ᯓ i am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love 𓂃𓂃
lee (18, enfp-t, cancer) ᐟ rules ᐟ m.list ᐟ anons (coming soon) ᐟ tag list ᐟ send me asks! (requests, questions, etc. open)
cw: pwnp, p in v, fwb leon, crying, a little angst + comfort, reader is scared of thunder ;(
the occasional flash of lightning illuminated your room through the thin veil of white lace curtains and the trembling tree leaves that served as an impervious barrier between you and the outside world. rain pattered against your bedroom window relentlessly, and for just one moment, grew louder than the sounds of your intermittent gasps for air. your residual breaths were seized by your good friend leon, situated on your queen sized bed with his pelvis between your thighs while holding your knees tightly against your chest and with veins bulging from his forearms as a testament to his assiduity. he bit his lower lip while dragging his hips dutifully against yours. the air carried a heaviness distinct from the weather’s humidity, one that carried the fragrant sandalwood and vetiver of leon’s cologne.
you on the other hand were not nearly as resilient. the lack of work delegated to your nearly immobile body had your hips writhing beneath him, crying, “i can’t take it leon.” his hips punctuated each stroke with an upward thrust against you, which, without fail, drew another cry from you each time. “don’t tell me you can’t take it,” leon responded pitifully, pushing your front pieces of hair out of your face and stroking the remainder of hair that embellished your right shoulder into one of his fists. you didn’t enjoy how he was looking at you like he actually considered you as something different than a platonic vessel he was using to get himself off. he released your legs from the confines of his hands and instead let them fall over his shoulders, pushing his fist into the mattress and pushing himself deeper into you repeatedly as a consequence.
your legs began to shake violently over his shoulders. you held him close by his short sleeve balled into your fist, beckoning him closer, and leon picked up his pace, caging you underneath him with a more compromising position. he picked up on the irony of your shaky legs and your simultaneous invitations to come closer and he thought you needed some reassurance, pulling back farther before burying himself to the hilt and a reassuring “you got it girl,”that elicited a moan from you. not to mention the smile stretched across his face, not one you see very often and one that made your heart tighten with excitement.
nonetheless your doubts persisted, senses overwhelmed by the feeling of admiring him and simultaneously baring the drag of him along your walls. “fffuck, i can’t take it, it’s too deep leon,” a tear fell down your cheek and he quickly wiped it away with his thumb. his thumb strayed to your forehead, stroking his thumb back and forth on skin that had no need to be tended to.
“you can’t?” he repeats himself, “you can’t? you wanna stop?”his hips stalled and it revealed your quivering knees once again. the burn of delayed gratification swam like lava in your bones and was responsible for your immediate response. “no, don’t stop, please don’t stop,”
when he moved again his face was parallel to yours, unwavering, analyzing your expression and treasuring the feedback inside his head. “i was scared you wouldn’t keep me company,” you whispered to him. it was multifaceted, not so much concerned with your fear of lightening as it was your fear that he was choosing someone else. that he would withdraw. a flash of lightning illuminated his cold features as if to reveal a tinge of warmth buried somewhere deep in his eyes that revealed itself momentarily. it could’ve been the way the light reflected the muscles in his eyebrows, a visual hallucination if not for the verbalized,
“yeah?”
“i was so scared.”
your words were adorned by the faint electrifying noises of him pushing inside of you. his palm escaped it’s fixture in the bed sheets and tangled itself in the mass of your hair, continuing until his fingers caressed the base of your head and rested on your scalp. you assume it’s strictly to get him there, something to hold, that he will say nothing. pretend it didn’t happen or slip his hand away or imagine your face is someone else’s.
but it’s sweet and resonant. it’s simple, “i got you.”
cw: pwnp, p in v, fwb leon, crying, a little angst + comfort, reader is scared of thunder ;(
the occasional flash of lightning illuminated your room through the thin veil of white lace curtains and the trembling tree leaves that served as an impervious barrier between you and the outside world. rain pattered against your bedroom window relentlessly, and for just one moment, grew louder than the sounds of your intermittent gasps for air. your residual breaths were seized by your good friend leon, situated on your queen sized bed with his pelvis between your thighs while holding your knees tightly against your chest and with veins bulging from his forearms as a testament to his assiduity. he bit his lower lip while dragging his hips dutifully against yours. the air carried a heaviness distinct from the weather’s humidity, one that carried the fragrant sandalwood and vetiver of leon’s cologne.
you on the other hand were not nearly as resilient. the lack of work delegated to your nearly immobile body had your hips writhing beneath him, crying, “i can’t take it leon.” his hips punctuated each stroke with an upward thrust against you, which, without fail, drew another cry from you each time. “don’t tell me you can’t take it,” leon responded pitifully, pushing your front pieces of hair out of your face and stroking the remainder of hair that embellished your right shoulder into one of his fists. you didn’t enjoy how he was looking at you like he actually considered you as something different than a platonic vessel he was using to get himself off. he released your legs from the confines of his hands and instead let them fall over his shoulders, pushing his fist into the mattress and pushing himself deeper into you repeatedly as a consequence.
your legs began to shake violently over his shoulders. you held him close by his short sleeve balled into your fist, beckoning him closer, and leon picked up his pace, caging you underneath him with a more compromising position. a string of whimpers left your mouth in response to the deeper contact, and leon attempted to mediate. “i know baby, i know,” he cooed, brushing your cervix with his increasingly deep strokes. he picked up on the irony of your shaky legs and your simultaneous invitations to come closer and he thought you needed some reassurance, pulling back farther before burying himself to the hilt and a reassuring “you got it girl” that subsequently elicited a moan from you. not to mention the smile stretched across his face, not one you see very often and one that made your heart tighten with excitement.
nonetheless your doubts persisted, senses overwhelmed by the feeling of admiring him and simultaneously baring the drag of him along your walls. “fffuck, i can’t take it, it’s too deep leon.” a tear fell down your cheek and he quickly wiped it away with his thumb. his thumb strayed to your forehead, stroking his thumb back and forth on skin that had no need to be tended to.
“you can’t?” he repeats himself, “you can’t? you wanna stop?”his hips stalled and it revealed your quivering knees once again. the burn of delayed gratification swam like lava in your bones and was responsible for your immediate response. “no, don’t stop, please don’t stop,”
when he moved again his face was parallel to yours, unwavering, analyzing your expression and treasuring the feedback inside his head. “i was scared you wouldn’t keep me company,” you whispered to him. it was multifaceted, not so much concerned with your fear of lightening as it was your fear that he was choosing someone else. that he would withdraw. a flash of lightning illuminated his cold features as if to reveal a tinge of warmth buried somewhere deep in his eyes that revealed itself momentarily. it could’ve been the way the light reflected the muscles in his eyebrows, a visual hallucination if not for the verbalized,
“yeah?”
“i was so scared.”
your words were adorned by the faint electrifying noises of him pushing inside of you. his palm escaped it’s fixture in the bed sheets and tangled itself in the mass of your hair, continuing until his fingers caressed the base of your head and rested on your scalp. you assume it’s strictly to get him there, something to hold, that he will say nothing. pretend it didn’t happen or slip his hand away or imagine your face is someone else’s.
but it’s sweet and resonant. it’s simple, “i got you.”
leon has a secret picture of you asleep on the couch, cat sprawled out on top of you hiding in his wallet that slips out when he’s fishing for his card. you’d pick it up and he’d play it off soooooo smoothly. “they always say never fall asleep first at the sleepover…” right…
he reads your books to you when you do your makeup and gives them his own little commentary. you are rarely offered knowing how he feels about anything but you imagine his verbal convictions suggests he has some semblance of inner monologue
leon has perfected the art of being your instagram photographer. he routinely raises your digital camera in front of his face until only his knitted brows protrude from behind the device and without failure produces the best photo you’ve ever seen of yourself. he’s real dedicated to his craft.
he has a pair of glasses he absolutely hates wearing. he seldom wears them around you and the first time he does it’s like hanging meat in front of a lion. almost always ends with you in your sweats slipping onto his lap and a “you come here often?” only followed by a “mmm”
leon likes skin to skin a lot. it’s not an indecent fascination but it’s almost a need for him to lift your shirt up and trace shapes on your spine in order for him to fall asleep
you taught him how to braid your hair and it becomes a habit reserved for when he’s especially disconsolate and afraid he’s going to lose you (if you ever hear him admit it you need to take immediate lethal action)
leon’s a big “tell me” guy, in general hes very commanding on the surface. in all actuality once dissected its very obvious it’s shrouded in consideration and that he would never intentionally act authoritative toward you
enjoy !!!!!!! thank u to evb sending asks, i promise i will get to them eventually
i indulge in a little bit of sloth one may say
leon’s an avid shower sex enjoyer. he admittedly gets carried away washing your hair and likes the warm water on his back when he’s kissing down yours. for what it’s worth he says it’s not unsafe if he’s the one holding you up (seems antithetical)
the most he’ll do for a long time is pet your hair when you find yourself on your knees in front of him. he’s somewhat fundamentally averse to being taken care of on an intimate level that a part of him feels like it’s degrading to you. it’d take remarkable persuasion
leon is an unintentional manhandler. don’t make him hold your thighs apart or your hips down unless you want to feel a little insatiable at the feeling of firm muscle. forget it if you’re ovulating
leon holds your heels in reverse cowgirl. it’s a weird habit. he likes to feel close to you but it tickles just a little
he pulls the “so you like me?” shit with a taunting smile when you’re on top of him and telling him he’s so good. what he really wants is your fingers in his mouth to shut him up, who said that??
