confess'. Yet you only spoke about one thing. Him. It was beyond obvious of course, the way you described the 'temptation'. You told him how much you craved him—in the nastiest details ever.

Toji finally had enough of it when you slipped up (on purpose) saying his name.

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

"Fuck..I need you. Right now." Toji sat on the narrow wooden bench and pulled you onto his lap, lining up his cock with your soaked entrance. You were beyond turned on—your nails digging into his shoulders.

He dragged you down onto him slowly, savoring every inch as your pussy stretched around his thickness.

"Mghh 'ji oh fuck.." You whimpered as you sank down on his cock. He was so huge. Toji groaned, eyes rolling back for a second.

"This is what I've been starving for...it took song long." Toji bottomed out, his hands gripped your hips with bruising greed and he started fucking up into you with deep, desperate strokes. He was pace was frantic, almosg like he couldn’t get enough of you. Ever since Toji's wife died his entire focus was on his job, not sex. Being in you felt so fucking live changing to him. "Been hard for days because of you,"

Your moans echoed in the small confession room. Your head falling against his shoulder as he claims you.

"..you've been in here whispering about wanting my cock and then leave me like nothing happened. Never again." You moaned loudly as he thrust up harder, his thick cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. The booth creaked with every greedy roll of his hips.

Toji's hands found your ass. Gripping your ass and pulling you down onto him. "Come on doll. Ride me,"

He tells you breathlessly, his voice rough with desperation. "Give me that greedy little pussy. It's mine now."

You moved your hips. Bouncing on his cock as he thrust up to meet you. The wet, filthy sound of your cunt taking every inch of him filled the small space. Toji looked completely lost in pleasure, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. "I'm never letting you go after this."

He groaned, fucking you deeper. "Gonna fill this tight cunt every single day. Keep you dripping with my cum inside you..you want that don't you?"

His pace grew faster, more urgent and pure greed taking over as he chased his pleasure and yours. One of his hands slipped between you, rubbing your clit in messy, desperate circles. Your whined, clenching around him. "Fuck 'ji plesse..im so close"

"Yeah? Cum on my cock doll. Milk me." you clenched hard around Toji as your orgasm hit. You hit his shoulder to muffle your scream, causing Toji to freeze. He cursed loudly and buried himself as deep as possible, pumping thick, hot loads of cum into you with greedy, stuttering thrusts. He held you down on him, making sure not a single drop escaped. You both sat there, breathless and needy.

"Again." he whispered, already starting to roll his hips again.

Suguru ✩ Geto – Envy

Being the disciplinarian of Camp Biscuits meant one thing. Order.

Suguru Geto had always been one to be orderly. He ensured the rules were carried out, kept the camp in order for Nanami and made sure everyone remained on their best behaviors.

So, what the hell was it with you?

You never once showed fear the authority in his voice nor have you listened. Instead you insisted on doing the complete opposite of keeping order.

You were always late to sessions, you refused to do what he said, he'd spot you by the river at midnight, half naked after being told not to go there.

Suguru hated it. He hated how much you ticked him off, he hated the fact you were so irresistible, he hated every moment of it.

You picked up on his unexplainable desire for you of course. It was only natural since..you wanted him too. Normally, you'd make your move on him but for once, you wanted him to break first.

So, it began with your teasing glances, the new found desire to obey the rules, the inappropriate clothes..flirting around with others.

Suguru catched on easily at what you wre trying. He wasn't stupid—obviously not. But..how could he really stop himself from temptation?

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

"You just couldn't help yourself, could you?" Suguru's voice was low and dangerously smooth, but laced with pure venom. He stood behind his desk, arms crossed, dark eyes burning with envy as he stared you down.

"Flirting with Satoru right in front of me? Knowing I was watching?" He stepped closer, tall and imposing, his long hair loose over one shoulder. The envy radiating off him was palpable— hot, ugly and starving.

"See, I think you wanted this. You wanted to make me jealous," he said, voice dropping even lower. "Guess what love? It worked."

