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tonycries · 6 months ago

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Haunting You - G.S.

Synopsis. A bIoody trail of vampire attácks, a political marriage, and four suitors you’re forced to choose from - all haunting you. But none as much as the mysterious stranger that makes everything in you scream that you might just be fated for the very thing your kingdom is trying to escape from.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! princess! reader, king! Gojo, vampire AU, he’s actually ÍNSANE, royalty AU, arranged marriages, creampíes, breéding, fated mátes, FÉRAL down bad Gojo, mentions of bIood and kílling, bíting, óral (fem receiving), spítting, marks (a LOT), fíngering, pórn with plot tbh, overstím, ínnapropriate use of powers, jealous! Gojo, slight inspiration from Persephone and Hades, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 15.8k (HUH???)

A/N. Was listening to Haunted by Beyoncé, and my mind went “ooo vampires.” Hope y’all have a lovely week <3

In all your years being carefully primed to take over the throne, there have only been two rules you were raised under:

You live by the crown, and you will die by the crown. No matter what.

To stop the vampires - if your father, the king, fails to contain the bloody trail of killings before his own inevitable death, you have to. Or, more according to those tedious meetings with the table of elders, your husband will have to.

And it seems as if they were well and fully intent on enforcing that last rule as of late - with sharply increasing numbers of attacks on your local towns, the public was growing restless - and so was the royal court.

You weren’t doing any better either - but for a wholly different reason.

Maybe it was paranoia, but these days, you found yourself constantly catching a flash of crystal blue in the corner of your eye. Or hearing a sweet, sweet whisper in your ear deep at night. Maybe even a soft run of fingers down your spine as you were readied for yet another ball - hands much too large to be any of your ladies-in-waiting.

Like something was watching.

Waiting.

“And then I- your highness, are you listening?”

That familiar, grating voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you’re gasping in embarrassment as you turn back to the prattling man in front of you.

“My apologies, Lord Naoya.” you smile tightly, desperate to finish up yet another conversation about his latest cavalry expeditions. Nodding dismissively, “Just tired, please continue with your ah- wonderful tales.”

But of course, when he starts right back from the very beginning to “cover the key points you missed”, your stomach turns when you realize that you won’t be escaping any time soon. Great. Wonderful. Perfect.

God, future suitors your ass. You’d been taught that there’s no such company as “bad company” when you’re an heir to a kingdom, but this has been the fourth royal ball this month - and the biggest one yet. The fourth night you had to listen to another uptight lord show off his sparse battle medals, or another elder snide about how you’d be useless against the dangers of vampires.

You knew it was likely some coping mechanism with the grim deaths this week, but surely the nobles were tired of all this silly dancing? You sure were.

Gauzy dress just a bit too tight, sighs just a bit too loud than was permitted for the princess, you let your gaze wander across the brilliant ballroom. Those intricate gowns, the huge reflective wall, those little pastries you really wish you could walk away from this conversation and-

Blue.

Crystal blue.

“Wait! Did you see-” you startle, and it disappears as fast as it appeared. Your heavy skirts sway as you whirl around to uselessly track that odd burst of color, “Did you see that?”

“I know!” Naoya gasps, making you turn your head in excitement. “The light reflects off my medal so gorgeously! Oh, and this one-”

Dammit.

All through your life, it was this same color that’d been flitting occasionally through your vision, now haunting you almost every day.

You didn’t know where to look to find that familiar blue again - and you didn’t want to stand here waiting to find out. At the very least, your ears have definitely been assaulted with enough talk about horses and how “absolutely enormous” Lord Naoya’s weaponry at the Zenin Estate was.

Compensating, you muse.

The thought helps you plaster on a grin to your face, humming in a saccharine-sweet tone, “It pains me to cut through, my lord.” It really didn’t. “And I’d love to chat more later, but I think I hear my lady-in-waiting calling for me.”

He sputters, breathing out a few profanities under his breath that you catch. An arm raising as if to keep you in place, “Now, wait a minute-”

You’re angling your body expertly to make your dash. Batting your lashes deceivingly innocently, “Oh? What was that?” you cup your ear. “I hear her again- I really do apologize, but feel free to recount your valiant um- fairy tales in a letter.”

“But your father-”

Not waiting to hear the rest of his response, you barely even bother with a polite curtsy before determinedly weaving your way through the stuffy ballroom. Nodding by the nobles greeting you, waving past the throng of young lords that wanted to reel you into more conversation. Your satiny feet taking you anywhere but here - anywhere but where you could feel the still, heavy gaze of something burning into your back as you escaped.

You just prayed that it was only a miffed Naoya and nothing else.

It was around this time that the orchestra struck up another upbeat waltz, and with most people pairing off on the dance floor, barely anyone noticed you tip-toeing out of the ballroom.

“God-” you’re letting out a sigh of relief when you reach the long hallway, rubbing at your throbbing temples. “The next ball they host, m’gonna conveniently disappear, I swear.”

You didn’t care enough for what matchmaking would happen in the future anyway, no matter what the elders may tell you.

Your ballgown swishes with every urgent step through the quiet, dimly-lit corridors. Maybe a bit too quiet.

Strange. You knew that not many nobles would be wandering around the palace during a ball but, surely you can’t be the only one here? Where were the guards?

Just then, a soft winter breeze puffs against your left ear - and you inhale sharply. “Wha- hello?” you shudder, gaze darting around. “Anyone there?” But when only silence greets you, you’re struck with the sudden thought that the windows along the hallway were closed.

Where did the wind come from?

The realization has you taut with goosebumps pricking at your skin, your pace increasing ever-so-slightly. Gulping, you round the corner quickly, making a beeline for the closest haven you could find - the library.

Ducking past the towering stone archway, you hastily slam the door closed. It takes you a few seconds to get used to the darkness inside. With silvery moonlight ribbons filtering in through the curtained windows, you could just barely make out the rows upon rows of books you’d pestered your father into lining. Surrounded by heavyset tables, and your favorite, cushioned armchair. Luxurious, yet completely dwarfed when seating the lone silhouette-

“If this is an attack, then I surely don’t mind.”

“Fuck-” you scream, reflexively grabbing the nearest book spine you could reach to throw in the direction of the shadow. “Show yourself.”

Somehow, it’s as if the book bounces off an invisible forcefield, plopping down unceremoniously onto the velvety carpet right in front of the tall figure.

“And here I thought princesses usually curtseyed.” that deep, honeyed voice cuts right through your heavy breathing. He makes a move to get up - languid, and torturous, as if he enjoyed your agonizing suspense. “Well, maybe I do prefer being pelted by a- hey, that doesn’t mean pick up another book!”

In a split-second, you were brandishing a weighty encyclopedia this time - holding it firmly behind your head in a ready stance to throw once again.

“Show yourself.”

The man sighs, stepping into a channel of low light. It illuminated his stature - taller than you’d thought, towering well above most of the generals in the royal court. Muscled, yet lean - powerful, the thought strikes you. Magnetizing.

Someone from outside the kingdom, you observe, otherwise you’d have remembered that cloudy white hair, strands falling over a strange, black blindfold stretched across the upper half of his face. Leaving you only a set of high cheekbones, and a pert, pretty mouth to admire.

One that curls into such a mischievous smirk of neat pearly whites, and a tiny dimple digging into his cheek. “Now, I’ve never had anyone this eager to see me.” He drops into a courteous bow at the waist, expensive blue fabrics rippling. “From the North kingdom, Satoru, at your service, princess.”

Your hand falters - partially because of the heavy weight, partially because you recognised that gold “G” insignia in the middle of this stranger- Satoru’s uniform. The Gojo family.

That mysterious, estranged kingdom from the Northern part of the country that hadn’t been seen since you were young. You’d heard stories of them - everyone in this vast country had, it was impossible not to. Of their cruel winters and even crueler king, how blood stained every room in his palace. It was rumored he was a monster, and yet, no one ever saw his face - if they did, they never lived to tell the tale.

You knew your father had invited the king to every single ball out of diplomatic obligation, but he’d never attended. Never even bothered to respond.

So who was this?

“No one. Just a lowly attendant accompanying my king, your highness.” you’re jolting when he purrs, a brow quirking at just how he knew what you were thinking. “The question ah- showed on your face, my apologies.”

Finding your voice, “Um, I apologize, too, Satoru-” You note the lack of a last name, “-for the book. I can’t imagine being hit with Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet was a very warm welcome.” And like a little truce, you’re placing down the encyclopedia in your hand. Flashing him your most practiced smile, “I bet you’re hiding out here for the same reasons as me, then.”

That draws out a pretty laugh from him, bubbly and boyish. “Mhm, the ladies just refuse to leave you alone, too?”

“Well, more like the lords there.”

He hums, something that sends a chill down your spine. Words just a little strained, “Not much for bragging about horses?”

And suddenly, you get the urge to snark back, huffing in a way you know your preparational teacher would faint at. “Absolutely not. I’d rather face a vampire than listen to Naoya and the “absolutely enormous” weaponry he uses to-”

“-compensate!”

“-compensate.” the two of you finish at the same time. “I like this place a lot better, it’s quiet- though…” your voice trails off in wonder. “It’s strange, guests aren’t supposed to be allowed in the library unsupervised.” His jaw clenches when your eyes sweep him, “We are supposed to have a few guards here but I don’t know where-”

All of a sudden, it’s like you’re being splashed with cold water. And your words are dying on your tongue when the room drops a few degrees in temperature.

Satoru is unnervingly still, yet he catches onto your slight shiver. “This damned wind, am I right?” And he’s gesturing at the windows with his head. The closed windows. Words tumbling quickly from those pink lips now, “Anyways- why don’t you sit down-” He prowls towards you, slow, confident. Large hands rest at your arms, they’re pale, surprisingly cold - guiding you easily to sit on the unoccupied armchair. “-since m’being nice enough to let you hide out here.”

His words drip with tease, and you still couldn’t see his eyes, but you imagined they’d be twinkling. No one ever dared to speak to you this way - it was always either thinly-veiled condescension or fear towards royalty.

Surprisingly, you didn’t mind.

You roll your eyes, trying to hold back your smile. “Yeah? Well what do I owe you in return for that, Satoru?”

His lips part, as if not expecting this response. Before letting out another sharp cackle at your expense, “Well, why don’t you-” You can’t tear your eyes away from his magnetic figure when Satoru begins unbuttoning his flowing coat to reveal a snow-white shirt underneath. Wrapping it snug around your shoulders in one, fluid motion, a hand of his tilts your head towards him. “-give me your soul?”

The Gojo emblem burns into your back, and Satoru’s deep, almost raspy tone rings in your ears. It sounded like a joke - but looking into his ethereal features, there was no trace of a grin on what you could see of it. And once again, you’re struck by the pure power radiating off of him.

You hoped it was a joke.

“S-soul’s not for sale.” you manage to choke out, trying to make it look like you weren’t breathing in his metallic, peppermint scent. Heady. Pulling the soft fabric tighter around your cold body, “Steep price for a hideout, don’t you think?”

“S’a discount for you, flower.” his chilling breath fans your face. Letting out hushed, “Heh, you should see the prices I charge others.”

You’re reeling, face burning, “Flower?”

“Because you’re shaking like one, see?” The pads of his fingers move from under your chin to trace up, up, up the goosebumps on your exposed arms. Somehow, you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

Hypnotic.

And his steps are soundless as he walks over behind you, the moonlight giving him an angelic halo. Haunting, almost. “And you’re just as gorgeous, like a wild rose. Way too gorgeous for the fuckin’ bastards out there, might I add, princess.”

The nerve!

Heart pounding, you turn around to- call him out for his disrespect? Snap back? Accept the compliment?

You don’t know - and you don’t get to find out, either. Because before your eyes can search for Satoru’s mysterious figure, the door to the library is slamming open with a deafening bang!

“Ah! There you are!” your lady-in-waiting’s relieved voice floods your ears. And she’s barging in with no comment about your sudden stiffness, or that foreign coat around your shoulders. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, your highness. His majesty is just about to make his speech of the night and needs you there.”

Shit, out of all the scandals.

“I- I can explain.” You’re desperately trying to catch Satoru’s eye to make up an excuse for why you’re alone with a strange man away from the ball, shooting from your seat to look around the library. “We’re just-”

The suddenly empty library.

“Yes yes, I understand that the balls aren’t exactly your favorite pastime.” The oblivious girl is pushing you towards the door, brown eyes narrowed. “But we’ve got to get going now.”

Despite her wrangling you outside, you manage to sneak a few glances backwards, straining to see if he was hiding in the shadows. Only to be met with a now-rumpled armchair and the still, dark bookshelves. As bare as if Satoru never existed - the only proof of his existence being a sad copy of Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet lying on the ground.

And yet, you can’t help but feel a pair of eyes on you.

You feel it all through the short walk back to the ballroom, Nobara’s excited chatter about how finely your all-new coat was made filtering through one ear and out the next. Even when you reach the edge of the dance floor, even when you feel every single other eye in the room on you - you feel it.

“Um, Nobara.” you whisper, discreetly shuffling the coat off your shoulders. “Please take this to my chambers for me.”

The younger girl is positively bursting at the seams, murmuring conspiratorially to you, “So is this where you were? With who- The “G” what does that-”

“Ah! My daughter!” Saved by your father’s booming voice - though, you wouldn’t consider it too much of a salvation when you’re immediately being whisked away to the high platform your father’s throne was seated on. His arms spread wide to greet you in a hug despite stiff etiquette.

“You’re late.” he whispers in your ear.

It’s all you can do to manage out a quiet, “S-Sorry.”

Without another word, he’s addressing the congregation in the middle of the dance ballroom again. More ruler than father at this very moment. “My people, we are gathered here today to dance, to sing, to forget about the horrors happening in our beloved nation.” To large murmurs of agreement he continues, “And despite it all, it’s a reality we must all live with. Me, especially, as your king, have a duty to fulfill.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you wonder where this is all going - your father never brought up vampires during a time like this. Never.

Clearing his throat, “And as we all know, I’m not getting any younger here, unfortunately. Which is why-” He claps his hands once, and three figures - one of which being Naoya, amongst two other nobles you briefly recognized - step forward from the crowd. “Ah- there should be one more- Anyway, after thorough consideration with the table of elders, we have decided to go forward with the betrothal process for my dear daughter here. With the joining of hands will not only be the joining of kingdoms - but the joining of arms, and our people shall prevail as one over the vampires.”

You think you might stop breathing, eyes burning and trained firmly on the ground. This had been a topic of conversation - well, more the elders conversing while you skipped out on every meeting once this discussion was brought up.

You knew this would happen. You knew. But now? At this very moment? All you can do is stand there and listen while he rattles off.

“I know four of the- erm, three of the most eligible young suitors of the land will do their utmost to vie for her heart - and her hand. No easy task I tell you.” Your fists clench, head swimming. “And in a week’s time, we will hold the grand ball to announce my successor.”

Shit - a week. A week.

Somewhere in your line of vision you see - you feel that spark of blue. And you’re raising your head to cheers echoing from all around the room, and still no sign of where those eyes are.

“The next time we meet, will be with the future king and queen!”

Fuck.

---

That night was spent with a few too many tears, and a consoling Nobara at your side all until daybreak. And if you held onto that comforting, peppermint-scented coat through it all, well, you were only glad that you seemed too pitiful for her to question it.

Feeling much more composed and only slightly less bitter about the prospect of being married off to a stuck-up noble you didn’t know, you made your way to breakfast the next morning. An affair usually spent with your father, or in the palace gardens - but this time, surrounded by four suitors under the guise of getting to know you. Sizing each other up, maybe.

“Ah, your highness, good morning!” you sweetly reciprocate the greetings once you’re escorted into the dining room, taking your seat at the very end of the long, mahogany table.

Sighing you take in the scene - on your left was Lord Naoya from last night, the same sharp grins and shifty eyes as you remembered. Seated beside him was the young duke of the Kashimo clan - hair striking, his battle staff laid out next to him on the table. Intimidating.

But nothing in comparison to the hulking man on your right, it seemed as if his uniform was on the verge of bursting. Face sullen, letting his pink locks fall into place - Sukuna, you think you remember.

“Your highness.” Ichiji bows, taking his place supervising the breakfast. “I am afraid our guests from the Northern kingdom will not be able to attend this breakfast today. He sends his deepest apologies. B-but-” His face-paled, looking scarred for life. “-he did have his um- attendant send this note-”

You’re gratefully taking the creamy scrap of paper before the words have even left Ichiji’s mouth, flipping it over to reveal slanted, beautiful calligraphy - Apologies for the sudden departure last night, flower. And I hope you forgive my king for not being here to deter the talk of horses - duty holds both man and beast from freedom. Worry not, we will be seeing your sweet smile again soon. But, for now, give those three bastards a rude gesture from me.

You giggle, tucking away the note. A tiny pang of disappointment hitting you out of nowhere at the lack of that gold “G” emblem anywhere along the table - and more importantly, the white-haired enigma that would follow.

All three men were glowering, yet begrudgingly plowing on with their conversation from before as you settled. Not having the energy to contribute, you listened in.

“-this would never have happened in my estate.”

“Oh buzz off-” Kashimo interrupts Naoya, before throwing a guilty look your way at his crass words. As if you didn’t say worse. “Apologies, your highness. As I was saying-” he turns back to the man. “Don’t think we haven’t heard of those vampire killings in your court that you tried to cover up, your defense isn’t as impenetrable as you want it to seem, Naoya.”

That causes you to raise your brow - and evidently, Sukuna’s as well. “That so? Little fraud, aren’t ya, Zenin?”

The shorter man sputters indignantly, “You- you little- you call me a fraud and yet you’re the only one who didn’t bother to help investigate last night? Got something to hide, oh king-of-curses?”

“Tch, shut up.” That little nickname ticked something off in Sukuna, and his grip on his delicate fork tightens. Smirk intentionally bared to piss off, “It’s just because when the princess marries me, she won’t have to worry about vampires attacking guards in the middle of a ball.”

Wait, what?

“Yeah right, you and what army because I have an absolutely enormous-”

“What do you mean?” Your smooth voice cuts through their bickering, and all three men freeze, gazes snapping to you as if they’d already forgotten you were there. “I didn’t hear about any killings last night.”

If you thought they were tense before then you weren’t prepared for right now - shoulders raising in surrender, for all their blabbering, not a word was uttered after your accusatory question. After a few beats of silence, you scoff in frustration, turning towards your escort, squirming and avoiding your pointed stare at the very corner of the room.

“Ichiji.” The man looked like he could positively give anything to blend into the meticulously hand-painted flowers on the wall. “Ichiji, tell me what happened.”

“P-princess!” he yelps, adjusting his glasses. “I- I’m afraid the king said- please I can’t-”

“Ichiji…”

“P-please don’t banish me-”

You’re on your feet now, cornering the poor man. Mentally, you make a note to give him a raise. Eyes narrowing, “I won’t banish you, but as the future queen I have a right to know, don’t I?”

“...”

“...please?”

And the remaining men had been watching with morbid fascination as you worked your magic. They were already aware that the frail attendant was the weakest link out of them all, but what they certainly did not expect was exactly how weak.

It only took a single bat of your lashes before his pale cheeks colored an almost-concerning pink. Eyes scrunching shut in embarrassment, as the words spilled from his lips. Neverending and slurring with haste as he speaks in one breath, “Th-three of the guards stationed near the outer corridor and library wing were found killed by a vampire last night before you retired for the night, your highness. Their b-bodies were disposed of, and this in combination with all the recent killings was why the king hurried the announcement for your engagement. B-but, his majesty decreed that this never be relayed to you in order to keep you in high spirits after the betrothal eep-!”

“Is- is that so?” you breathe, eyes wide. Taking one last look at the four speechless men, before walking out of the tall doorway. “I seem to have lost my appetite, I will be heading for my chambers now. I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay, my lords.”

Shit shit shit - how did you not notice?

Maybe you walked right past the killer last night and didn’t even realize - who knows what could’ve been hiding in the shadows. How did you not realize? How did you not see?

Just then, a thought strikes you - did Satoru see?

---

It’s one of the whirlwind of questions ringing around in your mind even by the time you hear a steady knock on your door. Jolting you upright from where you splayed out on your plush, silken bed, rows upon rows of books on vampires haphazardly surrounding you.

Peering out of your large window, you notice the hues of pink and red painting the sky, a big red sun just dipping below the horizon - shit, when did you even fall asleep?

“Come in.” you answer, voice scratchy. Rubbing away the sleep in your eyes, you could barely make out the hazy outline of Ichiji standing in your doorway.

“Ah- your highness, I apologize for waking you up.” he bows. “But master Kashimo will be headed out for a late-night hunt at this very moment, and requested your presence shall you wish it. He noticed that you seemed upset at breakfast, and wanted to make it up to you.”

You take a moment to mull over the question - it certainly was rude for you to just ignore your guests all day. And considering you might just be marrying one of them, it wouldn’t kill anyone to actually get to know them.

“Alright.” you reply, voice even. And your answer seems to surprise the other man, “Tell Tsukumo to get my gear ready, I will be down as soon as I change.”

“Y-yes, princess! I will call for Nobara to help you get dressed.”

As the door shut once more behind him, you threw off your heavy blanket- and your coat? Satoru’s coat, which had evidently been draped around your upper half. Heart stuttering, you didn’t remember putting that on before…

Hm, you had to thank Nobara for that later.

---

Hunting with Kashimo was, unexpectedly, dull.

“So…” you drag your words, trying to fill the tense silence. “What is it that we’re actually hunting for-”

“Shhh-” you hear for about the third time this past hour. A brow of yours quirking at the way it seemed like the two of you had been wandering the woods belonging to your kingdom’s estate for hours, and you still didn’t know what it was you were supposed to be looking for.

Alright, perhaps hunting wasn’t the best opportunity to get to know your potential future husband.

“My lord…” you call out warily, already aware of the duke’s affinity for hunting. “Maybe we should rest for a bit, after all, the stars are out already and the moon is so bright.”

He barely even turns to look back at you, “No time. The woods belonging to your kingdom have some of the rarest species of cursed animals in this country. I must make the most of this week in that case, your highness.”

You brighten at the closest shred of conversation in so long. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard! I also hear they-”

“Shh!”

So close.

Letting out a resigned sigh, your eyes glaze over as you watch Kashimo trace his thick fingers over animal tracks on the dirt. Suddenly, gesturing for you to follow him as he sped off in another direction.

It doesn’t take too long for him to stray out of sight. Meanwhile, your legs lag behind in protest - and pettiness, you realize. Grumbling to yourself about how you’d rather have watched paint dry as you’re sure the elders often did. Well, you look at the now-barren pathway, at least now you didn’t have to worry about someone shushing you all the ti-

“AHH!”

And then, all of a sudden - it felt like you were the hunted.

It’s like every bit of blood drains from your body at the blood-curdling scream. Grip tightening on your bow, you’re jolting at the direction it came from - where did Kashimo disappear off to again?

Yet, for how much you knew your kingdom like the back of your hand, it’s so dark. The moon barely peeking through gloomy gray wisps of clouds that you don’t know where exactly you’re running to - just that something was tugging. Reeling you in. No destination in sight until you’re crashing face-first into- a wall?

“Hey, flower, where are ya running off to this late?”

Your hairs raise, something visceral in your body jolting.

Satoru - blindfold and all.

“Wh- Satoru thank God you’re here.” you gasp, looking nervously over his broad shoulders. “I heard a scream, and I’m worried about Kashimo because he went somewhere over there and-” You’re pointing aimlessly in his direction, before clasping a hand around Satoru’s defined bicep. Tugging, “You have to help me, that idiot even insisted on no guards because of disturbing the wildlife and I’m so worried and-”

Before you can react, big strong arms are enveloping you. And you’re suddenly hit with the smell of peppermint and Satoru - something so sickly sweet tinging the air, it makes you droop limply into his firm hold. Your skin burns when he breathes in, deep.

“Shhh shhh, I know I know, princess.” he hums, pulling you deeper against his chest. Until you could feel every dip and curve of his pectorals. “You must’ve been scared, right?” At your hesitant nod, “You did good. You did perfect- in fact. Especially putting up with that pretentious bastard.”

The shocked laugh that drags from your throat has Satoru sighing contentedly, an almost-pained grunt leaving him as he pulls away ever-so-slightly. You felt much the same.

“S’alright, I’m pretty sure it was some animal.” he soothes. He clasps your hands with his, running a damp thumb over your knuckles. “I saw him trudging about disturbing more wildlife over there.”

You breath catches in your chest at just how close Satoru was now, his breath mingling with yours. Pretty plump lips so close - too close. Yet you’re leaning in closer, like you’re drawn by a thread. “Are you sure? Maybe we should-” You gasp, eyes widening when you look down at where your hands were intertwined - red. Or, what you assumed to be red, a saturated, patchy stain on your hands where Satoru’s met yours. He stiffens when he follows your gaze, trying to pull away, but you only hold your grip harder. “Satoru, are you bleeding? Or is this-”

“Not mine.” his voice is hard - and for a second you have to wonder whether this is really the same Satoru. And you swear there’s a little tremor in his words as he explains, “You see, I went out on a little hunt myself, flower.”

Even if Satoru didn’t have his blindfold on, you’re sure his face would’ve been unreadable. That almost-familiar grin of his is strained. Too strained. Yet, his movements are unwavering as he tries to wipe away the blood. “Must’ve forgotten to wipe down, I apologize for sullying your hands, princess.”

“Let me-” you mutter, taking a hold of the coat around your shoulders to wipe away the blood. Uncaring for what you were dirtying at the moment. “I swear you need to take better care of yourself, Satoru. Seriously.”

And you didn’t see them - but somehow you could just feel the amusement dancing in Satoru’s eyes. Raising your confused gaze up to meet his, “What?”

He only flashes you a knowing grin, “S’jus’, you’re wearing my coat, your highness.”

Your movements pause, mouth gaping open while you try to pathetically spout out an excuse. “I- I didn’t mean to get this coat dirty, oh my god. I didn’t think-”

“S’alright.” he inches in even closer. A smirk grazing those sinful lips of his, “I actually prefer it like that, you look like mine.” Taking a deep breath, “You smell like mine.”

And before you can ask about his cryptic message, he’s placing a hand at the back of your waist. A very improper hand that would definitely make the elders gasp in scandal. “We should head back to the palace, it’s getting late. I will escort you, m’sure that born hunter of yours is already halfway back too.”

“Carry me.” you blurt out, your body aching to feel more of him. And before you can retract your words - probably sputter a few apologies, you’re being cradled by a smug Satoru. One hand under your knees, the other supporting you like you’re weightless.

“Heh, a princess carry for a princess.”

“Oh, shut up.” you grumble with embarrassment when he walks forward slowly, your legs swaying in midair. “Want my soul for this as well?”

And you can feel Satoru’s muscles ripple, you can feel the way his breath hitches in his chest ever-so-slightly. Rumbling as he drawls, “More than you’d know.”

“S’that a discount, too? You still didn’t tell me what you charge others.” you quip, remembering the conversation from the night before.

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough, your highness.”

You’re quirking a brow, something hot churning at the pit of your stomach at that ragged tone to his words. “I’m onto you, y’know.” You stare up at his clenched jaw, highlighted in the dim moonlight. His long, pale neck, the crevices of his blindfold. For a moment, you wonder what it would be like if you could peek under. “Onto you and your absurdly high prices, Satoru.”

He breathes out a shuddering, overly-dramatic shudder. “Mhm, flower, I should be worried.” Before looking up at the sky - and you wondered just how well he could see through his blindfold. “The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”

That night, you dreamt of long-winded star-gazing and blue, blue eyes.

---

“What do you mean Lord Kashimo has left for his kingdom?” you hiss, feeling a faint stab of offense. Seriously, were you that awful at hunting? “He didn’t make any indication of it last night.”

And if your careless words made Nobara beam with slight embarrassment, you didn’t take note of it - too caught up in what you’d just heard. Enough so that it takes her next words to bring you out of your stupor, “Exactly what I said, your highness. The lordship and his court have all vacated their wing, leaving behind only a letter of forgiveness for ending the festivities early.”

“Still.” you murmur petulantly. Setting aside another one of your books on Vampire: Mates, Murder, and More. “It’s strange, I thought he was here for the hunting sprees, if not for me.” Your tiara weighs heavy on your head as you turn to your young lady-in-waiting. “I would like for Ichiji to catch up to Kashimo’s traveling party, make sure they’re safe, and send them my well wishes.”

Ha! Take that elders - you’d show them you’re fully capable of holding diplomatic relations as a ruler.

“As you wish, princess. Additionally, this-” She’s holding out a small pouch of blue fabric that you’d never seen before. “-was found by your bedside when cleaning and I wished to give it back safely.” Before her polite smile drops into a much more devious smirk, “A gift from one of the suitors, perhaps~?”

You gesture for her to hand it over, the silk casing soft under your touch. Detailed. One-of-a-kind, from what your tedious lessons in the history of fabrics had taught you. You didn’t recognize the patterns sewn onto it as something typical for your kingdom - or any other you’d learned about, really.

“M’not sure.” you whisper. Opening the little purse to reveal a flash of gold - a necklace. Thin and intricate, holding a sapphire pendant in the shape of an eye.

Blue.

A blue you knew too well - the same one that peeked out from every dark corner, that you saw before you slept at night. The one that’s been by your side for years.

Constant. Now coming to haunt you.

Chills run down your spine, and your fingers tremble at how life-like it looked. Burning into your very soul.

“Would you like for me to help you put it on?” Nobara asks, mistaking your shock for difficulty. And yet, you don’t correct her - body moving before your mind to simply nod.

There was only one clasp on the chain - leaving you to worry about the fit. But when it was hooked around your neck, you found that it fit you so perfectly. Like it was tailored to you - and only you. Why was it so perfect?

Why did it capture the exact color you’d been chasing after your whole life - since before you’d even formed memories? Since you were nothing but a surly, teary-eyed little girl that was crying about the dark, babbling about that “blue flash” that no one else ever seemed to see.

“If that will be all, your highness. I will take my leave.” With a nod and a low bow, you’re left all by yourself in your sprawling chambers. Wondering, somewhat in amusement, whether you’d be let off this marriage pact if all the other suitors suddenly left as well. Hell, maybe you could marry whoever got you this necklace since they apparently know you so well.

And you swear - maybe it was the fatigue from trekking last night, maybe it was the stress from the past month - but you swear the wind picks up in its chilly bite. Howling just low enough that it sounds like a deep, taunting cackle.

The necklace doesn’t leave its palace around your neck for the next few days. You still didn’t know who’d gifted it to you - right inside your chambers for god’s sake - and if either of the two suitors remaining knew, they didn’t make any indication of it either.

Three, technically, but it seemed that the more the days passed, the less you saw of the mysterious king of the Northern kingdom.

While Sukuna and Naoya had taken it upon themselves to woo you by joining you in your daily activities, he hadn’t even shown his face to you yet. You were sure your father would’ve had him humiliated and thrown out of the palace already if he wasn’t afraid for his life.

But you didn’t mind, because you saw enough of Satoru to make up for King Gojo and Kashimo. The man seemed well and fully intent to stick by your side, talking yourselves well into the night.

It was on a night like this - sprawled out along the plush armchairs in the very library you’d met, only a few days after Kashimo’s departure - you asked, “Satoru, what color are your eyes?”

That makes him pause in the middle of his extremely animated story about how he’d caught Earl Yaga in the middle of an artistic dance routine. The baritone of his voice cracking so uncharacteristically as he responds with, “Wh-why do you ask, princess?”

“Because.” you roll your eyes. “In four days m’gonna be marrying, and it might just be your king. Yet, I don’t even know his attendant’s eye color - what type of good queen would I be then?”

You knew it was a flimsy excuse, truthfully you just wanted to see Satoru. All of Satoru.

“Not many have wanted to look into my eyes”

You tilt your head, “How come?”

“Well, I can assure you that they aren’t half as alluring as yours.” Satoru pushes back your tiara ever-so-slightly to reveal your face to him better, fingers dancing down to fiddle with your pendant. “You’re a strange one, aren’t ya, flower?” he chuckles, face inching closer to yours - and for a moment, you think he might do something else. “Tell me, how are the wedding preparations going?”

Ah, right - the wedding preparations. Your wedding preparations, to someone else.

Did you want him to do something else?

“W-well-” you pull back from his hypnotic presence. Heart lurching, necklace burning cold into your skin. “Sukuna keeps trying to teach me his very particular diet, I swear I’ve spent much more time with Uraume learning it than with him- they’re a sweetheart though, I can’t complain.” Eyes trying to avoid the intensity of his gaze, “Oh- and Naoya still talks about his weaponry, however, I think his Zenin elders had a word with him because he asked to meet me in the gardens tomorrow evening to actually get to know me for once.”

You brave to take a look at Satoru at the end of his spiel - only to be met with a face you never thought you’d see. His mouth a tight gash, jaw ticking, and you could almost hear the grinding of his teeth.

Terrifying. Magnetic.

Powerful.

The library was always cold - but you fail to suppress a shiver at the sudden grip in the air. “S-Satoru?”

And suddenly, at the mere sound of your voice, everything clicks back to normalcy. You’re staring that familiar grin painted onto his face again, musing slyly, “How much d’you wanna bet he’ll ask about your weaponry instead?”

“Oh, shut up.”

It’s only much, much later at night when you’re forced to retire early - Satoru slipping past the library earlier than usual with groans of his “attendant duties” that you realize - he didn’t answer your question.

---

“P-princess, will you be alright going alone? I don’t think-”

“It’ll be alright, Ichiji, I’m just meeting Lord Naoya.” you wave off the stammering man. Tugging your velvety coat snugly around your body, “Honestly, you act like I haven’t been out in the gardens alone before.”

And it was true, since returning from his little meeting with the Kashimo court, your jumpy attendant seemed even more so - and you didn’t even know that was even impossible. Always peeking cautiously behind corners of the winding hallways, always hovering close by you even when his duty didn’t require it.

He’d told you - in that quiet, shaky voice of his - that Kashimo was well, and headed straight for his kingdom to fulfill emergency duties. To which you’d accepted - you understood the gravity of responsibility, after all.

“But- but, your highness!” he gasps, pulling you out of your little reverie. “I don’t think- with the way he-”

A spine-chilling breeze rustles the nearby tree, sending shivers down your spine. Howling in your ears. You squint your eyes against the cold, “Sorry, what was that, Ichiji?”

