#GUYS I WROTE A SCENE WHAT THE FUCK

[that-asian-child-of-aphrodite]

Stephanie walks into the woods, and sits on a rock, as tears start to fall down her face. She hugs her knees to her chest and stays there.

[hercarisntyours]

pain

[makotonaegiunderstander]

something I’ve been thinking abt is how many people think Makoto is immune to despair. I don’t think he is. I think becoming the ultimate Hope was BECAUSE he felt despair. He wouldn’t have fully reached that point without Junko. Makoto becoming such a beacon was his last attempt to avoid completely falling and it wasn’t because he didn’t feel despair, it was because he was too damn stubborn to allow everything to go to waste and he refused to sacrifice his beliefs for someone else’s. His inner monologue tells me he DID experience the same new low the other suvivors did in the final trial, but at the point where he had the choice to give up and die, he looked at the others and he looked at Junko and he couldn’t allow it to happen, not out of self preservation, but because the idea that Junko would have control over their lives made him FURIOUS. and that utter refusal to die kicked in, wether luck or otherwise, and he made the concious effort for one last push while something in him was breaking. He had to be broken in order for the Ultimate Hope to come through so aggressively, bc it could only exist in the face of the Ultimate Despair. He snapped the same way she did, but in the other direction. In what could have been his final moments he chose to embody everything Junko wasn’t, and every single optimistic and luck fueled ideal in him suddenly charged forward and pushed him. It was a combination of the final straw and a choice. Makoto isn’t immune to feeling despair, he’s just too stubborn to fall into it of his own volition. I think that’s why I like that scene in DR3 so much. People were SO SHOCKED Makoto actually fell for the tape, that he actually became despair for a moment. I saw people getting mad or disappointed, saying it was pathetic and Makoto seemed to fall from some sort of pedestal for them. Honestly part of me wonders if that sort of mentality, which clearly people had in universe, affected Makoto a bit. Like he started to see himself as less of a person, subconsciously. Prompting him to take more risks, less self preservation, act way more bold. It seems he has to be reminded a lot not to put himself in danger by his friends, to not do something too reckless. All over the place I would see in regards to that scene either this frivolous ‘oh this was just angst drama with no meaning behind it’ or ‘he can do better than that. he’s so weak’ or ‘come on, there’s no way he’d fall into despair, he’s the Ultimate Hope!’ This kind of mentality, which was kind of ironic considering Ryota was there the entire time saying the same thing and treating Makoto the same way. Like Makoto was superhuman. Like Makoto didn’t feel despair the same way ‘normal people’ did. In a way that was also how Munakata saw Makoto. Makoto stopped being a PERSON to the world when he became Ultimate Hope, he became a concept, a belief system, much the same way Junko ascended beyond herself. But the difference is that treating Makoto that way is the opposite of the reason Makoto became such a representative for hope. He wasn’t doing something no one else could. He was doing something everyone had the chance to, he just… was a little more optimistic, a little more stubborn, a little more ‘gung-ho’ about things. He just took the lead where no one else did, where no one else knew they even COULD in the face of Junko’s unstoppable force. She had overcome the biggest threats and obstacles in the world, what could one person do? And the answer Makoto found was, anything. Everything. It doesn’t all rest on Makoto, he’s just the one that was inspired to try to do what seemed like the impossible. But as evidenced by the change in his friends after that trial, it’s clearly not something only Makoto is capable of. The others pulled out of despair thanks to Makoto, but it was their choice to do so.

“But… this world is so huge, and we’re so small. What can we do…? No, we can probably do anything. Yeah! We can do anything!”

[brutal-nemesis]

E&T: Caught in the Clutches of Lust

No im not sorry for any of this. cope and seethe

Btw I used a line from @painsandconfusion and @wormwriting's degradation starter list that I saved THREE YEARS AGO for this very moment. I am always playing the long game (⊙ˍ⊙)

←Previous - Masterlist

Ingredients: VERY creepy/intimate whumper, implied threat of noncon, a lot of noncon touching (unsexy but right on the edge), implied noncon kiss, unsexy nudity

Shiori?

No, it couldn’t be, she was a world away, she was human, he’d left her waiting by the fountain after the party and she’d moved on and forgotten about him, no reason to follow him here, into the depths of hell, looking exactly like she had the night of the party, jarringly out of place in her pretty dress, smiling at him like he wasn’t a blood-covered, unrecognizable version of himself.

And then he blinked, and all of a sudden it wasn’t Shiori at all, but Lythia, wearing the same yellow bandana that she always did while she was working in the palace gardens, the little black braids of her hair just as beautiful as he remembered. There was no pity in her dark eyes, like there had been the last time he saw her, looking up at him from the crowd while he was chained to that pillar, promising he’d be rescued after it was already too late. Actually seeing her hurt, and Erebus looked away for a moment, just a moment…

When he saw the woman in front of him now, his jaw dropped, eyes widening, his tense, burning hands finally relaxing.

“Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe.”

Her voice was just as he remembered, and she was smiling at him so kindly, her eyes soft, her gloved hand outstretched, she was here to save him, she’d found a way to bring him back, he was too tired and scared and stressed to do anything else besides surrender control to her once again, to take her small hand and follow her blindly towards the fate she’d chosen for him. She was squeezing his still-healing hand tightly in hers, but she could do whatever she wanted with him just as long as she got him out of this place.

“Well, that was easy.”

The voice wasn’t Shiori’s, or Lythia’s, and it certainly wasn’t Neteri’s.

Erebus jumped back, finally seeing the person next to him clearly for the first time. She-they?-smirked at him, bright purple eyes sparkling. Their white hair was long and wavy, partially braided back with impeccable precision. Gold jewelry and a low-cut black dress accentuated their natural beauty, seeming very out of place in this hellish world. Most striking of all, though, was their bright red skin, a shade that was very familiar to Erebus.

This was a lust demon, and she’d lead him right into her lair.

“You-how did-I-”

They laughed, deep and bright, obviously amused by his shock and confusion. “You only saw what your heart wanted you to see, darling. It’s not my fault you turned into a meek little lamb and followed me here.”

Erebus’s face grew hot. “Well I-I…” his wings sank behind him. He’d thought he was about to be saved. Like an idiot. She’d led him away from the bubbling pools and acrid air into a sort of cave, a furnished one at that. But now he was cornered in here, at a disadvantage in the cramped space. He swallowed and changed the topic, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “Who are you and what do you want with me?”

“Apologies.” She bowed slightly, the sort of bow people gave when they were pretending to show respect during negotiations, but then declared war a few weeks later. “My name is Asmodeum, and really,” they gave him a disapproving look, “I’d rather not fight with you. I heard you’ve defeated Somiaken and Vorath already, but I believe you and I could work something out without coming to blows.” They held their hands up briefly, but the way they watched him made it clear that their guard was still up. “So, tell me your name, now. Unless you’d prefer I just call you darling?”

Erebus very much did not want that, so he complied. “Erebus. But you didn’t really answer my question. What do you want, if not to fight me?”