"Mister Sug—" He cuts you off with his finger. Backing you against the wall, his mouth crashing against yours in a possessive angry kiss. His hands trailed down your body. Rough and greedy, sliding under your camp shirt and squeezing your breasts harshly. He broke the kiss, breathing heavilh. "These are mine, love. Not Gojo's or anyone else. Just mine."

"Mm...Suguru wait—" He spun you around and bent you over his desk, yanking your shorts and panties down in one harsh motion. Refusing to give you any time to speak.

You heard his belt and zipper, then felt the thick, heavy heat of his cock pressing against your soaked cunt. Suguru hissed. Rubbing his mushroom tip against your slit. "Shit. Look at you, already dripping...did flirting with him get you this wet? Hm?"

"Suguru s-stop talking and fuck me already—ah!"

Suguru pushed inside you with one deep thrust, burying his cock to the hilt. A broken moan left your throat as he stretched you open.

He groans at your tightness. Giving you a moment to adjust to the feeling of him inside. After a moment he starts fucking you with hard, deep strokes that made the desk creak beneath you. "See who's fuckin' you? Not him. Me. I see the way he looks at you and I want to kill him."

"Do you want a death on my hands, love?" Every thrust was fueled by jealousy. He gripped your hips tightly, pulling you back onto his cock like he was trying to claim you completely. "S-slow down—hah no..no killing please."

"Shut up." he grits, a hand sliding up to wrap around your throat. "I'm going to make sure every time you sit down tomorrow, you're going to feel me."

He leaned over you, lips brushing your ear as he drove into you faster. "Say it love. Tell me whose cock is ruining this pretty pussy right now." "Yours, Sugu—fuck, all yours" you gasped, your hips pushing back against him, chasing your orgasm.

"Good girl."

His pace turned punishing, hips snapping against your ass. "And I'm the only one who gets to fuck you. The only one who gets to fill you up."

His fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles while his cock kept pounding into you. The pleasure got too much. You clenched around him desperately, eyes rolling back as you finally came around his cock and crying out his name. Suguru followed right after with a groan. Your grip on his cock so tight—literally milking him. He buried himself as deep as possible, pumping thick ropes of cum inside you, like he was marking his territory—which he was.

He stayed inside you for a long moment, breathing heavily against your neck, still twitching. "Don't ever test me like that again," he whispered, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your shoulder.

"Maybe don't pretend you don't want me then.."

Suguru's eyes darkened at your words. "Oh yeah? Seems like I didn't discipline you enough yet."

Nanami ✩ Kento – Sloth

Nanami Kento was overworked and deprived of sex. Being the leader of Camp Biscuits came with it's pros and cons—mostly cons.

He had to work everyday regardless of the staff he had. He hated every single second of his job. Sometimes he'd wonder, was quitting easier? Or..perhaps a trip to Malaysia?

Of course none of those became reality. Nanami began slacking off as the weeks went on. Having you as a new member in his camp messed with his head more than he wanted to admit. Regardless of hating every minute of his job, he never slacked off. Never once broke his composure or his neat proper schedule.

But, you were so irresistible. A beautiful sweet lady always talking to him in the sweetest tone ever. In his mind, you were sent from the gods above to help him.

And he definitely made the most of this..blessing he'd like to say.

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

Nanami's private quarters was on the other side of the camp. Quiet and dimly lit. Nanami lounged back on the large leather couch. His shirt was unbuttoned, tie loosened and his blond hair slightly messy as he watched you with heavy-lidded eyes.

"You've been awfully restless lately, princess" he tells you. You've been teasing him for weeks after catching on his desire for you. At first, it started with innocent gestures before they got bolder. Bending over in front of him, "accidentally" brushing against his body, wearing shorter and shorter skirts whenever you saw him. Nanami pretended he hadn't notice your desperate acts. Afterall, how could he?

Instead, he waited until you needed him beyond resisting. Like tonight.