he has a penchant for making eye contact when he has, in his own words, quote ‘missed you s’bad’, that makes it so hard to keep your hips flat when his face is between your thighs and his hands are pushing up your shirt
leon’s trademark is whispering beside you and asking you to ‘please breathe’ even when he himself is rationing what little remains of his control to not move cause you got a tendency to hold your breath when he’s stretching you out
he always hated getting his scars called cool but he doesn’t mind it when you trace them with your fingertips in missionary. you’d never scratch over the angry abrasions but he feels a little more admired rather than mauled. that being said he secretly wishes you would but that reflects his own odd masochistic proclivities
i have a little bit of disdain for leon's inventory space in re9
leon’s love language is painfully obvious. it’s arduous for him to vocalize his love for you but you’ll wake up to your favorite flowers on the dresser, no sign of the culprit though
god forbid he sit or lie down in your house in which case you can’t pry your cat off of him. that’s her bf before he’s yours
leon isn't really one for pet names but there is an occasional 'baby' that he lets escape him when he's feeling especially enamored
it’s a laborious task to get leon to deviate from rigid gender ideals. it’s not a particularly orthodox or traditionalist ideology for him per se as much as it is him believing he needs to bear the brunt of providing
you’d like to have cute screenshots of your text chains but there’s a million results for the phrase “call me” from him in your texts because he’s what’s colloquially known as dogshit at conveying emotion over the sms and would rather hear your voice
no social media warrior. he might make an instagram to like your posts or something but he’s got no particular inclination
got his hands on the record his aunt taught him how to dance to once and holds you real close in his dim lit living room. he’s got a habit of tucking your head in the crook of his neck, you’re not sure if that was also taught. leon thinks dancing with you makes him feel a little normal
his phone wallpaper is you with smudged lipstick next to him with scarlet red lipstick marks littering his face and neck. he’s got a documented smile for once
swears he doesn’t want kids but won’t look at you when you’re holding one. one “how long you guys been together again?” and you know he’s awkwardly akimbo and biting his bottom lip in pure fluster behind you
i have overdue calc homework but this is more important
you were afraid satoru wouldn’t be committed in a relationship, yet in the present day you guys could be apart for less than a fortnight and you’d get that special text at 10 o’clock sharp like clockwork
he’s basked in some warm ambient hotel light that too gloriously dances on his abs to not be a professional setup and he’s palming himself through damp boxers, phone angled from the side
he pulls it out and spits on it with a twitch of his hips and he’s looking at the camera every couple seconds and never missing the opportunity to ask if he’s doing a good job with lidded eyes
and the worst part, he’s really turning into you the way he’s learned to grip the base when he’s right on the edge and repeats “all yours” breathlessly as if it gives him permission to cum
his hips are writhing the same way they do in person, it’s hard to deny release from someone who’s begging to be milked and he knows that, it’s evident in the telltale way he bites his lower lip and knits his eyebrows together
i guess if it’s been over a week and he’s been deprived you might hear him whisper ‘mommy’ if you turn your volume up and don’t get too flustered by the depraved wet noises
the way he picks up his phone to show you the ropes on his abdomen as he heaves is just a small token of his unexpected monogamy
heaven help me for the way i am | gojo x reader knight x princess!au
warnings & contents: mdni! arranged marriage (reader & sukuna), knight gojo, princess reader, pwp, unprotected, oral (m!receiving, f!receiving), male choking
6.5k words
the lofty candles spat vivid amber tendrils in the center of the dining hall table, their ashes rising into the vaulted ceilings adorned with elaborate painted murals your kingdom had commissioned over the course of your lineage. several of the countless intricate handcrafted chairs labored for months by various craftsmen sat unoccupied as dinner tonight was an internal affair that only seated your family and your father’s trusted knights. this meant that the meal served to you tonight would be enjoyed next to gojo — your father’s favored knight and, seeing as he had the aristocratic upbringing, your own childhood companion.
dinner this intimate usually began so innocent; the nectarine streams of dialogue beguiled plays and paintings and other trivialities would disarm the atmosphere until your father inevitably began talking about affairs of climbing the ladder.
thus, talking about ryomen sukuna over dinner generally diminished the taste of the rich venison that lay served on the hall table. the vexing subject had been tormenting the inner working of your kingdom for years now — sukuna, ever-sickening and now newly widowed, was yet again inquiring surrounding allies of another consort.
for you this was nothing to lose your appetite over, your fork continued to work at the piece of meat to fortify that you had no regard for the persisting suitor. in contrast, gojo, seated across from you as he usually was, obviously wasn’t as smart, despite baring witness to over a dozen of these arguments as they inevitably unfolded.
his prompted reaction was a conspicuous cough coupled with a suspicious glance in your direction. this was another gesture of his to no avail, another shot gone wide for careless acts of ineptitude never seemed to be caught by you when you were so focused on preserving your independence over dinner.
to make matters worse, your father knew better than to make eye contact with you when he patronized you. he knew you still had the appetite, now picking at the carrots on your plate, the action being loosely interpretable to indicate your current heavy dissatisfaction. “the duke is proffering a substantial dowry once again. i am strongly considering obliging him after the passing of his duchess.”
sukuna had only been grieving for 6 months time before extending another offering in his series of dramatic dowries, refusing to surmount the idea of you even as you stood the lesser woman of your family.
your eldest sister, shoko, sat on the other side of you with tasteful poise — stoic, feminine, the more obvious princess than you and nonetheless studying you under fixated eyes. shoko concurred. “his grace is serious about you, perhaps it’s time to start considering the possibility that his first marriage didn’t work out for a reason. you can bring surmountable respect back to this family’s name if you-”
“i refuse,” you sighed, “it is that simple.” the clamor in the hall stifled to a stark silence. your family couldn’t be serious — sukuna’s wife fell by no ordinary means but by execution at the hands of his mother. as you heard through the grapevine, the late wife was subjected to hanging after the dowager fabricated a scandal that she was defiled. if your family thought your neck was fit for the same noose, they were out of their mind.
normally, your eyes would fleet around the room for someone to back you up here. gojo was not normally reliable as he had no say in your marriage and the honor you brought to your family as princess, but especially now he looked particularly strange and choked up about the matter. was there a possibility that he could be so naïve as to think your father was actually going to go through with this? furthermore, the idea of gojo caring about anything other than his service to the king was laughable. gojo was a born jest, surely you were aware of this, but if there was one thing he was serious about, it was his duty to your kingdom. he’d worked so hard to get here.
across the table sat your incredibly displeased mother, ordinarily resigned in her authority over you as she was just 15 years your senior, now so strangely convicted. she was stern in her warning, “young lady, the decline in this kingdom’s reputation is attributable to you and your irreverent behavior of recent. you don’t get to refuse your father’s command. the convent is seeking devoted women by the day; if you are bent on dying by abstinence i can arrange you still live a life by the lord. do i make myself clear?”
the hall was overtaken by the breath of astonishment. your parents were serious about this proposition. gojo’s gaze soon dropped and the sound of his cutlery began once more scraping against the trade delicacy china.
─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─
“i remember the day my father dubbed you,” you sighed, your silver rook was caught between gojo’s lanky fingers, his bishop having overtaken it after a bold move of yours rendered fruitless. his thumb rolled over the square crown of the figure. he always fumbled with his pieces when he was thinking about something you said. it wasn’t like he needed to dedicate his unabridged focus to his game anyway, he was undoubtedly better than you when it came to strategy.
rain pattered against the expansive glass windows of the smaller chamber,
“you do, princess?” you moved your pawn, your cadence now much too conservative in the face of your loss to rivet the game this soon. you were popularly reckless in chess, but gojo had always found himself determined to keep you company and, as much as he would find it distasteful to admit, go easy on you.
you recounted, “I do. you, my dear satoru, were so humble. nothing as you are now. so gentle in your pursuit even when you first became brawny.” this much was true, as gojo towered over — even while sitting in his leisure — his 6’3” frame physically reinstating the reason for his draft as knight. he was devastatingly capable of protection and much the more capable of being the subject of unrequited and impossible fantasy to women across the kingdom. to make matters worse, he was objectively beautiful. this made it such a shame that he would dedicate his life to such a role of servantry and not one of being served himself as his circumstance would demand. even as a princess, and you would never confess this to gojo, there were nights you’d imagine devoting yourself to him. there must have been neglected needs that the two of you intentionally ignored for the sake of his chastity and your good friendship.
“but y/n, i am no friend of yours now that i am your knight.” he smiled. there it was, the glimmer in his eye as he quipped you and moved his king into the offense, surpassing the majority of his intact pawns. there was a certain self restraint that he abandoned around the middle of the game, finding the fight for victory entertaining between the two of you simply because of the rise it drew from you.
