#of course I didn’t warn her

[dragonnnfly]

Stoick just died, my friend (watching httyd httyd 2 for the first time) and i are at the funeral scene.

She is angrily dipping her vegan chicken tenders in her dip while staring at me muttering “I hate you, you are aweful” repeatedly

[cream-and-tea]

oh man the judge/calliope and pallas&agnes thoughts are really eating holes in my brain tonight,,,,,,

[the-bluestreak-cat]

I think it’s the seasonal darkness but this dental stuff feels like the last straw

[chuluoyi]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄, 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄

- zayne x reader

husband and wife, at the pinnacle of their love. on a night filled with wonders, you will know that he sees only you and everything that you are

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—fluff, explicit smut: slightly rough & drunken sex, fingering, missionary. you and zayne have a daughter (her name is meirin!)

note: god what have i written... the anniversary banner pv made me do it T^T anyhow, this is also a direct prequel to the upcoming angst fic in the name of love :))

“Whoa, so that’s Dr. Zayne and his wife...”

Soft whispers rippled through the crowd the moment you and your husband stepped into the pristine ballroom, all eyes subtly drawn to your arrival.

Tonight, you were accompanying Zayne to Akso Hospital’s anniversary dinner party. His sharp gaze and immaculate three-piece suit made a striking impression. Naturally, you matched his sophistication in every way—your flowing black dress accentuated your figure, while your hair styled into an elegant updo.

A sight for sore eyes, that was what the two of you were.

“Mind your step,” he murmured softly, his voice reassuring as the two of you gracefully ascended the stairs. His left arm wrapped around your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but notice the envious gazes of the ladies fixed on you.

“How does such a perfect couple even exist?”

“She’s so pretty… Of course, Dr. Zayne only wants the best.”

“Oh! And I’ve heard they already have a daughter too!”

A smile curled on your lips, a subtle boost of confidence washing over you as their murmurs reached your ears. You felt giddy too—on most days, you were a hunter in a life-and-death situations, rough and rugged. But tonight, draped in elegance and arm-in-arm with Zayne, you felt like a princess.

“Don’t smile that wide...” he suddenly whispered to your ears, a twinkle in his hazel eyes. “You’ll look like Meirin when she’s munching on her cookies.”

You shot him a frown. “Wha?”

“All those praises are going straight to your head.” Even in a prestigious event like this, Zayne couldn’t resist teasing you. “Sooner or later, it’ll get too big for me to handle.”

Fixing him with an unimpressed glare, you deadpanned, “Shush, you!”

When you reached the main hall, the buzz of conversation and clinking glasses filled the air, blending with the elegant music playing in the background. The hospital director, an elderly man with a warm smile, greeted you both along with his wife.

"Zayne, thank you for coming," he said, shaking your husband's hand and giving him a light pat on the shoulder. His gaze then turned to you. "Ah, this must be the stellar hunter wife of Dr. Zayne. You look absolutely radiant, madam."

"Ah, please don't call me that..." You mustered your most polished facade, supplying a soft, graceful laugh.

The director's wife grinned and added, "Why didn’t you bring your daughter here? Everyone’s looking forward to finally meet her already."

"She's a handful," Zayne immediately replied with a smile, his tone warm and affectionate. "And she gets fussy when her bedtime nears, so we decided to leave her with my in-laws tonight."

The director let out a hearty guffaw. "No matter how fussy she is, she must be really adorable with a mother this beautiful, eh?"

Throughout the night, it was a compliment you frequently heard. While you were flattered, a thought lingered in the back of your mind—what were your husband's true thoughts about all this attention to you?

Zayne was keenly aware of how captivating you were.

There was a surge of pride whenever he had you on his arm. Just like any man out there, he too wanted to show his hot wife off and flaunt her so everyone could see, as if saying: This is my woman.

But he too knew that it was in a human's nature to covet what they didn't have. And it was rightly proven when he stepped away for just a moment, only to return and find you engaged in conversation with a man.

The hospital director's son, no less.

"Miss, I've heard you're part of the Hunter Association?" he asked you inquisitively. "What a noble profession it is! Keeping all of us here safe on daily basis."

You responded demurely, "And those in Akso do the same, don’t they?"

Your conversation was harmless, and Zayne was a rational man, so he didn’t feel the need to intervene. He just made sure his gaze was on you every so often.

But when the director’s son began persistently offering you drinks, filling your glass time after time, Zayne's patience began to wear thin. The sight of the man’s insistence grated on him, stirring a possessive unease he couldn’t entirely ignore.

. . .

You could’ve sworn your vision swam a little after the third glass of alcohol. The warm buzz coursing through you also made everything seem a little brighter, and left you feeling just slightly off-balance.

"Miss, the white wine here is the best—" the man standing before you declared with a convincing grin, swirling the bottle in front of you. "Don't you want to try some?"

"Ah, no, sir..." you replied with a polite laugh, raising a hand in subtle refusal. "I've already had whiskey and gin just now—"

"Just a little! You really have to try it!"

You hesitated, heat creeping up your neck as the alcohol already coursing through your system made your cheeks flush. You didn’t even like alcohol much and only drank socially, but this was the very son of your husband's boss. Refusing outright seemed rude—

“Can you kindly not make her drink too much?”

Or so you thought, until your knight in three-piece suit suddenly stepped in and saved you from your plight.

Zayne’s tone was gentle yet firm, his words striking an authoritative balance. He flashed a placating smile. “My wife doesn’t have a very high tolerance.” Swiftly, he grabbed the glass from your hand and, without missing a beat, downed its contents in one go.

“If you’re looking for a drinking partner, let it be me instead.”

You knew better than anyone that your husband didn’t have a particularly high tolerance for alcohol either. Yet, for the next 30 minutes, you watched, equal parts impressed and concerned, as he matched the man drink for drink, deflecting further offers directed your way with a subtle, protective grace. Though Zayne’s words remained measured, you could see the flush creeping up his neck.

And soon, you’d witness just how far his limits had been pushed.

“Zayne! Are you alright?”

Worry laced your voice as you placed both hands on Zayne's cheeks, your brow furrowing in concern. Somehow or another you managed to drag your husband away and led him to the hotel room.

The warmth of his skin was unmistakable, and his face contorted in discomfort as the vertigo hit him full force. “Oh no, what have you done? Why did you even drink that much!?”

“I’m fine,” Zayne grumbled, his voice thick.

“You’re drunk!” You couldn't help but scold him as you started pulling off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt, trying to help him breathe easier. “You can’t even handle alcohol properly, and yet you’re trying to keep up with him...”

To Zayne, your voice somehow felt comforting. His mind was hazed, but your touch—your hand against his neck—felt like a cool splash of clarity.

His pretty wife... The dizziness was making it hard to stay upright, but the sight of you grounded him, and he instinctively leaned into you—

“Zayne—!”

You barely managed to catch his weight, instinctively wrapping your arms around him. He was so warm against you, his breath uneven, not to mention the slight tremor in his body. "Are you alright?!" you asked in a flurry. "Oh, let me get you some water—"

"You talk too much..." Zayne murmured, his words slurred as everything around him swayed.

Gripping your shoulder to steady himself, his unfocused gaze lingered on you, drawn to the curve of your lips, the delicate line of your neck, and the outline of your cleavage.

How can he have a wife this ravishing and do nothing?

And suddenly, he was sober. Very sober.

Or maybe not. It was simply just him finally giving in to his desires.

In one go, he seized your wrist, yanking you against him with sudden force— and with a quick tilt of your startled, precious face, he devoured your lips in heat.

"—!" It was like a spark igniting, burning through every thought. His mouth was urgent, demanding, as if he couldn’t wait another second to feel the rush of your closeness. His kiss was intoxicating—almost overwhelming—as he tangled his fingers in your hair, tilting your head to gain better access.

Zayne's hands moved to your back, pulling you into him, so close that the heat of his body pressed against yours. Then those sinful hands wandered to your hips, guiding you toward the desk. With reckless urgency, he swept everything off the surface, sending objects crashing to the floor with a sharp clang and made you sit on it.

"Ah, Zayne, you—!" You accidentally pushed him back, and he growled the moment your lips parted.

"Are you trying... to escape?" His gaze turned dark with lust, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. "Why? Isn't this exactly how you wanted me to be...?"

In that moment, you gulped as your heart thundered in your chest. What was even happening now? How did it escalate into this?

You stuttered, eyes widened, "Z-Zayne..."

But your husband had shed all traces of his usual composed self. In the haze of his muddled thoughts, he was driven purely by need. He swiftly removed his glasses, tossing them aside without a second thought, and this time—

His lips went straight for your neck, which, unbeknownst to you, had looked so enticing to him all evening.

"Hahh..." His breathy grunts were hot against your skin and his touch no longer gentle but firm and possessive. His mouth moved with a mix of hunger and desperation, and you struggled to contain the moans as his hands slipped inside your dress, and—

A shiver ran down your spine when he spread your legs, and you couldn’t help the titillating gasp that escaped when inserted his two of his fingers in you all at once, edging you.

"Ungh, ngh! Hah—" Your body jerked and you clung to him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. Zayne wasn't usually this brash, but tonight it was as if a screw had come loose.

"Louder," he commanded in your ear, and your heart pounded at his authoritative voice. He pushed his digits deeper as if punishing you, that you yelped. "Do not hold back."

He lifted you by your waist, effortlessly pressing you against the small table by the window. You were on the 20th floor, the world below far out of sight, but the thought that anyone might catch a glimpse was somehow... thrilling.

"I-I'm close—" you stammered, and the moment you did, your husband vigorously moved his fingers inside your squelching folds, "A-ah!"

The room felt smaller, the air thicker. The way your walls took his fingers alone made your thoughts scatter, and when you came undone on him, you latched onto him, your head resting against his chest as your breaths came in shaky, uneven gasps. "Z-Zayne... please..."

He pulled out his fingers, looked at your cum coating them, and brought them to your lips. You, still trembling, sucked the essence off with teary eyes.

Sweaty, disheveled, lips swollen and cheeks flushed... how he had reduced you into this state was gratifying.

Zayne’s gaze darkened, his breath heavy as he stared down at you. "Are you ready to take me now?"

You nodded.

He gave you a small smirk, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw gently. "Good girl."

He lifted you over to the bed, and you gasped in surprise as he tossed you onto the soft sheets, the motion quick but not unkind. You barely had time to react before his intense gaze locked onto yours, his presence domineering above you.

“Spread your legs.”

Was this man really your husband? Sometimes, you still struggled to reconcile the tender part of him and the man consumed by a unrestrained intensity before you now.

By now you had swallowed all shame and did so. You wanted to look away, but then unable to when the sight before you caught your breath—

All the while, he had his eyes on you. Zayne pulled at his tie with deliberate intent, then he shed his suit pieces, casting them to the floor with a casual abandon, before undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt, revealing his bare chest altogether.

Your husband looks so hot. The way he gazed at you throughout it all too...

He glanced at the space between your legs. “Wider.”

You complied, letting your face burn impossibly hotter, anticipating him.

He eased in slowly, starting with just the tip. You whimpered at the intrusion.

"Hurts?" he questioned with a frown.

"No," you refuted quickly, desire too burning in your gaze as you met his eyes. "I can take more."

You arched your back as Zayne sank deeper, his full length filling you. A moan tumbled from your lips as your walls clenched in response, and he pushed himself completely inside you.

"Hah..." You inhaled sharply, giving yourself a moment to adjust to his entire length, and seeing you like that, your husband cradled the side of your face with his palm.

"So beautiful..." Zayne whispered, his glazed gray-hazel eyes fixed on your spent face. His other hand clasped yours, pinning it beside your head. "My wife... is so incredibly beautiful."

It was heart-fluttering to know that your husband found you pretty. Everyone might compliment you the same way, but his were the only one that truly mattered. After seven years of marriage, your heart still skipped a beat every time he held your gaze like this.

Without warning, Zayne started to move his hips. Your moans got louder and unabashed as his movements were slow at first, before he picked up the pace and thrusted in and out of you with fervor.

"Ahhh!" You threw your head back as his thick cock messily dragged itself against your walls. In, out, in out— Stars began to blur your vision, your nails digging into his shoulder as you reached for him.

You could see that excited glint in his eyes, the lust exploding at the sight of you. He watched you intently, savoring the way unbound desire twisted your face, each mewl you made filling the air. Your thoughts turned into puzzle pieces—

Thrust. So full, you are.

Thrust. What if... this time— you become pregnant again?

Thrust. That would be... nice. You can call it “New Years’ baby.”

Everything was incoherent. Teetering on the edge of consciousness, each hit to that one spot sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, pushing you to the brink of tears and screams.

Then, unexpectedly, he reached his climax first. His cum shot through, filling your womb to the brim in spurts after spurts, and you cried, trembling beneath him. Your release followed suit though, and you went limp in the aftermath.

Zayne collapsed on top of you and you wrapped your arms around him, burying your head in the crook of his neck, his name still falling off your lips as a whisper in his ear, a gentle song laced within moans. He kissed your neck, your shoulder, panting heavily against you.

“I love you.”

The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in a tangled web of desire.

The first thing he heard was your whimper.

With a groan, Zayne cracked his eyes open the morning after, instantly recognizing the dull ache in his head—it was a hangover. But before he could press his hands to his temples, his gaze fell on you, curled up in a blanket next to him.

And the whimper came again, and it tugged at something deep inside him.

“What’s... wrong?” he asked in a groggy voice, turning toward you, his hand instinctively reaching for you despite the pounding headache. “Are you alright...?”

You blinked up at him, a flicker of resentment in your gaze, and Zayne gathered you into his arms. The events of last night came back to him in fragments, and realization dawned on him.

“Are you... sore?” he murmured, concern edging his tone.

“I hate you,” you retorted in a scratchy voice, mushing your head in his shoulder. Zayne widened in slight surprise, pulling you closer into his embrace.

“Is that it...? I’m sorry...”

He gently patted your head and back, trying to soothe you. The sight of you—vulnerable and distressed—made his heart tighten with a pang of guilt. Just how rough had he been with you last night?

“There, there, it’ll pass...” he said quietly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “It’s normal... because we went longer and more vigorous than usual... Probably just mild irritation in your—”

“Don’t pull medical facts on me,” you muttered sullenly, weakly punching his chest. A smile made its way to his face at your mini attack.

“But it’s true though?”

How endearing. He couldn’t help but feel a warmth in his chest, his heart softening at the sight of you, even in your grumpy state.

And in that moment, Zayne thought, nothing could've possibly ever shatter his world ever again.

[screampied]

C*M RIGHT ON ME, I MEAN CAMARADERIE ☆

☆ sum. what’s bed chem? where they like to finish inside, when you both arrive at the same time, and the thermostat’s set at six-nine. toji, nanami, choso, gojo, sukuna.

warnings. fem! reader, established relationships, unprotected, premature ejac, lots of cúmplay, ōral (m! receiving), praise, dirty talk, overstim, impact play, squírting, bōob job, manhandling, size kink, spít, brēeding kink.

☆ NANAMI KENTO - TUMMY.

nanami was a gentleman—he didn’t mind filling you up, but he’d rather prefer to paint your tummy instead. he’d always have you in missionary too, giving you deep passionate strokes whilst he’s buried nose deep near the crook of your neck. “sweetheart, you’re doin’ so good,” he softly rasps as blond tresses of hair glue against his perspiring skin. with just how close he was—you feel his husky pants ghost against your skin, nearly tasting his loud rosemary cologne scent. “mmh, missed you all day at work. had a boner in my meeting ‘n everything.”

“y- yeah?” you pant right with him, weak arms wrapping around his broad narrow shoulders. nanami’s so slow that it’s almost painful, trying to make every thrust count. you’re slathering his entire cock with nothing but your slippery slick, hearing the weeping sloshes purr from beneath your folds. he was hitting you good, and the back of your ankles find themselves running down his chiseled back. with a sheepish smile—you meet his mahogany-eyed gaze, moaning put sweet nothings. “you weren’t thinkin’ about me in your meeting, were you ‘ken?”

“ah,” he grunts, “you know i was, sweetheart,” and he’s staring at you with the most warmest expression. his soft fawn eyes linger on you the entire time and he brings a tender kiss near the twitching corner of your mouth. “all i think about is you,” he kisses near underneath your chin. “only you,” and you moan once he sneaks a hand down between your sprawled open thighs, giving your stuffed pussy a loving pat. “and of course her.”

nanami’s pace slowly accelerated as he moved— you can’t help but drag your nails down his back, clinging onto him for dear life. “fuck,” your head falls back against the cushioned pillow that’s laid directly behind you. his hips, they were delicious.

nanami pounds into you in such a romantic way, and yet his thrusts were far more crude. he knew how to fuck, and he knew how to hit all the right spots to make you gasp. “kento, ohmygod,” you’d whine out his name constantly in sweet repeated syllables. “faster, ‘s okay, fuck me. fuck m- me.”

“such a naughty mouth my wife has,” he whispers, and his voice pitches—growing a bit raspy. he’s driving fat inches into you, jaggedly crashing his hips into you again and again. you moan, feeling strands of his hair tickle against your forehead. “oughta clean it,” his voice goes even lower, and the bass that lives on his tone makes you throb. he feels it—your spongy insides desperately convulsing around him. nanami cups your chin, pressing a wet chaste kiss against your lips. “faster, hm? ‘s that what you want, my love?”

as your eyes start to flicker back, rolling toward the very depths of your cranium—you whimper, babbling out pathetic whiny cries by this point. “y- yes, faster please ‘ken. need it, fuck me.”

his body sticks against yours practically - skin against skin, and he’s attached to you like velcro.

your cunt’s soaking him fully and it makes him bite the inside of his hollow cheek. nanami reaches onto the wooden-made headboard with a single burly arm, and you moan at the sight of his bulging muscles flexing from his grasp. “i see you checking me out, honey,” he chuckles, his hips bucking even quicker. you whimper once his cock kisses up against your clit. it scratches such a carnal itch in your brain that makes your thighs almost collapse. fuck, he found the spot, he found that spot and now you were sure your brain was short-circuiting. fuzziness coils at your brain before you cutely try to paw your hands at his arms. “go ‘head. feel me up, sweetheart. these muscles belong all to you.”

as your hands feel against his brick hard muscles, nanami’s blond brows contort into a furrow once he feels a sudden familiar strain. “oh, god,” and you feel this pace gradually slow down. he bites his lip, still holding onto the headboard while another hand grips your waist. “honey, you’re gonna make a mess out of me again, fuck.”

nanami rarely swears—but when he does, it makes you throb. he tries not to, but whenever he’s stuffed deep inside of your cunt, he can’t help it. you’re clinging onto him with your pretty thighs wrapped around his slim waist. “cum, ‘ken.” you moan, flimsy arms wrapping around his tense shoulders. nanami’s weight hovers over you completely, and he feels your finger twirl against his faint blond chest hair. he huskily groans, giving you those last final deep strokes before shooting complete blanks.

with quickness, nanami pulls his cock out— and he sprays globs of satiny ribbons right on your bare tummy. he groans as his pink lips purse together and he’s shaking. your pussy’s so soaked, and he only imagined what would happen if he came inside. the thought purged his mind—flooding his thoughts, and he takes a few seconds before collapsing right on your chest.

“are you alright?” he pants, resting his chin between your breasts. for a faint moment, you see him pouting and you kiss his forehead. a sheepish grin spreads against his lips before you feel him softly pressing down on your tummy. “i wasn’t too harsh, was i?”

“again, kento,” you playfully coo, and he’s taken by surprise once you suddenly get up, lightly shoving him on his back. landing with a quiet ‘oof,’ nanami falls back against the bed with a timid look in his eyes, allowing you to straddle his lap. “this time, inside though.”

“yes ma’am,” he replies in a cheeky tone, still sweating as he brings his broad bare hands toward your waist. “let’s see if you can handle me, sweetheart,” and you moan once he abruptly spanks your ass, leaning in to whisper against your ear. “your move.”

☆ CHOSO KAMO - TITS.

“get on your knees,” choso mumbles, remembering you wanted him to be a bit more rough whenever it came to intimate activities. he’s got the biggest pout though as he’s stroking himself awkwardly, a pout twisting against his pink lips. “…please,” he murmurs quietly, watching as you got down on your knees, reaching an arm behind you to unclasp your bra. choso’s already panting as he gawks, swollen round thumb grazing up against his veiny bulging cock. “good girl, good.”

“you remember what to do next, baby?” you sweetly hum, cupping each of your springy tits. god, you looked so pretty. choso loved finishing on your chest. after you demonstrated to him what a ‘boob job’ was, he became obsessed. sure, he liked finishing inside too but he always preferred this—spraying creamy ropes near your breasts, and his favorite part was to always shove his cock in between them.

you taught him a lot, and maybe he was far dirtier than you expected.

with a nod, he continues to pump his cock into his hand before groaning out a, “mhm,” and he kisses his teeth. already, he was close. you drove him crazy - you and him both knew that, and it makes him get harder at realizing how big of a mess he’s about to make - on you.

choso’s cock was so pretty — it’s long, and stands tall right before your eyes. your eyes rove at how it’s got a slight left lazy curve due to how heavy it was, as well as having a prodding vein running down the middle of his shaft. you can’t help but lean in, lapping your tongue against the vein as you bounce your doughy twin mounds with the palm of your hands. “f- fuck, baby you’re teasin’ me,” he moans, a hand of his grabbing onto the top of your head. dewy eyes of yours slowly glance up at him and you hum, licking a long playful stripe right down from his swollen tip until you reach his shaven base. “ah, you don’t wanna wait, do you? should i just—”

“go ‘head, ‘cho,” you coo, twiddling your thumbs against the sensitive nubs of your nipples. doing so, you make yourself twitch between your legs and you moan, giving his achy tip a quick kiss.

“o- okay,” he swallows thickly, and his breaths become more and more shallow. choso’s abs tighten and clench and you watch how a single drop of sweat races down the very center. he’s got the prettiest expressions. his lip quivers before he gnaws on it, letting off a soft whine at the tightening pressure that’s arising against his cock. “baby, tell me if it’s too much,” he mumbles with pouty lips, and that’s when he aligns his shaft in between your jiggling breasts. a perfect fit, he moans immediately once you sit up with a teasing smile, circling your tits around repeatedly. “fuck, keep doin’ that. touch yourself, uh huh.”

as your hands cling onto your plump breasts, he’s slowly thrusting his dick in between your tits. you feel that same prodding vein that runs against his shaft against your skin and you sigh. “cum, choso. give it t’ me.” you softly utter, never breaking eye contact. choso practically had heart eyes — only you could talk to him like that and make him entirely weak. he lets off a sweet elongated moan, watching with saucer-wide eyes as his hardened dick’s gradually disappearing in between the valley of your breasts.

“ngh, ‘m cumming,” he groans in a low voice, inhaling his final sharp breath. as choso’s nostrils flare up, it’s only then that he abruptly cums on your chest, painting the upper part of your frame with his creamy white color. “mmh, shit,” his head tosses back, and his dick finally grows flaccid. choso’s soft now, and his tip’s still the same rosy white, streams and streams of speedily dribbling from the sides. he’s huffing as a bit of it plops on your cheek and you swipe a thumb against it, lapping it right up. “baby, you’re s- so dirty.”

“for you,” you reply in a honeyed tone, leaning in more to slowly swirl your tongue around his throbbing crowned tip. foaming minuscule bubbles ooze from the reddened head of his cock and he groans, still feeling the euphoric after effects of his body. the sensitivity of it all feels good, and it leaves an unforgettable sweet taste in his mouth. you’re still on your knees and as he’s coated the entire parts of your tits with spurts of hot dripping cum. you lick your lips, giving his tip one more kiss. “you did so good, baby. good boy.”

with his dick still in hand, his eyes widen at your praise and it’s so cute—he’s got literal heart eyes forming before his pout returns.

“… say that again,” he gruffs, a thumb delicately smearing against your glossed lips. you were covered in his mess, and he only wanted to do it more. “please, say that again.”

with a sheepish smile, you hum. “good boy?”

“mm,” he moans from just your words, and you gasp once he suddenly lifts you up. choso’s panting, and you realize he’s leading you toward the bedroom. “i- i need to show you just how much of a ‘good boy’ i can be. h-heh.”

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURO - INSIDE.

“fuuckk, dunno who’s the bigger slut right now, baby girl. you or these. damn. hips.” toji groans, enunciating each virile thrust.

raven shaggy strands block his semi-blurred eyesight as his own sculptured hips continue to punctuate each hit against your very core. you’re moaning until the cords in your throat goes strained—he’s got you laid flat on the bed. ass up, face down.

his favorite, toji loved his doggystyle.

not only did he love it though, he was fucking mean. each jackhammering clap of his hips sends you whiplash as multiple breaths snatch out from your throat. “yeaaahhh, take it. fuckin’ take it. move that ass against me, don’t be lazy,” he grunts, verdant eyes peering at the doughy globes of your rear jerk and toss back against him. with a swatting hand going towards your left ass cheek, he grabs your hip with another. “oh, c’mon. you can move quicker than that big girl. thought you could take me.”

“hngh, i can,” you mewl out, hearing your own cunt retaliate against his teasing. he’s buried so deep that the crown of his cock’s just sloppily making out with your cervix. so big, the crooked stretch of his dick always makes you drool, aching for more within each pivotal stroke. you feel a scarred thumb of his caress down the juncture of your jittery waist as your cheek smushes up against your pillow. “toji, you’re jus’ fuckin’ big.”

“watch that mouth,” he swats a palm against your ass again, making you moan. the bed beneath you both wails out a plethora of groans, sounding as if it the headboard was about to shatter into a million pieces. the cocky authority in his low deep voice makes your cunt twitch — and oh, does he feel it. “cute, strugglin’ ‘ta take me ‘n yet your pussy’s tellin’ me something else,” and once he leans further in, his chest brushing up against your back, he’s even deeper. toji’s swollen fat crown massages through your walls and you whimper, feeling his hand softly wrap around your throat. “you’re soaking me, you know that? ‘n you said you weren’t even that wet, liar. .”

your eyes gradually droop once he creeps his hand up toward your face, popping two fingers into your mouth. “put that bratty fuckin’ mouth to use,” a husky voice whispers against the shell of your ear. you happily take his two digits, swirling your tongue around the thickness of them both whilst he’s still ruthlessly pounding you. your ass sticks up in the air and he groans, continuing to hump his hips achingly against your backside. “fuck, good girl. get my fingers wet. gonna shove ‘em right in this sloppy pussy later,” and he hears you let off a sweet needy coo. spanking your cunt with his free hand, he licks near your neck. “oh? you’d like that, huh doll?”

shamelessly, you nod at his words and he darkly chuckles. cute, even with your throat being stuffed with his fingers. and you’re nothing but a mess too. strings of spit drizzle down the inner crevices of your mouth as your tongue curls around his fingers. “shit, y’er gonna make me cum,” his breath grows shaky, and he hears your pussy starting to whine out airy moans of itself. gummy flesh sticks against each other from each thrust and it’s hard. both gripping mounds of skin clash amongst each other at full force and the impact rings through your ears. toji groans, feeling his full base starting to tighten and his jaw clenches. “gotta make this tummy plump again, just … gotta,” and his hips dramatically buck, plummeting every length inch inside of your sopping sweet cunt. “f- fuck!”

toji gets humbled by his own release before he cums—and he groans. that final merciless shimmy of his hips rigidly sealing the deal. within seconds, he’s cumming—emitting out masses of thick slimy ropes that quickly sprays the inner lining of your pussy. your mouth’s still full of his fingers and your lashes flap, eyelids becoming insignificantly heavy. you weakly grind your hips back on him and toji’s loudly grunting. “god, i need .. a minute,” and a drop of sweat races down his sculpted v-line. a hand combs through his shaggy unkempt hair as he’s still pumping you with such salacious virility. “ugh. gonna get ya pregnant at this rate. swollen all u-up,” and his voice falters once his cock finally finishes it’s sloppy spurts.

you felt warm, a few remnants of cum tear and ooze down the undersides of your thighs—he came that much, and you only wanted more. whenever toji came inside, he’d always think about making your tummy round ‘n plump again.

