BFF

𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐖𝐀𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐎. . .

You aren’t exactly sure whether or not you should be offended or embarrassed that your anticipation had lead you to hope for something more.

Actually, it could be the latter.

The past fifteen minutes was spent scrubbing at his Herculean back; your dainty knuckles already aching and your palms slick with the azukitogi soap. 

He’s yet to ask you to join him in the steaming water.

No. You shake your head, the motion sending a few dampened hair strays against your flushed cheeks, as if doing so can usher such thoughts away. 

The steam coming from the iwaburo is dense, the thin silk clings to your dewy skin. Kneeling on the warm stone, you assist him in reaching places he supposedly could not reach just like how a dutiful wife would help her husband. However, your mind wanders off again — no matter how much the lack of acknowledgement from your husband dismays you. 

Your focused gaze traces the thick, dark markings on his back. They look nearly identical to lightning, you think to yourself. You watch as the tattoos flex and distort over each movement of his broad shoulders. 

“Your hands slowed,” he suddenly comments, turning his head slightly to meet your eyes with his.

You bite your lip for a brief moment and force a smile, “Apologies, my Lord. I just need a minute to recuperate.”

“Hm,” his reply is curt as he turns his head away from you, indifference evident in his tone. “See to it.”

You try to mask your rising frustration, the soft sponge trembling in the palms of your hand. You were given up to the King of Curses for the sake of political power, yes — but, first and foremost before that, you were raised as a noblewoman. How could he treat you as anything lesser — to be treated like a common servant while you, his wife, scrubs at his back undoubtedly is a sting at your pride. 

What makes you feel even worse is the cold realization that you cannot expect anything more from him. He is not a man who speaks poetry; he’s a man who’s more familiar with war and death, rather than the meaning of affection itself.

As you continue to scrub, your movements become more rigid, your heart sinking in disappointment with every swipe of your aching hand. 

“Grab me the dry cloth,” Sukuna orders, and he rises up from the steaming water — the surface of the water breaks with a heavy splash. The white cloth wrapped around his hips dips steadily, the water trailing down the backs of his brawny thighs. He turns around, his tall frame looming over you. You immediately divert your gaze, turning your head before your own eyes dare to betray you. 

You scramble to find the dry linen; your movements hurried and uncoordinated as the persistent, shameful heat nearly engulfs you.

Without uttering another word, you hand him the cloth — your gaze still fixated on anywhere else but him. You keep your arm extended, but Sukuna doesn’t take it immediately. 

Damn him. Making you wait while you’re kneeling, too? 

Finally, a large, calloused hand brushes against yours as he takes the linen. “Do I look that repulsive to you that you can’t even bear to look at me?”

The remark catches you off guard. You snap your head up, your eyes clashing with his. 

“Repulsive, My Lord?” The words tumble out your lips, and you once again look away, your voice dropping to a bashful whisper that betrays your composure. “Far from it.” 

Your words hang in the air longer than you would like. Sukuna’s expression remains unreadable, something that you’re slowly — but surely — growing accustomed to.

“Hah.” A brief chuckle leaves his lips. “Far from it, you say?”

Theres a hint of intrigue laced in his voice, and he squats down to meet your gaze. You swear he can hear how violent your heart is pounding against your ribs.

“Look at me when you say such things,” he commands, though his voice sounds surprisingly gentle.

Your breath catches in your throat. Slowly, you lift your eyes. Water still trails down the ridges of his chiseled chest in slow, agonizing lines. Droplets gather at the edge of his jaw before dripping down his neck. 

“You are far from repulsive, my Lord.” You comply, your gaze locking into his crimson eyes. He studies your face for a brief moment before a curt chuckle reaches his throat, the corner of his lips curling up into a small smirk. 

“Your eyes are hinting at something that your pretty mouth refuses to speak on.” He murmurs before leaning closer, his warm breath hovering mere inches away from your ears. “If you wish for something, wife, you will learn to ask.”

He pulls away, standing up from his squatting position and flings the cloth over his shoulder. Before a single thought can register in your head, he spins his heel and his back then faces you. 

“I’ll get Tsubuki to fetch you a warm bath.” He says casually, his tone indifferent as though he hadn’t just read you like an open book with a few words. 

He passes by your kneeling figure, his heavy footsteps slowly fading away as he leaves you alone in the swirling mist. 

Being flabbergasted is truly an understatement.

