Synopsis. You, heir to the throne and fated to be married off to a royal you’ve never even met. Gojo Satoru, your personal knight and the one man that will not let this happen. He will not.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! princess! reader, knight! Gojo, childhood-friends-to-Iovers, PINING, arranged marriages, Naoya is awful, Gojo YEARNS, flower language, politics, slight víolence, slight angst, matíng presses, cervíx kíssing, creampíes, cúmplay, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, oraI (fem rec), he goes FÉRAL, cúmming in his pants, manhandIing, spítting, biiig stretches, dúmbifícation, cúmflation, p talking, p sIapping, overstím, proposals, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 12.7k
A/N. What happens when ya let a girl listen to Golden Brown by The StrangIers.
“You are not to speak, you are not to look.” The king intertwines his decadently ringed fingers on his lap, the royal signet glinting pointedly amongst them. “You are not to so much as breathe in the princess’s way from tomorrow onwards.”
And it’s only with his hard-earned years as your knight that Gojo stops himself from shuddering where he knelt, head bowing to hide the clench in his jaw.
Though, surely something must have flashed across his features - because the next few words have a familiar warmth that twisted Gojo’s heart much more than his royal timbre, “Satoru, my boy, you understand that this is your duty? Yes?”
“I understand.” The answer is instant, as is the raise of the other man’s brows.
“And do you understand that this marriage is my daughter’s duty?” Your father barks out a disbelieving laugh into the barren throne room. “We wouldn’t want Prince Naoya getting the wrong idea between the princess and a- a knight.”
The words make his eyes prick wetly, and Gojo can’t help but bend even lower as he whispers. “I…I understand, sir.”
After all, it was the second thing that Gojo Satoru had drilled into his mind from the very moment he first met you.
The first being that he’s loved you ever since.
Which - retrospectively speaking - might’ve been an incredibly bold declaration coming from the scrawny, fidgeting six-year-old you happened to catch sneaking in and stealing lilac blooms from the royal garden all those years ago.
He remembers how you’d giggled, looking positively like a little blossom in all those gauzy layers of gown. Piping up from under the lilac tree he was latched onto, “My father says that’s not allowed.”
Gojo had fallen then - literally, startling about six feet from the branch he’d been straddling and straight into a scratchy pile of leaves with a dull thud! Back hurting, head spinning, it was a wonder that he hadn’t sprained anything, but right then and there he remembers thinking he was in heaven.
Because here was a pretty lil’ angel his age ogling down at him, speaking in a regal accent so different from his. “My father says that’s not allowed either.”
Your grin beamed down on him and warmed his skin even more scorchingly than the balmy rays of sunlight filtering in through the leaves. And for the first time ever in his life, Gojo Satoru had stuttered.
“Yer- yer father sounds stupid.” He had spit out, chubby cheeks puffing out the more you stared at him. What? He was sure he looked ridiculous with all those stray sticks and leaves stuck in his cloudy locks, but did you really have to look at him like…that?
“My father…” Your lips curled even further, as if you knew something he didn’t. “-the king.”
Oh.
Oh.
And it’s only then that Gojo notices the thin, silver tiara on your head, a delicate wreath of jeweled flowers that twinkled almost as bright as your eyes. It reflected specks of light into his gaze almost mockingly.
Idiot- it felt like someone had thrown a bucket of icy water over him that chilled him to the very bone.
Even at the tender- well, wise and sensible age of six, Gojo had heard from the adults in town all about the torture chambers and p-prisons that the royal palace was home to.
Just why did he feel the need to escape from his mother at the market to bring her a batch of those wispy, amethyst flowers anyway?
Sure, they were her favorite but- the royal family would have his head before even she did. And he didn’t even get to butter her up with the lilacs!
“Forgive me!” Gojo had squeaked out in a cry so shrill that you hurriedly took a step back, eyes widening once the interesting boy in front of you dropped to his hands and knees. “Ah- I mean uh- forgive me, your highness- your princessness.” Drooping into a bow so low that his soft tufts of hair brushed the warm ground. Words tumbling out a mile a minute, “It was an accident- I must’ve been um sleepwalking and I pinky-promise won’t do it again-”
“Those lilacs haven’t bloomed yet, y’know?” You’re cutting him off smoothly, and Gojo remembers feeling a pang of irritation- let him recite his apologies before you throw him in a cell, dammit! Right before flooding with confusion, eyes snapping up to meet yours hesitantly.
Pointing at a pretty white gazebo, overlooking the lake only a few meters away, you’d shrugged your shoulders. “The garden staff puts the best ones in a bouquet over there.”
At which, he’d replied with an exceptionally eloquent, “Huh?”
“Well, what my father doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
It’s only after hours upon hours of picking every lilac flower in sight and chatting about all the worldly topics a pair of six-year-olds knew that you were dragged away by one of your worried attendants.
And he almost felt…sad about it. Weird.
The yolky setting sun that day cast shadows for Gojo to hide himself in behind one of the gazebo pillars as he peeked at your retreating back. In-step with an older woman muttering about “losing her job oh- the king will banish her.”
And if there was one thing that he would never forget - well, amongst everything else - it was the way his heart banged selfishly against his ribcage with a repeated turn around turn around turn around-
You did. And you’d smiled, and Gojo hasn’t been able to step away from your side since.
Well, he had to - to go home that evening and proudly proclaim to his thoroughly cross mother how he’ll become a knight, that is.
Honestly, even the colossal lilac bouquet did little to deter her scoldings about running off. But despite how bad it was - and the fact that he was sentenced to be confined to his room for a whole month - it didn’t matter.
Gojo visited you the next day, too.
And the day after that, and the day after that- and again and again no matter how many times you’d teased him about coming so often to see you. Because you were right there no matter what royal duties or lessons dictated, waiting in the lilac garden for him.
Every day.
When Gojo was eighteen he’d applied for a position in the royal guard, breezing through the demonstrations of physical strength because of course, he did. He’d been training for his very day for years.
And it showed - oh, how it showed.
It showed in the way he stood almost a head above every other man lined up there, veering numerous inches above six feet. All sculptured, Herculean muscles and arms toned from years spent climbing the palace orchards with you. The strongest.
He considered himself exceedingly humble, too, of course.
Humble enough to not brag outright in your face once Gojo had climbed the treacherous way into being your personal knight before the age of twenty.
“Hah, I can tell your father- erm, his majesty all about where you sneak off to now.” Gojo snickered, flicking your forehead in a way that a princess simply shouldn’t be treated. “Perhaps I’ll bargain titles with him- tell the courts about the way you climb trees, and ride horses and-”
“Snitch”
“Harlot.”
“Knave.”
“Hobgoblin.”
“Satoru.” You’d deadpanned up at as six foot four inches of white-haired nuisance clinging onto whimpers out a dramatic ouch, that one hurt. Desperately trying to keep the smile off of your face, “You’re with me each and every single time.”
Well, was.
It seemed like the king was to be putting a stop to that very, very soon. With your looming- he gulps to keep the leaden ball of tears away from his throat, your engagement.
“Toru—” Your voice snaps him out of his hazy little reverie, and he finds himself straightening his back into a respectful posture outside of the throne room. Warily eyeing the way you bound up to him, “What did my father want to talk to you about so suddenly?”
“Ah…” Gojo’s throat feels hoarse. Parched. The smile plastering onto his face wobbly, “Just- just security measures for the visitor we’re going to have, your royal highness.”
Your brows quirk upwards, pretty lips falling open just enough for him to realize you were about to comment on his use of that. That title.
“Now if you pardon this knight, ma’am-” Gojo pipes up before you can bludgeon him with questions, striding down the luxurious hallway to his newly-assigned post at the royal treasury. Far, far away from your chambers. “-I have been called by Knight Commander Yaga to my-”
“Satoru- wait.”
He should’ve known better than to have thought he could escape you - not when even his own heart didn’t want to.
Lurching up in an almost-nauseating swoop the moment your voice echoes from behind, hitting his glinting armor. “You…are you okay—? You haven’t called me any of those silly formal titles since we first met.” Words practically dripping with concern, fuck- he was sure your face was furrowing. And if it was up to him he would kiss away every tense crevice.
But no, that was not his place.
His place was to stand rooted to the spot, face turning only a half-degree to grace you with a soft bow. Gojo knew it wasn’t the epitome of respect, but a singular look in your face right now and he would break.
“I am in perfect condition to carry out my duties, ma’am.” He’s nodding, voice oh-so-brittle in his throat for how hardened it thundered.
“That’s not what I mean.” Stubborn.
Gojo turns back to the winding corridor in front of him, “Then if that is all, I shall be on my way. I hope you have a good day, ma’am.”
“Satoru.”
And if his cheeks were cold and encrusted with a few streaks of salty tears when he reached the treasury, Gojo was only grateful that his fellow knight Ijichi was too afraid of him to say anything.
.
.
.
Gojo Satoru was avoiding you - marching the other way if he glimpsed you, running around the palace for menial tasks, he wasn’t even your personal guard anymore, for goodness’ sake! Your best friend was ignoring you and you weren’t sure why.
Was it because you had to skip out on your daily walks in the lilac garden to greet the visiting Zenin royals?
No, he was always so understanding of the royal responsibilities that you couldn’t skive off. Besides, his strange attitude had sparked up even before Prince Naoya and his family arrived at your kingdom - ever since that meeting with your father.
You were dying to ask the king what exactly was talked about that day, a meeting so confidential that he didn’t even have the royal advisor transcripting it. But your father was always so busy with the older Zenin couple these days, cooped up in office rooms surrounded to the brim with official documents.
And that left you with…him.
Naoya Zenin. A prince if there was ever any, who couldn’t talk about anything but that.
“So…um.” Your eyes dart around the palace gardens, you always did love it here - that comforting smell of flowers wafting in clouds around you. But right now you felt anything but comforted. “How are you liking the garden, Prince Naoya?”
He shakes his brown-tipped locks, eyes narrowing. “Rather plebian for a royal palace, if I do say so myself.”
“R-right…” You’re sputtering in an unlady-like fashion, “We do have orchards too if you wanted to-”
“Of course, the gardens in my palace are much bigger-” He’s waving a gloved hand loftily, nose crinkling into a sneer at the bustling gardeners planting beautiful white blossoms everywhere. Honestly, you were informed there was a grand ball soon - but wasn’t this a bit much? “And we teach the help to stay out of sight.”
“Both.”You fight the urge to just storm off then and there - it wouldn’t do good to start a war between the two most powerful kingdoms right now.
“Ah yes yes- nice.” Naoya repeats airily, words warbling as if he was biting back a laugh. “Suppose the low-borns are tolerable if they’re nice.”
A vision of Gojo - tiny and trembling into a bow in front of you - flashed through your mind, and you find your pretty heels digging hard into the dark soil. That was it.
“Perhaps.” Your voice comes out dangerously even, dangerously. Naoya only raises his brows in faint interest, “Yet, even the least tolerable tch- ‘low-born’ would be more tolerable than a pompous, arrogant-”
“There you are, your highnesses!”
Satoru.
You would recognize that low, lilting baritone amongst a thousand others. And before you can turn around to face your best friend that had been missing for days, he plows on, “A little gift- from this lowborn.”
Thud!
Before you can even blink, pale hands reach out to unceremoniously dump a radiant yellow flower crown on Naoya’s blond bangs. And you swear Gojo pushed down on his head harder than necessary.
The first thing you register is the warm wall of muscles pushing up against your back, lecherously counting every ladder of washboard abs and Gojo’s plush pecs in your mind. Mindlessly, you’re leaning back even closer, savoring the way his breath hitches. Harlot.
The second thing you’re realizing is that Naoya Zenin - for the first time in twenty-something years - had gone quiet. Very, very quiet. Suspiciously so.
You force your words into some semblance of levelness, “Are you…are you alright, Prince Naoya?”
But Naoya didn’t speak - you didn’t know if he was even breathing. Long face growing greyer and greyer by the second, he doesn’t answer you.
No, instead he’s pointing a trembling finger behind you. “You there…you- what shrub have you placed upon my royal head?”
“Laburnum.” Comes the answer - and just as soon comes a drawling, strangled squawk.
Your first instinct is to look towards the shimmering lake not too far away from you, eyes searching for any trace of those familiar ducks- before gasping in surprise and looking back to the prince. Mouth ajar, still making those undignified noises.
Him?
“You- you will-” He hisses, so furious that you have to take a step back - right into Gojo’s waiting arms - to avoid his flecks of spit. “-you will pay for this.”
In only a split-second, Naoya had thrown the flower crown onto the ground and wheezed his way up the flowery pathway back to the castle. What a sight it was.
But nothing compared to the way that Gojo comes into your line of sight and preens. One hand tapping at his cheek in thought, the other held behind his back. “Whoops- I forgot that the king specifically informed me that our honored guest was allergic to laburnum flowers. Guess, low-borns aren’t of good memory. Right, my princess?”
“Satoru- you- you ass.” You’re yelping through fits of laughter, not caring for the way the rest of the gardening staff smiles knowingly. “What if that bastard gets deathly sick? The blame would be on you.”
He rolls his summer blue eyes, “Proudly.”
“I should send you to the gallows for this.”
Gasping in faux shock, “Most salacious indeed!”
And for the first time in so long, it feels normal.
The breezing heat of Gojo’s body against yours feels normal, and you couldn’t bring yourself to think too deeply about it. Too enchanted by the sheer lack of armor - all billowy white poet shirt and flattering cotton pants.
“Y-yeah well-” Shit- why was your skin burning this way? The sun wasn’t even at peak temperature for today. Absentmindedly, you’re playing with one of his silk lapels, “Thank goodness we’re losing him in a few days, I asked mother and she said the Zenin’s are only visiting until the fast-approaching ball.”
“Princess-” It all comes out in a rush, “-that ball. The reason for it is actually-”
“Your highness! The queen is asking for a conference with you!” The curious voices of your maidservants drag you away from Gojo’s arms, into a much less scandalous position.
And yet, with only a nod behind - you still stay standing in front of him. You stay.
“Right…” Gojo’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a deep gulp. Shadowy gaze darting away, “I should get back to my duties, ma’am. Suguru has been abusing his position as head gardener to work me like a mule.”
The way your face crumples with disappointment makes Gojo’s heart feel sliced open. And raw. “Of course. I’ll see you around, Gojo.”
Gojo. Gojo.
And of course he couldn’t let you walk away - of course he couldn’t let you leave his life just yet.
So without thinking, without even realizing, he’s clasping a slender hand around your wrist to pull you back. To reel you in. To him.
Velvety strands of snow-white curtain Gojo’s eyes, and the doughy fingerpads on your skin shiver. Mumbling, “Before- Before you go, my prin- ma’am. I just wanted to give you-” And you don’t know what makes your heart race more - the cherry-red blush painting all over Gojo’s cheeks and up to the very tips of his ears, or the sunny flower crown clasped in a hand pulled from behind his back. “-this.”
Your mouth drops into an awe-struck oh! It was beautiful - trickling blossoms of every shade of yellow entwined gently together. Embedded with celestially dainty buds of an amber so pale it looked almost white, diamonds on a tiara fit for a princess.
You had a feeling it would be your favorite one.
All you could think of was Gojo with his staggering hands, and his battle-worn fingers, making something so delicate for you.
“Is…is this one just as allergy-inducing as the other, Satoru?” You’re breathing, rustled by a breeze so gentle that it almost hurts.
“No.” Gojo whispers, just as quiet. As if the slightest sign of a raised voice would break whatever saccharinely thick moment this was, “Yellow acacia and yellow carnation. For you, my princess.”
For the way he’d be losing you just as soon as he loses that asshat.
And even once you’d adorned his crown and been hurried off by a few palace staff, Gojo stared. Even once you were nothing but a speck of royal satin and yellow crowns, he stared. Even once you were gone, and he was left so very alone, he stared.
Only thanking the heavens above that you always slept through your flower language lessons.
.
.
.
Over the next few days; wherever you were, Naoya Zenin was to follow.
And Gojo was sure that it was pushing the young royal closer and closer to a spectacular aneurysm any time that you called specifically for him to accompany you. Blatantly refusing any other knight that came your way.
The pointed third during “romantic” boat rides on the lake, always the guard overseeing dinners, the one to step in with a blunder if your future fiancé got too…opinionated. Gojo was always there.
It was more like you spent your time trying to make his dutiful façade crack than supposedly entertaining your guest.
Sneaky princess.
After all - Gojo found himself pacing and arguing out loud with himself any time you did - he was simply doing his job, right? Even if the aforementioned job went against just a few direct orders from the king himself.
But these were a direct order from the princess. His princess. And Gojo had stopped his procedural traversing and ranting since realizing this.
Although- the head chef, Nanami’s, veiled threat about turning him into pig feed the next time he heard stomping may have played a slight part in this, as well.
And it was on such a day that Gojo found himself stationed to guard the inside of the royal drawing room. Spine ramrod straight, eyes flooded with steel while he took in the sight of you and that bastard- Naoya sketching the other in silence.
It was a dainty, sunlit room, and the hours might have almost been peaceful - if it wasn’t for the split-haired bastard, that is.
After that flower fiasco and a thorough telling off for misremembering the prince’s allergies, this was meant to make up for a “bonding activity” according to the king; which to him read more like a desperate attempt to push the two of you together before the grand ball tomorrow night.
Gojo’s chest caves in with a sudden spike of pain, tomorrow night. Your engagement ball, where you will surely be handed off to a man who wouldn’t be worthy of you in a thousand different lives.
Fuck, had it really been days since already?
It hurt too much, and so he looks towards the prince’s parchment- how insulting. Hundreds of royal art lessons, yet Naoya still couldn’t capture the exact curve of your smile. And those pretty crinkles by your eyes- they were entirely the wrong number! And Gojo’s sure that any fool could see the way your lips-
He was getting ahead of himself. And reminded embarrassingly of the hundreds of sketches of you over the years stowed away underneath his bed alongside a stubby piece of charcoal.
And he was leaning over the prince in a way that he was sure would get him strung and quartered in the Zenin palace. Or, at least, that’s what Naoya’s daggered glare was telling him.
With a sheepish smirk, Gojo snatches a glimpse at your artwork. Stifling a laugh at the way you’ve given up on drawing the other man and started engaging in idle scribblings of weasels and hollies.
“That one looks like him, don’t you think?” He can’t help but whisper from the corner of his mouth, stomach swooping in delight as soon as your eyes light up.
Tacking on a familiar hairstyle and sneer onto a particularly shoddy caricature of one of the weasels, giggling. “He does.”
Gojo points at another drawing - this time of a bullfrog- honestly, what interests for a princess. “And that’s-”
“That Jinichi.” You’re finishing off for him, carelessly drawing away a few more - quite frankly, Gojo finds everything you do beautiful, but these were appallingly ugly - scribbles of foxes and goats. “That one’s Oji Zenin, and that’s Gakuganji and that’s-”
“Ahem.”
There was only one person who could make the clearing of a throat sound so snobbish. And that was Naoya Zenin.
Brows raised, feet tapping impatiently on polished marble as he snatches the parchment from your grip.
Schwing–!
“Toru- no.”
Gojo doesn’t even realize he’s pulling out his famed, silver sword until you’re stopping him with a hand to his tense bicep. Shit.
Growling through clenched teeth once more at Naoya while he nestles it back into its scabbard with unsteady fingers - only because you asked.
But the other man doesn’t even flinch - wearing that perfect mask of regal stoicity, though Gojo manages to catch the way his eyes flicker nervously down at the hilt of his sword. Doesn’t show anything other than the tightening of his thin lips as he gazes upon your humorous drawings.
The impatient tap! tap! tap! of his feet slowing down, stopping - before Naoya throws your paper down onto the floor and stomps. Gojo would’ve almost found it comedic if it hadn’t been for your startled demeanour.
“Excuse me-” He’s hissing, angling his broad body between you and this unseemly sight. Gojo looks dead-on into Naoya’s spit-fire red face, “-but I would have to hope not to remind a young prince of royal etiquette.”
“Excuse me, sir.”
“No need to call me ‘sir’, your highness.”
Naoya looks up, death in his eyes.
Gojo thought this might be the end. The missed trip to the dungeons all those years ago was finally catching up to him, and he would be thrown in today for drawing his weapon on a royal but goddammit- if he wasn’t going to keep you safe from his ire for as long as he breathes and then some.
But - to both you and Gojo’s surprise, and perhaps even Naoya himself - he simply turns swiftly on his heels and walks out of the room. Letting the heavy double-doors SLAM! deafeningly behind him.
It takes a beat. One. Two.
He counts every raging ba-dump–! of his heart against this ribcage- before the terse silence shatters with laughter.
“Toru- To- Satoru—!” You’re wiping away genuine tears, “‘No need to call me sir-’ where did you even come up with that-”
“Fuck! You can laugh but I thought I was headed to the gallows.” He’s exclaiming, and it was quite difficult to act as if your laugh wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d heard in his entire life. “Although- it would have been a killer last line. Wouldn’t it, my princess?”
The two of you stare at each other for one singular ba-dump–! Before bursting into peels of undignified cackles that could make an entire court shiver in scandal.
“Killer- killer alright-” You’re rolling your watery eyes, “This is just as bad as the time you caught Yaga in his interpretive rain dance routine- I thought you were surely dead then.”
Please, Gojo’s stomach and his heart were hurting - though, for very different reasons. “Not as bad as when you wanted to play dress-up with the sacred royal crown and lost it.”
“Don’t remind me, my father was-” That’s when your tear-lathered lashes flutter, a hand coming up to swat softly against your cheek as if to jolt back your senses. You’re groaning over Gojo’s whine, “-my father. Oh no! What will he say about this?” You almost knock your cushy stool over with how fast you’re teetering into a stand, “I must go apologize to weasel- Naoya right away lest relations with the Zenins-”
“Let me.”
Your brows raise, “What?”
“Let me.” Gojo’s repeating, more firmly this time. Thumb grazing briefly down your knuckles as he pulls you back into your seat.
Just for a split-second - like he couldn’t even think of letting himself touch such a precious treasure.
He knows you will argue this, he knows your stupidly selfless self will fight to apologize; which is why before you can say a word, he’s marching hastily out of those same doors and towards the luxurious guest chambers.
Truthfully, Gojo Satoru didn’t give a fuck about Naoya Zenin - but he’ll be damned if you, his beloved, was cast in a hameful light because of his childish actions.
He has to do something for you, while he still can. While he still has you. While he can still love you.
The corridors are winding, decadent. He takes a deep breath when nearing the slightly-open gilded door of the Zenin suite, that distinctly nasally tone of Naoya drifting in conversation from within. Shuddering in a deep breath, “Pardon m-”
“-drew me as a weasel!” The prince bursts, fury seeping into every hard syllable of his. Gojo stills where he stands outside, hand on the cool metallic doorknob. “I have never met such a vulgar, unrefined-”
“Oh, do bear it until the engagement Naoya.” The gruff voice of a man responds - and he recognizes it from all the recent chiding at palace staff to be the prince’s cousin, Jinichi Zenin. “After that ya can take your time breaking ‘er in.”
What?
“A boor telling me to break in a wench.” The younger man scoffs, though he sounds much calmer than just moments before.
Gojo thinks he could throw up all over the gleaming floors, he thinks he wants to keel over and beg at the king’s feet to keep this from happening to you. He thinks he just might.
But right now, he can’t bring his feet to move a single inch. Pressing himself up closer against the adjacent patterned wall, sharp ear yearning for more shards of the conversation.
“They’re all the same anyways.” Says Jinichi, “Just give ‘er something sparkly or flowery and keep her sated. Don’t want another one running off before you can dig your claws into the crown, now, do we?”
And perhaps he’s a hopeless fool for praying that Naoya might say something - anything - else. Wishing for the non-existent good in your soon-to-be fiancé, who only grits out a displeased, “Fine. Only because I want to see her pretty lil’ face when I break her to my will.” There’s the sound of urgent footsteps, “But if father doesn’t give me the throne for my efforts then I’m killing her and you, you brute.”
Stood stock still.
Gojo doesn’t think he could move even if he wanted to - and right now, ice-cold spikes of anger were the only thing latching him rooted to the spot, not even flinching once Naoya closes the door behind him and walks- seeing him.
His jaw clenches, eyes harrowing. “You.”
And Naoya had very clearly taken the opportunity to arm himself in his family chamber, because his spindly fingers itch towards the hilt of his dangerously glinting sword. Just seconds away from-
“Please.”