“t- tojiii,” you whine, his fingers popping out of your mouth. he slowly scissors his fingers together, glancing at the glistening trail of saliva you’ve gifted his digits before he gradually pulls his cock out. your thighs were sprawled open and you could just feel his dangerous eyes bore into your back. “fuck, ‘m full.”

“good,” he rasps, smearing a fat thumb down your drooling clit. velvety ropes of cum—globs of it leak out from your folds and you’re just stupidly smothered into the pillows - fucked entirely stupid. toji’s chest heaves in and out before he brings his thumb up to his scarred lips, getting a taste for himself. “hn. not bad. now roll that ass over, baby. ‘m not done givin’ you a good fill.”

☆ SUKUNA RYŌMEN - ASS.

sukuna rarely pulls out but when he does, he likes to finish on your ass.

he loves more than anything to spank you until you’re whining from the swatting stings, constantly moaning out his name until your voice wears itself thin.

“your pussy’s always so weak,” he snarls, submissively having you on all fours. his chambers were quiet - minus the loud smacks of bodies clapping against each other every few thrusts.

his hips were maddened—he’s got you face down, fat cheek shoved into the silky made sheets with your tongue lolled out of your mouth. “ ‘s a shame, thought i trained it well,” the demon tsks, and your tummy curls once you feel his turgid tip swivel around your spongy insides. riiiight there, he hits every spot, feeling you slather all nth inches of his dick with your honeyed slick.

crimson red eyes peer at how well his dick continues to disappear within your walls—over and over, you’re gripping down on him like a vice and it makes him hiss. “there we go. there’s that pathetic squeeze,” and you moan, feeling him reach down to maneuver evil circles against your cunt. so sensitive, you writhe back against his hips and his forked tongue licks against the inside of your neck. “aw, someone’s pussy needed some lovin’ too, huh,” and as his warm breath ghosts against your skin, his thrusts grow sloppier. you shudder, feeling beads of sweat race down the cracked valley of your ass.

“suku—”

“quiet, woman,” he shushes you, a sharp nail softly grazing down your skin. you moan, taking in every lengthy inch until your toes curled. sukuna’s hips were just downright brutal—you were gasping as he moved, his pace growing completely crazed and relentless. you could barely keep up, and although he’d never say it aloud because his pride wouldn’t let him, he found it adorable. as his hands continue to toy against your stuffed squelching cunt, he groans against your ear. “hear that?” he purrs against your skin, each saturated slosh getting louder than the next, a wolffish grin curls against his lips. “you wait your turn to speak, right now it’s hers.”

your eyes were already starting to roll back, he’s hitting you deep, and that crooked curve of his cock makes you salivate everytime. “o- ooh,” you’d whimper out, feeling the fabric of his kimono tickle against your skin from each swift movement he makes. his angry tip smacks against your clit and it’s just so rude - hitting and slapping away repeatedly until your brain’s complete mush. he was right though - you were incredibly wet. your pussy was more of a crybaby than you were. the sloshing sounds pour out from your cunt bounce off the regal walls of his royal chambers and that’s when you shriek. “ ‘m gonna cum, gonna cum ‘kuna—fuck.”

“thought i told ya to keep quiet, princess,” bruising your pulsating clit continuously until you’re seeing nothing but stars. your vision glimmers, and you can see the entire galaxy, all from his deep, deep thrusts. “but, fine,” and the curse groans, knowing he was reaching his monumental high too. sukuna’s giving you his all, his pace was insanity, insane—just like he was.

his skin glues against yours after each hard ferocious thrust, sharp smacks swatting against your skin. “fuck, better take it,” and you moan once he spanks your ass again. “i didn’t tell you to stop arching, little girl. keep up.”

you moan, his swollen fat ridge of his cock continuing to drag in and out of your dripping cunt, screaming out cute squelching ‘pop’s until you’ve just about had it. here it comes, you prepare a long breath before you end up squirting right down on his cock. you’re squeezing around him tightly, clamping against him and he grunts before shortly following your lead. sukuna’s hips get sloppy, and by this point he’s just humping you from behind.

“k- kuna, fuck,” you whimper, growing quiet once clods of frothy white cum start to bubble down the sides of his thick shaft. veins prod from each sides as he’s filling you up, and it’s so much. you’re salivating, feeling his hands claw up and down your body — a wordless indication that you’re his and his alone. both of you groan in unison and as you finish gushing out on him, sukuna grunts.

“good,” he murmurs, glancing down at the translucent ring that starts to form around his full base. you’re sopping wet, so much that it’s almost pathetic. even more now that he’s gave you his cum, and sukuna watched as you bawl your empty hands into the ivory colored sheets, making a cute attempt at trying to crawl away.

“runnin’ away so soon? get back here,” he purrs, and you moan once he drags you back with his hips, a low chuckle leaving from his lips. sukuna licks down your spine before a wide thumb smears against your cunt. your folds still ooze with sultry cum before he playfully bites against your neck. “you’re still weak. pussy needs more training,” and you gasp once he leans further in, pulling your hips back down once you tried to sit up.

“now, arch girl.”

☆ GOJO SATORU - MOUTH.

whenever you go down on satoru, he’s just so pretty.

leave it to him to always make the most sluttiest facial expressions, while moaning out even sluttier moans. his long, slender fingers grip against your hair, tugging at your scalp lightly as your head continues to bobble.

“oh, fuck. that’s it baby. god, you ‘n that mouth,” he huffs, and you can hear his tone shake once you teasingly skim your tongue down the side of his cock. streams of saliva pour past the corners of your lips as he’s encouraging you to go faster and faster. thin snowy brows compress together and he even bites down on his bottom lip, flexing his perfectly chiseled muscles all because of you. satoru’s right thigh starts to bounce and he grunts, hearing the sloshing wet sounds—the way you take him fully in your mouth. his flushed tip continues to thwack back against your uvula and he hears you moaning yourself, despite it being muffled. “mhm, use that tongue. don’t be shy, wanna see you do that thing again, b- baby. spit on it.”

departing your lips from his dick, you take a second to breathe—satoru watches with dilated pupils and needy eyes, cupping your chin. “go on,” his bottom lip quivers, and although he’s trying to keep up his tough dominate act, he’s already pouting. you have a smug smile, positioning your spit-slick lips toward his crimson tip, before gathering up a nice amount of saliva. lustrous strings tug from your lips, landing on the head of his cock and he grunts—you go back to sucking him off again with a few croaking sounds leaving the back of your throat. his tip’s fat, his girth even fatter. it reaches all the way inside of your mouth, until your pretty cheeks were all puffed and full. “god, you’re so fuckin’ nasty, baby,” he starts to whine, and he can feel himself getting close - too close. with low half lidded eyes, he watches as you use a hand to stroke up and down his length, sliding your tongue all around his twitching veins that print on his hardened cock.

satoru’s legs were about to collapse—he felt it. there’s a lump growing in the back of his throat as he watches you, sloppily thrusting his hips into your mouth. “talk s- so much, all you needed was dick ‘ta keep you fed, huh?” and even his dirty talk’s becoming whiny. you had him weak, he’s feeling himself tighten and he groans once your eyes meet his. you’re so smug, he hates it - but it secretly turns him on. your pace grows relentless. as he continues to have a big hand gripped on the back of your head, making you go even further down—he lets off a gasping wheeze. “shit, ‘m gonna cum. ugh, gonna cum baby,” and as his breath starts to grow more shallow, he uses another hand to stroke your cheek. “c- can i fill up this mouth again, angel? pretty please?”

“mmph,” you nod, finding your own hand creeping down between your legs to touch yourself. you were soaked, briefly drooling from the crevices of your thighs with slick. satoru’s breath hitches before his weak pumps inside of your throat starts to get slower and slower.

the second he cums—he lets off a maddened growl. it’s cute, it shoots out in thick ropes that paint all over your tongue. it was a lot too, his poor swollen tip’s all red as you’re letting him fill your mouth with such bittersweet heaps of cum. he perfectly paints near the roof of your mouth too. satoru’s face twists as he’s dumping everything out—he’s got the cutest expression, but with the way he’s panting and moaning loudly, it’s even more lewd.

his brows furrow and he’s still trying to pump his flaccid dick into you, he wraps a hand around it before letting off a shivering groan. “that’s a g- good girl,” he says through clenched teeth, slowly dragging his cock away from your lips. he loved seeing you like this, on your knees with your lips all swollen and plump. “hah, don’t swallow yet baby. let ‘toru get a good look first.”

as your knees bury into the soft minuscule fibers that make up the carpet floor, he cups a hand under your chin. your cheeks were still full and round, storing such amounts of his candied seed before he leans down. “say ah,” he demands in a shaky tone, watching as you immediately pry open your mouth. satoru feels his dick twitch at the sight of how he poured so much down your throat, tiny velvety bubbles bubbling all around. “good. . good girl,” and he finally tells you to swallow, ogling once you take in, savoring every bittersweet drop. a thumb briskly swipes against your damp lips slowly before he inhales a sharp breath, lowering himself to your head level. “now gimme a kiss. don’t be g- greedy, i want a taste too.”

once you lean in to kiss him—he moans right inside your mouth, luxuriating in the taste of himself lingering on his tongue. satoru tastes minty, a coolly mint taste forevermore stays on his tastebuds. “fuck,” he groans between sloppy kisses, and you feel his hands slither around your waist. they go toward your ass, giving it a nice squeeze and hearing you cutely gasp. once your mouth opens just a bit more, he delves his long tongue down your throat. satoru keeps moaning in your mouth, and that’s when you feel him starting to grind himself against you. his cock that now hangs was so soft, tears of dried cum pathetically leaking from the sides. with loud lips and teeth clashing amongst each other, he abruptly stands up again, wrapping a hand around his cock. “ngh, tongue. stick it out again, baby.”

you do, lolling it out and he whispers out a ‘fuck,’ once he sees your own drool streaming down your chin, landing on your tits. such a tease, satoru scoffs with a pout before bringing his achy cock up to your lips. “s- still hungry?” the white haired man asks with a quivering lip, smacking his tip against your tongue. you moan, the loud echoey slaps from his dick slapping on your tongue. you give him a nod and he’s got a sleazy grin, staring at your cute attempts to try and suck him off again. “heh, ‘course you are. such a cock drunk baby,” and with one more smack against your twitching tongue with his swollen tip, he starts to ease his way down your tight throat again. groaning, he huffs.

“n- now open niiiiice ‘n wide, baby. ‘m gonna give you that full, all you can eat, f- fuck.”

[foldingfittedsheets]

There was this park near where I grew up. I remember we’d just moved to the area so I was around six and we drove past and saw this waterfront area. My parents decided to check it out so we went for a walk. It was a lovely park, there’s a lazy slough, lots of trees, extremely picturesque. My parents ambled along the trail enjoying the nature while my siblings and I ranged around in their orbit like excitable moons.

Then I saw something odd. Something vibrantly alive down by the water that was entirely the wrong color. I called back my vital scouting info and my family gathered around me. We looked down the steep verge toward the slough, screened by underbrush. We couldn’t quite make out what it was. The only thing we could agree was that it certainly wasn’t a duck. However it was about duck sized and roughly duck shaped. It just wasn’t a duck.

This led to some heated debate amongst my siblings and I but we were forbidden to scramble down the muddy hill to harass the mystery animal. Reluctantly we continued down the trail, speculating wildly when a chicken popped out of a bush in front of us with a train of several chicks.

We froze. The chicken did not. She placidly herded her little puffs across the trail, pecking happily for seeds, unbothered by our proximity. My family had not yet delved into farming and this was the first time any of us kids had seen a chicken up close. It was like a fairytale thing, a creature we had seen over and over in books was suddenly here in the wilderness of the park. We all realized the mystery creature had likewise been a chicken.

Another couple came up the trail and saw us staring.

“Is this your first time at the park?” They asked?

We nodded.

They informed us that this park had become a dumping ground for unwanted chickens. Once the chickens were dumped they were park property and the locals didn’t mind the eccentric additions at all. No one looked after the chickens, but they got on surprisingly well.

As the years went by we visited the park regularly. Signs were added to warn people not to dump off chickens or they’d be fined. They were also excluded from snatching the existing chickens. The hope was that the chickens would eventually run their course and the park would go back to normal.

It did not.

Instead the menagerie grew. Peacocks cropped up occasionally, turkeys; and one visit we saw guinea fowl. But there were always chickens. Eventually feed dispenser were installed so park goers could pay a quarter to enjoy the motley flocks.

Because we’d moved into a house with land my mom started up a chicken coop and we got our very own chickens at the feed store like proper folks. The first rooster we had was a gentleman, politely clucking at us when came into the coop, but the second proved troublesome a year later. He either adored or hated me. Every time I entered the coop he’d dance and flounce and brandish his spurs.

My mom didn’t want to off him frankly she didn’t know how at that point but his fascination ended with him flying at me and the rooster was sentenced to banishment.

We drove to the park.

We saw him there for years afterward, clucking dutifully around a small flock of hens. He did pretty well in exile.

Anyone who’s kept chickens knows that eventually there’s always a tragedy. Ours happened when a neighbors dog broke into our coop and slaughtered the flock. I was absolutely distraught, my lovingly hand reared chicks all decimated in a flurry of senseless bloodlust. I have not loved a chicken since. They are too fragile to bear it.

After a few days of mourning my mom offered that she knew where to find some more chickens. To make up for the massacre she planned a night raid with us. We stayed up past our bedtime and drove to the park with tarp covered kennels in the back of the truck.

We crept down along the gravel parking lot, looking up into the trees, spotting the telltale lumps of shadows that meant chickens. We quickly developed a strategy. We picked a chicken branch, creeping close underneath. Then we reached the end of the branch and gave it a good shake until the roosting chicken glided down to the ground in confusion. It was easy to scoop them up and we went home the proud new owner of a handsome flock of chickens.

The Take a Chicken Leave a Chicken park is still a beloved feature of its neighborhood to this day.

[mr-snailman]

she fucking forgot fml

[fushitoru]

an imperial command a knight!choso fic

pairing ⸺ knight/warrior!choso x princess!reader

summary ⸺ you, the princess of the nation, and choso, the son of your father's most trusted general, have been inseperable since birth. but after many deem it inappropriate for him to be so close to you, the distance between you and him only deepens after he leaves for war. when he comes back older and a more handsome, bigger version of the choso of your childhood, you both grapple with love, duty, and test the bounds of propierty.

warnings ⸺ smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, reader has a vagina, classism? not really, reader may seem pushy at times, not edited, very sweet love confession, happy ending, fingering, breast worship, virgin reader, mutual loss of virginity, mentions of sexism and archaic beliefs about virginity, pathetic choso, soft dom choso, p i v sex, gentle choso :(, me being really horny about his HAPPY TRAIL

a/n it's something about a hot decorated warrior that crumbles at the thought of you...

general masterlist

You and Choso had been inseparable since birth.

As the princess of the realm and the son of the general—your father’s most trusted advisor and sworn brother—it seemed ordained by fate itself that you should become steadfast companions. And companions you were; as babes, you darted through the royal gardens, frolicked in the halls of the palace, and devised schemes to escape the ever-watchful eyes of your tutors. Only the constraints of your education would separate you. You were confined to lessons in the classical tongues, the harp, and courtly diplomacy, while Choso immersed himself in the arts of the sword, the strategies of war, and the unyielding discipline of a soldier.

“Choso!” you squealed, your laughter ringing through the royal gardens as you fled from an imagined dragon. You ran toward him, your skirts billowing behind you, and found him poised and ready. His knees were bent, his gaze unwavering, and his small wooden sword clutched tightly in his hands. He glared past you at the phantom threat with the solemnity of a true knight.

“I will save you, Your Highness!” he roared and lunged, hacking away at the demon passionately. You cheered him on, giggling at his act.

“You’ve done it!” you cheered, clapping your hands in delight. But then your eyes widened in feigned terror. “Look, another one approaches!”

Choso spun around at your warning, his attention diverted just as you had planned. Seizing the moment, you imagined the dreadful beast closing in on his unguarded back.

“Watch out!” you exclaimed, grabbing a fallen branch to defend him. With a bold leap, you placed yourself between Choso and the imagined peril, brandishing your twig as though it were a knight’s blade.

“I’ve got you!” you declared, laughing as you swung your newfound weapon, the pair of you lost in the unrestrained joy of childhood.

Of course, while the king, your father, appreciated you so closely acquainted with his general’s son, your mother did not seem to think it wise that you become estranged from the daughters of nobles; after all, you would need to forge relationships early on to strengthen your future court. This led to many a playdates being interrupted.

“You didn’t need to save me!” Choso whined, pouting while crossing his arms. 

However, you held out a pudgy hand, patting his hair as if to soothe him. “It’s okay, Choso. If you ever need saving, I’ll always be there—” “YOUR HIGHNESS!” You heard footsteps running towards where the both of you were sitting idly. When parrying the imaginary monster’s attacks, you had tumbled on top of Choso, your dress and limbs entangled with his and both of your hair unruly. Hearing your governess’ voice led you to pout, for you were sure to earn a scolding for fooling around with Choso rather than practicing the violin for the nth time. Alas, you couldn’t escape her—as well as Choso’s nannies, who had appeared—and you both looked sheepishly at their horrified faces.  

Frowning, Choso’s nanny stomped towards the both of you, untangling you both impatiently and, once you were both standing, giving Choso a light smack on his head while bowing towards you. “Your Highness, I apologize, but the both of you mustn’t do such things anymore. You both are far past the age that this is appropriate.”

“What?” You pouted, disappointed in having to back to your room, confined to practice your violin with those dreadful, boring tunes. “What isn’t appropriate about this? We’re just playing—”

“Your Highness,” your governess began, her strained smile barely masking her displeasure. “It is not fitting for a princess to engage in such… undignified behavior. You must remember your station. A young lady of your rank is expected to conduct herself with grace and decorum at all times.”

Choso’s nanny, now tidying his tousled hair with brisk, efficient motions, added in a sharper tone, “And you, young master, should remember your place. You are not her equal but her servant’s son. Such familiarity is unbecoming.”

At her words, Choso’s face turned pale, his gaze dropping to the ground. His hands clenched into small fists at his sides, but he said nothing, his lips pressed tightly together. You could see the effort it took him to remain still, his shoulders stiff with tension.

“Choso?” you called softly, tilting your head to catch his eye. 

However, he did not look up, though his voice came, quiet and steady. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I… I won’t do it again.”

Your brows furrowed, your chest tightening at the sight of his downcast expression. “What are you apologizing for?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended. “You’ve done nothing wrong! We were only playing.”

“Your Highness!” your governess interjected, her tone scandalized. “Such defiance is unbecoming. You must understand—”

“I understand perfectly,” you snapped, cutting her off. “I understand that I don’t care for these rules. Choso is my friend, and I decide what is and isn’t proper!”

Choso’s nanny inhaled sharply, but he quickly stepped forward, shaking his head fervently. “Please, Your Highness,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. “Don’t… don’t say such things for me. I’ll… I’ll do as I’m told. I promise.”

“Choso!” you exclaim, betrayed as the sting of his words settling in your chest. His gaze still refused to meet yours, fixed instead on the ground between you.

Your governess, sensing her victory, straightened. “Your Highness, you must return to your chambers immediately. Your music tutor is waiting. And as for you, Master Choso, your training will resume at once. I trust there will be no further disruptions.”

Neither of you spoke as the governess and the nanny ushered you away in opposite directions, their sharp voices ringing in your ears. Yet, as you glanced over your shoulder, you caught one last fleeting glimpse of Choso, his hesitant gaze finally meeting yours for the briefest of moments. It held a quiet resolve that only deepened your frustration.

“Wait and see,” you muttered under your breath as you were dragged back toward your chambers. “I’ll change this someday.”

That was the last time he ever spoke your name aloud; now, you were only Your Highness and The Royal Princess. It irritated you to no end; you were his friend, not his superior. But he insisted, falling deeper and deeper into the depths of social proprietary and hierarchy his nannies and parents were no doubt pressuring him into. You could only take what you had; if he was refusing your affection, he would at least not refuse royal commands of rendezvous.

Years had gracefully unfolded since that day, and now, as teenagers, your clandestine meetings in the royal gardens had blossomed into cherished rituals beneath the cloak of night. The gardens, adorned with that glowed under the moon's gentle gaze, became the sanctuary where you and Choso could momentarily escape the rigid expectations of courtly life.

As you approached the secluded alcove near the ancient marble fountain, your heart fluttered with a mixture of anticipation and nervous excitement. 

And there he was.

Choso waited beneath the willow tree, his dark eyes darting between the swaying branches and the dimly lit path beyond. The shadows stretched long in the garden, and the faint sound of patrolling guards put a furrow in his brow. He shifted on his feet, arms crossed tightly as though bracing himself for some reprimand.

When you finally appeared, dressed in your lighter night robes, he let out a small breath of relief. “Your Highness, you shouldn’t—”

“Can you stop that?” You whine, brushing him off and making a move to sit in the swing right by the tree. You lightly swing your feet, establishing a gentle rhythm while you grin mischievously at him, meeting your lighthearted eyes with his furrowed, slightly worried ones. “Don’t be such a spoilsport, Choso. No one’s going to catch us.”

He can only shake his head, for after years of friendship had led him to know one universal truth: if there was one thing, it was that your mind, once resolute, could not be changed. “I don’t know how you keep wanting to risk them discovering this.” Then, he sighs, lamenting weakly, “and why I have to dragged into this.”

You flash him an innocent smile, about to give a cocky response about how you’re the princess and it’s not like Choso doesn’t want this…right? but both of you pause, deadly still, when you hear the undeniable clinks of armor.

Patrolling guards.

Choso’s head snapped toward the sound, his body going rigid. It kind of dazes you, in a way, how his curriculum as a warrior leads him to be so alert. It’s also this moment that you realize how grown you both are becoming; it feels as if you’re stuck as a dainty princess, while he’s steadily growing taller and bigger, a smaller picture of his formidable father.

“Someone’s coming,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.

You froze, exchanging a wide-eyed glance with him before instinctively ducking behind the grand marble fountain. The cold stone pressed against your back as the guards’ footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the bobbing light of their lanterns.

“Who’s there?” one of them called out, his voice sharp and commanding.

Choso shifted beside you, his breath quick and shallow. Your hand brushed against his arm in reassurance, but it did little to ease the tension radiating off him. The guards’ lanterns swept methodically across the gardens, their shadows flickering on the trees.

“Stay still,” Choso mouthed, his dark eyes fixed on the approaching light.

The guards drew closer, their boots crunching against the gravel path. You could feel your pulse hammering in your ears, each second dragging on unbearably.

Then, a faint rustle to your left—a squirrel darting across the underbrush. The guards turned toward the noise, their lanterns swinging wide.

“Must’ve been an animal,” one muttered, though he sounded unconvinced.

“Keep looking,” the other replied gruffly. “The king’s orders were clear—no one’s to linger in the gardens after dark.”

The pair continued past, their voices fading as they moved toward the far side of the grounds.

You let out a shaky breath, but before you could fully relax, Choso grabbed your hand, pulling you to your feet. “We need to go deeper,” he said urgently, his voice low.

Without waiting for your agreement, he led you away from the fountain, weaving through the hedges and into the denser parts of the forest. The shadows thickened as the soft glow of the garden lanterns disappeared behind you. Branches brushed against your arms, and the earthy scent of moss and damp leaves filled the air as you ran.

“Choso!” you whispered breathlessly, struggling to keep up with his longer strides. “They’re gone!”

“Not far enough,” he replied, glancing back at you. “We can’t risk them doubling back.”

The forest grew darker the deeper you went, the canopy above blocking out most of the moonlight. Finally, when the sound of your own breathing seemed louder than anything else, Choso slowed to a halt beneath a towering oak.

“We should be safe here,” he murmured, releasing your hand.

You both sank to the ground, the soft carpet of moss cushioning your fall. For a moment, neither of you spoke, too winded to do anything but sit there, catching your breath. Then, a stifled giggle bubbled out of you, unable to contain the absurdity of the chase.

Choso shot you a warning look, but his resolve cracked when you pressed your hands over your mouth, failing to muffle your laughter. A small laugh escaped him in turn, and soon you were both doubled over, trying in vain to quiet yourselves.

“Shhh!” Choso whispered, though he was grinning. “You’ll get us caught.”

“You’re the loud one,” you whispered back, nudging him playfully.

Soon, the laughter slowly subsided, leaving only the sound of rustling leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. Choso leaned back against the tree, his expression softening as he glanced up at the canopy. His eyes caught on something above, and he pointed. “Look—fruit.”

Following his gaze, you spotted the cluster of small, round pomengrenates hanging from a low branch. Choso stood, brushing dirt from his trousers, and reached up to pluck one. He examined it briefly before biting into it, his movements unhurried and deliberate.

“Are you just going to eat that without offering me one?” you asked, crossing your arms.

He smirked, holding another pomengrenate aloft. “You want it?”

“Obviously.”

But instead of handing it over, Choso lifted it above his head, his smirk widening. “Come and get it.” You stood up, moving closer to him to make a motion to grab the fruit. Alas, the effort was not fruitful. 

“Choso!” you hissed, glaring at him as he kept the fruit just out of reach. You try many things: you grab his shoulder, tickle him on his stomach, and arms. However, it all is in vain.

“You’re the one who wants it,” he said, his head peering down at you in amusement.

You stood, determination written all over your face. “Fine. If you think I can’t—”

You leapt, swatting at his hand, but he easily moved the fruit higher, his height giving him the upper hand.

“You’re insufferable!” you said, laughing despite yourself as you tried again, this time jumping with more force. Still, you missed.

“Perhaps you should’ve been born taller,” he teased, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Or perhaps you should stop being such a—” Before you could finish, he lowered the fruit suddenly, pressing it into your hand.

“There,” he said, smirking. “Satisfied?”

You took a triumphant bite, your glare softening into a grin. “For now.”