“what do you figure you are then?” an amateur slide of your bishop to confront his handy rook. here rose the intentional neglect of feelings, as it always did each time he witted you. that full, pale skin — the skin you hoped for each time you pinched your own cheeks — was so complimentary to long white eyelashes that you would have stumbled had it been your turn. similarly, it was your long and saturated red gown that graced his eyes and likewise substantially distracted him. there was no wonder he was blushing. yet neither of your gazes met, and gojo conquered a pawn with his offensive king, failing to move his rook from your assault.
you giggled and gathered his rook with pointer and thumb. “i serve you, and when i don’t serve you, i am merely an opponent. you see?” he had always followed you around like a puppy since your own dog days, waiting for you to pick up on his courting despite the fact that it would never lead anywhere. you were never going to marry him, even if you found yourself in love with him.
you pondered your next move, tapping on the corner of the board with a delicate nail, hands clean with the absence of obligatory labor. “but you are still my companion above all else.” your conversations with gojo were something of a duel in the dark. with two dull swords, nothing makes contact. you slid your rook.
“you’re sacrificing the other elephant?”
“anything for my knight.” you looked up into the knight’s eyes briefly then. his powdery blue eyes, so diluted with thought, were flushed with sick desperation and the unquenchable hunger he kept getting himself caught in like an ouroboro.
gojo hesitated, failing to break away from your eye contact. you were playing dangerously and borderline reckless again. “would you bring yourself to believe sukuna would be a good husband?”
you didn’t lead on that you were considering the possibility with much depth. his bishop was taken while you articulated. “one must consider what it means to be a good husband. love is seldom present in matrimony, yes, but one can only wish for a marriage that stands benefactory regardless. i believe sukuna offers no benefit. i believe he offers quite the opposite.”
gojo could admit he was deflated. “i believe you are mistaken.” you scrutinized him through drawn eyebrows. “oh, not like that. a princess is worth being a doting husband for.” the look in his eye was stern as he sat up, looking down at you from the new position.
yet you persisted. “but therein lies the fallacy, my knight. I’m just a princess,” you sighed, moving your pawn innocuously beside his king.
he noticed. “you’re acting like if anyone else were his grace they wouldn’t do anything for you.” you were constructing a trap.
“what a knightly way of thinking.”
“and your way of thinking is decidedly close minded. who wouldn’t dedicate their life to you?” the resounding silence was filled by the clearing of gojo’s throat, a diversion to his embarrassing overindulgence.
in the back of his mind he was reminded of a time where the both of you as young teenagers were out of breath in the meadow grass, gojo chasing you for his stolen prized brooch and laughing too loudly to hear the cacophonous blow of the dinner horn. . even then gojo had to pretend that the frill of your draped lavender summer gown in the wind wasn’t consuming to him. he’d had you on your back, his victory waning as he stretched to rescue his dear brooch while trying to remain respectful of your vulnerable form. his hand extended before —
gojo found himself lying on his back with your annoying giggle and innocent straddle. a tendril of your softly maintained hair fell over his cheek and there was a moment where he was looking up at you, cursing your name, and he swore he’d almost reflexively laid a kiss upon your forehead like a doting lover. like he was born to do it. ‘you’d dedicate yourself to this life, toru?’ the heirloom, bestowed to him by your father on the eve of his training, was clutched between your pointer and thumb. you waved the bejeweled brooch in his face, teasing him.
in a heartbeat he would, he would take his oath all over again if it meant experiencing this moment for the rest of his life, but too soon were you interrupted by shoko’s displeased yell. in the same heartbeat, you were halfway to the castle, brooch abandoned in gojo’s lap.
he was brought back to earth with the knock of his queen. “that’s checkmate, you jester.”
he didn’t seem to notice the cleared path of your king to his, he seemed too enthralled with the swell of your lips as they stretched into a smile. similarly, neither of you seemed to hear the staccato click of royal heels receding down the hallway against the cobblestone floor as you snapped your head toward the door.
─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─
one week later, the summer heat has permeated the entirety of the village. leisure activities shifted more to the outdoor sphere, and on a daily basis you more often found yourself alleviated from the sun’s calefaction in the retreat of your lively garden.
you sat next to an abandoned white watering pot, the herbs and flowers in your garden already plentifully watered with the frequent showers as of recent, as you reminisced the first time you harvested underdeveloped leeks from the same garden at some pre-pubescent age many moons ago. the garden proved to be your refuge from the rest of the world, from your adolescent tension with gojo to the current contention of your unwavering sister, tending to your flowers was your escape from the sobering reality of your dwindling youth.
the caveat was that sometimes the garden didn’t relieve all stress. nursing the patch of your childhood favorite flowers that got caught in the crossfire of a hound and a honeybee haunts your already sensitive emotions. there was no point in calling for the infrastructural reinforcement of your safe haven, you would be gone in the next couple months. all you could do was disperse the seeds of the fallen carnations across the patch and hope for their flowering before your departure.
gojo emerged from the cobblestone arch with crossed arms. “are they yet recovered?” he seemed relatively pleased to see the better of two days for you; your satisfaction with being back in the garden radiated from you and shrouded him in admiration akin to watching a lover indulge in their passion. you sighed. “they’re merely ornamental after all. it’ll be alright.”
hoofbeats rung from a distance, slowly making their way to the entrance of the garden.
“a letter for you, princess!” the courier dismounted his horse rather ungracefully by the oak gate, foot getting caught in the stirrup and almost falling to the ground before he regained his footing and smiled reassuringly. his horse whinnied and shook his head obnoxiously as you rose to your feet to collect the letter from him. gojo approached from the archway protectively.
the courier bowed at the knees, you corresponding the same motion toward him before gathering the piece of enveloped parchment. your hands trace the purple wax as you glance down at the black ink – your last name decorating the envelope – but you found their choice to suddenly involve you terribly ironic. “how do you fare today, sir?” you ask, gojo dropping his crossed arms to shake his hand politely and courteously nod his head. “i am beyond well ma’am, enthused to hear about your engagement with the duke! i trust your father with the most arduous of decisions, and every man knows the pursuit of a suitor for his daughter to be the most strenuous of them.” your hands began to shake, unwrapping the envelope and trying to keep your composure. your eyes began to calcine in your head as you nodded, blinking tears back into your eyes.
the courier shared a smile with gojo, who awkwardly laughed in response to his acknowledgment. “well, i had better be off now. it was a pleasure to see the both of you. oh, sir, how will you get by with a kingdom so empty?” he nudged the knight who barely lost footing, wholly stiff at the statement. the three of you shared a bow before he mounted his horse, snapping the reins and riding down the narrow gravel path in which he came.
gojo stood beside you, waiting to study the contents over your shoulder and clearly irked by the courier’s comment as you deciphered the message of the letter. your eyes skimmed across the decorative black cursive inking decorating the thick parchment paper. he seemed to read it before you, breath catching in his throat.
“to her royal highness, the princess shoko,
i have received your last message -- i regret the recent developments you share -- we can surely convene at your earliest convenience -- i understand the dire circumstance and agree regarding the feasibility of having them wed privately before publicly -- in one week’s time.”
the words began to blend together as tears soon flooded your eyes. you turned back around to gojo, who was clearly staggered. his eyes searched your face for some resolve to reassure you. his hands braced your shoulders, holding you in place when your knees threatened to buckle.
“what did you tell her?” you thought you had so much more time to say goodbye before becoming a vessel for new life and sukuna’s gratification. the carnations hadn’t even sprouted out of the ground, you still had to exchange the closure with gojo that nothing would ever happen between you two. everything was coming to an excruciating halt all at once, your childhood lover looming over you and lungs exhalting all air from your still deoxygenated body. your palms landed in the dirt before you could manage to push in another breath.
“i swear – by god i gave her no word,” gojo stroked your back, his knees joining yours in the dirt and pulling you closer to him. “breathe, i beg you, breathe,” you rose off of your hands, fingers braced on your thighs as you tried to regulate inward breath and the subsequent exhale. the cold feeling of pins and needles sprouted throughout your entire body, so unable to feel the summer heat in your bones when every breath circulating in your lungs was made of ice. he took your hands and placed them on his strong shoulders, crouching in front of you and modeling his own breathing to no avail. your well-kept nails searched eagerly for physical grounding and resorted to digging into the flesh of his shoulder underneath the cloth. he just barely resisted, eyebrows knit together.
you stood on your feet, hands finding purchase in your hair as your cheeks saturated with dolorous salt tears and your brain with hyperventilation. he followed you with haste, beckoning you with a hand that was consequentially pushed away. he opted to pull you by your waist, turning you around to face him before tightly embracing you. your arms eagerly wrapped around him, clutching him tightly with the frantic nature of your wandering hands across his back. he pushed the crown of your head into his chest. gojo’s heartbeat was audible from the site; the organ pummeling against his ribs with overwhelming strain.
you mumbled into his shirt, “satoru -- satoru what have you done?”