Asmodeum sighed wistfully. “Well, I can tell that you’re the sort of person who’ll never agree to what I really want, but I believe something can be arranged. You see, I’ve been stuck here for Akumo knows how long with no toys to play with. So, I was thinking-”

“I-I’m not gonna be your toy,” Erebus choked, his throat feeling like it was closing up. 

“Ah, ah, ah.” Asmodeum wagged a finger. “Let me finish, dear. I could have my way with you quite easily, you know. It would be oh so effortless to drag you back into my domain proper and throw you into a pool of boiling water or lava and watch the show. However, I think your forced cooperation would make this a little more fun, and it would be nice if you behaved for me. So, if you let me do what I want with you, barring the most intimate acts, I’ll let you kill me once I’ve had my fill.”

“What happens if I don’t say yes?”

Asmodeum casually examined their nails. “I will take you by force and I will defile you.”

“D-defile?! You don’t mean…” Erebus quickly glanced down, and Asmodeum smiled wickedly.

“Oh, I do mean. If you let me play with you, I swear I won’t do anything of the sort. Call it an incentive. So come on, Erebus, get rid of your sword.” Erebus just tightened his grip on it, weighing his options. As much as he didn’t want to let this demon…play with him...did he really have any other options? He was exhausted, and there wasn’t much room in here for him to try and put up a proper fight. And more than anything, he really, really didn’t want to risk being...Despite the anxiety building in his chest, Erebus unbuckled the sword belt around his waist, setting it carefully on the ground.

“Fine. But if you so much as touch me there I’ll-I’ll make you regret it.” How would he do that? He wasn’t sure. But he just-he had to make it clear that he wasn’t surrendering. He was just…agreeing to play along. Just to get a break from fighting. He was okay with this. He’d be fine. He'd been through so much worse.

He'd be fine.

“I promise I won’t cross that boundary, don’t you fret.” Asmodeum walked over to him, kicking his sword out of reach as they took his hand. “First things first, you’re absolutely filthy. Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

Erebus pulled his hand out of her grasp. “I mean, I-I can do that myself,” he muttered. Asmodeum raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sure you can, but I want to wash you, dear. And right now,” she grabbed his hand once more, “I get what I want.” They pulled him along into a bathroom, and he followed reluctantly, feeling an odd sense of familiarity in just going along with this sort of thing. Their threat was certainly a motivator, but that didn’t mean he was going to roll over completely on every little thing, right? He had to make it clear that he wasn’t happy with this, despite agreeing to it. She started filling up the bathtub with water, turning to him with a smile. “Let me strip you now.” 

“I-I’d rather-”

“Shhhh.” She placed a finger on his lips, her other hand starting to undo the ties on his shirt. “None of that, dear. I can’t get you all clean if you’re wearing these dirty clothes, now can I?” He looked away as they tugged his shirt off, hoping that they’d-nope, now they were going to try and take off his pants, too.

“You said you weren’t going to-to do that to me.”

“I won’t. But that doesn’t mean you get to keep your clothes on the whole time, you shy little thing. I just won’t touch.” Erebus stifled a whine as she pulled down his pants, and his underwear along with them. “There we go. You can get in now.” He did so, almost jumping into the warm water and crouching down, hugging his knees close and spreading his wings around himself protectively. They gently pushed his wings back, stroking his face as he glared at them with wide eyes. “There’s no use hiding when I’ve already seen everything, silly. I think I’m going to need to get these arms out of the way, hmmm?” They pulled out a pair of manacles, and Erebus’s stomach sank.

“Wait, I won’t resist just-just don’t-”

“Too late for that, Erebus.” She clamped them around his wrists, twisting the chain securely around the faucet. “Besides, you look absolutely darling like that, all helpless. Now, keep those wings out of the way or I’ll pierce them together.” Erebus’s wings sank in defeat, slowly moving back until they were behind him. There wasn’t any winning here, was there? “Good boy.” She grabbed a cup from the countertop and started using it to pour water on him, rinsing away some of the pieces of flesh stuck to his bloodied skin. After she lathered a washcloth with soap, she began to gently clean the dried blood off his face. He screwed his eyes shut, fists clenched as he tried to think about anything else. 

Even back when he was a prince, he’d hated being fussed over, preferring to take care of himself when he could. Asmodeum, however, seemed to have no concept of personal space, or just didn’t care. She had to work hard to get through the blood caked over most of his skin, leaning in close, starting with his face before switching to his hair. Their hands slid in, tenderly working through tangled bloody mats and massaging his scalp. He hated how nice it felt, how much it reminded him of the way Lythia always used to play with his hair, forcing himself to open his eyes and look at Asmodeum, to remind himself who was…

Lythia smiled at him sweetly, and Erebus felt his blood run cold. That wasn’t her, no matter what he saw, no matter how he felt. She wasn’t here. She was back home, probably still tending the palace gardens despite the change in management. Did she still think of him as she looked at all the places they used to laugh? Or could she not get the image of him screaming and sobbing up on that podium out of her mind, unable to remember any other version of him than the one he’d left her with? Maybe that’s what he deserved to be remembered as, since he’d hardly thought of her since that day, the memories too painful. 

Erebus shuddered when Asmodeum moved to his horns, which were always far more sensitive than they had any right to be. She seemed to be able to tell, continuing to stroke them long after they were clean, and as much as he wanted to ask them to stop, he was afraid it would only encourage them. At the very least, the disconnect between Lythia and his horns was enough to push the thoughts of her out of his mind, and Asmodeum changed back to their normal form.

Her hands finally slid lower, caressing his neck, fingers slipping under his collar, making sure the skin underneath was clean, pressing down against his throat every so often as they did so. It wasn't enough to really choke him, but the message was clear.

They moved onto his shoulders, his wings, his arms, his back. He caught their smile as they saw what his right arm really looked like, and her fingers traced his whip scars as they were uncovered. Dread started to pool in his stomach as she moved to his chest, scrubbing away, revealing-

“Oh, well isn’t this pretty.” They marveled at his brand, stroking the lines of the scar, pausing over his rapidly-beathing heart. “Too bad you’re already owned by someone else, huh? But I suppose they’re not here now, are they?” Erebus just bit his lip, refusing to make eye contact. The thought of his…of Neteri not being here hurt, and, try as he might, he couldn’t help but think of her, of the way she’d always protected him. He wondered how angry she’d get if she saw what was happening to him, or if she could feel now that someone besides her was touching him. He could imagine her bursting in, yelling at Asmodeum to get their hands off of him, unchaining him and letting him cover up before pulling him into a hug-wait wait what was he thinking she’d been his captor she’d hurt him and ripped him into pieces and kept him locked up but she'd promised to save him and he missed her.

“What’s wrong, darling? Is even this too much for you?” Asmodeum brushed away a tear he didn’t realize had been falling with her finger, her skin no longer red, but brown. He couldn't look her in the eye. Not while she wore that face. “Such a sensitive little thing.” Hearing those words in that voice was already bad enough. Erebus tugged at his chains, wishing he could rub away those stupid traitorous tears, because he wasn’t crying about Neteri or Asmodeum or any of this. 