Settling back down, you both shared the fruit in companionable silence, the earlier tension of the night dissipating in the quiet forest. Yet, as you sat side by side, something about the way his gaze lingered on you—or perhaps the warmth blooming in your chest—made you wonder if these late-night meetings were becoming something more.

And then, years later, he left for war. Choso left for the battlefield, summoned to serve alongside his father as the general’s son. 

The morning he departed was etched into your memory with painful clarity. The air was crisp, the kind that stung your lungs when you breathed too deeply, and the courtyard was alive with the sounds of preparation. Soldiers moved with purpose, their boots striking against the cobblestones in rhythmic determination. Horses snorted and pawed at the ground, their breaths rising like smoke in the cold air.

You stood at the edge of it all, your hands clasped tightly in front of you, trying to keep your expression composed. This was no place for a princess to display her feelings, no matter how tightly they knotted in her chest. Your father was nearby, speaking with the general in low, serious tones, his gaze sweeping over the troops with pride. Your mother was absent, as always, too preoccupied with courtly matters to concern herself with the departure of soldiers—even one who had once been your constant companion.

When Choso emerged from the crowd, his figure clad in the red, utilitarian uniform of a soldier, it was as though the rest of the scene blurred. The boy who had once darted through the gardens with you, his hair wild and his hands dirtied by mischief, now looked every inch the man his father had raised him to be. His hair was tied back, his face set in an unreadable mask of calm, and he carried himself with a solemnity that felt foreign.

He always did make you feel like a child. While you were still delaying acceptance of your fate as the princes—future queen—-he had grown into a man, fated to be a war general. 

He approached slowly, each step deliberate. When he stopped before you, he did not smile. Instead, he bowed low, his dark eyes briefly meeting yours. “Your Highness—”

But you had enough of that godforsaken title. “Why must you leave?” You cried, your voice breaking as Choso stood before you in the courtyard.

The image of the steeled soldier crumbled as his eyes softened in fondness and melancholy. “You know I must.”

You shook your head fervently, as if to vehemently deny what was undeniably the truth. “You know that’s not true.” And it wasn’t, for it would only take an imperial command of yours to bar him from ever entering the battlefield.

But it was his dream; you saw the way he looked at his father. To deny Choso the sword and the glory he was destined for was to chain him down, and you knew that. So instead, you shook off the idea, then blurted, “You’ll write to me, won’t you?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with expectation. He hesitated, a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps—crossing his face before it smoothed back into neutrality. “If time allows.”

That was all he offered. No promises. No reassurances. Just a vague, distant answer that left your heart sinking.

Outraged, and a bit petulant, you exclaimed. “What do you mean if time allows? Will you be so busy that you won’t have time? Are you not at least going to grant me some peace of mi—what is that?”

In the corner of your eye, you see something in his hand catch the sunlight, and glimmer. He hesitates, his hand clenching before inevitably opening his palm. A timid, “For you, Your Highness.”

An instinctual don’t call me that dies out in your throat as he shows you what he was hiding. In it he uncovers a small, delicate object—a pin shaped like a blooming flower, its petals carved with meticulous detail and painted in hues of white and gold.

You stared at it, your hands trembling as you took it from him. “What is this for?”

“It’s a symbol,” he explained, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Of where I’ll always be, even if I’m not here. Keep it with you, and you’ll know that... that I’ll do everything I can to return.”

“Oh, Choso.” Your bottom lip trembled as tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over. Your fingers closed around the pin, the intricate craftsmanship biting into your palm. Somehow, the weight of it felt heavier than it should’ve been. “I don’t want a pin, Choso,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I want you to stay.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, it seemed like he might reach out to you. But then he stilled, the rigidity in his posture a clear reminder of the boundaries he refused to cross.

Even so, you didn’t want to seem ungrateful. The gift, despite your pain, was beautiful, and its meaning wasn’t lost on you. You sniffled, brushing a tear from your cheek with a trembling hand. “But it is beautiful, regardless,” you murmured, holding it up to the light. The golden edges of the petals gleamed softly, like sunlight captured in metal. “Put it in my hair?”

Choso blinked, caught off guard by the request. His gaze flickered between you and the pin, uncertainty etched into his features. “Your Highness, I—”

“Please,” you interrupted gently, tilting your head slightly toward him. “Just this once.”

He hesitated for a long moment, his fingers flexing at his sides as though he were battling some internal conflict. Finally, with a barely audible sigh, he reached out and took the pin from your hand.

You held your breath as he stepped closer, his presence steady and grounding despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. His hand brushed against your hair and your neck as he carefully gathered a small section, his touch warm and deliberate. You could feel the calluses on his fingertips, earned from countless hours of swordsmanship, yet his movements were painstakingly gentle.

“There,” he said softly, stepping back to examine his work. His gaze lingered on you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, his formal mask cracked ever so slightly. There was something in his eyes—something raw and unspoken—that made your chest tighten.

You reached up instinctively, your fingers brushing against the cool metal of the pin now nestled securely in your hair. “How does it look?” you asked, trying to keep your voice light, though the lump in your throat made it difficult.

Choso’s lips parted, but no words came. He swallowed hard, his gaze darting away as if he couldn’t bear to look at you any longer. “It’s beautiful,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The horn sounded again, louder this time, breaking the fragile moment between you. Choso stepped back, the walls of propriety rising between you once more.

“Thank you,” you managed, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest.

He bowed deeply, avoiding your eyes. “Goodbye, Your Highness.”

And then he was gone, leaving you alone with the faint scent of earth and steel, the pin in your hair a bittersweet reminder of the distance that now separated you.

For weeks after, you found yourself restless, wandering the garden paths where you had once talked and laughed together. You scribbled letter after letter, pouring out questions and updates, recounting bits of palace gossip and even sending sketches of the places you’d been. But no reply ever came.

At first, you tried to excuse it—surely, he was too busy, too occupied with the rigors of war to respond. Still, you kept writing, sending your letters to the front lines with the faint hope that one day, you’d receive one in return.

“Any news of the general’s son?” you would ask your father over dinner, feigning casual interest.

“He’s doing well,” your father would reply, distractedly cutting into his meal. “His tactics in the northern campaign have earned him commendation. A fine young soldier.”

You pressed further, ignoring the disapproving look your mother shot you. “And... is he safe?”

Your father raised a brow but indulged you. “Of course. The reports say he’s advancing quickly through the ranks. A promotion to captain is already under consideration.”

Your chest swelled with pride at the thought, but it was quickly eclipsed by frustration. If he was receiving such accolades, surely he could find the time to write a simple letter?

“Why do you trouble your father with such questions?” your mother chided later, her tone clipped. “The general’s son is serving the nation. You should focus on more important matters, like preparing for your duties.”

But your concern for Choso only grew. Whenever news from the front lines arrived, you would listen intently, hoping to hear his name mentioned. When you did, it brought a fleeting sense of relief, but it never lasted long.

The silence from him felt heavier with each passing month. You couldn’t understand it—how could someone who had once been your closest companion, who had sworn to always protect you, sever that bond so easily?

And yet, you never stopped writing. Each letter was folded with care, sealed with your personal wax stamp, and sent off with the same unwavering hope. Even if he didn’t reply, even if you didn’t understand why, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

The city was alive with celebration, a symphony of cheers, music, and the occasional crackle of fireworks that lit up the night sky. The soldiers had finally come home after a long winded war, and you just couldn’t miss out on the excitement. After Choso’s departure, you had grown. Before you were a gangly teenager, but now you were a young woman. With this came you forming your own opinion, independent of our parents, and had developed a habit of frequently sneaking out of the palace.

You couldn’t bear to stay confined to the palace, not when the air was thick with excitement and the news of the army’s triumphant return had set the entire city alight. The soldiers, clad in polished armor that gleamed even in the dim light, strode through the streets in small groups while the people cheered on the sidelines. They carried themselves with the confidence of men who had seen battle and emerged victorious.

Young ladies lingered at the edges of the crowd, their eyes alight with hope as they watched the soldiers pass. Some called out to them, their voices playful and lilting, while others merely smiled shyly, clutching kerchiefs or flowers they clearly longed to offer. The soldiers, for the most part, maintained a stoic demeanor, though a few exchanged grins or nodded in acknowledgment, their faces betraying a mix of pride and exhaustion.

Children darted between legs, waving tiny flags and shouting in delight, while their parents looked on with a mix of relief and gratitude. The scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced wine wafted through the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of the soldiers’ armor. It was a night of unity, of celebration, where the lines between commoner and noble blurred in the shared joy of victory.

Draped in a simple cloak to conceal your identity, you slipped past the guards at the palace gates, your heart pounding with both exhilaration and trepidation. The anonymity of the cloak felt liberating as you merged with the crowd, the world suddenly vast and unguarded in a way it never was within the palace walls.

Laughter surrounded you, the contagious energy of the revelry lifting your spirits as you wandered farther from the familiar confines of royal life. You paused to admire a street performer juggling flaming torches, your cloak billowing slightly in the breeze. But before you could move on, a sudden gust snatched the handkerchief tucked into your cloak.

You gasped, your fingers grasping for it, but the delicate fabric was already airborne, dancing above the heads of the crowd. You watched helplessly as it soared higher, carried by the playful wind. Instinctively, you gave chase, weaving through the throng of revelers as your heart raced with the thrill of pursuit.

The handkerchief drifted out of sight, disappearing beyond the swell of people. Your steps faltered, and you stood on tiptoe, scanning the crowd in vain. It was only then that a firm hand shot up above the sea of heads, catching the fluttering fabric mid-air. The sight of your handkerchief, caught in a strong, gloved grip, sent a jolt through you.

Your gaze traveled upward, and there he stood—a figure that was at once familiar and startlingly different. His broad shoulders and proud stance were unmistakable even before he turned, his dark eyes locking with yours.

“Your Highness?” His voice was deep, steady, and entirely too familiar. Then, his eyes went to your hair—you, still wearing the hairpin he gave you that day—and they filled with a conflicted, longing sort of expression.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you froze. He looked so much…bigger. He always had muscles due to his frequent physical lessons, but he was so much taller now, his face a lot more sculpted. Before you could interpret what the lurching in your heart meant, he took a step towards you. But before he could take another step toward you, you turned and ran instinctively, the sound of his voice chasing you as surely as his footsteps.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK! If Choso knew you had sneaked out, he would send you right back, citing useless things about duty and protecting you. While your traitorous heart started beating faster as soon as you saw him—different, but still undeniably Choso—you knew your liberty was at an end if he sent you home and informed your parents of what you did.

You bolted as fast as you could, your cloak billowing behind you as you darted into a narrow alley. Footsteps echoed against the cobblestones, heavy and deliberate, chasing you down. You reached the end of the alley and stopped, your chest heaving, unsure whether to keep running or face him.

“Your Highness,” the voice came again, closer this time.

You spun around, and there he was. Choso. But he wasn’t the boy you remembered—he was a man now. Broad shoulders filled out his uniform, the insignia of his rank glinting on his chest. His hair was tied back, revealing a face hardened by battle and time. Yet his eyes, dark and intense, still held the same quiet depth you’d known as children.

He dropped to one knee, his hand over his heart. “Your Highness.”

You gaped at his display. Since when did he start kneeling? “What are you doing?”

His voice came out, devoid of the warmth you had once known. “It’s protocol, Your Highness.” His head remained bowed, his knee pressed to the uneven cobblestones, the hand holding your handkerchief resting against his heart.

But you were in denial, scrambling to pull him up by his arms. It was futile; he was way stronger than you, and at your touch, he jumped back, as if stung. Wounded, you urged him. “Get up,” you stepped closer, “Choso, it’s me. You don’t need to—”

“I must, Your Highness.” His tone was calm but resolute, his gaze fixed on the ground. “Unless you are issuing an imperial command, I have no choice but to honor the rules set forth by your station.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. “An imperial command?” The words tasted bitter on your tongue. You didn’t want commands; you wanted familiarity, the easy camaraderie you once shared.

“Yes, Your Highness.” He finally lifted his gaze to meet yours, his dark eyes steady and unreadable. “If you do not wish me to kneel, then say it as such. Otherwise…” He lowered his head again. “This is my place.”

“Your place?” You felt a flicker of anger rise in your chest. “Choso, your place is by my side, as it always has been! Don’t—don’t treat me like some distant monarch.”

His shoulders tensed, and you thought you caught a flash of something—guilt, perhaps?—in the way his fingers tightened around the handkerchief. But still, he didn’t move.

Frustrated, you stepped even closer, your voice rising despite your efforts to remain calm. “Get up,” you said, reaching out and tugging at his arm. “I said, get up!”

“I cannot,” he said softly, the words cutting through your frustration like a blade. “Not unless you order it as my superior.”

You stared at him, a mix of hurt and disbelief swirling in your chest. “Fine,” you said, your voice trembling. “If that’s what it takes, then I command you—get up, Choso. I command you to stand!”

For a moment, the tension lingered in the air, thick and suffocating. Slowly, reluctantly, he rose to his feet, towering over you with a presence that felt both familiar and foreign.

But as you looked up at him, your frustration only grew. “This isn’t you,” you said, your voice softer now, tinged with sadness. “You’re treating me like I’m just your princess, like I’m someone you barely know. Do you even know how much it hurt when you never wrote back to me? I kept sending letter after letter, but it was like you didn’t care. Like you forgot about me.”

Choso’s jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “It wasn’t my place to respond, Your Highness.”

It was that damn phrase. “Your place?” you echoed, now even more bitterly. “You were my friend, Choso. My closest friend. Now you stand here, calling me Your Highness like I’m a stranger, like we never ran through the gardens or talked under the stars. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

For a moment, his expression softened, but it was fleeting. He straightened, his demeanor distant once more. “It’s dangerous for you to be here,” he said quietly. “I need to call for a carriage to take you back to the palace.”

Your heart sunk to your derriere. If Choso did indeed send you back, your parents would undeniably discover that you’ve been sneaking out. “No!” you snapped, stepping forward. “You can’t. If my parents find out I was here, they’ll—”

“They’ll ensure your safety,” he interrupted, his voice steady but firm. “And that’s what matters.”

You stared at him, now anger bubbling in your chest. “So you’ll just hand me over like I’m some burden to be dealt with? What about you?” Then, in a strong fit, you bursted out. “Are you going to stay here and fool around with girls while I’m locked away in the palace?”

His eyes widened briefly at your accusation, a flicker of surprise breaking through his stoic mask. But then his expression hardened, and he took a step back. “That’s not fair,” he said quietly.

“Fair?” you shot back, your voice trembling. “What’s fair about any of this, Choso? You’re not even trying to fight for us—for the friendship we used to have.”

He hesitated, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then make it simple!” you demanded, your heart aching with every word. “Stop pushing me away. Stop acting like I don’t matter to you anymore.”

For a moment, you thought he might say something—something real, something that would bridge the growing chasm between you. But instead, he turned away, his voice steady and distant as he said, “Wait here. I’ll call for the carriage.”

You watched him walk away, the ache in your chest spreading until it felt like it would consume you entirely. The handkerchief in your hand trembled as you clenched your fingers around it, your anger and sadness swirling into a storm of emotion.

And yet, even as he disappeared into the bustling streets, a part of you refused to believe this was the end. You couldn’t let it be.

Ever since his return to the palace, Choso has been ignoring you.

It’s not that you were spending every hour and every minute with him before, when he was just your childhood friend. However, you would meet everyday, whether it to be sneak off into the gardens at night, or meet for lunch or dinner. Even a request of yours could’ve secured a visit to town, the both of you going to town to eat pastries and street food while accompanied by a chaperone. Of course, that was due to your incessant pleas to your disapproving mother, but you could score an occasional playdate outside the palace every month or so.

But it feels…different. And he feels different.

You oft find yourself daydreaming about him, older and a decorated soldier. And before you can catch yourself, you find your cheeks heated and your heart set aflutter. It’s a bit mind-boggling, really. Ever since Choso left, none of the future dukes and lords had ever caught your attention, even at balls. Their gentle, weak disposition didn’t compare to your Choso, you always thought. Back then, you had always thought of it as pride for your best friend, but now…..

Musing aside, you’re tired of this distance Choso has created between you. So you choose to seek him out.

The castle courtyard was alive with the sharp clang of swords and the rhythmic stomp of boots on hard-packed dirt. You leaned over the balustrade of the upper terrace, concealed behind a stone pillar, watching the soldiers below. It wasn’t the sparring or the strategy that captivated you—it was Choso.

The sun bore down on him as he moved with precision and power, his blade a silver blur as he sparred with one of the veteran knights. His whole torso is bare; damp with sweat, the sun shines against the cords and cords of muscle that then lead to a string of hair that trails into his trousers. The muscles in his arms ripple with every swing and parry. You bite your lip, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks that you stubbornly attributed to the summer heat.

He had changed so much. Gone was the boy who had laughed with you under the willow tree and run with you through the gardens. In his place was a man who carried the weight of war on his broad shoulders, his every movement deliberate, his expression unreadable. And yet, despite the distance he put between you, you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

When the sparring session ended, Choso handed his sword to a squire and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. You straightened as he turned, half-expecting him to glance up and spot you. But he didn’t. Instead, he spoke briefly to the knight, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. You couldn’t keep hiding and watching from afar. You had to speak to him, to demand answers for why he had been avoiding you since the day in the alley.

Quickly, you made your way down to the courtyard, your pulse racing as you rehearsed what you would say. But when you reached the training grounds, Choso was already heading toward the barracks.

“Choso!” you called out, your voice echoing across the courtyard.

He froze mid-step, his shoulders tensing before he turned slowly to face you. His expression was neutral, guarded, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something he quickly masked.

“Your Highness,” he said, bowing his head. “What brings you here?”

You frowned, frustrated by the formality in his tone. “I wanted to speak with you,” you said, stepping closer. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

He shook his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes. “I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been busy with training and my duties.”

“That’s a lie,” you said, crossing your arms. “You always find a reason to leave whenever I try to approach you. You didn’t even look at me after the alley—”

“Your Highness,” he interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not proper for you to be seen in the training grounds.”

“Proper?” you repeated, anger flaring in your chest. “Since when do you care about what’s proper? You didn’t care when we were sneaking out or when we were running through the gardens—”

“That was different,” he said, his tone softer now. “We were children. Things aren’t the same anymore.”

“Why not?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “Why are you pushing me away?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the soldiers milling about in the distance. “I’m not pushing you away,” he said finally. “I’m doing what’s best for you.”

“What’s best for me?” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “How can ignoring me and avoiding me be what’s best for me?”

Choso didn’t answer. Instead, he bowed his head again, his hands clenched at his sides. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I need to return to my duties.”

And before you could stop him, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the courtyard, your heart aching with every step he took.

You paced the length of your chambers, clutching the skirts of your dress. It’s been two times that Choso dismissed since his arrival. Did he abhor you so?

It was as if an invisible wall had been erected between you, the builder of it Choso for some mysterious reason. Proprietary aside, it would be okay for the occasional chat, would it not? After all, he was still a noble in his own regard, and a conversation or two wouldn’t be frowned upon. So why was he ignoring you entirely?

You couldn’t take it anymore. If he wouldn’t come to you, then you would ensure he had no choice but to stay by your side. If he truly detests it, you will let him go, no matter how painful it would be and how ardently you would mourn your friendship. But you needed to know.

Resolved, you marched to your parents’ audience chamber, where they were seated in quiet discussion. Your father looked up first, his brows furrowing slightly at your abrupt entrance. “What is it, my dear? You seem troubled.”

Your mother glanced at you as well, seated right next to the king, her sharp gaze assessing. “Has something happened?”

You straightened your shoulders, facing them both, willing your voice to remain steady. “Father, Mother, I have a request.”

Your father tilted his head, curious. “Go on.”

You hesitated for only a moment before speaking. “I would like Choso to be assigned as my personal guard.”

The queen blinked, her lips pressing into a thin line, and questioned, “Choso?”

“Yes,” you said quickly to prevent your mother from getting a word in. “He’s proven himself in battle, hasn’t he? He’s been promoted several times for his skill and loyalty. Who better to protect me?”

Your father leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “It’s true he’s risen quickly through the ranks. He’s a fine soldier.”

“And he’s someone I trust,” you added, stepping closer. “He’s been by my side since we were children. I feel safer with him than with anyone else. With me growing into adulthood, there would be no one better to be by my side.”

Your mother’s gaze sharpened. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with his recent return to the palace, would it?”

You met her eyes, refusing to back down. “It has everything to do with the fact that I need someone I can rely on. Someone who knows me.”

Your father exchanged a look with your mother, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. I will speak to the general about the arrangement.” Then, a little wryly, he adds, “Although, I did hear that it was him that reported you when you were sneaking out in public. Perhaps it would be a fine match.” At that, your mother visibly bristled at the memory of hearing that you were out, unguarded.

At the king’s words, relief washed over you, but it was quickly tempered by your mother’s stern voice. “This is highly unusual, you know. A princess requesting a specific guard. People will talk.”

Inwardly, you rolled your eyes, but showing sass to your mother would mean that she would argue further.  Instead, you went and showed her your pride. “Let them,” you said, lifting your chin. “I don’t care what they say.”

Your father chuckled softly, knowing you would say something of the sort. “Spoken like a true princess.”

“Thank you,” you said, bowing your head. “Both of you, Father and Mother.”

As you left the chamber, your heart raced with a mix of excitement and nervousness. This was your chance—your chance to bring Choso back into your life. Whatever walls he had built between you, you were determined to tear them down.

The water was warm, steam curling gently around you as you leaned back in the large marble tub. The golden light of the setting sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting vibrant patterns across the tiled floor. It was one of the few moments you had to yourself, free from the watchful eyes of attendants and the endless constraints of royal duty. You closed your eyes, sinking deeper into the water, allowing yourself to relax—until the door to your bathing chamber slammed open.

“Your Highness, why did you—” At first, Choso raised his voice slightly, storming in. Then, he stopped right in his tracks as he noticed you, and your face, your neck and then the rest of your body engorged in soapy, steamy water. Blushing furiously, he turned, scrambling for the door. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to—”

He was rigid as he stormed toward the exit, and you couldn’t help but stifle a giggle at the sight. “Choso, wait,” you called, your voice laced with amusement. He stopped abruptly, halting awkwardly in his tracks. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm for your new title,” you teased, “I’d prefer if you didn’t barge into the bathing chamber. Let us count ourselves lucky that you had not seen… more.”

It was nearly impossible not to laugh now. Even the back of his neck was flushed a deep crimson, and it struck you as absurdly endearing. The aloof and stoic soldier who had spent weeks ignoring you had crumbled into a shy boy at the mere sight of you in a tub. You supposed it made sense—he’d likely not had much interaction with women, what with his rigid dedication to the army. Still, his reaction felt... exaggerated.

Choso let out a shaky exhale, his voice strained when he finally spoke. “I apologize,” he said, his tone clipped as though to mask his discomfort. “But I must ask—why did you instate me as your guard?”

The answer was simple, and you played absentmindedly with a soap bubble as you replied, “Because there is no one I trust more than you.”

For a moment, the room was silent save for the faint dripping of water. Then, Choso spoke, his voice low and almost pained. “Why must you do this to me? Why must you torment me so?”

What?

His words pierced through the lighthearted atmosphere, leaving you stunned. A pang of hurt welled in your chest at the sharpness of his tone. “Does it torment you to be in my company?” you asked, laughing scornfully to hide the sting.

When he didn’t answer, the silence was louder than any words could have been.

“If it torments you,” you continued bitterly, “then so be it. You have already had my one liberty stripped away. Mother and Father have doubled the surveillance on me, all thanks to you.” The memory of your recent restrictions only added fuel to the fire of your frustration. “Is this not fair? An eye for an eye, then. Perhaps your torment will teach you to stop pretending you know what’s best for me.”

Still brimming with anger, you lifted your chin and gestured to the door. “You may leave now.”

For a moment, he stood there, the weight of his presence filling the room. Then, with a stiff nod, he turned to the door. “Your Highness,” he murmured, his voice cold and formal.

And then, he was gone.

You really do abhor dinner parties.

There’s much wrong with them, and if you had to, you could do a systematic rundown of every single grievance. The first and foremost was the absurd inability to properly enjoy the food. The chefs’ hard work deserved to be indulged in, not nibbled delicately with those ridiculous little spoons. And then there was the matter of breathing, which you could barely manage with your waist cinched so tightly and your bodice forcing your chest up like some cruel display. Sitting down practically demanded you forgo the simple luxury of air.

But the worst part? Having to entertain men.

“And I have acquired double the profits of Lord Gojo,” Lord Naoya declared, puffing his chest like a rooster preening in the henhouse. His voice boomed with self-importance, his words spilling out in a showy, rehearsed cadence.

You couldn’t help yourself—you smiled. And while it appeared to him as admiration, it was born of pure amusement. The man clearly thought you were too dim to know better, but you were well-versed in state finances. Lord Naoya’s exaggerated claims were as transparent as glass.

On your right, Choso sat silently, his role as your personal guard justifying his unusually close position. He had been quiet all evening, his eyes scanning the room more than his plate.

“And surely, a woman as lovely as yourself would agree that business acumen is the truest mark of a man’s value,” Naoya continued, leaning closer to you with a smirk you found utterly punchable.

You giggled, not at his words, but at the sheer absurdity of them. You bit your lip to stifle a laugh, but your amusement couldn’t be fully hidden.

When you finally turned to glance at Choso, however, your mirth faltered. He wasn’t looking at Naoya anymore—his dark eyes were locked on you, his brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

He looked very upset.

You blinked, confused, before glancing back at Naoya, who was still prattling on, utterly oblivious. Was Choso… angry at you?

It didn’t make sense. After you had initiated him as your guard, he’d been resigned after that confrontation in your bathing chambers. Ever since, you’d seen him stoic, protective, and even exasperated, but this—this was different. The weight of his gaze lingered on you like a reprimand, and it unsettled you in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

“Your Highness, I trust you’d agree,” Naoya pressed, oblivious to the charged air.

“Agree?” you echoed, snapping back to attention. You hadn’t been listening, too distracted by Choso’s silent brooding. “Oh, of course,” you said vaguely, waving your hand with a polite smile. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Naoya looked pleased with himself, but you barely noticed. Your focus shifted back to Choso, who had turned his head forward, his jaw tight. You leaned closer to him, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “Is something the matter?”

He didn’t look at you, his tone curt. “Nothing, Your Highness.”

Your stomach twisted at the formality. The night had already been exhausting enough, and now Choso was acting like you’d personally offended him.

“Choso,” you pressed, your voice softer now, “if I’ve done something to upset you—”

“It’s not my place to say,” he interrupted, finally looking at you. His gaze was sharp, cutting through your defenses. “But if I may offer counsel, I’d suggest not wasting your smiles on men like him.”

You blinked, taken aback. His words weren’t loud, but they struck with the force of a hammer.

“What does that mean?” you whispered, your amusement long gone, replaced by confusion—and something else you couldn’t quite name.

“It means,” Choso said, his voice low, “that he’s not worth it.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with implication.