─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─
the worst thing to sleep on other than heartbreak was hunger. you lay in your bed where you had for the past several hours staring at the ceiling — candles not yet blown as the moon had just emerged in the sky. you’d finished your evening prayer and found yourself in dire need of food, soon tiptoeing down the narrow hall from your chamber, careful not to wake anyone else.
you were on thin ice. you were in constant monitor of your breath and paying close attention to the weight of your foot on the stone as you progressed to the staircase. there was the lingering adrenaline where it hadn’t quite been in former excursions to the kitchen; one that newly existed due to your infraction and refusal of sukuna’s marriage.
the squeak of an old grand door racked your anxiety-riddled brain. the mind numbing hormone erupted into your senes as you scrambled for an excuse. you needed to use the bathroom, get a breath of fresh air,
“princess?”
you grimaced, your effort of avoiding him rendered fruitless. satoru stood a negligible distance away you, clothed in his thin cotton sleeping garments with tired eyes and swollen lips. “what are you doing?” his voice was scratchy but you knew better than to figure it as a result of sleep. satoru clearly hadn’t been embraced by rest in a long time. here he was, clad in a deeply intimate state and you couldn’t bring yourself to procure a response. you couldn’t bare to drink him up anymore like he was your partner. couldn’t bare with each step he took closer to you to indulge in sinful voyeurism as it remained a coping mechanism for your mind to resist associating the two of you. “are you well?”
your head was in the crook of his neck before you could pull yourself away. you were crying into his cloth and for what reason? were you despaired to be wedded with sukuna or were you hollowed to leave your dear companion?
satoru lifted your head and cautiously wiped your tears from your face.
you looked so relinquished from the usual control you basked in, usually so occupied with the subtle tease of satoru’s emotions or the sly rebellion of your family. now you were reduced to a powerless woman all at the beck of a marriage, something that happens to every woman, evading the gaze of satoru in his eyes as tears cascaded down your crimson cheeks.
marriage was something that was certain to happen in one’s lifetime. land, power, animals are exchanged, women are unsatisfied. this is how the world works, however, looking at gojo made the fact hurt that much worse. his shallow breath danced on your pulsing lips and you were both suddenly caught in the web of tension you so intricately wove with him all of these years and eyes hesitate to deviate from innocent eye contact. the temptation of finally making contact where it’s required proves so overwhelming before lips meet with fervor and deal desperate kisses over and over again until the feeling of need can be rectified.
your teeth knocked into his and your noses rubbed against the others’ in desperate tandem motions. it’s so consuming — the feeling of satoru’s tongue swirling in your mouth, the hand that rises from the nape of your skull to seize a handful of soft hair, the separation of his face from yours to communicate. he’s heaving when he says, “if i ever hope to enjoy the fruits of marriage without imagining that she’s you, i can’t live for you,” but the façade is obvious — he’s pretending to retain some capacity of sanctity. it’s obvious he’s betrayed his own word, his face collided with yours once again and he whimpered like he was a stranger to protecting a kingdom.
you stumbled backward into your chamber, amber still washing over the room and drowning you in the eternal flame of treachery.
satoru fell onto his back once acquainted with the wooden frame of your sweet virginal curtained canopy bed possessed since your juvenility. your legs trapped his waist between them, your panting decorating the sterile night air as his hands hesitantly gripped onto your side. “i can’t do this to you.” you desperately kissed down his jaw, licking his earlobes and committing his body to your memory. his body betrayed him as it was eventually bound to do, so chaste seeking relief in rubbing himself against your inner thighs and jerking when he led himself to a point with intensive warmth. he forced himself to stop, sitting up on his elbows when you took control and ground your hips down against his center, earning a shutter from satoru who dropped his head backward to expose his throat to you and groaned.
satoru grew eager and desperate, so painfully neglected when he held your hips still and tried making contact through two layers of loins. he carefully pawed your soft hips, bagging inch after inch of cotton up your body while desperately chasing relief until he found himself rutting with minimal guidance and still meeting the delicate spot. his reaction was so whiny, so disappointed yet thankful that there was something stopping him from executing the extent of his lust.
he flipped you onto your back with horrifying ease. “let me, please let me.” you sat up on your elbows and satoru sank to his knees onto the cold stone floor, moving your nightgown out of the way of what was pertinent. there the sight deranged him, you rutting against nothing, squeezing around nothing for satisfaction until he began to clean up leaking traces of need drawn illicitly your body.
his hands prevented you from moving as you writhed and tried to escape from his touch so that you were forced to watch satoru indulge in a meal he’d coveted for so many years, lapping and licking unabashedly at every alcove of your insides until your back was wavering and shaking like a tenuous pillar threatening the collapse of an entire bewitching roman structure.
his hand snaked from it’s position over your hip to a hand of yours gripping the fine linen sheets, grabbing hold of your hand and stroking your thumb. you were reeling, sensation bursting up your body as the perverted sounds of slurping echoed through the chamber. your other foot found itself perched upon his shoulder with curling toes when he desperately lapped at your nerves, unsatisfied with not being able to lose sentience entirely to work your release. his chin was tapping you deeper with every uncoordinated lap and your fingers were tight against your mouth, silencing all potential sounds from escaping. he took your spare hand, tightly wound in the sheets, and placed it upon his head. his tongue twisted around a cluster of nerves and you grew dizzy in pleasure, sweat matting pieces of hair to your forehead that he occasionally released hold of your thigh to push out of the way.
the inside of your thighs were slicked in saliva and your own fluids as he inadvertently worked you open, so lost in his own service to you that there was no semblance of dominance being held over you from his end.
“‘m almost there, almost there,” you panted and asked him for permission but quickly realized he wasn’t going to give it to you, not because he was denying you, but because the knight didn’t believe himself to hold more power than you.
the knot inside of your abdomen burst as you drew blood from your lip, satoru still holding your thigh to your body and lapping everything from you. your thighs closed around his head as he split you back open, knees now held apart and spine writhing and back arching off of the bed as you released on his tongue. he took everything from you; adam’s apple bobbing repeatedly with every unwavering lap and swallow of your release.
his face departed from your body with a shameful string of saliva connecting the two of you. he wiped his slick face with the back of his hand and dragged the flat of his tongue against it. your lungs expanded and deflated repeatedly with fervor, ribs taut against skin as a result of you trying to catch up on breath when satoru leaned back to make sure you remained conscious. he had come up to your face, stroking your cheek and laying his chin against one of your clavicles, completely neglecting the physical sign of his sensitivity to such stimuli. he pushed the two of your knees together and he was a knight in that way, sometimes so gentlemanly in his care for you that you were aware no other man could dare to match him.
when he stood straight up it was obvious that his physical form was unfulfilled, pressing hungrily against his garment and palming himself unconsciously through his articles. he noticed you looking at his desperate vice of release and immediately dropped his hand, excusing himself. he shook his head and swallowed, “forgive me, that was more than enough for me.” but you weren’t willing to take this as an answer, rising to your knees on the plush bed and replacing where his hand previously was. he gritted his teeth conservatively, his jaw becoming more pronounced, pulling your wrist away from him to tell you that he didn’t require anything from you.
however you were unfortunately entitled as a princess, hence why you took him out of his pants, pleased to feel the preparedness in his appendage as he sucked air through his teeth. your hand remained on his hip for a few seconds, stalling, watching the way he swallowed as if it hurt him and waiting with suspense to see if you’d touch him. he was well endowed — longer than he was thick, leaning leftward, and leaking with want as he twitched in anticipation. a long vein ran the course of him, supplying the blushed tip with blood as a physical sign of his eagerness. he watched you marvel at it, tinged with embarrassment.
your hand wrapped around the red tip, spontaneously pumping around the length of him has he bit the side of his hand. his eyebrows drew together in worry. “toru, if you mean to seek satisfaction in another marriage you wont come. don’t worry, you won’t betray me and let your body devote itself to me.” you pumped him once more to punctuate, “because satoru, you don’t love me.”
he grabbed your hand and forced you to stop, squeezing him and preventing him from gratification. his throat bobbed with the withheld yelp of pain at being denied release. “it’s too late, princess, m…my mind’s already owned by you.”
upon the release of your hand you picked up the pace, matching him in his game. “but i sacrifice your chastity. surely… surely toru, I’m not worth it.” he took his shirt into his mouth, clenching his jaw as he bit the fabric to muffle any sounds gone astray.
your eyes ventured down to his perspiring abdomen, abs coated in beads of sweat that jerked as he clenched his stomach and cried in the pain of relishing being hurt and finally having his feelings be reciprocated in such cherished pain. “i want you to take it from me. my dear g-god, i swear to you th-that as long as I’ve known you all I’ve ever wanted … is for you t’ take me and defile me.” his moans were desperate as they graced your ears, so quiet as if just intended for you to hear. he was finally indulging in your reckless nature, letting his heart set itself on fire for a lover when he knew he would be arranged to establish a family within the next year and you would be gone by the following week. yet, his spine was deliciously tingling with each stroke and twist of your hand like you knew him, like you knew exactly how to lead him to damnation.