Their hands plunged beneath the surface of the blood-clouded water now, and Erebus couldn't stop himself from tensing up as they scrubbed his stomach, glad the parts of him that were previously under clothes weren't as caked in blood as those that weren't. Still, there was enough to clean that she had an excuse for her hands to wander lower still, caressing his hips, his thighs, and now he was trembling, fists clenched, tears dripping even more steadily into the tepid, cloudy water, no one had ever touched him there, at least she was wearing her own face now, but please, please stay away from there, you said you wouldn't touch me there and if you do then why am I here why am I letting you do this why do I keep letting people hurt me if I just stood up for myself more if I wasn't such a coward maybe I'd still be-

"You're rather pathetic, aren't you?" Asmodeum mused as they cradled his face, turning him towards them. Erebus blinked away tears, just now realizing that they'd finished cleaning him, the tub already drained. He couldn't exactly argue, crying and shivering like he was, so he just swallowed and gave the tiniest nod as he pulled himself together, hoping it'd be enough to get them to move on.

With a satisfied smile, she unhooked his wrists from the faucet, but left the manacles on as she pulled him up and out of the tub. He tried to cover himself as best he could as they toweled him off, hoping they’d stop touching him or at least give him clothes soon. Thankfully, they did, handing him a small bundle, and upon unrolling it he found...a pair of shorts that barely reached his knees, and that was all. Once he’d put them on, she dragged him into another room and let go, crossing her arms. “Kneel.” 

“I don’t-” Asmodeum raised an eyebrow, and Erebus stopped himself. They were expecting him to obey their every little whim if he didn’t want to be...he knelt, staring at the floor. She circled him a few times, and he clenched his fists in his lap, hating how much of his body was on display. Not that she hadn’t already seen everything.

“You were just made to kneel, weren't you? Absolutely gorgeous." Erebus's face burned even hotter than before. All he could hope was that they'd be done with him soon, but he'd never specified how long this would go on for when he agreed to it, so this might last…He was such an idiot, why did he just go along with this without any negotiation?

Asmodeum stopped in front of him. "Well, what are you in the mood for, dear? Pain,” her hand slid under his chin, tilting it up, “or pleasure?”

“Please just-anything but-” he choked, and she just laughed.

“Anything, you say? Then, I think...I'm in the mood for this.” They grabbed his collar, yanking him up onto the nearby bed. Before he could even try to sit up they were on him, wrapping themselves around him, worming in between his shackled arms, forcing him to embrace her back. A shudder ran down his spine as her skin came into contact with his, her arms pinning him flush against her body, her legs tangling around his. “Have you ever been this close to someone, darling?” she whispered in his ear, their fingers stroking his hair.

“I-I, um, a few times but-” 

“Aw, and you’re still nervous.” Her hand ran down the back of his head, stopping at his collar. “It’s so cute how you still wear this. I’m sure you could get it off if you tried, so you must like having it on, huh? Do you miss your owner?”

“She’s not-I don’t-I just-it’s…” he screwed his eyes shut, “I can’t take it off, alright?!”

“Such a dutiful little pet-”

“I wasn’t h-her pet!” 

“You’re so adorable when you’re in denial.” They stroked his back, rubbing around the base of his wings. Erebus just opted for staring at the wall, hoping they wouldn't touch his horns. “Do you know how lust demons feed, my dear?”

“By eating…?”

“Well, of course, but not the same way you do. We feed off of humans, more specifically, their bodily fluids.” She smiled widely, showing off her fangs. “And I haven’t had a meal ever since being locked up in here. I normally get my fix a different way, but, to be considerate of you, innocent little boy,” they shifted until their lips were right next to the base of his neck, fingers pushing his collar out of the way, “I’ll settle for feasting on your blood.”

Her fangs sank into his neck, and he couldn’t help but gasp at the sudden pain. He tried to breathe in calmly through gritted teeth as she sucked on the holes in his flesh, drinking his blood. Soon enough, his ears started ringing, and lightheadedness crept in. He gripped the chain between his wrists just too feel something solid, glad that he was lying down, at least. By the time Asmodeum pulled away, licking droplets of blood from their lips, a dizzy haze had settled over Erebus. He closed his eyes, tears leaking out as she snuggled back into him, just hoping that this would all be over soon. In fact, maybe he would just...let the blackness take him...just for a little bit...so he didn’t have to be...awake…

Erebus’s mouth tasted like dried blood when he woke up, and Asmodeum was still wrapped around him tightly. She smiled when their eyes met. “Did you have a good little nap, my darling? I hope you don’t mind, but,” she gripped his chin, her thumb stroking his lips, “I had a little bit of fun with you while you were out of it.” A bit of...wait is that why his mouth tasted like-

“W-you-you can’t d-do that to me I-I don’t-” his voice broke, and he couldn’t breathe all of a sudden, no matter how many fast little breaths he sucked in, just get away, get away from me stop touching me don’t do that to me please please I don’t want that you can’t do that to me you can’t you can’t I never wanted that not from you not from anyone and now now now I-I’m-I’ve been-

He felt something solid press into his hands, and he realized that Asmodeum was standing in front of him, and that was his sword in his hands, he was sitting up now and that was his sword and Asmodeum was smiling they were holding out their arms to him they were ready they were ready they were laughing they were coughing up blood they were on the ground there was so much blood how much of it was his he wasn’t sure he didn’t know they reached up and he backed away he had to get away he couldn’t stay here a second longer she was dead she was dead she was already crumbling away and he had to go he wanted to rip off his own skin he could still feel her touching him where where where were his clothes where was the key to these manacles he had to go he-

Erebus dropped his sword. He fell to his knees. He buried his face in his hands. 

And he screamed.

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump

@mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies @yet-another-heathen @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @starnight-whump

@unicornscotty @thebewilderer @kixngiggles @itallstartedwithharry @inky-whump 

@redstainedsocks @lonesome--hunter @his-unspoken-words @susiequaz12 @its-mysweetlittlesecret-blog 

@whumpasaurus101 @patheticlittleguy @jadeocean46910 @whumpinggrounds @pumpkin-spice-whump 

@suspicious-whumping-egg @befuddled-calico-whump @whump-in-the-closet​ @pumpkinsncoffee​ @aryox​​

@vampiresprite

[ohnotagainnikole]

i can't stop thinking about it, i can't stop thinking about character A tightly hugging character B after they woke up from being unconscious; when character A gives character B their coat or a jacket so they won't get cold or because they're in a patient gown

the act of someone giving you their clothes seems so profoundly caring and warming

[mydarlingdearestdead]

Regulus: You're not here.

James: Well, we don't know that do we? Did you fall asleep on a rooftop again?

Regulus: Thanks for the vote of confidence in my sleeping habits... and no, I haven't been up here since the last time you brought me.

James: Ah.

James: How've you been?

Regulus: As all right as I could possibly be... considering.

James: considering...?

Regulus: You left me. You died.

Regulus: and it's Halloween night again. you've been dead a year, James, and here I am talking to a ghost.