Before you could respond, the clinking of glasses drew everyone’s attention, and you were forced to look away as a toast was made. But even as the room filled with polite applause and laughter, your thoughts were consumed by Choso’s quiet but pointed remarks.

When you glanced back at him, his focus was elsewhere, his expression carefully neutral. Yet something about the tension in his shoulders told you that the conversation wasn’t over—not really.

And for the rest of the evening, Naoya’s words became nothing more than background noise, drowned out by the quiet storm brewing in Choso’s eyes.

The air in your chambers was warm, the faint crackle of the fireplace soothing you as your maid finished tugging the laces of your nightgown into place. The fabric was delicate, thin enough to feel the cool evening breeze against your skin despite the room's warmth. With a bow, the maid excused herself, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Ever since that dinner party with Naoya, Choso had been more distant than ever. Before, it had seemed that he had warmed up to the task of being your guard; whenever you walked through the garden, you eventually warmed him enough that the both of you could converse during the stroll. Of course, it hadn’t returned to what it was like before, but it was still progress. However, now it seemed that all he had to offer was curt responses and avoidant stares. 

The change grated on you, more than you cared to admit. You weren’t naïve; you knew something had shifted that night. The way he had looked at you, the way his words had cut—it all lingered, a splinter in your chest that you couldn’t pull free.

Still, tonight was meant to be routine, a brief reprieve from the emotional turmoil. You always ended your evenings with a massage, a small luxury that helped soothe the tension from the day. Summoning Choso to your chambers, you intended for him to call for the maid who usually performed the task.

When he arrived, his expression was as stony as ever. “You called for me, Your Highness?”

“Yes, Choso,” you said, smoothing your hands over the hem of your nightgown. You lazed back on your chaise lounge, head against pillow as you looked at him. “I need the maid for my massage. Could you fetch her?”

He hesitated. “The maids have retired for the night. Shall I summon someone from the servants’ quarters?”

You frowned. The thought of disturbing anyone at this hour felt excessive. Then, your gaze drifted to Choso, his broad shoulders rigid, his hands clasped behind his back in his usual formal stance. An idea struck you, and you spoke before fully thinking it through.

“Then you’ll do it.”

His dark eyes snapped to yours, wide with disbelief. “Your Highness, I—”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence but unable to fully hide the mischief in your smile. “Oh, come now, Choso. You’re stronger than any maid. Surely, your hands would be better suited for the task.”

For a moment, he simply stared at you as though you’d just declared the sky was green. His lips parted, but no words came out, his gaze darting nervously around the room before settling back on you. “I don’t think that’s… appropriate,” he said carefully, his voice low and strained.

You leaned back slightly, arching a brow. “And why not? It’s just a massage. Surely, as my personal guard, it’s your duty to ensure my comfort, no?”

“Your Highness—”

“Choso,” you interrupted, your tone softening as you leaned forward slightly, letting your hair cascade over one shoulder. “You’ve sworn an oath to protect me. Are you really going to deny me such a simple request? Besides,” you added with a teasing smile, “I trust you. Who better to take care of me?”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, his shoulders visibly tensing. It was rare to see him so uncharacteristically flustered, and you found it almost endearing. Still, you could see the war waging behind his eyes—the struggle between his rigid sense of propriety and his inability to deny you.

“Choso,” you said again, gentler this time, “it’s just us here. No one else needs to know. Please?”

The word seemed to undo him. After a long, weighted pause, he exhaled sharply, his hands clenching at his sides before he gave a stiff nod. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

You smiled in satisfaction and shifted, lying down on the chaise lounge with your head resting on your folded arms. The thin fabric of your nightgown clung to your back and shoulders, leaving little to the imagination, but you paid it no mind. Choso, however, hesitated, his gaze flickering over you before he finally moved to kneel beside you, his movements almost painfully hesitant.

You settled onto the chaise lounge, lying on your stomach and pulling your hair over one shoulder to expose the curve of your neck. The thin fabric of your nightgown clung to your body, leaving little to the imagination, but you paid no mind to it. Choso, however, lingered for a moment longer than necessary, his dark eyes flickering over the exposed skin before quickly darting away.

The tension in the room was palpable, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel his hesitation. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward, until finally, he knelt beside you, his movements stiff and deliberate. His hands hovered just above your shoulders for a moment, as if he were debating whether to go through with it, before he finally made contact.

The first press of his palms was firm, his calloused hands warm against your skin. He worked in silence, but his touch was tentative, almost reluctant, as though every movement was a battle against himself. His fingers found the knots in your shoulders, but his grip tightened slightly as you let out a soft sigh of relief.

“You’re good at this,” you murmured, your voice languid. “I should’ve asked you sooner.”

Choso didn’t respond, but his hands stilled for the briefest moment, his jaw tightening. He resumed a beat later, his touch growing more confident as his fingers moved lower, kneading along the length of your spine. Yet, there was something almost possessive in the way he worked, his hands lingering at the curve of your back, brushing the edges of your nightgown with an intimacy that felt deliberate, even if unspoken.

Heat pooled in your belly, but the mood shifted when Choso spoke, his voice low and edged with something that made your breath catch.

“Do you let all your guards do this to you?”

Your eyes snapped open, the sharpness of his tone cutting through the haze. You turned your head to look at him, frowning. “What?”

He straightened, pulling his hands away, anger visible on his face. “Do you let all your guards touch you like this, or am I just the special fool?”

The accusation in his voice stung. You sat up on the chaise lounge, clutching the fabric of your nightgown to your chest. “What are you implying?”

“I’m implying,” he said, his eyes dark and filled with something unnameable, “that you smiled at Naoya like he was the only man in the room. That you entertained his nonsense—his lies—like you actually enjoyed it.”

A sharp laugh escaped you, incredulous and hurt. “You think I was flirting with Naoya? That I would ever entertain a fool like him?”

“You did tonight,” Choso shot back, his jaw clenched tightly. “You smiled and laughed at him, as if he deserved it. As if you weren’t above him. The you I knew wouldn’t have entertained someone like Naoya for a second. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

That cut deeper than it should have. Your breath hitched, and frustration welled in your chest, bursting free before you could stop it.

“You don’t know me anymore?” you echoed, your voice trembling with emotion. “Well, Choso, I don’t know you either! You’re the one who left me without a word. You’re the one who never answered my letters, who pushed me away for no reason. You didn’t answer them for years, Choso. For years! How can you stand there and talk about me changing when you’ve done everything you could to shut me out?”

He flinched, as if your words struck a nerve. His gaze fell to the floor, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I didn’t answer because I thought it was better that way,” he said quietly. “Because I knew… whatever this was—whatever we were—it couldn’t last. I didn’t want to make it harder for you.”

Your heart cracked at his words, tears threatening to spill over. “You didn’t want to make it harder for me?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You made it unbearable, Choso! You didn’t just leave me, you abandoned me. Without explanation, without closure. You were my friend, my closest ally, and you just… disappeared!”

“I was avoiding the inevitable,” he said, his tone low and bitter. “I was saving us both from something that could never be.”

“And why not?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Why couldn’t we have stayed friends? Why couldn’t you have stayed as someone I trusted, someone I could rely on?”

Choso let out a harsh, incredulous laugh, his head bowing as his hands rose to rub at his temples. When he looked back at you, his eyes burned with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You think I just want to be your ally?” Choso’s voice cracked, his tone harsh and trembling, a storm barely contained within him. He stepped closer, his shadow stretching toward you in the dim light. His dark eyes blazed, raw and unguarded, piercing straight through you.

“Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life standing at your side, pretending it doesn’t destroy me every time you smile at another man?” he continued, his voice rising with emotion. “Do you think I want to be some nameless figure in your life, someone who exists only to bow, to nod, to follow orders while the rest of the world gets to bask in your warmth?”

Your breath hitched as he took another step, the space between you shrinking.

“I don’t want to be your ally, your friend, or some loyal servant,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I want you. I have always wanted you.”

His confession struck you like lightning, setting every nerve ablaze. You could see the anguish etched into his features, the way his hands shook as if he was struggling to hold himself back.

“I want to touch you without wondering if it’s inappropriate,” he went on, his words tumbling out, unrestrained. “I want to kiss you without the weight of the crown between us. I want to wake up beside you every morning, knowing you’re mine—truly mine—and not just some unattainable dream I’ve been foolish enough to carry.”

“Choso…” you whispered, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

“I want to tear apart every damned rule, every line drawn between us,” he continued, his voice thick with frustration and desire. “I want the world to see that you’re mine—not Naoya’s, not some prince’s, not anyone else’s. Mine.”

He let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair, his composure unraveling further. “But that’s not what the world allows, is it?” he said, his tone laced with venom. “Because I’m not a prince or a duke or anyone worthy of you. I’m just a man—a soldier. And the world says I can’t have you.”

His chest heaved with the force of his confession, and his eyes—God, his eyes—burned with a pain so deep it was almost unbearable to witness.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as his words sank in. “You could have had me,” you said, your voice trembling, tears stinging your eyes. “If you’d just stayed, if you’d let me in instead of shutting me out. We could have figured this out together, Choso. I would have fought for you.”

His expression faltered, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his anger. “And what would you have me do?” he asked hoarsely. “Stand beside you while everyone whispers that I’m unworthy? Watch as suitors line up for your hand, knowing I can’t stop them because it’s my duty to protect you, not love you?”

“I don’t care what the world says!” you burst out, stepping closer, your voice rising with desperation. “I don’t care about duty or station or rules. All I ever wanted was you, Choso. You, as my friend, my ally, my—”

“Your what?” he interrupted, his voice low and rough. “Say it. Say what I’ve been longing to hear and dreading all at once.”

Your breath hitched, tears streaming down your face as you met his gaze. “My everything,” you whispered.

For a moment, the tension between you hung thick and electric, the weight of years of unspoken words pressing down on you both. Then Choso stepped back, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight.

“That’s why I stayed away,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “Because I knew if I didn’t, I’d lose myself in you completely. And I wouldn’t be able to let you go. This is why I must stay away.” 

For a moment, he lingered there, his hand flexing at his side as if fighting some invisible force. His gaze dropped, and when he finally turned away, it was slow, deliberate, each step a struggle. He didn’t look back as he crossed the threshold, the heavy sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the silence.

The silence in your room was suffocating. Curtains drawn tightly, the dim flicker of a single candle cast wavering shadows on the stone walls. Plates of untouched food sat on a tray near the door, abandoned by the maids you had dismissed hours ago. The only sound was the faint rustle of your gown as you shifted on the edge of your bed, your arms wrapped around yourself as if trying to hold your broken pieces together.

A soft knock broke the stillness, tentative and almost hesitant. You didn’t answer. You didn’t want to see anyone, let alone speak. Whoever it was would surely leave if you didn’t respond.

But the door creaked open.

Your heart twisted. “I told you all to leave me be,” you said hoarsely, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

“I’m not one of your maids,” came a quiet reply from a voice that was all-too-familiar.

Your head snapped up, breath catching in your throat as Choso stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. His dark eyes, always so steady and unreadable, now held an uncharacteristic uncertainty.

“Get out,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended, though the hurt behind it was impossible to mask. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“I know,” he murmured, taking a hesitant step forward. He held something in his hands—a small stack of parchment, edges worn and yellowed. “But I have something to say to you.”

You frowned, your gaze darting to the papers he carried. “What is that?”

“Letters,” Choso said, his voice thick with emotion. He swallowed hard before continuing, “The ones I wrote to you but never sent.”

You stiffened, your heart lurching painfully in your chest. “Why are you showing me this now?”

“Because I should have given them to you a long time ago,” he said simply. “And because I need you to know… what I couldn’t say before. But what I feel I must say now, for I am done with pretending I am not a selfish, selfish man.”

He stepped closer, setting the letters on the bed beside you. For a moment, he hesitated, then knelt before you, his hands resting on his thighs as he looked up at you with a mixture of guilt and determination, as if he had made a decision. And you fight desperately to not yourself believe that, perhaps, he has changed his mind, that he will finally take you in the way you desire.

But you steel your heart as you cautiously look at him. 

“Read them,” he said quietly. “Please.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the stack, the paper cool and rough beneath your touch. The first letter was dated years ago, the ink slightly smudged, as if his hand had lingered too long on the words.

My dearest friend,

I’ve written and torn up this letter a dozen times. How do I explain the ache I feel every night I march under foreign stars? How do I explain that even on the battlefield, amidst the chaos, my mind drifts to you? I think of our secret meetings in the garden, the way you’d laugh as you dared me to meet you in the willow tree every night. Do you remember that night we barely escaped the guards? Your laughter, your gown splayed across the forest floor. I dream of those nights—of you leaning close to steal the fruit in my palm, staring up at me, the world disappearing, and wishing I could ask for more. For you close to me not under the pretense of stealing the pomegranate in my hand, but for something more.

Your voice broke as you read, tears pooling in your eyes. Choso remained silent, his head bowed, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.

You moved to the next letter.

The scent of jasmine haunted me on the journey here. Every step of the way, I remembered you crouched beneath the trellis, daring me to pluck the flowers despite the gardener’s wrath. When I handed you the bouquet, your smile made me feel invincible, as though I could conquer kingdoms just to see it again. I wished then that I could have told you the truth—that every reckless moment we shared was a reprieve from the weight of duty. I wanted to kiss you in the moonlight, to tell you that you were more than a dream to me. I tried to, in part, with the hairpin I gave you, one that amplified your gentle beauty even more than I thought possible. But how could I ruin what little time we had?

“Choso,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Why didn’t you send these?”

“I was a coward,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I thought… I thought it was kinder to stay away. To bury how I felt. But it wasn’t kinder, was it?”

You shook your head, unable to speak as you continued reading, each letter peeling away the walls you’d built to protect yourself from the pain of his absence.

When you reached the last letter, your breath hitched.

If I were braver, I’d tell you this to your face: I love you. I’ve loved you since the first time we ran barefoot through the gardens, laughing until we couldn’t breathe. I’ve loved you since you bandaged my hand after my sparring lessons, scolding me and treating me gently as if I weren’t a warrior, as if my rough, damaged hands were worth your care. I love you with a desperation that terrifies me, that kept me awake in camp as I replayed your smile over and over. If I lose you now, it will be my own doing. But still, I love you.

Your tears fell freely now, soaking the parchment. Choso rose slowly, his hands lifting as if to touch you but stopping just shy of your skin.

“Say something,” he pleaded, his voice raw.

Instead, you surged forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to meet you. Your lips found his in a kiss that was fierce and unrestrained, pouring every ounce of longing, anger, and love into the connection.

Choso froze for a heartbeat before melting into you. The kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that matched your own.

His hands moved to grasp your waist, as if afraid you might vanish. Before they could touch you, he paused as if doubting his ability to be able to touch you. To your frustration, the heat of his almost-contact pulled away. “Your Highness—”

“Choso,” you pleaded, grasping his hands in yours and placing them on their rightful place: your body. You dragged his hands down your torso, helping him explore your curves sensually, intimately as he squeezed his brows together, eyes shut, conveying his inner turmoil. His resolve almost cracked as you begged him, “Take me. Please.”

With agitation, he withdrew his hands from your grasp, painfully clenching them by his sides as he groaned. “Your Highness, you’re playing with fire. I mustn’t. Your body is of a thousand gold, and I would never dare to touch you with my hands—”

But you interrupted him by snorting. “If it is of a thousand gold, or whatever archaic term the royal legends have invented, then you are a thousand gold richer.” You gently took his face in your arms, kissing his forehead. “I am yours, and if you believe that anyone will have my heart after you, then you are most grievously mistaken.” 

He still looked at you, both kneeling on your bed, with a conflicted expression. You gave him a reassuring look before pressing another gentle kiss to his lips. Then, you teased him softly. “Will you not fight for my hand? Will you truly let me be promised to another man after this?”

His eyes darkened in a possessive manner, as he joined his lips against yourself furiously. “I would never,” he punctuated his interruptions with a searing kiss. “let anyone have you after this.”

With tender hands that heavily contrasted his desperation, he slipped the shoulder of your dress, dragging the hem down and down until your breasts were bare to the air. “So, so beautiful,” he whispered before enclosing your nubs in his mouth, kissing them both tenderly.

You could only but gasp, victim to his ministrations as he sneaked another hand up your legs, gently caressing your thighs until he met your core. He groaned, louder than ever, when he was met with the bare heat, wet with your desire and arousal all for him. With painstaking gentleness, he eased a finger in, drinking in your moans and sounds of pleasure. 

He couldn’t help but smile at the small scream that escaped you when he curled his fingers up. It seemed he had found the place that pleasured you most, one that you had stayed unbeknownst to. And he definitely couldn’t stop himself from torturing and repeatedly hitting against it with the way squeals of his name left your mouth whenever he did so.

Before you knew it, an unknown feeling washed over you as Choso kept continuing his touches, one that seemed like worship with how he was looking for your reactions, for your pleasure. A gush of slick escaped you, and Choso kissed your breasts one final time before drawing out his finger.

You peered down at him, flushed, as his eyes stayed trained on you while he slowly drew his finger inside his mouth, seeming to savor your taste. At last, he pulled it away from his mouth and asked, voice hoarse, “how are you feeling?”

You laugh bashfully and look away, blushing. “You know you don’t need to ask that. But,” and you pause, looking at him through your lashes, “you know I want more.”

The flush that was only apparent on his cheeks spread to his entire face and neck and he whines as he buries his face in your breasts once more, now to evade eye contact. “Don’t say things like that. It makes holding back even more arduous.”

You stroke his hair, smiling softly. “Would you have any qualms about taking my…maidenhood if you were my husband.”

His answer is immediate. “Absolutely not.”

“So you want to…make love with me?” You heat up at your own words, nervously looking at him in fear of his rejection.

He pauses, but then slowly nods. “Well, yes, but—”

“Then we shall put archaic traditions aside. Choso,” and you look at him mischievously as he squints at you, “I command you to make love to me.”

The reaction is immediate. As if animated again, he pins you down against your mattress, eyes feral as he takes your lips with his once more. With both hands, a riiiip echoes across the room as he entirely tears your shift in his bare hands. Mind you, it was not weak material, and you lay dumbfounded as he strips his shirt off.

You don’t even have time to admire his bare torso, muscled as you knew it would be. Your eyes automatically trail down to the string of hair that leads down to his v-line as he rids himself of his trousers. 

What gets uncovered makes you pray for your life, and you gasp, eyes wide. “How is that even supposed to go inside—”

He says your name, reassuringly, as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “I will take the utmost care of you. I promise.” He lines his length with your entrance, and, with another kiss, he pushes in gently.

When his member first breaches you, you gasp, dizzied by the fullness. Then, as he slowly bottoms out, you whine while impaled on his cock. “More.”

Basking in the euphoria of your clenching heat around him, at your request, he curses. He pulls out his length—slowly, gently—and then slams back in, and you squeal, whispering a breathless utter of his name once more. 

He continues making love to you, the sounds of his devotion echoing across the room. When you both climax, it is down with a prayer of the other’s name, as a promise. That you are both each other’s, and no qualms about proprietary and status could any longer apprehend either of you.

When the both of you settle down, him having gently cleaned you with a cloth, he collapses next to you in bed, bare arms engulfing you and pulling you closer. As you both lie there, skin to skin, you giggle at your own thoughts.

At the sound, Choso perks up, looking at you in soft amusement. “What’s the matter, my love?”

Ignoring the way your heart fluttered at the nickname, you replied, “I daresay you will be the strongest prince consort in the history of our kingdom.”

The mention of the weak nobles that had ascended the throne in centuries past makes him snicker smugly. “I would agree,” he muses, amused like you. “They would not have been as tall as me, or as strong, or as good in bed—-”

“Choso!” you squealed, grabbing a pillow and smacking him with it.

Grinning like a devil, he dodged with ease, catching your wrist and pulling you down onto the bed. Before you could protest, he wrestled himself on top of you, pinning your arms above your head and smothering you in kisses.

After his barrage was over, he turned solemn once more. “I’m serious,” he murmured, his tone softer, more sincere. His dark eyes searched yours, and his voice dropped to a near whisper. “I’ll protect you, stand beside you, love you until my last breath. You’re my queen in every way that matters. And no matter what, I’ll never leave your side again.”

Your breath hitched, his words settling deep in your chest. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you smiled, warmth flooding your heart. “And I’ll hold you to that, my love.”

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was equal parts promise and devotion. It wasn’t hurried or frenzied, but slow, a tangible declaration of everything you both had endured to reach this moment. Here, in the quiet of your chamber, with his weight grounding you and his lips marking you as his, you found the only place you wanted to be—by his side, now and always.

general masterlist

a/n AHH HI POOKIES!! I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED MY FIRST CHOSO FIC?? let me know if i do him justice this was written with my pussy and me having a specific hyperfixation :3 anyways i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you guys did too :')

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots ;3

[kbwrites]

Heated Waters

synopsis: being married is hard, being married without seeing each other is even harder.

⚝ content: Hiromi Higuruma x F! Reader, nsfw, bathtub sex, fingering, Hiromi neglects his wife, but boy does he make up for it

⚝ wc: 1.9k

“Yeah we do it pretty much every day.”

Satoru said, taking a leisurely sip of his water. His pale face alight with mischief, a shit-eating grin across his lips. His three coworkers stared at him in (jealousy) disbelief.

Suguru was the first to break the silence, wanting to save face “Everyday is a bit much, isn’t it, Satoru?”

Satoru chuckled, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as he watched his friend squirm. "What about you guys? How often do our married friends get it in?" His gaze flickered to Nanami, who cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, his eyes fixed on the steam rising from his coffee cup.

“Twice a week, I suppose…”

Satoru's smile widened, clearly entertained by the responses he was drawing out. He then turned his attention to the oldest among them, Hiromi Higuruma, who was carefully straightening his tie, a subtle attempt to avoid eye contact.

“What about you, Higuruma?”

“Your wife, (Y/N) is a little younger than you, right? C’mon Higuruma-San…She a total freak?” Satoru teased.

Hiromi's jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his features as his grip on his coffee cup tightened. He took a slow, measured breath, his voice strained but controlled when he finally spoke.

“Please don’t talk about my wife like that.”

But Satoru, ever the instigator, didn’t back down. “It’s just us guys riiggght? And I can’t lie Higuruma, you’re one lucky guy. (Y/N) is a catch.”

Nanami nodded in agreement, as did Suguru, though both seemed to sense the discomfort growing in Hiromi. The older man could only sigh, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the conversation.

It was true—you were everything he could have ever wanted in a partner. Beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted—his perfect match. If heaven existed, Hiromi was certain you’d be the only one worthy of it.

But long nights in the office, and early mornings preparing for court would take a toll on any relationship. The truth was… Hiromi hadn’t touched you in over a month. By the time he came home—you were fast asleep, and weekends were spent running the mountain of errands you couldn’t get to during the week. You loved each other of course, but it was hard. A month without feeling the warmth of your husband's hands all over your skin was starting to weigh heavily on both of you.

“You don’t have to answer Higuruma-san..” Nanami chimed in, sensing his elder colleague’s discomfort.

“Over a month.” Hiromi exhaled, the truth slipping out before he could stop it.

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

“WHAT?” Gojo audibly gasps. “Your wife looks like THAT and you haven’t f—”

Suguru swiftly cut him off with a well-placed elbow to the chest. “Satoru… leave Higuruma alone.” The long-haired male warns. “Still, that is surprising.”

“I know I know..” Higuruma pinches his bridge. He wanted nothing more than to have his wife under him… on top of him. But the endless stream of work kept him trapped in a cycle of exhaustion. “I’ve been so busy I can’t even remember the last time I actually spoke to her properly.”

Suguru offered an apologetic smile. “Sounds like you need a break.”

“Sounds like you need some puss—” Nanami quickly elbowed Satoru in the chest before he could finish his sentence.

Hiromi shook his head, letting out a dry chuckle as he ran a hand through his dark locks, clearly frustrated with himself. “I appreciate your concern, guys, but I don’t see how I can take a break right now. I have so much work to do, and I’m the only one who knows how to handle all of it.”

“Higuruma-San. Satoru will take care of the paperwork for you.” Nanami suggested with a deadpan expression.

“HUH?” Satoru blurted out, clearly caught off guard by the sudden assignment.

“Yeah,” Nanami continued, ignoring Satoru’s protest. “It’s not like he actually does any work around here anyway.”

Suguru smirked, nodding in agreement. “That’s true. You might as well make yourself useful, Satoru.”

Before Hiromi could protest, the trio moved in unison—Suguru grabbing Hiromi’s briefcase, Nanami steering him toward the door, and Satoru sighing dramatically as he resigned himself to the task.

“Are… are you boys sure about this? I don’t want to burden you–”

“Nonsense! Go home and take care of your wife!”

Hiromi placed his briefcase by the door, his tie feeling suddenly too tight around his neck. He loosened it with a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around. The familiar scent of home greeted him. It was comforting yet bittersweet, a reminder of all the moments he had missed. The living room was tidy, the soft hum of the dishwasher running in the kitchen. You had clearly been busy, taking care of the house as you always did, even when he wasn’t around.

“Honey?” Hiromi calls out to you, his voice echoing slightly in the stillness.

Frowning, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair before making his way down the hall. As he approached the bathroom, he noticed a faint light seeping out from under the door, accompanied by the sound of water gently lapping against the tub.

He hesitated for a moment, then slowly opened the door.

The sight that greeted him made his breath catch in his throat. There you were, reclining in the bathtub, your eyes closed, head resting on the edge as steam rose around you. The soft glow of candles illuminated the room, casting a warm, serene light over your features.

You looked so peaceful, so beautiful—that it almost hurt to look at you. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he took in the sight, but the guilt and longing only deepened. How long had it been since he’d taken the time to appreciate you like this? Since he’d been able to just… be with you?

You opened your eyes, gaze meeting your husband as he leaned against the door frame.

“Hiromi?” you murmured, your voice soft, almost questioning, as if unsure whether he was really there or just a figment of your imagination.

“Hey Honey…” his voice equally soft, as he took a tentative step closer. The warmth of the room seemed to wrap around him, melting away some of the day’s stress.

“You’re home early.” You muse, looking at him as you rested your arms on the tub. He doesn’t respond, just walks towards you with purposeful steps.

Hiromi stares down at you with half-lidded eyes.“The guys decided I need a break.” He paused, his breath hitching slightly as he continued, “Can I join you?” A playful smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Only if you take off your clothes this time.”

A dry chuckle escaped his lips as he unbuttons his dress shirt, letting each article of clothing fall to the tile floor. As he finally sheds his boxers before settling behind you. You exhaled softly, the tension you’d been holding onto for weeks dissipating as you sank into your husband’s embrace.

Hiromi didn’t waste a moment, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck, placing lazy, lingering kisses along the curve where your shoulder met your throat. His breath was warm against your skin, his kisses slow and unhurried, as if savoring every second, every inch of you.

His hands weren’t idle either, tracing gentle patterns along your stomach, moving upwards to cup your breasts with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. He nipped lightly at your earlobe, his voice a husky murmur, “I’ve missed you… more than you know.”