But the man in front doesn’t speak - fuck, you didn’t even know if he was breathing. Face a sickly pallor, mouth gaping open and shut like he wanted to say something - he needed to say something. Yet, he wasn’t even looking at you, wide eyes locked on something over your shoulder.

“Are you-” Your body holds you back, feeling two burning eyes on you - and you have to force yourself to look over your shoulder. Only to see- nothing? “-are you alright?”

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, you’re turning back to face your attendant - only to see him sprinting back down the entrance as fast as his knobbly legs could carry him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then!” you call, hoping it echoed far enough to be heard.

Strange.

It’s all you can think about for the next half an hour you’re seated on that dainty, painted bench in the middle of the palace gardens, waiting for your potential future husband. And for the next hour. And the next.

It’s by the time the sun has fully set, when twinkling stars are dotting the night sky that you settle with the conclusion that yes, it seems that Naoya has already made his decision about the marriage. And no it doesn’t end with a wedding.

“Dammit.” you spit, running a hand through the hair you had Nobara fuss about with. “S’not like I wanted to marry you anyway, bastard.”

And you didn’t - you really didn’t. Whenever you dared to imagine walking down that decorated aisle, Naoya was the last person you saw.

But seated alone and abandoned, trying to cover yourself from the biting chill of the night, you never felt more like an unworthy heir. Fuck, if no one wanted to marry you how would you even dare to think of taking over the throne?

Maybe you should just-

“We have got to stop meeting like this, flower. S’like you’re haunting me.”

“Satoru!” you gasp, throwing yourself into his embrace. You’re reaching up to loop two arms around his neck, “Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. That asshole had the audacity to stand me up.” Pulling back so your face ghosts his, “I got all dolled up just for him to leave me like this. As if I wanted to be with him, I was just trying to be a good- a good h-host and-”

Suddenly, you’re struck with the realization of how close you two actually are. You could count every crease on his blindfold, pinpoint exactly where every dimple at the corner of his grin was.

Your hands slide their way down to his sculpted chest, pushing slightly. “-I apologize, this was forward of me.”

But his arms only tighten around your waist - when did they even get there? Large and steady, pulling you back to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, your racing pulse. “Stay.” he groans, and he sounds slightly out-of-breath, heavy exhales tickling your ear.

“We can’t be caught like this, Satoru.” you breathe, but that familiar little tug has you shuffling closer. Breathing in that familiar metallic sweet scent you’ve grown to love, “I- I’m getting-” Bile creeps up at the back of your throat, and you laugh bitterly. “I think I’m getting married in three days, y’know? To Lord Sukuna, I assume, since two of my suitors ah- ran away and the other refuses to even see my face.”

His thick fingers dig deeper into the extravagant corset at your waist, “I know. Fuck- don’t I know.”

It’s a steady beat of silence, so still. So tense you could hear every stuttering heartbeat of yours, and strangely enough, you had the nagging feeling that he could, too.

“You could just marry me.” Satoru’s abrupt confession breaks the silence, and you find yourself sinking deeper into his soft coat. Wrapping yourself up in his heady presence. “Be my queen. You wouldn’t have to worry about duties or elders or- or vampires.”

And the night was still. So still.

Despite the way your heart races, eyes blinking up in disbelief, you find it in yourself to deadpan, “F-funny. Do I have to give you my soul for that as well?” Oh, some stupid little part of you think you might just have.

And you’d expected Satoru to crack a laugh, to give you a teasing smile while he carried on that little inside joke between the two of you. You’d expected him to no sooner shove you off and talk about it being late. Hell, a part of you even expected this to be some elaborate set-up from the elders to get you caught in such a compromising position with the no-longer stranger from the Northern kingdom.

But, no. It’s anything but that - everything but that.

Because the taller man only rasps, nose-to-nose now, “No.” Sounding like his sanity was slipping away from him with every breath, fingers making their dance down to twirl your sapphire pendant between them. “I’d give you mine.”

You can feel his breath fanning your cheeks, head dipping slowly - so torturously slowly. As if he was giving you ample opportunity to run away if you wanted to. But you don’t think you could move for the life of you.

Instead, you’re dipping closer, gliding the tip of your thumb over his defined cheekbone. Mere millimeters away - just one push. Another hand of yours steadies at the back of his neck, feeling those snowing locks under your fingers.

One.

Your thumb dips just under the seam of his blindfold - unwillingly.

“Your highness.” Satoru’s voice is cold, his fingers lacing with your own even colder. Something eerie. And even with the delicate touch you could feel the power thrumming through Satoru’s body. “This is for you.”

You can only stand there in shocked silence as the moment shatters, and he produces a wild rose as if out of thin air. “Consider it from King Gojo.” Touch searing against yours when he hands it to you, you feel drunk off of him “Perhaps the night is late now.”

Right. The king.

When you’re walking back in the directions of the palace’s warm lights, you don’t think you’ve ever felt safer. Strangely enough.

“Satoru.”

“Yes?”

“I’m onto you.”

“You’re onto me.” he’s tucking the bloom over your ear. Before stepping back into the inky pool of shadows beside the entrance you came from. “Sweet dreams, flower.”

That night, when you tuck yourself into bed, you swear you hear a faint whisper of those same three words lulling you to sleep. Over and over.

Sweet.

Dreams.

Flower.

---

Floral preservation was one of the lessons you’d been forced to attend growing up in the palace, but even you didn’t know how that wild rose Satoru gifted you hadn’t wilted yet.

It remained as fresh and prim as the night it was picked, bluish pink petals never fading. You didn’t keep it safely in a bowl of water amongst the other plants and flowers in your bedroom. Somehow, never out of place, always tucked safely behind your ear in the days that followed. Perhaps it was improper to keep it on you even when you were being fitted into an engagement gown to be promised off to another man. But Satoru didn’t complain, and you didn’t either.

With Kashimo departing for his kingdom early, and Naoya apparently following in his footsteps due to “irrevocable differences”, it was now almost confirmed that the future king was to be Lord Sukuna. Not like King Gojo had made any effort to reach out - and Satoru hadn’t mentioned it either.

Satoru.

Things were…the same after that night, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

It must be done, you sigh, wincing at the pinch of the flowing white dress being suited onto you by the bustling tailor. At least it could be worse, even if you’d rather…

“Honestly, young people these days.” Yaga speaks up from where he was fussing with the silken hem of your gown for tomorrow. “I heard of that Naoya brat leaving out of nowhere, princess. My condolences.”

“Ah-” you startle, not expecting to be addressed. “It’s not your fault, we likely didn’t mesh all that well. I just wish he left a note- Honestly, I’m lucky to even have a suitor left after these six days.”

Another grimace leaves you when you feel another tweak of pins pricking at your skin. The other man hums lowly, “Don’t say that, anyone would be lucky to have you. Anyway-” He gets up from his position kneeling, towering over you to admire his own work. “How do you like it, your highness?”

You let out a gasp when you face the floor-length mirror, “Oh my god, it’s perfect.” The dress was regal, decadent. With flowing tresses resembling a petals, and gilded gold and blue weaved into the fabric.

Blue.

“I fashioned it after that necklace and flower of yours.” You unwittingly reach for that familiar pendant, “I ah- forgive the assumption, but I assumed you would be wearing them both at the betrothal ceremony tomorrow, princess?”

Taking another long look in the mirror, you nod, “Yeah. I will.”

---

“I knew it.” he laughs shrilly. “I fuckin’ knew there was something wrong with you. As soon as I saw you butterin’ the princess up in the library, I knew you were a fuckin’ freak.”

The other man only responds with ominous silence, letting labored breathing cut through the bone-chilling air. Clearly unsatisfied, “What? Not gonna talk now? Aren’t ya just in it for the crown like me? Have the bitch, just give me the crown.” Goading now, “I bet you’re not even an attendant are ya- I know what you are-”

His words are cut off with another choked-up gasp, followed shortly by a strained growl. “I know- what you are-”

Red stains the marble floor - a problem for later.

“I know, King Gojo.” And it’s the last thing he sees. “And you’ll reap what you sow, she’ll never love you.”

Blue.

“You’ve haunted me too long, flower.”

“Satoru–!” you scream, throwing your soft bed sheets off your body.

It was burning - you were burning, gasping for the cold lungfuls of air that filled your empty bedroom. Mind bleary, distantly, you register that it’s around daybreak - tiny fingers of golden sunlight just barely dipping through your window - your open window.

Hastily, you’re tumbling out of bed to slam it shut. Heart still pounding when you take in the mess of flower petals from those congratulatory bouquets you’d gotten. Ruined. Only the stems left in the vases after that sudden, chilling wind.

“What-” Your eyes dart around to look over your dresser, where you always kept Satoru’s wild rose. And a shiver creeps down your spine when you realize it lay snug tucked behind your ear, safe and sound. Exactly where you didn’t keep it. “-happened?”

You couldn’t settle back into bed after that - couldn’t even think about it. So you find yourself reaching for your wardrobe of dresses, running your fingers along the intricate gown made for your engagement ball tonight. Your engagement to Sukuna.

If this was the nightmare, and tonight was to be the dream - why did your stomach turn so?

---

It was difficult convincing Nobara to let you keep the wild rose on after getting ready.

“But that’s so last season.” she bemoans. “No offense, your highness, but even old lady Ogami wouldn’t be caught dead wearing flowers in her hair these days.”

You’re giving her your best puppy dog eyes, “Please, Nobara?”

“No.”

“I’ll let you raid my exclusive wardrobe the next time you want to play dress-up?”

“...”

Which was how you found yourself shoved into a dress that was way too gorgeously palatial, barely even having the time to admire the lush gold and blue decorations around the sparkling ballroom before you were being ushered next to your father on his throne.

You fiddle with your ringed fingers, feeling more and more like a lamb sent to slaughter - a very opulent slaughter - with each step.

“I am so proud of you for this week, and you look absolutely divine, my love.” your father whispers into your ear once you’re up on the crushed velvet platform. “I hear from Ichiji that you know, I apologize we couldn’t go through with this marriage under better circumstances.”

You shake your head, giving him a calm smile - you’d already forgiven him, sometimes there was duty far greater than any man.

“My people, as promised, we are gathered once more to celebrate the joining of two hands - and two kingdoms.” The king projects his voice out to the eager crowd, “Together, these two young loves will face their duty. They will face the dangers. They will face our future.”

The thought had you clenching your fist into the soft fabric of your gown, looking down at your feet in a bow.

“As I did with my father before me - God rest his soul - the future king and queen will oversee their responsibilities to protect our people from those treacherous vampires. The elders-” he stops short, eyes widening at the empty seats on the balcony - where the table of elders always sat. Abandoned. Chilling. “...have decreed, in accordance with our princess, to introduce my daughter to you all as our future queen-”

Your father gestures a hand your way, and you step forwards to cheers, still not daring to look up. And all you could see were two, gold-toed boots stepping into your field of vision.

“-and our future king!”

“Look up, flower, this is the best part.”

Gasping, you raise your head - Satoru.

“Y-you?”

He smiles that pearly smile at you, one that makes your knees weaken, “Me.” Before leaning down conspiratorially, “Better get moving now, the king just declared that the big bad Northern king and the precious princess will have their first dance as a couple.”

It felt like you were moving through a dream as you slip your hand into his, flinching at the feeling of his cold lips meeting the back of your hand.

The crowd of whispering nobles part to make a path for the two of you, and Satoru is so gentle when he leads you into the middle of the dance floor. Weightless on his feet, swiftly placing a burning hand on your waist - just below where the elders would consider proper.

The other intertwining with yours, you barely even register the slow, romantic tune playing from the orchestra.

“I bet you have questions.” he whispers, breath fanning your cheeks.

You take in his tall figure, the rows of medals, gleaming only half as bright as the smile that makes its way onto your face. Hissing, “That doesn’t cover the half of it, King Gojo.”

“I-I apologize. I can’t apologize enough but-”

“Though, I did have a nagging feeling about the fifth time you talked yourself up.” you smirk.

Satoru throws his head back in a loud cackle, echoing through the hushed crowds - no doubt gossiping about this being the Northern king, that fearful beast that ruled over the Gojo family. “I know.” His hand comes up momentarily to brush over your sapphire necklace, “And I’ll spend our entire lives making it up to you, flower.”

Goosebumps dance down your arm, your spine, right down to where Satoru held a firm grip on your hip. You two waltz around the edge of the dance floor, perfectly in time. Through the crowd of grumbling lords, the orchestra, past the table of foods.

“And exactly how long would the rest of our lives be, Satoru?”

Slowing right in front of that huge, reflective wall.

You couldn’t see his eyes, but his biting gaze was all you could feel.

Lingering on the blue pendant nestled at your chest, the everlasting wild rose tucked behind your ear, the mirror to your right - where the twin image of you shone. Powerful, gorgeous, everything that a monster like him could never have because he wasn’t standing there right next to you. His kind never could.

In the back of your mind, you registered collective gasps sounding all around you - the rest of the ball attendees that’d also taken note of the lack of Satoru’s reflection. But your eyes stay locked on him.

A thumb hooks under his blindfold, and he grimaces. “You really were onto me, huh, flower?”

Tugging.

Your fingers tighten around his, unable to let the most fearsome of creatures escape from your grasp. “You must’ve been onto me, too, Satoru.”

Pulling.

All you see is a flash of a regal nose bridge, and the flutter of thick white lashes - before every single chandelier in the ballroom snuffs out at once. Cloaking the room in unnatural darkness, it sends every single knight and noble into a frenzy.

And then, he opens his eyes.

“IT’S HIM-”

“A body! A BODY FOUND IN THE ROYAL GUEST SUITE–

“VAMPIRE! STAY BACK-“

Oh, it’s blue.

That crystal blue.

And then it’s black.

---

SLAM!

“If you must kill me.” Satoru’s voice sounds from somewhere above you. You blink away the darkness, feeling your bleary gaze try and adjust to that unfamiliar high ceiling, the outlines of hauntingly beautiful paintings on it. His ragged breaths cut through your thoughts once more, hastily folding your hand to grip your pendant. “If you must kill me, then I prefer you do it with your own hands, princess.”

You can’t tell whose hand is trembling more - yours or his. Distantly, you realize you’re being pushed up against a luxuriously padded wall, one you’d never seen before in your life.

Where were you?

“The Gojo palace- Please-” he reads your mind, voice breaking at the end of his plea. Gasping - and you can discern two elongated teeth at his canines. Fangs, you realize with a shiver. “You may leave if you want to, you may kill me for what I’ve done. My life is in your hands.”

“Satoru.” you soothe in a hushed voice, despite the way your head was reeling. The Gojo palace? “I won’t kill you.”

“But-”

“Satoru, what does this necklace mean?” You beg, and at this point, you’re not surprised that the necklace is from him - because it was an exact replica of the two burning eyes staring back at you. The only source of light right now, glowing a blue you’d finally found after a lifetime. “Why did you-” you gulp, heart lurching. “Why did you hand me your…life?”

Soft lips play right over your rapid pulse, murmuring into your skin, “S’my soul.” A long, pale index of his plays with the pendant. “The only part of my soul that’s living, gilded into a necklace to be kept in the safest place I know. You.”

“But-” you cry out, trying to get another look at his eyes - but your fiancé only kisses deeper at your neck. Nibbling at the thundering beat just below. “But why did you give it to me?”

“Who else would I give it to, if not for my mate?”

Mates - there were a thousand and one books and official documents detailing everything from a vampire’s killing pattern to the aphrodisiac toxins found in their blood. But the research on a vampire’s mate was far and few between.

Perhaps owing to the lack of willing mates that can come out without persecution, or perhaps due to the vampires’ intense rumored mating rituals. But it didn’t go without its own gossip, you were no stranger to the ladies of the court tittering about how morbidly “romantic” it was that mates were akin to soulmates - how it was an invisible string connecting two people to share a life, a soul.

A vampire’s one and only mate.

Satoru was pinning you harder to the wall now, his pink tongue darting out to lick over your pulse. The fingers holding onto the necklace were now tilting your chin up at him, “Speak to me, flower.”

“I’m your mate?” you whimper, your lips ghosting over his. Already knowing the answer, but fuck you needed to hear it from him. “What does that mean exactly?”

He lets out a pained grunt, pressing his forehead gently against yours. “It means you’re the other half of my soul. My only one, I was born for you.” Pressing a chaste peck on there - and you swear you could feel the nip of two sharp canines against your skin. “The one I’ll fight heaven and hell for, until the very last beat of my cold, dead heart.” Your fingers curl at his shoulders when his mouth moves to the shell of your ear. “The one I’ll kill for, take out every measly scum that thinks they can get with my mate.”

He huffs out a burst of cold laughter when your breath hitches, probably reading over the thoughts running through your mind - Satoru killed them. The guards, Kashimo, Naoya- fuck, maybe even Sukuna. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them.

You shiver, “A-and all the wind? The whispers? I thought it was just you these past week b-but- All my life, that was you?”

You know. You knew.

Another kiss - this time to the corner of your eye, and Satoru licks a long, content stripe up the big fat tears unwillingly welling up behind your eyes. He groans at the salty taste of you, taking in a long, drawn-out breath. “Yes.”

All it takes is that single word for your entire body to collapse, thankfully onto an awaiting Satoru. He holds your entire body weight with one hand around your waist, the other coming up to swipe his thumb under those tears rolling down your cheeks now.

He kisses your cheek, “All your life.” The corner of your lips, “And all of mine.”

Run away run away run away run away-

But you can’t - you don’t want to.

Your lips wobble when he nuzzles down your face, leaving a trail of hot kisses with his cold, cold mouth. “As soon as I learned to use my powers - was just a brat you see - I just had to see my mate. To smell her scent.” He’s inhaling deeply again, hands groping over your engagement gown. “Lo and behold, there was you. A cute lil’ princess around my age, tuckered out and fast asleep.” Lingering at your jaw, the hand tight around your waist pulls you painfully closer. Satoru’s knee wedging itself between your trembling thighs, “Imagine my surprise when she took one look at me and cried. Scared me enough to teleport outta there as soon as you opened that smart mouth, flower.”

And the thought of Satoru - tiny and determined - teleporting halfway across the land only to be yelled at by you has you huffing out a shock of laughter.

“So when I heard through the grapevine about your potential engagement, fuck- I couldn’t have ran out of this palace faster. Was so excited I fuckin’ forgot to teleport, too. Even if you were afraid of the ‘cruel Northern king.’”

Fuck - that’s right. He must’ve heard your thoughts that time you met him in the library.

Satoru’s tone drops to a low simper, so close now that you could feel every slight curve of his grin. Every twitch of his fingers sweeping up and down your exposed skin, feeling the delicious thrum of your veins. He could bite you right now - easily. “And luckily, as I grew up, so did my ability to blend in with the darkness.” Eyes boring into yours, something so vulnerable in them now. “But you found me, you always did.”

“Satoru.” you angle your head upwards. “Kiss me.”

And how could he ever deny you?

You wince at the slight pinch of Satoru’s teeth - his fangs - as he crashes his lips into yours in a greedy kiss. Sliding his tongue over to taste those candied lips he’s been dreaming of for years.

“Fuck-” he breathes out through his nose, jaw sagging open further to kiss you deeper. “Fuck, princess.”

Strong arms pin you harder against the wall, and you’re blindly reaching out to reciprocate even a fraction of Satoru’s neediness. Just dragging your hips up and down his muscled thighs. Sinful.

Shit, it was so endearing to him seeing you struggle to touch him this way. And with a flick of a wrist, the candle chandeliers hung high above your heads are lighting up at once. “S’that better, flower?”

It takes every bit of will in you to manage to pull away, yet the thought of seeing Satoru - of really seeing Satoru is what spurs you to break the kiss. Delicate strings of saturated spit snapping in the non-existent air between you two, you take a long look at your new husband.

Fuck, he was so pretty.

You always knew he was.

But even with his face tilted downwards, within the soft light tinting those snowy strands a sunset yellow - you could make out the pretty pink flush all the way from his glossy, ravaged lips, up, up, up to his delicate cheeks - he looked like the last thing from a monster.

“No you’re pretty.” he hums, and you’re still not used to him reading your mind. Head nodding downwards, “Just look, grinding on my thigh like such a slut.”

What met you was a dark pool of slick saturating his trousers, just peeking out over the hem of your dress. It makes you give another lingering, experimental grind.

“Satoru—” you’re letting out a honeyed drag of his name, reveling in the way it makes him swallow heavily. “You can hear my thoughts, right?” Look at me.

Slowly - but surely - familiar blue meets yours. Half-lidded, pupils blown, and if you didn’t know any better you’d have said there were tiny sparks of lightning at the corners of his long white lashes.

You’ve been haunting me my whole life, Toru.

And it was an accident - it really was, your freshly kissed brain too hazy to slur out Satoru’s full name. But the impromptu little nickname has him dragging forwards like he was magnetized.

A low growl escaping when he’s kissing you again. And again. And again and again and-

“Say it-” Two hands are tugging at those tedious ribbons tying your decadent gown together. Pulling. “Say it again f’me.” Ripping.

The more his lips are assaulting yours, the more the dress slips further and further down your shoulders. Tattered. The soft satin leaving goosebumps down your spine as it reveals your neckline - all that skin for him to ruin. To mark.

“Oh-” you’re squealing when one of Satoru’s fangs prick a bit too hard at your lip. Feeling a hot flow of crimson bleed out, the feeling has you so weak. So drunk. “Quite eager, aren’t ya?”

“You have no idea.” he groans again. Soft tongue moving from swirling around your own to lazily pool your blood on it. And you can’t imagine what about the metallic taste would be so euphoric, but he’s letting out his loudest drag of your name yet. Eyes rolling to the back of his head like he’s just tasted a personal slice of heaven. “Fuck- fuck you have no idea.”

You moan into the kiss when he bites down again on your already-bruised lower lip, “I’ve always wanted to do this-” Slow, slow hands kneading up your waist, at a dizzying tempo matching his mouth down your jaw, your neck. Hips bucking, you feel the outline of something so hard between his legs. “-to kiss you. To-” Tethering on the sensitive area of your pulse, “-bite.”

In a split-second, you’re sinking down into plush silk sheets, swallowing you whole in a king-sized bed you didn’t even realize was in the room before.

“S-Satoru, did you teleport us again?” you gasp, eyes adjusting to the intricate paintings on the ceiling that you hadn’t gotten to admire before. Of white-haired youths and roses, of cold, dark palaces and- and you.

You - when you were younger, sleeping peacefully while a little boy watches intrigued from the corner. You - passed out in the library after a long night of reading, two pale hands wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. You - your brows furrowed, head cocked while you pushed past nobles to search for that flash of his blue. You, you, you.

You.

“I can hear the gears in that pretty head turning.” Satoru grins, still kissing you in a languid graze of lips. “And as much as I love it when you hah- admire my lonely paintings, I’d rather you pay attention to-” A low groan curdles at the back of his throat when he’s grinding his massive clothed erection against the syrupy spot at your core. “-me.”

There’s a dark little huff of laughter and with one last bite at the side of your neck, Satoru’s unapologetically tearing right through the middle of your gown.

And you know it’s made with the finest fabrics the country has to offer, you know that no normal man should be able to even rip a tiny shred through your dress - but Satoru is no ordinary man.

Your spike of disappointment is quickly overshadowed by cold breath hovering over your exposed tits. “Oh, so perfect f’me.” he’s groaning, deep and primal. Biting down on your hardened nipple, “Ya think those uptight elders your court has- ah, had would appreciate me desecrating their precious princess before marriage?”

Through gasps, you peek down at his wicked tongue, swirling around the sensitive spots of your areola. “Who- who gives a shit.”

“So feisty.” The peaks of your tits are left coated in him as Satoru pulls away. “So addictive.” Pinching your soft flesh between his teeth - just hard enough that you worry he’s out to draw blood again. “So- so-”

Words are failing Satoru’s sharp mouth as he kisses his way down your body. The valley of your chest, your stomach, your hips.

Down, down, down-

“Fuck, Satoru-” you’re hissing when he easily pulls the pathetic remains of your dress off and onto the floor. The rest of your inner skirts easily following afterwards. “Are you gonna…”

“M’afraid not.” he licks sloppy circles at the skin of your thighs. Tasting, nipping, leaving little marks with his fangs for later. Sloppily soothing his tongue over the tiny droplets of blood beading from the bites, he murmurs stubbornly, “Not until you address me correctly.”

Hesitantly, you reach out a limp hand to thread through his dampening white tresses. Tugging softly to lock those devouring blue eyes with yours, “Please, Toru?”

You get absolutely no warning when he kisses right through that flimsy excuse of your drenched panties to slide his tongue up and down your sopping wet slit. Up and down up and down up and-

“Sh-shit, Toru-” you moan when he’s just dipping the very tip barely past your puffy folds. The fabric of your underwear still sticking to you, “Stop being such a tease, goddammit ngh-”

“Why?” Of course, he toys with your patience even now, addicted to those needy whines falling from your lips. “I jus’ wanna play with my princess’s pretty pussy. What am I getting out of it?”

You smirk, not even having to move your pretty mouth to know you had him in the palm of your hand already. I’d be your mate for life.

It’s all you can do to watch with satisfaction as the great Gojo Satoru gasps - gasps. Slick-glossed lips falling into a soft oh! Hazy eyes widening almost-comically, and at full heady attention while he takes a few seconds to mull over your words.

RIP!

In an instant, your soaked underwear is ripped clean off to bare your dripping cunt for him, wrapped tightly around Satoru’s fingers and disappearing down below to where your imagination couldn’t handle.

“Oh, such a pretty pussy.” he coos, thumbing apart your puffy folds to admire your lewdly winking cunt. Glistening and so so needy, you jolt when he bullies two long fingers past your sloppy entrance. With your greedy hole swallowing every slender inch of Satoru’s fingers easily, “So needy too. This all f’me?”

As if to prove his point, his pink lips wrap around your throbbing clit, grinding his tongue over the ravaged tip. The harsh texture of his tastebuds rolling over every inch of you he could reach.

“Y-yes-” you squeal, hips bucking down mindlessly to try and match his relentless tempo. “S’only for you.”

“Tha’s what I love to hear-” Satoru’s cheeks hollow when he sucks on your sensitive little nub - hard. “Sweeter than I even imagined, shit-”

Every pump of his merciless fingers in and out of your cunt drags along your gummy walls. Deftly curling to prey at those hidden sweet spots of yours he just knew would wrench out such throaty moans from you - and fuck, Satoru thinks- no, he knows that the sound is is favorite song.

“You’re makin’ me- hah making me fall in love all over again.” he gruffs out into your cunt. The pads of his fingers pressing into the cushiony ends of your pussy. “Because look how messy you are- how loud.”

You didn’t know if he had mind-control powers on top of mind-reading, because it’s as if you’re on auto-pilot when your lolling head is whirling down to look at the absolute sin made of you below. Satoru - running his mouth a mile a minute to send white-hot vibrations along your clit. His milky fingers buried knuckle-deep to stretch out your poor cunt. Your sweet sweet juices drooling all over them in such an obscene sheen down his palm, his wrist.

He whines, “Makin’ me wanna-” You jolt when he’s biting down so dangerously around your clit. “Wanna-”

Satoru doesn’t end up finishing his sentence - and he doesn’t have to.

Because he’s pausing his make-out with your clit to spit once. Twice. A thick thumb swiping at the intentional splatter of saliva marking your skin, before surging forwards even deeper - you didn’t even think that was possible. But Satoru has the tip of his nose rubbing methodical circles against your clit, jaw grinding at the base of your pussy, tongue flattening out your pussy lips.

Messy. Harsh.

“Oh- oh my god, Toru-” you’re keening at the feeling of his wet muscle trying to squeeze in past the fingers still continuing their assault on your entrance. “It- it won’t fit–”

“Shhh shhh, s’okay, princess.” he hushes, letting another round glob of spit wet your clingy pussy. “You can take it. You will - otherwise how are you gonna take your husband, hm?”

That little comment has connotations that make your plushy walls clamp down vice-like around his fingers - his tongue. And you’re angling your head just right, blinking away the lustful haze in your eyes to spy down at the rapid, jerky movements of his other hand. Devouring gaze dropping down to-

Oh.

Oh fuck.

It was difficult to even look at the sight below - your panties, soaked and completely see-through with slick and precum, wrapped prettily around what you could make out to be Satoru’s aching cock. Standing proud, twitching wildly with every drag of his fist up and down his glistening length.

“Fuck-” he groans, taking the opportunity to devilishly slip his tongue past your feeble entrance. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- y’like this, huh?” Drawled out little praises now muffled as he fucks you on his tongue the way he wished he could with his cock. In and out in and out in and out. Pulling back to eye your gaping hole, “I can feel y’getting wetter for me is it because-” Before surging back forwards, as if he’s addicted. “Because-” Again.“Fuck don’t clench around me that way. Was hard enough trying not to fuck you stupid right there in the middle of the ballroom.”

You whine, tears flowing down freely at the sheer pleasure at this point. “Y-you-” you gasp, your five fingers splaying out over Satoru’s head. Pushing even harsher, “You hngh- talk too much- m’so close-”

Partially because you really needed those pretty lips back at your heated core, partially because every word tumbling from his mouth had you throbbing embarrassingly, your slick spreading a glossy sheen on the sheets underneath you.

“Oh yeah? Heh, anything for you, flower.” Satoru grins such a sly, sultry grin and you feel it against one set of your swollen lips. “Absolutely anything.”

In and out in and out. He has his brows furrowed now, concentrated on having every flick and divot of movement pushing you closer and closer towards the edge. Faster. Sloppier. You have half the mind to wonder whether it didn’t hurt - whether Satoru’s tongue wasn’t cramping up from how fast he was going, whether his fingers weren’t tired already.

Out of the corner of your spotty vision, you can see those stuttering squeezes of Satoru’s hand speed up. Trying desperately to match each bullying push of his tongue and his fingers into your overstuffed pussy.

The thought makes you whine, “Oh my god- Toru, m’gonna cum.” And shit, at this point it’s too much. You couldn’t think - you couldn’t even breathe. “M’so close please.” Barely able to even register anything but Satoru Satoru Satoru-

It’s why you don’t even realize at first when you’re finally cumming - Satoru does, though. He feels it in the way your heavenly walls are closing down on his fingers, clenching around him so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck you through your orgasm. Waves of electric pleasure crashing into you and you think you’re drowning.

“Tha’s it.” he rasps. “Cum f’me like that, tha’s it- thaaat’s it, such a good lil’ wife- a perfect mate.”

The fingers stuffed deep inside your pussy are being pulled out in a flash - not letting you waste a moment of your heady high before he’s toying ravenously with your swollen clit. Pinching, and rolling between two soft fingers.

“O-oh fuck, m’-cumming? M’cumming m’cumming-” you moan deliriously, mind just now catching up. Your hips drag your sloppy pussy all over Satoru’s pretty face. Just drenching his noble features with your gushing mess. “Feels too ah- good, Toru.”

And he takes it like it’s everything he needs - everything he’s ever wanted.

Jaw falling slack to let your juices slide down his throat, tongue lolling out flick your spasming cunt through your high. Unstopping. Unwavering.

Even when your vision stops tingeing with black at the edges, even when you think you’re sane enough to form a coherent thought. Even when your climax is bating enough that every flick of Satoru’s tongue only sends almost painful thrums of pleasure down your spine.

“W-wait m’done-” you sob, tasting the salty stream of tears splashing down your face now. “S’too sensitive- ngh-”

When he doesn’t show any signs of stopping anytime soon, you try again - this time thinking the embarrassing thought out loud. I…I really want you inside me now, Toru. Please?

And he pauses - jolting, as if some dark, primal part of him had just been called back to life. Tongue still hot on your cunt, fist still greedy around his rock-hard shaft.

“F-fuck you’re gonna be the death of me, flower.”

And before, you couldn’t get enough of those striking blue eyes, but now you couldn’t escape them.

With inhuman speed, he’s shuffling up the soaked sheets. “An absolute fuckin-” Slick-glossed lips meet yours, smearing along the combination of juices till the lower half of your face was as dripping wet as Satoru’s. “-minx, y’know that?”

“Wh-what can I say?” you tilt your head with a smirk, lips a bit too loose than you’d like - but it didn’t matter anyway, he was in your thoughts. Your mind. “I’m your mate, after all.”

He falls back onto his knees at that sinful little sentence of yours, throwing his head back in a guttural groan. “Fuck- you’re mine alright. See what you hah- do to me? See how this is all your fault?”

If Satoru expected an answer, then he doesn’t receive it. Because every snippy little retort on the tip of your tongue melts when you get a long, hard look at the angry shaft in his hand. So red and angry. Thick enough that you felt your cunt quiver already.

Delicate with prominent veins that glistened and throbbed down his long, long length with each slew of his vigorous fist. And his tip- fuck, blushed your favorite shade of weepy pink, slobbering a sheen of precum all down his wrist, his tufts of cloudy white.

And you realize with a jolt that he still had your panties wrapped around him - looking so tiny around Satoru’s massive cock.

Wordlessly, your hand replaces his.

“W-woah- fuck-” His toned waist flexes with the effort to fuck up into the soft cushion of your palm. “How the- ngh how the fuck does your fuckin’ hand feel this good?”

“You’re so big- fuck, don’t know how I’d- Wait you never imagined this?” you bat your eyes up with faux innocence. A thumb gliding over that deep divot on the very tip of his fat head. “Because I sure have, Toru.”

Satoru’s heavy balls smack against your arm when he shuffles down his pants even further, now fully letting you go ahead with your agonizing torture. “Shit-” he yelps, eyes screwing shut at the image. “Don’t- don’t say that, holy shit.”

You toy with your scrap of panties, massaging every ridge and curve with it. Just dragging your hand up and down. “Would you rather I think it instead?”

Within milliseconds, two sharp fangs are poised right above your rapid pulse, a hand around your throat. “No- no no no no-” Satoru gasps, sounding like he was at the end of his rope. And it takes him a few blinks to realize his position, immediately moving his lips up to nip at your jaw. “Fuckin’ no.” Hard enough that another red pearl of blood drips out, instantly being sucked up greedily by your fiancé. “Gonna make me lose it before I-I ngh-”

With a pained growl, he suddenly has you sitting so prettily on his muscular lap. Your legs splayed out like such a slut, needy cunt slobbering all over where you were sat right on his demanding erection.