“let me ruin myself, please, I’m so close,” satoru whispered. you opened your mouth, aiming him inside as you sped up your pace. your warm breath fanned across the most sensitive part of him and he whimpered into his shirt, trying to keep himself quiet when the pearlescent ropes lurched out from inside of him and decorated the plane of your tongue and surrounding throat. his brain fogged when his hand returned to hold the article and he cried into his hand, eyes rolling back in his skull and a saccharine tear falling from his eye that tangled your heart. his finish glimmered in the moonlight, begging you to keep a part of him with you.
he was teary eyed, completely drained with utter fulfillment and succinct heartbreak at the fleeting nature of your requitement. you leaned down, consuming beads of leftover salty fluid off of him and gazing at him while you cleaned him up. his hips bucked in sensitivity despite not wanting more stimulation and were accompanied by his curses, a painful reminder of his refractory period and the grace you would have to have with him in his next few moments.
you teasingly ran your tongue along the length of him, mouth still full of his spill, just to watch him curse in desperation and writhe to and from your mouth like he couldn’t decide if he wanted you to torture him or not. you rose to his level and shared his finish with him in a passionate kiss as he swallowed his own release. you resorted to relieving yourself on your own sheets for the time in between his returning desire.
you soon lifted your night gown off, revealing your bare body to satoru. his gaze raked the planes of your body, your bare breasts and hips made blood rise to his cheeks and his heart beat in his ears with tinged sexual frustration while his hands found reprise in your lustrous hair. regardless, he tried to remain unnecessarily chivalrous. “no, you shouldn’t. please don’t. i won’t be able to live.” nonetheless, you countered him; pushing him back against the bed and grounding yourself against him in the pursuit of getting him hard once again.
he found himself on his back again when you lifted his shirt over his head; light brown linen scented with musk and lavender soap that disguised a much more intimate form of him, one adorning milky taut muscles he spent years training for. the angels probably fought over him before they gave him to you, you figured that this sight in front of you of satoru — laid on your bed with his cheeks tinged red, a product the resounding circulation from copulating, mouth slightly agape with panting breath, and long wispy white eyelashes tracing the fleeting gaze of his across your entire face and chest — had to be the work of heaven itself. his white hair laid messy against the linens, some pieces against his forehead were slicked with sweat that reminded you of his enticing attempted self control.
it would be an easy observation to make that he wasn’t immune to you at all, stiffening within a minute or so before you directed him against the permeated cotton of your undergarment. he shook his head before you moved the article to the side and guided him to penetrate you, not believing that he deserved to be inside of you. you held his face by his chin, licking a tear that ventured from his jaw to under his eye when he moaned and you took the opportunity to slowly push him inside of you.
the pain was novel; even if you were well lubricated, he was your first mortal sin and the taut muscle that preceded the rest of the depth inside of you was making it’s tearing terribly apparent to you as you sucked air in through your teeth. it didn’t help that he was additionally well endowed. satoru pawed your backside desperately, trying to hold you in the same place to ask if you were okay or if you wanted to stop but you ignored the beckon of reassurance, choosing to remain sinking down to his hips.
when you had maximized what you could take and reached the near hilt, satoru was struggling not to move against you as you settled. his feet were planted against the bed, thighs cradling your body against his as he slightly moved against you despite his better judgement. his body was aching, so desperate for the feeling of you that when the pain finally waned and you began moving in tandem with him he bit your shoulder and groaned.
he tried to remain silent by fixating himself orally, so disgusted by his own sin but so satisfied in the indulgence of something he had waited years for. you pushed his shoulders back onto the bed and his tears decorated your palm that spread over his mouth. your rhythm with the knight quickly synchronized like you both knew each other in this most esoteric sense for years because you did — you merely could never express how you really knew you had him. “j-just listen toru. listen to what we’re doing.” satoru whined behind your fingers, listening to the perverted squelch that followed every fall of your hips against his, silently praying to himself that this could carry on forever past any restraint of orgasm or recovery from one therein, that he could rightfully give you an heir.
another risky moan escaped him, it’s beauty scarcely muffled by your cruel hand. “they’ll have you executed if they find out,” you warned with your hand slipping to his throat, compressing either side of his neck and watching the way his mouth opened with now phantom noise.
his hand stroked the one you had squeezing his neck, squeezing your hand over his airways to obstruct them further until he could barely draw breath. “is it good? am i good?” he rasped. he gazed into your eyes lovingly and hopelessly, abs constricting as he met your hips mid thrust and made it look like nothing to please you. “you’re s-so good,” you nodded your head. you were heaving with the feeling of him buried deep inside of you, not being able to run from the feeing of fullness despite your dealing of it. you were in control of such an esteemed man, and he was in full will of letting you have what you wanted, raking his hands across your body affectionately as you ruined him.
“i still love you, love you so much,” he whispered, hips still moving so slowly against yours, a tell that it was his chaste form now in control of the rhythm, as you kissed him. the feeling inside was so intoxicating, he naively swore he had to be able to cherish this ephemeral feeling for the rest of his life like a polished locket you’d have lying on your nightstand with a childhood strand of hair. the tip of him would pave a path inside the silky coil of your insides and it’d have him imagining how he could have sukuna begone before he’d ever have the pleasure of feeling this spine numbing feeling on the brink of losing consciousness.
your work had to be further picked up when you reached your limit. your second release hit you harder than it had previously, hand never wavering over his throat for his own sake. your legs quivered, satoru holding you open by the meat of your thighs and dealing devastatingly deep strokes as your vision went starry and you saw the heavens. your confession soon followed. “it’s only ever been you, i-i swear to you.”he was thinking about the words you were saying minutes after they vacated your mouth, world moving so slowly as he focused on not finishing inside. his “d-do you mean that?” was followed by an invigorating nod from you before he grimaced, eagerly pulling out of you and coming onto his own abdomen for the second time with more sensitivity from the lack of air and proximity to his last arrival.
your head crashed onto his chest entirely too fuzzy and disconnected from reality to hear anything over the pandemonium ringing of your ears and banging of your heart against the outer layers of your body trying to fledge it’s escape.
“all that matters to me in this life is you. i only require you, please trust me princess.” satoru pet your arm slowly, fingers trembling as they passed down porcelain skin. “i've always trusted you, satoru,” you mumbled tiredly, your arm wrapped around his chest, embracing him with the post-coital heat of your now hazy body. this is what fulfilled you, the soft stroke of domestic affection.
he still spoke calmly. still stroked your side although strangely with the intention of stirring you out of sleep, not lulling you to it. “suguru’s got the courier’s horse by the gate for you. i got distracted but you’ve… you’ve got to come with me.”
suguru’s red flag is how he tells you to slap him as hard as you can as he lay handcuffed to the bed but wont ever admit that you’ve topped him
“not even once?” satoru asks in disbelief. suguru thinks back to the time he told you that you had to keep bringing him to the edge of finishing to make him a good boyfriend, but alas;
“nah, it’s not what she needs,” but he needs you to say you’re not stopping after he finishes because it doesn’t matter what he wants
“it’d only boost her ego,” he snickers
(why is he hard at the thought of what you would do to him if you found out?)
heaven help me for the way i am | gojo x reader knight x princess!au
warnings & contents: mdni! arranged marriage (reader & sukuna), knight gojo, princess reader, pwp, unprotected, oral (m!receiving, f!receiving), male choking
6.5k words
the lofty candles spat vivid amber tendrils in the center of the dining hall table, their ashes rising into the vaulted ceilings adorned with elaborate painted murals your kingdom had commissioned over the course of your lineage. several of the countless intricate handcrafted chairs labored for months by various craftsmen sat unoccupied as dinner tonight was an internal affair that only seated your family and your father’s trusted knights. this meant that the meal served to you tonight would be enjoyed next to gojo — your father’s favored knight and, seeing as he had the aristocratic upbringing, your own childhood companion.
dinner this intimate usually began so innocent; the nectarine streams of dialogue beguiled plays and paintings and other trivialities would disarm the atmosphere until your father inevitably began talking about affairs of climbing the ladder.
thus, talking about ryomen sukuna over dinner generally diminished the taste of the rich venison that lay served on the hall table. the vexing subject had been tormenting the inner working of your kingdom for years now — sukuna, ever-sickening and now newly widowed, was yet again inquiring surrounding allies of another consort.
for you this was nothing to lose your appetite over, your fork continued to work at the piece of meat to fortify that you had no regard for the persisting suitor. in contrast, gojo, seated across from you as he usually was, obviously wasn’t as smart, despite baring witness to over a dozen of these arguments as they inevitably unfolded.
his prompted reaction was a conspicuous cough coupled with a suspicious glance in your direction. this was another gesture of his to no avail, another shot gone wide for careless acts of ineptitude never seemed to be caught by you when you were so focused on preserving your independence over dinner.
to make matters worse, your father knew better than to make eye contact with you when he patronized you. he knew you still had the appetite, now picking at the carrots on your plate, the action being loosely interpretable to indicate your current heavy dissatisfaction. “the duke is proffering a substantial dowry once again. i am strongly considering obliging him after the passing of his duchess.”
sukuna had only been grieving for 6 months time before extending another offering in his series of dramatic dowries, refusing to surmount the idea of you even as you stood the lesser woman of your family.
your eldest sister, shoko, sat on the other side of you with tasteful poise — stoic, feminine, the more obvious princess than you and nonetheless studying you under fixated eyes. shoko concurred. “his grace is serious about you, perhaps it’s time to start considering the possibility that his first marriage didn’t work out for a reason. you can bring surmountable respect back to this family’s name if you-”
“i refuse,” you sighed, “it is that simple.” the clamor in the hall stifled to a stark silence. your family couldn’t be serious — sukuna’s wife fell by no ordinary means but by execution at the hands of his mother. as you heard through the grapevine, the late wife was subjected to hanging after the dowager fabricated a scandal that she was defiled. if your family thought your neck was fit for the same noose, they were out of their mind.
normally, your eyes would fleet around the room for someone to back you up here. gojo was not normally reliable as he had no say in your marriage and the honor you brought to your family as princess, but especially now he looked particularly strange and choked up about the matter. was there a possibility that he could be so naïve as to think your father was actually going to go through with this? furthermore, the idea of gojo caring about anything other than his service to the king was laughable. gojo was a born jest, surely you were aware of this, but if there was one thing he was serious about, it was his duty to your kingdom. he’d worked so hard to get here.
across the table sat your incredibly displeased mother, ordinarily resigned in her authority over you as she was just 15 years your senior, now so strangely convicted. she was stern in her warning, “young lady, the decline in this kingdom’s reputation is attributable to you and your irreverent behavior of recent. you don’t get to refuse your father’s command. the convent is seeking devoted women by the day; if you are bent on dying by abstinence i can arrange you still live a life by the lord. do i make myself clear?”
the hall was overtaken by the breath of astonishment. your parents were serious about this proposition. gojo’s gaze soon dropped and the sound of his cutlery began once more scraping against the trade delicacy china.