“Missed you too ‘Romi..” Your voice trembling as the almost foreign heat began to pool in your core.

Deft fingers teased your nipples, rolling and pinching—eliciting a soft moan from your lips as your body arched into his touch. Your hand reached back, tangling in his dark locks, pulling him closer as his lips traveled down to your shoulder, his other hand snaking under the water to your aching cunt.

“ahhhh… s-shitt..” You cry out as Hiromi’s fingers slowly circle your swollen bud. His touch light, teasing.

“Thirty-two days… I’m so sorry m’love.” He mumbles into your shoulder as he slips a slender digit into your entrance. Your walls flutter immediately around the intrusion, as he gently pumped into you.

He adds another finger, curling up to the spot he had neglected all those weeks. He extended his thumb to rub your clit. You arch your back against him, feeling his cock twitch against your ass.

“Hiro…” you moan, reaching behind for him, but he bites down lightly on your shoulder.

“Not yet, pretty girl, want you t’cum first okay?”

He whispers as he feels your gummy walls clench around him.

He speeds up his ministrations, digits stuffing your cunt as your pussy throbs and squelches. Your whimpers echo around the tiled walls, water lapping around your bodies.

You feel the pressure building as each thrust of his long fingers brush against your g-spot.

“g-gonna cum!”

“Cum f’me sweetheart please—god… need it so bad.” Hiromi mumbles as he pumps even faster.

“a-ahh!” you cry as you reach your high, walls clenching as you cum on your husband’s hand. He removes his fingers from you, moving to gently circle your clit as you come down from your orgasm.

You both stay there for a moment, your heavy breathing the only sound occupying the space, mingling with the gentle slosh of water against the porcelain tub. Hiromi’s arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer.

Slowly, he lifted you, the warm water swirling around you both as he maneuvered you to face him, settling you on his lap. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your knees pressing against the cool sides of the tub.

You straddled Hiromi, your bodies now fully aligned, chest to chest. Your husband's dark, half-lidded eyes bore into yours, his expression a mixture of raw need and unspoken tenderness. He let his hands rest on your waist for a moment, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your damp skin as he took in the sight of you.

“I don’t know how I’ve stayed away from you for so long…” his voice breaking slightly as if the admission pained him.

Your breath hitched as you shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the tension between you intensify. Hiromi’s hands slid up your sides, his touch deliberate and slow, leaving a trail of heat in their wake as his lips finally found yours. The kiss was deep, full of hunger that had been simmering between you both for far too long.

His grip on your waist tightened as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance that left you dizzy with need.

Breaking the kiss, Hiromi leaned his forehead against yours, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“I won’t make that mistake again.”

Without a word, he rose from the tub, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. Water cascaded down your bodies, pooling at your feet as he carried you toward the bedroom, his lips trailing wet kisses down the side of your neck.

He laid you gently onto the bed, your back sinking into the soft silken sheets, but Hiromi didn’t waste any time. His gaze darkening as he climbed over you, his body hovering just above yours, his eyes drinking you in like a man starved.

“I’m going to make up for every second I’ve missed.”

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ! ❞

❝ THEY TOOK YOU. SO SATORU GOJO DID THE ONLY REASONABLE THING — HE TOOK THEIR LIVES ! ❞

✧ pairing: gojo satoru x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: satoru gojo rarely loses his cool. except when it comes to you. so when you get taken and found hurt, he takes matters into his own hands to find out who did it and make them pay.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, canon compliant, feral gojo, acts of violence, reader gets kidnapped and attacked, gojo goes insane, gojo clan sucks, higher ups get asses best, yaga and Ijichi featured, dom!gojo, breeding kink, dirty talk, oral (f), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, implied multiple rounds, swearing,

✧ w/c: 8,446

The worst mistake Satoru Gojo ever made that morning was to get out of bed.

If he had just stayed in bed that morning, turned his cellphone on silent, and basked in the warmth of the soft comforter you had picked out (even as you balked at the exorbitant price) and especially in the warmth of your embrace — the one place where it felt as if it was okay to be himself, just him.

And now it was just him.

Because you were gone.

When his phone rang that morning, your lips had been against his, indulging in a lazy morning tryst because for once, Satoru had been off duty — or he was supposed to be off duty. Your gaze had been the ones to stir him from sleep, as even in the embrace of sleep he couldn’t resist you or your adoring eyes — the very same he held more precious than his own.

“I didn’t even say anything, how did you wake up?” And his lips curl at your slight frown, his fingers brushing over the curve of your cheek.

“Thought my pretty wife was admiring my beauty while I slept so I had to wake up to the same,” and he’s leaning over to press lazy kisses along your jaw.

“Did you just call yourself beautiful?” You snort, and he grins, before falling into a playful pout.

“My own wife doesn’t think her husband’s beautiful?” And you’re rolling your eyes, before rolling over on top of him, your body only covered by the black t-shirt you had stolen from him last night, a small groan as he felt your very bare thighs brush against his boxers.

You were a goddess — your smile ethereal in the sunlight streaming in from the window as you leaned over him, and he was willing to worship all his life at your altar, if you would only give him a brush of your lips.

“Of course I think you’re beautiful, I’m the one always saying that anyway,” your lips brush his chastely, far too quick and teasing, “I was just imagining what Nanami would say if he heard that,”

“Oh? And what’s that, sweetheart?”

“He would say the size of your ego is becoming a threat to Earth’s atmosphere,” and Satoru raises an eyebrow.

“And my darling wife would disagree, right?” and you look away, biting back a smile, “eh? You’d let him say such heinous things about me?”

“It’s not heinous if it’s true—“ you gasp, and he’s flipped you on your back, pressing his lips to yours to swallow your words, along with your giggles, as you break free, “Toru! Ah—“ and he nibbles at your neck, “hey!”

“You have to pay for the consequences of your actions, baby, what kind of sensei would I be?” And you’re rolling your eyes.

“I’m not your student, ngh,” you’re gasping as his teeth sinks into your neck, “if anything, I’m the one reigning you in,”

“Well then,” he chuckled in his words, as his fingers trace your jaw, “I’ll have to show you how far your student has come then,” and his lips only brush yours, when his phone rings.

“Baby,” you sigh, and he’s glancing at the phone, a sigh on his lips, as he reaches for the phone, sneaking a glance at you, before he picks up.

You press sweet kisses to his chest as you hear the faint murmur of Yaga’s voice through the phone, hearing reports of the special grades they’ve been tracking, “Old man, this is the first day off I’ve taken off in so looooong,” and he holds the phone away from his ear until Yaga’s screams fade, “fine, fine, send Ijichi,” he hangs up while Yaga was still mid-yell, tossing his phone on the bedside table with a sigh, “sweetheart,”

“I know,” you cup his cheek, his lips in a pout not made for the strongest sorcerer, but for your Satoru, “I’ll be here when you come back — waiting very impatiently,” and he chuckles, his lips finding yours.

“How’d I get so lucky to have such an understanding wife?” And your lips curl.

“You annoyed her into falling in love,” and he gapes at you as you giggle, until he’s got you pinned underneath him yet again, “what? It’s true!”

“Then I’ll have to annoy you some more, just to make sure,” and he’s finding you in another kiss, until his devilish fingers run down your sides, beginning their assault on the spots that made you laugh the most.

You pulled your lips from his, squealing, “Nooooo! Satoru, stop!” you tried to push him off from tickling you, but he was the strongest for a reason—a reason you usually were very grateful for, but not right now. And finally he relented, as you gasped and chuckled still, lips in the most adorable pout, “you’ll pay for that,”

“Oh really? How’s that, wifey?” and you kiss his lips chastely, barely a brush, as you cross your arms, fighting back a smile.

“That’s the only goodbye kiss you get,” and he gasps, clutching his chest dramatically, before that smirk of his returns, “and you try to steal one and I’m making you sleep on the couch,” And he pouts, before you press a longer kiss to his lips, “you’re lucky I love you,”

Satoru grinned, “I know.”’

Yeah, he should have never gotten out of bed.

“Where is she?” For once, Satoru’s words were devoid of humor, the laughter and happiness sapped from his very essence the moment he had heard. The moment he had felt your cursed energy waver. All this time, Satoru’s eyes had been focused on the outline of your soul, no matter where he was, because you were always the one thing he wanted to come home to — that he needed to.

“I don’t know Satoru, that’s why I had called you,” Yaga runs his fingers through his hair, “goddamnit,” he swore, scrubbing a hand down his face, “the mission came from the higher ups, they wouldn’t give me the specifics, but they said it was confidential—“

“I don’t care for the details right now, do we know anything about where she is?” Satoru keeps his words carefully measured, muscles wound taut, the only thing keeping him from using blue to destroy Jujutsu Tech in one fell swoop was the thought of you, “did she tell you anything else—“

And Ijichi bursts in, brow furrowed, “Gojo, we have a lead.”

~~~

Was this how it would end?

You knew it was in your fate to die, eventually. A wretched cycle that all of you were forced to live. An endless baton pass that always ended with the last runner dying — nothing but a pile of corpses left behind and to look back on.

And it would almost be a relief, a blessing to finally be done — if it wasn’t for Satoru.

You knew he would blame himself for this. He always blamed himself. Blamed himself when he couldn’t beat Toji. Blamed himself when he couldn’t save Riko. Blamed himself when he couldn’t save Geto. Because he was the strongest, and that meant he should be able to solve everyone’s problems — do everything no one else can do, be everywhere at once, and never fail.

Never. And yet, that’s not what the sleepless nights he spent working told you. It only told you that jujutsu would take everything from him, if he let it, and he would let it, if only that meant he could do more good.

And he was so good. Even if he didn’t see it — you could almost feel the lingering warmth of his embrace this morning, the wide grin on his lips as he peppered kisses down your neck, and the soft gaze of blues made of affection just for you — you would always see it for him.

You don’t see the curse coming, your vision blurred from the last strike. The crack of your bones barely registers in your ears, the curse presses you into the wall, claws pressed to your throat, drawing blood to run down your neck.

“Now, now, we can’t kill her, at least not yet,” a voice calls out, “we were given strict orders to wait,”

The curse’s growl reverberated across your skin, a desperate growl deep in its chest, the string of control being pulled taut, as its black nails dig deeper into your side, until it dropped you onto the ground like a rag doll.

Your body ached only for moments before it was chased away by numbness. And you could only wonder if this was how they felt? Riko, Haibara, Geto, all the others you watched die — was this the pain they felt? The ache of muscles that they could no longer feel, the sticky wetness of blood that seeped from their unknowing bodies, and the cold thst crept up from the tips of your toes.

You wanted it to stop. You wanted to stop. But each time you felt the tug of the other side, you couldn’t let go. You couldn’t. Not when Satoru needed you.

Your eyes burn with tears. And you needed him.

~~~

“Where is she?” The same question was ringing in Satoru’s head over and over since he had heard.

Candle wicks trembled with fear, casting shadows on the wall that shivered in the presence of the man before them. The papered panels was all that stood between him and these old men — the very same that played with the lives of many day in and day out. It would be far too easy to kill them all — in fact, it would barely take any effort at all with his cursed technique.

But he wouldn’t allow them the warm embrace of an instant death.

“Such insolence — how dare you enter this place and speak—“

“You ought to be thanking me,” his power sparked in the glint of his eyes, the glow of the lit wicks catching in the hard blues, “for not bashing your skulls in and ripping your hearts from your chests from the moment I entered,”

A silence swept over the room, another voice speaking, “Gojo—“

“The next words out of your mouth better be an answer because I don’t want to ask again,” his voice fills the silence in the room, only broken by the sounds of the candles crackle, “where is she?”

“We cannot disclose where—“ there’s a loud crack, the splintering of wood and the wet squelch of flesh and blood, and a cold breeze swept through the room, the candles going out.

Satoru’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of his neck, forcing the broken floorboards digging into his wrinkled skin, “I said I want an answer, do you think I would think twice about killing any of you?”

There’s a pause and the silence is only filled by the sound of gore dripping down the paper screens and hitting the floor.

“The only reason I haven’t yet was there was no point to it — no meaning,” and he could see you this morning, his lips curled for you, a strangled choking noise leaving his throat as the pads of his fingers squeezed around his neck, “but now I have every reason to, so tell me before I lose my patience,”

A silence fills the room again, until one of them speaks, “Let him go, and we’ll tell you.”

~~~

“Who do you work for?” the words come out strangled, your fingers bunching up your soaked fabric and pressing it to the gash on your stomach, “why did you bring me here?” You force yourself not to give them the satisfaction of a flinch.

“Do you really think it would be that simple to get me to reveal the reason, jujutsu sorcerer?” you hear a distant laugh, “we have our reasons, isn’t that simple enough? Or rather—”

His footsteps clapped against the floor, your head wrenched upwards, as a small yelp escapes your lips, “does it matter when you’re going to die either way?”

And you grit your teeth, before spitting on his face, half blood, half saliva, “At least I don’t have to live a life as pathetic as yours,” his fingers squeeze at your chin, your jaw aching under his grasp.

“Pathetic?” He wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt before, throwing you to the floor, body screaming in pain, but you refuse to show weakness, even as tears burn at your tear ducts, “And yet, I’m not the one bloodied and battered and two inches from death, bitch,” he scoffs, muttering, “I can see why they ordered us to kill you now, who would want someone like you around?”

“Now I’m listening, who gave you those orders?” Another voice says from behind him. The man freezes, while you lift your head, a small smile on your lips, “are you hard of hearing or just plain stupid? Well, I don’t really need to even ask that, do I?”

He was shrouded in shadow, but you didn’t need to see him to know it was him — especially as he tugged his blindfold down with two fingers, blue eyes devoid of any humor or joy, and instead only with hatred.

“Satoru Gojo,” the voice left the man’s lips slowly, but before he could react, the special grade curse that had held you was barreling towards him in a moment, before Satoru held it at bay with his infinity, the other curses following suit — how many did this curse user have in the room with him? Three? No more like five or six, but even so — you scoffed under your breath, it wouldn’t matter, “No, you idiots! Don’t—”

And in a moment, they are eviscerated — held back by his infinity, deep seeded growls and roars leaving their lips, “c’mon now, is this the best you can do? I was expecting more from those bold enough to take my wife, but I guess I expected too much,” he sighs, before he lifts one hand, “Cursed Technique Amplification, Blue,”

You barely can make out the screams from one another, the splatter of their essence raining down from above, until you hear footsteps rushing towards you, and you’re hauled to your feet, pressed against the cursed user, his hand around your neck.

“One more move, and I break her neck,” Satoru landed below with ease, his gaze raised until he met yours, and you saw it soften for you — a silent question of ‘are you okay?’ and your nod and a forced smile that told him you were okay enough.

“You can try,” his words were slow and measured, just as his steps towards you were, “but I don’t think you understand who you are dealing with,”

He tensed, fingers digging into your neck, “I know perfectly well who you are, Satoru Gojo, and I am not afraid to die by your hand for this,”

Satoru’s lips curled, “I wasn’t talking about me,”

The kidnapper’s eyes narrowed, “What?”

And you jabbed at his knee, the bone splintering under your force, but you barely hear the snap or his scream because of the blood roaring in your ears. You don’t spare a second before slamming your other hand into his head, nose breaking from your fist, blood splattering across your arm. You ready yourself for another move, before you felt him ripped away from you, a strong arm around you to steady you.

“It’s okay, I got you, sweetheart, it’s okay,” Satoru murmured, soft words meant to soothe you, as his body envelops your tense muscles, until you finally relax into his arms. Your eyes burned with tears, as you looked up at him, before your eyes slid to the kidnapper, Satoru’s hand around his throat.

“I knew you’d come for me, Toru,” you whispered, grasping onto the front of his jacket, “I knew you would,”

“I always will,” and his eyes turned to the man, voice even, “should I kill him once I’m done questioning him?”

You know he means it.

“I don’t know,” you reply, fingers curling as you pressed your face against his chest, “but I don’t want you to have blood on your hands, not for me,”

“It wouldn’t be for you. It would be for me,” he says softly, “but we can discuss it later,” and then others began to flood the scene, the sights and sounds feeling distant as your eyes drooped with exhaustion.

“Satoru, I’m—“ your voice broke, “I really tried—“

“Shh, you did great,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head, as you finally succumbed to exhaustion, slumping over in his arms, “I’ll handle the rest.”

~~~

“You all must be wondering why I called this meeting,” Satoru said, standing at the head of the Gojo clan’s meeting room. It had been long since he had stood as the head, but far too short for his liking. He had discarded this part of his life as soon as he could, joining Jujutsu Tech without a second of hesitation, and continued to run the operations of his clan as an adult, behind the scenes.

But it seems he was too lax.

It had been a few weeks since the incident. You were asleep for a good day in and out while Shoko worked on you. She came out of your room, pulling off the surgical cap off her head, and Satoru got to his feet, as Shoko removed her gloves and mask, “She’s fine, Satoru,” and he sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“How bad was it?” he asks, and she tilts her head, hands slipping into her pockets.

“Are you asking that to know how badly she was injured or so you can do worse to whoever did this?” Satoru shrugs, lips parting and she holds up a hand, “never mind, the less I know, the better,” she grabs your file and opens it, “most of her injuries related to cursed technique burn out — it seems whoever took her used curse spirits to attack her, she mentioned when she was conscious briefly that they didn’t control the curses, but they seemed to be able to work with them somehow,”

“More intelligent curses have been appearing since Yuji became Sukuna’s vessel,” Satoru murmured, but this wasn’t related to the asparagus special grade or volcano head. It was separate — it was personal.

“But all of this to take a first grade sorcerer, why?” and he shakes his head.

“It wasn’t for her — it was for me,” and that’s why they hadn’t killed you, “is she awake?”

Shoko sighed, “She should be waking up in a bit. She didn’t need much aside from some RCT treatment and stitches for the wounds she sustained,” she places a hand on his shoulder, “go see her, and try not to murder anyone until she wakes up,” she turns to leave, heels clicking.

“Wait,” Satoru stops her, and she pauses, “I need a favor.”

~~~

Satoru never liked hospitals. He hadn’t spent much time in them for actual injuries, because of his abilities. However, he spent far too much time inside medical facilities for the Gojo clan’s required medical check-ups. It was to ensure the future head’s health, he was told, but really, it was an excuse to make sure their cash cow would still give them milk.

Because that’s all he ever was — a pawn.

But he had long shed that role, tossed it from the board, when he had left for Jujutsu Tech. But even so, he lingered outside your room, some things still stuck. Especially when he had new memories — of seeing his comrades dead bodies laid on cold metal slabs.

And would you have been another if he hadn’t made it in time?

Satoru shakes his head of his thoughts, and opens the door. You were still asleep. Tucked into the hospital bed, you looked so small somehow, fragile — two things he never saw you as. How could he have? When you were the one on his first day to greet him and then slap him when he had something pretentious or childish (neither of you remembered but you had insisted it was one or the other).

And he had never let you go after that. But now…he couldn’t even hold you.

The sharp beeps of the machine monitoring your vitals, connected by the tubes and wires that ran all over your body. He reaches for his blindfold so he can look at you, really look at you, but he can’t. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into the soft of his palms,

But you were alive. You were alive. You were alive.

That’s what he had to tell himself as he drew closer to your side — no matter how you looked now, you were okay. And that’s what was most important.

“Are you going to brood by my bedside all day?” his gaze snaps to you, your eyes fluttering open still, still drooping and exhausted, but a soft smile on your lips, “Because hospitals are depressing enough, Toru,”

He chuckles, forcing his tears back and his voice to be event, “Sorry, sweetheart, I forgot to pull out the stops for you this time,” and his fingers find yours, lacing as they always did, but they felt so cold, “next time I’ll bring confetti, balloons, streamers, and I’ll serenade you even—”

You snort, “You may be the best at everything, but I know you’ll sing offkey on purpose just to piss off Shoko or anyone else that visits me,” and he laughs shakily, a sigh stuck in his throat.

He presses his forehead to yours, “I love you, so much, y’know that, yeah?”

“I love you too, so much, Toru,” you cup his cheeks, turning your head to press your lips to his hand, “thank you for saving me,”

“You saved yourself, I just cleaned up a little,” his lips find yours in a soft kiss, and your brow furrowed, “what? Are my kissing skills that bad?”

You roll your eyes, “No, but are you okay?” and he scoffs softly, shaking his head.

“You’re the one who got kidnapped and hurt, and you’re asking me if I’m—”

“Satoru, you asked me if you should murder that guy,” you tilted your head, “I know you’re not against killing if it’s necessary or deserved, but the way you said it, I got worried,”

“I’m fine, I just—” he cut off, “I just need to figure out who did this,” you squeeze his hand, “I have to,”

“Satoru—“

“I know you’re okay, but you don’t know how afraid I was that you wouldn’t be—“ he cuts off, “and it’s not just that,” his fingers curl around yours tighter, “it’s not just us we’ll have to worry about in the future. We’re already a family, but what will happen if someone targets you and our future kids?” He takes a shaky breath at the thought,

“I have to make an example.”

Your gaze grows sad, pressing a kiss to his lips, if only to ground him for a moment, “I know,” but you frown all the same, “but promise me, you won’t do anything stupid, ok?”

But he was far from stupid — but the people before him were as close as anyone could get.

“You all are aware of my wife’s attack a few weeks ago,” he said in measured words, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m here to tell you that she has succumbed to her wounds,” his voice wavered, breaking, “she’s gone,”

There were whispers and murmurs that swept over the room, all were silenced by the lift of a hand — one of the Gojo Clan elders, the geezer leader as he liked to call him.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Satoru,” he said, lips twisted in a fake frown, “we heard that your beloved wife passed from her injuries a week ago,”

“And yet, I see you’ve brought someone for me to meet,” his eyes slide to the woman dressed for a wedding rather than a meeting, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

The woman’s painted lips kept in a neutral expression, her body so rigid he could have mistaken her as a statue if not for his six eyes, and her eyes refused to meet his.

“Satoru, I understand you are mourning, but we have to think of the future of the Gojo clan, and our future place in the Jujutsu world is only as secure as the next heir—“

“And so you thought to disrespect my wife by trying to marry your choice?” but their brows furrow as he begins to laugh, one that sends shivers down their backs.

The elders all gape at him, sharing looks, before turning back to him as his laughter finally settles into a quiet chuckle, “Satoru, what is this?”

“It’s funny that you ever thought I’d fall for this bullshit,” he pulls off his sunglasses, cerulean eyes gleaming in the low light, “did you know my wife was never supposed to be sent on this mission? Or rather, there were no reports of cursed spirits in the area, but yet, orders came for her to report to where she was,”

A hush falls over the group, “And why are you telling us this?”

“Because I think you all have forgotten your place,” in a blink, he’s grasping the neck of the elder, the very same man who had taken him away from his parents at the age of two to ensure his training was done properly, “I am the strongest, not the Gojo clan. I’m the only Gojo needed for the clan to be prosperous,”

“You insolent child—“ Satoru squeezes around his neck, gasps and whimpers clawing their way out from his grip, veins bulging as he tried and failed to pull Satoru’s hands off. He had even let the old man penetrate his infinity and all he had managed was a scratch or two.

“You should be careful when you’re talking to the ‘child’ who has your life in his hands,” and he grows silent, “now, to get back to the point, where did those orders come from?”

A quiet washed over the room, the only sounds were the shaky gasps of the elder in his hand, “W-what are—“

“I had a chat with the higher ups — those rotten old geezers may not like me, but I know they like all their limbs intact,” he drops the elder and twists his arm behind his back, wrenching back until he heard a cracking noise, “and they told me the orders came from the Gojo clan, and I wondered why would my own clan send the wife of the head off to be executed,”

“Satoru—“ one of the elders spoke, and he tilted his head.

“If you want him to die, your excuses will only make this go faster,” and his mouth shuts, “I’ll take your silence as a confirmation that all of you had a hand in this,” he sighs, removing his sunglasses, running his fingers through his hair, “man, I’ve had conspiracies against me, but I never guessed you’d target the one person I value above everything else. But I knew you would fail her little test,”

He’s met with furrowed brows and gritted teeth, the elder looking up at him in fear, “W-what?”

“You see if I had it my way, I would have killed you all, no questions asked,” his fingers close over the top of his head, wrenching him backwards to meet his gaze, “But my wife, my very much alive wife,” he adds, with a glance to the woman looking increasingly faint with each second that passes, “she would want me to see if you’d come clean about the plan and whether some of you were innocent,” his lips curl, “but she doesn’t know the bloody history of the Gojo clan like we do,” and his fingers dig into the flesh of the elder, “so what’s a few more bloodstains?”

He tears off his head, screams ringing out as a rush of scarlet paints the walls, splattering across the other elders. The woman offered to be his wife rings over the others, her shrill shriek piercing their eardrums. It’s a dull thud as the lifeless corpse falls to the floor, as Satoru wiped the blood from his cheek, a cock of his head and eyes flashing with anger.

“You can’t do this! You—“ Satoru’s fist connects with his face, blood flooding his features.

“I can, because I’ve decided the Gojo clan needs to get rid of the tumors that infect it, and besides,” his body crumples to the floor as his foot slams into their stomach, a sick, wet noise that draws gasps and open mouthed silent screams from the others, “what are you going to do about it?”

“Please, please, she’s alive—” one of them begged, all of them falling to their knees, wrinkled faces contorted in fear, blown out eyes and faces wet with tears only making them more ugly than he thought was possible — he really couldn’t end up like these geezers, “we only wanted what was best—we wanted the next head of the clan to be even more powerful than you are—”

He laughs, not an ounce of mirth or levity, shivers running down the spines of the others who watched, as he stepped over the body of the elder, lips twisted into a wide grin, “And there’s your mistake,”

He loomed over the one who spoke, shadow cast over him, as his fingers curled around his arm, before breaking it off, spurts of blood splattering on his clothes, mixing with the other — some of it flecked across his face.

Satoru wiped his face with his forearm, tilting his head. He knew they were begging and pleading — lips moving, words forming, but it all fell on deaf ears. After all they had never bothered to listen to any sorcerer before, did they? Suguru’s face came to mind — flashes of the spring he would never get back — so why should he listen to theirs?

“You were too busy worrying about the next head, when you should’ve been worried about the current one.”

~~~~

You were asleep.

Moonlight gave way to your features in the pitch black room, your soft breaths warming his fingers that ran over your cheek. Shoko had discharged you yesterday, and he had brought you home — but even now with you home, he couldn’t sleep. It felt as if you’d disappear the moment he took his eyes off you, slipping from his grasp just as you almost did.

But you didn’t. You’re here.

It was the same words you had whispered to him every night when he had curled up beside you, “I’m not going anywhere, I’m here, aren’t I?”

But you could disappear.

You could if he wasn’t there with you — if he wasn’t fast enough. Because he couldn’t be everywhere at once, not even the strongest could accomplish that. But he wanted to keep you safe all the same. Would it be selfish to lock you up? Hide you away somewhere others could never find you? Keep you hidden if only to keep you safe.