Regulus: I wasn't like this before. you made me like this.

James:

Regulus: And I'm glad for it. In a devastating way.

[v-arbellanaris]

idk how to describe watching, in real time, the xm/en movies revival in 2024 lmfao. they were, literally until like last year, regarded almost universally as trash. and everyone who liked them, liked trash. i watched the first movie in the fucking cinema. hugh's logan has been my favourite character in all of the movies since i saw the first king of the cage match. i think he shaped everything that was important to me about men tbqh. and he, and the entire franchise, was regarded as like... Inferior in every way. and it really only got worse after the m/cu kickstarted. i have no words to watch what is happening right in front of my eyes. i'm amused and delighted but also like... deeply upset or hurt that all along the things i loved had worth, but it's so late. it's so late. i spent so long apologising for the things i cared about. this revival doesnt do anything to remove the decades of hurt that comes from that. and it somehow makes it worse, because i was right all along. does that make me insane

[brittlebutch]

truly i’m so beyond insane about the Bill and Ted Musical song “Don't Surrender” that Bill sings when he thinks Ted got killed by the castle guard. i'm being so normal and okay about it tho i promise

[tanjir0se]

WIPs Georg, who lives in google docs and has over 865,429 works in progress, is an outlier adn should not have been counted

[eorzeashan]

Reverse City spoilers but this guy owns my Mihile's whole ass. He doesn't even have a face but he moved me in this story so much. Sad author guy who put his entire soul into his books but also needed the courage of another human being to have the will to live. Kind of boring in his own way but he was so cool-- 'we're all sad lonely pathetic outcasts who want to see our next sunset' theme got me ok

Not to mention there's something really intriguing about isekai'ing a guy from the normal world to this alien one while the PC is from a fantasy world, so you're technically both isekai protags but reversed as well

[familiarache]

what if i make a playlist but its literally just 'u/ryu pining after hime and ichi'

[ladykyriaa]

Readers when they leave rambly comments >>>>>>>

[snakesandstone]

Being into mystery dungeon eos is so embarrassing I'll be like "yeah this game is great its so much fun the characters are really compelling and the emotional parts are really well-written I love it ^_^" and then you'll see me actually playing it and I'm either mindlessly spamming a through ten pages of unnecessary exposition or screaming swear words you have never even heard before at my screen because I just lost half an hour of progress to the stupidest bullshit imaginable

[brutal-nemesis]

Goretober II: Hook, Line, and Sarcasm

Continuing to explore my stupid probably unrealistic ideas via @coyotehusk's goretober✨

←Previous - Castys Masterlist - Goretober Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: hooks of different sizes piercing into a guy, suspension, eye whump/gore, inhuman whumper

Castys was not a fan of the tentacles.

He didn’t even like eating them when it was like an octopus or something, the texture always weirded him out, but Kuro’s tentacles were a whole other thing. That was the darkness lady’s name, Kuro, but it’s not like knowing her name made any of this any better. She’d let him off of the stupid table, but her tentacles were more than enough to keep him from trying to escape, wrapping around his wrists and neck snugly, pulling him towards…a big hook.

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not actually a fish.” Castys was glad she’d pulled that nail out of his mouth and killed him when she’d let him up so he could at least talk again.

“Oh, this hook isn’t for fish. It’s for meat!” Castys opened his mouth, but he couldn’t exactly argue that he wasn’t meat. Kuro reached out and pulled the hook a little lower, using her tentacles to force Castys to turn around. 

He knew exactly what was about to happen, but he really wanted to believe that he was wrong. “Change your mind? Are you gonna take me back to the cozy little table?”

Kuro laughed. “No, but maybe I’ll put you back on there later. I want to try this first.” One of her tentacles snaked behind him, the clink of the chain his only warning before-Castys couldn’t help but wince as the sharp point of the hook pierced his back, shivering as it scraped against his bones. 

“I-I’m not sure if this is-agh.” Castys decided to keep his mouth shut as Kuro turned a crank in the wall, pulling the chain attached to the hook upwards. She finally let go of him when his feet no longer touched the ground, but by then it was too late for him to do much besides wiggle. He couldn’t reach the hook now lodged in his back, and even if he could, there was no way he’d be able to pull it out.

“There! You look kinda funny, hanging like that.”

“I always look funny.” 

Kuro might’ve smiled at that, but there was no way to tell, unfortunately. He was just going to assume from here on that all of his jokes landed all of the time because that was the only form of consolation he ever really got. At some point while he was thinking about things, Kuro had produced a small box, and now she was pulling out a little shiny…fish hook. 

Of course.

“You’re really hooked on those things, huh?” 

“I think you’re hooked more than I am.” Okay, playing along, good, she probably thought he was a little bit funny. But that wasn’t his biggest problem anymore, and also was really never his biggest problem because he still had a giant hook in his back that hurt very very much because all of his weight was on it. And now Kuro had poked a fish hook through one of his wrists, in and out so it looped under his skin. When she reached for his other arm, he tried to jerk it away, but since she basically had six hands he lost that battle pretty quickly. In and out with the same fish hook, and now his wrists were, like, pierced together, and while it wasn’t super painful, it was annoying and also kind of dumb. He had to actively keep his wrists together or the fish hook would just tear through the skin since it wasn’t in very deep.

“Hmm, what do you think, should I add some more so you’re more comfortable?” Kuro mused.

“I think I would be most comfortable if you added less, but that’s just my opinion.” As usual, Castys’s opinion was promptly ignored, and before he knew it, there were already like five or six more hooks keeping his arms together. Kuro worked fast, holding him with her tentacles and saving the more delicate work for her hands. After she’d put in enough that he could relax and let the tension of the metal pierced through his skin hold his arms together, she stepped back, crossing her arms as she looked him over.

“I still feel like you’re missing something…”

“I could go for some cake. Alternatively, you could take something away, like these hooks.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Kuro laughed, pulling out another fish hook, this one with string attached. “Maybe I should take something away.”

“Hey, uh, I was just kidding, you don’t have to-uh, hi, that’s my fa-” Her grip on his chin shifted, covering his mouth now, too, so he could only watch as the point of the hook came towards his eye, piercing it with ease. She shoved it in deep as he screamed into her hand, and as much as he wanted to jerk away he couldn’t or he’d only make things worse, but it ended up not mattering as Kuro wound the string around her fingers and started to pull, awful, painful pressure building up in his eye as it bulged further and further out of its socket, his vision already fucked and getting worse by the second, and there it was that annoyingly familiar pop of his eye coming out, flopping against his cheek as Kuro laughed.

“I think I’ll take this, if you don’t mind. I think I’d like to keep it.” Castys, very stupidly, shrugged, which is a terrible idea when there is a large metal hook under your shoulder blade. Kuro took her hand off of his mouth, grabbing the stringy bit that attached his eyeball to the inside of his head and giving it a harsh tug, enough to rip it out completely, which was honestly up there with the most awful feelings ever. In his screaming and thrashing in pain, Castys tugged hard enough at the fish hooks in his arms that they ripped free, which caused him to scream and thrash more, which made the hook digging into his back hurt even more, which caused-

When he had settled the fuck down, he noticed Kuro swinging his eyeball around like the world’s worst keychain as she laughed, which was a little rude. “You ruined all of my hard work, Castys.”