Gojo drops onto one knee, the tendons of his neck aching with how far downwards he had it bent into a pitiful bow. “I ask his highness to please let the princess go- to call off this impending engagement. I- I will bear the brunt of committing an offense, and will gladly take any punishment that is bestowed upon me. I just please beg of you to-”
“The same hand.”
“What?” Gojo forces himself to look up with tear-filled eyes, to face the prince squarely in his chestnut gaze. His delighted chestnut gaze.
Pointing towards his right hand, “The same hand you were to raise your sword at me, the same hand you used to put that wretched toxic flower crown on me-” And then his blade, “-I order you to repent.”
The other man breathes, “Repent…”
“Repent.” Naoya stands up taller, perhaps the most self-confident that Gojo has ever seen him. A barbarous curl of his lips starting to form, “Repent, and I shall consider ending my engagement with the princ-”
CRUNCH!
Pain. Blinding pain was all that Gojo could feel, and…relief.
He couldn’t even register the steady trickle of warm crimson on his skin and onto the floor in rose-like splotches - even though he could see it through bleary eyes. Head still spinning to catch up with the nanosecond events of drawing his sword and slicing a wide gash down his forearm.
Through half-lidded eyes, he puts back his bloodied blade into the scabbard and looks up at the stricken prince.
Repentance.
“So you love her.” Is all that Naoya hisses. And Gojo can’t lie, nor can he muddy your name.
So he simply waits quietly, silence speaking enough for eons. Waiting for you to be set free. And if he tried, he could even manage a smile-
Sniffing insolently - though, it sounded more like a snicker. “How valiant, for a low-born.” All that is said before he spits furiously at Gojo’s feet and breezes past in a swish of capes - as if nothing ever happened. “I might even invite you to the princess and I’s wedding ceremony.”
.
.
.
In a palace of thousands, it was only Gojo Satoru that could manage to stand out.
None of the royal jesters could make the court laugh quite as loud. None of the other knights - no matter how muscled, or chivalrous - could make the ladies-in-waiting swoon just as much. And none of the other reputable men could make you seek him out in every chamber, state room, or training ground just like this.
It was strange not to see even the barest glimpse of Gojo for an entire day, and the palace didn’t quite feel like a home without him.
“I’m telling you, Nobara–” You’re wheezing out in condensed puffs as your eager right-hand attendant continues mercilessly tightening away the undergarments of your ballgown. “Something’s probably happened to him or-”
“-or he’s being locked up for offending some uppity duke.” She’s rolling her honeypool eyes, one of the few who wasn’t afraid to express themselves this way in front of you. Flitting about the opulent dressing room you rarely liked to use, “You know how that eugh- Gojo is.”
“Which is precisely why I’m worried.”
Honestly, you didn’t even care for a grand ball when you didn’t know where your best friend was. Whether he was in the dungeons or…worse.
But Nobara wasn’t here to hear you ramble about Gojo Satoru - you oftentimes got the impression that he irritated her too much for her own liking - she was here to doll you up in costly pale blue silks and muslins that draped off of you prettier than a painting.
And you felt dizzy by the time she let you be escorted off towards the emanating music of the ballroom - with an excited goodbye and a reluctant promise to keep an eye out for Gojo.
Hair done more intricately than you could’ve even imagined, your jewelry caught every light in the room, a bejeweled flower tiara weighing heavily on your head. Adorning your face in a crown that reminded you of the one Gojo had made you only a few days ago.
It was almost a struggle to keep your face held high as you took the first few steps down the winding imperial staircase. To the ball.
You have to stop yourself from tilting your head down at the thrumming masses of decadently dressed-up nobles and clinking champagne to check whether Gojo was hidden away somewhere down there.
Manners. Posture. Eye contact.
It was all painfully practised, and so was the tightening of your features as your own father started reading off your introduction. He never took on this task - what was happening?
“And now, for the most important guest of all-” Booming voice thundering in your ears almost as loud as your heartbeat was. The king addresses the congregation in the middle of the dancefloor, more ruler than father at this point. “-my daughter, princess of our beloved kingdom. And the queen of the next!”
Your hand stills where it had been helping you balance in your heels down the stairway- what?
Thankfully, your father carries on - or rather, not thankfully, considering what his next words are.
“Yes, my people, this may come as a surprise to you all.” He chuckles above the deafening murmurs, and you slowly find yourself scurrying onto the raised platform your father’s throne was seated on. “But tonight is not only a simple celebration of our nation, it’s a celebration of love. Of two nations.”
There’s a beat of silence as he reaches out a withered hand to you, and you find yourself wordlessly taking it.
“F-father, what-” you whisper, but there’s no response. Your skin bristles with goosebumps, and you’re not sure whether it’s from the summer breeze wafting from the gardens, or from the speech’s implications.
Letting yourself be pulled right into the middle of the stage,right into the spotlight - where Naoya Zenin was waiting for you. Dressed in his finest suit of white silk, adorned with layers upon layers of military accolades and velvety medals.
The bright, blazing light of the chandelier was scorching, and your hands clench in unease. What was happening?
“That is right, my people.” The king drags your hand up to mesh in an entwinement with Naoya’s clammy ones, holding it up for the eager public to see. “After much consideration and forethought, our royal families have decided that today my daughter is the beloved princess of our nation. But tomorrow, she will be the future queen of the Zenin kingdom.”
There’s cheering - but you can’t hear any of it. In fact, the entire world could be falling upon you and you don’t think you would have noticed.
All you can feel is the queasy churning of your stomach, and the stern whisper of Naoya’s voice against your ear. Fingers tightening around your own, bruisingly. “Dance with me before I break this pretty hand, princess.”
You’re like a ragdoll, being puppeteered in a rigid beeline onto the dance floor.
If it wasn’t for one of Naoya’s hands bracing onto your waist, you wouldn’t even have realized that the royal orchestra had started up a gorgeous waltz. A slow, romantic melody that you might’ve otherwise loved if you weren’t trapped in the arms of a fiancé you never asked for.
“Looking pretty out of it there, princess.” The prince sneers after a few practised motions of your dance, making your dazed eyes stray from the swooning crowd and onto his pointed features.
And despite it all, you can’t help but feel betrayed. You thought that the two of you might have rapport at your obligation, if nothing else. “You- you didn’t even tell me. An entire engagement and you didn’t even bother to-”
“As a husband, I don’t owe my tch- wife anything.” His nose crinkles at your wandering eyes, the way your feet itched ever-closer to the surrounding people rather than the dancefloor. “Wishing it was someone else dancing with you?”
“Yes.” You’re spitting out before you can stop, trying oh-so-hard not to let your face twist into even a semblance of the fury steeped inside of you. “Anyone but a husband that I never wanted and never will want.”
“As if you deserve any bett-”
Your nails dig into one set of his fingers enough to engrave deep craters, almost enough to make him bleed. “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on Earth.”
Naoya seems stunned for a few seconds - but, alas, just when you’re hoping that you’ve shut him up for good, you’re faced with the fact that the universe isn’t that kind to you.
“You mean you would marry the tch- low-born.” He pulls you into an incredibly rough twirl when the music crescendos, pulling you even closer. It’s all you can do to not fight his grip- “I’m not below finishing off his other hand if that’s what it takes to break you.”
“What are you even talking about?”
Each word jagged. “The knight. You love him, don’t act stupid.”
Raising your chin in defiance, “So what?” And just as much as confusion filled you, as did panic. Because Naoya’s grip was only getting firmer, his moves much harsher. Opening his mouth to spit out-
“Pardon me, your highnesses.” A deep bass cuts in, startled- you almost give yourself whiplash peering up into those fathomless mahogany eyes. Yaga’s thin brows furrowing into something heavily-set, “May I cut in for a dance with the princess?”
You don’t wait for an answer from Naoya - and neither does Commander Yaga. Swiftly sweeping you into his engulfing embrace as the orchestra changes into something slightly more upbeat.
Dressed in a thick suit adorned with even more medals than Naoya - ones you knew for sure were real, unlike his. And you couldn’t help but wonder just how good Gojo would look with his own.
“So…” Yaga starts, once more couples join the floor and his words can’t be heard over the shuffling of feet by anyone other than you. His calloused hands let you lead him through a waltz much more mellow than what Naoya had with you. You always did think that the leader of your knights was a gentle giant. “Begging you to forgive my indiscretion, ma’am but ah- trouble in paradise?”
“Trouble in hell, as expected.” You’re shuddering, gaze bouncing off of any flash of sapphire blue around the room.
The man in front of you nods gravely, “Right right. I might not be a married man, but even I know that times like these often call for a walk in the lilac garden. You know, to- ah, clear your head.”
Quirking a brow, you stare at him. “What?”
And oh, Yaga simply looked like all the gold in the world couldn’t pay him enough for this.
“Times like these-” He’s emphasizing, boring deeply into your eyes as if to mean every syllable to strike your very core. And it does. You don’t know why, but it does. “-call for a walk in the lilac garden.”
Oh.
“Oh.”
Yaga’s lips twitch upwards into an almost-smile, and his rumbling voice is soft for the next few words. “Go, your highness.”
So you do.
You’re realizing, with an ache of such gentle appreciation, that the commander had danced you two until you were practically teetering on the massive veranda. Open to the garden; where every prim hedge, bush, and tree was gorgeously decorated until your eyes sparkled.
Your breath bates…a choice. Head turning back to the luxuries of a royal ball that was none-the-wiser.
Then, with a brief hug you bully Yaga into, you run - as much as the delicate heels digging into your feet would allow. Faster.
If this was any other time, you might’ve felt disappointed at how you weren’t even stopping to admire the beauty of the moonlight-bathed garden. But right now, your heart was only pounding to go faster and faster.
Nothing else mattered.
Gojo was leaning on one pillar of the same white gazebo - and he was beautiful. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he was a faerie of the night.
Just a lone, tall silhouette that you could recognize so well; azure eyes twinkling, ivory strands of his hair shimmering with the silvery blue of the moon swimming amongst a dark sky. One he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of until he jolts his head towards the sharp snap! of a twig underneath your rapid feet.
“My…my princess.” He falls onto one knee.
It all comes out in a whisper - as if Gojo had dreamed of this moment so many repeated times before and wasn’t sure if this was a dream, too.
“Satoru-!”
It wasn’t.
Gojo stands up to embrace you like it’d be the last time he ever would, like you were the one thing connecting him to this life and he was a dying man desperate to breathe.
Strong arms winding around your waist, you’re pushed against one of the closed-off walls of the gazebo before you can even realize it. Arching off of the cool wooden surface and into his blistering heat. Into every ravenous, panted-out cloud of breath against your ear, “You came.”
He sounded pained. And you were sure you did just as much when you’re whimpering, “You disappeared.”
Gojo lets off a choked-up noise that could’ve been anything from affirmation to blatant shock. Half-lidded eyes boring deeply into yours, he shrugs off the jacket on his non-dominant arm to you with a low bow.
“May I have this dance, my princess?”
You’re gasping at the sight of starchy white bandages around his other hand, fingers hesitantly falling into Gojo’s heated flesh. “S-Satoru, what happened ah-”
But he drifts you gently into a soundless dance, the distant crickets and swish! of lilac branches your only tune.
And you never even understood just how much Gojo was a part of your life until he was moving through the exact same steps of waltzing that you’d learned growing up. The exact same once that you used to force him to sit through.
“I thought you were here because you read my letter.” Gojo mutters, lips so close now that they grazed the sensitive shell of your ear.
You’re having trouble finding your voice, “What letter?”
“The- the one that I left-” Just for you. His long lashes flutter open in shock, features contorted into something almost devastated. You wonder what made him feel this way. “-the one that I left in your chambers- about the- the prince, and the engagement and-”
“I got prepared for the ball in the dressing room today, I didn’t go to my room.” You’re continuing, voice small. Scared. “Satoru…you knew about the engagement?”
And Gojo’s voice told you everything you needed to know.
You feel your angry flare up hot and red, fists curling into Gojo’s delicate lapels. But that only proves to inch him even closer and make you sound much more breathless than you intended, “You knew about it and- and you didn’t even think to give me a hint that I was being carted off like a prize for some pompous asshat?”
He looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, lips still so pink in the night, wobbling. “I…I couldn’t let you be married, I just couldn’t. I would give my life if it meant you get the freedom to choose who you wanted.” Your dance had stalled, and you almost feel disappointed. “But I’m a coward, and this-” Gojo throws his hands across, voice hitching, “-sneaking around, hiding, running away is the only way I could ever-”
“You should have told me. Not just in the letter.” You’re insisting, running your hands through your hair. Suddenly, something strikes you, “That arm- it’s because of Naoya, isn’t it?”
He doesn’t even have the energy to protest, and that only spurs you on even more. “I-I could have talked to my father- maybe the council and we could have made it so that…”
“So that what?” Gojo’s voice hardens as much as it could with you, which wasn’t very much at all. His fists clench and unclench at his sides like it was taking everything in him to not just…“So that you can be the laughingstock of the kingdom when you marry a low-born knight?”
He was right. They would never accept him, no matter how much you did.
You’re rendered speechless, shivering at the way he rubs his wet eyes with the back of his hand. “Oh, I don’t want you- I need you.” And he was so beautiful like this, just centimeters away from you in the escape of the night. “I need you. I need you, I need you- I need you more than the sun above my head, and the air that I breathe, my princess. You have bewitched me, and I am yours. But you cannot be mine-”
You breathe out, “Satoru…”
“-and maybe in another life-”
“Maybe in this one.”
Soft hands rover their way onto the sides of your arms, and Gojo shakes you feebly as if to snap you out of this hypnosis and urge you to run. Eyes wide, yearning. “I have always been yours, body and soul.”
You always have wondered whether there was a method to shut Gojo Satoru up. And, right now, you think you may have found the perfect answer.
Because his entire towering figure just melts into your touch the very second you press your lips onto Gojo’s plump ones. Soft. Velvety.
His nostrils flare through a breathy sigh when you tilt your head mere sultry degrees to deepen the kiss. You were addicted to the honey-coated taste of him, the flat drag of his scratchy tastebuds rolling over your loosening maw.
“Ngh- my princess…” He’s puncturing your kisses with kiss after sloppy kiss, heavy hands wrapping around your body to wrangle you flush against his hardened ones. And you could count every glissade of his washboard abs through that thin poet’s blouse, “I love you.”
You’re not sure if it’s a fragment of your imagination, or- it’s not.
Gojo manhandles you - and himself - to sit on the opulent gazebo bench with you plopped into his manspread lap, without breaking the kiss for a split-second. Because it hurt to part from your pretty, candied lips, to let those slippery strings of saliva break in the clouded air between you two.
Even if it was to purr out—
“I love you I love you I love you-” The straight edges of his pearly white teeth sinking into your lower lip, groaning from the back of his throat. And your jittery legs shift needily on his warm, meaty thighs, “-I love you.”
“Satoru—” Just about the only thing that you can say right about now, your tone resounds in Gojo’s ears and makes him grunt. Your fingers tangle into his cushy locks, “T-touch me.”
He snickers, one hand clawing onto the crown of your sweat-dampened scalp and wrenching your face away until you’re huffing and puffing cutely for more. “Mmm, how about we use those princess-y manners of yours, hm?”
“Please-”
“Louder.”
“Please.”
“Harlot.” Gojo slides in a looong few digits past those impossibly endless skirts of yours, making your thighs dampen with treacly webs of needy slick. Letting those doughy fingerpads fringe over the covered mound of your pussy, just the very edges. “That was my f-first kiss, y’know?”
He had been hopelessly saving it for you, after all.
Your eyes roll all the way to the back of your weighted lids as soon as he teases you, mewling. “Was mine too, so we’re even-” Your hips shift in a lazy back n’ forth on top of his heated core, “-just- just want you to touch me.”
“I dunno…” Gojo drawls - drunken. And you feel the edges of his kiss-bitten lips warp around the very tip of your plummy tongue to suck on like his favorite gummy candy, “Wanna kiss my princess just a lil’ bit more.”
Panting, “K-kiss?”
“Mhm.”
Your eyes shutter in a heady blink, oh-so-cutely ready to crash back into a filthy, filthy French kiss once more, Gojo pulls away-
A noise of disappointment fresh on your lips and just about to spill out, before he lifts you up easily with only a single beefy hand underneath your body. Splaying you out on the sprawling wooden table right beside you, your back hits the ice-cold surface and makes you gasp into the crisp night air.
The lecherous sound of it almost as loud as the sudden clack! of Gojo’s knees collapsing down onto the floor. Your face contorts into a wince because surely it sent a stinging pain up his legs?
“M’quite used to being on my knees for you, my princess.”
But he didn’t seem to care - didn’t even seem to notice when he was much more enamored with the heavenly sight down there.
“These lips-” He smears away your lacy layers upon layers, budging up to nuzzle the soft skin of your inner thighs. And shit- the filmy glaze over his eyes told you that Gojo doesn’t even realize the way his bubblegum pink tongue lolls out over the splotchy spatters of your juices. “-were tellin’ me they feel a little…left out.”
Your mouth waters with a syrupy lamination of saliva as soon as his murked breath strikes your cunt. And the drag of his rumbling bass is so delicious – you couldn’t help but imagine just how it would feel on you.
“Just- just get it on with it-” you’re hissing, fingers latching onto a few thick locks of ivory to drudge him ever-closer.
“Impatient.”
As if Gojo himself wasn’t impatient.
As if he wasn’t just leaking out thick wads of drool from the parted sides of his twisted grin at just the thought of tasting you. Sliding the pointed tip of his button nose languidly up the crevice of your puffed-up slit, he breathes you in and feels his cock twitch-
“Oh, princess.” Gojo can’t move, he can’t breathe if it wasn’t around your needy cunt right now. He’s ignoring those shooting bites of pain up the sides of his arm to tug on your useless garments.
Pulling- shit, he always did fucking hate how many layers you royalty had to wear.
Pulling and pulling until the slow trawl of your undergarments by his nimble fingers wasn’t enough, and he just had to lunge his cottony head over to plummet his pearly whites into your panties and rip—!
A proper, gaping hole where your teary pussy was- and you looked even more gorgeous down there than he could’ve imagined.
Gojo’s face was blank, eyes wide and locked right at your geysering orifice like a man starved. For eons it felt like, until you were bucking up with pure need.
You’re humming in concern, struggling up onto your elbows to stare down at him. “Sa…Toru?”
And at your pretty voice, Gojo twitches. He gasps - full-bodied, like you’d just sent a zillion volts of shock down his sloped spine just by speaking to him. And he was well and fully intent on acting on it-
“Princess…princess princess princess—” Leaking from between his lips like he couldn’t stop, he hits the cute target of your cunt instantaneously with a fat thud of spittle, one. Two. Three, until your entrance was overflooding. He’s drawling the plummy end of his spit-glossed maw across your folds, “Oh, my princess. Just look at you.”
You feel his mess drool off the side of your plumpened pussylips and smear all across your peaked clit with only a simple touch of Gojo’s round-ended thumb.
Just down-right filthy when he crashes forward to slot the curvaceous nub of his sweltering hot tongue over the brim of your hole. Drawing all over that snug orifice with slow patterns round n’ round-
“Toru–!” It’s the only thing you know at this point. “Toru.”
“Whaaat? Jealous, my princess?” The words clang in your head- and the realization hits you at the same moment Gojo’s thickly viscous swab of spit does on your own tongue. A soft nudge at your slackened chin urging you to swallow-
And he can’t waste a second, can’t spend even a mere moment away from his favorite spot between your legs. Because now that Gojo got a taste, he wants alllll of it.
Stumbling back down in haste to plant so many uncountable smooches on your bawling pussy folds. Skimming his tastebuds just along your quivering hole.
“Shit- shiiiit–” When you’d heard court ladies giggling about this, you didn’t think it would feel this good. Or maybe that’s just because it was Gojo stuffing himself impossibly deeper between your legs. “M-more, Toru–”
Your voice was cracking just as much as his fucking sanity was.
Trilling out into frenzied shrills when Gojo swerves his eager thumb to pry open your gluey folds even further and give your fattened clit a flick!
You swear you feel Gojo depart his jaw with a giggle when your hips are bucking up pliably off the splintered table and into the bustling hot cavern of his mouth. More. “Easy there, your royal highness-”
“D-don’t call me that–” You’re whimpering, fingers tugging on Gojo’s bangs in some form of retaliation. But, of course it backfires on you just as soon as the force makes your knight moan.
“Wasn’t calling you that.” Gojo rolls his eyes, and your heart races in anticipation when the pointed edge of his chin strikes the drowned ends of your cunt. Lathering his pretty features in all the collective beads of slick raining fountaining out of you. His summer blue eyes flick downwards - and you can’t help but follow. “Was talking to her. Isn’t that right?”
Fuck.
You were fucked.
And you were losing your mind when Gojo drags you roughly towards the edge of the table with only an ounce of his strength. Mouth making out greedily, heels digging into the fleshy mounds of his back, you can only sob and beg for more more more-
“S’fuckin’ chattier than my girl.” He’s nodding along with every saturated squelch after squelch! resonating in his eardrums - as if it was a full-on conversation with your noisy pussy. “Let’s hope that fiancé of yours doesn’t hah- f-fucking hear.”
But Gojo was acting like he wanted him to.
“Hope the- the king doesn’t find his princess bein’ eaten out by- ngh- a knight.” Barrelling long, slender inches of his index and pointer past your tight ring of mushy muscle.
Your head throws back when he digs into the velvety depths of your pussy with just a single quirk-
“O-oh my god, Satoru–” You’re gasping in the flowery night air, tummy aching with every pump deeper because he was just so close to where you wanted him. “More- j-just a bit more.”
And yet, he acts like he doesn’t even hear you right now.
Cupping over one massive palm over his ear and drifting ever-closer, “Wha’s that? C-can’t hear ya, girl- ngh ya gotta be- louder.”
Louder and louder he was getting with the vulgarly fast thrust graced upon your gummy walls. The sound only makes him giggle all drunk on you, “What’s that? Here? That turn you on? Hmmm…”
And just when you’re letting your vision blur with stars- just when you think it couldn’t get any better-
“Mmmm– wan’ another taste-”
It’s the last thing your ringing ears hear before Gojo’s lurching forwards and burying his nose into your sensitive clit to give your overstuffed entrance a leeengthy lick. Right at the very split-second the globular edges of his digits scratch at that magical spot.
“W-woah.” Your head snaps up blearily to steal a glimpse at what had Gojo Satoru’s voice so airy n’ cracking in awe.
Only to see him fluttering his lathered lashes, the slick-gleaming apples of his cheeks blushing. Like some maiden in love. “Got even wetter f’me, your highness.” He’s breathing out, spitting out another voluminous cobweb of drivel and watching the way it sliiides across with the ribbons of slick pouring out of you. “Ohhhh, even b-better than any candy- better than a-any dessert.”
You yelp when one rugged and grabs a rough handful of your ass and latches his lips even sloppier against your hole. “T-Toru your arm!”
“Oh? This?” He’s glancing down at the bandages as if he’d forgotten they were ever there. “S’nothing for your- hah- personal knight. Doesn’t even hurt, I’d- I’d rather die than let a stupid injury get in the way of what I’ve been dreaming of for aaaages.”
The dual points of pleasure make your toes curl, every part of your body shaking-
Gojo was out of control now. Crazed.
High-pitched bouts of giggles escaping him, muffling around where his candy-glazed cerise lips were latched around your clit and sucking. He makes sure to hold fatal eye contact while he hollows out his scorching cheeks and drags the fleshy nub.
“M-making out with your pussy- your pretty, pretty pussy, my princess.” Your heartbeat echoes in rapid staccato with the vicious thud! thud! thud! of his neatly crowned fingertips pecking your g-spot. Each of his puffed-out gruffs making your tongue loosen in a please, “Making you s-so loud, making you feel so good.”
And without even realizing it, he’s rovering the papping brims of his fingers to give your clit a spank. Letting the syrupy beads slide allll the way down his tongue - letting you watch.
“S’all me.” Gojo slurs out. “Me- me me me me–” Steady rivulets of slick bubbling from the edges of his tongue when his sinful motions get faster. Harder. “Gonna ask who m-made you feel this way n’ it’s me. Your Satoru.”
More ravenous.
Swirling around slow probes of his sensory tips, it glazes his skin all the way down to his knobbly wrist in a thick coat of sap. Memorizing every gooey ridge and crevice inside your tight channel - shit, Gojo feels his ruddied tip spurt out a jetstream of buttery pre in his pants.
He thinks he might just burst in his pants if you don’t finish right this second.