By the time you’re realizing your helpless position, it’s too late - and Satoru’s already shrugging off the rest of his pants. Buttons hitting the floor when he just tears his flowing dress shirt off.

“Sh-show off.” you breathe, hands mapping out every dip and curve of the plane of defined muscles displayed before you. So mouthwatering.

“Can tell that you- ngh think m’mouthwatering, flower.” he grins. One hand kneading and groping the flesh of your ass to steady your drooling cunt to kiss at his thick tip. The other keeping one of your palms stuck to his washboard abs, up, up, up to press at his sculpted left pec. “N’ I know m’heart’s not beating, but I’m much the same. Very- much the- same.”

And Satoru’s spent years waiting, yearning - so he doesn’t waste even a second more when stuffing his cock inside your snug cunt.

“O-oh. Satoru- Satoru please oh-”

The stretch - fuck, the stretch. The stretch is so much that it feels like you’re being split apart. Just the bare tip of his fat cock being bullied in short, determined half-thrusts.

And it takes only one, lucky collision into the bullseye of your g-spot and you’re already falling apart.

“Wait- wait wait wait m’gonna-” you gasp, your nails running down his broad, milky back in jagged red lines when you’re cumming once more. Toes curling, hips convulsing wildly on top of a smug Satoru. “Oh my god, ngh- what’ve you done to me, Toru?”

“Now, let me ngh- let me tell you a little secret, hah- princess.” His hand comes up to cup your jaw, gifting a sweet kiss on your swollen lips. “The best thing about mates?” Sharp fangs catch onto your delicate skin, “They feel sex on a whole other level.”

And then he’s bringing down both hands to spread apart the globes of your ass. Your puffy folds are stretched to their limits when he thrusts up once. Muscled thighs flexing underneath yours. Harsh.

Ignoring your pleading keens and the slight resistance at the intrusion of his intimidating size, “Hold on, princess- hold- fuuuuck.” Lips latch onto yours, drinking up every heady whine when your poor cunt is being fed every inch by fucking inch. “You’re taking me so well.”

And that you were - your pussy lips bulging and struggling to accommodate Satoru’s monstrous size, but still taking him in so greedily.

“There we go.” he grunts out, punctuated with heavy rams of hips. Up, up, up until you could feel Satoru’s sobbing tip graze against your cervix - your lungs. “Theeere we fuckin’-” Pushing and pushing until there was no more, until your neglected clit was scratching against his snowy pubic hair. Ass coming to rest at his twitching balls. “-go.”

“You’re in so deep-” you’re blabbering, cockdrunk already. The last few dredges of your high still not wearing off, it takes you a few seconds of Satoru still trying to squeeze his cock even deeper to manage to raise a hand about midway up your stomach. Feeling for that vertical bulge that was him, “-can feel you right here.”

“Oh yeah?”

And like he was testing your theory, Satoru fucks up into your gummy hole in another bullying slam. Watching in wonder at the way that little divot in your stomach crashes around the same spongy cervix he was.

“Fuck- you’re right.” he hisses. Addicted now. Immediately rocking into you with reeling, long rolls of his hips. “You’re so- fuckin’ right.”

You can’t find the energy in yourself to even yelp in surprise when Satoru immediately changes your positions so that you’re now laying fucked-out on the mattress. His domineering hips pinning you down to use you like some little cocksleeve.

“God-” he pants into your open mouth, tongue swirling with your weighty one. “God- fuck fuck fuck if heaven is real then this is it.” Each little profanity is decorated with a smoldering crash of his tip into your sweet spot. “You’re the heaven I don’t ngh- deserve, flower.”

That neat bitemark on your thigh is being jostled with the amount of ragged movement, and you wince with pain when it starts flowing again.

“Oh- oh.”

Satoru’s like a predator that has cornered his prey, and is spending hours tediously unraveling every single bit of you.

Sliding two smooth palms underneath your legs, they’re urgently thrown over his large shoulders to fold you down, down, down into the meanest mating press you think you could handle - handle without fucking breaking, that is.

“So good t’me.” he breathes, long tongue easily licking up that sweet nectar of your blood. “Y’know your cute lil’ brain s’too scrambled to even read right now.”

“H-how can I think when you’re ah! Like- like this, Toru?”

The sudden change in angle makes you scream. It makes you clamor for the headboard, the sheets, your husband when that obscenely perfect upwards curve of his dick is massaging every nook and cranny of your cunt.

“Yeah? Feels good? Now now- don’t run- away” he’s dragging you down those drenched sheets by the legs like some ragdoll, stuffing you more and more with his painful cock. Fucking you so relentless, like he was trying to worship every little hidden sweet spot inside your dripping cunt. “Say it- no no no, not in your head. Say it.”

And you do - a little over fifteen times when his thick hilt pecks your pussy lips over and over with each thrust when Satoru bottoms out, hitting all the way into the back of your cunt - your cervix, your g-spot - like he couldn’t decide which one to bruise more.

“S’too good-” you’re gasping. Your overstimulated pussy being molded like clay to the girthy shaft kissing down your cunt. Stretching out your elastic walls until you could almost feel them take shape to his swollen cock. Feel every sensitive spot inside you being overstimulated at once with every burning massage against them. “You’re fuckin’ me way too- too good- ngh- can’t even think.”

But that wasn’t enough for him.

Dipping a thumb down to circle around your clit, white-hot pleasure shoots up your spine when he lets out a deep rumble, “Think I fell in love with you when I- fuck, right then and there when I first- hah saw you all those years back.” speeding up with the sloppy staccato of his rude cock. Satoru’s words slurring now, messed up and half-prepared like the accelerating half-thrusts being bestowed upon your ravaged cunt. Like he couldn’t bear to pull out completely. “The first time you saw me, you were so afraid. Look at you- fuck, jus’ look at you now, princess.”

Each word is like a brand onto your sticky skin, accompanied by harsh smacks of Satoru’s balls against your ass, his sharp hip bones digging into your thighs. Him.

“Toru–” is all you can manage to whine out, a limp hand pulling his face closer to yours. You’re jumping with each swipe at your poor clit. “Toru m’here.”

“And- and yet-” he’s still blabbering, still pussydrunk while he fucks you so menacingly. Fingers sopping wet with their assault on your sensitive nub, “And yet I just- fuck-” He cuts himself off to give your messy hole another thick stream of spit. Coating his long, raw shaft - rubbed red with the way your gripping walls were massaging him so right - making it easier to slide in and out. “And yet, I just had to see you, to see the gorgeous mate I don’t deserve. I couldn’t live without you.”

A single overstimulated tear glistens a track down Satoru’s pretty face - one you kiss away as quickly as it appeared. Nudging open those teary, blue gaze to bore down on you.

Oh, he looked an absolute wreck - white hair mussed up, stray strands sticking to his forehead. Glossy lips parted, drool pooling at the corner, broken grunts leaving him with each smash of his tip back into your cunt. So blissed out.

Jolting at your eyes on him, Satoru feels his balls tighten so painfully. Abs burning when his pace stutters with need.

“You’re haunting me, just as much as I was haunting you, Toru.”

The candles go out. Instantly.

And shit you’re feeling it first when when hé’s cumming and cumming so hard that it almost hurts. Flashes of white startling behind his closed, glassy eyes. “Shit- shit shit shit shit-” Hairs on your body raising as Satoru’s fingers draw circles on your clit so aggressively. Dragging out your high. Forcing it. “Take it- take it all, my flower. Let me paint this pretty pussy all white.” Violent, almost.

So, really, it makes sense that your third orgasm of the night was the same.

Just shivering, sinful tingles running from your overstimulated mind right down to where Satoru was stuffing thick white ropes of potent seed deeper and deeper down your tight channel.

Overspilling with each calculated ram, his cum is oozing out of the corners of your puffy lips with each furious clench of his balls. Too much.

And it’s all you can do to sit there and take it, feeling the sloppy dredges of cum make a mess slobbering down your thighs and his. Starting up blearily at the blurry paintings on the ceilings. The paintings of you - of a still Satoru that looked down at you with only half as much intensity and pure swirling emotion as he was right now.

Something that couldn’t be painted - but would make such a pretty picture, when his fangs bite into that racing junction at your neck.

You scream a soundless scream of his name, eyes rolling to the back of your head as something warm fills your entire body.

Leaving your words unheard, your ravaged hole loose to let out slobbering squelches of Satoru’s cum. Blood racing and flowing right into Satoru’s greedy mouth.

“Princess-” he gulps. Tongue licking up every crimson bead his crazed eyes could spot, body aching when he dares pull away from that heavenly taste. More. “Princess princess princess- you- hngh you’re mine. All mine now.”

And he’s letting out more thick globs of cum straight into your waiting cunt. Body bowing even harder to let it seep into your elastic walls, your womb. So much more than you can take and he just keeps giving.

It seems like forever when Satoru finally pulls away - and within the glowing blue of his eyes, you can see the red staining his lips, dripping down those fangs, his chin. Staining the silk sheets below - staining you with so much more.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching up to catch his lips in a bloodied kiss. Your own elongated canines catching amateurishly on his lips.

Satoru hisses - but he likes it. And you can tell.

You can read every single hypnotizing thought whirling behind those crystal blue eyes - how he wants to ravish you again, how he wants to worship you. To make you his all over, to have you make him yours. The thought makes you smile as you whisper, “I’m onto you, Toru.”

“You’re onto me, flower.” Catching your lips in a sweet, sweet red kiss. “Forever.”

A/N. This was SOOO fun to write omg y’all have no idea. If you made it this far then you get a sloppy smooch from me mwahhhh.

Plagiarism of work not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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boobearymuch · 4 months ago

Text

A Rising Sun

Summary: Thirteen missed calls and twenty unread text messages. Not even Mephisto could track you. “You’re really starting to worry me here, kitten.” Sylus pressed the phone to his ear, eyes glued to Mephisto’s live feed as he soared through the N109 Zone’s darkest alleys, “If it was something I did, let me make it up to you.” Tags: Sylus/Reader, gender-neutral, slight angst, hurt/comfort, reader is mc, established relationship Word Count: 1.8k A/N: requested by @hrts4hanniehae read on ao3 | masterlist

Crystal clinked loudly against a mahogany table as Sylus put the empty glass down with a seething glare. He would’ve slammed it were it not for your sleeping form just several feet away, however. Your chest rose and fell under his satin sheets, and he counted each breath like a rosary bead; you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine. He unstopped a priceless bottle of whiskey and poured himself another drink, but the tremor in his hand sloshed amber liquid over the sides. Sylus huffed but didn’t bother wiping up the mess. Instead, he downed the whiskey in one go and squeezed his tired eyes shut. The burn was nothing compared to the chill down his spine when he found you.

Thirteen missed calls and twenty unread text messages. Not even Mephisto could track you. “You’re really starting to worry me here, kitten.” Sylus pressed the phone to his ear, eyes glued to Mephisto’s live feed as he soared through the N109 Zone’s darkest alleys, “If it was something I did, let me make it up to you.” The begging in his voice grew more obvious as the voicemails went on, “—Please. Just let me know you’re okay.” Sylus drew closer to the hologram, helpless, as Mephisto investigated another possible location, “I can’t…” Another dead end. The mechanical crow cooed softly before swooping into another street, and Sylus heard his voice catch in his throat, “...I can’t feel you anymore.”

Beep. The call ended, leaving a loaded silence in its wake.

He considered leaving yet another voicemail when Mephisto turned a sharp corner and pointed his eyes at a dark figure slumped against a wall. No, no, no. His worst fears were realized when the crow perched himself on your knee and cawed loudly, as if scolding you for causing so much trouble. Then his lens panned over the blood. So much blood. Sylus couldn’t recall the ride there, which car he took, how fast he was going. Trivial details, to be frank. Your name was the only thought in his mind, the only language he understood—you, you, you. Sense returned to him when he clutched your limp body in his tight embrace, and you groaned weakly in his arms. “I’m here,” Sylus sighed against your ear, “Always here.”

The sheets of his bed rustled as you shifted your weight, and Sylus shot you a look. “Sylus,” You called weakly, and winced as you sat up.

“Don’t lean on your arm.” Despite your discomfort, his narrowed gaze remained fixed on the empty glass in his hand. He made no move to approach you, “You’ll disturb the bandages.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched you take note of the gauze wrapped around your bicep. The bleeding stopped a while ago. “That wanderer missed your artery by a hair,” Sylus drawled, and your confused gaze met his cold look, “Your luck never ceases to amaze me.” Then he stood, your confusion morphing into panic, “Let Mephisto know if you need anything.”

“Sylus, wait—” You outstretched your hand, the bandaged one, and immediately hissed in pain. Sylus froze, but like before, remained where he stood, “How long have I been out?”

His lip twitched. “Three hours now,” A beat, then he was reaching into his pocket, “Here.” Your phone bounced against the mattress at your feet, and Sylus watched you pick up the shattered screen. Wincing, you turned it on, and he quietly studied your distress.

“I’m sorry,” You began softly, but Sylus forced his eyes to the floor. He couldn’t stand the guilt in your eyes, “I got so caught up I didn’t—”

His raised hand cut you short, “Don’t.” And he turned away sharply, “Just focus on resting.” The lump in his throat was difficult to swallow around, so he grabbed the leftover whiskey and rushed out.

Cooling down with some vinyl records had been his first instinct. Dusting them off, running his fingers over the plastic covers, then finally settling on just one. Fretting over their display was a nervous habit of his, his go-to when he needed a distraction. But it proved too difficult to position the needle correctly with trembling hands, and Sylus watched the needle stutter over the grooves with a grimace. Instrumentals kicked in over the stereo quietly, but it still wasn’t enough to drown out his swirling thoughts. He should be with you right now. Tending to your every need and shushing you gently to get some rest. Instead, he hid away with his records, inhaling and exhaling to relax the tight ball in his chest. You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.

He repeated this useless prayer to himself to prevent other thoughts—darker thoughts—from bubbling up. It didn’t work, though. “Sylus?” His eyes widened at the sound of your voice, before they suddenly narrowed in suspicion. As if on cue, Mephisto breezed to his perch in the corner of the room, and Sylus shot the crow a withering glare. So much for keeping you away from him, damn bird. Mephisto only pricked his feathers innocently in response. Your bare feet then padded across the room, but Sylus refused to turn around. You shouldn’t have to see him like this. “Sylus, would you please look at me?” You insisted again, stronger this time, “Are you angry?”

Usually, he craved your bluntness. Right now, he resented it. “I should have locked him in his cage.” Your steps drew closer, and Sylus concentrated on the spinning vinyl.

Your tired sigh gripped his heart. “I heard your voicemails,” You announced quietly, “It’s…It’s okay if you are. You have every right to be.”

It’s just so like you to put his feelings first. As if he had been the one bleeding in an alley for hours. Sylus pinched the bridge of his nose, “And if I was?” He turned to face you, finally, and noted the half-step you took back. Sylus couldn’t help the scowl that tugged at his lips, “Why aren’t you?”

You frowned at him and rubbed your arm distractedly. “I…feel bad for making you worry. I’m sorry, and I totally understand where you’re coming from.” You then tugged nervously at your clothes, avoiding his sharp gaze, “I would be angry with me too, believe me. Especially after I said I’d be more—”

Sylus couldn’t help it, a humorless laugh erupted from his bitten lips. You only stared in bewilderment as he raised a hand to cover his mouth, “Angry at you…?” He shook his head as another wave of trepidation passed through him, “You misunderstand,” Then his voice fell ominously low, “I’m not angry at you.”

Surprise gripped your expression, “I don’t understand, then. Why are you angry?”

“Why?” It was Sylus’ turn to give you a bewildered look, “Why?” The answer was so obvious, he almost felt ridiculous spelling it out for you. Through gritted teeth, he tried anyway, “Because I failed to protect you, that’s why.” That lump in his throat returned, so he promptly shut up. His words clung to the air for several moments, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off you now. A flurry of emotions overwhelmed you; perhaps you were realizing that, yes, he did fail you tonight. That realization never quite reached your eyes, though. Instead, you slowly shook your head before falling back to get comfortable on his couch.

“Come sit with me.” You patted the area next to you and watched him expectantly. Sylus stared. You always did find new ways to surprise him, somehow. He fought three wars in his head—before losing them all—and hesitantly took his place by your side. The big, bad Onychinus leader avoided your soft gaze. “What happened tonight, neither of us is to blame.” Your voice fell hush, and he didn’t need to look at you to know you saw right through him, “You can be angry, but please don’t hold a grudge.” You scooted yourself closer to take his hand in yours, and his eyes numbly flicked to your linked fingers.

“If Mephisto hadn’t found you…I didn’t know what to think.” His voice trailed off, and he swallowed thickly, “Your aether core. I couldn’t feel it.” His thumb caressed yours gently, “Fear like that isn’t easy to forget.”

Guilt brimmed in your eyes again, and he wished he hadn’t said anything. “You found me,” You began fiercely, “And I’m okay now, thanks to you. Because of you. You could never fail me.” Your words only deepened his scowl. It should never have gotten to that point in the first place. You should never have been in that position—alone. Your interlocked hands tightened, “Sylus…” Your murmur, spoken like a wish, was accompanied by a sudden warmth between your palms. He inhaled sharply as he watched your hands glow, evols linking as you resonated with his. The feeling was difficult to explain. Resonating with you blanketed him in a warmth like no other, like he was morning dew glowing under the rising sun. Like it was the first and last time he’d ever feel sunlight. You were alive. You were well. And if you harbored any ill will toward him, then resonating wouldn’t have come so naturally to you. He’s glad it did.

The resonance ended all too soon, however, and the light of your evols dimmed to nothing. Sylus’ record played softly in the silence. “Thank you,” He murmured at last, feeling calm for the first time that evening, “...And I’m sorry.” You made it difficult to stay upset. You had no idea how much power you held over him—over his mind and body alike—how easily you could mold him like putty in your precious hands. Right now, though, you guided those precious hands to his chin and looked him over properly. The dark circles, the disheveled hair, the cracked lips; you drank all of it in and let worry settle in the crease of your brow. He hid his embarrassment behind wisecracks, “Like what you see? A picture might last longer.”

You shot him a look, “You should take a shower, you’ll feel better.” Your expression then softened, and your thumb caressed the side of his smirking mouth, “But hurry, so you can join me in bed.”

He swore he felt traces of your evol smoldering within him, “Easy, kitten, you’re still recovering.”

Amusement sparkled in his ruby eyes when you abruptly pulled away, flustered, “You know what I meant!” Tsk, it was too easy sometimes. Sylus tried and failed to hide his smile before unexpectedly lifting you off the couch, “Sylus—”

“I’ve got you—yes, I do, now stop squirming,” Hanging on with your good arm, Sylus held you tighter than he’d ever done before. Letting you down would never be an option again. “Save the struggling for later, sweetie.” You merely huffed and settled into his secure embrace, but your free hand clutched his shirt just as tightly. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Morning dew, meet rising sun.

#sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus qin #sylus l&ds #sylus lads #sylus lnd

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anantaru · 8 months ago

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big cock alhaitham / wrio trying to fit his cock inside you mfmfmfmgmfmgm

synopsis. he's trying to fit his cock in you (struggling) <3

including. alhaitham, wriothesley

warnings. size kink & size difference, big dick genshin characters, dirty talk, petnames used: baby, fem! reader

— alhaitham

"it— it's not working," you gasp, nails wretchedly scraping at alhaitham's bicep and your knuckles dwindling with how tightly you were holding him against you, at all times needing your boyfriend's heavy weight close, despite his solid cock not even slipping an inch inside— no matter how wet he's gotten you earlier.

he tries again, tries to nudge his fat tip into your little hole, all desires and doubts banished from his mind, only a single aim in mind, a crystal clear focus flashing in his eyes. ultimately, your body relaxes at how gentle his face was the entire time, as if he's got it all under control and you shouldn't worry about a single thing right now, only enjoy the pressure pinching at your core and how it threatened to break you into a million pieces.

he won’t fit he won't fit alhaitham won't fit but he so desperately wants it and so do you— your mind shouts out alarms to warn you yet again, repeatedly inform you that there wasn't a chance that you'd be able to get filled up by his heavy load tonight, not even get a taste of his swelling erection sticking mercilessly to your walls.

he's failing, his cock head messily brushing up into your folds, roughly enough to scratch a sob from your throat. but that's not a sound alhaitham wants to hear, he craves the noise you make when he slips it in, until you're overfilled with his cum and it's running down the insides of your thighs, staining the mattress.

for all that, instead of growing frustrated, alhaitham decides to gently cup your cheek with his free hand to pull your gaze against his, holding you like the most delicate glass threatening to break— then you feel it, right there, his heavy breathing even heavier and that look in his colorful eyes.

for a second, you relax and let him handle you, awaiting his next move as he looks down at you with a watery, toothy smirk, sighing deeply into his chest and exhaling through his mouth, a tender sound you never grow tired of hearing before his palm holds one leg further apart, your hole spreading for him.

the swell of your pussy lips and the glistening arousal on top of it made the scribe feel like he was on cloud 9, drunken by your beauty and so hard working to please his sweet darling— never any less excited to receive his heavy bulk inside your warmth.

your lungs burn when he goes slow again, chillingly so, even more undemanding that your curves melt like dough beneath his hands.

he's got you now, pushing forward yet always alarmed that it wouldn't fit again as in this one single moment, it finally did, and alhaitham almost eclipsed by the roaring of his blood in his ears when he's got to hear your pretty moan for real now— not just the frustrated ones of you wanting to have him already, but that one particular sound you'd always make whenever you, yes, take him, all of him.

— wriothesley

"that good? you can take it?" hearing those words, it felt like the oxygen in your lungs was melting the moment you can hear wriothesley whisper once more, his wet lips ghosting over your ear shells and erecting goosebumps from your neck, "slowly baby, slowly, you don't wanna hurt yourself," he says, your body convulsing in both an ache and relief— and it's truly important for your health to keep breathing and stay content, even when you're fed up with his erection not fitting inside you that night.

"you're supposed to relax, okay? leave it to me, yeah?" he whispers, a slip of eminence soaring from his tongue to right beneath your trembling flesh— and ugh, it practically sparks all your excitement through your body and multiplies it by ten— your wet core and your puffy, little cunt waiting so patiently to be filled by him, only him forever and ever and ever on end.

"y-yeah.. that's it, baby, see.." nothing could ever prepare you for the feeling wriothesley manages to arouse from you each time, and you could certainly never get used to the feeling of his cock either, despite this not being the first time the two of you have been intimate together.

your back arches as your hole spreads around his erection pumping into your core when he manages to fit it inside, his massive shaft pulsing through your walls and sending shockwaves coursing into your veins, slick and sweat streaking on your skin.

his breath freezes on your wet lips with relief flaring through the watery gloss in your eyes as wriothesley kept his promise to you— starting out with experimental, little thrusts as his eyes closed of their own volition, his muscles tightening, his limbs moving while shifting back and forth a little, snapping his hips against your ass in all the right places.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham smut #al haitham x reader #al haitham smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabbles #alhaitham x you #wriothesley x you

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bread-crum206 · 1 month ago

Text

A Game of Hearts

Chapter one: Ultimatum

Summary: Y/Ns father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

1 | next

Series Masterlist

Click, Click, Click the sound of your heels clacking on the floor echoed throughout the hallway. You stood in front of the door to the VIP room, where sick and twisted men drop millions of dollars on a death game. Unfortunately your father is one of them. The room reeked of power and desperation, two forces colliding in ways that felt suffocating. The black walls with gold jungle like accents were a stark contrast to the mahogany table in the center of the room. You sat down in the farthest corner of the polished table, trying to avoid your father’s hawk-like gaze. The air conditioning hummed faintly, serving as the only sound punctuating the heavy silence, but it did little to cool the heat simmering beneath your skin.

Across from you, the man they called the Frontman sat stiffly, his sharp, black mask reflecting the harsh light of the overhead chandelier. He hasn’t moved an inch since you entered the room, and the lack of expression from the cold, unfeeling mask made your stomach churn violently.

“I’ve been more than generous,” your father began heatedly, swirling the amber liquid in his crystal glass. He wasn’t even pretending to be subtle about what he was suggesting. “The games thrive on my contributions, but generosity only goes so far without… stability.” Your father finished with a concerning glint in his eye.

The masked man tilted his head, just slightly. “What kind of stability are you referring to?” His voice was even, almost dismissive, like he already knew where this was going but didn’t care enough to stop it.

You did, though.

“Dad-” you attempted to start your protest, he couldn’t go through with this.

“Quiet,” he snapped demeaningly without even sparing a glance towards you. His attention was fixed on the Frontman, the kind of single-minded determination that always made him dangerous.

The Frontman leaned back in his chair, one hand resting lightly on the table. “Speak plainly.”

Your father smirked, a wolfish grin that made your stomach twist. “Marriage. My daughter will marry you. The deal will be sealed, and my funding continues uninterrupted. You gain the security to maintain the games without… complications.” A crazed look in his eyes matched his maniacal grin.

Your mouth fell open, a sharp, indignant laugh escaping before you could stop it. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Your father shot you a look, the kind that demanded obedience, but you weren’t a child anymore.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he said, as if this was a business deal like any other. “You’ve lived in comfort because of the wealth this partnership provides. It’s time to play your part.” The look on his face was nothing less than a look of hatred. Your eyes bounced between the frontman and your father incredulously.

“Play my part?” you repeated, standing so fast your chair scraped loudly against the marble floor. “You can’t just marry me off like some pawn in your sick games!”

“I can,” he said, his tone sharp and final.

You turned to the Frontman, searching for some sign of humanity beneath the mask. “And you’re okay with this? You’re just going to go along with it?” You were pleading, ready to get on your hands and knees and beg for him to reject this proposal.

The Frontman was silent, his stillness unnerving. Finally, he said, “What happens if I refuse?”

Your father shrugged, taking another sip of his drink. “The funding stops. The games collapse. And we both know what the VIPs will do if that happens.” That caused a slight falter in the frontman’s appearance. His gloved fingers curled against the edge of the table. The air felt heavy, oppressive, as if some invisible battle was taking place between the two men.

Finally, he stood. The chair scraped softly against the floor as he rose to his full height, towering over everyone in the room. “If this is the cost of stability, then so be it.” Your heart dropped to your stomach, any drop of freedom that you had previously had was stripped from you by a few mere words and you had no control over it, you were trapped just as much as the players were.

———————

The wedding took place two days later, in a grand hall that felt more like a theater than anything sacred. Rows of VIPs sat in velvet chairs, sipping champagne and watching the proceedings as if it were just another form of entertainment.

You stood at the end of the aisle in a dress that felt more like a costume, the intricate embroidery and heavy fabric weighing you down. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides as the officiant droned on about unity and partnership, words that felt hollow in a place like this. You felt like you were drowning and couldn’t resurface.

The Frontman stood beside you, his mask still firmly in place, his posture rigid. He hadn’t spoken to you since the meeting. He hadn’t looked at you either.

When it came time for the vows, he recited them mechanically, his voice devoid of emotion.

“I do,” he said, the words landing like stones in the pit of your stomach.

You hesitated, your mouth dry as the Sahara when the officiant turned to you. For a brief moment, you considered saying no, throwing the whole charade into chaos. But the weight of your father’s expectations and the suffocating gaze of the VIPs pressed down on you.

“I do,” you said finally, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, laced with venom that would slowly suffocate you.

The crowd erupted into applause as the officiant pronounced you husband and wife. It felt wrong, surreal, like a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from.

The quarters you were escorted to after the ceremony were spacious and cold, a reflection of the man who now shared them with you. You wandered through the rooms in silence, your heels clicking against the marble floors.

When you finally stopped in the main sitting area, the Frontman was already there, standing by the window with his back to you.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you said, breaking the silence. Your voice was firm, but it wavered slightly at the edges.

“I know,” he replied without turning around.

You wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, but you were too exhausted. Instead, you turned and walked into the adjoining bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

You didn’t cry. You refused to. Instead, you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the ornate rug beneath your feet and wondering how your life had spiraled so completely out of your control.

Be nice lmao, this is my first time ever writing anything like this.. pls let me know how I did and you would actually like to see other parts. :)

also thank you to @sunny21200 for the idea!!

#squid games x reader #squid game x y/n #x reader #the front man #in ho x reader #frontman x reader #squid game #marriage au #arranged marriage

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rae-writes · 4 months ago

Text

OnlyFantoms?? pt.II

om dateables/sides x reader

wc : 2.k

warnings : nsfw, gn!reader with skirt wearing (raphael), lingerie wearing (diavolo), online sharing

synopsis : lets see what the new latest trending porn videos are

a/n: MWAHAHAHA IT'S FUCKING HERE

brothers ver.

The maroon fabric of your babydoll lingerie was rumpled, tearing not even a second later from how ironclad Diavolo’s grip was. One hand had the lace fisted, using it to yank you back on his cock, while the other was wrapped around your throat, veins highlighted and muscles flexing each time he effortlessly lifted your body and slammed it back down at the rough pace he was fucking you. Your legs were spread wide over his straining thighs, body just barely covered by the sheer material that adorned your sweaty body, hands white-knuckling his horns with your nails scratching along the golden ornaments . Each time skin met skin, it echoed in the room— adding to the sensual sight of the morning light reflecting off the golden floors, walls- the regal throne the two of you were seated in. His sounds were muffled from the way his head was buried in your neck, no doubt adding more marks to the already bruise-littered skin. Your own head was tilted back against his shoulder, his fingers squeezing visibly at your throat before two of them pushed past your parted mouth, making your high pitched moans turn choked. His rough pace got even more animalistic, feral growl escaping him as your body tensed, milking his cock as you came, pushing him past that edge too— and the video cuts.

Where royalty sits | 0:10 seconds | 112.k views | 109.k likes | 100.k comments

TEN WHOLE SECONDS OF ABSOLUTE GOODNESS

Is this even legal to watch?? Cause if not, I’m happily packing my bags for jail

Typing this comment from my grave

*eats phone*

Amazing day to be a Devildom citizen folks

†

Hidden underneath the castle’s foyer stairs, the golden fractures of light shift as each of your bodies move. You were on your knees, thighs flexing, as you bounced up and down— riding Barbatos’ tail. The appendage forced itself deeper and deeper until the camera picked up on the arch of your back, the shimmer of your nails (painted in his colors) digging into his thighs, leaving behind wrinkles in the usually pristine black slacks. Gloved hands were tangled in your hair, gripping tighter the more his composure began to waver. The guided bobbing of your head went from leisure to almost desperate and then back again; after a particularly stressful day, he just couldn’t decide what he wanted. Only murmurs of praise left the royal steward, as opposed to your choked moans and whimpers and occasional gasps of his name when you came up for air before swallowing him down again. There was a brief moment in which he cupped the back of your head and shoved you all the way down- pausing- when footsteps ascended the stairs you were both underneath. Once it was quiet again, he pulled your head back with a caress of your hair and a soft apology, fucking you with his tail at a more rapid pace, insisting you needed to cum first. With you melting at his ministrations, he begins fucking your mouth, too, grunting almost inaudibly; the second your body wracked with your orgasm, he followed suit— and though only your backside view could be seen, the sounds of swallowing were crystal clear. With a low chuckle from Barbatos, and a breathy giggle from you, the screen goes black.

Off duty | 0:30 seconds | 97.k views | 92.k likes | 88.k comments

This is gonna be the next big fever dream, come lay your eyes on it while you can-

Mouth? Dropped. Eyes? Rolled. Drool? Leaking. Hotel? Corvo.

B A R B A T O S ? !

This is the best day of my life

asdfghjkl

†

Scraping of wood against marble tile echoed faintly as the entirety of Mephisto’s desk moved inch by inch. The force he was pounding into you created small thudding noises, your clothes dulling the sound of skin slapping, followed by sharp grunts as he worked to keep the relentless pace. Lights of the newspaper club’s office highlighted your bodies, leaving nothing hidden as he bends you into an even deeper arch, face buried in the mahogany desk. Newspapers- published and uncompleted drafts- are crumpled underneath your hands; he couldn’t care less, though, not when you’re moaning and crying out his name like you are. It’s clear he tries to show some decorum, but the rare sight of his demon form screams how disheveled you’re making him— tails coiled around your waist, horns pressing into your shoulder, sharp nails digging jagged lines into the wood of his desk. An enchanted quill is frantically scribbling in the background, no doubt writing down what was happening into a page of the upcoming newspaper draft; depending on whether or not Mephisto remembers- or cares- he might just leave the article in. The thought actually has him whining, fucking into you a bit faster, because he’d love to see everyone’s reactions once they read the damn paper— knowing he had you right under everyone’s noses. A quick tug of your hair to pull you into a messy kiss that the camera can’t see and he’s spilling his cum into you- dragging you off the ledge with him- and pressing his body flush against yours. You stay trapped like that for a few seconds, quietly laughing and teasing him, before he huffs and pulls back as you both try to make yourself presentable again when the video ends.

Extra, Extra | 3:25 minutes | 93.k views | 89.k likes | 84.k comments

Front page, baby. FRONT! PAGE!

Got his priorities down pat

What goes down in the news office doesn’t stay in the news office

Get that nOBLE DIck MC

Never thought I’d hear Mephisto whine—

†

White linen curls around your arms, clenched between your fingers, pillowing your head, delicately shielding the parts you didn’t want too exposed— all while the light in Simeon’s room bathes you in a replicated golden hour. His head is buried deep between your thighs, messy hair brushing your skin at each movement. One of his hands is keeping your left thigh flat against the bed, squeezing at the fat of it, while the other is subtly shoved underneath his body as he fucks his fist. With the leg that isn’t pinned down, your calf is resting over his shoulder, keeping him impossibly close; the sounds coming from him are muffled, as he’s barely able to breathe properly, but they’re desperate and needy, echoed by the mindless ‘please’s and praise he’s babbling out. The sheets covering his own body from view only hide his hips down to his mid thigh, giving the perfect- defined- view of his arched back and the flexing muscles rippling underneath smooth skin as he thrusts into the pleasure. There are faint reddened lines trailing along his shoulders and barely visible hickies on his neck, showing that, clearly, this hadn’t been the beginning of the night. It can also be seen in the way his hips stutter with overstimulation, toes curling at the sensation, even if he can’t stop because he still craves the release. It’s timed with the pace he’s fucking you with his tongue, moans harmonizing with yours, getting louder and breathier and a little whinier before he’s practically crying out an ‘I’m cumming!’. Not even a second later, both of your thighs are snapping closed around his head, trembling, as you follow. The come down is soft and sweet, whispered words and gentle caresses, with a murmured suggestion for a bubble bath just as the video cuts.