By eventide, you’ve only just recovered from sulking in your chambers when Uraume enters.

“My lady,” the ivory-haired attendant greets you, bowing slightly; their composure remains ever so graceful.

“Uraume,” you acknowledge your husband’s most loyal servant with a curt nod. 

“Lord Sukuna requests your presence in the dining hall,” Uraume states, their expression stoic as stone. “He’d like you to join him at once.”

The walk to the dining hall feels interminable as you follow Uraume through the labyrinthine corridor, the air growing colder as you approach the large doors; the rhythmic thrumming of your heartbeat ringing in your ears. Each step of your sandals on the polished wood echoes through the estate. Uraume’s silence is absolute, their steps weightless akin to that of a spirit’s. 

The flickering candlelight casts long, distorted shadows against the shoji screens as you both near closer, and closer. 

When the Shoji doors finally slide open, the divine scent of meat and sweet fruit hits you. Meat. Your eyes dart over to the large cuts splayed across the platter, glistening under the candlelight. 

“It’s buck meat,” The familiar baritone catches your attention and your gaze travels to your peach-haired husband, sitting at the head of the low table. His bottom arms are crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed. His upper hand is cupped around a persimmon fruit; it looks tiny in his palm. “Come, eat.”

“My lord,” you greet him with a low, respectful bow before taking your seat; the silk of your kimono rustling as you settle onto the tatami. 

You stare down at your plate — it had been prepared so meticulously; thinly sliced venison, garnished with herbs, sat alongside a small mound of rice with a small bowl of soup nearby. With your dominant hand, you reach for the rich venison with your chopsticks until you heard the loud noises of chewing and licking. 

Your hand freezes.

In a pitiful attempt, you attempt to focus on your own portion, however you find your curiosity is repeatedly drawn at such visceral noises. The sound is oddly wet, rhythmic, and utterly visceral. The sound of such loud, wet slurping nearly makes your heart jump out of your chest; it is unabashedly lewd. You swallow nothing, your throat dry. 

Your gaze, betraying your vain attempts at noble decorum, drifts towards the source of the noise — Sukuna’s lower abdomen. And then you see it. Oh, god. Oh. God.

Save me now.

You watch, both transfixed and horrified, as the jagged teeth of the mouth on his abdomen part to take a bite out of the fleshy persimmon; the tongue licking the juice from his skin. Without realizing, your breath hitches at the way his tongue pokes out of his maw, its appetite insatiable. 

As shameful as it is, you want to be that fruit, too. 

“Is your meal not to your liking? I notice your gaze wandering anywhere else but your food.” 

A soft gasp unexpectedly escapes you, and you clamp your mouth shut with your hands. A rush of heat floods your entire body.

Stupid, stupid! 

A loud laugh erupts from the King of Curses’ throat, a sound that vibrates through the floorboards and into your very bones. You want to hide away so badly. 

“So,” Sukuna rumbles, his four eyes narrowing down at your pitiful form.

With a slow, deliberate thumb, he wipes a small smear of the sweet persimmon juice from his abdominal muscle, never breaking eye contact. Inadvertently, your eyes wander lower, your saliva stuck in your throat as you watch his maw reach for the juice on his slick thumb; the tongue swirling around his finger ever so slightly. You attempt to suppress whatever noise that threatens to escape your throat underneath his intense gaze.

Oh my god. Your gaze lifts to the ceiling. Your eyes close. I’m going to hell. 

A dark chuckle echoes across the room. 

“Who would have guessed my little wife has a stomach for the macabre?” The peach-haired male hummed, staring down at you with an amused expression plastered across his face. 

“Who would have also guessed that my wife can be such a pervert?”

He makes sure to accentuate the last word with a mocking tilt of his head, and you feel your face becoming impossibly hotter. 

“You…” You clench your fist, your grip tightening around the wooden chopsticks. “You are being cruel, My Lord.”

The words spill from your lips with gritted teeth.

“Cruel?” Sukuna leans forward from across the table, his massive frame casting a shadow that can almost swallow you whole. The smirk on his lips deepens, revealing a glint of his canines. “I’m merely observing. You’re the one making it so easy for me to read. You’ve spent the last fortnight avoiding my gaze, so tell me, wife. What’s exactly changed?” 

Your response is immediate, it nearly surprises you.