“Well you…you ruined all of my hard work to…to have two eyes.” Wow, great comeback, you totally don’t deserve to keep hanging here on a hook like a pig about to be butchered. Kuro laughed again anyway, but it was probably because he was stupid.

“No matter. I’ll just leave you there to bleed out and we’ll try again later.” 

“Can you please stab me so I bleed out faster?”

“Mm…no.” 

Well, it was worth a shot. Nothing left for him to do now but hang out. 

…Yeah, he probably deserved this.

Next→

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump​ @starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words​ @misspelledwitch​ @suspicious-whumping-egg​ @pumpkin-spice-whump​ @painsandconfusion​ @i-can-even-burn-salad​​ @befuddled-calico-whump​ @whumpinggrounds​ @whump-queen​ @whumpedydump​

[satoruoo]

jesus christ

🪷 — A ROYAL AFFAIR . . . THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT

LADY DRIA WRITES . . . ˚ ༘ *

🪷 dearest gentle reader, in matters of love and longing, prince satoru comes to the realization that love may only visit the fearless, whilst prince suguru comes to terms with the taste of hope on his tongue... 5k words.

🪷 prince gojo x reader x prince geto jjk regency/royal au, romeo & juliet esque balcony meeting, fruit flavored jealousy.

CHAPTER TWO. . . ˚ ༘ *

GRAPE FLAVORED.

Sleep eludes you tonight.

Two nights have passed since the first feast and despite Areta’s consistent chatter of appearances and well needed fun time for a lady of your stature — you’ve chosen not to attend the others for the time being.

You’re assured that Satoru’s presence at the feasts and balls in between remain slim to none unless called upon by his mother, a notion that you would be grateful for under any other circumstance to dodge the question everyone at the palace court whispers behind your back—

( why hasn’t the prince married her yet? )

—but you miss him.

Embarrassingly so.

With palms outstretched, you cradle your weight against the concrete rail of the terrace adjoined to your bedroom. A wisp of wind cooling your cheeks, realization settling in.

You miss Satoru — your best friend, your person.

You miss when he’d sleepily stumble into your alcove by the palace’s west wing and lay dramatically before you, begging you to paint him or at least sketch the width of his shoulders ; begging you to 'immortalize the omnipotent beauty of the realm’s strongest' — his words not yours.

The way he’d linger by your side, laugh at your jokes and make even cruder ones of his own—

This yearning settled deep within your bones akin to that of a grieving widow doesn’t feel the way it should feel when one misses a friend.

( satoru does not yearn for you in this way, you know it. )

It’s hot, a boiling pit within your stomach and it never leaves your veins—

—not until two nights ago, that is.

Two nights ago when he reappeared.

“Your highness?”

Dearest gentle reader,

in these delicate matters

of love and longing—

“My lady,” Suguru calls out in a similarly hushed fashion. “You're awake.”

Down below the terrace, he stands on the trimmed lawn in his sleep trousers and shirt, dark hair tousled and eyes half lidded — you would've laughed at him if the air between you two hadn't settled with something else.

“I couldn't sleep,” you respond, watching with bated breath as he steps forward, one foot resting atop a raised brick in the mud, eyes trained above, where you stand.

“You often take late strolls, your grace?”

Suguru laughs, breathy, soft. “Your grace,” he repeats your words, mockingly. A few dark strands fall over his eyes as he tilts his head back to look up at you. “You’d think having me in my sleeping trousers alone would be enough for you to discard all formalities—”

( right, this encounter is improper. )

“Forgive me, Suguru,” leaves your lips in correction. You lean further over the terrace rail, body bent in near half to gaze down at him. “It isn't often I speak with men while in my dressing gown.”

“Dear God, I hope not.”

A laugh of your own breaks through and he joins in unison.

So far, and yet so close.

A soft silence soon passes over the two of you under the moonlight.

Suguru, who’d been away for so long, could make years of absence feel null — as if he’d been residing here with you all this time. As if he had been keeping your company in tow, as if the breath of your laugh belonged to him.

As if he hadn't left you.

“I wondered,” Suguru breaks the silence, pale fist wrapping around a stray vine along the wall. “If I would get the chance to speak with you like this.” He whispers, but even from so high above, you hear him clearly in the night's silence.

You know what he means. Just us two. You’ve wondered the same, albeit too often through the years.

Why didn't you write to me? You want to ask. Why didn't you come to visit? Follows next in your brain. Did you move on? Did you fall in love?

( have you been happy away from me? )

“Did you read my letters?”

—often we forget

just how greedy

the heart can be.

“All of them,” Suguru breathes, almost like it hurts to say.

As if it pains him physically to remember how he tore the wax seals open with his teeth, licked the flap of the envelopes and nearly cried when it tasted of you—

“More than once, more than I ought to.”

Suguru grips the vine tighter in his fist, stilling himself and invoking restraint. This isn't his place, not anymore.

If he had it his way, he’d be on the terrace with you, and he’d tell you every thought he had about each word you’d written, with his hands, his teeth, his tongue.

“Suguru. . .”

It reminds you too much of your childhood.

Often you would chase after Satoru and Suguru.

Always both, never one.

And though you knew your fate as a Princess — who would marry a crowned Prince — your foolish heart, so greedy and naive. . .

“I have my obligations.” It leaves your lungs like a lie, something you won't even begin to believe.

You're betrothed to Satoru. It's set in stone.

But the both of you know that's not why you're saying no. “The solstice ends in a week and you will be—” He'll be gone again.

“I’ll not wait a whole week.” Suguru’s voice is still quiet, but even you can't deny the raw hunger behind his words. “If I apologize and say that I wish—”

“You will do no such thing,” you warn, shakily. “Not now, not. . . because of this.” Not because in nearly every way that matters, you’re Satoru’s.

( i wish i told you. i wish i wasn't too late. i wish )

Suguru wished he had stayed.

He wished he had made do on the promises he made to you as children and been at your side, not just as your friend but as the man you would marry—

All those things he had sworn upon his own heart. . .

“Who’ll marry you if you spend your days swinging a sword and broadening your shoulders?”

“And if I say I will, what then?” Suguru had scoffed at your cousin back then. At the mere age of twelve.

“Aren’t there girls your age you can follow around? I don’t care if you’re a princess, we’re not friends.”

“Don't be so crass, Satoru.” Suguru grumbled, grabbing ahold of your hand and tugging you forward the moment you fell behind. “She's my friend.”

( and yet. )

Lady Dria writes : Prince Geto to assume royal estate in the North following rumored betrothal to mystery woman! Is this the end of our beloved royal trio?

( duty came first. )

“I don’t know why you’d believe he’d ever want to court you.”