But luckily - or unluckily - for him, you do. Right this very second, after being wrung dry underneath only a few more lapping slashes of his ferocious tongue, tweaking your buttony clit until you cum.
And oh, you’re so pretty when you do.
Your head throwing back with a broken moan of Toru–! It takes every ounce of trained will in his drunken body to not break off from your gooey pussy and watch the way your beautiful face twists.
Fucked out.
“O-oh, shit–” You’re practically sobbing at this point, wrist aching with just how hard you were pushing Gojo’s readily used face into your fluttering core. Your vision blurs with sparks n’ stars, “-H-how are you so good. Unfair, unfair—”
Babbling away such nonsense with that smart mouth of yours, Gojo thinks he sees utter heaven when your hot juices flood inside his mouth in generous heaps.
Lugging down an open palm underneath his chin to greedily collect the leaking beads that sprinkly in a shiny sheen off of his chin, he finds himself moaning. “Shhh, your knight’s here. Give it t’me– use me, my princess.”
And use him you were.
Riding out each white-hot peak of your high with slobbering grinds all across Gojo’s beautiful features. Your clit catches on the poking ridges of his mouth and nose and you squeal- “Ngh- b-better when you’re shut up like th-this, Satoru–”
Just for that, he’s spanking your goopy pussy thoroughly.
All the way until those shots of electricity down your bowed spine are nothing more but prickly tingles, all the way until your thundering ears calm down and you can hear each damp thwack!
All the way until your high has bated and yet, Gojo is still snogging each swollen fold of your pussy like a feast. “M’sensitive–” You sniffle, and he doesn’t even seem to hear you. “Fuh-fuck, Toru, keep doing that n’ m’not gonna let you ngh fuck me.”
That’s what finally gets his attention.
You can feel your lips burst with a slight giggle when all it takes is a quick nanosecond for Gojo’s plumpened mouth to jerk away from your cunt with the snap! of wiry slick.
Scrambling onto unsteady feet, he’s teetering over the edge of the wood ever-so-slightly. Muscular body casting a shadow on yours, and you think he’s never looked sexier.
Fawny strands of frosty white curtaining Gojo’s half-lidded eyes, thick thighs pressing against yours shivering; and even from your position homed towards the end of the table, your eyes catch sight of such a massively outlined bulge.
Staggering.
One that made your hands ghost down Gojo’s tensed abs, and he’s throwing his perspiration-dampened head with a whine.
“Need you, Satoru–” You’re managing out, strangled and messy. You’re sure you sound just as yearning as you feel. Fingers tug-tug-tugging impatiently on his gauzy clothes, “Want- you- out of these-”
And whatever the princess wants, the princess gets.
It’s as if on command - Gojo’s shedding his billowy shirt like it burned him. And very, very soon were his snug pants to follow, your layers, his sanity-
“Hngh- please.” He’s gruffing out, flinching just as soon as you cup his cheeks to smear away the remaining traces of slick glimmering on top of his blushing skin. Your touch was electric. Tonality painfully hoarse, “Let me fuck you- wanted it for so long. Let me fuck you please.”
Your drenched pussylips stream out a damp spot right across where you could feel his inflated vein poke between your folds. And he felt so…long. “Yes- yes, please.”
Getting the princess to say please?
He’s nodding his head shakily - Gojo could pass out, he could cu-
Oh, just a few taps of his mushroom tip on the outer edges of your pussy and he spots something creamy topping over your mound like icing. Sweat-slicked brows furrowing, Gojo nudges in even closer to where pooling splotches of cum pours from the strawberry pink divot right in the middle of his head.
He’s cumming and he couldn’t stop.
Couldn’t do anything but whine at the tender bolts of bliss aching all the way from his toes to his fuzzy head.
“S-Satoru did you just-”
“Shut up.” Oh, you would have his head later for this. “Shut up- shut up and just…”
N’ so he curls a hand at his bulky base and draws out a thick swab at the torrents of seed decorating your cute cunt. Making sure the milky sap formulated a glossy cap on his crownhead, before pushing rigorously in-
“F-f-fuuuuck–” he keens out, a thin line of sweat trekking down the side of his temples. And if he pushed just an inch further, Gojo could feel his hooded eyes well up with fucking tears- “Tight so tight s-sooo hot- so…”
You’re mewling, “Deeper- c-c’mon.”
He was fucking you like he didn’t even realize it - like he was enchanted by each mindless rut pulled from the carnal depths of his hips.
Two warm hands latch on in a vice-like grip on the delicious curve of your hips, and he’s holding your body still and pushing and pushing and pushing-
“Sh-shit!” Gojo’s voice pitches up embarrassingly high at the end of his slew of swears, buttering up your insides in a muggy few ribbons of pre in response. “But s-so tight- dunno if it’ll even…even fit.”
He sounded hypnotized.
“Are you- ngh! are you alright, Satoru?” You’re musing out, eyes glassy with a solid combination of lust and utter concern. Before you know it, your hand is reaching out to stroke the ba-dump–! thudding against his pecs.
“No.”
And it takes only the slightest graze of your doughy fingerpads against his flaming hot skin, the slightest touch from you before Gojo rudely swats your hand away and bottoms out-
You don’t even know what you were mad at- were you mad?
You really can’t even remember. Not when the crowned tip of Gojo’s incredible length was planting a sweet peck right into the sponged ends of your cervix, the entirety of his shaft spearheading you so deep that you think he might just be fucking into your lungs.
So big that he didn’t even have to try to rub the puffy zig-zag of his veins along your sweetest spots, even the most minute gyrations made your toes curl.
Splitting you apart. Stroking the weepy base of your slit with the hot, rounded sack of his breeder balls so right that it made you putty in his hands.
“Don’t t-touch me, my princess.” Gojo’s nuzzling his tear-stuck cheek against your own, you could feel the warble of his unsteady confessions. “Don’t touch me or I’ll…I’ll cum.”
And when has Gojo Satoru ever lied to you? Well, the upturned jolt of his split-ended tip right into the target of your mushy cervix told you that he wasn’t.
Gojo’s sinking down the edges of his teeth into his wobbly lower lip, he’s forcing his eyes to narrow down n’ obscure his crystal clear image of you to stop himself from cumming.
“So beautiful, can’t help it–” His breath hitches once he’s pushing apart your trembly thighs and stretching them over the two ends of his broad shoulders. Your ankles pitching down onto the rippling plush of his toned deltoids. “So perfect.”
“S-sweet-talker.” You whisper, mouth as dry as the Sahara with how his thick circumference was stretching out your rubbery walls until they were seering.
But if Gojo heard then he didn’t snap back - he was too pussydrunken to.
Moving on instinct, on that carnal twinge inside his brain that forced his powerful limbs to lock your ankles with one hand behind his head. To brace an engulfing palm right beside your head and lower himself down, down, down into a-
A mating press.
Gojo Satoru had you in a fucking mating press.
“So mine.”
And he was pounding all his aching inches into you like it would be the last time. Like he was mazing through your adhesive-like walls and plummeting the leaky end of his cock to knock against your very womb.
Gojo’s nose crinkles at the sheer warmth you were coating him in, dripping fresh slathers of slick in rings ‘round his hilt. He shivers as it drools down his tight balls, “I’m…I’m really fucking you- ngh! I’m fucking you, my princess.”
“Yes- yes yes yes—” Your mouth parts ajar, and you don’t know what it floods more with - your pathetic whines, or saliva. Coating a treacly river from each curl of your lips, “More. More, Toru.”
Oh.
You might have just broken him with that.
Even through your fucked-out stupor, you’re gaping at the way that the hand beside your head curls into an unyielding fist. It has to.
Otherwise, Gojo’s plump cockhead would be sugarcoating your sloppy hole in much more than just copious amounts of sticky precum. He would’ve cum.
“M-more?” You hear from above you, your knight’s bulging pecs vibrating with the plea. Oh, was it a plea - strained, shaking. Gojo sounded as if he was two seconds away from simply bursting into crazed laughter, “More…more. My princess wants- fuck! More?”
Fat ends of his fingers lock around the sides of your cheeks and force you into such an unladylike pout. “Say it- say it, little royal.”
“Shit!” Your core arches up into his hardened one, just as Gojo knew it would when angling his hips juuust right to give your bulging g-spot a long, hard swipe. Your throbbing clit scratching against his pale happy trail. “Yes- ngh yes I want more. Want more, Satoru!”
More.
And more was exactly what you were going to get. More than you could handle.
Your thighs ache with the struggle to stay open when Gojo tightens his lock around your ankles. Gruffing out a tight, “Take it then.”
He was so sexy, the swelling flex of his biceps enough to make your pussy drool and him slip n’ slide pliantly. Jackhammering away rugged pumps that you feel all the way in your leaden throat.
Your most favorite spots are so bruised that they’re almost tender, curling the base of your spine with tendrils of bliss that make you yelp.
“O-ohhh my god—” The side of his neck dampens as you’re leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses that make the man pinning you down shiver. His sculpted abs twinging with every massage down your front, “Just like that, a-always wanted to fuck you, Toru–”
“Do you even hear yourself?” Gojo hiccups, the expression upon his features plain pained. Voice dipping into a whine, “Don’t know what y-you’re doing t’me.”
But now that you were babbling away, you couldn’t stop. Not even when he’s speeding up his vigorous cadence until the globes of your ass are left stinging, “M’serious– I always wanted-”
“Shut up shut up- shut up- my princess.” You don’t think that either of you were even lucid at this point, and every pap! of skin-on-skin is followed by the screeching creak of the table below you. Gojo rolls his eyes down at you fondly, “Gotta m-make you cum so you can shut up.”
Otherwise you were going to drive him wild until there’s no turning back.
Before you can let off a moan - or fervently agree - he thumbs over the perked hood of your clit. Drawing- circles? Hearts? No, his own name.
A tedious little S-A-T-O-R-U that makes your gushing walls clench oh-so-tightly around his sweltering length. Tummy tightening into something so close to shattering.
And Gojo was rough. Snickering at the way you whine, spilling out wadded volumes of spittle between your parted lips. He breathes, “Gonna make you cum- g-gonna make my princess cum.” You swear he nods down at your pussy and grins, “G-gotta be a good girl f’me, m’kay? Gonna be a good- girl- and…”
His hips slap sloppily against yours, overworked thumb stuttering on a swooping U over your sensitive nub. And the tension in the air pulls tight, tight, tight like the most delicate of strings, before crashing- “-cum.”
You don’t know who cums first - you or Gojo.
All you know is that as soon as your mind explodes with bursts of bliss - his poor cock does, as well.
Head toppling backwards, overfilled pussy slopping out waterfalls of sweet, sweet juices, it’s all you can do not to sob.
“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck fuck-” Your nails rake red, red lines all down his expansive back. Pulling him in even closer until all he can manage are dirty lil’ half-thrusts to pound you through your high. “M’cumming, Toru-”
“Y-yeah?” Gojo’s stuttering wetly, sloppily. Pushing the fat battering of his fountaining orifice into the groove of your g-spot over n’ over n’ over. You didn’t know how anything could feel so good. “N’ who made you cum, hm? Who’s f-fucking this pretty pussy, hm?”
“You-” You’re prattling, “You, Satoru.”
“Fuck.” Gojo gapes in wide-eyed craze, breath hitching when you lean over to drag your tongue over the sappy trickle of drool escaping his rose-red lips. “G-gonna make me cum again, swear-”
And he does.
“Can- can we hold hands while I hck! fuck you through your high, my princess?” He bats his lashes, a delicate blush taking over the tips of Gojo’s ears when you lace your fingers together.
You can feel the splat! of even more heavy seed hitting the bottom of your pussy, swashing a warm second coating to your elastic walls every time Gojo thrusts. He was so solidly inside. Pinpointing specks of pure white with each swab.
So full. So much of his voluminous ounces that it’s taken to tipping over from between your pussylips and forming a creamy puddle below you. You’re slipping all over it with every slither of Gojo’s cock.
But neither of you can even think to bring yourselves to be disgusted. To care for etiquette.
Because Gojo drifts his hand over an invisible line where your tummy was being bloated with his length and his cum- and you find yourself aching for more all over again.
“This looks…” Gojo starts, syllables scratchy and jagged. He’s practically whimpering - whimpering - at the sight of that lecherous cylindrical bulge being fucked into you.
You’re dripping with him, and his cock twitches ferally at the thought of you all round and glowing. What a pretty mama you’d make. “...looks like the n-next heir to the throne will be a Gojo, my princess.”
Oh, you liked the thought of that.
And looking at Gojo Satoru now - eyes still not fully focused with how ruined he was, skin blushed the same maidenly shade of red that his slobbering mushroom tip was, pretty smile directed at you and only you in this lilac-scented haze - you didn’t think you wanted it any other way.
But, of course, Gojo would never want it any other way, either. Never.
He clears his throat, sapphire gaze hardening; the intensity of it sending chills sprinting down your spine. Burning with a fervent I love you I love you I love you.
Massive hands intertwined with yours pull into your line of vision, and Gojo takes his dear time pressing a lingering peck onto each n’ every single one of your knuckles. But particularly on the one above your left ring finger.
This was it.
“My princess…run away with me?”
.
.
.
“Didya hear ‘bout that Prince Naoya?”
“Oh yes- had his bride stolen away by a knight, I hear. Put a knife to his throat n’ took her away in the dead of night!”
“Hogwash! The boy was a looker, she went quite willingly, see- I always did think that Naoya wasn’t good ‘nough for our princess.”
“Wonder what happened after? That Zenin bunch was quite furious I hear, that bratty prince is still out for blood. But ol’ Naobito and some commander came to the rescue- Somethin’ about corruption and Jinichi…”
“Bah! Who cares about that? S’the biggest royal affair of the century- a handsome knight sweeping away the beloved princess? They’re swoonin’ n’ calling him the Knight of Roses already. All I wanna know is how the young couple is doing!”
Yaga rolls his eyes at other rambunctious customers churning gossip-mill, a pint clutched tightly in one hand and a scrap of paper in the other.
Honestly, he comes to the pub for once to escape from palace duties - and the palace duties seem to want to escape with him!
And even after so many months since that engagement party fiasco? News really did trickle down slowly when royal scandals were so often covered.
Oh, whatever. He muses, thumb gliding over the glossy parchment- some new innovation from kingdoms beyond the sea, according to what the eagerly-accompanied writing had said. A…a photograph, you had called it.
And Gojo’s surprisingly intricate drawing of you fiddling with the ah- camera gave him an idea of the machinery, though- most of the sketches were of you. All of them, actually.
Yaga gazes on in slight wonderment at the perfect black and white depiction of your smile, rivalling the one of Gojo Satoru’s beside yours. Beaming, sleeves rolled up and fatigued with a day of hard work, so in love.
It was oh-so-positively sweet.
The cherry on top? Well, Yaga couldn’t quite decide between the matching bands glinting on each of your left ring-fingers, the glimpse of a pretty lil’ cottage behind you two, and the massive bouquet of undoubtedly deep red roses Gojo was presenting you with.
Or perhaps it was the hand you were resting absent-mindedly on the obviously rounded curve of your tummy.
How fortunate, he tucks away the photograph into his coat with a smile and orders another pint. Knight of Roses, indeed.
A/N. Yearning is my kink mhm. Hope you have a lovely week <3
your nerdy fuckbuddy gojo has a tongue piercing?!?
“gojo—“ you said. “pause. stop.” you added, pulling his head up, away from your pussy. normally, you’d never stop him. ever. he pushed his slightly fogged up glasses up the bridge of his nose, and then spoke, his tone quiet and worried. “wh—what’s wrong? did— does it not feel good? a—am i going too fa—“ you shook your head quickly, and then sat up on your forearms.
“no, no, of course not— it’s .. i dunno. something feels.. weird. sort of.. cold.” you spoke, feeling sort of uncertain and deluded. you had never felt this feeling when he ate you out. you grabbed his chin lightly, and then thumbed at his lips. “do you have ice in your mouth or something?” you asked.
“uh—no..? but.. i.. can if you’d like that?” he said, looking up at you with a worried expression on his face. as he spoke, though, you noticed something shining in his mouth. “open your mouth.” you ordered. and he did so. quicker than you’d expected. he stuck his tongue out, and you gasped. “when did you get that?” you said, staring at the metal ball on his tongue.
“um.. a few days ago. i lost a bet with my brother.” he said, scratching his head and looking away, almost like he was embarrassed. “your brother.. the one in the fraternity?” you asked. “that’s the one.” he confirmed. wasn’t too far off from him. you’ve met him before— saturo. the sleazy, disgustingly sexy yet dangerous frat boy. you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want him.
“hm.” you said quietly. “do you like it?” he whispered, going back down so his nose was level with your cunt. “does it make you feel good?” he said, his breath fanning over the sensitive flesh. he gave you a long, slow lick, from your hole to your clit, not breaking eye contact. “when i got it done,” he said quietly, giving your clit a sweet kiss, and snaking his arms around your thighs to hold you down, so you wouldn’t twitch so much. “i couldn’t stop thinking of you. i was so excited to use it on you..” he murmured against you.
he reached up his hand, dragging his middle finger and ring fingers from your clit, down to circle around your hole, and then finally, inserting them in. he leaned up to you, giving you a sweet kiss on the cheek, then another against your ear as he fingered you. “satoru—“ you moaned, watching as his fingers disappeared in and out of you. you bit your lip, and then he leaned down to capture your lips, wasting no time to use his tongue.
his tongue circled yours, and you moaned at the taste of yourself, and the feeling of his metal on your tongue. “i lost the bet on purpose.” he whispered against your lips. “i overheard you talking about guys with tongue piercings, and..” he said softly, giving your lips a chaste peck, his thumb moving up to work your clit as he fingered you. “i got jealous. jealous that you potentially didn’t have me in mind.” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “i wanted nothing more than for you to experience this. nothing more than for you to use me for as long as you want to.” he said, his tone almost whiny as he pleaded.
They say there is a loser in the Zen'in clan. A man who doesn't even have an ounce of cursed energy. I wondered how pathetic of a man he would be... I wondered what sort of miserable face he would have...
JUJUTSU KAISEN: THE CULLING GAME (2026)
— EP. 51: Perfect Preparation, 「葦を啣む」
the strongest sorcerer of all time refuses to have a weakness...even if it's you
synopsis: ryomen sukuna is not meant to have feelings for anyone. let alone the best friend sleeping in his bed, the single person in this suffocating estate who isn't scared of him. from starving to being double stuffed, you stayed by his side throughout all of it. so why can't he seem to do the same for you?
pairing: heian era!Sukuna x f!reader, Choso x f!reader
wc: 10.7k
content: mdni!! heavy angst and smut!!!! character death, regression, blood/violence, true form sukuna, he's a real asshole guys lmfaoo, mean and possessive sukuna, fingering, titty sucking, unprotected piv sex, anal sex, double penetration (each hole), creampie, accidental pregnancy, sukuna has ISSUES, reader loves him anyway, emotional hurt, no comfort, sukuna crashing out, sweet choso is also here, garden sex, mentions of marriage, happy ending for reader
a/n: this is a commission by my sweet amazing angel @martianzmars !!! love you cutie pie :3 the sukuna art is by @winterrbluess <3
What was the worth of a flower?
It faded. Wilted. Petals falling off with time if they weren’t trampled on first. They didn’t last. Just another weak, fragile thing that sprouted only to die.
“Why?” He plucked off a delicate petal, nose scrunching in disgust.
You frowned at him, and he passed the detestable thing back to you. Swallowing his scoff and spreading his thighs further apart on his throne, propping his face up with one of his arms. Must you end the day with some boring fight over a petty thing like that? He watched the way your fist tightened around the crooked stem from the corner of one of his bottom eyes.
“It’s medicinal,” you muttered, gesturing to the cut on his arm.
He rolled his eyes, flexing his bicep before letting his own energy wash over him, healing himself without even an ounce of exertion.
He didn’t need some puny, pathetic flower to do it for him.
Didn’t need your help.
What would it take for you to realize that?
You weren’t kids anymore. Not twelve years old, skin and bones, needing you to collect herbs and wildflowers to cure him from some cold or sickness. Both of you had grown up.
And yet, you were still here, still following him, trailing after his path of destruction, holding onto his sleeve. Because you needed him.
That was just the way it was.
“My lord, you still have-”
He shut up his aide with a single wave, grinding his back molars as he waited for the next person to enter the throne room. He resented his title. Resented the room itself.
They were supposed to be a symbol of his strength, things he was given simply because he scared people. The men with money shoving material possessions, lands, titles, women, whatever they thought would satiate him, offering up their servants and daughters alike if it meant their heads would be spared.
Sometimes it did.
But others weren’t always lucky. And his mood was, ah, how did you put it?
Fickle?
His flames shifted with the wind.
And your attitude this afternoon wasn’t helping.
You dismantled the rest of the flower yourself. Moodily perched on the edge of his lap, distracting him while he tried to listen to the whines and pleas from his subjects. They always had something to complain about, even when they got on their knees trembling to ask him for more.
These days, you didn’t even look up when he slaughtered them. Just twirling the stem between your fingers as the blood hit the floor.
Your mouth was moving, like you were speaking, but no words came out. Pouting a little, your brows pulling together as you pried the last petal off and let it hit the ground.
“What are you doing?” He grumbled, and you shrugged your shoulders, not looking back.
“Playing a game,” you responded softly, barely reacting when one of his free hands grabbed your waist through the top layer of your kimono.
He grunted his disapproval, but you didn’t flinch.
The rest of the world was terrified of the four-armed monster rumored to butcher and burn those who dared to cross him. Serve their bodies up on a spit roast.
He said they hadn’t experienced true hunger if they condemned him for a little cannibalism.
You didn’t fear him though. Saw past the scars and disfiguration that made even those beneath him turn and whisper.
“What kind of game?” He tch-ed, tempted to take the plain stem now from you.
“I asked if you love me,” you admitted, and he couldn’t decide if this was some crude attempt at teasing him. His fingers sank deeper into your side, pulling you deeper into his lap.
He nodded towards the scattered petals on the floor, the blood slowly spreading and threatening to seep into them. “What did you land on?”
“You love me not.”
Sukuna’s mouth twitched at how you said it. As if you gave an idiotic child’s game weight.
But he didn’t protest. Didn’t say no or scoff.
Instead, he pried you off of him, placing you on the floor, barely bothering to check that you wouldn’t be stepping in blood before he started towards the exit.
“Kuna,” you started in a soft voice, the irritatingly intimate making him freeze for a split-second, enough that you corrected yourself. He'd only criticized you for it once, snapped at you to refer to him properly when he was at his court. “My lord.”
“My chambers tonight,” he announced, not looking back at you.
There was a rhythm to the routine. A monotony he found dull and draining, a familiar itch creeping under his skin at staying here this long. He wanted back out in battle. To find some other sorcerer claiming themselves capable to cleave down.
He made up his mind during his next meal, stuffing his mouth full of meat, fork stabbing clean through the fine cut of someone he never got the name of as he planned out his next departure. Some irritating white-haired woman kept trying to talk to him from across the table, claiming to be from some clan he couldn’t care less about.
An advisor tried to quell his annoyance, but it was like another bug in his ear, whispering that she could be useful as a concubine, as if Sukuna gave a shit. A flick of his fingers was all it took for the room to finally fall silent – even if the wall was now splattered with blood.
Perhaps they should be grateful he gave them messes to clean. Stable employment meant they wouldn’t starve. That their children wouldn't.
Not everyone was so lucky.
You kept eating next to him, taking a long sip of your wine before excusing yourself a few moments later, leaving without looking over at the still body in the seat next to you. You weren’t apathetic like him, but you would hold your tongue no matter how much his anger hurt you.
Did it splinter your soul to see him kill?
Sukuna had no way to know.
Conversations weren’t something so commonplace between the two of you anymore. So much had changed, enough that he tried to convince himself that you were simply a body that he shared his bed with.
He disliked the other concubines. They always expected things from him. Wanted clothes or jewels or power. Occasionally, he considered making you his wife, if only to put the others in their place.
To remind them that they would never occupy the space by his throne. That they would never have children that would sit on it.
His new advisors, these men who swore they had intelligence simply because they were schooled, they all urged him to. Begged him to select someone from a clan to have a child with, for his legacy, but he refused.
Why would he want a child? Especially one that would be like him?
He’d carve out his own legacy.