Worship hour | 2:30 minutes | 86.k views | 84.k likes | 78.k comments

I feel the grace of the celestial realm

PHEW

GOD AND DAMN

We’ve ascended guys—

Where can I get an angel

†

The scattered, organized, yet messy sight of school books, miscellaneous supplies, and the fact that you were in your uniform made it obvious this was one of RAD’s many closets. Raphael was sitting on top of an extra desk, legs spread rather wide as you sat on top of him; your skirt rode up around your hips, but his hands groped and squeezed your ass to shield it from view. He guided you at a quick, needy pace as you grinded against his clothed cock, sometimes jerking his hips up to meet the movements. The normally quiet and aloof Angel was panting and gasping, and if you listened closely, you could hear muffled whines every now and then when you moved at a certain angle. The sloppy sounds of wet kissing and tongues tangling seemed to echo in the small room, even despite his whisper of ‘have to be quiet’— in fact, he was more vocal than you, commanding you to go faster, asking you not to stop. Even the shadows passing under the door didn’t deter him from wanting you. The bell signaling class was about to begin made you pause without thinking, but he gave you no time to think: he grabbed you right up and twisted your bodies around until you were laying back on the desk, legs around his waist. With no room to barely breathe in between, he began fucking himself against you like an animal in heat, breathlessly apologizing and announcing he was gonna cum. With a few more rough thrusts, you can see his body shudder and melt over top of you— and the visible wet stain on the front of his pants as he gently helps you off the desk and fixes your clothes, suggesting a quick clean up spell so you can go to class, before the video ends.

[Can’t] resist temptation | 1:10 minutes | 88.k views | 82.k likes | 75.k comments

PHEW PART FUCKING TWO

His veiny hands make me ajsaljdkd

Are all the exchange students always this hot??

I will take a shower of spears to see this in person

Mc is my hero

†

Whatever device was recording had to be enchanted, as the screen was divided perfectly to show the inside of the common room, where the seven brothers all lounged, and the hallway wall just outside, where Solomon had you hiked up against it. His head was buried in the crook of your neck, only a peek of his lips showing. The bottom half of your face that was in frame is covered by his hand, fingers digging into your jaw to keep you quiet. The only thing covering your body was his starry cloak; the fabric fell off your shoulder, showing off the many hickies and bite marks adorning your skin. Your body bounced upwards at every sharp thrust— he was unforgiving with his pace, frame flush against yours as he fucked you deep. The audio barely picked up on the ragged pants falling from his mouth, the debauched praises that he was damn near singing as he had his way with you, all while being ten feet away from the brothers. The muscles in his arm flexed as he held you up, fingers marking bruises into the skin he was gripping. You raked your hands through his sweat-soaked hair, tugging and pushing his head up until you had your mouth against his. A barely audible cry of his name reached the camera as your back arched, fingers pressing just as bruisingly into his back. He finally stuttered in his pace, mouth falling open; he came with his tongue tangled with yours, accidentally having let out a hiss when you moaned aloud. Lucifer, who had been glancing up occasionally, as if he thought he heard something, immediately stood just as all the others’ heads snapped up. With a desperate kiss, Solomon opened a portal and carried you right through, leaving the brothers to hastily round the corner and begin shouting, before the video cuts.

Claim staking | 4:45 minutes | 91.k views | 88.k likes | 84.k comments

A good section of the comments is just hate from the brothers, I—

That sly, sexy, smug little fucker

I wanna be between the two of them

Sorcerer man hot

You could physically feel the charge in the air through the phone when the brothers figured it out

#om x reader #om smut #obey me x reader #obey me smut #diavolo x reader #diavolo smut #barbatos x reader #barbatos smut #mephisto x reader #mephisto smut #obey me raphael smut #obey me raphael x reader #solomon x reader #solomon smut #obey me simeon x reader #obey me simeon smut

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phsychobanana · 1 year ago

Text

In your eyes

Pairing: Zuko x Firebender!reader

Summary: When Zuko falls for a member of the gaang, he fears that his mistakes may ruin his chances with them.

Word count: 2.3k

A/n~ I think this is gender neutral? I don't remember putting any specific pronouns, but correct me if i'm wrong. Enjoy!

Funnily enough, the first time you met Zuko was at the northern water tribe. Two fire benders surrounded by waterbenders during a full moon. Not exactly an ideal situation for any firebender, but you were welcome, whereas Zuko was not.

You were running as fast as you could, your legs carrying you in a speed you didn't know was even possible. Katara was in trouble and the moon was slowly disappearing from the sky, fire nation soldiers were everywhere, the water benders were struggling with the loss of the moon and you were terrified.

"Katara!" You yell to her as you get closer to the girl. She was fighting a boy you had never seen before.

You jump on the boy's back and hold your hand to his throat, heating your palm up slowly.

"I would choose my next move carefully if I were you." You say as Katara puts her own hands to her neck and moves them around trying to mimic an explosion.

Suddenly, the boy moves his hands to your face and you feel a burning swipe across your eyebrow. You let go of him and move your hands to your face, a searing pain on your eyebrow almost making you drop to your knees. Katara rushes to your side in a panic,

You see the boy grab Aang and run off before you could do anything.

"Who was that?" You ask Katara angrily.

"Zuko."

***

Zuko followed you and the gaang around for weeks, those weeks turning into months. And the more he saw you, the more he wanted to see you again.

Unfortunately for him, the more you saw him, the more you wanted to smash his head through a window. But every couple has their problems.

You held a very strong grudge towards him, seeing as your eyebrow had scarred and you now had a line going through your eyebrow and over your eye. It made you angry every time you looked in the mirror.

Unbeknownst to you, Zuko felt absolutely terrible for what he had done. He didn't mean to scar you, he would never wish his fate on anyone. Not even his greatest enemy, which lamentably, happened to be you at the moment.

***

The next memorable time that you saw Zuko was in the crystal cave. You had both been thrown in there as a punishment and you were freaking out. Aang, Katara, and Sokka needed you.

You started hitting the walls, throwing as much fire power at it as possible, you even broke a crystal into one big sharp shard and slammed it against the door repeatedly, but it was no use.

"There's no point in doing that." Zuko says, looking at you with his blazing golden eyes. "We aren't getting out until they want us out."

You just scoff in response, unsure of why he was even talking to you in the first place.

He looks at you when he hears your scoff, "You don't have to be rude."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hurt your feelings by being mean?" You mock him in a baby voice, causing him to roll his eyes.

"What's your problem?" Zuko asks, looking you up and down with pinched eyebrows.

"What is my problem? You're my problem, Zuko. You've been hunting my friends and I for months, you've hurt us -or attempted to- more times than I can count, you gave me this," You point to your scar, making him flinch, "And you have the nerve to ask me what my problem is?" You let out another scoff and turn around, giving him your back.

Zuko looks down at his hands, not knowing what to say. He watches as you light each one of your fingers up like a candle to keep yourself distracted.

He walks over and sits next to you, doing the same with his fingers.

You look at him and roll your eyes.

He smiles softly to himself. You haven't moved away from him, yet.

***

If there had ever been even a sliver of you that had liked him in that cave, it was completely gone now. He had betrayed you that night in the cave and it hurt you.

It was the day of the eclipse and you were running through the underground tunnels, looking for Sokka. As you were running you bumped into something, falling hard to the ground.

"Ow!" A familiar voice huffed as the other person made contact with the ground.

"Zuko?"

He looks up, his hair falling into his eyes. You notice his eyes widen and light up, but just as he goes to say something you lunge at him.

With your hands around his neck, you yell at him through gritted teeth. "I trusted you!"

"I know, I'm sorry." He barely gets the words out, gasping and clawing at your hands.

You let go of him and slam him into the ground hard.

"I swear to the spirits, if you ever try to hurt my friends again I will kill you with my own two hands. No bending, no help, just me and you." You say and walk away to go find Sokka.

Zuko sits there for a moment replaying what you said in his head over again. A small smile spreads across his face and he jumps up, running after you.

***

"You have got to be kidding me!" You yell at your friends. They were letting Zuko, the guy that had tried to kill you and capture Aang on more occasions than you could count, into the group.

"Everyone deserves a second.....or 100th chance, Y/n." Aang says, placing a hand on your shoulder as Zuko takes a step towards you.

You clench your fist defensively, making him put his hands up in defense as he takes another step forward.

"I get why you wouldn't trust me, but I've changed." He says, taking one of your hands in his. You pull away with a hollow laugh and walk away.

"Fine, let this psycho join us. I don't care." You say as you disappear behind a wall.

Zuko looks down with a sigh. "Challenge accepted..." He says under his breath as he thinks of ways to win you over.

***

Two days after Zuko joined the gaang, you were attacked. A pack of firebenders found you, attacking the group. You all paired together, Sokka with Toph, Katara with Aang, and you with Zuko. You had begged Toph to pair with you but Sokka stole her, leaving you with the one person you did not want.

You were back to back, fighting off the soldiers when another fleet arrived. The gaang chose to run, not wanting to be captured. You stayed behind to fight off the rest of the soldiers so the others could get away.

"Y/n come on! Hurry!" Sokka yelled for you as you were running after Appa. A soldier dived at you and their hand grabbed at your ankle, making you tumble to the ground.

"Go!" You yell and Aang pulls Appa out of there. You kick your foot back at the soldier, successfully kicking them in the face. You run off into the forest, You can hear the soldiers running after you as you twist through the trees.

You feel something grab your arm and pull you toward them. Looking up, you see Zuko. He's not looking at you, instead looking at the soldiers running around looking for you. You notice that he pulled you into a clearing hidden by trees and bushes. He places his hand over you mouth as you go to say something.

His adams apple bobs as he swallows harshly, listening and watching for any signs that the soldiers might be headed towards the two of you. After no signs, he looks down at you, finally making eye contact.

His golden eyes shine as he looks at you and he smiles softly.

"Thank you." You say quietly, not wanting to be too loud.

He nods.

"Do you still hate me?" He asks with a barely there smirk.

You shake your head. "I don't think I ever really hated you." He smiles at you. "I just strongly disliked you. It was a very strong dislike. Very strong."

"Okay, I get it."

You laugh softly at his dismissiveness of the subject.

"Do you think I'm still a bad guy?" His voice is quiet. Barely a whisper, but you hear it.

You look at him, he's looking down at the grass, his fingers are playing with each other out of habit, his hair is fallen over his face and covering his eyes. You never quite realized how pretty he was.

"Of course not-" You begin to tell him your answer, but your words are interrupted by yelling.

The two of you turn your heads in the direction of the noises and see your friends running to you.

"There they are!" Katara calls to the others as she makes eye contact with you.

Zuko lets out a frustrated breath at the interruption, but he gets up and dusts off his clothes, offering you his hand.

***

The days after that moment in the woods would replay in your mind every night before you would sleep, every morning when you'd awake, every meal, every training session with Aang and Zuko, every group meeting, every day all day.

You had started watching Zuko more than you would care to admit. The way he tried to make up for all of his past mistakes always seemed to put a smile on your face. He helped Katara in the kitchen when he could, he always made time to talk about weapons with Sokka, he always played games with Toph and Aang, and he was especially trying to make it up to you. Though you didn't notice that part.

He always pulled your chairs out for you, he helped teach you how to control the lightning within you, he even got you flowers one time. Unfortunately the flowers backfired and Appa ended up eating them, sneezing petals for a week.

You were currently training Aang on the beach with Zuko. The sun was blazing down on your back and your cotton shirt was absorbing all of the heat, making you sweat more than you would normally.

You walk over to where Katara, Toph, Sokka, and Suki are sitting, sipping their little coconut drinks as they watch you and Zuko beat the arrows off of Aang.

You take both ends of your shirt and pull it over your head, leaving you in your shorts and bathing suit top. When you walk back over to the boys you notice how red Zuko's face is.

"You alright over there, Z?" You ask, worried that he might be overworking himself in the heat.

His head snaps to look you in the eyes, his face going an even deeper red.

"Y-yeah, heh. Why wouldn't I be?" He looks around, avoiding looking at you with everything in him.

You decide to ignore his weird reaction to your words and go back to teaching Aang.

"This one is a partner move. So, I'll demonstrate with Zuko and then when you understand how to do it, you can try with him." You explain as you walk over to the spluttering and red as a beet, boy.

You move his hand to your waist and his other in yours, your own face heating up a bit at this position. You then kick his own foot out from underneath him and flip him over your shoulder. You light your hand ablaze and put it near Zuko's neck like one would a sword.

"I thought you said this was a partner move," Zuko groans out.

"Yeah, good guy and bad guy. Partners." You say with a smirk.

"You can do that, right Aang?"

Aang nods his head excitedly.

After another hour or two of flipping Zuko over your shoulders, you all sit down around a camp fire on the beach for dinner. You and Zuko offer to collect the plates and take them back up to the house.

"You did good in training today." He says as he takes the plates from your hands and places them on the counter.

You let out a small laugh.

"Well I would assume I did considering the amount of times I was able to flip you."

He rolls his eyes and you take this moment to admire him.

His hair falls in perfect strands across his forehead, his golden eyes reflect the light of the setting sun peeping through the window, his skin is soft as you place your hand on his.

He looks at you confused when he feels your touch.

"You did good, too." You say softly.

He smiles at this, looking down at your hand that was still on his.

"How do you see me?" He asks, breaking the peaceful silence.

"What do you mean?"

"What am I in your eyes?"

You think for a moment, pondering how your answer.

"You're a person who has made many mistakes." You begin, making his shoulders droop a little bit. "But you are also a person trying to make up for all of those mistakes. You're a kid, a kid who has been through a lot. Yet, you're still sweet and funny and kind and loyal. You try to hide how you feel, but I can still see every emotion you have in your actions. You're trying. And for that, I think you are amazing. That is who you are in my eyes."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, making you feel nervous about how he would react.

With a million thoughts racing through his mind, he decides not to say anything. You said that his actions meant more, so he spoke with an action.

He gently placed his hand on your cheek and leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away at any second. But you don't.

His lips meet yours in a soft kiss, his hair tickling your cheek. You smile into his kiss making him smile as well. Your arms wrap around his neck and you pull him closer as he pulls away from the kiss. You rest you foreheads against each other, catching your breath.

"I think I like you." He says, making you laugh.

"Oh shut up." You say and lean in for another kiss.

#prince zuko #zuko #avatar the last airbender #zuko x reader #zuko x y/n #zuko x you #x reader #atla #zuko atla #fire lord zuko #aang #avatar aang #katara #sokka #toph #suki

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snaileer · 1 month ago

Text

I’m a Size Medium, Thanks - 2

Part one: https://www.tumblr.com/snaileer/766471879423885312/im-a-size-medium-thanks

Danny stares into the eyes of what has got to be the grumpiest looking 12-14?10? How tall are children?- year old he’s ever met. And he grew up with Sam!

Danny looks back through the door, hoping to everything that an adult walks through. He is disappointed.

“Well?” The boy snaps, foot tapping.

“Uh, can I help.. you?” Danny says, voice ticking up. That’s what you’re supposed to say at a job right? Or maybe the kid wasn’t supposed to be here, “Do you need to call someone…?” He hopes not, he doesn’t know how or if the shop has a phone, and his… well his is wired through a realm of the dead so enough said there.

“My name is Damian Wayne.” He says primly. And expectantly.

Danny looks outside again, past the neon sign he specifically hadn’t turned on, then back at the Damian kid, blinking. There’s no way this was that ‘Mr.Wayne.’

The kid rolls his eyes impressively well then drops his glare back onto Danny, “Has this absurd incense burned away whatever meager sense you were born with? I am here to have a so-called ‘reading’ with a medium.”

If Danny hadn’t seen this Damian kid walk in with three whisps of shades wrapped around his arms, Danny would have questioned why, but he did, so he doesn’t.

He does, however, say: “Aren’t you a little young… to be like.. talking about death or something?” Though honestly, the incense is a real concern, Danny hadn’t even lit any today, Claire had just left it burning and the whole room was saturated.

“Will you fulfill your job description or not, you peasant?” The kid grits out.

Danny would really rather not. Like really rather not. But nOoo, here he was, waiting for a portal that could show up at any time, pretending he was a medium for a 7 year old just because he could talk to ghosts.

Danny sighs and drags himself around the counter to go into Claire’s weird little seance room. Maybe the fumes will kill him before the embarrassment does.

The kid follows.

Danny drops himself into Claire’s chair with weirdly plush armrests for still being so uncomfortable.

“Alright then, let’s get this over with. I’m Danny, the -ugh- medium. Whatdya wanna know?” Danny says as he kicks his leg out to hit a shade getting agitated and grabby by Damian’s feet. They got way too much of a spiritual boost from this room for Danny to be comfortable with it.

Damian watches him with a raised eyebrow, still not sitting down, “Aren’t you meant to lead the seance?”

Danny’s lip curls in distaste, he huffs a sigh and lets his shoulders drop, opening his mouth to tell this 9-year old something easy about one of his shades and be done-

He spots a sticky note stuck on the crystal ball.

-Danny, don’t forget, the showmanship is important! I trust you know how to meet expectations! Happy first day!

- Claire <3

Danny feels his face go deadpan. He was going to have this woman committed. That’s what he was going to do. She could be studied for the degenerative cognitive effects of being freaking bazonkers.

Danny plucks the note off the crystal ball and crumples it, letting the trash drop to the abyss that is Claire’s plush carpet.

He sighs, looking back up at Damian. The kid snaps his head towards him from where he’d been poking around the curtained walls- weirdo- but Danny beats him to the snappy comment.

“You got any spiritually charged items? Or like… something?” Danny says, taking a guess, he can make the thingy glow, say some nonsense, get paid, and close.

Damian narrows his eyes at him, but slowly moves to sit in the other chair, perched on the edge of the seat. He pulls something from his pocket and sets it on the table.

Pearls.

It’s a clump of shiny white pearls.

Absolutely dripping in ectoplasmic blood stains. So lovely.

Does Claire have biohazard gloves because oh gosh-

Danny hesitantly reaches for the pearls, lifting the strand between two fingers as he looks between it and the 12 year old. “You sure this is what you want to ask about?”

The kid’s glare turns challenging, mocking, “What? Admitting you are nothing but a charlatan?”

Danny grimaces, “Not quite. I mean…” He looks at the pearls again, then at the shade trying to hack away at the kids neck, “There’s definitely someone or something attached to this it’s just… not .. yours.”

“Tt,” the boy clicks his tongue at him, “and how exactly would you know that, charlatan?” Damian levels a mocking look up and down at him.

Danny’s eye twitches as he grimaces a smile, “Part of the job-“ brat. Danny doesn’t say that. Danny can’t say that. Danny has to deal with death obsessed TODDLERS who want to talk about some rando’s gruesome murder just so he can eat tonight. Or find somewhere to sleep. He doubts this will be enough for both.

Maybe if he’s dramatic enough.

Alright get to it then, Danny.

He sighs, dimming the light with Claire’s little remote- he is not so far gone as to turn them green like she had- and actually focusing his energy on the pearl necklace.

“What are you-“

Danny holds up a finger at Damian to silence him, which surprisingly works. He closes his eyes and starts trying to absorb the vibes of ectoplasmic remains as slowly as he can.

Feelings of course come with it and- well what’d ya know, he can definitely feel this attached to a ghost somewhere in this city.

“It’s a woman’s… younger than she should have been when she…”

He can hear Damian scoff, “Obviously, anyone could tell me that.”

Danny rolls his eyes under his eyelids, debating the merits of opening one to glare at him when his eyes are definitely glowing.

“She’s still here but-“ Danny says instead, trying to pull on the connection wandering out into the streets, “She can’t come here here.”

“What do you mean?” The boy snaps.

Danny tries to focus harder on it himself, he’s never done this before, tried to find or communicate with a ghost from an object… it was like Pointdexter and his mirror.

“She’s stuck somewhere… somewhere more important.. it’s dark and narrow and Danny mentally rears back as images flash into his mind. Accompanied of course by a woman’s scream.

An alley. A gun. A man stepping in front of her to protect her- no not her- a kid- Damian- not Damian- looks like-

Danny opens his eyes and drops the necklace. There’s barely any ectoplasm left on it.

Fine with him, he never wants to touch it again. But yuck that means he absorbed it!! Oh ewwww-

“Well?” An impatient voice asks and- oh yeah that’s right, the rude ass kid.

Danny pushes the pearls across the table with a finger and looks up at him, “Woman in an alley, that familiar to you?”

Damian’s eyes narrow, “Anyone who knows who I am could tell me the same.”

Danny snaps, “I don’t-!“ This is a child Danny, a child, he takes a deep breath, “Well she was scared for the kid, and now is… proud of him? There’s a lot of concern there, but she still watches him I guess, so that’s all I got for ya.”

Damian scrutinizes him for a minute, silent. Darn, weren’t mediums supposed to be vague as heck so that anything could apply and the person would find their own meaning? But did it count if he was just translating the vibes off a shade half a city away?

“This is…. acceptable.”

Danny nearly sags in relief and moves to stand, “Cool, then-“

“Wait.” The kid holds up a hand, “You said something regarding a disparity in the proposed ownership of the apparition you believed to be related to this jewelry.”

Danny blinks at him dumbly.

Damian scoffs again, “That the apparition attached to this necklace was ‘not mine,’ as you said??” He snarks, putting air quotes up.

Danny slowly sinks back down into the chair. “… Well yeah I mean..” does he tell this 8 year old about the slightly murderous shades he’s got around him? “You have… you have a couple… apparations… yourself. Not related to the pearls that is.” Danny says hesitantly, eyes skipping over said shades.

Damian jerks his head to follow his eyes and Danny shirks back, eyes back on the kid.

“Who are they? Tell me now,” Damian demands, standing to loom over the table.

Danny puts his hands up in surrender, “Whoa, I don’t know about that, they don’t really seem too happy with you-“ Another one tries to slice his hand through Damian’s neck, “I think you did something to them or made them angry at some point. I don’t really think you should try to contact them-“ Danny winces, that could end very badly. Thank goodness for limited ectoplasm access.

Meanwhile, his answer seems to have only made Damian more upset, his eyes wide as he stares down at Danny.

Suddenly the kid turns and stamps towards the door, leaving Danny to hurriedly push the chair out and chase after him to the main room.

Except-

When he gets there Damian is already shooting hushed insults at a man standing amongst the crystals.

The man looks vaguely like Damian, black hair, blue eyes, lithe build, and oh also- surrounded by shades of course.

These ones seem less vicious at least.

Please don’t be here for him. Please don’t be here for him.

Danny really doesn’t want to try and fake his way through another hour or however long it’s been of that.

“Hey there! I’m Dick, Damian’s brother!” The man says suddenly, pushing Damian aside and coming forward with a cheery grin, “Thanks for humoring him!”

Danny tilts his head to see Damian’s scowling face behind the man. Right.

“Uh huh… I’m Danny.” He says, trying not to be distracted by what he’s pretty sure is a baby elephant’s ghost behind him.

“You’re the medium right? We were just so interested to see if that old family heirloom would have anything or not. We-“

“We?” Damian cuts him off with a scoff, “I will meet you in the vehicle Richard. I will not spend another minute in this house of charlatans.”

They both watch as the kid turns and stomps out the door, uncrossing his arms only to open the door and stomp out. The stupid bell rings merrily.

This time it’s not Danny who sighs.

“I wish he wouldn’t say things like that,” Dick says wearily, “I grew up in places like this.” There’s a note of nostalgia to his voice. Danny just eyes the bowl of ‘fertility’ crystals warily, what kind of place??

Dick must see him do it because he huffs a laugh, “I grew up in a circus originally,” he explains, “So psychic places always just kinda remind me of my auntie’s tents.”

Danny glances at the elephant shaped ghost again, “Wow that makes so much sense actually.”

The guy raises a confused eyebrow at him.

Danny coughs awkwardly, waving it away, “So, money?” He claps, “I’m guessing you’re paying since Damian is…” Danny trails off, opting not to make a final guess on age and embarrass himself.

Dick laughs again and they go over to the counter, “Yep, here-“ He pulls out his wallet, rifling through cash before pulling some out, “Cash only yeah? This should be enough.”

Danny stares at the stack of slightly rumpled bills, “But- huh?…” that was… that was so much…

“Oh I added extra since I’m sure he probably said some things he shouldn’t have, don’t worry about it.”

Dick is already halfway out the door when Danny reloads and jerks upwards, “Wai-“

Could Danny really stop him? Should he? He needed this money but… he stops to count it. $20..40..60..80..100..120….140……160….180……….$200.

Danny blanches. He lurches for the door, no way he can take this much money just for basically acting as a glorified ecto-translator.

Danny stops in his tracks as he steps outside the shop and spots Dick and Damian speaking to a third, much older person, over the hood of a sleek black car.

This person, of course, also has several, several, shades around them.

What the hell was wrong with this family?

Damian turns and glares his way.

Oh ancients what if they were part of the mob or something.

Danny spins around on his heel-

And smacks straight into the glass door of the shop.

…

Ow.

Danny rubs his nose as he fumbles around for the door handle, acutely aware the death covered family was probably staring at him.

He grabs the handle and pulls-

Danny freezes, hand on his sore face stopping. He opens his eyes as he yanks again. Nothing.

Oh heck, he just locked himself out didn’t he?

No please no, they were so definitely still staring, no way they weren’t. Danny pulls again and it finally-

He looks at the door handle in his hand.

Then at the door still closed in front of him.

Then back at the door handle.

Just the door handle.

Crap.

Danny nearly weeps, clumsily fitting the door handle back on and still adamantly refusing to look and see if Damian and his absurdly rich family has left yet. Other people on the street are also starting to stare. The same reason he can’t just use his powers.

He finally gets the handle back on and gingerly lets go of it.

Ok. Deep breath.

Claire warned you about this. With a sticky note, but all the same. Extra key is taped on the bottom of the fire hydrant right outside the shop. You’ve got this.

Danny turns, kneels, and frantically begins trying to find the key on the absurdly dirty fire hydrant.

His hands come away black with grime, but thankfully he has the key.

He puts it in the lock and turns it, hearing what may very well be the newest sound of his nightmares: a snap.

Most specifically the sound of the key snapping in Danny’s very hands.

Danny stares at the half of the key still held between his fingers.

Did he do something to this city? Was this his fault? Could he not just sit in a closet and wait for the portal to open and go home?

Danny sags against the door, and resigns himself to his fate. Maybe he can go get food… with the money he left on the counter. Great.

Danny peeks his eyes sideways and catches the guy, Dick, finally getting into their car.

Okay, just a tiny bit just a bit. Danny holds the key again, focuses on the lock in the door jam and….. intangible!

He yanks the door open and jumps inside, door closing against the flutters of quickly fading shades on the street.

And more than one scream at them but hey that’s not his problem.

Mostly.

Danny revels in the cool lighting of the shop, glaring at the stupid broken key in his grimy hands. He drops the useless bit of metal on the counter, pockets the cash and wipes his hands on the backside of one of Claire’s million wall curtains.

It leaves a black stain that basically disappears when Danny folds the fabric over it.

Oh well.

Technically the shop was still open.

And technically, Danny didn’t know if the lock did or didn’t work right now.

He moves to find whatever storage closet Claire used to store her absurd number of crystals.

He finds it- finally- and using the keys he left in the store to begin with, he is able to unlock the perfect place to sleep tonight amongst several packages of…. Some kind of incense powder… or something. He doesn’t really care because that plan of hiding in a closet till the portal opens? Yeah, Danny’s putting that into action right the frick now.

He bends down to start to lay out his sweatshirt over the cardboard bed-to-be.

A bell rings in the distance.

Danny is going to destroy that bell on the door, he swears it.

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plethorawrites · 21 days ago

Text

How the Batboys would react to finding out and dealing with you self harming/having severe depression.

TW: Mentions of cuts, blood, suicidal thoughts, incorrect use of pills, sort of implied eating disorders.

Please don't read if this could upset you in any way.

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Bruce:

The first time he notices is also the first time you spend the night. The lights were dark and you were both a bit buzzed after downing several glasses of champagne to endure a boring event he invited you to as an excuse to see you. Of course he was more concerned with kissing the inside of your thighs than noticing the little healed scars on them.

He notices them the next morning though, when the sun is streaming through the window and you get up to find your clothes while assuming he's asleep. He wasn't. He saw the marks. The scars. He refrained from saying a word about them, waiting weeks for you to open up about them on your own terms. He could see they were healed so he wasn't terribly worried at that moment.

When you finally told him, you said you'd been clean for months. He had no reason to suspect you would start again.

But you did.

He didn't know the exact day, or the specific reason, all he knew is that you stopped wearing shorts to bed and stopped letting him leave the lights on to see you when you were intimate. You stopped smiling as often, too.

Of course, being a detective, he can tell when you start getting lethargic, not from work or stress but simply life itself. He hears when your words have less meaning, and your expressions are false. He makes it his mission to not let you fall into the spiral any more than you already have.

You might not want to tell him you're hurting yourself but he'd be damned if he didn't do whatever he could to make you stop. That started by holding you tighter at night so you couldn't sneak off to the bathroom to cut, he'd ask you to visit him at work, insist on every meal being at a restaurant so you didn't even have time to try to hurt yourself. And of course, he helps with the tasks you start struggling with, but pretends he doesn't notice.

He just says "Can I practice braiding your hair so I can help Cassandra?" and use it as a chance to make sure you don't start letting your hair tangle.

He even makes the braid a bit crooked even though he can French braid perfectly, just to sell it. He'll wash it, too, claiming it's: "A good excuse to spend time together." after a long day.

He just wants to make sure it's not getting greasy. He can see the guilt on your face when you sit in the tub, staring at the wall. You wanted to tell him to stop, that you could wash your own hair. But you probably couldn't. It felt like too much work and you just wanted to sink underneath the water of the tub for a few minutes of peace. He kept you upright though, kissing the back of your shoulder, the side of your neck, your cheek, making you hum.

You weren't able to feel much, emotionally speaking, but you could feel gratitude and love.

When he notices you skipping meals because you can't drag yourself to the kitchen or bother to cook, he will. He'll make anything, even if you change your mind about what sounds good and make him cook six different dishes before eventually accepting one of them. He doesn't care. He just wants you to eat. The second you show the slightest bit of interest in something, anything, it's yours. You make a comment about the beach sounding nice, the next thing you know he's taken the day off work and is driving you there with the top of a convertible down.

You say you kind of miss one of your old hobbies— be it painting or crochet, it doesn't matter what, the next day the nicest stuff for you to get back into it arrives. Fresh paints, massive canvases or imported yarn and crystal hooks. He watches, intently when you start to focus on something you like again, the heavy ache in his heart subsiding when he gets to show enthusiasm about your project when it's done.

You start holding him again at night, your face buried in his chest instead of sleeping facing the wall. One night you slide into bed wearing shorts and he can see your scars, red ones among the old faded pale ones from when you first met.

He knows they'll heal too in time. Just like you have.

---

Dick: He doesn't realize there's anything wrong several months into dating you until he catches you taking some pills when he was walking back into the room and later searched up the name, figuring out they're antidepressants.

He can't believe he didn't see it sooner and hates that you were always putting on a fake smile with him. He wants you to talk about it, but understands that it's hard for you too and your every attempt to open up to him ends with you in tears or walking out in frustration because the words won't form.

He suggests (very strongly) that you see a therapist and after some gentle coaxing, you agree. He sits in the car the entire time waiting for you and when you come out, numb for a few minutes as you sit there in silence before sobbing uncontrollably for the 20 minutes in the parking lot. He gets you whatever you want after— ice cream, cheesecake, brownies. Whatever you're craving.

He takes you every week, sometimes multiple times a week. He never complains and he's ALWAYS there. He'll wake up early, even if he barely slept. He'll skip family lunch, he'll rush out of a bank robbery just shouting for his brothers to handle it without him. It doesn't matter what, he'll be there.

He's taken to heavy positive affirmations, as well. He puts sticky notes up in the bathroom with smiley faces for whenever you brush your teeth or put on moisturizer. There are little hearts and words of encouragement on the front of the fridge and inside of it too for when you manage to crave a snack. Hopefully something healthy like fruit, but even if it's junk food, it's better than an empty stomach.

Every morning he wakes you up and tells you you're beautiful and he's grateful to have you.

He likes to remind you not to push yourself as well. "If you just manage to wash your hair, you'll have done something" and "If that's too hard, I'll help you make the bed." But also..."If you don't do anything at all today, you still survived. That alone is difficult, but you're doing it."

Every night he lays it on even thicker because he knows it gets harder at night. "I'm so proud of you for making it through another day." And... "I know it sucks right now but I promise I'll help you get through this." And... "Just take it one day at a time."

When you get homework from your therapist— to do 3 hard tasks over one week, make a list of every negative and positive thought to see them out loud and deduce why you have them, physical exercise—he does it with you. No matter how foolish or seemingly simple it is.

Your therapist told you to do something you struggle with? Done. He'll stand behind you while you do the dishes and help you dry.

You need to get something from a store that's dozens of miles away? Road trip. He'll buy the snacks and take turns driving so you don't het stressed out burn out.

You're told to get some physical exercise? He'll be your partner for whatever kind you want to do. Jogging in the park, keeping a slower pace than usual for you, practicing on rings while you climb the stairmaster—he falls, because he's distracted by your ass. But that's besides the point.

When you start to show signs of feeling better, that therapy is working, he's elated. And after several months and things are better, much better, you tell him whenever you're feeling off. Whenever that nagging feeling comes back over you. You guys work through it then and there to keep it from getting bad again.

Though sometimes, when he's leaving for work, you'll pout and say you feel sad just to get him to stay. You both know it's not a depressed feeling. You just don't want him to leave and he'll indulge you. "Oh, well, if that's the case, I'll just have to stay in bed with you until you feel better."

---

Jason: He's busy. Always. But that didn't mean he was oblivious. Yet, that's exactly how he felt when he realized you'd been abusing your medicine. He knew after the first few dates that you were on medication for chronic depression and he was more than understanding about it. Millions of people suffered from it, himself occasionally included.