─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─
“i remember the day my father dubbed you,” you sighed, your silver rook was caught between gojo’s lanky fingers, his bishop having overtaken it after a bold move of yours rendered fruitless. his thumb rolled over the square crown of the figure. he always fumbled with his pieces when he was thinking about something you said. it wasn’t like he needed to dedicate his unabridged focus to his game anyway, he was undoubtedly better than you when it came to strategy.
rain pattered against the expansive glass windows of the smaller chamber,
“you do, princess?” you moved your pawn, your cadence now much too conservative in the face of your loss to rivet the game this soon. you were popularly reckless in chess, but gojo had always found himself determined to keep you company and, as much as he would find it distasteful to admit, go easy on you.
you recounted, “I do. you, my dear satoru, were so humble. nothing as you are now. so gentle in your pursuit even when you first became brawny.” this much was true, as gojo towered over — even while sitting in his leisure — his 6’3” frame physically reinstating the reason for his draft as knight. he was devastatingly capable of protection and much the more capable of being the subject of unrequited and impossible fantasy to women across the kingdom. to make matters worse, he was objectively beautiful. this made it such a shame that he would dedicate his life to such a role of servantry and not one of being served himself as his circumstance would demand. even as a princess, and you would never confess this to gojo, there were nights you’d imagine devoting yourself to him. there must have been neglected needs that the two of you intentionally ignored for the sake of his chastity and your good friendship.
“but y/n, i am no friend of yours now that i am your knight.” he smiled. there it was, the glimmer in his eye as he quipped you and moved his king into the offense, surpassing the majority of his intact pawns. there was a certain self restraint that he abandoned around the middle of the game, finding the fight for victory entertaining between the two of you simply because of the rise it drew from you.
“what do you figure you are then?” an amateur slide of your bishop to confront his handy rook. here rose the intentional neglect of feelings, as it always did each time he witted you. that full, pale skin — the skin you hoped for each time you pinched your own cheeks — was so complimentary to long white eyelashes that you would have stumbled had it been your turn. similarly, it was your long and saturated red gown that graced his eyes and likewise substantially distracted him. there was no wonder he was blushing. yet neither of your gazes met, and gojo conquered a pawn with his offensive king, failing to move his rook from your assault.
you giggled and gathered his rook with pointer and thumb. “i serve you, and when i don’t serve you, i am merely an opponent. you see?” he had always followed you around like a puppy since your own dog days, waiting for you to pick up on his courting despite the fact that it would never lead anywhere. you were never going to marry him, even if you found yourself in love with him.
you pondered your next move, tapping on the corner of the board with a delicate nail, hands clean with the absence of obligatory labor. “but you are still my companion above all else.” your conversations with gojo were something of a duel in the dark. with two dull swords, nothing makes contact. you slid your rook.
“you’re sacrificing the other elephant?”
“anything for my knight.” you looked up into the knight’s eyes briefly then. his powdery blue eyes, so diluted with thought, were flushed with sick desperation and the unquenchable hunger he kept getting himself caught in like an ouroboro.
gojo hesitated, failing to break away from your eye contact. you were playing dangerously and borderline reckless again. “would you bring yourself to believe sukuna would be a good husband?”
you didn’t lead on that you were considering the possibility with much depth. his bishop was taken while you articulated. “one must consider what it means to be a good husband. love is seldom present in matrimony, yes, but one can only wish for a marriage that stands benefactory regardless. i believe sukuna offers no benefit. i believe he offers quite the opposite.”
gojo could admit he was deflated. “i believe you are mistaken.” you scrutinized him through drawn eyebrows. “oh, not like that. a princess is worth being a doting husband for.” the look in his eye was stern as he sat up, looking down at you from the new position.
yet you persisted. “but therein lies the fallacy, my knight. I’m just a princess,” you sighed, moving your pawn innocuously beside his king.
he noticed. “you’re acting like if anyone else were his grace they wouldn’t do anything for you.” you were constructing a trap.
“what a knightly way of thinking.”
“and your way of thinking is decidedly close minded. who wouldn’t dedicate their life to you?” the resounding silence was filled by the clearing of gojo’s throat, a diversion to his embarrassing overindulgence.
in the back of his mind he was reminded of a time where the both of you as young teenagers were out of breath in the meadow grass, gojo chasing you for his stolen prized brooch and laughing too loudly to hear the cacophonous blow of the dinner horn. . even then gojo had to pretend that the frill of your draped lavender summer gown in the wind wasn’t consuming to him. he’d had you on your back, his victory waning as he stretched to rescue his dear brooch while trying to remain respectful of your vulnerable form. his hand extended before —
gojo found himself lying on his back with your annoying giggle and innocent straddle. a tendril of your softly maintained hair fell over his cheek and there was a moment where he was looking up at you, cursing your name, and he swore he’d almost reflexively laid a kiss upon your forehead like a doting lover. like he was born to do it. ‘you’d dedicate yourself to this life, toru?’ the heirloom, bestowed to him by your father on the eve of his training, was clutched between your pointer and thumb. you waved the bejeweled brooch in his face, teasing him.
in a heartbeat he would, he would take his oath all over again if it meant experiencing this moment for the rest of his life, but too soon were you interrupted by shoko’s displeased yell. in the same heartbeat, you were halfway to the castle, brooch abandoned in gojo’s lap.
he was brought back to earth with the knock of his queen. “that’s checkmate, you jester.”
he didn’t seem to notice the cleared path of your king to his, he seemed too enthralled with the swell of your lips as they stretched into a smile. similarly, neither of you seemed to hear the staccato click of royal heels receding down the hallway against the cobblestone floor as you snapped your head toward the door.
─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─
one week later, the summer heat has permeated the entirety of the village. leisure activities shifted more to the outdoor sphere, and on a daily basis you more often found yourself alleviated from the sun’s calefaction in the retreat of your lively garden.
you sat next to an abandoned white watering pot, the herbs and flowers in your garden already plentifully watered with the frequent showers as of recent, as you reminisced the first time you harvested underdeveloped leeks from the same garden at some pre-pubescent age many moons ago. the garden proved to be your refuge from the rest of the world, from your adolescent tension with gojo to the current contention of your unwavering sister, tending to your flowers was your escape from the sobering reality of your dwindling youth.
the caveat was that sometimes the garden didn’t relieve all stress. nursing the patch of your childhood favorite flowers that got caught in the crossfire of a hound and a honeybee haunts your already sensitive emotions. there was no point in calling for the infrastructural reinforcement of your safe haven, you would be gone in the next couple months. all you could do was disperse the seeds of the fallen carnations across the patch and hope for their flowering before your departure.
gojo emerged from the cobblestone arch with crossed arms. “are they yet recovered?” he seemed relatively pleased to see the better of two days for you; your satisfaction with being back in the garden radiated from you and shrouded him in admiration akin to watching a lover indulge in their passion. you sighed. “they’re merely ornamental after all. it’ll be alright.”
hoofbeats rung from a distance, slowly making their way to the entrance of the garden.
“a letter for you, princess!” the courier dismounted his horse rather ungracefully by the oak gate, foot getting caught in the stirrup and almost falling to the ground before he regained his footing and smiled reassuringly. his horse whinnied and shook his head obnoxiously as you rose to your feet to collect the letter from him. gojo approached from the archway protectively.
the courier bowed at the knees, you corresponding the same motion toward him before gathering the piece of enveloped parchment. your hands trace the purple wax as you glance down at the black ink – your last name decorating the envelope – but you found their choice to suddenly involve you terribly ironic. “how do you fare today, sir?” you ask, gojo dropping his crossed arms to shake his hand politely and courteously nod his head. “i am beyond well ma’am, enthused to hear about your engagement with the duke! i trust your father with the most arduous of decisions, and every man knows the pursuit of a suitor for his daughter to be the most strenuous of them.” your hands began to shake, unwrapping the envelope and trying to keep your composure. your eyes began to calcine in your head as you nodded, blinking tears back into your eyes.
the courier shared a smile with gojo, who awkwardly laughed in response to his acknowledgment. “well, i had better be off now. it was a pleasure to see the both of you. oh, sir, how will you get by with a kingdom so empty?” he nudged the knight who barely lost footing, wholly stiff at the statement. the three of you shared a bow before he mounted his horse, snapping the reins and riding down the narrow gravel path in which he came.
gojo stood beside you, waiting to study the contents over your shoulder and clearly irked by the courier’s comment as you deciphered the message of the letter. your eyes skimmed across the decorative black cursive inking decorating the thick parchment paper. he seemed to read it before you, breath catching in his throat.