You were waiting for him by the time he returned to his room, cross-legged on the floor, squinting at a poetry book. Neither of you had learned to read as a child, but he’d begrudgingly hired you a tutor – and just happened to sit in on your lessons to learn himself. Supervising, he said. You didn't argue otherwise, even if your brow subtly arched up at his looming presence, his bottom set of arms folded across his chest while the tutor instructed you on how to write, teaching you everything from haikus to the hidden meanings in famous poems.
Sukuna had found it unfortunate when he had to kill him, but it wasn't his fault that the fool had tried to put a hand on your waist, no matter how innocent he claimed it was.
You had been mad at him though, huffing and shutting yourself in your room for four days before you started speaking to him again.
Calling him a child, like you weren't the one clinging to this life he created.
“What are you thinking about?” You asked, drawing him out of another pointless memory of the past.
“You left dinner early,” he dismissed your question entirely. He didn't want to answer it. Why dredge up another reason for you to be annoyed with him?
“I prefer to eat without the smell of iron,” you said, in that measured voice of yours, playing this game of skirting around the real subject.
“You used to eat dirt,” he pointedly reminded you, and you threw your book at him. A rare reaction, your hurt flickering across your face for a few fleeting seconds before you shut back down, maybe remembering that he beheaded a woman for much less hardly fifteen minutes ago.
“You ate bugs,” you argued, brows furrowed in frustration before you glanced away from him.
“And now we both get full meals that you don't even finish,” he sharply replied, the edge to his voice echoing as you flexed your jaw, forcing yourself to not respond to him.
A poor imitation of the meek submission the other women who flitted around in their fine kimonos were well-versed at.
“My apologies, master,” you eventually murmured, your mockery not going unnoticed as you lifted your chin to look up at him from the floor. Dragging your eyes over his bulky frame, muscles stretched taut over bone, skin littered with scars and tattoos.
And still, you stared like he was just the weakling he used to be. That faint flicker of sorrow persisting even when he had practically handed you a soft life on a silver platter.
Sukuna scoffed, squinting before he begrudgingly took two steps forward, beckoning you to stand with a single gesture.
You obeyed. Dusting off the skirt of your robe as your hand reached for the tie – but Sukuna beat you to it.
Skin slowly exposed when he peeled off every layer, removing piece by piece until you were completely bare for him, the light and shadows from the flames dancing across the shape of you while you stood still. Waiting for some appraisal, for him to do with you as he wished.
Your position was always defined by him after all. As his friend or his fuck.
He tossed you onto the mattress, his top set of hands pinning your thighs to your chest, watching your eyes widen as his own loosely-fastened robe hit the floor.
Love was a waste.
It meant nothing.
You said it to him once, declared it under the moon, knees curled against your chest as you looked at him like that. But that had been before. Before the estate and the esteemed treatment that came with a title and land and leverage on all the people that previously treated him with disgust. When it was still simply you and him surviving.
He didn’t say it back. Didn’t do anything other than grunt, tempted to call you a brat for saying something so stupid.
“You're rather distracted tonight,” you murmured, fingers frozen just before they could touch his face. He flinched from it – pulled back before you could make contact.
“You’re irritating today,” he grimaced back, even if you were the least annoying part of his life. The only thing that wasn’t dull and dreadful. The only one that actually made him feel alive.
He waited for you to whine that he didn’t really mean that, but your eyes just searched his for silent confirmation.
You knew better than to expect him to say it out loud.
And despite that (pretty) little pout of frustration flitting across your face, you were still wet when he dipped a single finger into your dripping warmth.
All your feelings fading into the mush of pleasure, eyes rolling back with a simple crook of his thick finger, lazily swirling it around to see your reaction. Not much could compare to the adrenaline of a fight, of sorcery and raw strength, but a faint shiver of exhilaration ran down his spine at the sight of you arching your hips up to make sure he was knuckle-deep, lips falling in a lewd moan as he added another digit.
He ignored it though, shoulders stiff as your walls tried to clamp down on him.
“Were you this wet when you were on my lap?” He dryly mocked, not particularly caring how mean you might call him for teasing you later.
You always forgave him.
Whatever he did, you found a way to justify it.
You weakly nodded, chin tilted back in the air as your lashes fluttered, gasping for air that didn't seem to go in.
“Answer me, brat,” he grunted.
“Yes, m-my lord,” you moaned, and it was only when they parted he noticed your pretty lips painted the same shade as his hair.
“Sukuna,” he snapped, sick of correcting this stubborn new habit of yours. Sure, it had been who insisted on it in the first place, but it was annoying to remind you of what you were and weren't allowed to do.
You swallowed hard enough for him to notice, but you still didn't say it.
Held your mouth closed, and he begrudgingly closed the gap to crash into it, claiming it in a greedy kiss, his tongue in your mouth while you threw your arms over his shoulders. One hand ending up in his hair, scratching at his scalp the way you knew he liked, even if it was another thing he'd never admit out loud.
You tried to wrap your legs around his waist, to push back against the palms still pressed against your thighs, but he didn't let you budge, refused to allow you to try and lock him in some more personal position.
For all the times he'd been called a freak, a curse, for these four arms, there were many more he found them quite useful.
He crooked his fingers deeper, harder, and your body was tensing automatically, your focus fading as you discovered yourself lost and floating in the force of his strokes. Your features softening, catching a fleeting hint of a smile before you were squirming again in his grip.
Using your body to beg him for more.
Sukuna did what he always seemed to do. Oblige you.
Pulling his fingers out the second he thought he stretched you out enough, although it was always a tight fit when it came to him, but he paused, collecting your slick and rubbing it across your puckered hole in preparation for his real main course.
You were the only thing he wanted to devour tonight.
Drinking up the way you whined, wiggled your hips as he dipped his finger deeper in your ass, pushing past the initial resistance to open you up. Taking his time before adding another one, keeping a keen eye on your wrecked expression.
“S’torture,” you slurred, weaking moving your arm trying to grab one of his cocks and guide it to your entrance. “Wan’ you.”
Drunk on him.
He snatched your wrist before you could touch though, letting out a low growl before dropping it over your head.
“Then beg,” he mocked.
“Please,” you immediately whispered, eyes wide and wavering. “Please, Kuna.”
Sukuna couldn’t stand how much he felt like a slave when you spoke like that, lips pretty and pursed and painted that infuriating fucking color.
He dragged his fingers out with a heated huff, wiping them on the sheets and glancing down to see how wet you were for him, glistening in between your thighs as he kept them pinned in place.
“Brat,” he dryly name-called, but his top cock was already throbbing as he slipped it through your soaked folds. Your fingers rushed to tangle in his hair, brushing it back and holding it from his face like he wasn't about to turn you into even more of a blabbering mess.
Glossy eyes hazy with arousal, anticipation as he slipped inch by inch inside, his other cock throbbing, aching to feel you too. Veins pulsing, abs tensing as he felt the sinful way you squeezed and sucked him in.
“Hngh,” you groaned as his bottom tip started to grind against your ass, already starting to feel full as the first one found that spongy part at the back that left you scrambling for your senses.
“You're a wreck,” he tch-ed, like he wasn't already resisting the string tugging tight in his own stomach, restraining himself as his second cock finally slipped inside you, the slow burning stretch leaving you frozen, shuddering as you tried to take him without falling apart.
“Y-you,” you gasped, lashes fluttering, stray tears collected in them as he pulled out just to push back in a rough thrust that made a soft squeak escape instead.
“Finish your sentence,” he murmured, dark and dangerous. He wanted to bite. To sink his teeth into your skin until it left the kind of bruises that would mark you as his to everyone who saw.
“It’s your fault,” you huffed, half a whisper, half a whimper.
Sukuna scoffed, rolling his eyes and his hips, stuffing you too full to speak.
One of his hands groped at your chest, grabbing and squeezing, watching them bounce in time with each thrust, leaning down to wrap his mouth around your peaked nipple. Tongue swirling over the top, sucking hard, toying with you while you unravelled underneath him.
You tugged at his scalp, but he was too focused on his current task, lapping and licking at the hardened bud, feeling the soft tissue of your tits while your cunt clamped down around him in response.
Making all sorts of noises that were hardly coherent, moans that hung in the air, the light of the fire dancing across the walls as he fucked you until you forgot all about your attitude earlier.
His fourth hand flitted between your thighs, finding your clit with ease. Sukuna knew your body inside and out. Memorized without making an effort too. He supposed it was simply time.
Rubbing rough circles over that bundle of nerves, well-aware what you liked, what was too much, what would make you whine and cry and try to wiggle free. Although, right now?
Double stuffed with that dreamy look in your eyes, half-lidded and hopeful as you stared up at him while he took you in both holes?
You would accept anything he gave you.
Painting patterns he'd done a thousand times before across that sensitive spot, pinching and playing with it until your thighs were trembling, toes curled as your lips were stuck permanently parted in a broken plea of his name.
You came so easily, he almost found it cute. That soft mind of yours melting with sloppy thrusts, stuffed too full to so much as think while he fucked into your stretched-thin holes, molded into the shape of him. Wrecking you with the way his hips slammed down, threatening to bruise your fragile body.
But you took him how you always did.
With greedy moans, nails raking down his shoulders and slicing through his skin. A little allowance he still gave – one he waited to heal until the morning after every time.
And then he was snapping too, warm ropes of cum spurting out and filling you up, his abs tensing before the abrupt release, his breath briefly growing ragged as his chest heaved.
Most of the world was ugly. A disgusting, boring place he couldn't stand being stuck in.
But the sight of you as he pulled out, dripping with his seed, kiss-bitten and barely held together, shivering as you struggled to catch your breath, well, it wasn't awful.
He didn’t mean to cum inside of you.
A simple accident. He stared indifferently at the cum leaking out onto the sheets, a prick of annoyance setting in at the thought of needing a servant to come change the bedding again in the morning.
It wasn’t the first time he slipped up. But you both were fairly certain years of starving had left you barren. Unable to conceive when you couldn’t even menstruate properly even now.
There was a time when he didn’t think you’d even survive this long. Nights that he was convinced morning wouldn’t come.
Where the snow had collected in your hair and ice clung to your lashes, where he couldn’t tell whose wounds were worse, watching you shiver and shake and cry for someone he could never be.
But it never happened – and you were here now, shivering underneath him for entirely different reasons, sweat making stray hairs stick to your forehead as you belted out one last whine of his name.
He let go of you, dropped your legs, untangled you from his body. Standing up as his cocks still sprang up in the air, rolling his shoulders back as you tried to sit up straight, clearly sore judging by the way you shuffled and readjusted.
“Lay down,” he ordered, but you got down on your knees in front of him anyway. Took his top cock in your smaller hand, still covered in cum and slick, gingerly licking it clean before he pulled you off by your hair. “Do you ever listen to me?”
You pouted at him, but you obeyed this time, pushing off the floor with your palms and crawling back into his bed, pulling the blankets over your bare body.
Sukuna grunted, using a discarded piece of his own clothes to clean himself off, unable to stop his lower eyes from snapping out to watch you while you tossed and turned, impatiently waiting for his return.
Irritation bubbling back up at your wide-eyed stare, how you bit your lip at him before squinting, not saying anything when he yanked the covers back and got in too.
He never understood what was going on in that head of yours.
“Perhaps we could take a walk around the garden in the afternoon,” you hopefully suggested, your fingers hesitantly interlacing with his, readjusting to lay closer to him. He let you do it. Indulged you when you squeezed his scarred and calloused palm.
“I leave tomorrow,” he informed you, his mouth twitching down as your face fell.
He didn’t have to, he supposed. The world revolved around his decisions – he forced fate’s hand.
“How long will you be gone?” You asked under your breath, your hand slipping away from his to fix a loose strand of your previously pinned-up hair. He rolled away from you, the disappointment in your eyes bothering him like some shallow cut that refused to close.
“A couple weeks.”
It ended up being closer to a couple months.
Days spent on battlefields, nights staring up at star-dotted skies or at the ceiling of his tent. His name, which used to only be spoken in hushed whispers under your breath, was now known across the land. Scarred into the people who lived on it.
He returned to his estate with blood staining his robes, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead as servants rushed out to greet him. A handful of concubines he couldn’t remember the names of stepping out to stammer greetings.
But you weren’t there.
Not outside. Or in the entryway.
The bed in his chambers neatly made and markedly absent of the one person allowed to stay there when he was gone. And when he stomped across to your wing and threw open the door to your room, it was empty too.
He sent a goddamn letter before his arrival. Everyone here had to know by now he returned home.
Were you hiding from him?
It wasn’t like he wanted a fucking kiss or fuck.
But Sukuna didn’t tolerate disrespect. Couldn’t.
For as much as he disregarded court etiquette when it came to you, he would be a fool to miss the strange tone the sparse letters you’d been sending to him had begun to take. No longer begging him to return promptly, but telling him you didn't mind his delays. That everything was fine here, no need to rush back to his throne and the woman waiting for him on it.
If everything was fine, where the hell were you?
He could still sense you, still feel you somewhere close, unable to discern exactly where you were. Following the faint presence of your energy, tugging it like a line until he was in the gardens. Trailing down the winding path, leaves scattering by his feet as a chill bristled over his skin until he found a little alcove that was easy to miss, your body curled up on a bench, like you were taking a nap.
“Wake up,” he snapped, tempted to shake you awake as you sleepily rubbed your eyes and started to blink up at him. His mouth opened, ready to snarl something about you catching a cold out here like an idiot with no blanket or cover, say that you knew better, but for once in miserable existence, he was stunned into silence as his senses picked up on a second energy signature swirling around and clinging to your skin.
No, inside of you.
“You’re pregnant,” he accused, staring at your stomach while something unfamiliar stirred in his own.
“It’s-” You weakly started, trying to explain, but he silenced you with only a single hand held up while you made yourself sit. Exhaustion was obvious in the rings under your eyes, your fingers shaking as you fiddled with the skirts of your robe, deliberately loose to disguise the growing bump beneath it, surely.
He was going to behead whoever failed to inform him of this.
The personal servant he assigned to you had to know. The chef too, if he was cooking the proper food for your new needs. And his unborn child’s.
“Your hands work just fine,” he sneered, nose scrunching up as something inside him twisted. He never wanted an heir. Never wanted to bring another curse into this world. How many fucking times had he told himself that? But this baby was yours too. “Why did you not write to me?”
“My lord,” you began again, but you offered no real explanation. “I-”
“You what?” He barked, brash and blunt.
Sukuna couldn't fucking believe it. That you would do this to him.
Not even a single letter?
Was he not worth the truth to you?
He expected this cowardice from the other useless creatures in his court. But you had to know-
“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel,” you admitted, looking down at his feet instead of his face. “I was scared.”
Sukuna nearly laughed.
You were scared of him.
He supposed it was only inevitable. How much blood had you seen him shed? How many lives had he snuffed that you bore witness too?
And now you suspected he was going to take the life of your child. His own flesh and blood, the baby that sprouted inside you, and you were sure he was going to hurt it. Did you think he was going to hurt you too?
“Did I not make a vow to keep you safe?” He hissed, reminding you of the only oath he’d ever taken.
Maybe you were both barely big enough to know what the weight of that would mean, but he held true to his word. Asked the world for enough strength to protect the only person who saved his life, to return the favor, although you surely regretted the childish decision now to offer a starving boy the last of your food when he'd grown up to be the man he was today.
The first time he met you, he tried to kill you. Robbing graves and eating remains, barely scraping by when he saw you under a tree, curled up on your side and clinging to raw roots. He bit you, buried his canines in your exposed shoulder, drawing blood while you startled awake. Your small fists whacking him as hard as you could, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you tried to fight him off. He'd been too exhausted to keep trying, huffing and letting go of you while you whined and asked him why he did that. And still, despite your wet face, the fresh wound, you still offered him your foraged meal, murmuring that he looked like he needed it more than you. He washed it down with the blood on your skin, dragging his tongue over the bite mark while you winced, tasting the salt on your face next.
You didn't stop him.
Started stealing more food, just enough for both of you to survive while he tried to get stronger.
Tied together by circumstances, intertwined by some pathetic twist of fate, two parent-less children uselessly trying to take care of each other.
But still, you were still alive, weren't you? Even when you didn't like what he had to do to ensure it. The times he had to peel the bark off trees and demand you eat it, days where you got hurt trying to defend him, forced to shake your shoulders and keep you awake, shoving down his anxiety that you’d drift off and die.
This, too, was for your own good.
You called him every name you could think of, weak fists hitting his back, telling him to put you down so you could talk about it, as if you hadn't tried to hide it.
What was there to say?
You knew as well as he did he was not a kind man. Maybe you had been made for motherhood after all, but he had not been cut from a cloth destined to be a father.
But he had a vow to uphold.
And you would have a thousand targets on you once word and whispers spread of what you were carrying. Whom.
Locking you up was his only option.
The room was on the other end of the estate, one kept under careful watch by the few people who had been around long enough to know better than to cross him.
You pounded against the door at first, protested that this wasn't fair, like anything in either of your lives has ever been.
A servant would test your food for poison, bringing meals three meals a day while you whined about feeling like a prisoner. But your stomach started swelling with the weeks, a small bump taking shape, your hand reaching out to rub it when he came to visit or the rare occasion he spent the night.
The anger was still blooming under his skin, silent rage burning when you frowned at him, as if he wasn't doing this for you.
He still fucked you, pressed your body into the bedding and claimed you as his, even if it wasn't the same. Your body was changing, your words wilting as you complained about not being able to see the seasons shifting, the garden blooming, missing the weather and the warm sun.
You had him.
Why was that not enough?
A neighboring clan invited themselves over, forcing him to play host while he ordered everyone to stay hush about your current condition, ignoring your pleas begging to attend just one dinner, despite his irritated promise to see you afterwards.
Except – while the festivities were still ongoing, he came to bring you food he personally selected, you had managed to sneak out, slipping past the pathetic guards, or maybe sweet talked them through a sliver of pity to allow you to walk through the garden at the worst possible time.
He stormed through, stomping as he made a mental list of men who wouldn't make it to the morning, sharp eyes scanning through the winding pathways and rose-lined trellises, searching for your energy amongst all the sorcerers here.
Bumping into a scrawny dark-haired man in the middle of the path, vaguely recognizing him as the Kamo head’s eldest son, the stupid startled expression that flashed on his face before he started stammering something about getting lost only making Sukuna scowl before he snapped at him to return to his father before he sent him to an early grave.
He didn't give a shit if there would be retribution, if his threat would amount to something more, his throat constricting and closing at the idea of some other stranger stumbling across you first.
Ripping down a trellis to break through the path, pushing through only to find you bent over and plucking a flower, recoiling at the sight of him when you glanced over your shoulder.
Guilt.
Written all over your face, in the way your mouth preemptively opened, ready to offer a weak excuse for something simply inexcusable.
It wasn't just you that you were putting in danger.
He dragged you back by your arm, tugging you through dimly-lit halls, your soft voice not reaching his ears even when you attempted to explain yourself.
It was only when he slammed the door shut and let go of you in your new chambers, your kimono doing nothing to disguise the clear outline of your stomach that he paused.
“I wish I never met you,” you whispered, pained, pulling away from him while his mouth twitched.
“You’d be fucking dead,” he bluntly said, his dinner churning in his stomach, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Maybe I would be better off,” you spat back.
He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as his thin tether to sanity threatened to snap.
“You’re-”
“You're punishing me,” you pointed out, interrupting him with a finger pressed against his chest where his heart would have been. It didn't feel like he had one anymore.
Maybe he was.
“I'm leaving.”
Why should he stay?
You were ungrateful. Maybe some time apart would make you remember how fortunate you were to be in this position.
Maybe going back to picking off sorcerers would burn off some of the betrayal, dull the blade of rage he felt every time he thought of this situation you were both stuck in.
He didn’t mean to be gone so long.
But there were battles to win, blood to be spilled. And it did make him feel better to see the bodies strewn on the ground, to climb up to the top of the world and look down on everyone else when he used to be at the bottom.
The letter came late. Too late for him to do anything actually worth anything. His estate had been besieged. Surrounded and cut off, only able to send out this single communication from one of the few servants that slipped out during the attack.
It seemed the Gojo’s had been waiting for the right moment to strike.
He didn’t rush back.
Maybe he should’ve. It wasn’t that he had confidence in the soldiers stationed there, in his own forces, but he thought he selected ones with any competence to know what to do. How to handle invaders – even if they were powerful sorcerers.
He took his time fighting his way there, slowly sending sorcerer after sorcerer to early graves. He was the strongest after all. Would go down in history as a monster instead of a man.
Not a single wretched soul was spared.
Although his own soldiers were picked off along the way, he kept moving. One foot in front of the others, carving a path back to you. Back to the small world he'd made for himself.
Slashing and cleaving through them, scoffing at their bold professions of how they’d be the one to take him down. They never were.
It began to get boring.
Monotonous when all it took was a few moves to leave them a whimpering bloody mess on the ground.
He figured the head of the Gojo clan would be waiting for him, probably poised and planning out some grand fight while he tried to wait out and starve everyone inside the estate. Let them grow weak enough they wouldn't be able to do anything to support Sukuna when he arrived.
But he never expected the white-haired asshole to be sitting outside of his gates, casually leaning against it and flipping through the pages before he glanced up with blindingly blue eyes.
“Ryomen Sukuna,” the fabled six-eyes user greeted him, a casual smirk curling up on his lips as his sharp stare dragged over him. He was still covered in scrapes, mere flesh wounds, but the man just grinned brighter, tossing the book to the side and standing up.
No servants. No guards.
Birds falling silent and the chittering of bugs fading to the background as he stared down the only person bold enough to try and take his place by force.
Sukuna wasn't in the fucking mood.
He hadn't been back in months, and this was his reward? There would probably be repercussions that came with killing the Gojo brat, but he was asking for it.
The freak didn’t even attempt to move out of the way when he sent the first slash, just taking it, but it didn’t even touch him.
Sukuna couldn’t help but laugh, amused at the prospect of putting down someone like him. Of an actual challenge for once.
Trading blows, dodges, gritting his teeth to push through the pain when a blow hit him only to grin when he managed to break through the technique that had been protecting his opponent, watching the cut blemish his previously clear complexion.
“I met your wife,” he called out, not even flinching as he wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. “She was pretty. Even with the baby.”
Sukuna saw red. Heat soaring through him, rage radiating through his veins. The fucker had to be lying. Maybe he heard of the baby through a servant he captured, but he had gotten it wrong. You weren’t his wife. Sukuna almost spat out something out that he would surely regret. That asshole didn’t need another reason to go seeking you out. To turn his attention away from Sukuna and to who was inside of the gate.
“You just missed her,” he continued, clearly mocking him, hands moving up, about to throw another attack before Sukuna sent another cleave he expertly maneuvered away from, the gate behind him splintering from the force.
“Shut up,” Sukuna hissed, knuckles clenching as he held them up, but his brain was faltering, failing to come up with what he needed to do when his thoughts had started to uselessly wander.
The fun he’d felt at the start was gone. Replaced with something raw, like every movement he made was stepping on glass, shards of it stuck inside his throat as he was caught off-kilter.
“She begged, you know,” he added. “Said you'd come back for her.”
The next few seconds were a broken blur. Throwing all of his cursed energy into a move, just a little too late to realize the white-haired man across from him was doing the same.
It was the aftermath that was clear. The slashed body cut in half in front of him, the blue eyes staring up at the mirrored sky, seeing nothing after a spoiled life of getting everything. Blessed to never know hunger or pain or suffering like him or you had.
And still, Sukuna knew he was dying too.
Even if he didn’t quite believe it. Couldn’t wrap his brain around the gaping hole in his side, his energy draining as he stumbled forward through the broken gate only to discover blood-soaked halls inside.
It wasn’t a siege. It was a slaughter.
Sukuna had done more than his share to see it for what it was. They were never trying to get his attention by holding his people hostage. They knew he didn’t care. So the clan killed them anyway.
He wasn’t sure when he started running, how his body was even capable of moving, but he had to see it anyway. Confirm what everything in his body was telling him when he couldn’t feel you anymore.
Your guards were gone.
The door was cracked open, his hand impulsively shooting out to shove it the rest of the way, as if he couldn’t smell what was inside.
But you were on the bed, curled up on your side, and he could almost believe for a second, you had been spared. He knew the truth though.
There was only death here.
Rolling you over to see your face, black encroaching on the edges of his vision as his body threatened to give out, blood dripping from his side down to the floor, onto your bed. The light had left your eyes. Nothing else there for him to find in there except a single unspoken accusation.
You're late.
He didn’t have enough cursed energy to repair the damage to himself.