But you never would be safe, not while you were with him.

“Toru?” Your voice breaks him from his thoughts, eyes fluttering open to meet his as your fingers reach for his cheek, “is that blood?”

And he’s pinned your hands in a blink of an eye, quickly and quietly, “it’s not mine,” his gaze glows in the dark, catching the moonlight streaming in, and he’s leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Toru, what happened?” And he kisses along your cheekbones, your jaw, your nose, your chin, “Satoru—“

“I killed them,” his fingers trace the folds of the satin robe he had helped you into, brushing against the bandages that hid your wounds from his sight, but he could see them all the same, “the people who did this,”

Your brow furrows, “Toru, what do you mean the people who—“

“Why do you stay with me?” He leans down to find your lips in a bruising kiss, lips sliding against yours as his fingers undo the knot of your robe, letting the fabric fall away from your bare body.

“What—“ his lips part from yours, strings of spit connecting your mouths.

“Why do you stay with me when I’m a monster?” and your eyes soften.

“You’re not—“ and he’s cutting you off with another kiss, as your hands struggle under his grip, the other grazing down your side, finding the swell of your hip only to squeeze.

“I’m the perfect weapon,” he kisses down the side of your neck, teeth grazing against your soft flesh harshly, drawing a gasp from your lips, “I could have killed them all, because I know they all knew—“

“Knew what?”

“My clan elders — they wanted to have you die on a mission, they wanted to stage it, so they could have me marry who they wanted,” he pauses, drawing a finger down the valley of your breasts, “create a perfect heir,”

“Satoru—“

He kisses you again, swallowing your words along with your thoughts, parting only to speak, “so I killed them, I didn’t use my cursed technique, I wanted them to feel the pain they gave you, wanted them to feel a fraction of what you did,”

You can’t find a second to speak, his fingers now sliding up your bare leg, as he presses himself closer, erection against your inner thigh, “Toru, you didn’t have to put yourself through that—“

“I wanted to,” he parts your thighs easily, large palm spread against your inner thigh, fingers toying with the edge of your panties, “wanted to tear them to shreds for what they did to you — and what they wanted to do—”

“I’m okay, Satoru, I’m—” a bitter laugh leaves his throat, as his fingers find your bandages again.

“Do you call coming home half dead okay now by jujutsu sorcerer standards?” he shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair, “I told you after Suguru that I would fix this rotten jujutsu world,” he presses kisses up your thigh, “and their deaths did fix one thing — no sorcerer will touch you or our future children again, especially when they speak to the woman the clan wanted to marry off to when your body wasn’t even cold yet,”

“You left her,” and he nods, eyes unable to meet yours.

“I only killed the elders I gathered, anyone else was spared — they didn’t dig their own graves,” his hand loosens around your wrists and you reach for his cheek, cupping his cheek, despite the blood, “I don’t regret it, I’d kill anyone who hurts you, but I didn’t want you to see me like this,”

“Like what?”

“Like a monster,” and you click your tongue, his eyes flitting to yours.

“You’re my Satoru, not a monster, you did what you did to protect me, protect our family,” you murmur, “that’s just about the most Satoru thing you could do,”

“But—“

“And if you are deemed a monster anyway?” You lean up, fingers smearing the blood against your own cheek, “then I’ll just become a monster with you,”

He crashes into you with a kiss, cupping your cheeks, as his tongue slips into your mouth, “can you really be a monster, sweetheart?”

He drags his lips down your neck, his teeth grazing your soft flesh along the hollow of your throat, “T-Toru—“ and his lips find the swell of your breasts, his tongue dragging over your pert nipple, while his fingers hook into the elastic of your panties, snapping it against your skin, “y’know I can be, I would be, for you,”

He peers up through half lidded eyelids, his thumb drags down your puffy bottom lip, “I can’t imagine someone so sweet like you as one,” he murmurs, as he pulls back, lips slick with spit, as he drags his fingers toying with the soaked fabric of your panties, “and I wouldn’t want to drag you down with me,”

Your fingers reach forward, propping yourself up on your other arm, “Drag me or not,” you cup his chin, “you’re stuck with me,”

“Can we make it a binding vow?” you roll your eyes, and his lips curl for the first time since he’s got here, “c’mon sweets, I have to get my reassurance somehow,”

You hold up the giant rock on your finger, the very diamond you had told Satoru was too much, “this wasn’t enough—” the last word is a bite back gasp, as he noses at the drenched crotch of your underwear, a deep inhale that has you squirming, “No, Toru—” but he’s pinned your thighs down, prying them open, as he gazes up at you.

“Uh-uh, princess, I don’t remember saying you could move, especially when you could reopen your wounds,” his nose bumps against your clothed clit, a wicked smile as he drags his tongue over the already wet fabric, “you still haven’t seen how much of a monster I can be.”

~~~

“Ngh, Toru, can’t, I can’t—” but you can — you know you can from the heat building in your sloppy cunt under already soaked through sheets, and he knows too well you can too, from the way your pussy flutters around his three fingers, knuckle deep as they piston in and out, while his mouth toys with your abused clit, “please—”

You lost track of how many times you had orgasmed — his fingers, his mouth, and sometimes both — he had pulled each one after the other, allowing small reprieves, only to bury himself back in. He had even had you ride his face at one point, and you were sure he’d suffocate under your drenched cunt, until he flipped you on your back again.

“Please what, sweets?” he slows his fingers, curling them a certain way that makes your lips fall open, “you’ll have to use your words,” he pulls back.

Chest heaving, chin glistening with your release, his tongue cleaned his lips off before he wiped the rest off, before pressing open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs. And soon enough, his fingers were sinking back into your messy pussy, splitting you open with his thick fingers.

“Didn’t you say you wanted this, sweetheart?” his words cut through the wet squelch of his digits fucking you open, “wanted to drag you down with you, wanted this—” and he sucks hard at your clit, tongue flicking over it, making your back arch, “wanted me to drag you down with me,” and he punctuates it with a thrust of his fingers, brushing against a spot that has you seeing spots, “gotta make good on your promise, and I have to erase all the pain they gave you,”

And you barely manage to latch onto the desperation in his voice, the way the facade flickers.

He fucks you ever so slightly deeper, and you cum hard, tearing through you as your body tenses, pleasure washing over you as it did every single other time, melding into the others, “Good girl,” he murmurs, as he works his fingers through your orgasm, the slick noises becoming white noise, until he finally pulls the digits from inside you.

Your eyes flutter open to the sight of him licking his digits clean one by one of your cum, his lips curled in a soft smile as they meet your gaze, his hand sliding up your thigh gently as it quaked, the very same fingers he had used to murder the people that hurt you, were so gentle when it was you — he was always so gentle when it was you.

But never himself.

You reach up for him, palm cupping his cheek, while the other finds his bare shoulder — clothes long discarded, “I love you,” and the cracks spread, spider webbing from the epicenter, “you know that right?”

His words seem caught in the back of his throat, “Even now?”

“Especially now,” and he’s pressing you against the mattress again, your thighs folded against your chest, legs slung over his shoulders, “you saved me,”

His gaze softened, “you saved me first,” and again and again, he couldn’t count the number of times you did, by just existing, pressing a kiss to the side of your thigh, “but if I’m too late next time?”

“You can’t be everywhere,” your fingers lace with his, “and I just need you,” and still in this situation, his ego can inflate at your praise — nosing at your thigh, a deep inhale, before dragging his tongue up the side of your leg, “only you.”

He drags his weeping erection over your soaked folds, leaking tip teasing your slit while he watched his pre mix with yours, “Think you need more than just me,” and when he lets the tip sink into you, your lips part with his name, just as your walls part for him, “want something else, wifey?”

“You’re the worst,” you look up at him, lips curling despite your pout, your fingers grasping at the sheets under you, as your cunt tries to swallow him whole, “Toru, how long are you going to tease me for?”

And he’s pulling out only to draw a groan from your lips, “If you’re such a monster, thought you could take it—“ and your hand reaches for him, tugging him close by his neck.

“I swear to god, if you don’t fuck me right now—“

He grins, “If you insist,”

Fuck.

He sinks into you all at once, all too fast and all too slow, balls deep as he bottoms out inside you, your walls fluttering only to pull him deeper, “fuck,” your head falls back as his tip brushes against your cervix, “too fucking big, I swear if you rip my stitches open—”

“You don’t think I cleared this before I decided to do this, baby?” He grunts, glancing down to see how your messy hole stretched open as he sunk into you, “can’t believe anyone thought I’d fuck anyone but you — you’re the only one for me, sweetheart,”

You couldn’t help but notice his eyes flicker to your pussy stuffed full with his huge dick, “You talking to me or my cunt—“ and he begins to fuck you, remark undercut by the moan that he pulled from your lips, “f-fucker—“

“That’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it sweetheart?” the lewd sounds of skin slapping together filled the room, his soft grunts and your moans, “wanted me to fuck you open, yeah?” and he wanted this, needed this after this week — it had been too long since he felt you under him like this — real and alive, his name leaving your swollen, kiss bitten lips.

And you needed it just the same — needed his fingers to dig into the softness of your thighs, needed the way only he could fill every inch of you, needed the soft murmurs of how good you felt, how much he loved you.

“Fuck, Toru, so fast,” you whine, but how could slow down he when you felt so good — so wet and warm, you had joked he could cum just looking at you alone barely a fist around his dick, but it was true — and being inside you just made him unravel completely, all sense of himself lost and drowning in just you, “hngh, it’s so deep,” you babble, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“That’s right, sweetheart, gonna fuck you deep, gotta make sure you feel it don’t I?” he coos, and his hand snakes between your thighs, pressing his palm to the bulge in your stomach, making you gasp as your walls clench around him, drawing a grunt from his lips, “that’s it, good girl,”

You keen at his praise, the wet squelch of your cunt around his cock ringing in your ears, balls slapping against your pussy with a rhythm that echoes in your head, as your body arches into him, needing him deeper, harder, faster. He’s nearly rutting into you, his thrusts growing shallow as you clamp down on him, achingly close.

“Those old fucking geezers don’t know what they were talking about—“ he grunts, running his mouth all the same even as he sunk impossibly fucking deeper, “don’t know this is the only cunt I’d ever breed. The only one I’d ever breed. The only one I can. Know why?” And you only can whimper, as his fingers rub against your clit, “because this is the only one made for my cum,”

And his words push you over the edge, cumming hard and fast, head lolling back, as his tip bullies your womb, as he fucks you hard over and over through your orgasm, sending pleasure ripping up your spine. Satoru groans as he feels you spasm, soaking in him in your juices, as he watches a white ring of your cum form around the base of his dick, dripping onto the clean sheets with the evidence of your arousal.

He can’t hold back.

He rails into you, a moan of your name falling past your lips making you pull him close, shifting your legs around his back just so he can sink into you even a centimeter deeper—

“Fuck, g’nna cum,” he’s meeting your glazed over eyes, knowing “gonna fill you up, yeah? Get you nice and round with my baby,” he groans at the thought, the image of you carrying his kid, stomach swollen as you grow his child, “and they’ll know, all of them, that you’re the only one I’d cum in,” and he’s so close, dick twitching as your arms around his neck tug him close.

“Cum in me, Toru, give me our baby,” and that’s it, he’s spilling inside you, spurting his hot release inside, again and again, as he fucks it deeper, filling you up.

“That’s it, take every drop,” he’s relentless, until he finally eases from you, his release trickling out. A soft sigh parts your lips that grows into a sharp gasp as he’s already flipping you over onto your stomach.

“Toru—” you whine.

“Aw did you think we were done sweetheart?” a pillow cushions your still bandaged stomach, placed underneath to support you, a shudder down your body as he rubs his cock against you, as he leans down, hot words murmured against your ear with a grin, before he sinks back into you with one thrust, stuffing his spilling cum back inside, “One thing about monsters are that we also have monstrous stamina.”

~~~

It was early, but Satoru was already awake.

He always had trouble sleeping, but now? His eyes found your sleeping form beside him, under the covers and safe, just as he had left you that morning. He didn’t know if he’d ever sleep more than three hours now. He brushed the back of his knuckles over your cheek, but you needed sleep — one of three things you never could live without (food and himself being the other two). And you definitely needed it now, after he had kept you up — nearly all night.

You shifted in your sleep, revealing several blooming hickies and love bites he had littered your body with, lips curling at the sight, as he pulled the blanket back up around you.

He was selfish — he should have divorced you the moment he had gotten you back. Let you leave because it was the right thing to do — to let you live a life safe without him. But he couldn’t — because he couldn’t imagine waking another morning, spending another day without knowing where you were, how you were doing.

It was selfish. But you let him be — especially when it came to you.

And his phone vibrates on the nightstand, whirring again and again, as he picks it up with a sigh, Yaga’s name flashing on the display. He takes one last glance at you before slipping from bed, stepping into the living room.

“Sensei! To what—“ he hardly gets a word out before screams fill his ears. He rubs his chin, it was too early for this.

He makes out the words — Gojo clan, dead, scandal, murder (wasn’t sure if he meant if he was going to murder Gojo or he meant what happened to the elders).

“It was a clan dispute, there was no need to tell you,”

Satoru held the phone away from his ear, Yaga’s yelling told him everything he needed to know, “Yeah, yeah, I know, the higher ups know — or they probably do by now,” he almost chuckles at the thought, and how he would love to do the same to them — knuckles white as he grips his phone — love to make them feel the same pain the sorcerers cared nothing for felt, make them—

Arms curl around him from behind and he knows it’s you, his body relaxing into your touch with practiced ease, your face buried in his back. His fingers relax, finding yours, tracing over the back, as he lifts one hand to his lips.

—But it wasn’t the time for that.

“Fine, fine, no need to have a heart attack, old man — I’ll talk to them tomorrow,” Yaga was still speaking until Satoru hung up, turning to face yoy, your eyes half closed as his fingers found your cheek, “what are you doing awake, sweets?”

His lips curl as you lean into his touch, “you weren’t next to me when I woke up,” you murmur, nose brushing against his fingers as your eyes flutter open and closed, “how am I supposed to sleep when my pretty husband isn’t next to me?”

“Just pretty?” and you snort, as his arm sneaks around your waist, pulling you to his chest, your head right over his heart, a content sigh on your lips.

“Are you ever serious?”

“Always,” and you smile up at him, chin resting against him, “what is it? Do I got something on my face?”

“You think our baby will have your pretty face?” You hum, and his gaze softens at the thought, “I hope so,”

He grins, “You do huh? And here I thought my ego didn’t need more stroking,”

“It doesn’t, but my husband deserves every bit of praise he gets — because he doesn’t get enough,” you kiss him softly, nose bumping against his.

“You planning on showering me with your praise, sweetheart?” And your lips finds his again.

“Always,” and he’s leading you back towards the bedroom, “where are you—“ you squeal as he scoops you up into his arms and carries you back to bed, gently placing you down, a grin on his lips.

He drags his thumb down your kiss ruined lips, “Do you think I’m gonna let you leave this bed without breeding you right?” He clicks his tongue, “I’m far from done with you, wifey,”

You’re so beautiful, hair spread on the pillow like a halo, “So we’re not leaving until I’m pregnant?” Your fingers brush against his cheek, “we might be here a while,”

Satoru wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

He kisses you again, long and languid, “There’s nothing I want more than to stay in bed with you.”

✧ a/n: sorry i've been gone for a bit!! i got super busy with work and got hella writer's block and right when i was feeling ready to write-- i got sick. but i'm doing much better now!!

✧ taglist: @arrivedercis, @ssetsuka, @ch3rryistheg, @satorusmochis, @sunarins-bae, @blindbabycadder , @yihona-san06 , @dantaku , @archieballs , @ceruleansol , @mqcht , @xxemmarldxx , @chiyokoemilia , @theshylittleelfgirl , @rroseselavyyy , @out4thenight , @jatyes , @unreliablefangs , @sleazymac-n-cheesy , @celestialseasart , @minsified , @akemfs , @ranatherealestsigma , @zherryxtar , @virtualangelllllll , @itsmebien , @difluenza , @rougebrainsludge , @mochigod , @euphorism , @vii-is-free , @elliesndg , @beneaththelamina , @monarch-of-anime-simping , @hhimetsu , @simply-a-s1mp , @jennieclips , @svt-backup , @angelbunsx , @duhhitsmiranda , @satowooo , @fushitoru , @lesaurita , @briluvslee , @gojo-gets-me-wetter , @catsgomurp , @pinkyvomit , @hyori2 , @wakashudou , @celestialgojo , @sxnkuna, @nakariabnrb, @dazailover1900, @hanlay, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @kxouri, @forest-fruits-jam, @spider-fan72, @strawmariee

[coweye]

The Worst Logan

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 5.8k words

Summary: You are the deceased-anchor-being-Logan's lover, having found yourself with Laura in the void, you navigate meeting the variant of the love of your life. Sweet dick kicking angst with gratuitous smut, cause we all know Logan eats pussy like a CHAMP. 😤

This is self indulgence at its finest, but it had be to done. 7-years ago, the movie Logan broke something within me that has finally been fixed! 🤠💕

Warning: Explicit - smut. canon death, depression, angst, spoilers for Logan / Wolverine and deadpool, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good stuff. 18+

The first time you see him again, the new him, the other him you mean. It’s in the cave accompanied by a man who talks far too much.

You recognise his voice in an instant when the mouth finally allows him to get a word in edgeways. His voice. 

You’ve heard it nearly every night for the past seven years. It's a few octaves deeper than you remember and filled to the brim with vitriol but it's definitely his. The realisation that your memory has been warped by time is a blow to the gut but you continue towards the sound all the same.

When finally you round the corner Logan stands before you in all his glory. For a moment you are rendered utterly unable to form a single sentence as he leans against the wall, a bottle of bourbon in his palm and adorned in yellow and blue.

Your mind can't reconcile this figure as the man you buried. He has the same sneer, the same broad shoulders, he even has the same stance - but Logan, your Logan, would rather die than wear that garish yellow suit and admit to being the hero he always was. 

His nose flares in what you believe to be recognition as he smells your presence, you allow your powers to retreat and reveal yourself. As your invisibility ebbs away Logan snarls in surprise as the talkative man in red gasps theatrically and begins jumping on the spot. 

Your fears are proven well founded when your eyes connect with his across the room, instead of the love and recognition, you find only open hostility and rage.

Your heart had bulldozed all logic, you were in the fucking void, of course it was a variant.

This Logan looks younger; his hair not so grey, his face unscarred and his eyes not so tired. 

This not-quite-Logan stares right back at you seemingly ill at ease with the stranger who is currently taking an inventory of his face. 

“Logan, that's them. It’s X-23 and Y/N, the one’s I told you about.” You graze your palm along your daughter's back in support as you come to stand beside her. 

“Her name is Laura.” It’s a knee jerk reaction; your correction. Your girl wasn’t the sum total of an experiment, she was her own person with her own thoughts and feelings, not a weapon to be utilised. 

The Wolverine’s gaze darts between the two of you, it’d be comical if you didn’t feel like you were about to regurgitate your lunch. They land on Laura, and linger there for a few moments, before they return to you, it's as if he’s trying to find you in her features. 

You barely hear the man you will later come to know fondly as Wade Wilson, question how you all ended up in the void.

“There was a knock at the door TVA sent me here, saying my world was dying … and I never even got the chance to fight for it.” Blade explains remorsefully. 

“They sent us here because they knew we’d put up a fight.” You utter distractedly, finally breaking your staring contest with Logan as he takes a swig from the bottle he’s currently white knuckling. 

“People like us don’t go quietly, TVA knows that so they took us out.” Elektra attests.

“The answer is yes, I’m in.” Wade declares.

“In what?” Blade questions bemused by the man in red. 

“A team up, you me, me you, all of us together, lets get the fuck outta’ here.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar!” Logan growls, furious at the other man. 

“It was an educated wish!”

“HA!” The loathing behind it makes you pause, he was so angry. 

The heat in his voice, the resentment, it burns you. You supposed even your Logan had his fair share of rage.  

When he arrived at the mansion all those years ago, fresh faced and wild, you had adored him even then, though Logan was far too preoccupied with Jean to notice the torch you carried for him back then.

It was ironic that It had taken the utter annihilation of the X-Men to bring you together. Charles’ accident had left the two of you as sole survivors. Over the years in hiding your ability to mould force fields managed to keep the worst of the effects of Charles’ seizures at bay, but Charles Xavier was one of the most powerful telepaths to grace the earth and your powers had limits. 

Those years were some of the darkest and yet the best of your life, you found yourself growing to love the man the world called The Wolverine.

You realise you’ve entirely tuned out Wade’s rousing speech and have spent the time analysing the man wearing your love’s face currently gargling bourbon though your name pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Laura, Y/N? What’s it gonna’ be girlies?” 

“Lets fucking go.” Laura agrees heartily, you simply nod still dazed. 

“YES! LET’S FUCKING GO!” Wade shouts back fist pumping. 

“You’re all fucking dead.”

Much later in the evening when the sun has finally set you seek him out. When you come across the father and daughter duo before the campfire you hold back, your skin slowly begins reflecting light, fading from vision as you call upon your powers to hide in the treeline. 

They both needed this and it wasn’t something you were about to get in the way of. They talk for a little while, before they part ways, both a little teary. Laura nods your way despite being unable to see you as she heads back to the cave, her nose just as keen as her fathers. 

So it shouldn’t surprise you a few moments later when you hear Logan's voice call across the clearing.

“You gonna’ stand there all night, Bub?” The man sounds utterly exhausted. 

You say nothing in response, only dismissing your powers and revealing yourself as you advance. You take Laura’s seat at the fire, not quite having the courage to look at him just yet. 

“You hear all that? Should mind your own damn business.” You remembered this Logan well, the one aching for a fight, desperate to shed his vulnerability and bloody his fists. 

“I didn’t hear a thing, Logan.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you haven’t had to gentle parent The Wolverine in a while but it’s like riding a bike. “I wanted to let the two of you talk, she needed it and I think maybe you did too.”

“What do you fuckin’ know.” He growls dismissively, swigging from his bottle of what now appears to be scotch. “You can skip the speech and go back up, I’m not looking for company.” 

“I’m not here to tell you what to do, Logan.” Finally, you look away from the fire and find his eyes fixed on you, you swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “I just wanted to see you.”

“See me?” He questions incredulously. “Well, keep the change, bub. Good night.”

Despite your smile at his words, you can’t help the tears that begin to cloud your eyes. Your mind and your heart have been locked in a constant battle since setting eyes on him. This man by all rights is Logan. The man you have mourned relentlessly and yet in every way that matters he isn’t.

“It’s like seeing a ghost.” Is the only explanation you can give him, his response is a stoic cheers with his bottle before he takes a deep gulp. 

Finally either his curiosity or the alcohol gets the better of him as he questions. “You her Mother?” 

“Yes and no.” His stare doesn’t leave your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “Her biological mother was a woman from Mexico City that the fuckers in the lab exploited, all we know is that she disappeared after giving birth. After … you … after everything that happened in North Dakota…” You trail off.

Your voice is suddenly thick and your words get stuck in your throat as you try to make them form. It's utterly embarrassing as you feel the traitor tears begin to form. 

A bottle of Johnny Walker enters your field of vision from where you sit staring at your clasped hands in your lap. Startled, you glance up to find the Wolverine standing before you, casting an impossibly large shadow as he holds out the bottle.

You accept the offering from his gloved hand, your fingers grazing his in the transaction as you take a swig or two (or three) before passing it back. He looks thoughtful when he places his lips on the place where your own had just lingered, as he retakes his seat. With amber courage coursing your veins, you continue. 

“She was all I had - if not for her, I-.” You wipe your nose, staring back into the fire. If it was a struggle to meet his eyes before, it was impossible for you now.  “I just couldn’t see the point in being alive anymore if everything just slowly gets stripped away; the X-Men, then Charles and then Lo-” 

You don’t know it, but you’re preaching to the fucking choir with your words. It was rare to find a soul, going through the exact same torture as yourself. Logan found himself softening to you, it was as involuntary as it was unwelcome, but he couldn’t help it as you described a battle so close to the one he fought daily. 

“-she reminded me what I had to live for. Laura she is fierce and so fucking kind; she is everything I loved about him.” You cut your trauma dumping to a swift end as you remember yourself. “So no, to answer your question. I’m not her biological mother, but she’s my daughter in every way that counts.”

Silence reigns for a moment as neither one of you knows what to say to the other. 

“You loved him?” Logan’s voice is deeper than before when he speaks the sentence. You raise your eyes from the fire to find his for the first time since you began monologuing. They’re filled with something you can’t quite name.

“I did.”

Logan seems to contemplate this, mulling it over as he continues drinking. Finally, he seems to reach some sort of conclusion.  “You should get some sleep, big day for you tomorrow.”

“Can I stay here … with you for tonight?” The words slip out before you really even mean them to. Tomorrow you might be going to your death and the ghost of the love of your life is here alive and real, what do you really have to lose?

Logan does a double take, not quite expecting those to be the words that leave your lips. “I’m not him, Darlin’.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” You sigh, “but could you please just hold me whilst I sleep, James?”

A huge part of you expects him to tell you to fuck off back to the cave and leave him to his booze fueled pity party. However, against all odds, he doesn’t do that. 

Logan simply lifts the half full bottle of scotch to his lips and downs every last drop. He’s a little unsteady on his feet when finally he stands up to his full height and turns towards the blankets he’s laid out on the ground. 

“Fuck it.” He growls and drops himself like a sack of potatoes onto the pile with little regard for his own body. You’ve certainly had nicer invitations into his bed but when he waves you over with a lazy gesture, you can’t help but hurry before he changes his mind. 

Before you know it you’re tucked into Logan’s side. His gloved hand doesn’t quite seem to know where to go, more accustomed to brutality than tenderness these days as it hesitates for a moment suspended in the air. After some careful consideration he delicately places it on the dip in your waist securing you to him. 

Logan’s breath is uneven, though he’s doing his best to seem unaffected by your closeness. It has been years since someone has touched him with such easy affection and the way your body curls around his own as if it was created to do just that is driving him crazy. 

You are completely at ease with him, you trust him so entirely it almost breaks his fucking heart. Logan's stomach is heavy with something he can’t name, you fucking terrify him. Yet, he doesn’t move because you feel so fucking good as he holds you. 

It's scary, you realise, how easy it would be to pretend this was your Logan as you melt into his embrace. He smells exactly the same as you bury your face in his neck, the roughness of his beard feels the same pressed against your forehead. 

This Wolverine’s arms are a little fuller and his chest a little firmer, but he still holds you the same. You make a decision to not focus on such difficult philosophical concepts as variants and the morality of switching out your Wolverine. You decide to live in the moment, to just enjoy the furnace of his body keeping you warm and his arm encircling your waist protecting you from the world, it’s so easy to pretend that this was your Logan, so you do. 

And you fall asleep quicker than you have in years.