But when he's laying in bed and catches you sneaking into the bathroom to take three more pills than you're supposed to, he's caught off guard. Then you slide down to the floor, sitting crisscrossed, making small cuts on your thighs, wincing in pain the entire time. It takes every ounce of self control not to jump out of bed and rip the blade from your hand. He contemplates it, he really does. But that would just make things worse. So he waits.

It keeps him up all night, though he pretends to sleep. And in the morning, you're back out of bed, taking more and sliding back in bed, pretending to wake up just like him.

He blames himself entirely.

He thinks he should have been better, done more, noticed something that made it better. It was his job to support you and protect you and he had failed and that killed him in ways that seemed unimaginable.

After an incredibly difficult conversation where he confesses to knowing you've been filling scripts you don't need and taking more than necessary, you're both an emotional mess. But he assures you he's not leaving or angry, just scared for you. He wants to help but needs you to let him.

He absolutely dedicates himself to keeping you away from anything even remotely dangerous.

The knives in the kitchen? Gone.

Even the butter knives are plastic now.

The razors in the bathroom? Thrown out in a trashcan outside so you couldn't find them.

Even the little blade in the pencil sharpener is taken out.

He won't let you have your pill bottles either, at least not at first. He makes sure you take them everyday, morning and night, then after several weeks starts to let you handle them by yourself.

He still sneaks out of bed to count them and make sure you weren't taking more than prescribed. He insists on being the one to wrap your arms, cleaning them to make sure they don't get infected. And wiping your legs as well. He has to remind himself not to squeeze them too hard, the way he wants to.

While holding you at night he makes sure not to hurt them, even though he wants to hold you much tighter to comfort himself as reassurance you're alright. He listens, late at night when you're whispering to avoid crying. When you explain the feeling it gave you. He knows it.

Once they heal and he can hold you tighter, not as afraid of hurting you by squeezing your thighs the way he likes to. He starts kissing them each night, making sure you know they're not embarrassing or shameful.

He's got scars on most of his body; you were the one to teach them to appreciate them. If he could return the favor, he would. A thousand times over.

He tells you the same things you told him. "You made it through."

---

Tim: When you tell Tim, and by tell I mean confess after he figured it out on his own, you're surprised to find that he doesn't have much of a reaction immediately. He stays quiet, hums a little, nods along. He never interrupts but you see his eyes glazing over a bit, the way they do when the gears start turning in his head. He knew, of course, that you had depression.

He knew you hurt yourself, not in the traditional way of cutting or attempting suicide, but in much subtler ways, like forcing yourself to finish a meal even though you're full and your stomach hurts, taking boiling hot showers that leave your skin red and raw practically painful to even touch from how dry it is, making yourself stay up late and function on the fewest hours of sleep possible.

You purposely made life harder for yourself and for the most part, didn't even realize it. He did, though. What he didn't realize was the amount of medicine you'd tried, to the point you felt none of them worked, the amount of therapists and psychiatrists you had seen, the level of depression you had truly sunk to before. It hurt him to realize once you started opening up. He wanted to make that pain go away. So, he researched. Constantly.

He wants to know every single thing that can cause depression, the statistics of self harm leading to suicide, the effectiveness of different treatments or facilities. He knows every antidepressant, their side effects, their manufacturers, and dosages. He suggests inpatient care for you, but absolutely refuses to send you to someplace like Arkham.

Instead, he finds the best of the best, way out of the city, where the entire staff passed his background check, the facility was up to date on every code possible, and the rules seemed relaxed enough to let you feel like yourself while also making sure you're safe. He's allowed to visit and does so as soon as possible, even manages to get extra hours in the night. You have the best of care there, too, he knows because he can see it on your face every time he's there.

The food is wonderful, the private room you have is nice (even if you miss his warmth at night), the activities they make you do remind you of the hobbies you used to love before they became unbearable. Even therapy sessions, always private because Tim knew you wouldn't want to speak about it in a group, are rather helpful.

When you get out after a few weeks, he's right there, waiting, like always. And he's got the biggest smile because he can see immediately the light back in your eyes that he missed so much. He keeps up with some of the tactics you learned or hobbies you started while there, gladly sitting on the floor with you while you do paper mache.

He always makes sure you know you're not weak for needing help and if you ever feel like you need to go back, even just for a week, or weekend, he'll be there for you. Just like always.

---

(Aged up. I imagine you both in LOA)

Damian: It didn't take a genius to know you were a miserable person. Most people in the league of assassins were. He rather liked your level of misery, usually. It was cynical, with a touch of wit and dark humor that always made him feel seen.

It wasn't until he caught sight of a few scars on your calf that he didn't recognize that he started to realize you were more miserable than he had originally thought. You tried to play it off, claiming you got hurt in a sparring match. But that was a lot and he knew it. Because A) you never lost. And B) the cut was at an angle a sword wouldn't be able to reach unless you were the one holding it.

You clearly didn't want to talk about it, so he wouldn't make you. He was always taught that emotions were weak and even though he didn't fully believe it as he used to, he still isn't big on a lot of sentimentality. Which is fine, because you aren't either.

He still keeps a quiet, very close eye on you. Maybe you noticed, maybe you didn't. He wasn't sure. He didn't care either way. He was worried and with your recent behavior, he felt he had every right to be. You started putting in less effort during training, if you even showed up at all. He'd find you on the balcony at night, leaning your head against the railing and staring at the gardens with a blank expression.

Even the things he knew you loved— your favorite foods, the music you liked to listen to on a record player while you got ready for bed. It stopped appealing to you. The meticulous way you'd fix your hair before bed every single night abruptly stopped, too. You simply fell asleep with it as is and woke up with it tangled. You still held him at night, but it felt less like an embrace for the both of you and more like you were clinging to him like a life line.

He pays extra close attention and anytime he isn't allowed to be by your side, he makes sure someone else is. It's hard to keep you away from sharp objects, given nearly everything around them was a weapon, but he tries to get you to vent your rage by cutting training dummies and not yourself.

He also takes you to the quieter, more secluded wing, into an empty room with pillows on the floor. He makes you sit with him and meditate, which he knows is hard at first, boring and you don't have the most energy, but he holds your hand, his fingers pressed to your pulse to make sure you're listening when he tells you to take a deep breath in and think— not of what you're grateful for, like some might suggest. No. Instead of asking you what you want to live for, he asks you what you can't die without. The grudges you're holding, the projects you haven't finished, the people who are just waiting to see you fail. He won't let you let them win.

And it works. That passion and drive slowly comes back with his help and support at your side, doing your hair for you at night and making sure someone brought you a meal three times a day even if he wasn't around to make sure you ate. Your need to be the best and spite anyone who thinks you aren't returns after a while.

One night he finds you training alone, sweat dripping from your brow, your scars both won in battle and self inflicted on display. Instead of interrupting, he simply watches, admiring your form which had improved since you started picking up your sword more often. He loved watching you find your spirit again.

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madamechrissy · 4 months ago

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Priest! Gojo - MDNI- freaky, horny Father Gojo, Imma end up in hell for this one lmaoo, including confessional fucking, please don't read if you don't wanna SIN mmkay, character in her 20s as is Gojo, explicit -word count- 1.2k

Full Priest oneshot- Forgive me Father for I have Sinned

Priest! Gojo who watches you sit in that sundress in that pew right up front, crossing your legs, revealing those pretty pink panties that drive him to think of sin, drives him to imagine being on his knees, worshipping your pretty body. Surely you are sin.

Priest! Gojo who is so beautiful you think he's a god himself, with his crystal blue eyes and that white hair, that perfect face so serene until his eyes hit you, and something... shifts.

Priest! Gojo who licks his lower lip as he reads the bible passage, and watches how you run your fingers down your collarbone, hips shifting in your seat, craving friction as you watch the man command the room in this white robes, as you watch him lick a thumb as he shuffles a page, you get wetter and wetter, knowing you're just a sinner, craving this holy man.

Priest! Gojo who when you come and take your eucharist, your tongue hanging out while on your knees, caresses your bottom lip as you swallow, eyes hungry as you're right at his lap with your face, seeing his huge length semi hard even under his robes. The wine drips down your chin, and he pictures his cum replacing it instead, making him even harder as he looks at you.

Priest! Gojo who takes your confession, and fuck what a confession it is, as you're in the little confessional. 'I dream of someone fucking me, someone I should not.' 'It's natural to have thoughts, my child...' 'Oh, Father... but I play with myself, thinking of him. Of his pretty mouth... drinking me, father. Or me, on my knees, drinking him.' Priest Gojo makes a choking sound then. 'I'm so sorry, I..."

Priest! Gojo who is rock hard now, pressing against his pants under those white robes, who feels sticky precum as he sees you through the lattice of the cross in the wall that seperates you, as he sees you arch your back, head tilting, hair falling. He starts stroking his cock over them, as you bite your lower lip, heating him huff, asking 'Father, what should my Pennance be? How long should I be... on my knees, I wonder?' and Father Gojo can't help himself.

Priest! Gojo who says, 'I have to ask, how are you doing it, just so I can know what pennance, how many Hail Mary's' and you bite your lip, hot in the itty bitty room now, as your hips rock on the bench as you hear that husky voice of his. 'Father, I don't know how to say how... I guess I picture him, in my mind he is shirtless, and he's laying on top of me, so I play with my...' 'go on, it's all right' he whispers. 'my pussy, I play with it, it gets so wet, so aching, how do I handle this... Father... are you okay?'

Priest! Gojo who now has his cock in his hand and is stroking it, picturing you playing with yourself with his eyes shut, you say something but it's hard for him to listen as he's pinching his tip and imagining it between your thighs, he imagines you're so sweet, you're such a good girl, aren't you? 'Indeed I am, perhaps you need some help, some guidance? So that I could make sure you do not afflict yourself so.' You nearly touch yourself again as you hear him, his pants, as you barely see his robes move up and down, making you wetter 'yes, Father I need guidance'

Priest! Gojo who has you in his side of the confessional then, and he's crooking two long fingers, as you shut the door behind you, shoved right between his thighs, feeling his body heat as he looks at you, his cross right on his chest. 'Show me what you do, do not fret, it's god's will of course, through me.' You nervously let him lift your dress, and he slides down your panties, moaning softly as he sees your cunt, glistening. You rub between your slick lips, head falling back as you play your little clit.

Priest! Gojo who is close to cumming just from watching you, and sighs, putting his fingers right on your hand. 'Let me help you, so you can get this affliction taken care of, yes?' you nod eagerly, then Father Gojo has sunk two long fingers in your slick heat, hitting spots you could never, and you gush around him, as he pulls you on his lap, and you grip that silky hair. 'F-father Gojo! That's... that's...' he exhales, thumb slipping to your clit now, as he watches your pretty face flush. 'I've got you, you can let go, you're safe with me, let me see your sins so I can cleanse them.'

Priest! Gojo who's hand is soaked, as he brings you higher and higher, and you're moaning against his neck, inhaling his scent as you cling to him, trembling. 'Father, it's... I'm gonna... mmm!' You're so close, soaking the sleeve of his robe now. And he's so ready to slide into your eager cunt, looking up at you behind snowy lashes. 'Show me how you sin, let me watch you cum, so I can... help you' and you fall apart then, pulsing around his fingers, and he groans as he watches you, sucking your juices off his fingers.

Priest! Gojo who tastes you, then watches you with a smirk, which no priest should have! 'Has it alleviated some of the... need, my child?' only for you to shake your head, straddling him on his little chair then, and his big hands grip your hips. 'it's only made it worse, Father Gojo! You must help me, I need to sin even more... and with who I'm thinking of.' He blinks a bit. 'Me, you think of? that is a sin.' You sigh, grinding on him, making a wet spot in his robes. 'I know, Father... I told you, I am consumed by the need to sin. You must save me.'

Priest! Gojo who is now thrusting into your tight little cunt, in the cramped confessional, as you're riding his cock, as he's slamming your cervix, and you're soaking his length. He's holding your mouth shut as he bucks up his hips, watching the lust and pleasure on your face, feeling you drool on his hand and his cock. 'That's it, let me save you, through... ah... mmm... God's wisdom." He sucks in a breath as he presses in so deep, and feels you cum all over him, burying his head against your breasts, biting at your tender skin. You can only whimper in response.

Priest! Gojo who whispers 'I'll bless you, do you want me to bless you, to fill you with so much... of... god's light?' he removes his hand, gripping your ass now, and you nod as you grind on his length, his tip bruising your cervix, as you're cumming again, all over your priest. 'Bless me, Father... please!' You beg, only for him to cum deep inside you, hot white ropes, as you're blinded by pleasure, as it's dripping back down the veins of his length, and he's hissing, capturing your lips in a kiss, sloppy, tongues messy and unpracticed, a string of spit between you hanging.

Priest! Gojo who watches you the next Sunday, and you open your legs to cross them, only for him to see you have no panties, and he fears he will have to work harder to save your slutty little soul.

#gojo drabbles #satoru gojo smut #satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo smut #jjk smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x female reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo #Priest gojo

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herfinestblog · 5 months ago

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RIDE THAT DICK LIKE A HORSEY !?

𐚁̸ choso, toji, nanami, gojo, geto.

wc:2.6k+

𐚁̸ viewers discretion. sexual content , riding/ cowgirl , reverse cowgirl , slapping , dirty talk , praising , degradation , breeding kink , squirting , nipple play , edging , true form! sukuna , sub choso.

SATORU GOJO

“fuck. keep moving your hips like that.” satoru moaned his eyes rolling back and jaw hung open each time you clench around him. you’re nails digging into his shoulders each time you bounced dirty on his cock. he’s letting out heavy breaths his big hands that rested on your hips grip tightened. his white hair sticking to his sweat covered forehead, cheeks becoming red and chest rising and falling.

your slick coating him perfectly, dripping down his cock and creating a mess.“come on baby just hold it a little longer.” satoru grabbed your breast rolling your buds between his finger before clamping his pink lips around them and starting to suck holding them in his rough palms. his tongue flicking your sensitive buds making you whimper.

“satoru,” your whimpered and whined as you rode him. his cock pulsating inside of you he can feel you slow down fingers digging into his shoulder.

“k-keep going baby, need you to help me come.” his waist twitched your ass dropping down and grinding down on him each time and riding back up to the tip. you’d cry out when satoru jolts underneath you like an inexperienced boy. his big hands rest under the curve of your ass fondling with the flesh and dragging you down on his cock. you weakly grind against his cock

“you’re doing so good, princess.”

rising and dropping your ass, your sticky skin colliding onto his thighs. both are you are painting as you quicken your movements, fucking him quicker than before. he’s grunting by your ear kissing and sucking on your neck. your brain starts to spiral as you’re taking in every thick inch of his fat cock.

satoru legs start to twitch whining as he grows closer to his release clenching his jaw. you’re watching his fucked out face babbling about how good your fucking him as you drop your ass down harder. his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he desperately whines from you suffocating his cock.

“fuck my cock, baby.”

satoru rocking his waist, both of you of you panting heavily. his hands on your ass clench harder pushing your hips back on him your thrust getting sloppy you buried your face between his neck and rode him. tears crystallized your eyes babbling uncontrollably.

your knees buckle as you cum around him feeling your body go limp as you fall on top of him drooling on his chest. his bucking up into you using the last bit of strength he has to reach his release. his lips grazing the shell of your ear, grunting by your ear.

“fuckkk, i love you, i fucking love you.”he throws his head back as he cums inside you coating your walls with thick spurts of white his legs trembling from the intensity. satoru holding you close to him as you went limp in his arms.

“you did so good for me baby.” satoru kisses your forehead.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

you can never get over how big toji is. you're still struggling to take his size, never dealing with anyone before with a size as big as his.

"you can take it, pretty girl." toji chuckles scar on his mouth forms into a smirk as you slowly sink onto the pink tip. both hands lay flat on his stomach you claw at his stomach as you accommodate his size. you're already moaning and he's only halfway in. he lands a few spanks on your ass causing you to pout. toji grasped both sides of your hips to sink you entirely on his thick cock—the perfect amount of thickness to ruin you.

"how's it feel?" toji taunts, he squeezes down on your tummy watching how his bulge moves in and out of you. your moaning and clenching around him he growls by your ear when you drop down on his cock. each vein molding your walls that ran down the sides of his cock. continuing to roll your hips and grunting by your ear each time you drop your ass down.

he’s grunting by your ear and swatting your ass toji isn’t too fond of your quietness. "answer me, girl.”

"you feel so m’good." you sniffed your skin roughly colliding together, rippling from each thrust as you dropped down on his bulky thighs. the friction of your clit occasionally brushing against his dark pubes making you moan. your thirst is slowing down and becomes sloppy eventually from the ache in your thighs lazily rocking your hips back and forth. you let out quite gasps grinding down and bucking your hips, toji gives you a sly grin at the pout that falls on your lips.

"need help?" toji green eyes lock in with yours, eyebrows perched up watching you pathetically nod your head eyes filled with need.

“yes—pretty please?”

"tsk. thought you said you could take me, doll. pathetic.”toji chuckled as he kissed your neck and left hickeys—his arms snaking around your waist pulling you closer to his chest unexpectedly bucking his up into you. hitting that spot that made you clench around him snickering when you whined as he snapped his hips, you were so sensitive, your pussy becoming swollen and puffy.

"fuckk toji, i’m close !”

you're turning into a moaning mess on his cock, he pumped you full of his cock. you start to move your hips meeting his thirst, turning into a mess on his cock. your sweet moans and whimpers filling his ears your breathing becoming heavy. “cum on me, baby, go ahead and give it to me.” his eyes were all low and half lidded. toji pecks your lips shoving his tongue into your mouth as you’re moaning into the kiss. toji's arms tightening around your waist felt you tightly clench around him. “such a messy fuckin’ girl.”

your eyes scroll back— you're shaking and creating a mess around his cock the intensity of your orgasm washing over you hard as your body spasms your cum dripping down your thighs making you stutter. making sure you felt every single inch of his swollen cock.

you're lying limp in his arms and letting our weak moans as toji buck into you. he grunts his abs growing tense until his very own release, splattering your walls with his cum.

KENTO NANAMI

kento loves when you ride him in the morning after you both wake up. he loves watching a pretty girl like you—his wife take control of his cock using it for your own pleasure. teasingly kissing your neck and groping your body.

you steady your hips, aligning yourself with his timid cock beads of precum rolling down his shaft. dick achingly hard and covered in your juices, as you practically drooled on him "slow—go slow, sweetheart, wouldn't want you hurting yourself." his voice slow and smooth kento lets you take your time, he coos, he's laying back caressing your cheek with his thumb watching you sinking down on his cock.

he watched the expression you make when the stretch of his cock brings tears to your eyes your lips forming a cute 'o'. the mean curve of his cock that plunges into you splitting you open. kento kisses your temple, keeping you close he's guiding your hips down on his cock in,you clenched around him swallowing his cock whole.

"kento," you choke up sobs tears you're lifting your hips letting out choked up cries.

"move your hips," letting out a low groan in his throat, throbbing tip nudged at that sweet spot inside you pathetically whining his name. kento rested his hands on your hips digging into your hips when you clenched around him. his blonde locks sticking to his sweaty forehead. "fuck just like that," he smirks watching you getting closer to your orgasm, with seductive eyes. his grip on your hips firm as he moves you motioning your hips in a circular motion.

"okay. ." you whispered you start to move again gyrate your hips and quickening your pace. kento looked at you with love in his eyes, watching your body move with ease with each drop of your hips. he swear he's going to lose it he cursed under his breath, jaw slacking and slipping out a few quite whimpers.

"let me see your face, baby. . . i need to see your face. please " his deep voice ringing in your ear. you're trying to keep your eyes from rolling back. kento loves to watch the cute expressions you make as you fucked yourself dumb on his cock. you place move moaning into his chest you mewl when he spanks you, his hand clasping around your neck pulling your face up eyes with your glossy ones with tears that threaten to spill from the stretch.

"god, baby— you’re killing me,” he chuckles he grabs your hand intertwining his fingers with yours. your hips rolling and grinding your hips on him made kento lose himself. “don’t stop.” you’re slamming yourself down his tip kissing your cervix and your walls clamping against him. a white ring that starts to stick against your skin with each thrust.

“keep lookin’ at me, just like that, my love.” his eyes meet yours as your rutting your hips against him, the repetitive moment made his eyes roll back. “don’t stop.” he’s gripping onto you so tightly he’s shoving you down on his cock and nibbling at your collarbone.

once you feel that too familiar feeling you’re cumming hard on his cock after one last bounce your legs shook vigorously. your sticky cum trickling down his cock made his cock twitches still buried inside of you, holding you close to his body and embracing your warmth.

“o-one more time?”

CHOSO KAMO

"not being fair, baby," choso's eyes rolled back and whined as you edged him rocking your hips slowly. it was torture how much you were teasing him practically cock warming him. the soft roll of you hips weren't enough for his sensitive cock—he needed you to move. god, was his cock sensitive and your walls gripped him tightly weren't helping. he's staring at your face, you're giving him a coquettish grin, "you have to be patient 'cho"

he led out a mere whine from those words passing through your lips. you teasing him like this made his breath hitch. "fuck me baby," choso breathed out chocking up moans, "please?" he's looking at you with low, pleading eyes. you pecked the corner of his mouth, moving to his sharp jawline peppering kisses.

you wrapped your hands around his neck slightly choking him as he let out a soft moan. you stir your hips and grind down on his cock tossing your head back. "hm? you that, baby?”" cockiness dripping from your tongue, you moved his fallen hair away from his face getting a better view of his blush encased face.

you giggled amusingly continuously to tease the poor boy. " baby, please, i need you." you grinding and stuttering your hips down made his cock twitch.

"want me to make you cum, right cho'?"

"yes—" he lets out another moan once you lift your hips bouncing effortlessly on his cock. your soppy walls clamping down on him. "fuck, keep going. You're clenching down on me so tightly." his breathing starting to grow heavy, chest moving up and down. he looked at you with drowsy growing infatuated with you— practically crumbling underneath you. he swears he going to lose it.

his cock starts twitch from the feeling of his your velvet walls molding his cock. "you're doing so good for me, baby." you leaned down, sucking on his neck overstimulating him.

continued the bounce of your hips plopping down on his thighs as both of you gasping once "fu—fuck," choso breathed out waist twitching. his girth making you drool a bit as he stuffed you full.

"do i feel good, choso?" you stammered slowly losing yourself. the tip of his cock kissing against your g-spot. your cocky persona was slowly crumbling— it was no match for choso's girth and lengthy cock that could easily make your tremble. your failing to hide your moans slamming your hips down.

"fuck yes." he watches as your lips part strings of moans falling form your lips. he’s pulling you into a deep kiss smashing his lips on yours as his tongue slithers into your mouth. his clammy hands groping your ass giving the flesh a firm squeeze. your hips were so addictive choso could have you ride him all day letting him bury his cock into your sloppy cunt.

“shit. going to cum, cum with me baby. please.” choso whimpers each time his tip prodded against that spot inside you until you cum on his cock. your drooling all down his cock. his swollen cock throbbed inside you he shoots right inside your gummy walls, spilling his thick cum of you.

SUGURU GETO

"trying to get us caught, baby?" getou coos laying back against the black leather car seats of his car. your legs straddling his thighs as he watched you pull your panties to the side. you're so soaked, cunt glistening with your arousal.

"s-shut up." this was his fault. he just couldn't keep his hands to himself. you were both out trying to have a nice dinner but suguru was so handsy slipping his hands under your dress and whispering dirty things into your ear— he practically begged you to fuck him until you eventually gave in to him. he’s was such a brat.

his cock stood tall, precum dripping from his tip. you align yourself, sinking onto his cock and letting out a breath you didn't even know you were holding in. you were cock warming him trying to get used to the size of his cock before creating a slow pace once you start to move. you gripped his broad shoulders slightly pouncing on top of him.

you both moan in sync, he is memorized by your body above him as your hips move against him. you're so addictive. his breath hitched your pussy gripping him so tightly, your pace is so dangerously slow it makes him let out an unexpected whimper. you felt every inch of his cock sliding in and out of you, your pussy costing his aching cock so lewdly. "you always take my cock so well. heh."

"suguru,” your rising and dropping your ass effortlessly, grinding slow to feel him reach that spot within you, moaning and your eyes rolling into the back of your head. both your bodies starting to be covered with sweat as your bodies stuck together. suguru black locks sticking to his forehead, "open up for me." you open your mouth as he slides his thumb in your mouth, and you sucked on his finger wetting it up.

he took his thumb out of your mouth reaching between your legs where you two connect and started thumbing at your clit. your body jolts against him, clenching around him tighter practically suffocating his cock. “relaxx, baby.” he lets out a raspy chuckle as you threw your head back.

“sugruuu,” your mouth parts forming a ‘o’ eyes rolling back. “gonna cum, sugu.”

“be a good girl for me and hold it in a bit longer, ‘kay?” he choked, the two of you panting heavily. suguru rocks his waist with yours, and the squelching sounds of your pussy became music to his ears.

"so fuckin' wet, baby.” you nearly lose your balance as your clit becomes sensitive. “so wet just for me baby?”

“just for you sugu’." he was making your pussy throb more and more fluttering around him. your waist twitches feeling yourself get closer to your orgasm. your thighs started to burn as you started to rotate your hips in a circular motion. your mind becomes fuzzy as your vision blurs. "oh my godd," you babble.

“let it out baby,” you reach your climax cumming on his cock cum covering his cock and soaking up his thighs, moaning loudly and body falling weak. he’s panting heavily, trickles ropes inside of you.

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evilgwrl · 5 months ago

Note

What abt 141xpregnant!reader (or not pregnant, ur choice, I dont mind!!) And someone gets into their house and reader is all alone so she calls the boys while they're out (somewhere idk)

can be angst or fluff <3

Thank you for this idea, I hope I did it justice for you anon <3

CW: Threats of violence (not against reader), break ins, fluff

You stared at yourself in the glossy reflection, soaked rag scented with the unmistakable smell of cleaning spray dabbing at the final fingerprint, a satisfied grin on your face. You hobbled to the kitchen, ankles slightly swollen as a hand rubbed against the plushness of your belly, a gentle kick answering you back.

You felt content. You were six months pregnant and surrounded by four incredibly devoted men (who were currently running all the errands you could no longer do). Gentle feet padded against the wooden floorboards, your back humming with a subtle ache as you groaned, your body flopping down against your comfiest pillow.

Wispy lashes fell over curled lids, the zip of a fan hushing you to sleep. You awoke to rustling, your window cracked open for fresh air.

“Stupid foxes,” you muttered, rolling towards the window to shoo the pesky creatures away from your vegetables. Your heart halted, however, face a pasty shade of terror as you watched a figure, much larger than a fox, break the glass to your back door, the stone floor of your patio humming against the shards of crystal.

Pesky fingers reached for your phone, a monotone strain coming from your throat as you phoned for Price, eyes now a glassy bowl of unshed tears.

“Hey love, you ok?” The normally comforting tone only spurred your anxiety as you choked out a sob, an instant call of your name blasting through the speakers of the phone.

“There’s someone inside the house,” you choked out, your voice a mere whisper as you huddled in the corner, fingers twisting the lock on your bedroom door.

“Call Gaz in the meantime; we’ll be home in 10 minutes.”

You were a whimpering mess, swollen body trembling in your ensuite as Gaz attempted to calm you down, telling you the police were on the way. There was a commotion downstairs, kitchenware clattering as you presumed, he was rummaging around. Timber creaked under a lead foot, stairs straining under the man's weight as he stomped upstairs.

“Kyle, he’s upstairs,” you trembled, your throat constricted with a coil of anxiety as your limbs tremored, a protective hand strung across the swell of your belly. The Sergeant’s voice brought you no comfort as you heard the door to the nursery swing open, the squeak of a baby toy rattling against the wood. Your gut was burning, tender hands clutching against the marble counter in a motion to hold yourself up, your knees locking up as you clattered to the floor.

Price’s hands were stained permanent ivory, his knuckles protruding from broken skin as he pulled down your street, head beams flickering at the cars before calloused tyres screeched down a turning lane, the bulky SUV swerving into the driveway. Simon had rummaged through the glovebox on the first ring of your call, massive frame bouldering out of the unparked car as his keys twitched in the door, the steady frame of Soap in toe.

Rough fingers wrapped around carbon steel, silent footsteps thrumming against wallpaper as you shifted in the bathroom, gentle sobs wracking through your body.

You were unaware of what was going on outside your bedroom, the faint sounds of a man’s voice, unrecognisable through the thickness of the walls only spurring anxiety shrill of terror through you.

You knew they would never let anything happen to you, but what if something happened to them in the process? Sure, they were trained for combat but that doesn’t make you invincible.

You clutched your stomach, humming to yourself in an attempt to calm down.

Simon was livid, they all were. The house you had built for them all years ago was now tainted. A place you should be safe in was no longer available.

Soap’s voice was sharp as he entered the nursery, enjoying the twisted satisfaction of watching the intruder still as the safety of the gun unlocked.

“You make a f’cking movement and I’ll put a bullet in ye head, ye hear me?”

There was a slow nod from the man as Ghost entered, slamming him against the wall with a crash, his hands tied behind his back as he lunged him down the stairs. There was a faint echo of sirens in the distance as you sheltered yourself, still unsure of what was happening.

There was a rattle against the door, a soft voice calling out to you.

“It’s just me, love. Open the door.”

The doorknob felt crumbly under your touch, fingers barely able to twist it. Price’s body was warm as he engulfed your shaking figure, wet cheeks staining his shirt in a soppy mess. Thick hands grabbed at the plush of your thighs, lifting you with ease into burly arms, the tickle of his moustache against your ears as he lolled a soft apology to you.

“Shouldn’t ‘ave left you alone dove, feel like I failed you.”

The captain’s heart was bleak, an ephemeral feeling of guilt worn on his shoulder before you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, soggy lips placing a feathery kiss upon the worn skin.

“It’s not your fault, John. Could’ve happened to anyone on our street.”

The night was slow, Gaz consoling the police as Soap and Price comforted you, tending to your every need as Ghost stood outside, dark eyes glaring into the back of the police van at the man. You assured them you were okay, delicate hands rubbing your belly as you cooed, your heart finally returning to its normal bpm.

Once the blaring of red and blue lights simmered to a halt, and Ghost had run out to get a replacement door (otherwise, he wouldn’t have slept from keeping guard all night), you could fully relax. Your body was flush against the comfort of your L-shaped couch and Simon’s calloused back, fingers running through the roots of your hair.

Your eyes succumbed to temporary slumber at the touch, scalp tingling from the simplicity of gentle tugs. You were carried to bed, arms balled at the soft cotton of Soap’s shirt you had stolen. You nestled quickly into the comfort of your bed, lashes flat against your cheeks.

They all watched you, hands folded as they watched the rise of your chest, a flutter of breath leaving your lips every time it fell.

“Beautiful, ain’t she?” Price mumbled, cerulean eyes lapping in the mere sight of you, a proud glow comforting him knowing you were theirs.

“Damn right,” Ghost grunted.

There was a creak against the floorboards as your eyes opened, your voice delicate with sleep, “Will you guys stay tonight? All of you? Please.”

“Shoot us in the head if we ever say no to anything you say,” Soap uttered, a gentle slap whacking around his head from Simon as Kyle leaned into the bed, heavy hands immediately wrapping around your swell belly.

The night ended with whispers of affirmation and one happy girl.

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thestarkinternship · 10 months ago

Text

10 Minutes

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader: One Shot (Smut)

Summary: Bucky is a little desperate for some alone time during one of Stark's parties, and ten minutes is all he needs.

Word Count: 2.2k (no mention of Y/N)

Warnings: Profanity, drinking, unprotected sex, praise, oral (male receiving), slight exhibitionism (bathroom at a party), MINORS DNI!

A/N: I kinda took a break from writing because I had a lot of unfinished fics, but I'm slowly starting to get back into it. And thank you for 300 followers on here! I can't believe there's that many people of you who actually like my writing :)

Masterlist

“That’s gotta be what, your sixth drink?” You giggled, watching as Bucky polished off another glass, “don’t you wanna slow it down a little?”

With a smirk, he set the empty crystal on the countertop. “Worried I’ll have too much and do something to embarrass you, sweetheart?”

“You could never embarrass me, James,” you rolled your eyes, “and you also can’t get drunk.”

“S’not gonna stop me from trying,” he grinned, “now come here..”

Wrapping his arm around your waist, he pulled you into his side before you could give an answer. Not that you minded – you didn’t need an excuse to be as close to him as possible. You nestled your head in the crook of his neck, breathing in the heavy aftershave that he wore. It was your favourite scent. The musk from it mixed with the spice of the whiskey on his breath as it fanned across your cheeks. It was intoxication in the best way possible, superseding the several glasses of liquor that you’d consumed yourself.

“There is something else, if you think you can handle it.”

In your own little bubble, it was easy to forget that the two of you weren’t alone. Breaking your gaze away from Bucky, you saw one of your teammates making his way over to you with a delicately engraved bottle in his large hand.

“Hi Thor,” you smiled politely, “what is that?”

He held the bottle up proudly. “Asgardian liquor, the finest brewed there. It puts everything here on Midgard to shame.”

“I bet.” You chuckled.

“I’ll take that as a challenge.” Bucky grinned, stepping away from you momentarily to join Thor and some of the others in a round.

You folded your arms across your chest as you shook your head. The super soldier serum might stop his body from reacting to alcohol in the typical way, but it did have a particular effect on Bucky. You couldn’t help but notice how he always seemed to get that little bit more handsy with you. Maybe it was a placebo effect, or maybe that was just an excuse to keep you close to his wandering hands.

Either way, barely twenty minutes had passed before your observation was proven true.

Your shoulder leaned against the back wall as you watched Steve and Tony play pool when Bucky joined you.

“Where’ve you been?” he murmured, “I was looking for you.”

His metal hand drifted up your side, tracing the hem of your shirt and slipping underneath to graze your hip. The metal raised goosebumps on your warm skin, and you shivered further back into his arms.

“Bucky, stop… what if someone sees?” You whispered.

Bucky didn’t ease up, rubbing soft circles on your hip as he drew you in closer. “It’s okay, nobody’s looking at us.”