But what was there left to live for anyway?
Warmth.
Hands that didn’t quite fit in his, boney fingers clinging to his palm, too little to belong to anything except a child. For a brief moment, he thought it was yours. His.
It couldn’t be. You were dead – and so was the baby growing inside you. It was impossible, and still, his mind betrayed him. Spawned treacherous images of a tiny thing that looked like you, annoyingly clingy and cute.
His eyes opened, still thick with sleep, blinking slowly as he tried to discern dreams from reality.
It wasn’t your child.
It was you.
Younger, your eyes still shut, lashes fluttering just slightly as he realized when this was. Where you both were.
Back in the old village, in the husk of an abandoned home, where you slept on a makeshift bed of straw and tattered blankets he’d stolen from someone’s trash. Dirt in your hair, shivering before you snuggled closer, exhaling softly as your head rested on his chest.
Breathing.
What sick joke was this?
There was nothing he’d done in his life to deserve a second chance. Was it some kind of hell to repeat his shitty life, cursed and condemned to a similar fate?
He let go of your hand, sitting up to shake your shoulders harder than he should, watching you startle as you weakly opened your eyes. Focus slowly aimed on him as your brows scrunched together, fingers tightening and grabbing his shirt.
“Mm, Sukuna?” You croaked, voice hoarse.
He blinked.
Laid back down, head throbbing as his dry mouth reminded him that he needed water. You were slow to move with him, body still heavy with exhaustion before he pulled you down again.
“Go back to sleep,” he grunted, pressing your head back down against him. Running through the possibilities, wondering if this was just his life flashing before his eyes, a memory he’d forgotten.
But it felt fucking real.
You went stiff, trying to peek up at him, but his palm pressed down on your hair, refusing to let you budge.
Had he really regressed? The clock turned back to a winter he hardly remembered?
“What’s happening?” You asked, but your words were small, muffled into his shirt.
“I’m just tryin’ to rest,” he grunted.
Dozing off without meaning too, something about the pressure of you on him, the faintly familiar feeling of you curled on his chest dragging him into dreams. He didn’t think he’d wake up.
But he did.
And he was still here with you, children once more, condemned to scraping through trash and digging up graves and bugs to fill your stomach. He loathed this weak body of his. The scrawny arms and legs that could barely make it more than a few miles in a day.
You were quieter than he remembered.
More self-conscious, more serious, your smile not quite reaching the same spots on your face. Somehow clingier at the same time, softer with him, not arguing nearly as much anymore over who got to eat what or nagging at him for being reckless. You held on tighter to him in the evenings, pulled him closer, picking flowers you knew he couldn’t appreciate. Pressed a chaste kiss against his forehead, whispered the word friend like it was something intimate. A glimmer of adoration he didn’t deserve still glittering in your eyes.
Would it still be there if you knew where you were both headed?
What had happened before? How you wasted away waiting for a monster who didn’t show up in time? Died for him?
Everything kept happening the same way it had before. You, stealing whatever food you could, narrowly avoiding getting caught and coming back to him with chilly hands and shaking limbs, affection in your words, rare laughter ringing in his ears long after it slipped from your lips. Him, struggling to get stronger, to feed the cursed energy inside him and train on a mostly empty stomach.
He woke up once to you staring at him in the middle of night after going hunting for two days on his own with two measly fish to show for it, your fingers delicately tracing the shape of his jaw before you froze, that funny flicker of guilt in the lines of your face.
“What are you doing?” Sukuna grumbled, unable to work up more than a weak glare.
“Missed you,” you muttered softly, dragging your small thumb over the deformed half of him, just underneath his eyes.
“It was only-” He started, stifling a yawn as you yanked him into you this time, your fingers sliding around to guide his head into the crook of your collarbone, despite the terrible pillow it made.
He fell back asleep there anyway.
Before he realized it, a whole year passed, then two, the seasons changing and shifting, your presence a constant pull by his side, and yet, one he refused to lean on.
Sukuna hadn’t learned his lesson.
Rejected what the world might be trying to show him as he insisted you eat the past-ripe crop while he stuffed himself with the one thing you still refused to take so much of a bite of. You were still clinging to humanity he no longer felt any kind of connection to in his second life.
“This place is wretched,” he muttered the next morning, shoving what few possessions he had in his sack. You were sorting through herbs you collected, not even glancing up when he spoke. Just silently stacking them, barely fucking reacting.
He huffed, loud enough you had to look. “Hm?”
“I’m going,” he insisted, remembering the first time you had this conversation. Where he announced that he wanted to go, wanted to leave this pitiful village and all the awful people in it. You grabbed him, whined about how dangerous it would be before caving in and clinging onto his hand as you asked to come with him.
He had grumbled, shrugging his shoulders, letting your clumsy feet trail after him down a dirt path.
Besides, there was no reason for him to stay here now either.
Why bother reliving the next few years of starvation and scraping together enough for both of you to survive?
“You’re leaving,” you echoed his sentiment, and he shoved down the uncomfortable suffocating feeling settling in his chest.
“There’s nothing for me here,” Sukuna somberly spoke.
You stood up, staring at him with an expression he didn’t understand. Arms folded across your chest, your lips pressed together in a thin line, ready to watch him walk away. Eyes hollow, daring him to say something else, to do something else. To not leave you alone like this.
Why weren’t you begging to go with him?
Tugging at his clothes and trying to convince him to take you too?
He could ask you to. The question was on his tongue, all it would take was a couple words. To grunt out a ‘well?’ or ‘come on’ and surely, you would listen. Would rush around to collect what little things you had and chase after him.
Sukuna’s throat was closing up, constricting tighter with every strained second of silence.
But he didn't say anything.
And all you had to offer was a little tilt of your head and a sad smile, swallowing hard before you said something he almost hated you for.
“I was happy.”
So he left like he said, stepped out and didn’t look back, scoffing under his breath once the village was out of sight that you’d come running sooner or later. Scramble to search for him, face the fact that you wouldn’t be able to survive without him.
What the hell had you even meant?
The only thing here was misery, curdling and coiling, trying to claw and claim his life and yours through starvation and sickness. In the scowls and stones thrown at him for simply having the misfortune of being born. What was there to even be happy about?
He pictured you huddled by a dying hearth, hands held out and shuddering, shutting down the thought before it could curse him.
Sukuna gave it a month before you realized you made a mistake.
You still needed him.
It was never him that needed you.
Getting stronger was easier when he didn’t have to look after you anywhere. Without needing to play babysitter or make sure you didn’t end up in the line of fire during fights. He fended for himself just fine.
Time slipped by faster.
He had more important things to focus on than the weather, redoing all those years of training with expertise from experience, forcing his body to catch up to his brain.
Eventually, he found a companion in a child he stumbled across. A sorcerer who couldn’t quite control their potential yet, but suited his needs just fine. Could cook for him, store food too. They were far more fucking obedient than you were, listened intently when he barked orders at them.
Uruame wasn’t you.
But he didn’t miss you.
He was fine living like this. Slaughtering without discrimination. Growing stronger far faster than he did in his last life. Avoiding the same petty mistakes that had resulted in injuries, acutely aware of the fact you weren’t there to nurse them anymore.
Honestly, other than that, he hardly thought of you at all.
Sometimes, he’d see you in his dreams, the older you, but rather than stuck in that small room, you were laying back in his chambers, one hand on your stomach, a lazy smile on your face while you read a book.
Or he’d wake up in the morning, reaching out for a hand that wasn’t there.
You probably weren’t even alive anymore.
In an unmarked grave or tossed out in the woods. Maybe you managed to get a job as a seamstress, or found a clan or lord to work for as a servant to stave off fate without him.
People were starting to whisper his name now, things getting thrown his way again now, fear sweeping across the land of the four-armed freak out for blood and bodies. If you wanted to find him, you certainly could.
So really, Sukuna had no reason to return.
Perhaps it was morbid curiosity, scratching an itch he’d been ignoring for what? Nearly ten years now? A decade had turned him from a skeleton to a curse, made more of muscle than anything else, his bulky frame far more menacing than it had been even in his last life. Well-tuned, energy coiling around him as he walked down familiar paths as he found himself standing on the outskirts of the place that had never really been home.
It looked almost the same.
And yet, the only thing that mattered was missing.
The frame of the place you both used to sleep under had caved in, the thatched roof fallen into a pile of debris, the rest of the houses intact. Their inhabitants cowering inside as he prowled down the street, glaring as he felt the world still.
Uruame was standing by his side, head bowed slightly down as they assessed the situation.
“Would you like me to go door-to-door?” They asked.
“Fine,” he tch-ed, shrugging his shoulders, his robes hanging loose as he walked ahead without them. There wasn’t a single trace of your energy. No sign to be found.
An elder stepped out, aged wrinkles doing nothing to disguise the tremble in his mouth as he welcomed the monster that had been born here so long ago.
“Ah, welcome-”
“Where is she?” He snarled before he could finish.
“Your friend?” He feigned innocence, taking pride in his position as if it meant anything when a single sweeping motion of Sukuna’s fingers could cleave through his skull if he chose. “Ah, I believe she left, what was it? Two springs ago?”
Tilting his head to the side, pretending this was a friendly conversation rather than his last words.
“Left?” Sukuna repeated, scoffing at the fucking notion you would just go.
Sukuna would search every home and rip every meager fucking foundation from the ground before he believed that you left.
“She didn’t say where-”
Blood was strewn against the mud wall of a home behind him, a scream ringing out from someone watching.
This was just a waste of his fucking time.
He burned every house down. Left the village for the third time in his life in ashes, dark rain coming down as the smell of meat burned his nostrils.
That would catch your attention, remind you that he existed if the elder had even been telling the truth. Sukuna considered the chance he was lying, that perhaps you had passed away long before he'd ever stepped foot back here on this pointless endeavor and the man had foolishly attempted to save everyone else by making up some story about you leaving.
But you didn't show up to scold him.
And eventually, the memory of you started to shrink. Maybe it was shoved down, forced under the surface while he focused on what he told himself was important. Defeating all the sorcerers he had so long ago, settling his score with the Gojo clan by catching them off-guard this time, razing their estate and refusing to spare so much as a single servant while the fear sparked and spread across the countryside as the cowards crawled into their shells and threw whatever they thought would satiate him out.
But not everyone was terrified.
The Kamo clan was just as interested in him in this life as the last, the head of it inviting him over for a proper tour of their own sprawling compounds, one Sukuna only begrudgingly accepted.
The man was strange, stitches etched across his forehead, but he agreed with Uruame's opinion that he might be useful in the future considering his output of cursed energy, so he tolerated his presence.
A potential future partnership.
He loathed to think that he needed a partner at all.
But even Sukuna had the sense to see why an ally like him might work out in his favor someday.
Despite how much he loathed this forsaken estate.
It was lavish, annoyingly so, traditionally designed and upholding the pillars of a lifestyle Sukuna still felt repugnance towards.
His partner refused to shut up, insisting they continue this irritatingly long conversation through their gardens, Uruame dutifully opening the door and taking notes for Sukuna as he nodded along to whatever he was spewing now.
Sprawling flower beds and arches adorned with roses, studying thorny stems wrapped around the trellis, a strange urge tempting him to pluck one. A faint memory started to float up, a name that plagued his dreams, but then he heard something he’d almost forgotten.
A pretty laugh. Soft and sweet.
A dessert he hadn’t tasted in so long, the taste was lost on him.
But he recognized it instantly.
He tried to ignore it. Focus on the boring political spiel he came here for, to shove it down, telling himself it had to be his imagination. A fractured remnant, dug up by these stupid fragrant flowers.
Until he felt it.
Sensed your presence, his head snapping in that direction to spot a picnic blanket spread out on the bank past a small koi pond. You were here. You were happier.
Dressed in silk robes, smiling as you popped a strawberry in your parted lips, the juice dripping down the corner of your mouth. A thumb reached out, dragging over it to keep you clean, and he repressed a sudden surge of pure rage.
Anger simmering at someone touching you like that, daring to put their filthy hands on what was his, his seething stare shifting to see some dark-haired man, a black tattoo stretching across the slope of his nose, brown eyes only focused on you.
He knew that face, even if it was just a distant image of a night he'd rather forget. The night you snuck out, the one from the gardens before he found you.
Kamo noticed his stare, chucking softly.
“That’s my son, Choso, and his fiancée,” Kamo informed him, nodding towards the two of you. “Would you like to meet-”
“No,” he interrupted, scowling at you playing house.
So this was where you found yourself?
Cozying up to the Kamo clan to secure a future for yourself? Instead of choosing him?
He wanted to laugh. Actually, he wanted to murder that runt, and then-
“He’s actually a few years older than you, but I doubt…” Kamo continued, and Sukuna felt one of his fists reflexively start to take the shape to send a slash his way, only quelled by that annoyingly bright giggle of yours as he brushed a finger over your lips. You fucking licked it. Running your tongue over his knuckle, reaching up to grab his hand and hold it there.
You left him for this?
Walked away from him to become the next womb for the fucking Kamo clan?
Too enraged to even realize he was the one who left you, all his muscles too tight, too tense, cursed energy flaring up as he fought to keep it under control here.
“Are you alright?” Kamo carefully asked, brows knitted together as Sukuna’s jaw flexed tight.
“Yes,” he managed a one-word reply, turning his head away from you.
Were you pretending he didn’t exist now? Was he a chapter in your story that you were choosing to forget?
His focus had shattered.
Fractured into something he couldn’t scrape together, his thoughts lingering on that infuriating expression of yours. For once, he was stuck on what to do. A possessive thing inside him curdling and demanding he take you back here and now, cut off every damn digit that had touched you.
But the splintered remnants of his reason reminded him that he was supposed to be here to form an ally.
Which probably wouldn’t appreciate him snatching his heir’s bride.
It made Sukuna fucking sick to think of you as another man’s wife.
One of Kamo’s assistants scurried up, bowing his head deeply before muttering something to his master. His face scrunched up, and he shook his head before looking up at Sukuna apologetically, “Would you excuse me for a few minutes?”
Sukuna only tch-ed, waving his hand as he glanced around the suddenly suffocating arched walkway of the garden.
“Feel free to look around as you please,” he politely said, but he didn’t miss the cruel glint in his eyes before he walked away. The look of a man who knew too much. Bored enough to enjoy other people’s misery.
Sukuna tried to walk away.
To continue down this path he’d picked, to push you and your pretty laughter back out of his mind. But it curved in on itself, and here it was again. There you were.
He couldn’t stop himself from looking.
You were sprawled out, hair in the grass, giggling happily at the boy in front of you. Sukuna thought he’d seen every expression of yours. Sad, starving, smiling, he was sure he’d known all of you.
But you never looked at him like that.
So free.
Unburdened, unbridled by what, exactly? Him?
“You’re beautiful,” you murmured to your groom, grinning as he gripped your legs and hooked them around his waist. Your robes mused, pushed up to reveal plush thighs, soft skin that still made his mouth water, spit pooling in the back of his throat as this fool failed to appreciate-
“I could live a thousand years and I would trade them all just for this moment to last,” he spoke quietly, his chest rising and falling too fast, like he had to hurry to get the words out. Assured, the kind of certain Sukuna wasn’t sure he ever gave you.
“Would you?” You teased, one corner of your lips curling up higher than the other, clearly past pleased.
The man, this Choso of yours, nodded, acting like a loyal knight as he craned his neck down to kiss the tip of your nose. You wrapped your wrists around his neck like he was some missing puzzle piece, fiddling with the ends of his hair as you sighed with contentment.
“Tell me more,” you requested.
Sukuna didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to hear this poor excuse of poetry and confessions as he watched from the sidelines like some sick voyeur, all four eyes stuck on the familiar curves of your body as your betrothed shoved your clothes to the side to shove himself in you.
Could it even be considered fucking?
All slow and tender, treating you like some fragile thing that might break, rocking his hips against your body as you dug your heels into his back. Kissing your mouth instead of sucking on your tits, caressing your exposed skin rather than holding you down.
And yet, you were making more sounds with him than you did with Sukuna, tiny whimpers that hung in the air, moans that ended up muffled in that bastard’s mouth. Writhing and wiggling your hips like he wasn’t an amateur.
“I would do anything for you,” he whispered, and Sukuna nearly snorted, sure that he had no idea what anything really meant. Would he starve for you? Kill for you? How far would he go just to call you his?
Because right now, Sukuna was considering stomping over and cleaving him into his next meal to make sure he’d never be able to see you again, and he was fairly certain that your Choso couldn’t say the same.
“All I want,” you purred, eyes opening slowly and fluttering, flooded with pleasure Sukuna unfortunately had to face he did miss. “Is for you to stay with me.”
You didn’t even know Sukuna was there, and yet it still stung.
Felt like an arrow aimed directly at his heart.
“Of course,” Choso answered easily, head bobbing, dark strands hanging down as his next thrust left you tossing your head back.
Sukuna would do anything for you. But he just couldn’t get himself to be there.
“I love you,” he moaned, rutting harder, even faster, your thighs locking him into place as you giggled at his expression. Sukuna stalled, staring uselessly at the moron’s cock drunk confession.
“I love you too,” you sweetly whispered back, brushing his hair back from his face.
He had to step away before he saw anything else.
Before he got to watch the man cum inside you the way he used to, before he made another decision that would destroy his life – and yours.
Sukuna didn’t know peace. He never had any to offer you.
When he stepped back, he had the misfortune of stepping on a tiny twig, as if his afternoon wasn’t awful enough.
Your head snapped up first, your eyes locking onto his, and he saw the recognition before the guilt. How you held your breath, the light dissipating from that warmth you radiated as if his shadows swallowed you whole.
And he didn’t know what gave it away, what little detail in your face did it, but he realized something he failed to fucking notice for far too long.
This had never been his second chance. This was yours.
He had never deserved it. Or you.
You knew it too.
The universe tried to spare you, and he got tangled up in it. Your soul and his were still tied together even when the world attempted to give you a new life.
after all the fights, the losses, the endless cursed energy—he just wanted quiet. a big house on the outskirts of tokyo, no missions, no students to worry about. he was in his forties now, white hair starting to show darker grey strands. wrinkles crinkled around his blue eyes when he smiled, which wasn’t as often these days.
he spent mornings drinking coffee, afternoons reading books he never had time for before. peaceful. boring, maybe, but safe.
then you showed up. it was an accident, really. he was at a small cafe in the city, grabbing takeout, when you bumped into him. your coffee spilled all over his shirt. you apologized a hundred times, young thing in your early twenties. he laughed it off, said it was no big deal, but those eyes of yours stuck with him. bright, full of life he hadn’t felt in years. he offered to buy you another drink, and somehow, that turned into dinner. then more dinners. then nights at his place.
now, you keep him up all night. not in a bad way. god, no. he loves it. loves the way you straddle him in his bed, sheets tangled around your legs, your young body moving like it’s made for this. he’s propped up on pillows, hands on your hips, watching you ride him slow at first. you’re so wet, he can hear it, the slick sounds as you take him deep.
“fuck, baby,” he groans, voice rough. his cock throbs inside you, thick and veined, filling you up just right. “just like that.” his thumbs dig into the soft skin just above your ass, guiding you faster.
you lean forward, hands on his chest. there’s grey hair there too, scattered across his pecs. wrinkles crease deeper around his eyes as he groans, head tipping back for a second before snapping forward again—he can’t stop watching.
you roll your hips harder, grinding your clit against him on every downstroke. your thighs burn, but you don’t slow down. “satoru... feels so good.” he sits up suddenly, chest pressing to yours, one arm locking around your lower back. the shift drives him deeper, punching a sharp cry out of you.
“yeah? you want it harder, baby?” he growls against your ear, then bites the lobe—hard. his other hand slides up to fist your hair, yanking your head back so your throat’s exposed. he drags his mouth down it, teeth scraping, sucking bruises that’ll show tomorrow.
he knows it’s not forever. you’re young, full of energy, could have any guy your age. but he spoils you rotten anyway. buys you pretty things—lingerie that hugs your curves, dresses that show off your legs, anything you want really.
he takes you shopping, arm around your waist, pulling you close when younger boys stare. they do, all the time. eyes lingering on your ass, your smile. it pisses him off. he wants to blast them into nothing for even looking. but he just tightens his grip, kisses your temple, whispers, “you’re so pretty.” you lean into him, and it eases the jealousy a bit.
at home he’d eat you out like a man starved, making you forget about all the other boys you’ve seen that day, staring at you. satoru’s hands slide up your thighs, pushing them wider apart as he settles between, grey in his hair catching the low light when he glances up at you.
he never thought he’d love this so much. back in his twenties, eating a girl out was just something you did to get her ready, polite foreplay before the main event. but now, in his forties, with you—he’s obsessed. can’t get enough of the way you taste, the way you shake when his tongue finds the right spot.
“look at you.” he drags his mouth up slow, lips brushing slick skin, teasing. “soaked already. this all for me?”
you nod, breath hitching. he smirks, then licks a long, flat stripe up your center, groaning low in his chest like he’s the one getting pleasured. your hips jerk. he pins them down with one forearm across your stomach, the other hand spreading you open.