It is still night when you awaken, it's not quite dawn but the fire has burned out to a low smoulder. You’re not sure what has awoken you from the best sleep you’ve had in a long while, that is until you feel the arms wrapped around you and the sleeping Wolverine holding you in a death grip against his chest, his half hard appendage digging into your hip. 

Everything is still hazy; you’re floating in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, you forget about North Dakota and, god forgive me, Laura. 

You’re back in your bed at home and Logan is holding you.

There's no my logan, new logan, old logan. 

He’s just Logan. 

You bury yourself deeper in his neck. 

It’s only for a moment though before it all comes flooding back and the agony overwhelms you like a blade to the gut. 

Instantly tears flood your cheeks as you shake from your silent sobs. 

“...Y/N?” Logan's voice is thick with confusion and sleep, his grip has loosened somewhat to allow you to breathe but he doesn’t release his hold on you. “What’s wrong darlin’?” 

That affectionate name is the last nail in the coffin it fucking ends you. 

All teary, and regrettably maybe a teensy bit snotty, you lean forward and kiss him. Kiss isn’t the right word but it’s your intention. Your lips touch one anothers before he’s pulling away and holding you back. 

“Y/n… Darlin’ you don’t want this… I’m not-”

“But you are Logan. You’re him just as much as he’s you.” Your hands rise to his jaw, running your finger along its familiar sharp edge. “You’re Logan.”

“Y/N… I’d be taking advantage…” His voice is firm yet gruff as he tries to inject reason into the conversation. As usual being the good guy he’s constantly telling everyone he’s not. 

“I am so goddamn sick and tired of being sad, please Logan.” This time when you capture his lips, he doesn’t rear back. You’re not sure what’s going through his mind, but his self control seems to snap within him as he begins returning the kiss in earnest.

Logan’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip begging entry, entry you swiftly allow. You’re breathing heavily through your nose as he plunders the depths of your mouth, exploring your mouth with his quick tongue. 

Deciding to make the next move you push yourself up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lower stomach. He’s lifted the top half of his body to ensure he doesn’t lose your mouth, your teeth clash slightly with the movement and you can’t help a bubble of nervous laughter.  He pays it little mind though as he swallows the noise, his hands coming to rest on your hips. 

Instantly, you grind your hips downward on the growing bulge that lurks below. Logan lets out a deep groan at the friction and his hands on your hips raise to the bottom of your tee in response, his thick hands tugging at it requesting your permission.

Nodding, you pull back causing him to groan at the loss of your hot mouth on his. Though it's only for a moment as the second the tee is over your head, he’s back on you, only it's your bare neck he’s lashing with affection now.

Logan breathes in deep your scent mixing with the heady aroma of your arousal. He’s nipping and licking along the smooth skin, soothing his bites as quickly he makes them. It's the animal instinct within him, telling him to devour you entirely; make you his. 

“Logan…” You gasp, your eyes are clenched shut in pleasure as he bucks his hips upwards into your jean covered centre.  

Logan pulls back to take you in, writhing above him in the moonlight, you’re fucking beautiful, though the flash of familiar metal between your breasts catches his eye, unable to stop himself, he catches it in his fist. 

Dog tags; his old dog tags.

‘LOGAN’ is etched into the aged metal and they’re warm to the touch from living beneath your shirt over your heart. 

The realisation hits him like a freight train, not only was he loved by you, but for his other self to have given you these, he fucking loved you. 

He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him before, that the other him was as devoted to you as you were to him. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about it, but he twists his hands, careful not to snap the metal string, but using it to pull you close. 

For the other dead Logan, the hero he’s heard so goddamn much about, he decides he’ll give you the treatment you deserve. 

As if you weigh nothing at all he flips you onto your back, his hands dropping the dog tags and falling to the waistband of your jeans. His dexterous hands undo the button so quickly, that your trousers are peeled from your legs before you know it, leaving you in an unimpressive unmatching set of underwear beneath his roaming eyes. Though Logan couldn’t give a fuck as he groans at the sight of your body exposed to him. 

Logan begins by kissing down your stomach before his hands linger on your black panties, he can't help but grin at the tiny barely there bow in the middle of them; you’re like a gift all wrapped up for him. 

His eyes lift to meet your own as he begins sucking at the fabric that's keeping your pussy from him, it's already damp with your arousal and by the time he finishes, absolutely sodden with his saliva.

“Logan, please…” you whisper desperately as your hands find his ‘tufts’ for a lack of a better word. They were new, but you liked them, plus they now seemed pretty functional. 

He takes only a moment to remove his gloves, before they return eagerly to your body. Those thick hands traverse the planes of your thighs, they’re quick in their passing as they make their way up to the waistband of your panties, he hooks them over his thumb and reveals your soaking core to his hungry eyes and he’s right back to wanting to fucking devour you, and boy, fucking does he. 

Enthusiastic, would be the word, earth-shattering would be another - the word to describe how Logan eats pussy.

Logan without much preamble dives into your centre, his tongue slips into your hot wet heat, lingering for a moment on your clit, circling it reverently before he dips that talented tongue inside of you. His nose knocks against your clit several times, each more delicious than the last as he utterly devours your pussy. He moans, grinding his hips into the dirt and readjusts pulling you closer, his thick muscled arms locking under your thighs as you buck against his mouth. 

You're a complete goner the second he slips a single long thick finger inside of you. 

“Fuck, Lo, I’m gonna-” 

“Come, baby... I got’ya.” He mumbles into your pussy. And fuck me, he does. He carries on lapping at you all the way through your orgasm, drawing it out of you like the pied fucking piper of pussy. It feels like you’ve been falling for hours by the time you finally come down, only Logan doesn’t allow you any reprieve before he’s back to lashing your clit with his quick tongue. Your hands find those faux ear tufts once more and he groans as you pull on them a little more sharply than you intend in your shock, in answer Two fingers bury themselves deep inside of you.

“One more.” He’s negotiating orgasms, but you have no qualms as he rubs his nose side to side with affection against your sensitive bud. His tongue and nose moving in pace with his fingers, currently fucking in and out of you. 

It's when he scissors those thick long fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot within you that makes your back arch. 

Your top half has left the ground, he grunts in annoyance, suspending your hips back to his mouth at the angle he likes. Those deep hazel eyes meet yours from between your thighs, crazed and animalistic, driven wild with arousal as he eats your pussy with gusto.

It's that image that thrusts you over the edge once more, your back hitting the ground as your body seizes, thrusting your hips against his mouth. 

Without any preamble a third finger joins stretching you deliciously. The hand not currently fucking you, leaves your hip to caress your stomach stroking the flesh there, not quite able to reach your breast. 

“Lo… fuck… yes… right… right fucking there.” You cry as he draws your second orgasm of the night out, only when you tug at his tuft due to overstimulation does he acquiesce and pull back, only of course, after cleaning up your gaping desperate hole. 

He sucks his fingers clean as he sits back on his knees, his cock thick and tenting against the yellow bottoms of his suit. Your arousal has soaked through his beard making his chin slick, he wipes it with a single swipe with the back of hand though, it does very little for his sodden chin. 

Tired of not touching him, you sit forward grabbing at his belt. It's a difficult contraption that confounds you, though Logan is far too wound up to find any humour from it. 

 He replaces your hands unbuckling the thing before finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. 

There, finally in all his glory, he is exposed to you and you’ve never been a religious woman, but Mary mother of fucking christ, he is gorgeous. Logan’s chest is fucking… transcendant to behold, it's like he’s been sculpted by god herself, the light isn’t the best out of here, but you hope to god you don’t die tomorrow simply for wanting to take your time and lick each and every single one of those muscles on his stomach. 

Its your turn to leap forward onto your knees and join his mouth with yours, he tastes distinctly of you and his chin is still sodden, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, you love the fact your desire is still marking his skin. 

Your hands trace the firm abs at your disposal, before dipping into his now open trousers and underwear to find him rock hard. 

If his physique impressed you, you had a big storm coming, because his cock was a fucking resplendant beauty and it was plain to see from the swelling Logan really liked eating pussy. 

Your fingers barely touched as you pumped him, once twice, spreading the copious amounts of precum along his shaft.

“Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth. You lean down, positioning yourself to take him in your mouth, though he stops you in your tracks grabbing your shoulder. “No sweetheart, I want your pussy.” You clench around nothing at his filthy words, this man will be the fucking death of you. 

You reach behind you and free your tits from their confines, another moan leaves his throat as he pushes you backwards. On his hands and knees he’s deliberate with every move as kicks the bottoms of his suit off as he prowls towards you.

Finally, he’s in between your legs naked as the day he was born. His hands are on your breasts, exploring the new plains exposed to him, playing with your nipples alternating between sucking and twirling them between his fingers. 

So lost in his skilled hands, you barely notice when one disappears to line himself up, it's a shock, the sudden intrusion, but not an unwelcome one as he thrusts himself forward and as deep as he can go. 

You moan his name into his ear, doing your best to keep your volume down.

He has prepared you well, you’re so worked up that he slides home through your tight slit. The sheer size of him means it's a stretch that borders on uncomfortable, but the second his hand finds your clit you’re clenching around him and grinding forward, desperate for more. Unable to control himself, his claws extend, he grunts pulling you close and thrusting them down into the ground. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts into your neck, where he's busy lavishing the flesh once again with bites. Your neck is going to be black and blue tomorrow, but you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck.

The two of you are so fucking close his bare skin so deliciously hot against your own, but you want more, you need more.

Logan pulls his hips backwards, pulling out of you until only the tip remains before slamming home and spearing you wide open his cock. Your moans blend together as you lose yourself in each other's bodies.

Logan is worked up from eating your cunt, so it doesn’t take long for the sensation to hit him.

“Fuck, where do you want it?” He grunts into your neck, as his hand descends to rub quick circles on your clit. He pulls your ass up, making sure to hit the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

You know he’s teetering on the edge, desperate to make you cum before he does. 

“Inside - come inside me, baby.” You whimper into his neck as he pounds into you reaching your deepest recesses with his thick cock, his hammering, it’s unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it pushes him deeper into spots you couldn’t have imagined. He groans at your words, sounding every bit the wounded animal he is. Your shared groans and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as he takes you again, and again is all that can be heard in the clearing. 

Finally as he joins your lips in a kiss, you come hard on his cock. Clenching around him as your body writhes uncontrollably. 

Logan adjusts his hold on your thighs, now he uses your body, drawing out your pleasure but ultimately chasing his own. The pace is fast as he grunts and groans erotically into your neck, he fucking growls as his hips stutter against your own, and you know you should be more careful, but the thought of him cumming inside you has you gripping his cock like a vice once more. You give him a tight sheath to come in, and he pumps you fucking full of his cum and its a big fucking load. Logan thrusts a few more times, pushing his seed deep inside of you as he claims your mouth once more.

You run your hands through his hair as he lets his body fall against yours, he’s supporting his own weight, thank god, you don’t think you could handle his muscle, let alone the adamantium skeleton. He’s still sheathed inside you as the two of you revel in the closeness.

The silence stretches on for an amount of time you can’t quite quantify. The two of you take in your surroundings, listening to the quiet of the forest, until your breathing has finally calmed down. 

Logan lifts himself up on one arm, and pushes your hair back from your face. You stare at him in the moonlight for a long moment, unable to help yourself as you trace his familiar features. His strong nose and the curve of his brow, your finger dances along his flesh. 

Logan’s eyes close, so touch starved he basks in your affection. 

“I-” Logan goes to speak, before you drop your finger on his lips.

“It’s okay. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens. I’m okay with it.” You smile at him, there's a chill to the air but you’ve got your Wolverine warming you up. “I just wanted one night to be about something other than death.”

He takes your hand from his lips and kisses along the back of it and up your wrist, though It's a slippery slope as he hardens inside of you again. 

Logan manages to pull two more orgasms out of you before dawn.

When your time has run out, the two of you finally dress, not wanting to be found in a compromising position. Logan curls his body around yours and buries his face in your hair as he spoons you from behind. 

Just when you’re just on the cusp of sleep, he finally speaks into the night. Logan opens up about his world tearfully, instantly you reach your hand down, finding his own thicker one resting on your belly and you intertwine your fingers with his. He tells you of the mutant hunting as you draw comforting circles on the back of his hand, it's not much, but it's more than he’s ever had whilst reliving his worst day. When he has finally bared his soul, the two of you fall back into silence. 

After what has been an emotionally, not to mention physically taxing night the two of you finally fall asleep if only for a few more hours, two incredibly damaged souls offering one another comfort.

It’s later in the morning when you finally awake. The sun has risen that much is clear but you're slow to awaken from your comfortable position in Logan's arms, his warm strong body coiled against your back fighting off the worst of the early morning chill, his face still buried in your hair as he snores peacefully.

There’s a sensation niggling at you, you think it's what woke you up in the first place; you can’t shake the sensation of being watched. 

Lazily you open your eyes, only for your heart to drop to your asshole when you find Wade Wilson about 10-inches from your face lying on his side, his head supported by his hand.

“Mornin’ sleepy head, have a good night?” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“AGH!”  Unable to stop both your cry of fear and your fight or flight response in progress, you throw yourself backwards, your powers activating of their own accord, and slamming your body into Logan’s chest. He startles awake, with the telltale ‘snikt’ of his claws extending as he orientates himself, his arm coming out to block you from the threat, despite not being able to see you. 

After your brain catches up, you call your power back, but Logan doesn’t do the same, keeping his claws out seemingly ready to slice up his not-so-best friend. 

“Get the fuck outta’ here, Wade.” Logan growls harshly at the other man, his voice is filled to the brim with hatred.

“Hmph - this is what I get for acting altruistically. I thought a good stress relieving bone in the woods with your cherie amour would really sort out that bee in your bonnet, but you sir are just a very unpleasant man and I’m worried that-”

“WADE.” This time Logan’s voice is a threat as he shouts at the man. You place a hand on his muscled arm to steady him. Though he may have stopped your heart with his antics, Wade isn’t doing anything particularly outrageous.  Logan shakes your hand from his arm and allows his claws to retract as he stands. 

“Thanks for jumping to my defence there, Y/N. Great to meetcha bt-dubs, huge fan.” You’re disoriented from the wakeup call but you shake the hand he offers you.  Honestly, you’re still trying to process the head-fuckery of the past day, so you don’t have a quick response for him, though the mouth doesn’t seem to mind as he continues. “That mean lil’ lady is asking for ya’. Thought I’d come and check you and big yellow weren’t still bumpin’ uglies. Didn’t want her to see you and Papa going to town on each other's fun parts.”

“Uh - Thanks… Wade?” 

“That’s me.” He theatrically begins bestowing multiple kisses on the back of your hand he still had in his grasp, which you retract gently. “Oh, and we’re done.”

Pushing yourself up, you go to stand though Logan offers you his newly gloved palm. You lock your fingers around his and the two of you stand together, inches apart and your fingers still intertwined, neither quite sure what to say to the other. Wade’s ‘awh’ over your shoulder shatters the moment and he drops your hand instantaneously. 

After a beat or two Logan leans forward, placing a single solitary kiss on your forehead. “See ya’ around, bub.”

“Where’s my smooch, Logie-bear?”

“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” He calls as he walks around, Logan doesn’t look back as he heads off into the forest. 

You still had faith he’d turn up for the fight, Logan always turned up when it counted and you knew this time would be no different. 

“Hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.” Wade sighs linking his arm with yours. 

“Mmh, You can say that again.” You agree with the clown watching Logan’s ass as he walks away, you swear you see his step falter thanks to his impeccable hearing, but he doesn’t turn back. 

The two of you turn and you begin walking back to the cave arm in arm with the strange man to prepare for the assault on Cassandra’s lair when Wade finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask since meeting you “So, Y/N just between us girls… how big is it?”

LOGAN TENDER HAIR TUCK SUPREMACY RISE. I'll use it in every fic, don't think I won't.

Thanks for reading xxx

Graphics by my pal - @saradika-graphics 💕

[starkeysbunny]

tears [rafe cameron]

pairing - rafe cameron x reader

summary - rafe was a busy man. but, when his girl knocked on the doors of tannyhill with tears streaming down her cheeks—nothing was more important than her. and he’d fix whatever was bothering her. or whoever. he hated to see his girl cry.

warnings - none rlly, hurt/comfort, protective and attentive rafe

rafe sighed into his phone call when he heard a knock on the door. he stood in his father’s office—which was now his—pacing the room.

“hey, hey man, just hang on a sec, sorry.” he muttered to the potential investor before he put him on hold. he set his phone down on the desk and marched out of the office, curses and mumbles leaving his lips.

“somebody always fuckin’ needs something.” his hand rubs over his buzzed hair as his other hand curls in and out of a fist at his side. “goddamn. probably fuckin’ sarah and her stupid—“

his mumbles come to a halt when he opens the door and sees his girl standing there, tears staining her flushed cheeks. “rafe..” she whispers weakly, her frame shaking as she looks up at him.

“hey, hey, baby.” he says quickly, completely forgetting the phone call waiting for him as all his attention, worry, and concern is shifted to her. “what’s wrong, c’mere.”

his hand reaches for her wrist, pulling her into his chest. she lets out a quiet sob as she buries her face into his chest, stepping inside. he haphazardly pushes the door shut as he keeps her close to his chest and walks them both inside and through the foyer.

he whispers shh’s, and coos at her in his arms as he heads for the living room, sitting them both down. he softly pulls her from his chest, his head dipping down to her level. his hands come to her cheeks, wiping the tears off her soft skin.

“hey, baby, what happened? talk to me.” he says, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“i-i-“ she stammers, unable to get words out as she chokes on cries. her breathing quickens, getting close to hyperventilating. when she cries, she goes too fast, losing control of her breathing.

“hey, hey, no. don’t do that. c’mon baby, you know better. breathe, baby, breathe.”

she begins to slow down, her breathing coming back to normal. she keeps her eyes on rafe’s, slowly calming down.

“there ya go. atta’ girl. good job. breathe.” he praises, his head nodding softly as he watches her. once her breathing fully calms, she takes one last deep breath and wipes the last of her tears.

“now, gonna tell me what’s got your pretty little head so worried, hm?” he coos, his head tilting slightly. “what’s bothering you? who do i have to kill, huh?” he jokes with a grin. but to be honest—he probably wasn’t joking.

she sniffles, her eyebrows furrowing. “my uterus.” she whines. “i’m on my period. my cramps hurt like a bitch. and my mom is pissing me off.” she sniffles, stumbling over her words slightly. “and i’m hungry. and you weren’t answering, i know you’re busy. but i just really needed to see you, i’m sorry—“

“hey, hey, it’s okay.” he nods softly. “i’m here, it’s alright. i’m not busy, doesn’t matter.” he says matter-of-factly. he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. “what do you need? hm? i have that heating pad in my room i bought for you a couple months ago.” he whispers sweetly. “i can make you somethin? buy you stuff? i dunno, what do you need?”

he was willing to do anything, he didn’t care. when his baby cried, he’d move mountains to make her feel better. he’d go to every store in town, run up his credit card, do anything. as long as she got a smile on her face at the end of it.

she nods against his chest, looking up at him. “yeah.. the heating pad. and—and can you make me a grilled cheese? you make em’ so good.” she asks sweetly, her voice gentle and weak.

he smiles softly, looking down at the sweet girl in his arms. “yeah, baby, of course. i don’t know if they’re that good. everytime i make them, you’re usually drunk and it’s three in the morning. that might be why they taste so good.” he jokes.

she shoves his chest playfully. “i don’t care, you can’t fuck up a grilled cheese. please?”

he grins. “yeah, yeah. grilled cheese, heating pad. got it, baby. anything else?” he says thoughtfully, his fingers coming to push strands of hair off from where they stick to her tear strained cheeks.

she shakes her head. “just you.”

he smiles. “okay.” he kisses her forehead. “i’ll be right back, gimmie a few minutes to get all that.” he stands, making sure she’s laid comfortably on the couch. he grabs the blanket from the end of the couch and drapes it over her. his eyes search the living room, landing in the remote, he hands it to her.

he leans down, placing another kiss to her cheek this time. “put on whatever you want. i’ll be back, promise.”

he leaves her at the couch and heads back to the office. he picks up his phone and takes it off hold. “hey, gotta go. somethin’ came up. i’ll give you a call later.” he hung up before the guy could even get a word in.

nothing came before his girl.

[killerpancakeburger]

Thinking about a Reader who ends up having Scary Dog Privileges with Ghost without meaning to. It just happened.

Then they have to deal with the fact that this comes with duties too.

Tags: civilian!reader, gn!reader, mostly fluff, a bit suggestive, smug!Ghost, smooth!Ghost. 800 words.

Part 2. Part 3.

When Ghost is reluctant to getting sutured in Medical after accidentally opening his stitches, grumbling he can do it himself, who does the nurse call for? Yeah, you.

She could stand her ground, after all she's used to dealing with big, whiny men, but it's much more fun to knock on your door and smile at your bewildered gaze and gaping mouth when she explains the situation in two sentences.

"Ghost's being difficult, mind taking over?" "I'm sorry, what the hell does this have to do with me?" "C'm'on, everyone on base knows he's got a soft spot for you. Don't you want to make my job easier?"

You roll your eyes and slam your hands on your desk as you get up. Groaning as you walk past her— "I'm doing this for you, nothing else, got it?"

Mumbling to yourself "you've got to be kidding me" as you barge into the sick bay. Ghost is coolly seated at the end of a bed, large as life, casual clothes as black as his mask and— oh. You weren't told the wound was on his thigh— you weren't warned that he didn’t have pants on. You can’t help it, your eyes go down, down, your lingering gaze and your flustered silence forming a confession louder than words.

A noise — a scoff or a grunt, you’re not sure — emanates from him, breaks your trance, makes you look up. The amusement in his gaze tells you he noticed your oggling— of course he did. Nothing gets past the Ghost, and you've been remarkably unsubtle. Despite the mask, you swear you can make out the smug smirk on his lips. His cockiness reignites your irritation. Annoyance making you bolder than you really are, you charge at him, crossing the distance between you two in a stride, stopping close— too close. He doesn't back off.

"What's wrong with you?" you snarl. "Nothin'," he retorts, imperturbable.

It's actually the first time you’re overlooking him. You may be enjoying it a bit too much. Nevermind the fact that you've had to wedge yourself between his parted legs to get there.

You frown, unconvinced by his answer.

“Did Soap contaminate you?”

Bargaining to be cleared out earlier was the Scotsman's trademark.

“Johnny throws a fit cos he hates feeling useless. That's not what I'm doing.”

A smirk stretches your lips.

“Oh, no? I'm sure your reasons are much more noble.”

“Doesn't matter. Got what I wanted anyway.”

He's way too self-satisfied for a man in his underwear.

You throw an unequivocal look in the direction of his injury.

“What you wanted? A still open wound?”

“You.”

He replied without missing a beat, as confident as usual. It is both alluring and aggravating.

“And your idea of wooing me is making me upset?”

You don't add “because if it is, that's really fucking stupid” out loud, but you’re sure he got the message through your tone.

“Nah. But you're more honest when you’re angry. Gutsier.”

You only realize he slipped his index and middle fingers in your trouser loops when he sharply tugs at them. Off balance, you steady yourself by catching his shoulders.

Taking advantage of the strip of bare skin between your shirt and bottoms, the pads of his thumbs idly stroke your hip bones. The contact sends electricity through you, shivers of pleasure running down your sides.

“Ghost,” you start, severe, trying not to let the effect his touch has on you show in your voice.

“Simon,” he counters, surly. “Told ya it's Simon when we're alone, didn't I?”

He did, but you didn’t think he was serious. If that's what it takes to get him to listen… you’ll play by his rules.

“Simon. What's the rest of your brilliant plan? I'm here, but I can’t stitch you up.”

“How ‘bout a deal. I'll stop resisting… for a price.”

You raise an amused eyebrow.

“What kind of price?”

“A kiss.”

You snort. You didn’t believe him capable of something so… puerile.

“With the mask on?”

He doesn't move a muscle to get rid of it.

“Take it off.”

You usually wouldn’t obey what sounds like an order so easily, but it's the first time you get to touch the skull. Slipping two fingers between skin and cloth, you slowly roll up the mask all the way under his nose.

You gently trace the scars surrounding his lips. Then, the second you feel him relax, grip on your hips slackening and intensity of his gaze waning, you grab the bottom of his mask and drag it back down vigorously, making the holes for the eyes land way too low for him to see anything.

“If you thought you'd get a reward for acting out, you've got another think coming.”

[nottsangel]

blood moon — t.n. & m.r. part 1

pairing: dark!theodore nott x fem!reader x dark!mattheo riddle. (mattheo makes his appearance in pt2)

warnings: smut 18+, dubcon, breaking and entering, violence, blood, knives (cutting into skin), rough oral sex (m. receiving), mask kink, mentions of murder, swearing

word count: 4k

summary: purge night— a night you’ve feared all year despite coming from a rich and powerful family. but when six masked men show up at your door, are you really as safe as you thought?

the purge au… moodboard. nav. more.

“This is not a test, this is your Emergency Broadcast System. Announcing the commencement of the annual purge sanctioned by the Government. Weapons of class four and lower have been authorised for use during the purge; all other weapons are restricted. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime (including murder) will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and Emergency Medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m, when the purge concludes. Blessed be our new founding fathers—”

“Blah, blah, blah… we get it. Same shit every year.” Pansy sighed dramatically through the phone, her tone dripping with annoyance. You could tell she was rolling her eyes, and you didn’t need to see her to know she was slouched lazily somewhere. 

Not much later, the ominous, bone-chilling sirens blared violently through the entire city, blasting through the walls and echoing in the still-empty streets. The all so familiar sound never failed to give you goosebumps all over your stiffened body, instantly raising your heartbeat. You briefly closed your eyes, trying to steady your racing heart as you struggled to control your shaky breathing. 

“Hellooo? Are you still there or have you been murdered already?” Pansy joked with a taunting laugh. Your eyes snapped open, her static-filled voice dragging you back to reality, and her humorous tone nearly making you forget the reality of this cruel night. 

Because it wasn’t just any regular night— it was Purge Night. The one night you’d been dreading all year, every year, in which all crime becomes legal for twelve long hours. Logically, you were well aware that you had nothing to fear. Your parents were successful entrepreneurs with plenty of money to afford the most advanced security equipment, keeping you safe from any outside danger.

Yes, to protect you, and only you. Not them— they were out at a purge party, the details of which you didn’t even want to know, shamelessly networking with other high-profile elites while the poor were brutally murdered in the streets surrounding them. Everything about this night gave you a sickening feeling in your stomach. But of course, you knew it would be fine. All you had to do was survive— survive in your mansion, surrounded by unbreachable security. Nothing was going to happen. 

“Yeah, yeah, very funny.” you responded, your voice tinged with irritation as you hurried from your bedroom down the wooden stairs to the security room, figuring that if you could check the cameras around the house, it might calm you down a bit. You couldn’t shake the feeling of needing to tiptoe carefully down each step, as though someone might hear you— which was ridiculous, considering how large and heavily secured the house was. 