You glanced around. The loud music masked your hushed whispers, and the addition of Thor’s Asgardian liquor had worked wonders on the team of superheroes. With all of their defences down, no one had noticed the way the pair of you had sidled off to the side.

“We shouldn’t risk it.” You whispered, reaching for his hand and stopping it in its tracks.

“Let’s get out of here, just for a little bit,” he leaned in, pressing his lips to your jaw. The gentle ghost of his breathy murmurs in your ear sent your heart racing, “ten minutes, that’s all I need.”

“Are you really suggesting that we hook up in the middle of the party?” Your head tilted in a mixture of curiosity and surprise.

“Why not?” Bucky pouted. His lips looked so damn kissable when he did that. The thought of giving in, tugging his bottom lip between your teeth in a frantic need to satisfy the urge that you were starting to feel right now was starting to not seem like such a bad idea.

“Because…” Your voice trailed off in search of a compelling reason. Even the slightly hint of doubt would signal a dead giveaway to Bucky that you were more than willing to give in. And the worst part of it was the stupid grin on his face that told you he knew this too.

“Because?” He taunted, his smirk growing wider.

“Because…” The agitation in your voice grew as you struggled.

Bucky chuckled darkly, letting his right hand meet his other at your waist. He turned you slightly, until your back was against his chest. Grip tightening, he pulled your hips back into his. Pressed flush against him, you became all too aware of the way his tight, muscular body felt against yours. And that wasn’t the only thing.

“Bucky, are you-“

“Painfully.” He whispered, leaving another soft kiss just below your ear. Your head fell back to rest against his shoulder. Lips parting, a quiet whimper escaped from them. Bucky tucked a curl behind your ear to lean in better, “What was that that I just heard, hm? You can resist all you like, doll. But your body’s betraying you.”

He was right of course, but you bit your bottom lip anyway in an attempt to prevent yourself from letting another sound slip. The more you tried to hide your growing desires, the more Bucky persisted. His hand slid down your hip to the hem of your skirt. He played with the material, gently grazing his fingers across the back of your thigh that was now exposed to him. Instinctively, your legs clenched as he dared to venture higher.

Bucky chuckled under his breath. “Bite your lip all you want. But what are you gonna do when you start to soak through your underwear and all over that pretty outfit of yours?”

Your face burned red as your gaze immediately fell downwards. Searching the front of your dress as discreetly as you could, your shoulders relaxed when you found that you hadn’t. But your reaction alone was enough to let Bucky know that you considered it a real possibility.

“Did I have you worried there for a second?” he mocked, “You know I’m right. Come on… ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes.” You said through gritted teeth.

“Yes ma’am.” He smirked, gripping your hand and pulling you out of the room.

It was a wonder that you made it to the bathroom at all. His hands were everywhere. Running through your hair, on your waist, cupping your cheek. But yours were the same, only pulling away just long enough to fumble with the bathroom door. It pushed open, and you both crashed through.

With a hand on his chest, you pushed him back to lean on the door. His eyes widened in at your sudden control, but who was he to stop you? Ripping the hand towel down off the rail by the sink, he dropped it to the floor to cushion you as you sank to your knees in front of him. You toyed with the zipper of his jeans, slowly pulling them and his boxers down in one as you pressed soft kisses to each inch of his bare skin that you exposed.

Bucky let out a tormented groan from the back of his throat as your tongue teased up to the head of his cock. He looked down at you and nearly buckled at the sight. Your hand gripping his thigh, hair messy and lipstick smudged. He watched your wet lips twist into a soft smirk that was so close to wrapping around him.

“When you said painfully, I had no idea this is what I’d done to you.” You cooed, innocently sliding your palm up and down his length.

Bucky hissed at the sensation and reached out to tilt your face up to look at him. His fingers were firm on your cheeks. “We’re down to nine minutes. You gonna keep talking with that sweet mouth, doll, or do you want to put it to good use?”

He didn’t have to ask twice. His tip grazed the back of your throat in one smooth motion. But you didn’t let it rest. You moved your head back and forth, letting your tongue trace over every vein. Bucky’s hand slid up from your jaw to cup your cheek, pulling you further around him as he met your movements with shallow thrusts. His view of you faded as his eyes squeezed shut, revelling in the overwhelming pleasure you were bringing him. The two of you might’ve set a time limit on this brief rendezvous but fuck he could let you go on like this forever.

Head falling back against the door with a soft thud, he growled. The animalistic sound ripped through his gritted teeth as he tugged your head back and off him. Pre cum lingered on your lips as you licked them clean.

Reaching for your hands he helped you to your feet and wasted no time in pressing his lips to yours. He walked you backwards until your bumped into the sink. Reaching for your thighs, he lifted you up to rest on the countertop. Your skirt slipped and bunched up around your waist as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He leaned in, nudging himself between your legs. Gentle whines slipped out from your trembling lips as he brushed over your wetness.

“Bucky…” You begged softly.

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmured, sliding your underwear over to one side, “seven minutes.”

Bucky pushed his hips forward to meet yours, burying himself completely in you. His head dropped to the crook of your shoulder and his lips met your neck. Your arms curled around his broad back, scrunching up the material of his shirt as you clung desperately to him. Soft grunts from him reverberated up into your ear as he pulled out of you only to get sucked right back in by your tight cunt. With one hand on your hip and the other on the edge of the sink, he kept you in position to take it all. Every stroke inside of you had you clenching down around him. His knuckles turned white as his fingertips pressed harder into your skin with each sharp thrust.

“Such a good girl, letting me fuck you with all our friends in the next room,” he muttered between delicate nips at the skin just below your ear, “and you had the nerve to act like you didn’t want this just as much as I did.”

Your hands moved up through his hair and down to the sides of his face as you leaned in, lips met his in a needy fashion. The kiss that followed was all-consuming, swallowing any quiet moans that might give the pair of you away. But shallow breaths slipped out here and there as Bucky rolled his tongue over yours in passionate frenzy.

He pulled on your hip until your body slipped closer to the edge of the sink, and you let out a small gasp. As Bucky’s lips parted from yours, he smirked at the fucked-out haze that glazed over your eyes as his cock rutted up deeper inside of you. As he quickened the twitch of his hips, your thighs tightened around his waist.

“Keep that up, and I won’t be able to pull out, doll.” He grunted softly.

Your brows furrowed as your head leaned back in a wave of pleasure. You weren’t listening to a damn word he was saying right now. Bucky’s hand left your hip briefly to tilt your head back to him.

“Is that what you want? Want me to fill you up and fuck it back into you hard enough that it doesn’t leak out for everyone to see?”

Too out of it to verbally respond, your thighs gave him a light squeeze and answered for you. Bucky’s hand let go of your face and reaffirmed its position on your hip as he then set a ruthless pace. Your head slipped forwards to rest on his shoulder. Burying your face in the crook of his collarbone, your moans vibrated against his throat, driving him crazy. You let your body go limp in his hands as he worked to bring you both a release that the pair of you desperately craved.

Two more thrusts was all it took to bring you both over that delicious edge. His metal hand nearly snapped a porcelain chunk out of the counter with how hard he was gripping it when he came. But you were only the same, with your thighs shaking and breathing heavy. You fluttered around him with every beat of your heart, squeezing every drop of come out of his cock that he had to give you. He lazily rocked his hips a couple more times, coating every inch inside of you.

Bucky’s hands released your body from his tight grip as he gently brushed strand of messy hair out of your face, but he kept himself seated.

“You can’t tell me that wasn’t worth it.” He breathed.

Your pink cheeks pinched into a soft smile. “Maybe it was.”

“Maybe, huh?” He raised an eyebrow, not hesitating to lean into your neck.

“What are you doing?” You giggled as you felt his gentle kisses.

“What? I’ve still got one minute left.” He grinned playfully, trailing kisses up your cheek now as well.

“Bucky.” You whined, feeling his cock teasingly plunge deeper inside of you. Your sensitive body could barely handle any more.

“Fine,” he smirked, and slowly eased himself out of you, “but when this party’s over, I’m done holding back.”

#bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #bucky barnes au

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kwilquib · 6 days ago

Text

Unscripted Desire

Part 1

Part 2

Bae Suzy x Reader

Switching POV

Word Count: 8.9k+

A/N: had go split into two because of block limit.

The hotel bar exuded quiet luxury, its polished mahogany counters gleaming under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. The scent of aged whiskey mingled with hints of expensive cologne, a far cry from the smoke-filled dives she usually avoided. Suzy sat at the counter, her manicured nails idly tracing the rim of her crystal tumbler, the ice inside melting slowly. The amber liquid glided down her throat—smooth, refined—but it did little to quell the fire simmering in her chest.

She didn’t need to look at the screen to know what was playing. She had heard the gasps, the whispered murmurs, the way the bartender had hesitated before refilling her glass.

But still, she turned.

“Top actress Suzy caught in scandal—exclusive photos leaked!”

The news anchor’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard. The massive screen above the bar displayed a montage of her face—smiling on red carpets, caught in the glare of paparazzi cameras. Then, the latest ones—blurry but damning. Her, exiting a luxury hotel. A man’s silhouette beside her. A rumor spun into a wildfire.

Her grip tightened around the glass. Bastards.

The sound of ice clinking in glasses and the occasional hum of jazz music no longer masked the shift in atmosphere. A low murmur spread through the bar like an infection.

"Is that really her?"

"No way, it’s Suzy, right?"

"Damn, she’s even hotter in person—"

She exhaled sharply, tilting her head down as she adjusted the brim of her cap. But it was too late. She could feel the stares now—some subtle, some bold. A group of men at the far end of the bar were whispering, one of them already raising his phone.

Shit.

Suzy threw back the rest of her drink and slammed a bill onto the counter, not bothering to wait for change.

“Leaving so soon?” the bartender asked, wary.

She flashed a practiced smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah. Not really in the mood for company.”

She could feel it now—the shift. It always happened right before someone got brave enough to approach. Right before someone tried to talk to her, or worse, tried to touch.

Sliding off the barstool, she pulled her coat tighter around her body and moved toward the exit, ignoring the hushed conversations behind her.

Outside, the cold air hit her like a slap. She took a deep breath, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled out her phone. The screen was flooded with missed calls—her manager, her agency, even her mother. The scandal was spreading like poison.

And she had nowhere to go.

Her apartment? No chance. The press would be swarming the entrance.

Hotels? Cameras everywhere.

She started walking, head low, ignoring the flash of a camera from across the street. She needed to disappear—just for a night.

Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the dark figure leaning casually against the alley wall up ahead.

Not until it was too late.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You drag your feet along the dimly lit street, shoulders heavy from another grueling day at the accounting firm. The subway entrance is just two blocks away when you hear it—a sharp intake of breath, followed by hushed, urgent voices spilling from the alley ahead.

You slow your steps, instincts prickling.

The sounds come first—muffled struggles, the scrape of boots against the pavement, a low chuckle laced with something vile. Then, a woman’s voice, sharp with defiance but tinged with the tremor of fear.

"Let me go."

Your gaze sharpens.

A slim figure is pressed against the cold brick wall, three men surrounding her. One grips her wrist. Another blocks her escape. The third, holding a camera, sneers.

"Come on, sweetheart. You’re already all over the news—what’s one more little scandal?"

"We know what kind of girl you are."

"Bet you’re just playing hard to get."

Your fingers twitch. You take them in—calculating.

The man gripping her wrist leans in, voice dripping with amusement. The second stands close, predatory. The third lingers just outside the fray, the lens of his camera gleaming.

And then there’s her.

Dark hair in wild disarray, lips parted, chest rising and falling too fast. Her dress is bunched at her thighs where they must have grabbed at her. But her stance is defiant—legs set, shoulders squared. She’s fighting. But she won’t win.

You step forward. Slowly. Deliberate. The scrape of your shoes against the pavement finally catches their attention.

The one holding her tenses first, his head snapping toward you. "The fuck do you want?"

You don’t answer. Your eyes flick between them, then to her. She sees you. Measures you the same way you did her.

"You lost, buddy?" the second sneers.

You pull out your phone, raising it just enough for them to see the screen. "Police or tabloids first? Either way, your faces are going viral."

A beat of hesitation.

"Fuck, let’s go, man. It’s not worth it," the one with the camera mutters.

That does it.

The grip on her wrist loosens. The men exchange glances before slinking into the shadows, muttering curses under their breath.

Silence.

You exhale, already turning to leave. But she’s still there, still pressed against the wall, watching you. Really watching you.

Chest still rising too fast. Adrenaline still humming beneath her skin. But now there’s something else in her gaze. Something keen.

"You okay?" Your voice is quieter now, but firm.

Her lips part—then curl. A slow, deliberate movement, the ghost of a smirk.

She trails her fingers down her arm, smoothing over her own skin as if only now remembering it belongs to her. "That was... brave of you."

Something in the way she says it makes your pulse thrum.

Her dress is still askew, one strap slipping off her shoulder, the curve of her collarbone gleaming under the dim light. When she exhales, it’s slower now—measured. A performance.

For you.

She shifts, subtly, her thigh brushing against yours as she steadies herself. "You didn’t have to help me."

"You wanted me to?"

A pause. Then, a soft laugh. "I wanted someone to."

Your fingers twitch.

She tilts her chin up, her mouth so very close now, her scent—something faintly sweet, something warm—curling around you.

And then, barely above a whisper: "Are you going to take your reward?"

"Don't care." The words come out before you can stop them, exhaustion stripping any patience you might have had. "What the hell were you thinking, walking alone in an alley at night? Are you trying to get hurt?"

She blinks, caught off guard. "Do you... not know who I am?"

"Should I?" You rub your temples, already regretting stepping in. "Look, get a cab or something. It’s not safe here."

You turn to leave, already thinking about your bed, your alarm clock, the miserable morning ahead.

"Wait—" she calls after you, indignation flaring in her tone.

But you don’t stop. Whatever mess she’s in, it’s not your problem.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Desperation makes people do crazy things. That's what Suzy tells herself as she trails the stranger through the dimly lit streets, keeping just far enough behind that he doesn't notice. Her heels click softly against the pavement—a sound that would normally make her self-conscious, but right now she's beyond caring.

She watches him climb the stairs of a weathered apartment building. Third floor. The kind of place she wouldn't have looked twice at before tonight. But right now? It might as well be salvation.

Her phone buzzes again. Another message from her manager: "Where are you? The press is everywhere. Your house is surrounded."

Decision made.

She catches the door before it locks, following his path up the worn stairs. The carpet is threadbare, the walls a dingy shade of beige. She finds him just as he's unlocking his door—303.

"Hey!"

He startles, turning to face her with wide eyes. "What the—"

She doesn't give him time to finish. The moment the door cracks open, she pushes past him into the apartment.

It’s small– painfully small. A one-bedroom unit with an open living space, a kitchen tucked neatly to the side, and a couch that looks well-worn but comfortable. The floor-to-ceiling windows should make it feel spacious, yet to her, the walls seem too close, the ceiling too low.

But it's private. Anonymous.

And right now, that's all that matters.

Perfect.

"You can't be here," he says, voice tight with disbelief. "How did you even—"

"I followed you." She drops onto his couch, letting her body sink into the worn cushions. They smell faintly of laundry detergent. "I need a place to stay."

"This is not a hotel." His jaw clenches. "Get out."

She reaches for the remote on his coffee table, flipping on the small TV mounted to the wall. As if on cue, her face appears on the screen—the scandal still breaking news. She gestures at it dramatically. "See that? That's why I can't leave. You saved me back there. That makes you responsible."

"That's... that's not how this works." But she can see the fight draining from him, replaced by pure exhaustion.

She pulls her legs up onto the couch, making herself comfortable. "One night. That's all I'm asking. By tomorrow, my agency will have handled everything." She hopes.

He stares at her for a long moment, and she holds her breath. This is crazy. She knows it's crazy. But she's out of options.

Finally, his shoulders slump. "Fine. One night. Then you leave."

Relief floods through her, though she keeps her expression neutral. "Deal."

He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "I must be losing my mind" as he disappears into what she assumes is the bathroom.

Suzy lets out a long breath, sinking deeper into the couch. Around her, the tiny apartment feels like a fortress—the first safe space she's found since this nightmare began.

Her phone buzzes again. She turns it off without looking.

Just one night, she thinks. One night to breathe. One night to figure out her next move.

One night in this stranger's apartment, where nobody would think to look for Korea's biggest star.

She closes her eyes, listening to the sound of running water from the bathroom. For the first time since the scandal broke, she feels her muscles begin to relax.

Maybe desperate choices aren't always the worst ones.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat at your desk, eyes flicking to the clock, counting down the minutes until the workday ended. Each second dragged like molasses, the fluorescent lights overhead doing little to keep your exhaustion at bay.

Then—your phone buzzed.

"When are you going home?!?"

You sighed, barely sparing the message a glance before turning back to your screen. You weren’t in the mood. Home wasn’t any better than work, anyway.

Another buzz.

"I’m bored. I’ll be waiting outside your office."

Your fingers paused over the keyboard. A bluff. Typical Suzy, always demanding, always expecting. As if the world revolved around her whims. You dismissed the message and refocused on your task.

Then, another buzz—this time, a photo.

Annoyed but curious, you unlocked your phone.

It was a selfie. But it wasn’t her face that made your stomach drop—it was the background. The ground floor of your office. The reception desk, crystal clear behind her.

She wasn’t bluffing.

"Unbelievable," you muttered under your breath, shoving your chair back.

You shot up from your seat, raking a hand through your hair.

"Sir?" you called out, barely masking the irritation in your tone. "I know it's a little early, but can I clock out?"

Your senior barely looked up but caught the urgency in your face. He sighed, waving you off. "Go ahead."

Not wasting another second, you grabbed your things and rushed to the elevator, pressing the button impatiently.

The moment the doors slid open, you strode into the lobby—and there she was. Suzy.

Leaning against the reception desk, chatting with the receptionist like she had all the time in the world. Carefree. As if she hadn’t just disrupted your entire evening for no reason other than her own boredom.

Despite her attempt at going incognito—oversized hoodie, cap pulled low, and dark sunglasses—there was no mistaking her. The way she carried herself, the subtle air of confidence, the effortless way she drew attention even when trying to avoid it.

As you got closer, her voice drifted to you.

"Can you call someone for me? It's urgent."

"I can look up their name for you," the receptionist offered with a polite smile.

"His name is—”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A sudden grip on her wrist. Firm. Quick.

Suzy blinked, momentarily startled, before a slow smirk curled her lips.

Ah. There he was.

She turned her head lazily, meeting his sharp, irritated gaze. Annoyance simmered just beneath the surface—he was trying to keep his cool, but oh, she could see it. The frustration, the barely restrained anger.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, voice tight, forced into some semblance of calm.

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "I told you, I was bored. You shouldn’t have ignored me."

She watched him grit his teeth, his fingers twitching against her wrist before he let go. How amusing. He always acted like she was some kind of nuisance, an inconvenience in his neatly arranged life. But despite all that? He was here. Right where she wanted him.

Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she pressed her car keys into his palm, ignoring the exasperation and tightening his expression.

She pressed her car keys into his palm, watching his expression shift from exasperation to disbelief. "I’m hungry. Let’s eat."

"You could’ve just ordered something. Or gone through a drive-thru," he said, voice sharp.

She ignored him.

Because despite all his resistance, all his frustration, she knew.

He was going to follow her.

And that—more than anything—made her smile.

The drive was tense.

The low hum of the engine and the occasional sound of turn signals were the only things filling the silence between them. He gripped the steering wheel a little too tight, jaw locked as he focused on the road ahead.

Suzy, on the other hand, sat comfortably in the passenger seat, one leg crossed over the other, tapping her fingers idly against her knee. She was entirely unbothered by the thick cloud of irritation radiating off of him.

"You know," she finally broke the silence, her voice laced with amusement, "I'm paying, so you can relax."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers flexing around the wheel. "That’s not the problem, Suzy."

"I just wanted takeout anyway," she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, "so we can eat at home."

His eyes flicked toward her, disbelief flashing across his face. "Home?" he repeated. "Whose home?"

"Yours, obviously," she said easily, stretching her arms behind her head.

And just like that, he had enough.

"You’re unbelievable," he snapped, his patience finally cracking. "You act like you own me, like you can just decide things for me. What part of this makes sense to you, Suzy? You show up uninvited, you drag me out of work, and now you expect me to do something you could've done alone?"

"You’re being ridiculous," she muttered under her breath, but he caught it.

He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Oh, I’m ridiculous? That’s rich coming from you."

Her head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. "I don’t see what the big deal is. I just wanted to eat with you. Why are you acting like I did something horrible?"

"Because you don’t ask—you just decide things for me," he shot back. "You don’t care what I want, Suzy. It’s always about you."

Suzy scowled. "That’s not true."

"Really? Then tell me—when have you ever considered what I wanted?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. She hated that. Hated how he always had something to throw back at her.

"Well, I want to be with you," she declared, as if that alone should settle it.

He clenched his jaw. "And that’s exactly the problem. You act like I don’t have a choice in the matter."

She scoffed. "You’re just making excuses. What, are you scared of me or something?"

"Scared of you?" He laughed, shaking his head. "No, Suzy. I just don’t want to deal with your entitled attitude."

That struck a nerve.

She turned fully to face him, brows furrowing. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he said, exasperation bleeding into his tone. "You walk around like the world owes you something—like I owe you something."

Her fingers tightened around her arms. "I owe you something?" she echoed, tone sharper now. "I don’t see you complaining when other people throw themselves at me. But when it’s you, suddenly it’s a problem?"

"Because I’m not one of your fans, Suzy."

That shut her up for a second.

But only for a second.

"You’re acting like I’m forcing you at gunpoint," she snapped. "All I’m doing is giving you my time. Do you know how many people would kill for that?"

"There it is again," he muttered, gripping the wheel. "Your time. Your attention. It’s always about you."

She huffed, rolling her eyes. "If you hate it so much, then why are we still here?"

"Because you won’t leave me alone!"

His voice rose, frustration boiling over. Suzy flinched slightly at the sharpness of it. But instead of backing down, she doubled down.

"God, you’re so dramatic," she muttered. "I thought you were different."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah? Well, I thought you would change after your hiatus, but here we are."

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he’d gone too far.

The car went deathly silent.

Suzy's expression froze, the usual fire in her eyes flickering out for just a second. Her fingers clenched against her arms, nails pressing into her skin.

He could feel it—the shift. He hit a nerve. A deep one.

She swallowed, staring ahead, jaw tight. "Pull over."

"Suzy—"

"Pull over."

He exhaled through his nose but did as she asked, guiding the car to the side of the road. The moment it stopped, she pushed the door open, stepping out without another word.

He closed his eyes, running a hand down his face. "Shit."

After a moment, he unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out, finding her standing by the side of the car, arms crossed.

"Look," he started, sighing, "I shouldn’t have said that."

She didn’t look at him. "No, you shouldn’t have."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I’m sorry."

Suzy let out a long breath, finally meeting his gaze. She studied him for a moment before nodding. "Apology accepted."

A beat of silence.

"But I still stand by what I said," he added.

Suzy’s lips twitched, somewhere between a smirk and a scowl. "So do I."

Of course she did.

And somehow, despite everything, despite the argument, despite the tension still lingering between them—he knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you pull into the parking spot outside your apartment, Suzy is already moving. Before you can even turn off the engine, she’s out of the car, slipping into the night like she’s done this a hundred times before.

You curse under your breath, grabbing the takeout bags and hurrying after her, but she’s fast—too fast for someone who claims to have nowhere else to be.

By the time you catch up, she’s crouched by your doorstep, fingers deftly adjusting the potted plant where you keep your spare key. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t fumble.

Just lifts it, plucks the key from its usual spot, and unlocks the door with the ease of someone who belongs here.

Like she’s done it countless times before.

She steps inside without looking back, already shrugging off her jacket, already shedding the pieces of her disguise, leaving a trail of familiarity in her wake.

And for a second, you just stand there.

Watching her move through your space like it’s hers. Like she’s always been here.

You tiptoe around her mess, careful not to disturb the chaos that has overtaken your once-pristine apartment. The space you kept meticulously tidy—your sanctuary—now feels like occupied territory, claimed by the nation’s so-called first love. She lounges on your couch, lazily flipping through TV channels as if she belongs there.

“When are you leaving?” you ask, setting your takeout on the table with a little more force than necessary.

She sighs, not even looking at you. “Again?” Her voice carries the weight of someone more exhausted by the question than by her own intrusion.

“You said one night. That was the deal,” you remind her, trying to catch her gaze, but she refuses to meet your eyes.

Instead, "I'm going to shower!" she announced, a touch too brightly, seemingly ignoring your last comment. She stretched languidly from the couch, her shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of her stomach.

Her eyes met yours briefly, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. She moved with a deliberate slowness, her already short shorts riding even higher with each step. As she walked past you, she stretched again, exaggerating the movement, highlighting her petite frame. The stretch pulled her shirt further up her back, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of skin, while her shorts dipped precariously low, almost to the edge of her hips. It was a performance, a subtle display designed for your eyes only.

Reaching the bathroom door, she paused, holding your gaze captive. You watched, unsure of what she was planning next. Suddenly, she moved again, as if initiating another stretch. But this time, the movement was different, more deliberate. She fully lifted her shirt, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. Then, she reached for the waistband of her shorts, slowly pulling them down, deliberately showcasing the curve of her backside. Beneath the shorts, she wore lacy underwear, the delicate fabric barely concealing her form. The striptease continued as she slowly raised each knee in turn, carefully removing her panties, teasingly obscuring your view of her most intimate area.

Finally, she stood nude, her back to you. As if sensing your captivated gaze, she turned her head just enough for you to see the edge of a grin playing on her lips. It was a look of both triumph and something else… something you couldn't quite place.

With a final, lingering glance, she slipped into the bathroom and closed the door, leaving you in a state of heightened anticipation.

The bathroom door clicks shut, and you finally let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

This wasn’t new. Not really. Ever since she decided your apartment was hers too, Suzy had been toying with you—testing boundaries, pushing limits. The casual touches, the way she’d stretch just enough to let her shirt ride up, the way she’d pretend innocence after every single deliberate move.

But tonight? Tonight was different. Tonight was bolder.

You drag a hand down your face, exhaling sharply. The image of her peeling off her clothes, that teasing glance before she disappeared into the bathroom—it lingers, searing itself into your mind against your will.

You should be used to this.

You aren’t.

Shaking off the heat curling in your stomach, you turn to the mess she’s left behind, grasping onto the one thing you can control—order.

Her jacket is draped over the armrest like she owns the place. A scarf is tangled with her purse on the floor, one of her shoes discarded near the door while the other is kicked under the coffee table. And her clothes—why the hell were they everywhere? A hoodie thrown onto your chair, a sweater half-off the couch, socks abandoned completely.

You crouch, grabbing her shirt and folding it with a little too much force, jaw tight as you work.

She’s done this before—left her mark, made herself comfortable, like she’s waiting for you to snap, waiting for you to do something about it.

You never do.

Not in the way she wants.

But tonight… tonight is testing you.

The sound of the shower running is background noise, but your mind betrays you, conjuring up images you shouldn’t entertain. You shake your head, focusing on picking up the wreckage of her presence instead.

Because this? This is her entertainment, tormenting you, a game.