"Come here," he ordered calmly, patting his thigh. You straddled him without hesitation—too far gone before he even touched you. Nanami didn't move much. It was late at night and he was tired. To his surpise you werent wearing panties under that dress of yours. Your wetness soaking his pants.

He leaned back further, one hand resting on your waist while the other guided his thick, heavy cock out of his pants. He was already rock hard, veins pulsing and leaking pre as he rubbed the fat tip along your soaked slit. "Ride me princess."

He whispers—his eyes burning with quiet hunger. "Fuck yourself on my cock like a good girl yeah?"

"O-okay.." you mumbled, raising your hips before you sank down onto him with a shaky moan, stretching around his girth. Nanami let out a sigh of pleasure as your warm, wet cunt swallowed his every inch.

"That’s it..." he breathed, head tilting back against the couch. "Good girl."

His hand stayed steady on your hips—allowing you to choose the pace. Your moans and whining filled the room whenever you sank back down—allowing his tip to hit your cervix. His hands lazily squeezed your ass.

"Fuck princess look at you," he said quietly, voice roughening. "Such a desperate little thing aren't you?"

"Mngh—yes..please you feel so good."

You began picking up your pace, moaning as his cock dragged against every sweet spot inside you. Nanami's breathing grew heavier, every whimper you made felt like music.

"Faster princess," he commanded softly, eyes half-closed. "I want to feel you creaming all over me."

His fingers finally moved from your hips, trailing down to between you two. He lazily rubs slow circles on your clit while you bounced on his cock. The contrast between his relaxed posture and the filthy way his dick stretched you open was dizzying. "I—I can't anymore please..so tired Ken."

Your legs started shaking, orgasm approaching causing Nanami to take the lead. He thrusts up in you few from below, just enough to push you over the edge.You came hard, pussy clamping down around him as you cried out. Nanami groaned lowly, eyes fluttering shut in pure lazy bliss as he spilled deep inside you, thick ropes of cum flooding your cunt while he held you down on him.

Even after finishing, he didn't pull out yet. He wrapped one arm around you, keeping you seated on his cock as he relaxed back into the couch again, breathing steady. "Stay like this for a while princess..." he murmured, voice sleepy and satisfied.

Hiromi ✩ Higuruma – Lust

The elder's private quarters were quiet and dimly lit by candlelight. Hiromi Higuruma, one of the camp's most respected spiritual elders, had you sitting on the edge of his heavy oak desk with your legs spread obscenely wide. His dark eyes burned with pure, unfiltered lust as he stared at your glistening cunt like a starving man. "You keep coming to me night after night," he murmured, voice low and rough.

"...confessing how you touch yourself thinking about my mouth. How you soak your panties during my sermons just from watching my lips move."

He slowly sank to his knees in front of you, robe partially open, revealing his toned chest. Lust had completely consumed him. "Oh and I'm so done resisting."

Hiromi grabbed your thighs and yanked you forward roughly, burying his face between your legs. His hot tongue dragged straight up your dripping slit, licking a long, filthy stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. The sudden pleasure causing you to jolt. A moan slipping past.

"Fuck...you taste even better than I imagined," he groaned against your cunt, the vibration making you twitch. He was shameless — loud, wet, and ravenous. He licked and sucked like a man possessed, tongue fucking deep into your hole before pulling back to swirl around your clit.

Two long fingers pushed inside you without warning, curling instantly against that spongy spot while his mouth latched onto your clit and sucked hard. You whimpered. Fingers gripping his hair as your hips bucked against his face.

Hiromi growled in approval, the sound vibrating through your core. He devoured you like a man starving. His nose bumping your clit as fingers pumping deep and fast inside fo you. Slick sounds filled the room as he ate you out like he'd been fantasizing about it for months.

"Look at this pretty cunt dripping all over my face," he groaned, pulling back just enough for you to see his chin and lips shiny with your juices. You blushed. Suddenly feeling embarrassed.

"Ugh can you..stop talking?"