The eerily quiet house was broken by the first distant, chilling screams of pure terror from outside, making you grimace as you opened the creaky door to the small room, your eyes instantly squinting at the many bright screens that made your eyes burn. 

“It’s just… I hope this night will be over soon, that’s all.” you continued, one hand holding the phone close to your ear while your eyes fleetingly scanned over the security cameras, which were strategically placed to cover every corner outside the house. 

“Oh please, don’t be such a scaredy-cat! Every year it goes just fine, so this year will be no different. When has anything…” Pansy chattered in her usual attempt to comfort you, completely unaware that her words were only doing the opposite, when her voice slowly faded away into the background and your eyes narrowed at one of the top-right screens, which was focused on your front door. What the fuck?

With your heart nearly pounding out of your chest and your hand shakily gripping the phone, you inched closer to the screen, moving as slowly as possible, almost as if the slowness would somehow alter the nightmare playing out before you. A sudden coldness washed over you, your eyes rapidly blinking. No, no, no… this can’t be happening. 

On the pixelated, dark screen, you saw six masked men standing in front of your door, their heads tilted as they stared right at the cameras. You felt lightheaded, your left hand reaching up to lightly clasp your throat, the panic threatening to overwhelm you once you noticed the various weapons they were holding— baseball bats, knives, axes, and god knows what else.

“P—pansy… I, uh… there are people standing in front of my door…” you stammered shakily, still staring at the screen, your body frozen in place with your hand gripping the phone so tightly that your knuckles turned white and your breathing became ragged and uneven. 

“Oh, they’re probably just trying to scare you, babe. I mean, come on, they can’t even come in for fuck’s sake!” she let out a mocking laugh as the chaotic thoughts in your head raced a hundred miles an hour, leaving you paralysed with uncertainty. 

“Pansy, what the fu— you know what? Forget it.” you snapped, your trembling fingers tapping frantically at the screen before finally ending the call, frustrated at not being taken seriously by your best friend— though, to be fair, when had she ever? 

You hastily slipped your phone into your back pocket, already dreading the snarky text she was sure to send you for ending the call, before shifting your attention back to the screen. One of the men removed his mask, prompting you to move even closer with narrowed eyes, your forehead nearly touching the cold glass. 

“Good evening.” he called out in a stoic, chilling voice, his shiny black hair neatly styled, and his stance tall, commanding and unmistakably intimidating. 

“Sorry to bother you at this ungodly hour, but let me kindly introduce myself. My name is Tom, and these guys— they are my friends.” The scene you were intently staring at filled you with pure terror— this unknown man named Tom, surrounded by men in masks, each carrying weapons that could easily kill you, weapons that were already completely soaked in blood, the dark droplets dripping ominously onto your front porch. 

“This can go one of two ways; you simply let us in, and we will steal— sorry, I mean take whatever we desire, and then, we leave! Or…  we can do this the hard way. But I can assure you, you will not survive the latter.” His tone was almost amused as he finished speaking, and through the grainy pixels, you could see a controlled, sinister smile spreading across his pale face. 

“Do not think you are invincible. We can enter any home we want. And we will want, as wanting is our will on this fine purge night. Do not force us to hurt you.”

His menacing words sent tingles across your skin, all the muscles in your body tightening. And for a good ten minutes, they did nothing but stand there, staring straight into the camera, waiting—expecting—for you to open the door for them. 

It was a chilling sight. Almost as if you were staring at a photograph, the men stood completely still, their blood-covered hands tightly gripping their equally blood-soaked weapons, knowing your blood would be next to splatter across them, mixing with that of other poor, helpless victims. 

When they realised you weren’t going to open the door, Tom gave his men a quick signal, waving his finger in the air, which caused you to cock your head in both curiosity and unease.

“Alright then.” He said, the sinister smile on his face growing wider. But it was fine. You knew they couldn’t come inside anyway. Your house was so securely protected, there was no way they could come in and— Is that a fucking blowtorch? 

“Yes, we are prepared. And you— oh, you chose the wrong option.” Tom coldly stated as if he could read your mind, dragging the words in a chilling tone. Two of his men quickly got to work, the blowtorch slowly cutting through the thick metal doors, meanwhile, Tom continued to stare directly at the camera, his evil, dark smile never faltering, his soulless eyes not blinking once.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.” This was when real panic set in, your eyes flickering with pure terror as you slowly backed away from the screens, gripping whatever furniture was nearby to steady yourself. You hurried out of the room, realising this was the time to hide.

Quickly but silently running up the stairs again, you heard the agonising sound of the blowtorch cutting through the metal, sending shivers all over your body and urging you to move faster. 

You burst into your room, breathless, slamming the door behind you and you panickedly scanned the small space, frantically searching for the best hiding spot. There weren’t many options, but the closet seemed like your only chance, so without hesitation, you flung the door open, stepped inside, and crouched down, wrapping your trembling arms tightly around your knees. 

“It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine, it’ll be fine.” You kept repeating to yourself in a quiet, trembling voice, desperately trying to gaslight yourself into believing it. But who the fuck are you kidding? They were inevitably coming in, and then… well, you didn’t even want to think about it.

You gasped loudly at the sudden sound of a loud bang, followed by distant voices and approaching footsteps downstairs. Nibbling on your bottom lip and one hand clutching your throat, you struggled to calm your ragged breathing, but hoping to make out the conversation happening downstairs— although you weren’t even sure if you wanted to hear it in the first place. 

“We are coming, aha! And we will find you, you little fucking bitch” an unfamiliar voice taunted from down the stairs followed by a menacing laugh, clearly relishing the undeniable fear they were instilling in you as the footsteps and faint chatter grew louder with every passing second.

“Mattheo, control yourself. Search for the girl downstairs, and Theo, you check upstairs. The rest of us will take whatever is valuable and leave for the next house.” You heared Tom instruct two of his men, his voice stern and cold, before adding, “Oh, and whatever you do, make it as painful as possible. I want her to suffer.” 

Goosebumps covered your entire body hearing the chilling words, and you could tell that these guys didn’t fuck around. Everything about them was incredibly organised and prepared. This wasn’t their first time purging. No, they knew exactly what they were doing.

Heavy, resolute footsteps then made their way up the stairs, each deep step resonating through the house, making the silence feel like it was closing it. Theo. There was no way out of this. The only thing you could do was pray that he wouldn’t find you. But deep down, you knew he would. 

“You can’t hide from me, piccola.” a deep, husky voice teased, his voice slightly muffled by the mask he wore. It surprised you to hear a foreign accent— Italian, you guessed. And fuck, you could punch yourself in the face right now for finding it… hot. 

The steps grew louder, tantalisingly slow, until his footsteps reached your room. Your hand flew to your mouth to keep yourself quiet, your brows furrowed as you squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on steadying your breath. Your heart beat out of your chest, and you worried it was beating loud enough for him to hear. 

Then it was quiet. No sounds. You swallowed, your mouth feeling dry with tears brimming at your waterline, and you gasped when you suddenly heard his voice so close to you. Thank fucking god you still had your mouth covered. 

“You’re here, aren’t you?” He said in a dark, knowing manner, and the only thing you could do at this very moment was repeat ‘please don’t find me’ in your head while only hoping your death would be less painful than Tom had ordered it to be. “I know you are...” 

The closet door then abruptly swung open, causing you to let out a loud, surprised gasp. The tears you had so desperately tried to suppress now uncontrollably streamed down your cheeks as your head shot up. Soft ‘no’s slipped from your lips when he grabbed you by the arm and aggressively pulled you out of the closet, the words barely audible and you panickedly shook your head, feeling lightheaded due to pure fear. 

“Shut up, cazzo.” he muttered irritably as he threw you on your bed with exasperated aggression. And you immediately complied— not only because he asked you to, but because you didn’t want Matthew to hear you, knowing that Theo had found you, worried of what he might do to you. Matthew… Was his name even Matthew? 

He stood still before you, and for the first time, you took him in, scanning him from head to toe as his imposing, tall frame loomed over you, casting a shadow over where you sat on the bed.

A white mask fully covered his face, and in his right hand, he held a bloody, sharp knife, causing you to gulp in fear. Oh, he looked fucking terrifying— but there was something else, something other than fear deep inside of you. A feeling you desperately tried to suppress. A feeling you felt ashamed to feel. A feeling you could not bring yourself to admit. 

“Huh.” he commented, his head tilting slightly to the left. “Tom didn’t tell me you were such a pretty little thing.” he reached his hand out, his thumb brushing over your cheek, causing you to instinctively pull away, stiffening under his touch. 

“Così carina.” he chuckled mockingly, and your eyes were drawn to his hand that was expertly spinning the knife. His other hand then abruptly gripped your hair, making you gasp, and he slightly tilted your head to expose your neck. 

From your peripheral vision, you could see the bloody knife drawing closer to your neck, making you instantly shut your eyes with furrowed brows, knowing this was it. 

“Can’t wait to see these white sheets turn red.” Theo taunted, but you were shaking, crying and nervously biting down on your lip so hard that blood welled up, waiting for the moment you finally felt the sharp knife against your delicate skin.

And then you did. You felt the cold blade lightly dig into the skin of your neck, the sharp, stinging sensation causing you to tightly grip the sheets, followed by fresh, crimson droplets of blood slowly trickling down your skin— but then he stopped.

“Hm. You know what, bella?” Theo paused for a moment, crouching down to get on eye level with you. The closer he got to you, the faster your heart raced, your whole body heating up with a mix of fear and something else. The deep sense of guilt you felt for feeling… this way gnawed at you from the inside. 

“I might just have other plans for you.” Your head snapped toward him, and you hissed at the fresh cut stretching open, your hand instinctively reaching to the wound, carefully dabbing your fingers on the blood still trickling out.

“You wanna live?” He questioned, and you reluctantly nodded, still unable to shake off the feeling of unease, even as a slight sense of relief—or maybe hope— began to grow inside of you. 

“Then I advise you to get on your knees before I change my mind.” You blinked rapidly, unsure if you heard him correctly. Surely not. 

“I— what?” You stammered, breathing in so fast you nearly choked on air as your heart pounded out of your chest. 

“Oh, you heard me.” He rose to his feet, and your eyes intently followed his every movement. The way the moonlight seeped through the blinds illuminated him, and for the first time, you could clearly see his ocean-blue eyes gazing down at you with intense focus— the only feature of his face that was visible through the mask. 

He reached the knife out again, causing you to flinch, but this time he pressed it under your chin to lift your head, the pointy end digging into your soft skin.

“You don’t think I noticed?” he began, and you sat frozen, knowing that a single movement would press the knife deep into your skin. 

“You don’t think I noticed the way you looked at me with those pretty eyes?” You raised an eyebrow in puzzlement, unsure of what he was hinting at, and you absolutely hated this— the vagueness of his words. You hated having to guess what he meant. It made you anxious. 

“I have purged a lot of people, bella. And there is one thing aaall of them have in common— they all have this same, fearful look in their eyes.” he continued, and it made you wonder what he saw in yours. 

“But you… cazzo. With you, I see something else sparkling in those pupils.” The way the mask muffled his voice made you unconsciously lean in closer to hear him better, and he did the same, but for an entirely different reason, until you were merely inches apart. It was a strange observation to make in such a moment like this, but oddly enough, he smelt nice, very nice. A pleasant, musky cologne with the undertone of cigarettes filled your senses. 

“With you I see… lust, yearning, desperation.” he whispered into your ear, the knife digging deeper into your skin, yet still not deep enough to draw blood. Your eyes shot wide open before locking with his, and you felt caught. He hit the hammer right on the nail. 

“Go on, tell me I’m fuckin’ wrong.” but you couldn’t. You couldn’t tell him he was wrong. Because he wasn’t. Your eyes darted nervously around the room, unable to meet those intense, piercing eyes as the ache between your legs only grew stronger. 

“Yeah… that’s what I thought. Bet your panties are soaked already, aren’t they?” you heard a muffled, condescending chuckle coming from under his mask as he slowly twisted the knife under your chin. You so desperately wanted to bite back, to defend yourself, to tell him that he was being ridiculous— but the words were stuck in your throat.

“So… back to where we were.” he growled as he unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants down, suddenly remembering Matthew wandering around downstairs and being able to walk in at any time, causing him to rush. 

“C’mon sweetheart. I need to feel those pretty lips wrapped around me if you want to live, a’ight? If Mattheo finds us, it���s over for you.” Ohhhh, Mattheo… right, right.

You hesitantly walked over to him before getting on your knees right in front of him— right in front of his already hard erection trapped in his boxers, desperately wanting to escape as the tip formed a wet patch of precum on the fabric. 

“Well… you know I could just kick you in the balls right now and run away?” There it finally was— the words that had been stuck in your throat, and the boldness inside of you that had finally come free. It was that unexpectedly tender demeanour of his emerging in brief moments, causing you to see him in a humane light, which stilled your fears. 

He scoffed before aggressively gripping your hair and pulling your head back, causing you to hiss at the fresh wound on your neck stinging at the movement. He drew closer to you before suddenly holding the knife to your throat again, the softness you’d glimpsed earlier vanishing in an instant.

“Oh yeah? You don’t think I’m gonna find you and cut you open? Go for it. Give it a try. Let’s see how that ends.” he warned in a low, menacing tone, your brows furrowing as you clenched your teeth, staring right into his narrowed eyes. 

“Acting as if you aren’t practically begging to suck me off right now, tsk. Hurry the fuck up.” he ordered in a harsh tone, abruptly letting go of your hair and retracting the knife from your throat.

Realising you had no other choice but to follow his orders, you stared up at his masked face, before your gaze fell on his boxers. You could tell he was big just from the imprint through the thin fabric— oh, there was no doubt in that. Reluctantly, you drew your head closer to his crotch, teasingly using your teeth to pull the waistband of his boxers down before slowly sliding them off. 

“See, I knew you were a fucking slut.” he growled, his amusement evident as his erection sprang free against his toned abs, precum glistening at the tip. Oh, well fuck. He was indeed huge, causing your eyes to widen momentarily as you swallowed hard. You glanced back up at him one more time, and he gave you a sharp nod, his hand on the back of your head pressing insistently, urging you closer. 

Your head slowly inched closer to his intimidatingly large cock, and you started with placing soft kitten licks on the tip, tasting the salty precum, when suddenly a mischievous smile began to curve your glossed lips. In one swift, unexpected motion, you wrapped your mouth around his throbbing length, firmly pressing your teeth into the skin while at the same time your hand darted to his balls, your sharp nails digging deep into the sensitive flesh. 

“That fuckin’ hurts, you bitch. Cazzo!” Theo cursed, aggressively pushing you back until you hit the bed, yet the same mischievous smile on your face only widened. It confused him how the terrified, weak girl he saw earlier had transformed into… this. 

“Didn’t expect you to be such a fucking pussy.” you challenged him, fire burning in your eyes. Not because you wanted to die, but because deep down you knew you weren’t going to. If he wanted to kill you, he would’ve done that already. With the precum leaking from his painfully hard erection right in front of you, you knew the only thing on his mind was finding his release. He was a man after all— simple, driven by his desires.

“You better shut that little mouth—” 

“Or what? You're gonna threaten me again with that stupid little knife—” before you could even finish your sentence, he grabbed you by the hair, yanking you roughly towards him, his cock forcing its way into your mouth. The tip hit the back of your throat instantly, triggering your gag reflex as you struggled to breathe around his thick, aching erection. He quickly set a brutal rhythm, bucking his hips aggressively into your mouth, and you felt your eyes well with tears, saliva running down your chin. 

“If you stop, I’ll make you fucking regret it.” His hand gripped your hair in a tight ponytail, pulling you to meet his thrusts as he relentlessly fucked your mouth. Gagging sounds filled the room as he forced your head down as far as possible, groaning at the sight beneath him— a sight that could so easily make him come already.

“You wanted this from the start, huh? Such a pathetic—” Theo’s sentence was then abruptly cut off when the door suddenly swung open and slammed against the wall, causing you both to freeze and stare, wide-eyed and horrified. A chill ran down your spine as you noticed another masked man standing in the doorway, holding a blood-soaked baseball bat while casually leaning against the doorframe. Oh no.  

“Well, well, well… look what we have here. You really thought I wouldn’t find out, Theodore? How cute.” 

Mattheo. 

reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡

a/n: thank you sm for reading ^_^!!!!!!! this was supposed to be one long fic but i decided to cut in into two (or maybe more if needed) parts! im not sure when the next part will be posted but ill try to work on it soon !!! <3

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[rafesangelita]

♡ “have you ever tried this one?” in which kook!sweetheart!reader convinces rafe to take her to go see one of her favorite artists, and as a ‘thank you’ she and rafe have to do whatever position sabrina demo’s for her song “juno”..

warnings: fluff, unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise, breeding kink (?)

a/n: so sad because i didn’t get to see sabrina on tour, and she has had me in the meanest chokehold lately :( click this link to see what position i’m referring to <3

when the dates dropped for sabrina’s ‘short n’ sweet’ tour, rafe wasted no time in buying you two tickets. of course, you didn’t know this and begged him for weeks until he finally told you yes, your flight and hotel room already booked for a nice little weekend getaway. rafe helped you make your concert outfit, both of you spending hours on the whole ensemble. the end result was absolutely stunning and rafe couldn’t stop taking pictures of you.

he posted one on the night of the concert, captioning it ‘my little popstar princess <3’ and you two were off to the stadium. while you knew wearing sparkly white platform boots wouldn’t be the best choice to walk in, you stuck it through, and as soon as the lights dimmed and the music started, any kind of discomfort you felt had melted away as you were far too distracted singing along to every song that boomed through the venue.

babydoll lingerie top with pink fluffy trim, dedazzled stockings, glittery makeup, your hair freshly done, rafe swore you never looked prettier. even though he was against wearing anything that sparkled, he decided to wear a plain pink t-shirt to match with you in his own little way. he kept his arms wrapped around your waist as you two sung, having learned the lyrics to every song since you insisted on being in charge of the aux cord whenever you two were in his truck.

eventually, you two were swaying softly, rafe’s chin resting in the curve of your neck as you stroked the skin of his arm. “thank you for bringing me here.” you smiled up at him, connecting your lips as the intro to ‘juno’ started playing. rafe hummed, leaning down so you could hear him. “you know i had to bring you, baby.. what do you say you thank me another way when we get back to our room?” your cheeks heated as you laughed softly.

“yeah, i’d like that,” you pecked his cheek, “how about we do the position she does for the song?” rafe smiled, both of you fixing your attention on the stage. you waited with anticipation, your heart beating in your ears when she bent over and touched her toes. rafe cheered, making you laugh as he couldn’t wait to get you back to the hotel. luckily for him, there was only a few more songs left before the show ended and the two of you rushed out of there.

it wasn’t long after you two walked through the door that rafe had your boots thrown in a forgotten corner, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips as he took you roughly from behind. you struggled to keep your hands placed on your perfectly pedicured toes, your knees threatening to give out from under you while rafe thrusted into you at an unforgiving pace. “holy fuck, you’re taking it so fuckin’ good, gorgeous, ‘might just let you get off your tippy toes and put you on your back instead.”

you cried out, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as his pelvis smacked against the back of your ass. “can’t, rafe!” you shrieked, nearly doubling over before your boyfriend reached down and grabbed your arms, holding you by your wrists as you hung helplessly from his grip. he was fucking you stupid, and your lack of thoughts was proof of it. you couldn’t think, the feeling of rafe’s cock stroking that soft gummy spot inside of you made you whimper pathetically.

finally, you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, your knees meeting the carpeted floor. rafe picked you up, cursing under his breath as he encouraged you to get back in position. “promise i’ll have you in bed soon, pretty, you could hold out for me, yeah?” you shuddered, looking at him from behind your shoulder with that fucked-out gaze he loved so much. you had tears in your eyes, your body glitter still sparkling under the soft lighting.

giving him a little nod, you reached down once again, holding onto your ankles for dear life as rafe circled an arm under your hips, holding you up as his fingers started working on your clit. “oh!” you were in hysterics, your blood rushing to your head as he landed a harsh smack to your backside. “come on, baby, ‘wanna feel this pussy squeeze around me.” you moaned at his words, your orgasm just in arm’s reach as rafe’s thrusts grew uncalculated. “rafe?” you could barely speak, the band in your stomach threatening to snap at any moment.

“talk to me.” he groaned, teetering the edge of pure euphoria. “make me juno?” you giggled for a split second, the insinuation only turning rafe on even more. “fuck, yeah? ‘want me to fill you up, give you a baby?” you let out a distorted “mhmm!’, the two of you gasping when your highs took you both to cloud nine. rafe pulled you back up, your chest rising and falling while your legs shook with your orgasm. pressing wet kisses to your neck, rafe did exactly as he said, his hips stuttering as hot, thick ropes of cum painted your velvety walls.

you two stayed like this, pressed against one another until your breathing slowed, the aftershocks subsiding before rafe laid you both down in bed. “we should have a ‘short n’ sweet’ themed baby shower.. we could serve espressos.” rafe laughed, draping an arm over your tummy. “we’ll see.” he hummed. your eyes fluttered shut as you breathed him in, his cologne still heavy on his skin. “you know what we should try when we get back home?” rafe traced shapes into your side, mumbling a ‘what’s that?’

“pink fuzzy handcuffs.”

[dulcento]

# CHEWBACCA ?!

๑ sum. ceo of the HPE ( hairy pussy eaters ) club: TOJI FUSHIGURO

content ∿ warnings◞ fem. reader, established relationship, explicit content, foul language, feminine pet names, cunnilingus, reader’s got a bush ( duh ), dirty talk, one pussy spank, mating press, whore used once

wc. 1k

lola’s ☆ note. …..this was supposed to be a drabble 🌚

“no.”

your denial falls on deaf ears, toji’s stout fingers latching onto your hips, dragging you closer to the edge of the couch. “babe!” your pitch heightens as you snap your hardcover book shut, swatting his hand with it. toji flinches, letting go of your hips like they were on fire. “the hell?” he shakes his hand dramatically as if trying to propel the pangs right from his bones.

“hmph, serves you right,” you huff, snootiness lacing your tone, tilting your chin high, determined to maintain some semblance of composure. toji exhales a long-suffering huff, resting his cheek against your outstretched inner thigh, indigo irises squinting up at you. “what’s goin’ on, doll?” he murmurs, his voice low, brimming with curiosity. he knows something’s up. you’re never one to turn down the holy trinity— slurps, suckles, and laps —from the man before you. unless, of course, aunt flo makes her rude appearance. but judging by the lack of deserted dove dark chocolate wrappers and your atypical pout, he’s certain your rejection is rooted entirely in something else.

“nothing’s ‘goin’ on’,” you mimic, deflecting with a biting tone. toji’s scarred lips curl into a smirk, his amusement thinly veiled. “yeah? then why am i still talking to you and not your pussy?” seduction drips from his tongue, his hands mapping out the curve of your waist, settling on the plush swell of your hips. You ignore the shiver whizzing up your spine, swallowing back his effect on you. instead, you spit, “keep trying me, and you won’t talk to my pussy again.” a low chuckle rumbles in his chest, deep and unshaken, as if your feeble attempt at a threat only further serves as entertainment for him.

“oh girl, you wouldn’t last a day without my tongue fucking this perfect pussy,” toji emphasized his assertion with a harsh flick to your clothed bundle of nerves, relishing in your startled gasp. cute. as your eyes begin to settle into a sharp glare, it diminishes as toji inflicts another flick to your steadily erecting pearl. “ah!” you cry, savoring the delicious pain his rough touch imposed on your covered sensitivity. toji’s smirk turns cheshire, gazing upon the desire coating your pupils, turning them glossy.

“now hush, and lemme eat,” toji, with the quickness of flash, rips your lacy thong at the seam, flinging the shredded fabric to the side, exposing your hairy cunt to his starving orbs. wait… hair? his raven brow raises, finger pads tenderly spreading your legs, which have snapped shut like a clam. toji’s blown stare zeros in on your bush, the hairs soaked in your tacky essence, curling slightly.

an inferno spreads across your cheeks as the silence stretches on. and right there, barren to the cool air circulating in the shared living room, is why you turned down toji’s unrelenting advances. any titillating verbiage withers on his tongue, the muscle feeling overgrown, overcoming with the feral need to taste you.

“i… i didn’t get a wax this month,” you confess, embarrassment latching onto your tongue, licking each syllable you utter. “so, i get if you—” a thunderous smack! echoes through the room, your body jolting at the sudden, painful sensation descended upon your throbbing nub. as toji pulls his hand back from your pussy, sticky arousal strings create a lewd connection, locking you together.

“don’t talk, woman,” the heel of toji’s palm grounded deeply into your clit, circular motions urging your pedicured toes to curl in the air. “the only girl that should be talkin’ to me, is this whore of a pussy you got here,” toji lowers his handsome face, eye level to the ‘girl’ in question, “spread her f’me,” his sizable hands cup the bends of your knees, pressing the caps into the perky flesh of your tits, ably folding you like clean sheets.

slicing your digit through the crevice of your pussy, parting your unruly pubes, toji’s warm, moistened tongue darts from between his lips, lapping at the slick woven into your short and curlies. as your honeyed nectar tangos with his taste buds, toji curses under his breath, “fuck,” causing erotic butterflies to flutter in your tummy. “toj, ‘s nasty,” you whine, your hips bucking, clinging onto the subtle tickling of your strands brushing your labia. oh, how you’re an inherent contradiction.

“jus’ how i like your pussy,” toji winks, his tongue slithering from your now clean pubes to your stiff button, circling the bud before engulfing the rigid pearl into his hot cavern. toji’s lips encapsulate your clit, sucking fiercely, as his head moves back and forth, back and forth, back and— “fuck! ngh, hah,” you mewled, your manicured phalanges threading into his dark tresses, shifting his hair away from his forehead.

the sheer intensity of his movements floods you, sending your back arching against the couch cushions. a relentless focus burns brightly in his dilated pupils, leaving not a shred of uncertainty— he is by no means finished with you. toji’s thumbs usurp yours, pulling back the skin of your clit, snapping his tongue against the bundle of nerves in quick succession.

“such a g-good fucking t-tongue, shiiit,” you stutter, your voice trembling with insatiable hunger. toji beams at your praise, driving him to devour you with unabashed urgency. from hasty figure eights being precisely drawn, to eager, desire-filled kisses, no part of your sopping heat is left bare by his unabated lust.

it’s too much— he’s too much. your palm presses upon his damp forehead, a faint, desperate effort to push him away as the blissful coil of your climax tightens in your loins. “haah~ wait… tojiii! don’t—” too late. your needy cries fall into an abyss, toji being too far gone to recognize the way your body convulses, your climax hitting you like a freight train. between your melodic chorus of pornographic music and the soft caress of your pubes on his shaven face, there was no way he was going to stop.

as your pussy flutters, akin to wings on a butterfly, toji swiftly inserts two digits into your rapidly pulsating cunt, reveling in the effect he has on your body. separating his lips from your pearl with a wet pop! toji’s perma-smirk is already etched onto his expression. “keep this pussy hairy for me, doll. it tastes better this way.”

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