“I’ll let you keep your tongue,” Satoru scoffed, stepping between you and one of the ladies at court the day after Suguru left. “But address the Princess so loosely again and I swear—”

That night, you cried in the confines of Satoru’s private chambers, your fingers bleeding ink and red wax staining the front of your dress.

What was her name? How long had Suguru known it was arranged? Why didn't he tell you? If you ask him now, will he tell you? Is he ever coming back?

Does he love her?

And it was then, when you didn't have any more words to write, nothing left to say to Suguru that he might not have known, did Satoru tell you,

“I’m here.”

And you believed him.

“Name—” Suguru calls to you and you shake your head, straightening your posture and leaning off the terrace rail. “I wanted to say it before, you were gorgeous at the first solstice feast. . . Still are, even after so long.”

Suguru bites back the words he really wanted to say. I dreamt of you, you look the same.

“You flatter me,” it leaves you breathily, and the beats of your heart elude your better judgement.

“Perhaps, silken gloves suit you, my lady.” Suguru's words hold an undertone that’s lost on you in the moment, yet still you smile at him.

He doesn't see the expression on your face when you turn away, craning his neck to find something— some inclination that he has a chance—

“Goodnight, your highness.” In your voice he finds it, that small sliver of nostalgia, and his heart grasps it in earnest.

Beloved reader,

I fear I must also

impart the knowledge—

Satoru stops dead in his tracks, a single peach colored rose falling from his palm.

—that there are always

three sides to a story.

From across the way his cerulean eyes lock with Suguru’s darker ones, and there is nothing to be said, as they both know what the other is thinking.

You are not worthy of her.

Morning gives way to the first of three hunting days.

As per the terms of the competition, all commoners go ahead before nobles to keep the proceedings fair.

Satoru sits still atop his horse, cerulean orbs downcast and flitting through the mass of bodies in the crowd riding ahead of him.

“Have you and Suguru finally fought?”

Satoru’s eyes widen for a brief moment, turning his head to the side and loosening his grip on the horse’s reins, his mother standing at his side, caressing the mare’s mane with jewel adorned fingers.

“I’ve no idea what you mean, mother.”

The older woman scoffs, the horse leaning eagerly into the touch of her palm.

“When you and Suguru were but meek babes, you two had your first fight you know.” Satoru’s mother smiles a little at the memory.

Back then, both boys were merely toddlers and squabbling with tiny fists over nothing but a simple rattle.

Neither would concede to the other.

Even so young, they fought as they still do to this day. As rivals, as best friends.

“Did I win?” Satoru asks, lifting his gaze to the scenery of dawn before him, drowning out the eager shouts of men and women alike, placing their bets for the competition to come.

“No,” she responds and Satoru’s lips curl into a small frown. “The rattle you fought over snapped in two, ‘toru.”

This isn't about a rattle, is it?

“I won't concede, if that’s what you’ve come to ask of me.” He affirms, and his mother shakes her head, stifling a laugh.

“She isn't a rattle, nor is this a battlefield—” Satoru’s mother is observant, painfully so. “I asked your father to arrange the match myself for the sole purpose that I know you care for her, and I would not subject you to a fate not of your choosing—”

( she can choose, whereas a rattle could not. that is the sole difference is it not? )

“But you would have me sit here and let her choose him?”

Satoru Gojo is many things.

Selfish, spoiled, strong. Greedy even.

He fights for what he wants and he remains determined to win no matter what.

But when it comes to you. . .

Doting reader,

our beloved Prince Satoru

has yet to realize—

“I did not raise a selfish fool. Maybe a proud fool but not a selfish one—” She smacks the side of his leg to which he immediately recoils with a pout on his lips. “You never win love, you earn it.”

As if love can be akin to fleeting favor.

“I am selfish,” Satoru confirms, not shy of shame though. “She would hate me for it, if she doesn't already.” He hangs his head for a brief moment, a puff of a sigh leaving his parted lips. “But can you blame me?”

Satoru is many things.

But not blind.

How can he tell you that he cares for you, that he’s fallen helplessly and carelessly in love with you knowing that he’d be imprisoning you to a fate he loathes?

Whispers behind your back the more you are seen with him or without, the more he puts off the betrothal, the more he leaves your side the more he hopes you’ll learn you don't want him—

That this life, at this palace is less than you deserve.

And yet. . .

—that love is not

a war you march into

of your own accord.

He’s selfish.

“Have you asked her what she wants?”

No, because he’s afraid you’ll say what he wants you to. That you don't want him.

That by the hour you grow more miserable the more he keeps you waiting, tethered by a short thread just waiting to snap—

Satoru convinced himself that if he waited just a little longer, that maybe you’d grow tired and snap the thread all together in one go.

And then the marriage wouldn't happen, you’d contest it and he'd agree. He could keep you close like before, without breaking your heart, even at the cost of his.

“Satoru.” His mother warns, deep azure boring into the side of his face. “That debutant at the dinner—” God forbid she did raise a selfish fool, who would selfishly self sabotage—

“I never touched her.”

“You say that and then you do these things as if I'm to be convinced you've changed.” His mother sighs, as if history has come around to repeat itself. “You don't even realize you're clutching your end too tight.”

And you’ll break if he doesn't let go.

“I can't tell her.”

“You must.”

Who is he to condemn you to the life of a Queen?

In the same way his father did his mother?

That spark in your eyes will go dim, and he’ll watch you give yourself to your duty and it’ll kill him, even worse than you not wanting him will.

He’d prefer you hate him altogether.

“Are you happy with father?”

Darling reader,

perhaps love

only visits the fearless.

“Your father is a good man.”

Satoru would rather die by his own hand before he hears those words from your lips too.

“My lady?”

You visibly wince, cowering behind one of the marble columns in the ballroom.

The few chandeliers that provide light do little to help your situation as Areta’s voice had already notified a few of the dancing nobles of your presence — to which you were met with confused stares.

“Please, keep your voice down.” You hush her, sliding around to the other side of the column where Areta stands, eyes wide and curious.

Areta’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, her lips parting, about to question your odd behavior.

You're hiding. Or at least trying to.

You had no choice in coming to tonight's festivities, as you were already knee deep in your pre-arranged afternoon nap when your dearest mother barged in and asked ( read : demanded ) that you attended tonight's ball to quote en quote ‘keep up appearances.’

With much practiced skill, you’ve eluded Satoru and Suguru by barring yourself in your room recently.

But, cowering behind a column won't get you far, right?

“I don't think hiding is what I mean when I encouraged you to have fun, my lady.” Areta speaks hushedly, joining you behind the column, two full glasses clutched between her fingers. “And if it’s the Prince who you—”

“Oh, spare me, which one?” You chuckle, tilting your head back onto the marble with an eye roll.

“You’ve had trouble with Prince Geto too?” Areta gasps, though not shocked, the young girl's eyes gloss over with curiosity — ever the devoted gossip.

( perhaps if you stay here and sip drinks with Areta, no one will even notice your presence ! )

Devoted reader,

our protagonist

has a pattern of

terrible judgement.

“Hardly trouble, I’m afraid.” You take one of the glasses from Areta’s hands and bring the rim to your nose — grape juice. How fitting. “Trouble would be better, I can handle trouble.”