“fuck, you’re pretty,” he mutters, almost to himself. then he dives in. his mouth closes over your clit, sucking gently at first, tongue flicking fast and precise. you cry out, back arching off the bed. he doesn’t let up—just keeps that steady pressure, that perfect rhythm he’s learned from watching you fall apart on his face night after night.
he pulls back just enough to speak. “love this pussy. love how you get so fucking wet for me.” then he’s back, tongue pushing inside you, curling, tasting deep before sliding up to circle your clit again. two fingers slip in easy and he curls them just right, pressing that spot that makes your legs tremble over his shoulders.
your hands fly to his hair, gripping tight, pulling him closer. he growls into you. “satoru—please—”
he knows what you need. speeds up, fingers pumping steady. sucks harder, tongue lashing side to side until your thighs clamp around his head. he doesn’t care if he can’t breathe—just keeps going, lost in it, in you. loves the way your hips grind against his face, desperate, chasing it.
he’s always been careful when he was younger. too aware of cameras, reputations, the weight of being the strongest. sex was good, sure, but it was controlled. in bedrooms, hotel rooms, never anywhere he could get caught. he told himself it was maturity, responsibility. really it was just fear of losing control.
with you, that fear is gone. burned out of him the first time you slid your hand under the table at dinner and squeezed him through his pants while smiling sweetly at the waiter.
later you pull him sideways to a photo booth behind the train station and he knows what you’re doing the second the curtain closes. you’re in his lap before the first flash even goes off, kissing him slow and deep, tongue sliding against his like you’ve got all night. your hands are in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him groan into your mouth.
he tries to keep it tame for the first two photos—smiles, bunny ears, whatever—but by the third you’re grinding down on him, feeling him get hard under you, and he snaps. his hands shove your skirt up to your waist, fingers hooking in your panties and yanking them to the side. he frees himself, cock heavy and aching, and pulls you down onto him in one rough motion.
you both choke on the sound you make. it’s tight, cramped, but he doesn’t stop. he grips your hips and fucks up into you hard, fast, desperate. your hands slap against the wall for balance, forehead pressed to his, mouths barely apart so every moan goes straight into each other. the camera keeps flashing—four, five, six—catching your faces twisted in pleasure, his jaw clenched, your eyes rolled back.
the booth spits out the strip of photos a minute later. you’re both flushed, hair messed up, pure lust on both your faces.
he keeps that strip in his wallet. pulls it out sometimes when he’s alone, thumb tracing the edge, remembering how insane you make him. how he never would’ve done that at twenty-five, too paranoid, too careful. now he’ll fuck you anywhere—photo booths, the back of his car in a parking garage, once even in the restroom of a fancy restaurant because you whispered you weren’t wearing anything under your dress and he almost lost his mind.
he’s too old to care about getting caught. all he cares about is you, how you sound when you come, how you look at him.
nanami brings it up every time they meet for drinks. same quiet bar, same corner booth, same tired lecture. “she’s twenty-three, gojo. twenty-three.” nanami’s voice is flat, measured, the way it always is when he’s trying not to judge too hard. “you’re old enough to be her father. find someone your age.”
satoru just smirks into his whiskey. “can’t.” simple as that. he doesn’t explain the way his chest tightens when you laugh at his stupid jokes, or how he wakes up hard just from you shifting in your sleep against him.
he doesn’t say that the thought of you with some college boy—hands on your waist, mouth on your neck, some punk who’d make you split the dinner bill 50/50, expect you to drive yourself home, and wouldn’t spend half the day with his face buried between your thighs—makes him want to hollow purple the entire campus. those boys wouldn’t know how to treat you right, wouldn’t worship you like he does.
wouldn’t spoil you rotten—buy you whatever you want, drive you everywhere, let you be his passenger princess with your feet up on the dash while he handles everything. they’d fumble, selfish and rushed, leaving you wanting. he’d rather burn the world than let you settle for that.
satoru just smirks deeper, swirling the glass. he doesn’t tell nanami about the quiet things. how he pays your rent three months ahead without you knowing, just in case your part-time job ever falls through. how he swapped out your old laptop for a new one while you were in the shower, left it on the desk like it had always been there.
how he noticed the tiny crease between your brows last week when you checked your bank app, and by morning the student loan payment you were stressing over was gone, marked paid in full from some anonymous scholarship fund he set up.
he sees everything. the way you bite your lip when you’re anxious about exams, the way you pretend you’re not cold so you don’t have to ask for his jacket. he fixes it all before you even say a word. books the spa day when you mention your back hurts in passing. fills the fridge with the weird yogurt you like that’s always sold out. drives an hour out of his way to get the dumplings from that one place because you felt sad the other day.
satoru knows. he knows because he watches you closer than anyone ever has. if that little worry line ever shows up on your forehead again, he’d burn the world down to smooth it away. buy whatever you need, cancel whatever’s stressing you, hold you until the crease disappears and you’re soft and warm and laughing against his chest.
and yeah, sometimes late at night he looks in the mirror and wonders what the hell you’re doing with him. you’re so pretty it hurts—smooth skin, bright eyes, body that makes people stare on the street. and he’s got grey in his hair, lines around his eyes, and that ugly scar slicing across his torso from sukuna, pale and raised and impossible to ignore when he’s shirtless.
but then you crawl into bed and push him onto his back, kissing him slow until he’s breathing hard. you trail your mouth down his neck, over his collarbone, lower. when you reach the scar you trace it with your tongue, pressing kisses along every rough inch of the mark that used to remind him of almost dying. then you keep going, further down, lips brushing his abs, his hips, until you wrap your hand around him and take him in your mouth.
he doesn’t say any of that out loud, of course. just downs the rest of his drink and shrugs. “she’s fine,” he says. “better than fine.”
because you are. he makes sure of it every single day, quietly, obsessively, without you ever having to ask. and if that makes him the villain in nanami’s story, he’ll wear it. he’s not giving you up. not when he can take care of you like this—like no one else ever could or ever will.
one night, after you come hard on his cock, clenching around him until he follows, spilling deep inside you with a grunt, he pulls you into his chest. your head tucked under his chin, one of your legs thrown over his, his cum leaking out between your thighs. his heart is still pounding hard against your ear, sweat cooling on both of you. his fingers trace slow patterns on your back, up and down your spine.
he stares at the ceiling, feeling the weight of you on him, warm and real and here. he’s always told himself this can’t last—too big an age gap, you’ll want someone younger eventually, someone who doesn’t have grey creeping in, who doesn’t wake up with new aches. he’s prepared for it, or he thought he was.
but right now, with you breathing slow against his skin, your fingers curled over his chest like you never want to let go, something shifts. he thinks about waking up to you tomorrow, and the day after, and years of it.
he thinks about how much he fucking loves you—how it’s been sitting in his chest for months, never said out loud because it felt too big, too risky. he loves the way you laugh at his dumb jokes, the way you steal his shirts, the way you fit against him.
maybe it won’t end. maybe this is it. maybe he gets to keep you.
he presses his lips to your hair, holds you a little tighter, and lets himself believe it, just for tonight.
he watches you intently from his spot across from you at the patio table as you bounce one of your friend's babies on your lap. the hand holding his red solo cup squeezes around the plastic in an attempt to lower the urge to snatch you up. you keep giving him that innocent smile in your form fitting dress, looking like the picture of domesticity and a wet dream of his come to life.
he shifts in his chair, cup warping beneath his grip, jaw tight as he drags his gaze slowly down the line of your thighs, then back up to your tits, which keep bouncing just a little with the soft motion of your body while you entertain the child. "you seem to know what you're doing." he grunts.
you have that one look on your face you always get when you're teasing him. you hand off the baby to one of your friends so the poor thing isn't involved in the intense stare-off you and him have going on, and you grin, leaning forward and tipping your head to the side, fluttering your lashes at him. "yeah, it feels natural, hm? bet i'll be real good at it when you put a baby in me."
he shifts in his seat and spreads his knees further like it'll calm the way his cock is hard and pushing against the zipper of his jeans. you haven’t touched him once and his cock is already uncomfortably swollen just from watching you be sweet to everyone else in. "don't talk like that." he says sternly, unable to handle your dirty talk while in public.
"your face is warm, are you alright?" you smile innocently, your big eyes sparkling sweetly. you tug your hair up off your neck with a soft, whining sigh and his breathing picks up sharply. you did that on purpose. it's not far off from the sounds you make when he's balls deep in you, which doesn't help his situation. " 'm fine, baby. 's just hot outside."
he wonders if he made the right choice to come. he was debating dragging you back to bed and away from the car the second you chose that sundress, form fitting and showing a questionable amount of cleavage for a barbeque in your backyard where you'd intended for your man to meet some of your friends and their husbands; a group date, if you will. now, you've stood up and started moving around the barbeque, and he feels like he's being tormented on purpose. the way you stretch when you reach for the cooler, arms overhead, back arching, your dress straining against your ass.
he hasn't spoken in a while now, to any of your friends. he just nods or shakes his head or clears his throat any time he's addressed, because he cannot think right now. you keep drifting past him like you're checking on something, brushing your fingers along his shoulder, placing a very calculated kiss right to his sweet spot; the area right under his ear.
you keep pretending not to notice how wrecked he looks as his jaw keeps flexing, throat working every time he swallows, like he's physically trying to restrain himself. he watches your ass bounce and hips sway when you walk. "oh fuck me," he mutters low to no one in particular. he catches your arm the next time you walk past him, dragging you close to him so he can lean forward and whisper in your ear. "you like being a fuckin' menace, huh?"
and you do, that's what makes this so fun for you. you keep doing that little pout, bottom lip soft and pushed out, head tilted like you're confused when you're really not. he grunts, hand coming up to wrap gently but very firmly around the base of your throat, thumb just under your jaw as he tilts your head up, and his voice lowers. "you keep lookin' at me like that. walkin' around like that. can't you sit still?"
you blink up at him with a little grin. "i thought you said it was hot outside, baby. 'm just trying to keep cool." he scowls at your bullshitting and squeezes your neck.
"yeah? y'wanna see how cool i can be when i stretch out your sloppy lil' pussy?" your breath catches in shock at his tone, but your cunt gives a dull throb nevertheless. he continues, clearly fed up with your antics, leaning in so his mouth brushes against your cheek.
instead of backing down, you just reach down and take his hand off your throat, kiss the inside of his wrist before glancing around, voice sweet and breathless. "stop being so needy, babe. i'm sure you can behave yourself for a few more hours." you say, your voice soft and patronizing.
he's furious. his eyes rake over you, slowly, hand moving to the small of your back, holding you closer to him now. "i'm sick of you being such a little brat, y'hear me? do you wanna be punished?"
you scoff, and pull back just enough to give him a smug grin. "mm, you're so dramatic," you murmur like it's cute and he isn't five seconds from fucking you on the grass like a wild animal. "chill out. 'm gonna go get a popsicle. i'll grab one too so your mouth has something to do other than talking."
he stares after you, stunned while you walk away with your hips swaying. his cock is throbbing, nearly painful in his jeans now, the cotton of his boxers chafing into skin in the worst way possible. he would get up after you, but his cock is so fucking swollen that he cannot get up without causing a scene, and you know it.
he watches as you pull open the cooler lid, lean all the way over to dig through it, your dress riding up just enough to send another wave of fury through his bloodstream, before you pull out a popsicle and rip it open with your teeth, lips closing around it. your man exhales through his nose, pushing his hand over his lap in an attempt to hide his problem, watching you lick and suck and slobber onto that popsicle like it's his cock. not helping. "she can't be fuckin' serious..." he mumbles, his pulse spiking. his gaze focuses on you, lashes flickering as he tries to prevent the stupid glassy eyed expression he gets whenever he looks at you.
damn him for having such a big crush on his girlfriend.
you stroll back to him, still licking at your popsicle, and lower yourself onto his lap, right onto his cock. and with how thin your dress is, he can easily feel your plump pussy lips and folds against his jeans. you're... not even wearing panties.
you know there’s nowhere else for you to sit, and he knows you timed it like that on purpose. you wriggle like you're just getting comfortable onto his cock, and the noise he makes in response is feral. his hands fly to your waist on instinct, and his whole body jerks under you, hips twitching up against your bare cunt even though he's doing everything he can to hold still. he squeezes you, hard. "you. you've got five seconds to get off me."
you giggle and roll your hips instead so your pussy grinds down on his bulge, and he groans, squeezing you tighter and putting his face in your neck. he needs you to stay still before he creams himself, but you're a fucking brat with no self restraint. "don't think i will," you hum petulantly, reaching up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. "you're so comfy."
his hand comes under your shirt to squeeze at your flesh, he's so swollen and pent up that he's started leaking steadily now, his body begging for release. you won't sit still either, continuously grinding on him as he moans into you skin, biting into your throat to muffle his noises. "mmngh... 'm gonna fucking ruin you, you goddamn brat," you smile in response, all saccharine and smug. "in front of my friends, baby? don't think so."
he lifts his head slowly. "say one more fuckin' thing. go ahead. see what happens."
"you're hard as a rock, baby." is the last teasing remark you make before he gets up, dead silent, and yanks you up with him, his hand sliding around your waist. you stumble a bit in your sandals, but he catches you with no effort, one strong arm across your back to hold you close enough to him that his soiled pants and erection aren't visible. his free hand squeezes your upper arm firm enough for you to know he's done with your shit.
-
"baby, fuck! slow d-down, mmmh, oh my god,"
he's got you down on a bed in one of the rooms upstairs, the music coming from the speakers down at the barbeque the two of you abandoned now faded and replaced by the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. you're laying down with him plowing into you from behind so roughly your vision is swimming, and one of his huge hands is splayed on the back of your neck to keep you down while the other squeezes your hips. he's grunting and panting harshly behind you, eyes blazing with anger.
"slow down?" he spits, voice rough as he bends down to talk against your ear. his chest is heaving, sweat sticking to his chest as he ruts into you from behind uncoordinatedly, thrusts hard and sloppy and inconsistent like he's lost the ability to pace himself. "you want slow now? after all that bullshit downstairs? after grinding on my fuckin' cock in front of everyone like a needy little slut?"
his hips snap forward hard and you cry out as he starts fucking his cock deep inside you, your walls stretched out around his cock close to unbearably. his hand at your neck doesn't let up either, making it impossible to lift your head and do anything but take his cock in your soaked, puffy little pussy. he keeps you pinned down like you're a wild, untamable animal. "told you not to fuckin' play with me." his voice is low now, rasping through clenched teeth, "i told you to sit your pretty little ass still, but no. and now look where you are, hm? getting fucked like a whore."
he pounds into you, his bulbous head swollen and pressing down heavily at your sweet spot, too much, too long. you're seeing stars each time he bottoms out and kisses the gooey spot in you so rough that you scream, and tighten up so much that it feels like you're milking his cock. you try to squirm and lift yourself up a little to get away from the overwhelming amount of pleasure just for a second, but he slams in harder, shoves you back down, and you whine loudly, legs quivering weakly.
"couldn't help yourself, huh?" he growls, dragging his hand down your spine to slap your ass, hard, making you jolt and clench. "wanted to make me mad. wanted to see what i'd do if you were a little slut in front of everyone." your mouth hangs open as you pant and drool, fingers clawing at the sheets for something to hold. "baby fuuuuuck, please! i didn't-"
"don't fucking lie to me." he says quietly, his thrusts now quicker and rougher, his heavily balls slapping against your ass while he grinds deep inside you. you sob, twisting under him. "yes, yes, baby, i swear fuck, i'm mngh, sorry, 'm sorry,"
his cock twitches and throbs inside you with enjoyment at your pitiful sounds, and he thrusts into you from behind hard enough to watch your ass bounce and jiggle. you try to fuck yourself back on his cock to try and guide the pace or maybe encourage him to let you do the work but he squeezes the back of your neck in warning and pushes down on your back so you can't move anymore. you mewl pitifully, unable to gain any control. his length, thick and veined with a curve that hooks inside you at the perfect angle to kiss your cervix and your g-spot in every thrust, scrapes at your walls mercilessly. he's pounding you as a punishment.
"sh-shit... yeah?" he breathes, voice shaking slightly. "you're sorry now? while you're soaking my cock like this? fuckin' pathetic, baby, you're not sorry at all." he slams forward again, hard enough to make your whole body jolt, and you fist at the blankets for dear life, getting fucked into oblivion while your pussy clenches around him weakly. he hisses through his teeth, cock grinding down into the slick mess between your thighs deeply.
his hips buck sharply, cutting himself off with a guttural moan as he fucks into you so rough and uncoordinated that you feel like he wants his cock molded into the shape of your cunt. "bet you were wet the second we got here," he growls, leaning down to lick at your shoulders and bite your throat, laying on you from behind so you're now in prone bone, the new position making you both moan loud as his cock shoves into you impossibly deeper. one hand is sliding fingers into your mouth so you slobber around his fingers, while the other holds your wrist down. "oh fuck, baby... this pussy's so fuckin' good... fuck..."
you're sobbing now, the overwhelming fullness, the tight stretch, the pounding driving your brain to mush. "please," you whimper, barely able to speak around your cries. "i-i can't... too much, it's too..."
"shhh" he snarls, tugging your hair back a little so you're forced to arch for him, your hole spread for him. his cock shoves so deep inside you, and your walls pulse and flutter around him as the buildup of your orgasm coils up in your tummy. "you wanted this," he murmurs. "y' fuckin' asked for it. grinding on me, teasing me, sittin' on my lap with that messy little cunt, this is what you get."
he rams into you harder, strokes mean, and your slick makes filthy squelching noises with each sloppy, animalistic thrust. his cock drags against every soft, sensitive spot inside you like his cock knows instinctively exactly where to hit to make your toes curl. he pushes into you harder, putting just enough of his weight on you to be shy of smothering. "baby, i c-can't, 'm gonna cum," you sob, your voice wrecked and desperate, your voice is slurred and muffled around his fingers pressing down onto your toungue.
"yeah?" he pants into your skin, slotting hot, open mouthed kisses to your shoulders and throat. "you gonna cream on my cock like a good little girl? gonna soak me while everyone outside's thinkin' you're sweet and innocent? fine, nasty lil' thing. cum on my cock." he then turns your head, taking his fingers out of your mouth so he can kiss you deeply, his tongue immediately connecting with yours to kiss you filthily and messily, capturing your moans with his mouth.
you come apart by screaming into his mouth, your body clenching and trembling as the orgasm rips through you, your cunt squeezing him in pulses so tight he chokes on a loud groan. his hips jerk up ino you as he fucks you through your orgasm, thrusts sloppy and urgent. he pulls back from your mouth a little, licking your swollen lips and tugging your hair to make eye contact. "look at me. 'm gonna fuckin' breed you, baby. gonna stuff this messy lil' pussy full and make it mine."
you're still cumming, overstimulated and sobbing into the sheets when he slams in one last time with a ragged growl and spills inside you, his cream hot and coming out in languid, thick splurts. you feel every twitch and pulse of his cock as he empties himself into you, his whole body shuddering above you while he groans loud and unashamed.
he doesn't pull out right away, just stays buried deep, breathing ragged against your skin with his hands coming around to squeeze your breasts under you to ground himself. he exhales shakily and presses chaste little kisses to your shoulder, cock still rock hard inside you. he absently ruts into you, laving his tongue over your sweat slicked skin while you twitch under him weakly. some of his cum leaks out of you, but his fat cock keeps most of it stuffed inside. he pinches your swollen nipples and moans against your neck. "fuck, this perfect fuckin' pussy, baby. wanna go for one more?"
You find yourself on your boyfriend's lap, positioned with your back pressed against his muscular chest. he's bouncing you on his thick, throbbing cock with deep, rough thrusts, making you feel every inch of him each time he slides his length against your gummy walls. "F-fuck, ba-babe..." you slur, voice a pathetic mewl.
You're stuck in his lap, legs spread wide and shaking. your dress is bunched up and your panties are down by your ankles as he keeps both hands locked on your hips while he fucks you on his cock like you're nothing but something to use.
At this point, you're hardly coherent. In fact, you're barely able to breathe through the choked little gasps that leave your mouth every time he lifts your hips and slams you back down again, burying his cock in you all the way to your womb and stretching you around him.
His car shakes just enough to be suspicious as you get ravaged in the parking lot of the bar he took you to to meet some of his childhood friends. The plan had been to get you to meet some of the guys he'd grown up with, and hopefully get you all on good terms, but you couldn't seem to behave for one night.
A couple drinks enough to get you tipsy paired with your loud nature had been enough to get you to go too far.
"He's -hic- totally my bitch, you guys," you'd said with a grin that took up your whole face, waving your hand dramatically. "He acts tough, y'know, all big and quiet and scary or whatever, but I swear to god," you leaned in across the table like you were telling a secret, all conspiratorial and smug, "this man says yes ma'am with a mouth full of my p-"
"That’s enough," he’d said then, right next to your ear, and you should've stopped, but you didn't.
The second everyone laughed, clearly loving how you were revealing such intimate details about their secretive friend, you only immersed yourself further into the moment. you'd let out this airy little laugh and nudged his thigh under the table, like you were just being cute.
"You guys don’t even know," you'd giggled, your voice a little too loud. "He’s literally obsessed with me. Like, whipped. If I even hint that I want something? He’s already got it in the cart. If I want it in bed? He’s already on his knees. Like, he’ll beg for it, beg, and he’s so good at it too, you guys, it’s actually adorable,"
He didn't even say anything as he excused the two of you from his friends, hauled you out of the booth, and dragged you out towards the car for a "talk", and now here you are.
Your boyfriend remains surprisingly focused, but you can tell he's furious. His huge hands are gripping your hips so rough that his thick fingers leave indents on your flesh. Soft, breaTHy groans leave him as he stares at your fucked out expression, watching the way you shudder on him and struggle to take him in.
"You think you're so cute and funny, hm?" he grunts, his voice hoarse and deeper than you’ve ever heard it. "You think I'm your bitch?"
He punctuates the question with a sharp thrust that makes your whole body jolt, your eyes fluttering shut as a broken cry escapes your lips. His mushroom tip hits right at the deepest part inside you that makes you see stars. He's so deep inside that you're sure if you looked down right now, you'd see him bulging out from your tummy
"Saying all that shit in front of my goddamn friends?" His hands push your body forward so that he's arching you harder to get deeper inside you. You can feel his huge, fat cock rubbing against your sweet spot with each thrust now. "Y'sat there and lied to their fuckin' faces like I don't handle you whenever I want."
You try to respond, but you can't whimpering and moaning stupidly to try and convey that you didn't mean it, but with how he's splitting you open, you can't.
"Should’ve carried you over my shoulder out of the bar the second you opened that your mouth," he snarls, hips snapping into you harder. He drags you back onto his cock and stretches you out with each thrust.
His hand moves from your back to your throat, wrapping around it to guide your head back so you're forced to hear every word he sneers against your ear.
"Does this feel like I'm the one begging, baby?' he mutters, dragging his cock out almost all the way before slamming it back in, grunting as your body tightens around him. "You’re dripping. Can barely fuckin’ hold yourself up."
"Ngh, I-I'm sorry!" you mewl, lips parted as moans leave your lips. His cock feels so good inside you, and each time he pushes himself in completely, his cock leaves a soft kiss on your womb. His fingers squeeze, sinking into your skin as he pulls you down onto his cock, impaling you over and over. His breath comes hot and heavy against your neck, his tongue lolling out to lave over your sweat-sheened skin, tasting you.
His free hand finds your nipples, rolling and pinching the stiff peaks roughly, sending jolts of electric pleasure shooting straight to your core. Your tits swell in his palms, aching and tingling from his groping, the hard points of your nipples feeling warm as he rolls the pads of his fingers over them, groping your breasts shamelessly while sinking his teeth into the column of your throat.
"Still got something to say? Huh?" he snaps, squeezing your throat hard enough to make your vision sparkle as he keeps driving into you, relentless and heavy, like he’s trying to fuck the brat out of you. "Go ahead. Say it again. Tell me I’m your bitch." You try to catch your breath, head swimming, and whisper something like "I didn’t mean-" but he shuts you up with another hard thrust that makes you gush around his cock.
His hips rise and fall with powerful thrusts, his massive cock disappearing into your plump, soaked pussy again and again. The thick, pulsing shaft stretches your entrance obscenely, your slick walls struggling to accommodate its girth. Each thrust forces lewd, wet squelches from your core, the obscene sounds of your juices being stirred up and splashed around his dick.
"Stupid mouth, always running," he breathes against your hair, his grip on your neck tightening just slightly. "Sayin' shit that makes me want to lose it. But I still show up for you. I still take care of you. I still let you act like a fuckin' brat because I love you."
You moan, turning your head to press your lips against his, hoping it shows him that you’re really sorry and love him just as much, and to your delight, he accepts it, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your mouth in response, his tongue rolling over yours. The head of his cock kisses your gummy sweet spot with every thrust, battering against the entrance to your womb, as if he intends to force his way inside and shove his cum right into your depths.
Suddenly, with a sudden, sharp tug on your hips, he pushes you forward off his lap. Before you can catch your balance, he's gripping your hips and pulling them back, shoving your upper body down onto the seats so you’re folded in half. The leather is cold and smooth against your palms as he positions you in front of him with him fucking into you from behind.
He wastes no time, gripping your hips hard enough to leave finger shaped bruises on your skin as he hilts inside you with one brutal, balls-deep thrust. The angle is different like this, allowing him to plunge even deeper, his spongy tip slamming into your cervix as he grips your hair and tugs your head back.
You're forced to arch your back, neck craning to look up in front of you as your boyfriend sets a vicious pace pounding into your slick pussy. Drool drips down your chin, a strand of saliva connecting your lower lip to your chin as garbled moans and desperate cries spill from your plush lips. "Fu-fuck, I’m s-sorry baby... f-feels so good, I... m-more please..."
Your words come out slurred, broken by every hard thrust that rocks your whole body forward, his grip iron tight on your hips as he keeps you exactly where he wants you, bent over in the seat like a perfect little mess just for him. The second that needy little more slips out, he lets out this ragged groan through gritted teeth, one hand releasing your hip only to come down with a sharp smack on your ass, making you jolt and whine.
"Oh, now you’re sorry?" he growls, voice dark and low, laced with that edge of fury he’s barely holding onto. "Didn't sound sorry when you were running your fuckin' mouth back there."
Your plump pussy lips hug his shaft like a vise, stretched taut around his girth and glistening with your juices. each time he draws his thick cock back, you grip onto him, almost sucking him back in. Your soaked cunt makes the filthiest squelching noises as his cock plunges in and out.
Your boyfriend groans unabashedly, head thrown back as each thrust brings him nearer to orgasm, his eyes fluttering shut. With one last thrust, he slams your hips back against his groin, grinding your ass into his pelvis as he hits your cervix.
His cock jerks and throbs, pulsing as it paints your insides white with his hot, thick cum. Rope after rope of his seed floods your womb, filling you to the brim.
The feeling of his hot cum gushing into you triggers an overwhelming orgasm of your own. You scream, back arching almost painfully as pleasure crashes through you like a tidal wave. Your pussy clamps down on his spurting cock, the muscles rippling and milking him for every last drop of him.
He grinds against that sensitive spot deep inside you, rubbing and thrusting as he rides out the aftershocks of his climax. Every movement sends sparks of ecstasy shooting up your spine, drawing out your own orgasm. Your juices gush around his shaft, mixing with his cum as it squirts out around his cock with each press against that soft little sweet spot.
As the last spurts of cum paint your insides, your boyfriend leans over your back, his chest pressing into your shoulders as he pants heavily. His hands release your hips to trail slowly up your sides, almost tenderly, as if savoring the feeling of your sweat slicked flesh.