“to her royal highness, the princess shoko,
i have received your last message -- i regret the recent developments you share -- we can surely convene at your earliest convenience -- i understand the dire circumstance and agree regarding the feasibility of having them wed privately before publicly -- in one week’s time.”
the words began to blend together as tears soon flooded your eyes. you turned back around to gojo, who was clearly staggered. his eyes searched your face for some resolve to reassure you. his hands braced your shoulders, holding you in place when your knees threatened to buckle.
“what did you tell her?” you thought you had so much more time to say goodbye before becoming a vessel for new life and sukuna’s gratification. the carnations hadn’t even sprouted out of the ground, you still had to exchange the closure with gojo that nothing would ever happen between you two. everything was coming to an excruciating halt all at once, your childhood lover looming over you and lungs exhalting all air from your still deoxygenated body. your palms landed in the dirt before you could manage to push in another breath.
“i swear – by god i gave her no word,” gojo stroked your back, his knees joining yours in the dirt and pulling you closer to him. “breathe, i beg you, breathe,” you rose off of your hands, fingers braced on your thighs as you tried to regulate inward breath and the subsequent exhale. the cold feeling of pins and needles sprouted throughout your entire body, so unable to feel the summer heat in your bones when every breath circulating in your lungs was made of ice. he took your hands and placed them on his strong shoulders, crouching in front of you and modeling his own breathing to no avail. your well-kept nails searched eagerly for physical grounding and resorted to digging into the flesh of his shoulder underneath the cloth. he just barely resisted, eyebrows knit together.
you stood on your feet, hands finding purchase in your hair as your cheeks saturated with dolorous salt tears and your brain with hyperventilation. he followed you with haste, beckoning you with a hand that was consequentially pushed away. he opted to pull you by your waist, turning you around to face him before tightly embracing you. your arms eagerly wrapped around him, clutching him tightly with the frantic nature of your wandering hands across his back. he pushed the crown of your head into his chest. gojo’s heartbeat was audible from the site; the organ pummeling against his ribs with overwhelming strain.
you mumbled into his shirt, “satoru -- satoru what have you done?”
─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─
the worst thing to sleep on other than heartbreak was hunger. you lay in your bed where you had for the past several hours staring at the ceiling — candles not yet blown as the moon had just emerged in the sky. you’d finished your evening prayer and found yourself in dire need of food, soon tiptoeing down the narrow hall from your chamber, careful not to wake anyone else.
you were on thin ice. you were in constant monitor of your breath and paying close attention to the weight of your foot on the stone as you progressed to the staircase. there was the lingering adrenaline where it hadn’t quite been in former excursions to the kitchen; one that newly existed due to your infraction and refusal of sukuna’s marriage.
the squeak of an old grand door racked your anxiety-riddled brain. the mind numbing hormone erupted into your senes as you scrambled for an excuse. you needed to use the bathroom, get a breath of fresh air,
“princess?”
you grimaced, your effort of avoiding him rendered fruitless. satoru stood a negligible distance away you, clothed in his thin cotton sleeping garments with tired eyes and swollen lips. “what are you doing?” his voice was scratchy but you knew better than to figure it as a result of sleep. satoru clearly hadn’t been embraced by rest in a long time. here he was, clad in a deeply intimate state and you couldn’t bring yourself to procure a response. you couldn’t bare to drink him up anymore like he was your partner. couldn’t bare with each step he took closer to you to indulge in sinful voyeurism as it remained a coping mechanism for your mind to resist associating the two of you. “are you well?”
your head was in the crook of his neck before you could pull yourself away. you were crying into his cloth and for what reason? were you despaired to be wedded with sukuna or were you hollowed to leave your dear companion?
satoru lifted your head and cautiously wiped your tears from your face.
you looked so relinquished from the usual control you basked in, usually so occupied with the subtle tease of satoru’s emotions or the sly rebellion of your family. now you were reduced to a powerless woman all at the beck of a marriage, something that happens to every woman, evading the gaze of satoru in his eyes as tears cascaded down your crimson cheeks.
marriage was something that was certain to happen in one’s lifetime. land, power, animals are exchanged, women are unsatisfied. this is how the world works, however, looking at gojo made the fact hurt that much worse. his shallow breath danced on your pulsing lips and you were both suddenly caught in the web of tension you so intricately wove with him all of these years and eyes hesitate to deviate from innocent eye contact. the temptation of finally making contact where it’s required proves so overwhelming before lips meet with fervor and deal desperate kisses over and over again until the feeling of need can be rectified.
your teeth knocked into his and your noses rubbed against the others’ in desperate tandem motions. it’s so consuming — the feeling of satoru’s tongue swirling in your mouth, the hand that rises from the nape of your skull to seize a handful of soft hair, the separation of his face from yours to communicate. he’s heaving when he says, “if i ever hope to enjoy the fruits of marriage without imagining that she’s you, i can’t live for you,” but the façade is obvious — he’s pretending to retain some capacity of sanctity. it’s obvious he’s betrayed his own word, his face collided with yours once again and he whimpered like he was a stranger to protecting a kingdom.
you stumbled backward into your chamber, amber still washing over the room and drowning you in the eternal flame of treachery.
satoru fell onto his back once acquainted with the wooden frame of your sweet virginal curtained canopy bed possessed since your juvenility. your legs trapped his waist between them, your panting decorating the sterile night air as his hands hesitantly gripped onto your side. “i can’t do this to you.” you desperately kissed down his jaw, licking his earlobes and committing his body to your memory. his body betrayed him as it was eventually bound to do, so chaste seeking relief in rubbing himself against your inner thighs and jerking when he led himself to a point with intensive warmth. he forced himself to stop, sitting up on his elbows when you took control and ground your hips down against his center, earning a shutter from satoru who dropped his head backward to expose his throat to you and groaned.
satoru grew eager and desperate, so painfully neglected when he held your hips still and tried making contact through two layers of loins. he carefully pawed your soft hips, bagging inch after inch of cotton up your body while desperately chasing relief until he found himself rutting with minimal guidance and still meeting the delicate spot. his reaction was so whiny, so disappointed yet thankful that there was something stopping him from executing the extent of his lust.
he flipped you onto your back with horrifying ease. “let me, please let me.” you sat up on your elbows and satoru sank to his knees onto the cold stone floor, moving your nightgown out of the way of what was pertinent. there the sight deranged him, you rutting against nothing, squeezing around nothing for satisfaction until he began to clean up leaking traces of need drawn illicitly your body.
his hands prevented you from moving as you writhed and tried to escape from his touch so that you were forced to watch satoru indulge in a meal he’d coveted for so many years, lapping and licking unabashedly at every alcove of your insides until your back was wavering and shaking like a tenuous pillar threatening the collapse of an entire bewitching roman structure.
his hand snaked from it’s position over your hip to a hand of yours gripping the fine linen sheets, grabbing hold of your hand and stroking your thumb. you were reeling, sensation bursting up your body as the perverted sounds of slurping echoed through the chamber. your other foot found itself perched upon his shoulder with curling toes when he desperately lapped at your nerves, unsatisfied with not being able to lose sentience entirely to work your release. his chin was tapping you deeper with every uncoordinated lap and your fingers were tight against your mouth, silencing all potential sounds from escaping. he took your spare hand, tightly wound in the sheets, and placed it upon his head. his tongue twisted around a cluster of nerves and you grew dizzy in pleasure, sweat matting pieces of hair to your forehead that he occasionally released hold of your thigh to push out of the way.
the inside of your thighs were slicked in saliva and your own fluids as he inadvertently worked you open, so lost in his own service to you that there was no semblance of dominance being held over you from his end.