What you can't handle is both your childhood friends driving you mad with feelings you never even knew existed.

One who torments you with mixed signals and provokes new feelings in the pit of your stomach.

And another who stirs and awakens old feelings inside of you that you thought were long lost.

“Well, I doubt trouble is what you need presently, my lady.” Areta chuckles a little, her voice soon trailing off as she takes a sip of her own drink. “Oh! You wore them—”

“I thought perhaps,” You murmur, more to yourself, fingers fiddling with the edge of your silk gloves – the same black ones from a few nights ago. “I’d wear them once more before I set them aside.”

Now that you think about it, Satoru never said anything about the dress or the gloves — not that it matters to you anyway.

Faithful reader,

it matters.

Too much.

“They're quite beautiful, as are all Prince Satoru’s gifts.” Areta affirms with a soft smile as you drink from your glass, leaning off the column and straightening your posture. “But, I thought he usually had more of an affinity for lace—”

“I was called?”

You jump just a little, turning immediately to meet the source of the intrusion, to which you bump straight into Satoru, spilling the contents of your cup on both of you.

“I’m sorry—” “Grape juice—”

You take a few steps back, immediately crouching to retrieve your fallen cup, but Areta beats you to it, not shy of shooting you a quick wink before she scurries off into the crowd. Deviant.

“You don't like the wine tonight?” Satoru hums, outstretching a hand to pull you to your feet, and you hesitate for a moment.

Only for a moment.

“I didn't think drinking would be wise,” You take his hand, silk sliding soft against his awaiting palm. You don't miss the way his shoulders tighten. “And grape juice—”

“Is your preferred drink of choice, I know.” He finishes, cerulean orbs gazing into your very soul.

You can feel the thrum of his pulse speeding up against your fingertips, calling you, like a siren song. . .

( you should've stayed in bed tonight. )

Admittedly, Satoru was never the type to drink either. He could never hold his alcohol, hated the taste, even if it was just a drop in fermented fruit.

Grape juice was his drink of choice.

And then it became yours.

“I’m sorry, again.” It leaves your lips in a hurry as you look away from him, pulling your hand back as soon as you're upright. “My head must've been somewhere else. . .” Last night on the terrace. Your mind remains there.

Is Suguru going to magically appear too?

You furiously rub a fist over the purple stain forming at the front of your gown. “I need to change my dress—”

“It's not your fault, silk can be slippery.” Satoru bites back a grunt, bringing a palm to your elbow as he guides you off to the side, towards the adjacent corridor. “Come, I’ll help.”

Silk.

( what's his problem with the gloves? )

You follow his lead, a sigh escaping your lips as you both come upon the nearest alcove in the dim light.

You can barely see the velvet cushioning of the sofa tucked away neatly in the back.

The soft moonlight falling through the open window brings a sense of calm when you take a seat, eyes catching on the violet smudge against Satoru’s pearl white vest.

Often in your youth between balls, you, Satoru and Suguru would sneak off to the nearest alcove you could find, pry the window open and sit together on the sill—

“Your vest—” He follows your gaze as he bends a knee, kneeling at your feet casually.

Satoru presses his middle finger over the damp fabric, and unabashedly sticks the digit into his mouth. “Mhm, that's grape juice.”

“Satoru!” You scold.

He only laughs, strands of snowy hair bouncing with each shake of his shoulders. It's a very Satoru-like laugh, but there's something else you can't quite place—

“It's just a juice spill, I’ll live.” Satoru’s smile dips into his cheeks. Dimples. “Hated this stupid thing anyway, I should be thanking you for ridding me of it,” he murmurs, rolling his shoulders back to slip the vest off, muscles taut against his shirt with each movement of his arms.

“Hey— hey—!” You raise your palms to push against his chest to stop him, heat rising at the back of your neck. “Don't do that—” It comes out too late because Satoru is in the middle of rolling the vest off his arms. "You can't just undress—"

The way Satoru only leans forward, shades of azure searching your gaze for something, it's like he's daring you to not look away as he slips the vest off his arms bent behind him.

( why did you run away from me? )

You hold his gaze, the longest you have in days, manicured nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

( why didn't you give chase? )

“Name,” he whispers, as if he’s holding back, but he refuses to look away from you. Not right now.

“Don't look at me like that, ‘toru. . .” You whisper, and it takes everything inside you not scream at him, to say everything you've been wanting to say, everything that's burning your insides.

( don't look at me as if you know desire. )

“Name.” Satoru calls your name, firmer this time, just as his vest drops to the floor behind him.

His knees burn, or maybe his eyes — he doesn't know, his mouth has gone dry and oxygen eludes him.

He's not how he was in your youth.

Satoru slides a pale hand up to grasp one of your palms against his chest, pads of his fingers hooking under the dark silk, and in one fluid motion, he's pulling the glove off your hand.

“That's disrespectful,” you breathe, voice barely audible, the echo of classical instruments sauntering through the vacant corridor. “You can't have two times the favor in any competition—”

“It's not your favor I want.” Satoru grasps the silk in his palm, biting back a grimace.

I’m jealous, he wants to say. Instead he leans closer, and without letting go of your bare hand, he’s aiming to toss the glove over your shoulder and out the window.

“Satoru—!” You retract your hand from his chest to paw at the glove, trying to get it back, and his breath tickles the skin of your throat, his eyes looking down at you, only this time a few shades darker — royal blue, cobalt.

Perhaps, silken gloves suit you, my lady.

( so that's what suguru meant. . . )

“Are you—”

“Jealous? Me? Never.” Satoru rasps the words out like a cancer, his heart seizing and doing somersaults against his ribcage.

“I have to commend Suguru though, the North does make the finest silk. . . Any lady would be glad for such a gift,” he whispers. Even praising Suguru is like an act of surrender to him.

“I wasn't going to say jealous, my Prince.” Your brain melts to a mush of questions.

Satoru isn't jealous because of you— no, that can't be right— he’d be jealous if someone bet on the same horse race as him and won—

( you’re thinking too much, name. )

It's the assessment of his audacity that has the back of your neck heated.

Satoru bites down on his bottom lip, and for a second he squeezes his eyes shut.

Everything burns, it's a miracle he can still see straight.

“What were you going to say?”

You swallow, hard.

Satoru’s face is so close to yours that every word he speaks reverberates through your being like electricity. “I was going to ask if you were okay.” A half truth, really. "Your vest is stained—"

First, you were going to ask if he’d lost his damn mind.

“God, name.” Satoru grunts, dropping the glove dramatically onto the velvet sofa, instead moving his hand to cage you between his arms, his hips against the outerskirts of your dress. “You don't even know what you're doing. . .”

His lips curve into a smile, dimpled cheeks staring back at you.

“Satoru—” It’s innocent enough, the way he leans forward enough to press the side of his face against your cheek.

It’s innocent enough, the way his hand grips your hip, firm and reassuring, the way he’d guide you on horseback. You only pretended not to be good so he'd teach you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against the shell of your ear, his lips soft against your burning skin.