He huffs, low and warm against your skin, pressing a kiss to your shoulder now that he’s spent and still inside you. "Now we're gonna get you cleaned up and you're gonna tell my friends you're sorry for acting up. Let 'em see who you belong to."
fucking the school loser behind your bf's back pt. ii
↳ pt i here!
he groans lowly and grabs for your waist, tugging you into him and kissing you messily. he doesn't let you catch your breath for a second, merely scooping you up with his hands under your thighs while he carries you, lips on yours, to his car out in the lot behind the football field.
your hands tangle up in his hair while your tongue rolls over his. for someone as strange and unsettling as him, he tastes oddly pleasant, like mint and smoke. his lips, though chapped, mould on yours so perfectly that it feels like he's made for you. he squeezes your thighs and nips your lower lip, murmuring into your mouth, "you're not walking into that stadium again unless it's with my cum dripping out of you."
you moan into his thought, warm and fuzzy at the idea of him breeding you in the back of his car and making you walk back to the pitch when he's done with his cum stuffed in you and dripping out every step you take.
your arms lace tighter around his shoulders as you go back to kissing him, tilting your head to get the perfect angle of your tongue against his, and your mewls get louder when you do. "mmh, mmh..." you hum softly.
his mouth moves against yours urgently, almost as if he's starving. his tongue slides against yours as he walks with you in his arms, slotting into your mouth in messy, wet strokes that make heatwaves travel through your body and pool at your core.
"you taste so sweet," you can feel how hard he's breathing and he squeezes you tightly like you might run away and never talk to him again after this.
you pull back just enough to breathe and he chases after you, lips dragging down to your jaw, your neck, his mouth warm and frantic. "don't stop," he mumbles against your skin, breath hot, voice wrecked. "give it back t'me. come on, pretty. kiss me again."
you oblige and shove your mouth back into his just as he reaches his sleek car, and he fists his pocket to find his keys, unlocking it without pulling away from you, and lays you down in the backseat under him with no effort. it smells like cedar and his natural, everyday scent. he doesn't let up off you for a second, already spreading your thighs apart so he can slot his body between your legs.
you're so small underneath him, pliant and needy and reaching up to tug at his clothes and his hair to ground yourself while he strips you fully, not wanting an inch of you covered. he could afford to do so, as his tinted windows and huge body hid you from any passerby that may wander near his car, though he doubts anyone would be anywhere but the game right now. anyone normal, of course. not little brats like you who wanna get pounded in the backseat of some social reject's car.
he's quick to strip you of every article of clothing on you except for your cute knee high socks and the lacy stretch of your panties, which are now so soaked that they've become sticky and translucent and stick to the plump lips of your pussy. "look at the nasty lil' mess you made." he tuts, voice mocking as his thumb runs over the outline of your cunt through your panties, which makes you jolt and instinctively reach to claw at his hand.
"w-wait! 'm sensitive," you whine, extremely tender from cumming so much already, but he doesn't seem to care at all. he pushes you back into place, grabbing your wrists firmly and pinning them above you with one of his huge hands. "no shying away after you begged me to fuck you like a little whore. you're gettin' what you asked for." he says sternly, still rubbing you through your panties.
you squirm beneath him, bucking up into his hand before wiggling away due to overstimulation. you don't know if you want more or less. your panties grind against his fingers, and he pushes his fingers up against your panties so your juices squelch and make a huge mess in your underwear.
he drags his thumb up slowly and presses just right against the swollen, soaked outline of your clit through the thin fabric, and you moan, high and whiny. he finally, finally pushes your panties aside, exposing your glistening cunt to the cool air of the car, and his eyes go hazy at the sight of the mess between your thighs. "fuck, you're so pretty down here," he mutters, fingers dipping into your folds, spreading you open with ease. he tosses your panties somewhere in the heap of your clothes at the floor of his car.
his fingers slip through your soaked, swollen folds easily, and he relishes in the little gasp you make as he notches his fingers knuckles deep inside you, twisting and curling his fingers immediately to stretch you out. his eyes are locked on the slick that strings from your pussy to the base of his fingers, and he groans in delight. you're this soaked for him. only him. he swirls his thumb around the tight ring of your asshole in the meantime, not pushing in yet, but to spread your slick around to your other hole too. "mmh, please, 'm sore," you whine, knowing how much you want it anyway.
"shh... you don't want me to stop. look at your pussy, she's gushing. didn't even need to prep you," he mocks, pumping his fingers into you fast and rough, your toes are curling against the leather backseat and your head lolls back, mouth falling open as loud moans leave you. you can't even respond anymore to tell him not to tease you, because your soaked cunt pulses every time he says something mean.
he pushes his fingers down inside you, the pads of his fingers resting still on that sweet spot deep inside you, while he fumbles with his belt and begins to tug down his pants and boxers. but too much pressure on such a sensitive spot inside you, which already experienced so much stimulation is far too much for you. you thrash underneath him, feeling a very odd coiling feeling in your tummy, and also the need to pee...
"w-wait, ngh! take your fingers out, p-please, i think... i think 'm gonna..!"
he ignores you, slipping in a third finger and using all three to push down hard on that spot, and before you can stop yourself, you're gushing around his fingers intensely with a scream so loud he has to let go of your wrists to cover your mouth.
he freezes once you squirt around his fingers which remain buried deeply inside your fluttering walls, and as you gush all over his hand in several hard, uncontrollable pulses, his eyes go wide, pupils blown out, and he leans back slightly to watch. "...oh, fuck."
his voice is quiet at first, like he genuinely can't believe what he just saw.
he looks down at you, eyes flicking from your soaked pussy and thighs to your brightly flushed face, then back to the ruined state of your pussy. "you just..." he breathes, curling his fingers inside you experimentally, which makes you jerk under him and gush a little more around him. he's fascinated. a girl like you can't be real, can you? "...squirted on my fingers."
he doesn't even try to hide how turned on he is. despite cumming earlier from frotting with you back outside behind the bleachers, he's rock hard again, cock bulging at the front of his cum soaked pants. he lifts his soaked hand up and parts his fingers to look at the gooey strings between him, and then pushes two fingers into his mouth, licking at your juices. you squeak, embarrassed beyond belief and red in the face, but still too far gone to tell him how dirty he's making you feel right now.
moaning at your taste, he pulls his boxers down to rest at his knees with his jeans, and his fat cock springs up, swollen and flushed a bright red at the huge, flared tip, with several strings of pearlescent liquid clinging to the fabric of his discarded boxers and more leaking down the shaft. you're both soaked. he lets go of you just long enough to line himself up at your soaked entrance, nudging the tip through your folds and collecting your slick. his other hand comes up to grab your throat, so he's holding you still, grounding you in place.
he makes sure to stare into your eyes intently as he slowly sheathes himself inside you. he sinks in slow at first, just the thick, heavy head of his cock pressing into your fluttering hole, and you gasp, arms wrapping around his neck, eyes rolling back, feet digging into the seat.
you whimper, nails scrabbling at his shoulders the second he frees your hands to hold onto your throat and hips. he leans down to kiss you again while you adjust to his size, fat tip swelling at your womb while he rests inside you and swirls his tongue around yours. he starts to move, slow at first, hips rolling, grinding, both of you panting into each other's mouths, your thighs shaking with every bounce. he pulls back just a little to murmur against your lips, "mnhh, shit, this pussy's fuckin' choking me."
you cry out under him, overwhelmed by the stretch and the sensation of his thick cock splitting you open inch by inch. it burns, but it's good. your body clenches around him helplessly. "too much... mmmh.... s'too big," you babble, but your hips don't stop moving under him, fucking yourself onto his cock even as tears prick the corners of your eyes.
"yeah?" he groans, fucking you so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach. "but you said please, baby. remember? begged me to fuck you. so take it." he bottoms in and out in rough thrusts that make your whole body jolt, ensuring each thrust has him fully inside you. you're so soaked that he slides in perfectly every time, your walls clinging to him deliciously while his cock also slips inside you with filthy, loud schlick's. he's sliding in like nothing, your walls clenching and sucking him in tighter with every thrust while your slick soaks his shaft.
the car rocks as he thrusts into you, his cock splitting you open with each thrust deep inside you. your pussy stretches slightly to accommodate to is girth, and he feels his mind numbing at the way your pussy slurps him in with each thrust. he groans loud, head tipping back and his hand squeezing firmer around your throat to make your eyes flutter. not for long, though. he likes to look into your pretty eyes while he ruins you.
"open 'em," he demands, squeezing a little on the sides of your throat to jolt you back to the present. he slams into you with a particularly rough thrust, your tits bouncing and head lolling stupidly at the feeling of being fucked dumb on the school loser's huge fucking dick. "there you go. such a good girl f'me, aren't you?"
"uh... uh... uhhuhhh...." you breathe out stupidly, drool slipping past your parted lips. your fingers dig into his broad shoulders and then trail down his body, exploring his broad frame and muscles. before you look back into his eyes. he chuckles, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your swollen lips, the gentleness contrasting the way he's pounding into you and holding your throat. "look at you." he hums. "forgot you're a disloyal little whore, didn't you?"
he snaps his hips up into yours, a small bulge forming in your tummy where he lodges his cock so deep inside you. "or maybe," he sneers, "you just don't care about anything but having your cunt stuffed to the brim."
you cry out, dragging him down so you can bury your face in his neck, and he kisses your jaw, fucking you while laying on top of you. "cum for me again," he demands, lips brushing your temple while his hips roll into yours. your legs tremble and curl around his waist, each thrust making your pussy flutter around him. you try to clamp down on him, but his girth makes it so difficult.
he's splitting you open with every drag of his cock against your raw, plushy walls. sobbing into his skin, he mumbles filth into your ear while his hands travel down to your waist and he drags your body up effortlessly so his cock is tilted up inside you, the perfect angle for him to hit that same spongy spot inside you over and over, making your mouth drop open in a silent scream. you clamp around him hard, fingernails digging into the firm muscle of his back. the pressure inside you winds tight, tight, tighter...
" 'm cumming!"
you explode around him, pussy convulsing around his cock. your whole body seizes, a strangled moan ripping out of you while you cream around him uncontrollably.
"fuck, fuck, look at you," he moans, watching your pussy pulse around him, fluttering on his cock like you were made for it. "holy shit, baby."
he pulls out just enough to see your slick gush after him before slamming back in, making you sob. he shoves your thighs up higher, practically folding you in half now, forcing you open wide so he can fuck even deeper. the wet, obscene sound of your cunt sucking him in grows louder with every thrust, echoing in the small space of the car, and he grits out, "you feel that? feel how deep i am? gonna fill you up, fuck, 'm gonna breed you."
your head spins and you nod frantically, moaning out broken, babbled yes's, even as tears slip from the corners of your eyes.
"fuck, fuck, fuck."
he buries himself to the hilt and cums hotly inside with a deep groan, heavy, fat balls twitching as he empties them deep inside you, so much at once that you can feel your womb filling up to the hilt. he keeps you locked against him so all of it floods inside you. "ngh... 's such a fuckin' perfect pussy," he groans aloud, mouth falling open as he keeps filling you and filling you and filling you until your belly distends just slightly from the volume of his cum.
you're gasping, clinging to him, body limp beneath him while you both ride it out together. he pants into your mouth, breathing hard, kissing you through the aftershocks. his voice is low, barely audible, wrecked. "mine. fuckin' mine. look what you do to me."
he stays inside you, twitching every now and then as your fluttering walls milk him, your slick and his cum seeping out around the base of his cock.
_
you make your way back to the football field with wobbly legs and your cheeks flushed. you tried your best to fix yourself up before going back, raking your fingers through your hair, redoing your mascara and touching up your lip gloss, praying it hides how swollen and red he made your lips.
you put your hair down so any marks on your skin aren't visible, not that your dumbass boyfriend looks at you close enough to be able to tell. the loner's cum is still hot and thick inside you, leaking a little down your inner thighs with every step, wetting the inside of your cheer skirt while the rest pools into fat globs in your panties.
the crowd is screaming loudly and your cheer girls are bouncing and huddled up with the football team. the whole field is lit up in bright stadium lights, and no one is looking around for you right now. you use it as an opportunity to slide in through the back fence and under the bleachers to act like you'd been here the whole time, and you go to where the other cheerleaders are. unfortunately, you weren't as subtle as you thought.
ava, one of the girls in your year that you usually hang out with at lunch squeals and grabs your arm. causing the other girls to quickly turn their attention to you too. "where were you?" she screeches. "coach was looking for you!"
you blink coyly, rubbing the back of your neck to give the impression of being embarrassed. "i just really had to pee," you lie "mid routine, but then i couldn't find the right bathroom, an' i got mixed up and all of them had super long lines, and i'm so sorry, i was literally crying the whole time-" you sniffle.
the girls coo over you. you're just too sweet and cute to be mad at. so sweet, that no one would ever think you just got fucked in the back of the school loser's car.
then, your boyfriend barrels into you, carrying the unpleasant scent of sweat from the exertion he produced while on the field. he yells your name and picks you up with both arms around your waist, causing a fresh scoop of cum to trickle out of you. you squeak, hoping it's not noticeable, and he spins you in a circle. "there you are!" he shouts, loud and giddy, "my girl! babe, we fucking crushed it!"
he kisses you hard, and you giggle awkwardly, letting him brag about his win like he didn't just get cheated on for the past hour and a half. "i was watching," you lie with a perfect little tilt of your head. "I saw everything! you did so good!."
and that's when he walks up. he stands out of the crowd on his own, mouth red, eyes low, and hair a little mussed. there are faint lipgloss marks on his neck and jaw that he didn't wipe off.
he's walked in like nothing's happened, stopping at the edge of the crowd with his gaze locked on you very blatantly. you stare back while in your boyfriend's arms, and he follows your gaze and scowls quickly, arms tightening around you. "the fuck is that guy looking at?" he snaps, his voice obnoxiously loud. "why is he staring at you like that?"
you blink innocently, letting your eyes go all wide and confused. "who?"
"him," your boyfriend hisses, nodding over your shoulder. "that fucking creep. what the hell is his problem?"
you shrug, still looking at him, not your boyfriend. "um... i dunno... maybe he's high?"
your boyfriend scoffs, and tugs you in closer like he's marking territory. "yeah, well, he can fuck off. that fucking freak's probably just scoping out girls he can perv out on. probably watches porn in his room all day."
he doesn't look away from you, even as your boyfriend runs his mouth. you wonder if he can still smell your perfume on his hoodie. you hug your boyfriend back and lean into him, coaxing him to just leave it. he obliges and carries you back to the crowd to celebrate, and you look over your shoulder one last time to see him finally turn and walk away.
does a secret, once uncovered, have the power to destroy the one who dared to look?
pairing — alucard x witchprincess!reader
synopsis — your connection with your lover is one for the books, but there is a shadow cast over your stolen moments of intimacy. a carefully guarded secret that alucard wears close to his heart. the passion he offers is intoxicating, yet an unsettling feeling persists: is he seeing you, or is he looking straight through you to someone else?
word count — 7.4k
content warning + tags — MDNI 18+ ONLY, fem reader, periodic au, angst, plot with smut, alucard having an ex for plot purposes (ooc)
Your laughter rang through the secluded room in the castle as you engaged in conversation with Trevor, rolling your eyes with a smile at another one of his insufferable remarks. Unbeknownst to you, irritation simmered just beneath the surface as Adrian watched closely, tightening his jaw and letting an unwavering frown sit atop his pretty face.
The hunter had the smuggest grin and Adrian’s lip curled up in disgust as he watched the banter, paying attention closely. Was he failing to see anything charming about him? He shouldn’t allow these thoughts to trouble him and yet he could not stop the tightness in his chest that refused to be ignored.
“What is it about him that I don't understand? Or is it just that you prefer the companionship of a crude hunter over someone who knows you?”
His words were sharp enough, cutting the tension you weren’t aware of. You turned around to face him, both of you now standing in the library, the fireplace crackling behind you as you placed down your book.
You sighed at his words, crossing my arms as your large dress pooled at your feet. “You mustn’t be so serious all the time Alucard,” You replied, furrowing your eyebrows and earning a silent scoff from him at the sound of his alias leaving your lips rather than his given name.
“Trevor is funny. And brighter than you would expect,” You slowly paced over to the near bookshelves, glancing over your shoulder at the dhampir.
A humorless smile tugged at his lips as he watched your dress rustle with every move.
"Funny? Bright? Is that what you value now?" His voice was softer, but no less edged—like a blade wrapped in velvet. "He laughs too loud and speaks too much, yet you find light in him?"
He stepped closer, golden eyes narrowing slightly. "And don’t deflect with that name—Alucard. You know who I am beneath it. And still… you choose jests over silence that understands you."
A beat passed—quiet save for the crackle of distant firelight. "...Do I amuse you, (name)? Or am I simply... inconveniently intense?"
You swallowed softly, letting him speak and being utterly dumbstruck in return. Silence passed between you two before your eyes darted away but he simply stepped into your view, desperate to be seen by you.
“You know why I call you Alucard. Your name is too intimate, too…important to be spoken in passing by just anyone.”
“You are not just anyone-”
“It carries grief and sorrow.” Your voice broke out, interrupting his interruption as your eyes finally met once again. “Witches don’t take names like that lightly,”
“And you do amuse me Alucard, I never said otherwise,” You looked at him with a huff. “What is up with you this evening? You are unusually…alarmed. Trevor is good company but so are you. 2 things can be true,”
The mention of his name, spoken in that soft tone, stirred something deep within him—a flicker of emotion he tried desperately to quell.
“I do not need amusement, not if it means sharing your attention with fools like Trevor."
His fingers curled into tight fists at his sides. "What am I, (name)? A distraction? Something to be set aside when better... options present themselves?" His jaw tensed again, but he forced himself to take a slow, measured breath—an attempt to regain a measure of composure.
You quirked an eyebrow in confusion, taken aback, fully turning to face him as you took a step closer. “Is— is that what this is?” You questioned with raised eyebrows, an amused smile curling on your lips before you got rid of it at the sight of his embarrassed expression.
“You are jealous. You. Jealous of Trevor?” It was almost laughable.
He stiffened at the accusation, the word jealous echoing in his ears. He opened his mouth to deny it, to deflect, but all his words died on his tongue.
Your heels clicked against the floor as you took strides towards him till your chests were touching and you grasped his long, pale hands in yours.
“Alucard, you are my lover. When I said Trevor was bright and funny, I did not mean you weren’t,” Your lips formed a thin line, your eyes widening slightly in reassurance.
“You too are bright and funny. You make me laugh, and think. Deeply. Your humor is different from Trevor’s yes, but in a good way. You two offer different perspectives on things and that is fine,”
His eyes widened, surprise flickering in them as you spoke—he had expected an argument, for you to dismiss his concerns. But here you were…taking his hands, reassuring him, comparing him to Trevor of all people.
His fingers curled around yours, gripping tightly. His voice was rough when he spoke.
"I… I'm being foolish, aren't I?"
“A little. But I like it,” You squeezed his hands in yours before chuckling and kissing his cheek and a warmth bloomed across his features.
“Calm down, Adrian,” His birth name uttered from your lips like an incantation and almost instantaneously he obeyed. Your hand rubbed up his arm and glanced at his golden eyes and locks, smiling softly.
He exhaled sharply—his name, that name, on your lips, was like sunlight breaking through centuries of storm. Adrian. Not Alucard. Not the warrior, not the weapon.
Him.
His shoulders dropped, his forehead reached forward onto yours, the tension melting from his frame as if you’d undone a spell with just a whisper.
"...You say it like it is sacred," he murmured, voice unsteady now—not from anger, but awe. "And when you do... I forget how to be anything but yours."
He lifted his free hand to trace your jawline with trembling fingers. "Maybe I needed to hear it. Or maybe I just needed you to remember that I am not made of stone." A rare, soft smile touched his lips. "Even if I act like it."
“And I need you to realize I am not made of porcelain,” A faint, knowing smile touched his lips as you pivoted, not bothering to check if he was trailing you. He was.
You fluffed your dress, settling on the window alcove, gazing out over your kingdom.
“I’m not some fragile being you need to protect from everything bad,” You crossed your arms and ankles, eyes never surrendering his image.
“I am a lady, yes….I am a witch princess, yes, but that is not all to me,”
His gaze was unyielding, steady now—no longer storming, but deepening like the quiet before dawn. He didn’t sit beside you right away. Instead, he leaned against the stone windowsill, arms crossed as if guarding himself from his own impulses.
"Fragile?" he echoed softly, turning his golden eyes to the moonlit towers below. "No... I don't see you as porcelain, (name)."
He turned his head slowly to meet your stare—intense once more, but not with jealousy this time. With recognition.
"I see a storm in you," he murmured. "A quiet hurricane wrapped in silk and firelight. You command roots and stars alike... yet still." A pause—he looked down at his hands briefly before meeting your eyes again.
"Still… I fear for you when others don’t understand your strength only because it doesn’t look like steel or fang."
His voice dropped lower.
"I know what it means to be more than one thing—half monster, half man—and yet expected to choose one nature over another." He stepped forward and knelt by the seat so your eyes were level again, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. You couldn’t hide the smile on your face.
"You're right—I protect too fiercely." A flash of humility softened his features. "...But not because I think you break easily."
"Because I'd burn the world before letting anything dull that light in you."
“You speak so poetically. I’m jealous.”
A deep chuckle replied to your quip as you both silently got lost in the other’s eyes. His lips quirked in response, a hint of playfulness in his eyes. He'd expected a lecture, a tongue-lashing, a dismissal—instead you called him poetic? Only you.
With a single, fluid motion, you ascended, the subtle persuasion of your grasp and a soft, upward pressure on his hand guiding him to follow to which he wasted no time obeying.
“Come, it is late,”
His hand tightened around yours as you pulled him to his feet. "Late?" He questioned, but didn't protest as he let you lead him away. "Do you plan on keeping me up all night again?" His gaze darkened, a smirk tugging at his lips.
You glanced at him with a smile as you made your way through the long corridors, passing by knights who bowed.
When the pair finally made it to your corridor, you pushed him into your chambers, barely shutting the door with his body as you pressed him against it, placing a kiss on his lips. A peck. Then another on one cheek and one on the other.
His arms encircled your waist as you peppered kisses across his face, savoring the sweetness in every soft touch. He gazed at you with nothing but pure love an adoration, one hand reaching to cradle your face, a thumb stroking your cheek while the other gently along your hips.
"Is this how you treat all your guests?" he teased, ducking his head to capture your lips in a real kiss this time, his hand moving up to thread in your hair.
You smiled into the kiss, gasping slightly at the surprise. You hummed at his question, parting your lips just slightly to respond.
“Just the really handsome ones,”
He groaned, his grip on you tightening as you bit his lip, deepening the kiss. He'd meant the tease flirtatiously, but the way you'd responded awakened something more in him. Something impatient.
He pressed closer, moving his hand from your hair to your jaw and tilting your head back to expose the soft expanse of your neck. He pressed a trail of kisses down the column of your throat, his voice muffled against your skin.
"Mmm. I suppose I'm in good company then," he murmured in response.
Pushing you forward and keeping his lips locked onto yours, he didn’t stop till the back of your legs hit the frame of your bed to which he gently placed you down on. His eyes roved over body, nimble fingers moving quickly to push up your dress, crinolines and petticoat. How he despised these dresses during times like this.
“Forgive me, I am too impatient to fully undress you tonight,” He choked out, almost ripping off the rest of your undergarments to expose you to him.
“Marvelous,” Was all he could mutter out. His throat dried at the sight of how wet you were from barely his touch.
How did he get so lucky?
His fingers gently pressed against your folds, the stickiness immediately coating his fingers as he pushed in. A low groan left your lips as you bit them, keeping your gaze on him. He started a slow pace, pushing in and out, gently, as he always was with you. He took them out momentarily to lick his fingers and almost creamed in his pants.
“..y-yeah..” His hips stuttered just at the taste as he bucked them into the mattress, his cheeks already starting to glow a rosy shade. He was pathetic.
He dove his long fingers back in and your cunt could do nothing but clench around them, desperate for him just as he was for you. His tongue came to rub on your clit and you had to clench at your torso to keep yourself from cumming right there and then.
“Fuck…like that,” You moaned out, your eyes glazed over and so were his. Golden eyes staring at you like you hung the moon, adding pressure after pressure on the spot that he knew turned you into a dumb babbling mess.
He glanced up at you, as if giving you a moment to prepare yourself, running his hand up and down your thigh before finally leaning in and disappearing under your huge gown. You felt a small kitten lick on your folds and threw your head back at the contact.
His eyes widened as if he’d forgotten how you tasted on his tongue. More slow tentative licks followed and you could do nothing but whine out.