“‘m almost there, almost there,” you panted and asked him for permission but quickly realized he wasn’t going to give it to you, not because he was denying you, but because the knight didn’t believe himself to hold more power than you.
the knot inside of your abdomen burst as you drew blood from your lip, satoru still holding your thigh to your body and lapping everything from you. your thighs closed around his head as he split you back open, knees now held apart and spine writhing and back arching off of the bed as you released on his tongue. he took everything from you; adam’s apple bobbing repeatedly with every unwavering lap and swallow of your release.
his face departed from your body with a shameful string of saliva connecting the two of you. he wiped his slick face with the back of his hand and dragged the flat of his tongue against it. your lungs expanded and deflated repeatedly with fervor, ribs taut against skin as a result of you trying to catch up on breath when satoru leaned back to make sure you remained conscious. he had come up to your face, stroking your cheek and laying his chin against one of your clavicles, completely neglecting the physical sign of his sensitivity to such stimuli. he pushed the two of your knees together and he was a knight in that way, sometimes so gentlemanly in his care for you that you were aware no other man could dare to match him.
when he stood straight up it was obvious that his physical form was unfulfilled, pressing hungrily against his garment and palming himself unconsciously through his articles. he noticed you looking at his desperate vice of release and immediately dropped his hand, excusing himself. he shook his head and swallowed, “forgive me, that was more than enough for me.” but you weren’t willing to take this as an answer, rising to your knees on the plush bed and replacing where his hand previously was. he gritted his teeth conservatively, his jaw becoming more pronounced, pulling your wrist away from him to tell you that he didn’t require anything from you.
however you were unfortunately entitled as a princess, hence why you took him out of his pants, pleased to feel the preparedness in his appendage as he sucked air through his teeth. your hand remained on his hip for a few seconds, stalling, watching the way he swallowed as if it hurt him and waiting with suspense to see if you’d touch him. he was well endowed — longer than he was thick, leaning leftward, and leaking with want as he twitched in anticipation. a long vein ran the course of him, supplying the blushed tip with blood as a physical sign of his eagerness. he watched you marvel at it, tinged with embarrassment.
your hand wrapped around the red tip, spontaneously pumping around the length of him has he bit the side of his hand. his eyebrows drew together in worry. “toru, if you mean to seek satisfaction in another marriage you wont come. don’t worry, you won’t betray me and let your body devote itself to me.” you pumped him once more to punctuate, “because satoru, you don’t love me.”
he grabbed your hand and forced you to stop, squeezing him and preventing him from gratification. his throat bobbed with the withheld yelp of pain at being denied release. “it’s too late, princess, m…my mind’s already owned by you.”
upon the release of your hand you picked up the pace, matching him in his game. “but i sacrifice your chastity. surely… surely toru, I’m not worth it.” he took his shirt into his mouth, clenching his jaw as he bit the fabric to muffle any sounds gone astray.
your eyes ventured down to his perspiring abdomen, abs coated in beads of sweat that jerked as he clenched his stomach and cried in the pain of relishing being hurt and finally having his feelings be reciprocated in such cherished pain. “i want you to take it from me. my dear g-god, i swear to you th-that as long as I’ve known you all I’ve ever wanted … is for you t’ take me and defile me.” his moans were desperate as they graced your ears, so quiet as if just intended for you to hear. he was finally indulging in your reckless nature, letting his heart set itself on fire for a lover when he knew he would be arranged to establish a family within the next year and you would be gone by the following week. yet, his spine was deliciously tingling with each stroke and twist of your hand like you knew him, like you knew exactly how to lead him to damnation.
“let me ruin myself, please, I’m so close,” satoru whispered. you opened your mouth, aiming him inside as you sped up your pace. your warm breath fanned across the most sensitive part of him and he whimpered into his shirt, trying to keep himself quiet when the pearlescent ropes lurched out from inside of him and decorated the plane of your tongue and surrounding throat. his brain fogged when his hand returned to hold the article and he cried into his hand, eyes rolling back in his skull and a saccharine tear falling from his eye that tangled your heart. his finish glimmered in the moonlight, begging you to keep a part of him with you.
he was teary eyed, completely drained with utter fulfillment and succinct heartbreak at the fleeting nature of your requitement. you leaned down, consuming beads of leftover salty fluid off of him and gazing at him while you cleaned him up. his hips bucked in sensitivity despite not wanting more stimulation and were accompanied by his curses, a painful reminder of his refractory period and the grace you would have to have with him in his next few moments.
you teasingly ran your tongue along the length of him, mouth still full of his spill, just to watch him curse in desperation and writhe to and from your mouth like he couldn’t decide if he wanted you to torture him or not. you rose to his level and shared his finish with him in a passionate kiss as he swallowed his own release. you resorted to relieving yourself on your own sheets for the time in between his returning desire.
you soon lifted your night gown off, revealing your bare body to satoru. his gaze raked the planes of your body, your bare breasts and hips made blood rise to his cheeks and his heart beat in his ears with tinged sexual frustration while his hands found reprise in your lustrous hair. regardless, he tried to remain unnecessarily chivalrous. “no, you shouldn’t. please don’t. i won’t be able to live.” nonetheless, you countered him; pushing him back against the bed and grounding yourself against him in the pursuit of getting him hard once again.
he found himself on his back again when you lifted his shirt over his head; light brown linen scented with musk and lavender soap that disguised a much more intimate form of him, one adorning milky taut muscles he spent years training for. the angels probably fought over him before they gave him to you, you figured that this sight in front of you of satoru — laid on your bed with his cheeks tinged red, a product the resounding circulation from copulating, mouth slightly agape with panting breath, and long wispy white eyelashes tracing the fleeting gaze of his across your entire face and chest — had to be the work of heaven itself. his white hair laid messy against the linens, some pieces against his forehead were slicked with sweat that reminded you of his enticing attempted self control.
it would be an easy observation to make that he wasn’t immune to you at all, stiffening within a minute or so before you directed him against the permeated cotton of your undergarment. he shook his head before you moved the article to the side and guided him to penetrate you, not believing that he deserved to be inside of you. you held his face by his chin, licking a tear that ventured from his jaw to under his eye when he moaned and you took the opportunity to slowly push him inside of you.
the pain was novel; even if you were well lubricated, he was your first mortal sin and the taut muscle that preceded the rest of the depth inside of you was making it’s tearing terribly apparent to you as you sucked air in through your teeth. it didn’t help that he was additionally well endowed. satoru pawed your backside desperately, trying to hold you in the same place to ask if you were okay or if you wanted to stop but you ignored the beckon of reassurance, choosing to remain sinking down to his hips.
when you had maximized what you could take and reached the near hilt, satoru was struggling not to move against you as you settled. his feet were planted against the bed, thighs cradling your body against his as he slightly moved against you despite his better judgement. his body was aching, so desperate for the feeling of you that when the pain finally waned and you began moving in tandem with him he bit your shoulder and groaned.
he tried to remain silent by fixating himself orally, so disgusted by his own sin but so satisfied in the indulgence of something he had waited years for. you pushed his shoulders back onto the bed and his tears decorated your palm that spread over his mouth. your rhythm with the knight quickly synchronized like you both knew each other in this most esoteric sense for years because you did — you merely could never express how you really knew you had him. “j-just listen toru. listen to what we’re doing.” satoru whined behind your fingers, listening to the perverted squelch that followed every fall of your hips against his, silently praying to himself that this could carry on forever past any restraint of orgasm or recovery from one therein, that he could rightfully give you an heir.
another risky moan escaped him, it’s beauty scarcely muffled by your cruel hand. “they’ll have you executed if they find out,” you warned with your hand slipping to his throat, compressing either side of his neck and watching the way his mouth opened with now phantom noise.
his hand stroked the one you had squeezing his neck, squeezing your hand over his airways to obstruct them further until he could barely draw breath. “is it good? am i good?” he rasped. he gazed into your eyes lovingly and hopelessly, abs constricting as he met your hips mid thrust and made it look like nothing to please you. “you’re s-so good,” you nodded your head. you were heaving with the feeling of him buried deep inside of you, not being able to run from the feeing of fullness despite your dealing of it. you were in control of such an esteemed man, and he was in full will of letting you have what you wanted, raking his hands across your body affectionately as you ruined him.
“i still love you, love you so much,” he whispered, hips still moving so slowly against yours, a tell that it was his chaste form now in control of the rhythm, as you kissed him. the feeling inside was so intoxicating, he naively swore he had to be able to cherish this ephemeral feeling for the rest of his life like a polished locket you’d have lying on your nightstand with a childhood strand of hair. the tip of him would pave a path inside the silky coil of your insides and it’d have him imagining how he could have sukuna begone before he’d ever have the pleasure of feeling this spine numbing feeling on the brink of losing consciousness.
your work had to be further picked up when you reached your limit. your second release hit you harder than it had previously, hand never wavering over his throat for his own sake. your legs quivered, satoru holding you open by the meat of your thighs and dealing devastatingly deep strokes as your vision went starry and you saw the heavens. your confession soon followed. “it’s only ever been you, i-i swear to you.”he was thinking about the words you were saying minutes after they vacated your mouth, world moving so slowly as he focused on not finishing inside. his “d-do you mean that?” was followed by an invigorating nod from you before he grimaced, eagerly pulling out of you and coming onto his own abdomen for the second time with more sensitivity from the lack of air and proximity to his last arrival.
your head crashed onto his chest entirely too fuzzy and disconnected from reality to hear anything over the pandemonium ringing of your ears and banging of your heart against the outer layers of your body trying to fledge it’s escape.
“all that matters to me in this life is you. i only require you, please trust me princess.” satoru pet your arm slowly, fingers trembling as they passed down porcelain skin. “i've always trusted you, satoru,” you mumbled tiredly, your arm wrapped around his chest, embracing him with the post-coital heat of your now hazy body. this is what fulfilled you, the soft stroke of domestic affection.
he still spoke calmly. still stroked your side although strangely with the intention of stirring you out of sleep, not lulling you to it. “suguru’s got the courier’s horse by the gate for you. i got distracted but you’ve… you’ve got to come with me.”
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