"You were grinding on my face like a desperate slut and now you're embarrassed?" He smirks at your flustered face before he dives back in even more desperately, sucking your clit harder while his fingers curled and stroked that perfect spot inside you. His other hand gripped your thigh so tightly to ensure you couldn't escape.

"Hiro! W-wait fuck, I'm gonna cum—" you whimpered, legs shaking around his head. He doesn't stop. If anything, he became more aggressive. His fingers hit the sensitive part inside of you, sending you over the edge. You came hard, crying out his name as your cunt clenched around his fingers and gushed against his tongue.

Hiromi groaned. Licking and sucking up every drop like he was addicted, refusing to pull away even as you twitched and trembled from overstimulation. Your back arching as you try to escape. "T-too much I can't—"

He finally lifted his head, his eyes were glazed with lust, lips swollen and glistening. He pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh, breathing heavily.

"Too much?" he grins, voice dark and dripping. "We're not done until I have you squirting on my tounge baby."

He leaned back in, flattening his tongue against your sensitive clit with a hungry groan. Your eyed rolling back. "Shut up and let me enjoy my meal."

Choso ✩ Kamo – Gluttony

Choso had never once encountered seduction or temptation during his years as a cleaner at Camp Biscuits. Make no mistake, he wasn't a virgin. After his first fuck, he never found anyone else interesting enough to focus on.

Until you.

Choso was inlove with you. The moment he was cleaning and some kid knocked over his supplies and you helped him? He fell inlove. Truly, you were an angel in his eyes.

And he'd do anything for you.

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

The camp's old storage cabin behind the mess hall was quiet and dimly lit. Choso had you pressed against a stack of wooden crates, his large hands gripping your thighs like he was afraid you'd disappear.

"I-I tried to stay away," he breathed, voice hoarse and shaky. "I really did...but you kept hanging out with me, smiling at me, letting me see you in those tiny shorts. I can't stop thinking about you. I'm so fucking hungry all the time. For you."

"Please let me taste you.." He whimpered dropping to his knees right there on the dusty floor. "Can I have you?"

You looked down at him, flustered and grinned. "Okay.."

That confirmation was all he needed. He yanked your shorts and panties down in one desperate tug—wasting no time to bury his face between your legs like a starving man. A deep, guttural moan ripped from his chest the second his tongue touched your pussy. His eyes rolling back at your taste.

"You taste so divine—hah..my angel." he groaned, licking long, messy stripes up your slit before sucking your clit into his mouth.

He was loud, sloppy shameless—eating you out like your cunt was the best thing he'd ever tasted in his life. Choso's hands squeezed your ass, pulling you harder against his face as he devoured you. Your hand gripped his hair, your head falling against the wall. "Yeah..mmm Cho just like that."

His tongue pushed inside you, fucking in and out while he moaned and hummed in pleasure, the vibrations shooting straight through your core.

Two thick fingers joined his tounge. Sliding deep into your soaked pussy and curling greedily. He couldn't get enough really—he kept pressing his face deeper, rubbing his nose against your clit while his tongue worked you relentlessly. Your grip on his hair tightened as your legs started shaking. Choso whimpered against your cunt when you clenched around his fingers, clearly loving every reaction you gave him.

"D-don't stop—please don't stop," you whimpered between the wet, filthy licks. Your moans served to motivate him. He sucked harder, fingers pumping faster, completely lost in pleasure.

When you finally came, crying out his name and gushing against his mouth, Choso moaned like he was the one orgasming. He licked and drank up every drop, refusing to pull away even as you twitched from sensitivity.

But he still wasn't satisfied. He stood up, breathing heavily, lips and chin shiny with your juices. Without a word he lifted you onto the crates, spread your legs wider and dropped back down to continue eating you out. "One more," he rasped, eyes glassy with hunger.

"Just one more please my angel." he whimpers, his tongue flattening against your sensitive clit again as he groaned in pure bliss.

"Ah—Cho!"

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