He wanted to see you, look at how ruined you became but this damned dress was in the way so he made sure you were extra loud. It was sudden how his tongue flicked over your clit and manic licks came afterward, quick like he was being chased.
Your legs wrapped around his neck, squeezing hard as you reached for his hair, tugging under all your extreme garments. Damn those.
You couldn’t even speak, lifting your hips and rubbing it in a circle, grinding all over his face as his nose hit your clit over and over again, his tongue lapping at you like a man dying of thirst.
He was ravishing you. Worshipping you.
“Adri-Adrian-” You cry out, clenching your teeth together as you felt that familiar squeeze in your core. “S-slow…slow..” You tried to sound out but every hushed syllable that left your lips fell on deaf tears.
“All over my face darling- want you…all over my face,” He gasped out, hands coming to clench around your thighs, pushing his face deeper as he humped the mattress, continuing his ministrations till you could do nothing but succumb to it.
Oh but he didn’t stop there, he never did. He let you ride out your high, continuing to lick and bite and suck. His fangs hit your sticky folds as he got started once more, not giving you a moment to catch your breath.
“Thats it- please–” He moaned out, lapping up all of your juices, careful not to spill a drip.
You were barely awake when he finished, eyes fluttering, unaware of how many times you’d reached your peak, and so was he.
It was almost pitiful how he was able to cum so easily by only giving you pleasure. He palmed himself through his pants as he took a step back, just watching you lay there, waiting for him. You’d touch yourself to give him a show too if you could.
His eyes fluttered as he added more pressure, rubbing his clothed cock over his hand. The sight was too intoxicating, you freed one of your breasts from your corset, moaning as your fingers circled the bud.
“I need you…”
“Need me where baby?” He shed his pants, now pumping himself, tightening his hold to mimic the grip of your gummy walls as he used the cum leaking out of his tip as lube.
“Need you in me…filling up my senses-”
“Fuck..” He murmured, groaning as he looked up, closing his eyes in euphoria, biting his lip. He stepped towards you with shallow breaths, leaning down and gently pushing himself in.
God you were so aroused and tight. His pupils dilated at the tight squeeze, almost cumming again. He paused to calm himself down before pushing in once more and you both moaned together. His forehead came to press on top of yours as your lips connected in a sloppy kiss and so did your hips.
The pace was unruly, slow, unorganized but it was deep, sensual and intimate. Every time his tip kissed your g-spot, you let out a matching moan. It was just nasty. The way your eyes stayed on each other as he fucked you.
“I love you…I love you…” He muttered in between thrusts and kisses, one hand coming to cradle your face as your bodies moved together. He squeezed his eyes shut but you held his chin to keep his focus on you.
“Fuck…I love you baby..” He whined, pushing up your garments to watch where the both of you were connected. A mess was made in between your thighs and he swiped some of the liquid, pressing it between his lips as he thrusted deeper and deeper.
“..So much..”
The sun pierced the stained glass in your bedroom, laying down bright streaks upon the floor, and landing on your face as you stirred in the bed, waking up from your slumber, your dignity preserved only by Adrian’s shirt and your blankets after the events of last night.
Reaching for Alucard, you noticed him already awake in all of his naked glory. He'd been lost in thought, golden eyes staring into nothingness as he sat on the edge of the bed.
“Alucard?” You questioned, sitting up and letting the covers fall off your body. A hand found his elbow, a gentle, possessive tug meant to keep him wrapped in the sheets.
At the sound of his voice, he started, as if emerging from a trance. Your hand wrapping around his broke through the haze, and he turned. Your sleepy smile, your half-lidded eyes, the way his shirt hung loosely off your shoulders—it all tugged at the corners of his lips, pulling a rare, tender smile from him.
"...Good morning," he murmured, letting you pull him back under the covers.
“Good morning, you’re still naked,” you chuckled, bringing the covers up to his waist to shield him. You leaned over him, resting your head against his chest as your fingers slightly traced his abs. “How long have you been up?”
His arm curled around your shoulders, holding you against his bare chest. He let out a soft hum, a sound of contentment as he lovingly gazed at you. The early morning light cast a soft glow over your skin, and he found himself tracing your collarbone lazily with his knuckles.
"Not long," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Just thinking."
His other hand idly toyed with a loose strand of your hair, his thoughts already drifting elsewhere.
“Of?” You questioned, your fingers gently poking his cheek with a mischievous smile. He didn’t stop your absentminded trailing into his mouth, your fingers prodding and poking at his fangs. Instead, he continued speaking like they weren’t even there. He’d gotten used to your curiosity over the time he’s known you.
"You," he said simply, voice low and warm like embers. "The way you look when you sleep—like the world finally makes sense." His golden eyes flickered down to meet yours, amused despite the intensity in them. "And how foolish I was last night… letting jealousy twist my tongue."
He caught your wandering fingers gently between his own before they could drift too close to the sharp edge of a fang. Held them. Kissed each fingertip slowly. Your heart fluttered.
"...And how someone as fierce as you chooses to let a creature like me rest beside her." A pause—"Still baffles me, (name)."
The sound of his voice grew velvety, reflected in the newfound calm of his regard.
"You poke at my fangs like they’re toys… but forget I can tear through steel with them." He tilted his head slightly, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. "Yet all you do is trace them—like they belong in sonnets instead of bloodshed."
His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "...I suppose you make monsters feel... human."
You smiled softly, whispering a calming truth in return.
“They never poke me,”
Anyone else’s fingers can’t get close without blood being drawn and still your daily attempts bear no fruit.
“You’re not a monster Adrian, and you are human,”
He paused, your words bringing a quiet stillness over him. No one—not even his own father—had said them to him with such conviction. Hearing you call him 'human' without a shred of doubt in your voice… it touched a part of his heart he'd long thought gone.
Gold eyes locked with yours for a long moment. He let go of your hand and shifted closer, his forehead gently coming to rest against yours, his voice a soft hush against your skin. "I've done monstrous things, (name)," he confessed quietly.
“I have you now, it’s alright,” You offered a steady presence, running your fingers through his hair as a sigh escaped him, and he closed his eyes.
He could feel the tension leaving his shoulders, bit by bit, as your soothing voice settled over him. God, he loved you.
He stayed like that for a long while, just taking comfort in the proximity of your presence—in the fact that you could see past his fangs, and the scars of his deeds, to touch the humanity beneath.
Then, finally, he spoke again.
"...Promise me something."
You felt the intimate realignment of his weight, and your gaze sharpened to meet his, one brow already lifting in recognition of his presence above you.
A soft question of “yes?” escaped your lips as you gazed up at his unclad form hovering over yours, giving silent consent as his hands began the deliberate task of undoing the buttons of your borrowed shirt.
He gently peeled the shirt off your shoulders, his gaze darkening as you lay beneath him—all silken skin and long limbs. He'd been a fool to feel jealous last night, he thought, as he took you in. No one else could touch you like this. No one else had seen the soft, sleepy-eyed beauty he'd just woken up to.
His fingers traced the line of your collarbone, his eyes fixed on the place where your pulse beat in your throat. His voice was a low murmur against your ear.
"Promise you won't ever leave me."
His gaze was clouded a glassy sheen, their surface slick with an emotion that bordered on tears, while his voice possessed a brittle edge—a plea barely contained.
“I won’t. I promise,”
His fingers traced the contour of your chest.
“I’m not afraid of you,”
He chuckled softly at your reply, your certainty reassuring like nothing else. His hand splayed across your hip, his thumb lazily tracing small circles there as he looked down at you, golden eyes still darkened with desire.
"Afraid?" he repeated, his voice dropping lower still. He leaned down to press his lips to the crook of your shoulder, the edge of a fang scraping gently against your skin.
"I know I don't scare you, (name)." He moved to kiss your throat—your pulse beating there, steady as your promise.
"But... do I…excite you?"
“Yes,”
The silence was broken softly by your reply, your sight tracing his every motion until you were securely settled in the warm, private angle of his lap.
Your answer sent a shiver down his spine, and he pressed closer, feeling the heat of your thighs against his hip. His lips traced a path from the hollow of your throat to the soft edge of your jaw before he replied, breath hot against your skin.
"Good,"
He shifted, positioning himself against you. He could feel the way your body responded to him, and it was like a drug—your soft sighs and the way your pulse raced, everything that reminded him you were alive and his.
The fever of that moment finally burned itself out, leaving behind a shared, heavy stillness. You both lay tangled in the quiet ruin of the heat, listening only to the ragged rhythm of your breathing as the distant, wakeful sounds of the early day began to filter through the windows.
He held you close in the afterglow, watching you gaze up at the ceiling, your hair splayed like a halo around you on the pillow. His fingers lazily traced patterns on your arm, the gentle rhythm a soothing counterpoint to the intensity of what had just happened.
His golden eyes studied your profile, a quiet reverence in them. You were beautiful, always, but here in the dim lighting, it was almost unbearable.
He pressed a soft kiss to your temple. "You're thinking."
Your lips compressed into a quick, defensive smile as you cast him a sidelong glance. A short, exasperated breath escaped, followed by a slight, negating turn of the head.
“It’s nothing,”
"Liar," he murmured, voice velvet and knowing. He turned onto his side, propping his head on one hand as he looked down at you. His free hand slid over your waist, pulling you slightly closer.
"You always sigh like that when something's weighing on your mind." A pause. "Or when you're trying not to say something foolishly noble."
His thumb brushed your lower lip. "Out with it, (name)."
“...I was just..- thinking about everyone you’ve loved before me,” You suddenly said, fidgeting with your fingers. “You never told me but you were too much of a romantic to be single before me.”
He froze for a moment, eyes flickering with surprise at your sudden confession. He'd braced himself for something about the future, or about your own doubts or worries. Not... this.
He was quiet and still for so long that you almost thought he hadn't heard you, but then he spoke, his voice unusually rough—like his throat was sandpaper.
"You want to know about the women I loved before you."
It wasn't a question.
“Do you still mourn anybody?…Love anybody?” Your curiosity was voiced, yet you kept your expression rigidly blank, the sound of my question betraying neither hope nor fear.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his gaze dropping to your necklace—anything to avoid your eyes, just for a moment. How did he even begin to answer that question? How did he explain the ache of losing everyone you loved, year after year, century after century, while remaining the same?
He closed his eyes and let his head fall until his forehead pressed against yours, a rare show of vulnerability, even for you. His voice was barely a whisper when he finally responded.
"Does it matter?"
“Who was she?”
The moment his words turned evasive, you already had the quiet answer: he was still bound by his endearing love for another. You drew back slightly, pulling your forehead from his to absorb the entire landscape of his expression.
He winced a little, his eyes still closed as if afraid to look you in the eye. The question echoed in his ears like the toll of a funeral bell—sharp and final.
But he knew he couldn't lie to you, even if he wanted to. Not about this. So he opened his eyes and looked at you directly, the intensity of his golden gaze belying the tender ache in his voice.
"She was..." he started, and then paused—as if he couldn't quite believe the words coming out of his own mouth—"the love of my life."
Your silence was deafening, and his eyes flickered over your face, studying your expression—waiting for some flicker of jealousy, some sign of hurt. But your face was unreadable, and it only made his throat go even drier. He swallowed hard and continued, his voice rougher now.
"She was... perfect. Smart, kind, fierce, beautiful." Every word tasted like barbed wire in his throat, but he pushed on, as if each syllable pained him.
"I loved her with everything I had."
“And you still do,”
It wasn’t a question but a statement. You saw the truth plain as day, written in the unbidden flicker of brilliance that crossed his eyes upon her remembrance, and heard it in the unmistakable cadence of fondness that entered his speech. The evidence was overwhelming; there was nothing left to contest.
He didn't try to deny it. How could he, when you'd seen straight through him so easily? He let out a bitter scoff, shaking his head as the bitter taste of truth rose in his throat. "Yes," he said, his voice a rough growl. "I still do."
And there it was, laid bare between you, the ugly confession he'd never wanted to make. He still loved her. Despite all these years.
A line deepened between your brows as you fixed your stare on him. “Why didn’t you turn her?” You draped your blanket around your bare torso and immediately focused on tracing the familiar curve of your collarbone, a sudden need for distraction consuming your hands.
The question felt like a dagger to his heart, and he shifted to sit up as well, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
"It's not that simple," he said, a mix of anger and helplessness in his voice. "You can't force immortality on someone, (name)."
He looked at you then, really looked at you—your face, your eyes, the way your fingers still fidgeted with your skin. Something twisted deep in his chest at the sight.
"She didn't want it."
The conversation shattered into stillness. You turned your gaze elsewhere, giving his statement space to hang suspended and absorb its full, difficult weight.
His own eyes dropped down to the bed, staring at the sheets that pooled around his waist. The memories of her that had long been buried under layers of time came rushing back all at once—every stolen moment, every touch, the sound of her laugh. The ache in his core, once dulled by years of solitude, flared to life in his chest like a fresh wound.
He hated this feeling—this weakness. He'd always prided himself on his self-control, his ability to endure anything, but she… she was the one weakness he could never overcome.
“What was her name?”
He looked up again at the sound of your voice, the sound bringing him back to the present. He could see the guarded expression on your face, the way you were studying him. Part of him wanted to keep it to himself, to protect you from the memories that haunted him. But another part of him wanted you to know, needed you to understand.
"Cecilia." His voice was barely a whisper, the name like a prayer as it left his lips. "Her name was Cecilia."
The memory stopped you short. You suddenly recalled the ring pendant—the initial 'C' etched into its surface, worn like a second skin. That same faint, hidden 'C' marked the hilt of his sword and was subtly pressed into the leather of his gloves. The scattered pieces aligned, revealing the whole truth. “She was your wife?”
His fingers twitched, as if wanting to reach for the very objects you'd just mentioned. He nodded, a sharp jerk of his head in affirmation. "Yes," he said, his voice hoarse with the effort of holding back the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. "We were married."
Your quiet hum was somehow worse than your questions, and it drove him crazy. The silence was deafening, each second feeling like an eternity as he waited for you to say something, anything. The way you kept your gaze fixed on the sheets, avoiding his eyes, only heightened the knot of tension in his stomach.
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, he broke the silence with a desperate, low whisper. "Say something, please baby."
Your teeth caught your lower lip, and a slow, quiet sigh escaped as you shook your head in utter defeat. Your face offered only silent confusion, brows arching high in stark, bewildered proof that your mind was utterly vacant of words he’d want to hear.
“I have nothing to say to you now, Alucard,” You finally admitted.
His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in his cheek as he fought to keep his voice steady. Your words hit him like a punch to the gut—sharp and unexpected.
"Nothing to say," he repeated, his tone edged with disbelief. "After all the truths I've laid bare before you, you have nothing to say to me?"
His intense eyes fixed on your face, searching for some hint of emotion, some sign that the confession had affected you as deeply as it had affected him. But your expression remained unreadable.
“I need time,”
You had just managed to utter the last word—the painful, final resignation—before a sharp, insistent rap fractured the fragile silence of the chamber. It was the signal: the court was awake, and the private morning was over. "Your Grace, it is time," one of the maids, likely Annelise, called through the thick wood of the door, her tone crisp and professional, instantly dragging you back to your official role.
You moved on instinct, the urgency a physical jolt. You snatched the nearest silk robe from the back of a chair, throwing its heavy weight around your shoulders like a shield. Without looking back, you unfurled from the bed, crossing the distance to the door in two swift motions.
"We must prepare the Royal Wardrobe immediately, there is an assembly at midday," another voice chimed in, rushing and anticipatory.
You didn't pause to offer a reply. As you pulled the heavy door inward, stepping past the threshold and into the bustling corridor, the last vision you allowed yourself was of him, solitary and motionless in the midst of the disheveled sheets of your bed. You left him suspended there, alone in the sudden quiet of your abandoned chambers, and let the heavy door swing shut on the conversation and the moment.
He didn’t move.
Sat frozen on the edge of your bed, bare shoulders hunched forward like a man struck down.
The warmth of you still lingered in the sheets, in the air—but not on his skin anymore.
Cecilia. Wife. Still loved.
All truths he'd buried deep beneath centuries of silence—and now laid bare before you, only for you to walk away with nothing but "I need time."
His hand found it then—the ring under his pillow. He pulled it free slowly and stared at the engraved C catching sunlight through the windows.
A bitter breath escaped him.
"...Time," he murmured to no one. "The one thing I have too much of."
And for once—he hated it utterly.
The day bled into twilight, and you finally returned to the solitude of your chambers. The elaborate, voluminous fabric of your dress seemed to float around you, a heavy, silencing presence. You paced the polished wood, the quiet click of your heels marking the slow, restless rhythm of your anxiety.
It was during one of these circuits that a single, sudden glint caught your eye—a stray spark of reflected light near the coat stand. Curiosity pulling you closer, you found the source: a sliver of polished gold peeking from the deep pocket of his discarded traveling coat.
You walked over, your sweeping skirt brushing the floor with a soft rustle, and reached in to retrieve the cool metal object. It was a locket, heavy and intimately worn. With a delicate press of the clasp, you opened it, and your breath hitched.
Staring back was your own image.
A soft, bewildered smile touched your lips. Your fingertip lifted, tracing the familiar lines of your face captured within the frame. You kept a picture of me in your locket, you thought, the sentiment sparking a low, soft chuckle in your throat.
But the gold slipped, falling from your careless grip and hitting the wooden desk with a muted thud. As you quickly retrieved it, the picture—your picture—slipped free. Your eyes widened, not at the accident, but at what lay revealed underneath.
Another image. Another woman.
She was your perfect, ghostly twin. The same jawline, the same precise curve of the mouth, the identical shape of the eyes—only her skin was a different color, and her hair a vibrant shade. You plucked the second picture out, your fingers trembling, and inverted it, finding a single name scrawled on the back.
Cecilia.
A chill, profound and sickening, trapped the air in your lungs. You stood perfectly still, rooted by disbelief, the sounds of the world receding—so much so that you failed to register the faint click of the door as it eased open.
He stepped inside, Alucard, his stride confident, only for the sound of his footsteps to falter abruptly when his gaze landed on you, frozen, his private locket in your hand.
For a moment, his golden eyes widened in surprise, a flash of something wary crossing their depths. He'd half expected to find the room empty, but there you were. Then his gaze dropped like a stone to the open locket, his eyes narrowing instantly at the photo of Cecilia you clutched.
"What are you doing with that?" he demanded.
You offered no reply; you didn't even turn your body toward him. Instead, you let the locket drop heavily onto the nearby desk, leaving it for him to claim. You took a couple of slow, deliberate steps forward, creating a chilling, measurable distance before you finally pivoted to face him, the visceral shock and disbelief a stark mask upon your features.
He felt the sudden, sickening twist in his stomach as he absorbed the full, wounded exposure of your expression.
He lowered his head, his fingers closing around the locket, securing the weight of the secret. His golden gaze flickered rapidly between your shocked face and the small, intimate pictures within—a complex, defensive mixture of bravado and naked vulnerability warring in their depths.
"So you found it," he finally stated, his voice a low, gravelly growl that scraped against the silence. "Are you going to condemn me for keeping a picture of my dead wife?"
A sharp, involuntary scoff escaped your lips, a sound of profound disbelief that lacked all humor. You had no words for the sheer audacity of his question. You simply stared, a deep, carved frown settling upon your mouth as you crossed your arms tightly over your chest, a sudden, defensive wall. You tried to speak—your lips parted twice, three times—but the faculty of language had abandoned you; it was as if your tongue had forgotten how to form sound.
Your silence was its own condemnation, a profound, icy slap across his guarded features. There were no tears, no dramatic outburst of anger he could combat—just that deep-set frown and a hard, unyielding stare that saw everything.
He took a slow, visible breath, his own jaw tightening to granite as he absorbed your reaction. Some of his earlier defensiveness seemed to crumble under the weight of your expression. His voice, when it came again, was quieter, raw, stripped of its bravado.
"Say something," he pleaded, the words now barely a whisper. "Anything."
"You need to leave," you stated suddenly, the words emerging cold and sharp against the sudden lump you were forced to swallow in your throat. You took another step back, increasing the emotional and physical distance between you.
The command felt like a physical stab to his core, and he flinched involuntarily, a quick tremor passing through his shoulders. The locket remained clutched tightly in his hand, but he did not move, his resolute golden eyes anchored fiercely on your face.
"Leave," he repeated, disbelief and hurt mingling in his voice. "Just like that?"
He dropped his gaze to the locket then back up again, a flicker of pain passing across his face.
"You're kicking me out because I still hold a memory of a woman I loved and lost a century ago?"
A sudden, visceral heat ignited in your chest, a burst of righteous, consuming fury. Your voice was tight, strained with the effort to contain the explosion. "She looks like me. Exactly like me," you ground out, your head shaking slightly in a motion of stunned disbelief as your eyes locked onto his.
"Is that... is that what you see when you look at me? Her?" The question was a weapon, sharp and desperate. "That’s the only reason you ever approached me, isn't it?" You let out a short, harsh scoff of pure, acidic anger. "I was a blind, utter fool!"
The words spilled out, gathering momentum and pain. "You don’t love me, you simply love who I remind you of. You love who you can pretend I am when I’m in your arms. You made love to me in my bed, wearing a ring with her initial carved on it around your neck!"
The last remaining thread of control snapped. The final accusation was a raw, aching scream of betrayal. "You...." You searched for a word strong enough, finding only the simplest and most devastating. "Liar!"
His face drained of color at your words—each accusation like a lash across his soul. He staggered back as if struck, the locket slipping from his fingers to clatter against the floor.
"No," he breathed, voice cracking. "No, (name)—that's not—"
He lunged forward a step, but stopped himself when you flinched. His hands trembled at his sides.
"You think I chose you because of her?" His voice dropped to a raw whisper, grief and fury tangled in every syllable. "You think I looked at you and saw only Cecilia?"
He tore the ring from around his neck with such force it snapped the chain—and hurled it across the room.
The sound echoed through the chamber like thunder in silence.
"Look at me!" he demanded, eyes blazing with something desperate and unguarded. "Have I ever treated you like a memory? Have I ever called you by her name? Have I not learned your favorite flower—the way your breath hitches when you're trying not to cum? The way you bite my lip just before dawn breaks over us?"
His chest rose sharply with each ragged breath.
"I kept that picture because it was all I had left for centuries… but do not dare say that’s why I love you."
A pause—he stepped closer slowly now, voice breaking.
"I love you, (name)—not some ghost who died long before she could know what we are."
"You are no replacement. You are my present... my choice."
The raw honesty of his demand, the sincerity in his voice, did nothing to soothe the roiling inferno in your chest. Instead, it fueled a cold, terrible clarity. You looked at the man before you and saw not a reformed lover, but a creature whose love, however complicated, was utterly genuine.
"It wasn't fair," you stated, your voice low and dangerous, trembling not with sorrow, but with the effort of control. "The lie, the secret in my bed. You kept her there. You may say you love me," your voice cracked with pure scorn on his name, "but you made a choice to deceive me first, and that choice is all that matters."
Your body was rigid, burning with the sudden, crushing clarity of your decision. You looked past the pleading in his eyes, past the pain in his voice, and saw only the unassailable truth of the second picture.
"I am no one's second chance," you hissed, your words lacerating the air between you. You wrapped the unyielding authority of your title around your spine, letting it freeze the terrible love in your heart.
"You must leave this kingdom. Now." The command was a death sentence, delivered with an arctic finality that brooked no debate.
His eyes, wide and luminous, reflected the instant, devastating comprehension. He didn't argue; he didn't move to touch you. He only staggered back a step, the rejection a visible, physical force that knocked the breath from his lungs. He finally met your gaze, his own filled with a promise that this consequence would tear him apart for centuries more.
He lowered his head in a slow, sickening nod—the acceptance of his banishment. He didn't look at the abandoned locket; he simply turned and moved to the door, his form suddenly looking immense and utterly defeated.
You stood rooted, watching the heavy, defeated slump of his shoulders. You needed to hold the line, to be the princess. But the moment his hand touched the cool metal of the latch, the control shattered.
A soundless, ragged sob clawed its way from your throat. You whirled away from the sight of the closing door and stumbled toward the desk, your hands shooting out to clutch the edge of the polished wood as your knees betrayed you. The fine silk of your dress crumpled around you as you collapsed onto your heels, your body wracked by deep, silent, gut-wrenching sobs.
You had banished the one thing you loved, and the silence that settled over the chamber was the desolate sound of your broken heart.
The quiet room was now a vast, empty tomb for a love that had never truly been yours.
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