“Do you even know all the ways a woman can be seduced?” It's a sultry tease that has your nails digging into the sofa under you.

Silk gloves, he wants to say. Men seduce women with silk.

Satoru dips his head in a swift motion, his mouth planting a ghost of a kiss to the corner or your lips, and his dimples deepen when your head moves forward to chase his taste, something you’ve never had but crave with every inch of your being.

“Satoru.” You whisper, desperate. He hates himself for wanting this so bad.

He doesn't make you wait long as he presses his lips to yours, it's rough, hungry — he sighs into your mouth, shoulders drooping like he’s finally found what he's been searching for all his life on your tongue.

He’s kissed you before, on the cheek, side of your neck, corner of your mouth — tasted the salty tears of your youth, licked his lips and drank in the remnants of your flavored lipgloss.

He was too young then, too foolish, too afraid to want more.

Satoru’s tongue slips past your parted lips, teeth on wet pink muscle and a shiver runs down his spine when he tastes you, truly tastes you for the first time.

Grape flavored and starving.

Your hand reaches for the collar of his shirt to tug him closer, to pull him deeper into you.

Slender fingers wrap around your wrist and your body trembles, unravelling, unravelling for him until—

He stops.

“Name,” Satoru breathes it in a broken whine, lips wet and swollen with you, each exhale he makes tickles your chin. “We have to stop.”

He’s made a mistake. A foolish one.

“‘Toru, it's okay,” you urge him, moving to pull him closer but his grip on your wrist tightens, keeping you still.

A frown forms on your lips when you see his gaze downcast, unable to meet you, and that gleam in his eyes — guilt.

“We should stop.”

Darling reader,

we all know

how the saying goes. . .

“Why?” The way it leaves your mouth so innocently, so small, in the same tone you had when you were little, chasing behind him no matter how he tried to leave you behind—

( why won't you look at me? )

It makes Satoru hate himself more.

“I’m a gentleman.” Satoru clears his throat and rises to his feet, folding his vest haphazardly over his arm. “You're a lady— a Princess— I can't just. . .”

“You can't just what?” Satoru doesn't recognize the bite behind your voice, the thread he kept toying at with razor blades finally thinning out, ready to snap and break apart. “You can't take me in a dark corridor as you do the other girls?”

He sputters.

It is that. But it's also so much more.

“Princess—”

“No.”

Nothing has changed. And you're not stupid, maybe slow, but never stupid. This isn't about a grape juice spill. It isn't about titles or being respectable.

( it’s about the three of you. )

Is it jealousy? Is this all about a stupid pair of gloves? About his pride? Why? Because he won't let Suguru win even if it means—

“Look at me.” Satoru is slouching in front of you, holding out his palm for you to take. He’s sincere, raw. “I swear to you, the way I feel about you cannot be likened to a secret in a corridor.”

( and yet, you always wished you were one of those girls with him in a dark corridor. )

. . . it's all downhill

from the first kiss.

“Your excuses again—” Satoru steps back when he feels silk stinging against his outstretched palm in a slap of rejection.

The glove he pulled off your hand, the glove Suguru gave to you, falls to the floor.

“And what even is it that you feel?” Your tone reverberates through his bones and Satoru’s considering finding purchase on his knees, where he’d show you what exactly he feels, he'd drink you in, drown in you and be done with the aftermath. “Do you enjoy this? Making me feel like a fool while you stay the bachelor—”

“This engagement was never my choice!” Satoru’s tone raises an octave, brows dipped and frown deep. “And I never—”

That's not what he means to say, not now.

( i never touched another since i laid awake thinking of you. )

“And that's why you won't touch me? Because I'm not your choice, I'm your duty?”

“God, ofcourse I want to touch you—” A guttural groan leaves him then, a rumble in the back of his throat. “If you would just understand—”

He’s a gentleman. Is what he says every waking moment he spends lying to himself that this is for you, that this is for your own good. . .

Because he knows—

( if he touched you now, he’d never stop. )

“Even now you can't say it.” How long have you known Satoru? How long have you been by his side, or rather, chased after him while he remained out of your reach? How long— “That you want me.”

It's almost comical, the way Satoru’s breath hitches in the back of his throat and the palm at his side forms a fist.

He wants you.

“Say it.”

Tell me you want me, tell me it’s me, tell me you feel what I feel too—

“I can't.”

You don't deserve this, I can't give you what you want, hate me so it hurts a little less—

You rise to your feet, the grape juice bleeding into your dress forgotten. “I always thought you were the bravest person to ever live. . .” The strongest. Prince Satoru, the realm’s omnipotent son — “You’ve fought in all these wars and you’ve fought and fought—”

Ever since you were children.

Satoru was every bit a soldier, princely and polished to perfection with his blade. He’s never lost a battle, you're sure, poets write about him.

( what does it feel like to be fought for? )

“Why won't you fight for me, Satoru?”

Satoru Gojo is many things.

Selfish, spoiled, strong. Greedy even.

He fights for what he wants and he remains determined to win no matter what.

But when it comes to you. . .

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Sorry, I’m so selfish. Sorry, I don't want you to leave. Sorry, it should be me and not him.

Sorry, I'm paralyzed in love with you.

He’s not asking you to stay.

This is what he wanted, right? For you to hate him — who is he kidding, you wouldn't hate him even if tried to make you — for you to realize he isn't what you need.

“You won't even give me one reason to stay.” Your throat hurts, you can still taste his tongue in your mouth, grape and mint, mint and grape. “Of all things, I never thought you to be such a damn coward—”

“I’m the Prince, for fucks sake!”

Your lips part then shut again, and Satoru takes a step back. This barrier between you two was always there, wasn't it? Invisible, cold to the touch.

Don't question me, I'm the Prince, he had said the day you asked him why, why can't I come play with you and Suguru?

( why won't you let me in? what are you so afraid of? )

“Then if it pleases the Prince,” It comes out shakier, in a voice that's barely your own.

Satoru picks it up before you do, you sound like a child — the same way you used to when he left you behind. “I’d like to be dismissed.”

The Prince.

Not your Prince.

( does a heart make noise when it shatters? )

“No,” Satoru steps forward, and you step back. It's like a sick game now, and with every thrum of his heart he swears he’ll die. “Name— just. . . no.”

He’s selfish. He knows that.

After this you’ll run off to Suguru won't you? And he’ll be there with open arms and words as soft as silk—

Satoru would know. Because he did the same thing once Suguru left.

But that was before it was this, before this was everything, before—

“Then forgive my defiance to the crown tonight.” You murmur and turn away, the glove is left behind.

Satoru is left behind.

You never win love, you earn it.

L’Incomparable is hardly the jewel on Satoru’s mind when you walk away from him for the second time.

( before he knew he loved you. )

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[blushinggoku]

Recently I went into the DBS fandom wiki to read about the Goku Black/Future Trunks arc, because I haven't watched DBS past the Tournament of Power and the concept of Goku Black intrigued me so much. I'm so glad I didn't waste my time watching the episodes because Jesus