And you’re not going to let her win.

~~~

The last beads of water slide down her skin, slow and indulgent, tracing the shape of her body like tiny, obedient servants before vanishing between her thighs. The steam still clings to the air, swirling around her like a curtain before finally retreating, revealing glimpses of her reflection in the mirror.

Suzy grins. There it is. The spark of victory. The proof of her power.

Because she saw it. The way his jaw went tight, the way his fingers curled around his shirt, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. He thought she didn’t notice—thought he was still untouchable, still above her games. But tonight, oh tonight, he slipped.

He lingered.

And that? That was a win.

She hums to herself, a playful little tune as she watches her reflection, trailing a finger down the length of her arm like she’s congratulating herself. Because why not? She earned it.

That man had the nerve to dismiss her, to act like she was just a nuisance in his life. Like she wasn’t the most exciting thing to ever happen to his boring, colorless world. Like she wasn’t a gift, generously bestowing him with her presence.

Ungrateful.

And yet, despite all his protests, all his tired sighs and sharp words—he looked. He always looked.

Suzy giggles, the sound light, teasing, full of mischief.

"You can’t ignore me forever, you know."

She tilts her head, admiring herself from different angles, brushing her damp hair back over her shoulder.

Perfect. Every inch of her was designed to be admired, and after tonight? He’d have to admit that. He’d have to admit that he’d been wrong about her. About everything.

She bites her lip, not out of shyness—please—but because she loves the anticipation. The thrill of knowing she’s gotten under his skin, past his walls, into that stubborn little head of his.

Just a little more.

She reaches for her bathrobe, slipping it over her damp skin, the silk clinging in all the right places. She doesn’t bother tying it tight. No, no, no. That would ruin the fun. It stays just loose enough, just dangerous enough, like an invitation waiting to be answered.

Then, with a final wink at herself—because really, who deserves it more?—she steps toward the door.

Suzy’s joy immediately faltered as she stepped out of the bathroom, her grin freezing in place. There he was, diligently setting the table, his back to her, completely unbothered. No lingering glances, no tension in his shoulders—nothing. He wasn’t even waiting.

How dare he?

She had given him a show, hadn’t she? Deliberately undressing in front of him, her back turned just enough to tease, to tempt. She’d felt his eyes on her—or at least, she thought she had. The memory of it had fueled her confidence as she stepped into the shower, imagining him squirming, resisting, wanting. But now? Now he was just… setting the damn table.

“You’re out of shampoo,” she said, her voice sharp with annoyance, though it was mostly to mask the sting of his indifference.

He paused, his hands hovering over the plates for a moment before he straightened. “How?! I bought that four days ago—” His voice caught, as he glanced at Suzy, just barely, but it was enough. A tiny crack.

Suzy’s grin returned, slow and triumphant. She waited, her eyes narrowing as she braced for the rest of his sentence—some excuse, some flicker of emotion. But it never came. Instead, he simply turned back to the table, his movements calm and methodical, as if she hadn’t just emerged from his bathroom, damp and glowing and perfect.

Baffled. Confused. Frustrated. Annoyed. The emotions churned in her chest, each one sharper than the last.

Just when she thought she’d finally cracked him, just when she thought she’d seen the faintest hint of vulnerability, he’d reverted to his usual self—dismissive, unimpressed, utterly unappreciative of her grace and beauty.

“You’re going to eat like that?” he asked, his tone casual, as if nothing had happened. As if she weren’t standing there in his bathrobe, the silk clinging to her skin, her hair still damp and curling at the edges.

Suzy’s jaw tightened, but she forced herself to smile, her steps slow and deliberate as she approached the table. She didn’t take her eyes off him, searching for any sign of a crack in his nonchalance—a twitch of his lips, a flicker of his gaze, anything. But there was nothing. Just the same infuriating calm.

She sat down across from him, her movements deliberate, her robe slipping just enough to reveal the curve of her shoulder. He didn’t look up. He was already eating, his focus entirely on his meal, as if she were nothing more than a mildly inconvenient guest.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until Suzy couldn’t take it anymore.

“You’re not gay, are you?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, her voice saccharine-sweet, but her knuckles whitened around her fork. Pathetic, she scolded herself. But she needed an answer—any answer—to explain why he refused to look, to want, to break.

He paused, his fork hovering mid-air. For a heartbeat, she saw it—the faintest twitch in his jaw, the shadow of something raw flickering behind his eyes. Then it vanished. He set his fork down with deliberate calm and met her gaze. “I’m not playing your games. You should’ve realized that by now.”

The words were a slap. Suzy’s smile cracked, her chest tightening. Games? This wasn’t a game. This was survival. If he could resist her, what did that make her?

She stared at her plate, the food now repulsive in its mundanity. Why couldn’t he see her? The steam from the meal curled upward, mocking her, and suddenly the room felt suffocating.

Then it hit her—a jagged, desperate epiphany. He hadn’t thrown her out. He hadn’t called the cops, hadn’t sold her secrets to the ravenous press. For all his scowling and sighs, he’d let her stay. Let her linger.

Because he wants to, her pride hissed. Because he’s lying.

The last drops of water had barely cooled on her skin when she stepped out of the bathroom, her silk robe clinging to her damp body. Suzy knew exactly what she was doing. She always did.

“Are you really unaffected by me?” she purred, rising from her chair, letting the robe slip dangerously off one shoulder. She circled the table like a predator, her bare feet silent against the floor, her movements slow, deliberate.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But something flickered behind his eyes—something dark, something warning.

She ignored it.

“You can pretend all you want,” she whispered, gripping his chin and tilting his face toward hers, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her thumb traced the hard line of his jaw, feeling the tension coiled beneath. “But you’re enjoying this. Admit it.”

“Suzy.” His voice was quiet. Too quiet. Like the silence before a storm.

Drunk on her own confidence, she pressed closer, her breath warm against his skin. “Admit I’m under your skin. Admit you think about me—”

His hand shot up, fingers wrapping around her wrist in an iron grip. The suddenness of it made her gasp, her practiced composure slipping for just a moment.

“You want to know what I think?” His voice was low, controlled, but laced with something that sent a shiver through her. “I think you’re pushing boundaries you don’t understand.”

She tried to hold onto her sultry smile, but it faltered when he stood, towering over her, his presence suffocating in the most intoxicating way.

“I—”

“No.” He cut her off, backing her against the wall with slow, deliberate steps. His other hand came up to her throat—not squeezing, just resting there, a silent reminder of control she no longer had. “You wanted my attention? Congratulations. You have it.”

Her breath hitched. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to be the one in control, the one making him unravel.

“What’s wrong, princess?” His thumb brushed against her racing pulse. “Isn’t this what you wanted? To break my control?” He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. “Or are you finally realizing you might have pushed too far?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came.

“You didn’t think,” he murmured, his voice darkening. “You never do. You just take and push and demand, thinking there won’t be consequences.”

Then he kissed her. Not sweetly, not like in her carefully crafted fantasies. This was raw, deliberate—punishment wrapped in pleasure. His grip tangled in her hair, holding her still as he devoured her, bruising and possessive.

She whimpered, hands fisting in his shirt, caught between pulling him closer and pushing him away. This wasn’t her game anymore. This was him showing her exactly what happened when she got what she asked for.

When he pulled back, her breath was ragged, her lips swollen. The smug confidence she wore like armor had cracked completely, leaving her wide-eyed, vulnerable.

“Still think I’m unaffected?” His gaze was dark with satisfaction. “Or should I show you exactly how affected I can be?”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her body betraying her even as her mind scrambled to reclaim control.

He didn’t give her the chance.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he tugged at the knot of her robe. The silk slipped from her shoulders, sliding down her body like a whisper, pooling at her feet.

She was bare before him, her skin flushed from heat and the chill of the air. A shiver ran through her as his hands found her shoulders, his touch light yet commanding.

He leaned in, lips grazing her neck, his breath warm against her skin. A small, involuntary whimper escaped her lips.

He pulled back, his gaze never leaving hers, then lowered his head—his breath now ghosting over her breast. Then, without warning, his lips closed around her nipple, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak before sucking deeply.

“Ah… Hnng…” Her moan broke through the silence.

She tried to grasp onto her confidence, forcing a teasing smirk. “I should’ve known you were this hungry—”

The words died on her lips as he latched onto her again, silencing any attempt at control.

Her legs pressed together, squirming against the growing ache between them. Her hands hovered over his body, unsure where they belonged—her thoughts a haze, her senses overwhelmed. A strange sensation started at her toes, tingling, winding its way up until her head felt dizzy, like she was melting into him.

Then he stopped.

She barely registered the ragged sound of her own breathing, her gaze locked on him—not with desire, but with the dazed fixation of a predator realizing it’s become prey.

“You think I’m doing this to make you feel good?” His voice was low, almost clinical, as he pinned her wrists above her head with one hand.

“I’m n-not—” The lie fractured as his free hand slid down her ribcage, fingertips branding her skin. Her body tautened, betraying her, hips arching toward him before she could stop herself.

“You’re right,” he rasped, his breath hot against her ear. “This isn’t about me. It never was.” His palm closed over her breast, thumb circling her nipple with deliberate, agonizing slowness. “It’s about you learning what happens when you shove your way into someone’s life and demand they perform for you.”

She gasped, teeth sinking into her lower lip to stifle a whimper. Don’t. Don’t give him this. But her traitorous body strained against him, heat pooling low in her stomach.

“Keep your hands here,” he ordered, tightening his grip on her wrists. “Or I stop.”

“Stop then,” she hissed, the last shred of pride sharpening her voice. She shoved weakly against him, but her muscles felt liquid, useless.

He laughed—a dark, humorless sound—and nipped the curve of her neck. “You don’t want me to stop. You’ve never wanted anything real in your life, have you? Just applause. Just proof.” His fingers pinched her nipple hard enough to sting, and a broken noise escaped her throat. “Here’s your proof, Suzy. You’re ordinary here. Just flesh. Just need.”

She hated him. Hated how his words slithered under her skin, hated how her thighs trembled, hated the slick ache between them that throbbed in time with his touch. Most of all, she hated the part of her that craved this—the part that wanted him to dismantle her, piece by performative piece, until nothing was left but the raw, shameful truth:

She’d rather be ruined by him than ignored.

So she let herself break.

Her hands, once limp with shock, clawed at his shirt—buttons scattering, her nails scraping skin. She bit the inside of her cheek, hating how badly she craved the heat he’d denied her.

“You’re already wet,” he muttered, fingers skimming her thigh, blunt and deliberate.

Her breath hitched, but she forced a smirk, lifting her chin. “I—maybe. So?”

His lips curled, as if amused by the pathetic excuse for defiance. “So? Liar.”

A sharp gasp broke from her as he slid a finger into her, ruthless.

Her fingers trembled against his belt, but she yanked at the leather anyway, snapping it free. “You talk too much,” she muttered, pretending her voice wasn’t shaking.

“You begged for this,” he said, pressing another finger inside, harder this time, until she was pinned between him and the wall.

“Hnnng…Fuck…” The sound slipped before she could stop it. Humiliating.

His grin was immediate, infuriating. Heat crawled up her neck, but before he could throw another taunt, she grabbed his waistband and yanked—pants and boxers falling in one sharp pull.

His cock sprang free, thick and hot against her stomach as he leaned in, claiming her mouth. The kiss was different now. Deeper. More. And yet his hands never withdrew from between her legs, never let up, never let her breathe.

She was spiraling too fast, losing ground. No, no, no—she wasn’t supposed to be the one drowning.

The climax built, tight and unbearable, until—

He broke the kiss. Just like that.

Suzy chased his lips, her mouth grazing his chin, his jaw, anywhere—but he turned away, leaving her gasping at nothing.

“Contraceptives,” he muttered, already heading for the kitchen counter.

“Oh.” The word slipped out small and stupid. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, cheeks burning. Since when did she forget herself like this?

Her body ached with frustration, but she refused to stand there waiting like some desperate, abandoned thing. So she followed, her bare feet slapping against the floor. “Hurry,” she breathed, though she’d rather die than admit it was a plea.

He turned, a condom packet pinched between his fingers, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he hooked an arm under her knees and lifted her.

“Wait—!” Suzy yelped, arms flailing before instinct had them locking around his neck.

His heartbeat.

She could hear it, rapid and relentless against her ear. Or maybe it was hers. She couldn’t tell anymore. Their breaths, their heat, their hunger—blurring together.

He laid her down, shadow swallowing her whole as he climbed over her. But instead of moving, instead of tearing into her the way she swore she wanted, he just... stared. His gaze traced her face, slow and searching, like he was trying to memorize something she didn’t even know she was showing.

It made her skin prickle. “What?” she snapped.

“Nothing,” he murmured, voice softer than she’d ever heard it. “Just wondering how someone so loud can feel so small.”

Suzy’s throat tightened.

She wanted to scoff, roll her eyes—fire back with something smug and clever. But the words tangled, refusing to come.

Before she could untangle them, he kissed her again. Slow, deliberate. His hands cradled her face, gentle in a way that terrified her.

Here’s your refined scene, keeping Suzy’s teasing nature but also her struggle with honesty and vulnerability:

Because fragility was the one thing she couldn’t fake.

“Just—just do what you want already,” she stuttered, hating how weak she sounded.

He hovered over her, their faces so close she could feel his breath against her lips. Her nipples, tight and sensitive, pressed against the heat of his skin.

Instead of answering, he kissed her—just a tap, far gentler than before. Almost sweet.

“Aren’t you a little impatient, Suzy?” he murmured, the tease running straight through her, twisting low in her stomach.

It was the first time he’d said her name with a smile.

Her heart fluttered.

No. No, no, no. She refused to react to that.

Before she could come up with some snarky retort, he pulled back, dragging his lips down her body. His movements were slow, deliberate, each inch of space he put between their faces only making the anticipation coil tighter inside her.

Her breath hitched when he settled between her legs.

“W-what are you doing?” she asked, already knowing.

She knew exactly what he was about to do.

Yet she asked anyway, unprepared for the moment it would actually happen.

“W-wait, at least let me take a shower first,” she blurted, grasping at anything to stall, to breathe, to think.

A snicker rumbled from below. “Didn’t you just take a shower?”

Heat flooded her face. She wanted to disappear.

Before she could find another excuse—

“Haahn—!”

His tongue swept over her folds, slow and deliberate.

“Ahh! god—!”

A sharp jolt of pleasure shot up her spine as he played with her clit, teasing, circling, pressing.

“W-wait… I—ah! Ahhn! Hnghh!”

Then—

“Hiiic!”

She flinched, her entire body jolting as he sucked, her back arched upwards, the sound indecent, shameless.

Blinking down at him, her breath ragged, she found him already watching her. Smirking.

“You’re really sensitive, Suzy.”

His words lit a spark of defiance in her. He was teasing her, toying with her, and she wasn’t about to let him get away with it.

She sprang up, her body still trembling from his touch. “It’s your turn now.”

He raised a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “What?”

“I said—it’s your turn now.” She tapped his shoulder with her foot, her legs still parted, unintentionally exposing herself more than she realized.

His gaze darkened. “Oh?”

“Let’s see how patient you are,” she challenged, tilting her chin, her voice laced with quiet amusement.

A slow smirk spread across his lips, but he said nothing.

“What are you waiting for? Lie down.” She guided him onto his back, effortlessly shifting their positions. Now, she was on top.

Kneeling between his legs, her eyes flickered downward, and—

Oh.

His cock stood between them, thick and rigid, a sight she was no stranger to. And yet, something about him—about this—felt different.

Her fingers moved without hesitation, wrapping around him with practiced ease, stroking with a steady rhythm. He was warm, heavy in her grasp, the weight of him familiar yet somehow new.

She had done this before—many times. But never with him.

And now, with the heat of the moment slowed to her pace, she had the chance to take him in, to truly feel him.

Her fingers barely met around his girth.

Her breath hitched.

He was bigger than she expected, thicker than she was used to.

A challenge.

Her lips curled slightly as she leaned in, her breath ghosting over his length. Her strokes remained measured, deliberate, teasing. She knew exactly what she was doing—what effect she had on him.

With her free hand, she traced the tip, swirling a finger through the precum, watching the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch. A soft chuckle escaped her as she tucked her hair behind her ears, preparing to take him in.

Slowly, she let her tongue slip out, teasing him before finally making contact—

“Nggh…” A deep grunt rumbled from his chest, his cock twitching in response.

And then—

A sharp pulse, followed by a hot splash across her cheek.

She stilled, eyes flicking up to meet him. His breath was ragged, his fists clenched at his sides.

A wicked smirk tugged at her lips as she dragged a finger through the mess on her skin, bringing it to her mouth, letting her tongue flick out just enough to taste him.

“You’re really sensitive,” she murmured, her tone dripping with satisfaction.

His jaw tightened.

And just like that, she knew—she had him.

That moment of vulnerability, of losing control, it was hers to wield now. The tables had turned, just as she had wanted. Before, she had been overwhelmed by him, caught in his pace, his touch. But now—now, he was the one left breathless beneath her.

Her strokes slowed, teasing, deliberate. She leaned in, lips just barely grazing his length, reveling in the way his muscles tensed, in the sharp breath he sucked through his teeth.

Yes.

This was the power she had been after.

But just as quickly as she seized it—

The world flipped.

A gasp escaped her as he moved with speed she hadn’t anticipated, his hands gripping her waist, turning the entire game on its head. One moment she was on top, in control—

The next, her back was against the sheets, his weight caging her in.

His knee parted her legs effortlessly, pressing between her thighs as he loomed over her. That smug dominance had returned to his gaze, lips curling with something dark and knowing.

She shuddered, realizing—

She had only borrowed control for a moment.

He had merely let her think she had won.

“Suzy,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, eyes dark and impatient. “Did you enjoy your little game?”

Her breath hitched.

She could feel him—his cock resting heavy against her stomach, a silent promise of what was to come. It pulsed against her skin, a relentless reminder of the inevitable.

Heat coiled low in her belly.

She wanted him.

She needed him.

Her breath hitched as she watched him roll the condom on, the slow, practiced motion only fueling the fire already burning inside her.

Hesitation warred with longing, nerves tangled with impatience. But pride had no place here—not when every inch of her ached for him.

She was ready to surrender.

She parted her lips, ready to plead, to beg—

“Ready?”

His voice cut through the air, low, rough, edged with impatience.

It was the question that could have once been her escape. The opening she had looked for before.

But that moment had passed long ago.

Now, there was only him.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, a silent answer—a confirmation, a submission, an invitation.

It wasn’t him who had been in her grasp—

It had been the other way around all along.

With her silent permission, he wasted no time. Strong hands spread her open, parting her folds as the tip of his cock pressed against her entrance.

“Ngh… Fuuuck!”

He pushed inside, inch by inch, stretching her, filling her. A gasp tore from her lips as her walls clenched around him, adjusting to his size. His heat seeped into her, a sensation that was both overwhelming and intoxicating.

Her feet quivered. Her fingers curled into the sheets, while her other hand covered her mouth, muffling the cries threatening to spill free.

The sudden, intense pleasure blinded her. Her eyes clenched shut, darkness swallowing her vision, but she wasn’t alone—she could feel him.

Moving.

Slow at first, each thrust deliberate, controlled, but quickly gaining speed.

“Hnngg…” She bit down on her lip, her breath shaky, her body at his mercy as he drove into her over and over again.

Her world narrowed to the sounds around her—their ragged breaths, the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, the creak of the bed beneath them, the rustling sheets.

She could feel everything.

The firm grip of his hands on her thighs. The way her body shifted with every deep thrust. The friction of him inside her, stretching her, claiming spaces untouched before.

And then—

A jolt of pleasure shot through her as his thumb found her clit, circling it, pressing, teasing.

“Hnng… No, n-not there—”

Her eyes flew open, and she found him staring at her, gaze dark, unwavering, drinking in every tremor, every reaction.

Heat flooded her cheeks. His focused attention made her feel bare in an entirely new way.

But he didn’t stop.

If anything, her protest only encouraged him. His movements deepened, his thrusts grew stronger, reaching deeper than she thought possible.

“Hnng!!”

Flustered, she covered her face with both hands, as if shielding herself from his gaze—unwilling to let him see just how undone she was becoming.

His pace slowed—a brief respite.

A chance for him to catch his breath.

And for her to regain a shred of sanity.

Her hands trembled as they shielded her face, as if trying to ground herself, to control the heat creeping up her skin. But he didn’t let her. His hands, warm and firm, gently pried hers away, forcing her to meet his gaze.

Her breath hitched. His eyes, dark and unwavering, held her captive.

Slowly, he guided her hands to his lips, pressing soft, lingering kisses against her fingers, her palms. The sensation sent a shudder through her, and before she could stop it, a whimper slipped past her lips.

“Hnngh…!”

The attention she had craved so desperately now felt overwhelming—almost unbearable.

"Why… why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, voice unsteady, flustered.

A grin tugged at his lips, his intensity never faltering. “Because I want to see your beauty, Suzy.”

Hearing her name from his lips hit her harder than she expected. It wasn’t just the compliment—it was the way he said it. Soft, tender. A stark contrast to the raw dominance he had shown before.

She had heard her name spoken countless times, but with him, it felt different. More intimate. More real.

The simplicity of his words, the sincerity in his voice—it was exactly what she had longed for. And yet, now that she had it, she felt shaken, unprepared for how deeply it unraveled her.

“What?" she breathed, struggling to process it.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in, his breath warm against her neck, sending a tremor through her body.

“W-wait—” Her protest barely left her lips before his mouth claimed hers.

His tongue slid past her parted lips, and instinctively, she met him, matching his rhythm as if it had always been this way. As if her body already knew how to respond to him.

His hands skimmed down her legs, shifting, lifting her hips with effortless control.

The brief pause between them shattered.

Their break was over.

His hips drove into her once again, a deep, deliberate thrust that stole her breath.

Her moans were swallowed by his mouth, his kiss consuming, demanding.

The force of him pushed her deeper into the bed, her body molding to his movements as he pressed her into the mattress. His pace was relentless, each thrust pushing her closer to an edge she wasn’t ready to face.

His lips left hers, trailing down her neck, sucking, biting—leaving his mark.

“Hnnng… I can’t… I—” Her plea was barely a whisper, drowned out by the rhythm of their bodies colliding.

His kisses turned into nibbles, teasing, devouring. Desperate to stop his assault, she tried to push his face away, only for him to seize her wrists, pinning them against the sheets.

Now her hands became his focus.

He kissed her fingertips, grazed his teeth along her knuckles, breathed in her scent as if memorizing it. Then he sucked gently, tongue flicking over her skin, his eyes never leaving hers.

“You look gorgeous like this, Suzy,” he murmured, admiring the wrecked state he had reduced her to.

His voice cut through the symphony of their skin slapping, the slick sounds of their bodies moving together, the ragged breaths and muffled moans.

Heat flared across her skin. She wanted to say something—anything—but before she could, her body jolted.

“Ah—!!” Her cry broke free, louder than before, almost a scream.

He had reached deep, pressing against a spot she hadn’t known existed.

Her vision blurred. Her thoughts fractured.

She was unraveling, pleasure crashing over her in waves so intense she could barely hold on.

“I’m… close…” His voice was rough, strained, barely comprehensible. But she didn’t need to hear it.

She could feel it.

His cock throbbed inside her, primed to explode.

And then—release.

Heat surged inside her as his climax tore through him, his body tensing before he spilled into the condom.

Her walls clenched around him, milking every last drop, her own ecstasy cresting in tandem.

Her mouth parted in a silent scream, her entire body seizing in pleasure so sharp it was almost unbearable.

For a moment, there was nothing. No thoughts, no words—only sensation.

Her consciousness floated, her body trembling, spent, utterly wrecked.

Then—his lips were on hers again.

Soft this time. Gentle. A stark contrast to the madness from moments ago.

With the last remnants of her energy, she kissed him back.

Slowly, the kiss melted into something tender, something lingering. A silent exchange of satisfaction, of fulfillment.

Her breathing slowed.

Her consciousness drifted.

And before she could fight it, sleep pulled her under.

Part 2 ---->

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #bae suzy #suzy #suzy smut #qwilorg

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youryanderedaddy · 6 months ago

Text

Tw: captivity, obsessive behavior, made up fantasy lore, mind fuck (?)

He never calls for you - he only ever sends his servants, poor, confused little creatures of the night once lost just like you. They gather at your door like an army of darkness, scratching and biting at the delicate wooden frame, howling piteously with full chest until you're faced with the choice of either opening the door, or suffocating yourself with the fluffy white pillow. You give in after what feels like an appropriate time - not too soon as to feed his ever - growing ego, yet not so late that the creatures' heads start to roll under your nose.

You slowly walk down the endless corridor, refusing to look at anything for longer than a second - even as it calls to you with the sweetest voice of desire. Everything is enchanted to the very last candle on the wall. The countless paintings depict wealth and opulence beyond your wildest dreams, an adundance of riches upon riches, of honeycomb amber and pure green emeralds. The silk carpet is as soft as a dandelion just before it bursts open, and the crystal chandelier embarks such a soft light the human eye can never properly adjust to the tender shades of yellow and blue. The castle is tempting you with every passing breath - begging you to stay here forever. Begging you to love it, and everyone inside - especially His Majesty, the Lord.

You try to calm your disheveled thoughts as you carefully open the heavy gates to the throne room. Your breath hitches deep into your throat as your eyes gaze upon the feast spread out before you, and suddenly you're starving like a wolf. By now you should know better than to let yourself be lured in by magic - but the pull is too magnetic and you quickly find yourself stepping closer to the piled up table. You take in the smell with unsatiated hunger - golden apples baked inside fine sugar crystals, tender deer fillet dripping with berry sauce and smokey mushrooms, the sort you can only find inside an enchanted forrest. Cream puffs and mountains of stripped ice soaked in jam and vanilla essence upon stacks of fruit and more goblets of red wine than you can count. And yet he remains ever the centerpiece of the vision.

"You're late, mona grece tide*." His voice slowly fills the room with its overbearing softness, always on the verge of dropping into silence. It's painful to look at him - as if everything about the mythical man was created a touch too symmetrical, to the point where the sharp features all blend together. His lips are too full, his eyes - if the golden slits beneath his brows may be called that, are way too bright under the sun, and they reflect a time you don't wish to remember. And his hair is so long and pale, so very white and smooth, you have to stop your hands from reaching into the wounded transparency of his wild locks, less you want to lose a finger or two.

"Tidea." Khaal snaps his finger more aggressively when you don't respond to his call the first time. You squint in an attempt to block the light coming from the tiny cracks in his face - the birth lines of his dragon. "Sit down. Don't make me come to you."

Tide. Tidea. Love, as you eventually learnt the meaning of the word in Lohemian. My little love, the words still rest on his tongue, because what are you if not a small, fragile human?

"I'd hate to inconvenience you so, my Lord." You eventually bite back, breaking out of the trance. Slipping in and out of consciousness and constantly guessing your surroundings is taking a toll on you, but you'll lose your sanity before you give into his madness. "Touching a filthy human like myself will surely sully your pretty golden flakes." You smile with venom, tearing into the nearest sun-pear. He watches the juice drip down your chin with angry narrowed eyes, and with another swift snap of his fingers he's standing before you, towering above.

"Insolent child, you are." He grips your face carelessly, inspecting it from all sides before finally materializing a clean cloth and wiping you clean. "You're foolish just like any other human." His brows twist together with anger, but his expression remains angelic to the untrained eye. "I can give you everything you've ever wanted. The sun at your feet, the moon on your shoulders. All the knowledge of the world." His fingers suddenly stop rubbing along your jawline and his gaze falls upon your cold, quivering lips. "All I ask in return is your loyalty." His sharp nail begins stroking your lower lip. It doesn't draw blood, but you wish it would. You can't stand the anticipation - the moment before the violence entails.

"Don't let your eyes wander. Gift me your warmth." The dragon king pulls you closer to his chest, and all fight leaves you. His form is perfectly defined with thousand metal - like flakes, one on top of the other like a flawless shield. It's probably a great weapon on the battlefield - but it lacks the naked vulnerability of human skin, and it's so cold it hurts to stand close, much less touch it directly. "Look at me!" He suddenly roars, and you fall back from the sheer power of his voice.

Everything hurts - as if the floor is suddenly melting, you feel like you will never stop falling down.

"I can't. It's too painful." You whisper weakly between hoarse broken sobs threatening to tear off your heart in two. "I wasn't made for this world, f-for your... world." You bite your lips, averting eyes to the ground. "Everything in you wants me dead. Your love will kill me." You whimper, squeezing your left hand to your chest. The dead weight of the broken bone is pulling you down, luring you deeper into sleep.

"I'd like to see you try, mon'tidea." He sinks down to your level, quick as a shadow. Stealing a kiss as light as a sparrow, he pushes you down. "Die as many times as you want. You'll always end up here in my arms." His lips are grazing your ear, warm breath hitting your neck. Another illusion, you realize - his body can't create warmth. It's simply reflecting your warmth back to you. "Because once you enter my realm, there's no coming back."

#yandere #yancore #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere dragon #yandere oneshot #yandere x you #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader

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hyukascampfire · 2 months ago

Text

𝓐T 𝓢WA𝓝 𝓛AKE ﹐､﹒ c.bg ˏˋ੭ꠥ ¸ˎ

as both equals and opposites, white swan and black swan, it is paramount that you and choi beomgyu do not touch. the curse of your natures did not even make exception for incidental brushes. that was never an issue for you—not until the day the prince took it upon himself to break every rule you’d ever known. ⋆˛ ˛

⸺ listen to the playlist .ᐟ ‧˚

⸉⋆ ᧔ 🦢᧓ ･ 10.3k

𝒫airings ˒ black swan prince!beomgyu 𝓍 white swan princess!reader

𝒢 ‎⍪ smut ˒ fantasy ˒ forbidden romance

𝒲arnings ˒ smut, angst and longing, unprotected sex, lots of teasing, jealousy…, yearning and yearning, he cums on her, theyre both desperate, pathetically in love!beomgyu, shes all he wants, virgin!reader, loss of innocence, he talks her through it, he gets a little whiny… hmm i can’t remember if i’m missing anything. this is not proofread!! i’m gonna nap first.

✎୭ ashlynn's note @hmusunoo … baby you did your big one with this. i can not explain to you how excited i’ve been for this one. this is absolutely my favorite. it’s just so me, u know me so well and i think we should kiss. THANK U!

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

Around you, mist and delicate flurries sit over white, fluffy blankets. Where it sits over the lake, it turns the horizon of the lake’s expanse into an obscured uncertainty. If you hadn’t spent so much time right here, you might think that it goes on forever.

It’s a beautiful, clear winter’s morning. Sparkling air wraps you in sweet and crisp tendrils, every breath to your lungs almost bitingly fresh. But in all its lightness, your chest only feels heavier. You had hoped that coming here would be a little, momentary respite. The air is so free around you, though, the weight doesn’t float away with it—it just leaves nothing but the feeling for you to contend with. No skittish wildlife rustle the foliage, and a thin film holds the crystalline lake from lapping at the bank. It seems that not even the wind moves. Just you.

It’s not your tears that you hide here. Sadness is a soft, gentle thing; an acceptable thing for a Lady like yourself to indulge in. It’s what the people expect of their princess. The demure and always prim White Swan. Always correct, always just how you should be.

Your tears are more like scalding, molten licks of fire than the slow, darling tears that are expected of you, though. They’re angry. It clashes up against the walls you’ve built up within yourself, against the role you’ve assumed.

That’s why you’ve come here. Coarser emotions are unbecoming of you, and it’d be a shame to feel them in front of others. It’s a shame that you’re letting yourself feel it now, even. You summon a thin sigh, funneling up all the tangy bitterness on your tongue to let it fall out into the air before you.

It doesn’t do much for you, really. This—feeling like this, so beyond the reach of your usual ways to shove down ugliness—is unfamiliar. Your entire life has been this, why do you struggle with it now? In the center of you, mingling with that anger, it’s as though a blackness blooms. Like a wretched flowering of some invasive plume, or perhaps the floating of inky black feathers through your bloodstream, you feel painted dark and unpleasant.

Holding the dappled fur of your shawl closer, you decide to watch chunks of crystal white ice float on the water’s surface. Or maybe the on-and-off snowflakes that float down around you. Even tracing the lengths of barren branches, lined with white fluff so still and serene, with your eyes. Anything but delving into what that tainted tug inside is, or what it might mean about you.

Snow crunches, or maybe a branch shifting, beckons your attention. But the foliage isn’t too thick, and trees are sparse around the lake, and there is always some small winged creature fluttering between branches out here. So, you brush it off.

A tingling about your person, some sort of whispering premonition, whisps and tugs just around your form. You straighten up at another thick step crunching in the snow from behind you. This time, you can’t explain it away.

A figure greets you. Dark, raven strands of silken hair fallen over eyes of the same, his skin so stark against it, black shoulder cloak on his shoulder flowing like velvet water against his billowing sleeves all ruffled and enamoring. He glitters like the frost, twinkling silver threads and black crystals sewn in to catch the light and make a show of him. Standing there, looking at you, he doesn’t look caught or frozen.

But you are. Wholly still, all of you like a sculpture of frost, you gawk right at him. You’d never interacted with the prince, the black swan. Never even seen him. It was never in the cards. Fear like ice curls clawed fingers over your heart and grasps it.

All your life, grand warnings of terrible things of him and what might happen should the two of you ever touch fell from the mouths of those around you. It was the constitution of who the two of you are—born to be the balance to each other, never to touch. Just an incidental brushing of fingers meant turning the world’s balance over on its head. They told you that the world would begin to fray at the seams, reality would warp, and that it’d be all your fault. And they also told you plenty about who the prince was as a person, too. Not only do you fear him for the curse of your nature, but also for all the nasty things you’ve heard of him. This, meeting him, was a thing of your deepest-cutting nightmares.

And, there, he stands in front of you.

“What are you doing out here crying?” Beomgyu says, curious eyes darting over your face. Under his gaze, you’re not sure how to feel. But you feel every last bit of it, regardless.

You wipe at your cheek, where he must’ve seen the wet streaks glistening in the light. Summoning some poise up from where you keep it in handy, you say, “It’s no matter. I was just looking out on the snow.” You fix up your hair and your dress.

The prince frowns, studying your face once again. Utterly unconvinced by what he finds there, he gestures toward you. “You’ve been crying, princess,” he says. “I didn’t think that lying was in the cards for you.”

Lying? Not in the cards for you? Lying is all you do. You lie to yourself and to others more than you are honest. “Maybe, but I’m well,” you say, and then you lift the soft skirts of your dress to step without treading it in the snow. “Really, I ought to get home before the snowfall gets heavier. It was lovely seeing you.” You try and make sure to keep a good and proper distance from him as you make for where you arrived here from.

Beomgyu reaches out for you, only pulling back from grabbing your arm at a frighteningly slim realization. “Wait,” he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he realizes what he’d almost just done. “You don’t have to leave. Why is it that you cry?”

He’d almost touched you. That close—you’d come that close to tragedy in only the first moments of your meeting. Your heart pumps out sizzling, frantic energy that has you looking at him wide-eyed and shaken. “I think you and I both are the most aware why it’s best that I leave,” you tell him, keeping it curt. You hold your arms to you.

Strong brows knitting, he shakes his head and takes some big steps back. The snow, sat powdery and calf-high on the ground, creaks beneath them. “I’ll stay back here,” he says. “Just don’t go. Won’t you entertain me? It’s a gentleman’s duty to help a weeping Lady.”

You falter. The words might have you blushing and offering him a modest thank you, but the way he says it—it’s rather taunting. It’s taunting in a way that gets right up under your skin and ruffles your feathers. “And why does it bother you so?” you ask him, arching a dainty brow. You’re not even sure why he’s come out here in the first place. This is the one place that you ordain your own. It seems that not even here can you be totally alone. “They’ll have a fit if they know I was here with you.”

The prince, with his clear, ethereal features cracking into a wicked amusement that you’re not sure how to digest, says, “Perhaps they will.” He tilts his head at you, wispy strands of hair moving over his shadowed eyes with it. “But, princess, that’s the fun in it. That they will admonish you for it. Is that why you’re crying?”

Fun? Nothing about what your people, your parents, might do should they find that you’d not only been near but spoken to the black swan, is fun. You level him wary eyes. And, though sense tugs at your feet and asks you to get going, you do not. You do not know why.

“I think it is.” He’s got an obnoxious tilt to his lips. “I think that’s why you cry.”

A scoff, an abrasive and distasteful sound coming from you, falls out from your mouth. There’s that awful imprudence and temerity that you’ve heard of the black swan—everything you ought not to be. “You seem the type to know everything,” you say.

He laughs, delighted. “Is that snark?”

Pursing your lips as though confused, you spin spiced threads of patronization into your voice. “Not snark,” you say. “Just an observation.”

“Hmm.” Beomgyu slides his hands into his pockets to warm his hands. “Might I make an observation about you, princess?”

There’s interest written all over his face—you know he’s playing some sort of game. You also know that you shouldn’t indulge him in it. Still, you do. A slight raising of your brow, or maybe the interest twinkling in your eyes, too, tells him to go on.

“I think that you are too dutiful for your own good,” he says.

In a slight, testy step, he inches closer. Not so close that you worry, but the two of you are not even supposed to be in the same room. Anything is too close. You mirror it with a step back. “You don’t know me,” you say. Against your better judgement, though, your lips twitch into a soft smile. The kind of smile that is insistent, no matter how you refuse it. “So, I believe your wonderings to be entirely groundless.”

Hair blowing gently in the wisps of a winter wind and his nose and cheeks gone pink, he says, “Oh, princess. Hardly. I think we know a great deal about each other.”

Well, that’s true enough. All your life you heard of him and your curse. You’re sure it was no different for him, no matter your differences. “And what do you know about me?” you ask.

Beomgyu’s laugh falls out in a white puff of curling frost. “I know it’s been arranged that you’ll marry a superior Lord,” he says. He observes you. “Am I right?”

So fast, just with that, lightness falls from your face. You hadn’t wanted to be reminded. Your feet itch to be off, so that you can feel it elsewhere. Not here; not in front of him. Leveling yourself so that your voice doesn’t come out as stilted as you feel, you say, “Yeah. You are.”

With his eyes narrowing on you, he says, “You know, it’s weird. I’ve never seen a girl excited to be wedded look like that when it’s brought up.”

You reign in your face and shake your head. “I am perfectly excited. It’s a blessing to be married into such a family.” As much as you smooth over the furrowing of your brows, or make your expression pleasant, it’s not so easy to tame the picking of your fingers.

Anything other than excited, you might be. But absolutely not that. In fact, you are beyond yourself with anger, and you have nowhere to go with it. It bubbles hot just under your skin and demands a release that you cannot give.

Being who you are, it’s been a truth you’ve known your whole life. Someday, you were going to be offered like a shiny, silver pawn to the highest bidder. And you, as the world’s white swan, are quite the enticing thing to own. You thought you’d banished the hope for a union of love right where you’d left the sense of self behind: years ago. The time’s come now, but you aren’t as at peace with it as you should be. No matter how hard you try, you are more human than you’d like to be, and far too human to be what the world expects you to be.

If you’re going to be frank with yourself: you do not want to marry him. Living as something bought, expected to live forever as this mellowed out, poised version of yourself by the side of some man who you don’t even know or love... Of any fate you might be made to live, you think that this one is the worst.

Beomgyu begins working on taking off his jacket, a white and pretty thing with thick, winter fabric. He offers it to you. “You don’t have to lie to me about it. Maybe them, but not me.”

You look between him and his offering hand—his perfect features that are so elegant, and yet, there’s a wildness to him in those hard black eyes. If you didn’t already know so much about him, you might still be able to see the untamed in him. Who couldn’t? He wears it plainly; without remorse. You’re not sure how to interact with it, but, in a way, you envy him.

Reaching out, you accept the jacket from his hand. Tentatively, with great care so as to avoid touch, but you do.

It’s nice and soft against your frost-kissed shoulders. But it’s not enough to fix the bite against the skin on your face, so you trudge through the snow over to the sparse tree line, where the trunks might protect you better from it than the flat expanse of the lake’s surface. You press your back to a tree, and he mirrors it on the tree opposite to you. Looking over the great lake, so very serene. It twinkles with an ice film like sugar crystals atop its surface. “I guess I’m just... scared,” you say. The words come out soft and uncertain.

He nods. Listening. So, you continue. “I don’t even know him. I haven’t spoken to my betrothed once. Maybe I’ll get to know him, and maybe he won’t be bad, but...”

“But he’s not who you want,” Beomgyu says. “Not who you love.”

Licking your winter-chapped lips, you eye him for a moment. You nod slowly and say, “...Yeah. I suppose it’s selfish, but...”

Ignited, Beomgyu pushes off the tree to say, “Selfish? You give your whole life to being their saint. Maybe they think they do, but they don’t own you.”

You, not us. Frowning, you ask him, “Are you not set for some marriage of convenience?” Marrying is different as a woman, but you don’t doubt that the prince’s family intends to strengthen alliances by offering his marriage up to some optimistic, lesser family with a daughter to bargain the way yours has done with you. Every last girl and boy born as you two have been—destined to a life bigger than yourself, a force in the world as much as you are a person—have lived just the same. All of them. Each incarnation of the white swan, and you’re sure every black swan too. The people of this world paint you as embodiments of balance and life, but use you more like power plays. Even your own parents. You were born from your mother all the same as all your siblings, but as much as it aches to admit it, you are not their child. In the back of your throat, hurt and bare anger wells up thick.

He half laughs, half scoffs. “They could try. It doesn’t matter to me. They’d have to kill me before I do their bidding. Is it our fault that we were born this?” he says. “I’m going to live my life how I want, no matter what.”

You tuck your hands into your sides, where they warm between the jacket and your body heat. His words and how he looks at your lives, it’s everything you’re not. Sense of self and determination to live for more than just your predetermined role—while you’d surrendered it all, he lives thrashing and fighting against it. A product of your mirrored and opposite natures.

“Why?” you say, teeth chattering a bit under the cold’s caress. “You have a girl in mind?”

That sounds nice. Being so hopefully devoted to someone, and them to you, that you might war against destiny for it. The thought only nurses hurt somewhere deep in your chest, though. Not for you. Never for you. You could be the prettiest on this Earth, the kindest, the most disciplined, or the least even. Still, that would never be yours. You know that, so why does it taste so bitter?

A quick look, something new, passes over him. In his eyes, you see it. He looks at you for a long minute, the morning so quiet that nothing but tranquility hangs in the air for a moment, and then finally says, “Yeah. Something like that.”

Entirely intrigued, you ask, “Who? Is she a Lady?”

Beomgyu nods his head, that strange look lingering. “Of sorts,” he answers, crossing his arms over his chest to lean back into the bark. “And your betrothed? Some well-off Lord?”

A smile ghosts over your mouth. “Probably. I haven’t a clue who it is; but I’m sure he’s got enough coin to spare, if my parents settled on him.”

The lines of his face gone playful, he says, “Not possibly more well-off than me.”

Your nose crinkles. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you say. A husband with money is nice. You can’t pretend that you don’t think of that, especially that none of your family’s wealth belongs to you, nor will it follow you into your marriage. Your heart revolts regardless.

Shrugging after a few beats of silent considering, he turns his attention on the lake. His face turned like that, you admire the straight slope of his nose and his eyelashes as they flutter with his heavy eyes. Like the rest of him, his side profile is a contradiction. Strong and noble, but elegant like hewn from marble. It’s perfect. With all the talk in your ears, you’d pictured something far off from the youthful, wry man stood before you. Why you’d come to imagine him brutish, you’re not sure; he’s as much swan as you. Different and mirrored all the same.

“I used to come here all the time,” he says.

“Here? To the lake?” You perk up. This had been your hideaway as a girl; where you’d come at times like this when you needed to bury something away. You thought it’d been just yours. “I wonder how we never ran into each other. I used to do the same. I guess, I still do.”

When his eyes fall back on you, they’re softer. More deep brown than black, but maybe it’s because you’re closer now. He says, “Well, I came here once or twice on my own, maybe when I was five. I didn’t really start coming back until I saw you. You were crying, all snotty, and throwing bread out for some ducks.”

Your face twists up, maybe at the memory or maybe with confusion. It seems like if he’d really come here so often, and had even seen you here, you’d have noticed. “You must have thought I was weird,” you say, the words coming out around a shiver.

“Maybe,” he says through a wry smile that’s cracked over his lips. “But mostly, I just wished I could talk to you.”

He’d watched you, because he couldn’t approach you? You were under the impression that the prince had never cared for the rules, not even one so paramount as that. But, it seems that his brashness came to him later. He stands in front of you now, doesn’t he? Maybe it was just that innocent trust that, as children, you levy out to those arounds you. Especially toward adults; and all of those had preached over moments like this. You imagine a young, curious Beomgyu, hiding himself away between bushes, itching to approach or play with you. But he never did; you hadn’t the slightest clue he’d even been there until now. Could you two have been friends, if not for the curse?

“You never came out,” you say. “Or introduced yourself?” It’s all you can really think.

His mouth twitches. “Would you have stayed?”

No. Then, you don’t think you would’ve. Even now, you’re stricken with the innate fear of touching him, no matter how surprised you are at how different he is. Different from what they said he’d be. You think you would’ve darted, should you have known who he was. For some reason, that makes your heart ache. A dark ebbing wave of ache that you are unfamiliar with.

A slight knowing smile danced over his features, eyes gone to sweet crescents that turn them, usually so dark, into something rounded. Not so abrasive. He tilts his head off to one side and says, “You’re freezing. How long have you been out here?”

Cheeks long been numb, you answer, “An hour. Maybe and a half?”

“I’ll walk you home.”

You grimace. Arriving with him by your side, the man you quite literally were not supposed to even speak with, is the very last thing you should do. An awful idea. “I wouldn’t bother you. It’s probably not the best idea to show up after disappearing, with a man by my side. Especially not as a to-be-married woman,” you say. “But, thank you. Really.”

He knows what you really mean, though. A muscle in his jaw feathers. “Alright,” he says. “I suppose we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

As he begins to turn, making for wherever he’d come here from, you call out to him. “Hey, wait. Your jacket.” You pull it off your shoulders and joust it out at him. Against your skin which it had warmed, the air is bitterly cold.

“Keep it, princess,” he says, giving you a parting nod. “Get home warm.”

Today, you are to give your hand to a man that you do not know.

In the air, the rich nuttiness of fire-toasted chestnuts dance and mingle with the roar of chatter. Hundreds of familiar and unfamiliar faces line long tables with runners decorated by platters of plump, sugar-dusted plums and fruit pies. They’ve all come in their winter’s best—whites and reds and luxurious furs lining thick, velvety fabrics or embroidered with sparkling threads and studded with crystals that twinkle in the low firelight. It’s warm and lovely and all just for you.

But, you don’t feel any of that. All you feel is a heavy belly. Each smile you tug over your mouth feels like dead weight. You’re familiar with this—putting on the act. Smiling in faces that you know will turn around and have something else to say about you, pretending like you don’t know that it’s all false sweetness. You’d been trained in noble propriety since you could walk and talk.

But, considering that they’ve all come here to shower you with gifts and lovely words for a marriage in which they could really not care about beyond how they make it a profit, it’s all a bit more sour.

You’ve met your promised. The man you’re supposed to wed and spend the entirety of your life beside. You spoke with him for... what, two minutes? Two very awkward, very awful minutes. What should you have to say to each other? You’re meeting for the first time today. At your engagement feast. It’s a real conscious effort to not take your lip into your mouth and gnaw, or to not fuss over your hair, or honestly anything that might show these people that you are anything but pleased.

So, you relent to their gaudy pleasantries. You listen to them tell you that it’s such a blessing to be married to a man of high society—and a wealthy one, too. They tell you that they knew your marriage would bring a great dowry; that all the white swans have. That they were watching and expecting it. All you hear is the dripping of greed; all you see is hungry eyes and fingers crossed behind backs.

You relent to it until your stomach is sick and wrought with it. And then, the older lady ahead of you singing praises of your beauty, of how she wishes her daughter might catch the eye of a husband as advantageous as yours, does something out of the ordinary. Her eyes drift behind you, her snooty, pinched features twisting up into something new. You follow her gaze.

Dark and beautiful and his eyes trained right on you, the black swan prince stands beside you. He’s lazed, a heavy cup of some thick, spiced and wintery drink in one hand, as he does. In the clear light of morning, he’d looked so out of place. But here, soft and hard planes of his face illustrated by the flickering orange firelight, he looks so right.

You blink. And then blink again. Never once had Beomgyu made any sort of appearance at any hosted thing by your family. You just stand in place for a moment, registering his presence.

“You look lovely, princess,” he says. His eyes fall up and down you. The way he says it—it’s liquid smooth, but it’s taunting in a way. “The perfect image of a bride-to-be.”

He can’t be here. He can’t be here at all. When you look to the side, the woman is already gone. You have no doubt in your mind that she’s whispering in somebody’s ear right now.

“Prince,” you say, gritting your teeth while also dipping into an elegant curtsy.

“Do you feel that way?” He raises his eyebrows at you, his gaze heavy with underlying tension. “A perfect bride? Happy?”

Making the conscious decision to not look around you, because you can already feel the burning interest of the eyes that you’ll find on you, you say, “I do. Isn’t this quite the feast?”

“I told you that you don’t have to lie to me, princess.”

You shouldn’t even be standing here talking to him. They’re all watching. Stepping back to cut conversation with something witty, you stop in the onslaught of a chorus of surrounding gasps.

Beomgyu had reached out to grab you, and only stopped himself short the same way he had the first time you met him. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he brings his hand down, curling the fingers as if to wash away the urge to reach out.

He’s closer now, too. His breath smells sickly sweet with the liqueur he drinks. A sarcastic grin over his lips, he says, “Did he pay for all this?”

You do a dance of give and take. You step back, and he meets it with a step toward you, all the way until you find yourselves in a quieter corner. “He did sponsor the feast, yes.”

“Well, isn’t that just great,” he says, voice carrying over the many layered sounds of the gathering. “And that makes you happy? You feel fulfilled by that? Is that the purpose of the lovely white swan?”

You’re not sure what he’s getting at, or why your marriage is any of his business. For some reason, though, despite those rational thoughts, some faraway memory whispers that it makes every bit of sense. “He is a lovely man.”

Barking a laugh, Beomgyu says, “Don’t make me laugh. You don’t believe that, no matter how many times you tell it to yourself.”

You curl your fingers into the obnoxious, glittering material of your dress. “Seriously, what makes you so sure?” you say. “What makes you so sure you know? This is good for me. This is the way things are supposed to go. Not everybody in this world can get away with serving only themselves and doing whatever they want. Maybe it works for you, but not for the rest of us. I’m glad your life is fun, though. Really.”

His face doesn’t sharpen into offence, though you brace for him to. You’ve never spoken to anybody like that. Ever. Shaking his head, raven locks glowing warm around the edges, he says, “Because I know. I know. Are you listening to me? You don’t have to lie to me.”

Balking at him, you don’t know how to answer. That was nowhere near the answer you were expecting from the prince, known and notorious for his chaos and fire.

“I am listening,” you say, keeping your voice measured. Thick emotion slips through the seams. “Honesty has never done me any good. This is going to happen; all honesty is going to do is hurt me. So, I’m sorry.”

His mouth opens to fire something back, but you don’t hear it. Somebody digs their fingers into your upper arm, dragging you without a word away from your conversation. You stumble, letting them take you without a fuss. This was to be expected. You shouldn’t look back. If today was already going to be the last day you ever see him, it certainly is now that you’ve been caught not only in touching distance to him, but making conversation with him.

Tossing a self-betraying glace over your shoulder, you find his figure. Hand in pocket and his lips turned down, he watches you go.

You wish you wouldn’t have. You have no explanation for the emptiness it casts into your chest.

Recently, you’ve been crying so much. You might believe that it’s because you’ve been letting yourself feel freely, but you don’t feel free.

Your palms are soaked against your cheeks, face fallen into them as you shudder with it. Their words pin and scrape in your head, forcing you to contend with them before bouncing off the walls and you hear them again and again until your stomach has gone sick. Your parents had given you an earful. That’s been your whole life; you can handle that. The moment you saw him there, intending to speak to you, you’d prepared for it. Instead, it was their contempt and sneering faces that bleed your heart like this.

In this life, you are alone. Totally, wholly alone. Who you are—your role in life—is not the blessing they claim it to be. Is it selfish to ask to be understood? For somebody to just understand, without your pleading or begging?

Maybe. It feels that way, anyway.

“Why is it that I always find you crying?”

His voice freezes you to where you sit sprawled on your floor. Spinning to him, you say, “What are you doing?”

Beomgyu shrugs, as though he hasn’t snuck his way into your room. “I felt bad for getting you dragged off. Wanted to come see how you’re doing.”

Maybe his insisting on being around you should be annoying, but right now… You think you appreciate the company, even from the forbidden likes of him. “You can’t be here,” you hiss. “How did you get in? They’ll… if they find you here…”

His boots squeak against the polished flooring as he approaches you, and then settles down on the floor with you. The fire flickering behind him, his back to it, casts an orange light around the edges of his figure. He looks terribly inviting, like this: strewn on the floor, no holier or better than you, his face not sickly sweet nor cold and devoid of love, and his eyes curious to know how you feel.

“I don’t care what they’ll do to me. I want to see you.” He tugs his jacket off, letting it fall on the dirty floor. Improper for a prince, but Beomgyu doesn’t care. That’s who he’s always been—that’s the one thing that was entirely true out of all the things you heard about him. “Who the hell cares about their approval? We don’t need it.”

You know what he means by they and we. Only a few days ago, you’d still believed that Beomgyu was other; that he was your total opposite, and that you should fear his darkness for all your lightness. All it’s taken is being around him the once or twice that you’ve been able to for you to realize the falsity that drips from that. When you’re around him, your soul, feathery and wispy in your chest and your veins and all the rest of you that constitutes you beyond what is physical, tugs. It’s impossible to ignore—it consumes you. Where your soul longs for him around the edges, like torn and searching for what’s been lost, you feel stuff that is beyond yourself.

Rather than your opposite, you think that Beomgyu is your other half. You think that they’ve gotten it all wrong.

“How do you do it?” you say, back up against a white, whorling table leg. “How do you not care? I don’t understand.”

Inky eyes shining, he says, “I did. When I was young, I believed everything they told me. It’s hard not to, when it’s all you hear. Them, telling us that our purpose is to surrender ourselves to be something Saint-like. But when you catch one lie, you begin to catch the others, too. I saw their excuses and reasonings peel. Princess, it’s all lies. Everything you know is lies.” He says it with such conviction. Each and every word reaches down into that part of yourself that is missing something. “We’re not their Saints. That’s never been our purpose. I hate that shit; I hate that they’ve made you think that this is all you’re for. Marrying him? Never doing anything, because you’re scared of what it’ll mean for you? It’s not fucking fair.” He pushes himself closer to you. Now, your criss crossed knees are so close that a stray move might mean the world’s end. This time, you don’t panic. There’s no room for that among the swarm of your other thoughts. “So, of course I don’t give a shit about what they tell me to do. I’m going to live this life the way that it’s supposed to be. I wish that you could join me.”

“This life?” you blurt. It’s the one thought that appears clear to you, so it’s what comes out. Frowning, you add, “What lies?”

Deadpanned and as though he’s not delivering something that changes the world’s fabric around you, Beomgyu says, “There is no curse. There’s never been a curse.”

Your room is silent for a few moments, and then you shake your head and laugh. “How would you know that?” you say, nose wrinkling. If you don’t laugh, you’ll begin to actually consider the possibility of that. Just the very surface of the notion makes you nauseous. You couldn’t handle exploring the thought deeper.

Beomgyu doesn’t laugh along with you. “The curse is a lie, and everything that comes with it. All of it is just excuses or justification for the hate for the other people. The whole reason that they ever decided on it was because of their hate. Maybe to the people alive now, it’s not a lie. But that’s what it started as.” His face, dark and soft as he reads your face, twists up. “Of course, we can touch. We are two halves of a whole. There is you in me, and I in you. Do you not feel it? The tug? That’s it. The black swan and the white swan were never meant to be apart and opposite. We are meant to be together. We’re meant to be the only ones that understand each other. It’s us against the world, princess.”

Your ears ring with the pierce of each word cascading out from his mouth. “Beomgyu, I don’t understand. That doesn’t… Make sense. How?” He can’t just make claims about that. Not something like this. It’s not fair.

“I know it’s hard to believe, princess. It’s all you’re ever made to believe. But you have to trust me. Do you trust me?”

Tongue darting out to wet your lips and your fingers stilling where you fuss at the fabric of your chemise, you take a good look at him. Roaming over his features, the contradiction in them and the strange familiarity that constitutes him no matter the fact that you’ve only just met, you consider it. Everything he says is absurd, and it does go against everything you’ve ever known. You should turn your nose up at him for even suggesting it; should suspect that he only has some sort of plan to coax you into bringing the world’s end.

But, you do. You trust him beyond explanation, as though intrinsically.

You nod slowly, holding his eyes in yours. “But I don’t understand,” you say. “How do you know?”

He smiles ruefully. “I saw something—had a dream when I was young. I saw us, in every last lifetime. We have lived again and again, as we are, in so many different ways. But the one thing that was always there was that they couldn’t keep us away from each other.”

The world does a few spins around you. Lightheaded, you try to stay up under the oppressive gravity of that. You want to stick your head in the ground and shake your head and yell no, but that deep tugging that has plagued you beginning the moment you’d met him, and all the emptiness before it, tells you yes.

How poetic is that? How tragic? You, two souls born to be one, made to live apart at the interests of the world around you. Made to do it across every lifetime, and yet, in each you meet. In each, the twinkling thread of fate prevails nevertheless.

“Do they all love?”

That soft smile still playing on his lips, his cheek to his knee as he looks at you with the veneration of somebody who might’ve loved you in a thousand lifetimes before, and perhaps in this one, too. “No. Some of us were secret lovers, but so many of those lived how you do for the entirety of their life. Halved,” he says. “And never did any of them touch.”

Heart fluttering with wings in your chest, you say, “So, how do you know that the curse is a lie? If it’s never been done before?”

“Let me show you,” he says. “That I can touch you.”

All the blood in your body pulls back. You trust him; you do. But is trust enough to risk a touch that could be the end of the world? Is trust enough to be so selfish to do so?

Seeing you blanch, Beomgyu’s eyes go glassy. “Please,” he says, voice breaking as if to touch you might mean more than just proving something to you. As if the weight of everything he’s ever wanted rests on the back of it working—that if this works, and the world does not fall apart around you, then he can love you how he does, and how he had so many times before. Inevitably. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“Beomgyu,” you say, looking between his eyes and the twitch of his hand as it itches to touch you. “I don’t… I’m scared.” Your voice drops to nothing more than a whisper.

“It’s okay,” he says, bringing that longing hand up. Your heart jumps when he raises up by your face. “You can be selfish this once. I want to see you do something because you want to, not because it’s what you think others might want.”

Your throat burns and tightens. Every last sparkling bit of your being longs to lean into his touch—to do what you two have wanted to do so many times before, and finally bring your souls back together. “What if it happens?” you ask, your eyes soft and true like an animal turning its soft underbelly to receive affection.

“Then let it,” he says. “At least we would have touched. Just this once.”

Gritting your teeth and swallowing hard, your belly does itself up into knots. You don’t answer him, but your quiet speaks enough. His hand hovers beside your face with the weight of the world in it.

The first touch of the white swan and the black swan happens in a gentle cupping of your cheek. And, the world does fall down around you. The walls melt, air leaves, and the seams of everything that’s even been good or true are ripped out and sewn with something new and beautiful. It’s as explosive and cosmic as you imagined it, but it is not terrifying. It’s lovely.

Your breaths shudder, your lungs trembling as you look into his eyes and realize what this means.

“Fuck,” is all Beomgyu breathes. It looks as though that it’s all he can manage. His touch grows more solid as the both of you realize that the both of you are still very much here, and so is the world. Thumb pad grazing over the softness of your cheek, his throat bobs with a swallow. You think that if you were to press your hand over his chest, you might feel it thudding there to the same thunderous rhythm that yours beats to.

So, you do. Because you can touch him. His heart sings beneath your palm, even through fabric and flesh. You can’t help the wobbling of your lip and the hot tears that spill out past your eyes and roll down your cheeks.

The second touching is the bringing together of your lips. His mouth is soft and hard against yours, contradictory as the rest of him. He brings his other hand up to hold your face into his kiss. It’s not sweet and slow—it’s as ground-rumbling as the kiss between intertwined souls coming together after an eternity of being away. Each nip and lick and clash of teeth are like the claps of thunder of the storm that will end the world, his hand sliding up the back of your neck to card his fingers through the hair at the back of your head like the claws of a beast sent to ensure its end.

And, maybe Beomgyu is the beast that has come to end the world. You wonder how he’d waited so long to bring the truth to you, or if he was torn about ever telling you. What changed things, after so many years of him watching you from afar? Your engagement? Perhaps that’s what that drink in his hand had been: a thing to forget with.

It hadn’t worked. As he kisses you for all the lifetimes in which you couldn’t, you know that he couldn’t have accepted that and moved on. Of all the black swans that have lived and passed, Beomgyu must be the most stubborn and strong-willed. That’s why, out of every single life, this is the first that you touch. He would take the world on, or play with the existence of it, for this. Just for you. All for you—you’d found somebody who will do something just for you. Curling your fingers into the front of his tunic just over his chest, you pour the fire of that revelation into your kiss.

He roams his hands all over you, mapping your shape. You kiss and kiss, lips tugging and twisting against each other, and still it isn’t enough. Bracing a splayed palm over your lower back, he does not stop kissing you even as he lays you back onto the ground. The flooring is cold against your burning body. He supports his weight on one hand beside your head and straddles your hips to do nothing but run his fingers through your hair and just kiss you.

Only when your lungs are too hungry to ignore does he free your mouth. His soft black hair dangles over his starry eyes as he looks down at you with them. Lips swollen and smeared with you, his chest heaves. Bringing his free hand up, he wipes your wet cheek.

“Oh my god,” you say, breathless. “Beomgyu.”

Pressing his forehead to yours, he laughs. “I like when you call me that. I think I want to make you scream it—scream it until they come breaking down your doors and see that we are each other's. Until your fiancé hears it.”

Body bursting at the seams at the prospect, you nod frantically and dip your face into his neck to dust starry kisses there, too. He shudders. “I want it so bad. Can you please?”

“Of course I can. I’m going to make love to you, okay?” He pushes off you, crawling back so that he’s sat squatted just before your knees as you pin them together. “Open your legs, princess. Show me how pretty you are—I’ve waited so long for it.” He pats on the outer side of your knee.

Thrill spiraling up from between your thighs like sparks, you oblige slowly. You let your legs fall open for him, and choke on your own heart as he begins to slowly work your dress up the expanse of your legs, and then your thighs, baring to him the plush and unseen skin there. He eats it up wildly, his eyes gone ravenous and even blacker.

“I’ve never done this before,” you say, voice trill and unsure. “I don’t know what to do.”

A wicked grin cracks over his features. “I know, princess.” The fabric bunches at your thighs, now. You tremble with the stifling anticipation. “I’m going to take care of you. It’s going to feel so good—I’m gonna make you feel so good. I have so many things I want to do to you. Lifetimes of things I want to make you feel.”

Doe-eyed and laying your trust in his hands, your thighs twitch and you nod. He reveals your cunt at last, finally catching the glistening sight of it for the very first time. And, he does not disappoint. The look that washes over his face—the twitching of his lips, the tightening of his jaw in a flickering muscle, and the fire razing your cunt in his eyes—is something so dreamlike, but lucid nonetheless.

“You just lay down and let me help you. Treat you how a princess should be treated.” He works on his pants, silver belt clinking and then loosening, and then he’s just as exposed as you when his length pops free. It’s hard already, tall and pretty like the rest of him, but pink and obscene at the tip. He leaks from the little slit at the top. “Look at you. You look like you want to taste it,” he says, laughing while collecting the liquid to pump himself a few times. “Next time, baby. I’d love to see the proper mouth of the world’s princess choking on my cock.”

The air is cold against the mess between your legs. It sends a chill up your spine—or maybe that was the crudeness of his words. You suppose you should’ve expected nothing less from him. When he goes to climb back over you and line himself up with you, your thighs twitch and try to snap shut.

He pins your hip to the floor. “Don’t be shy, baby. I wanna see that pretty pussy. It’s not fair to hide it from me.”

“Sorry,” you say, cheeks burning.

Taking that hand and sliding it up behind the back of one of your knees, pressing that thigh up to your torso, he laughs a teasing laugh down at you. “Don’t say sorry,” he says. He holds his length adjacent to your slit and then begins to slip up and down the length of it. “Just let me fuck you. I need it so bad.” He hisses in tandem with you. The drags of his length, harder than how you thought a cock might feel, is like undiluted liquor. “I can’t believe this… shit, princess. I’m about to fuck you. I thought I was going to have to sit here and watch you by his side.”

You take your lip into your teeth when he pushes in. It stretches. You bring your hand up to cup the back of his neck and the other to dig into his tunic, mewling softly.

“It’s okay, princess. Hold on to me, you can take it, right? You cunt was built for me. Everything about you was made for me. Your heart, your pretty hands for me to hold, your sex, all of it. Do you feel how I fit right into you? How I was made to?”

You do. When he finally is balls-deep, his cock nestles exactly where it should. Not an inch too deep or an inch too scarce. The two of you were sculpted by something holy, fit just for each other. “Yes,” you breathe.

He can’t even linger sitting still in you. He begins pulling himself out, all the way until the tip of him threatens to pop out lewdly, before shoving back in right up against that spot. He doesn’t even have to search for it. Head falling into your chest, he licks and bites. “The taste of you,” he says. Then, he presses his tall nose right over that spot in your neck where your heart’s gone wild. “The smell of you.” Wincing, he lays into you with more vigor, hips slapping against your skin. “The feel of you. You drive me up the fucking walls. How was I ever supposed to live without this?” he says. “I refuse.”

Your belly begins to tighten in a way that you’ve never known. Tears prick the corner of your ears, clinging to him as he fucks you into the floor like he’ll never have to opportunity to have you like this again. The wood cradles your back and the back of your hips, receiving each of his thrusts. You curl your toes and will back the lewd cries that threaten to spill over with each.

His voice is taut and wobbly. “Feels good, huh? I know. It feels… so good.” Dropping your thigh to cup your face, he says, “Cry. Cry for me. I said I wanted you to scream.”

Face burning and squirming against the hardwood behind you, you shake your head. “I can’t, gyu…”

“Yes you can,” he says, face twitching. “I want you to start letting it out, or I’m gonna stop. Do you want me to stop?”

Covering your face, with the back of a forearm, you grit your teeth through each punctual and yet sloppy grind up into you. Your bodies sweat and meld, and you’re sure that anybody walking by your quarters would know just by the hollow smacks of skin and grunts that you’re fucking a man. You, an engaged woman, are letting the prince turn your brain inside out.

But, there is nothing you want less than for him to stop. So, you let your mouth drop open and allow the sweet mewls to come with each rut.

“There we go. Louder.” He braces himself, digging his feet into the floor, and then he really starts driving into you. Sparks fly in your belly—each yellow and glowing and scalding. “Do I need to fuck you harder? C’mon, louder, princess.”

Thighs squeezing his hips so tight that they ache, you squirm. You struggle against your sounds—turning from sweet moans and mewls, you groan and gasp and your voice breaks. Each collision of your bodies breaks your sounds.

Curling your fingers into his silken hair, you grit out, “H—hoooh fuck, Beomgyu, Beomgyu, I feel… like…”

Bangs sticky and his eyes growing wilder, he knows something you don’t. The knowing, taunting grin on his mouth says enough. “Let it happen. Don’t fight it. Just stay—stay right there, and I’ll give it to you. No running from it; it’s gonna feel so good.” His muscles go taut, and he doubles down on his efforts, panting through his nose and his neck sheened. He drops his head into your chest. “Fuck. Fuckkkk, I love you so much, princess. Thank you—thank you, so much.”

You don’t know why he’s thanking you. You don’t have the cognitive function to worry about that. Your mind has gone to two things: the growls and whines that rumble and tear from his chest, and the frightening tightness that only goes more dangerous. Your chest tightens—it feels as though, if he feeds that hungry beast gnawing deep down in your belly with any more of what he’s doing now, it will snap and take you down in its wake. Warbled cries crawling up your throat, you arch your back up into his chest to try and dig your hips into the floor, away from the bliss and the power of it.

“No,” he says, cursing. “No—don’t run from it. Don’t… Baby, please take what I’m giving you. It’s gonna be alright.”

Pushing back on the dark throes of the tide as it creeps up over your shoulders and sends shocks through your body, the hair on the back of your neck rising with the effort, you choke. Beomgyu takes a hand down the seam of your bodies and rolls your aching clit. They’re succinct and intentional—pressure right on the sensitive underside, sending your belly rippling as he pairs it with a few more sharp, more meaningful thrusts.

You see white. It’s white and hot. You are the sun, beaming and writhing like stardust. You curve off the floor once more, raking nails down the lengths of his back. Are you even making sound? You don’t know; you can’t hear it past the ringing piercing sharp in your ears. You shake beneath him, cunt gripping him frantically with flutters of your walls.

He grunts, voice strained and shaking as he begins to follow his own release. “Holy shit—look at you. You’re so f-filthy. So pretty, cumming on me.”

You bare each brush of his cock against your still twisting walls, trembling as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your thighs jump and your toes curl, and it’s all too much, but not enough. He needs to come tumbling over the edge right along with you—if he comes with you, it doesn’t seem so hard. You chant his name, smooth voice gone hoarse.

Stilling inside you, he whines, “Shi—it.” A war wages behind his eyes for a long second before he slips his cock from you with a wet, squelching pop, strings of your release breaking as he lays his cock on your belly. His stomach goes tight, and with one last slide of his length, slick with your mess and staining your belly, his cock jumps. He shoots all over your skin, pretty glistening spurts like ribbons a milky white.

He sits back on his haunches, slowly rubbing himself off to give you some more and come down. Your room is quiet now, aside from your heaving chests and the buzz of something new in the air. Letting his head fall back, wet strands of spiky black hair dangle around his neck, a bead of sweat catching light as it rolls down it.

“Feel okay?” he says, looking down on you with softened eyes. He pulls cloth from his pocket, unfolding the fine fabric, and he wipes himself off your belly.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, leaning into the palm he cups your cheek with. “I’m okay.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “The world didn’t explode, did it?” he says.

You share a stolen laugh with him, feeling every last honey wave receding from the spot between your thighs. The world hadn’t ended, and yet, in every way, it had. Savoring the abated rises and falls of his chest and the content sagging of his shoulders, your belly tightens anew.

What happens now, when everything else has been a lie? When you don’t believe that you can survive that lie for any longer?

So many hands work on you. One of your ladies in waiting laces you up in the back, and another works on your hair even while you stand, and one bounces a wintry, snow-kissed rouge over the plush of your cheeks.

Yesterday, your world changed. And today, you’re expected to go on living in it.

When Beomgyu slipped out from your room last night after hours of holding each other under the covers, indulging in your ability to touch, you let your heart crack in two. You shouldn’t have. Why had you let yourself think that it was going to end up anything other than like this? You, getting prettied up to be sent away with your expecting husband, and the dreams you’d let build up to the clouds in the prince’s arms all shattered on the floor at your feet.

What else can you do? Loving Beomgyu freely is out of the question. Your parents would laugh right in your face, or maybe lock you away and make even more sure that you never get to see him again.

You try to burn the image of his eyes into your memory. Black, big and round and cunning all the while. You commit the broadness of his shoulders, and the pretty straight line of his nose in profile, and the pink plushness of his lips, and the little freckles you’d discovered yesterday, and the sound of his voice in your ear, and the feel of his touch on your skin, too.

“We’ll leave you until it’s time to come collect you,” a Lady says, bowing at the waist to you as the others finish up, tying the fastening of your dress up quick and sprinkling their final touches over you before following her out.

Your room goes utterly quiet. More quiet than it’s ever felt.

Dragging your limbs over to your bed, you let yourself fall onto it despite all the care they’d taken to get your skirts right. Resting your cheek to your palm, you let your eyes fall closed as you memorize the feel of your own bed, too.

When you flutter them open, there’s something peeking out from the pillow across from you. You furrow your brows and reach for it.

The paper is folded up with haste, torn from the edge of somewhere else and scribbled on with a quick hand. How long has that been there, without you noticing? Pushing yourself up from the bed, careful to at least maintain the smoothness of your hair, you unfold it.

ℳ𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝓉 𝒮𝑤𝑎𝑛 ℒ𝑎𝑘𝑒.

Your soul comes back to life and seeps through your bloodstream. Sitting there for a few moments, idle at the largeness of what you’re about to do, you loose a breath.

And then, you curl your hand around it, shove yourself up in a flurry of white, crystalline skirts, and you go.

The curious faces of the palace hands you pass do not stop you, nor does the morning’s bite as you find your way outside, nor does the almost-slip over ice, and absolutely nothing else stops you as you run. Is he still going to be there when you make it?

God, please let him be there. Don’t let this be almost.

Fists full of the abrasive fabric of your skirts and darting by barren bushes and trees, you do not stop until you clear the little tree line and the lake stands vast and frosty ahead of you.

When Beomgyu spots you, and you spot his figure against the background of the lake crisp in the morning, the sweet cooing of the birds and the rest of the bustle falls away. None of it compares.

“You came,” he says, dragging his feet through the snow until he’s right in front of you, his features elegant once more in the clear morning haze. “I didn’t think you would.”

You reach up to dust away snowflakes resting on his hair. It’s an excuse to touch him—that’s all you find yourself wanting to do, now. Brows pinching, you say, “Why?”

“I don’t know. I just… was scared.”

“No, no, I came,” you say, feeling now the bare expanse of your arms. You run your hands up and down them. Heart in atrophy all the while feeling full just being here with him, you add, “Why did you want to meet here?”

The world is serene for a few long moments as he just looks at you, his gaze searching. “Don’t marry him. Don’t leave with him.”

You know where he’s going with this already. Letting your dress fall from your hands, the one they’d fashioned you in to do exactly that, you say, “And do what?”

“Be with me. Marry me. Be my wife,” he says, the lines of his face solemn. “Let’s elope and find a corner of the world that’s just ours, so that we will never have to hear another word from them again. Let’s just… be together. Finally.”

Chest swelling with something so hopeful that it’s painful, reality comes with its pin point and pops it. “Is that really what you want? You’ll take me, even though I’m promised to somebody else?”

His lip curls as though the thought were detestable. “What the fuck is a dowry to this? To the approval of the fates? The world could try snuff that fact out with whatever they’ll try, and a man could offer your parents a dowry of all its money, and still, you’d be mine. No matter what, our souls belong to each other.” His hand is frozen against your cheek. He’s been out here waiting for you for so long. “I’d take you, promised to another man. I’d take you no matter how you are; in a thousand different lives, I’d have you each time.”

That’s all you need to hear: that you are cherished for more than just your nature, but for yourself. That he loves you unendingly and undyingly, and all you have to do is leave by his side. You’ve already left it all behind—thrown any attachment to the wind, because truly, what is that to this? You don’t know where you’ll go, and you think Beomgyu hasn’t a clue either. But you’ll find that somewhere together.

Together, your half sings. His answers with a thrilling beat.

“This time,” he says, eyes blazing with conviction. You know he feels the tug, too. “We got it right.”

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