“It’s been a fortnight,” you repeat after him, your voice trembling but rising to meet his. The frustration of fourteen nights spent in a cold, lonely bed — many of the nights you spent wondering if you were merely invisible or simply inadequate—finally boils over; his mockery being the final spark to set the tiniest amount of patience you had left ablaze. 

“It’s been a fortnight and you’ve yet to ask for my presence in your chambers. You call me wife, yet you refuse to bed me. Is this your way of mocking me? Do you even see me as a woman?” 

The silence that follows is absolute — a heavy, suffocating weight that seems to suck the air right out of the room, making you breathless. Behind Sukuna, you can sense Uraume’s usual icy demeanour shatter into that of pure disbelief; their violet eyes widen, fixed on you as if they are staring at a ghost. Tsubuki and Kuri have gone rigid, standing upright like frozen statues with their gazes pinned to the wooden floorboards.

“Out,” he says, his voice a low thrum that is somehow more terrifying than that of a shout. The expression on his face unreadable, but the look in his eyes showed otherwise.

You begin to push back from the table, your lips pressed tightly together. Embarrassment floods over your body in large waves; it was naive to think anything would change after your outburst.

Sukuna clicks his tongue. 

“No. You, stay where you are.” He commands, the authority in his tone anchors you to the spot, He turns his head to the side and barks at the attendants standing nearby. “All of you — out. Now.”

Uraume and the attendants leave the room without question, the shoji doors sliding shut with a soft, final click that echoes throughout the silent dining room. 

Your heart hammers against your chest in rapid motions, your stomach coils into a tight knot. With the absence of the servants, the space feels cavernous, yet the space between you and Sukuna feels dangerously small in proximity. The air looming between you feels unbearably thick. Your instincts are telling you to leave — to run, but your feet stays planted on the tatami. 

“You’re one of many surprises, indeed. Especially with that sharp tongue of yours.” Sukuna says as he slowly rises from his seat, his shadow stretching across the table like a dark tide. He begins to round the table, his footsteps slow, yet heavy. “A fortnight of playing the part of the dutiful wife, yet all this time, you were developing a grudge because I hadn’t yet claimed what was mine?”

He stops in front of you, squatting down to your level. His four eyes stare at you with an unwavering intensity. 

Your throat goes dry as you shuffle beneath his gaze, “I… I apologize if I’ve offended you, My Lord.”

He clicks his tongue, amused. 

“There you go again,” he whistles, brushing his peach locks back with a large palm. “Staring at me like that. Yes, that — like a bitch in heat. Are you even being sincere with your apology?” 

He inches closer. 

“Didn’t I tell you, wife — that if you want something, you’ll have to use your words.”

You’re about to retort a response, but he hooks his index and middle finger underneath your chin, tilting your head up to meet his unwavering gaze. A low hum erupts from his throat, a chuckle vibrating against his chest. 

“If only you could see how you look right now.” He murmurs, his voice dripping with fascination and suppressed hunger. “You look famished.”

You try to pull away, to find some shred of your former dignity, but your face betrays you. You are flushed a deep, feverish crimson, your breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches. A look of pure, unadulterated wanton is plastered across your features—a dazed, hungry expression you aren't even aware you’re wearing, but is all laid bare for your husband to see. 

“My Lord…” you mumble out, disdain and arousal laced in your voice. “If… you’re just going to keep teasing me, I’ll have to take my leave.”

Yet, you don’t find it within yourself to leave. 

His face inches closer to yours, his warm breath fanning over your face. He smiles almost mockingly, his eyes reading you intently. “No, you won’t.”

Wordlessly, he sweeps the porcelain dishes off the table in a single motion — the sounds of porcelain shattering echoes athwart the room. You snap your gaze to the piles of broken dishes on the floor, breathless. 

“My lo—!”

Without giving yourself the chance to utter out a single response, his large hands grip at your waist — eliciting a surprised gasp escaping from your lips as he hoists you over the table; seating you on the bare, mahogany wood. The top pair of his eyes remain locked on yours, whilst the bottom pair of his eyes glaze over to the way your lips part, puckering ever so slightly—a silent and subconscious invitation born of the very desperation you tried so vainly to hide. 

One of his lower hands grips at the plush of your thighs, while his upper hands slowly snake around your back, slowly undoing the knot of your obi; loosening the silk fabric. The cool air hits your bare shoulder, a hitched breath escaping your throat, the warmth pooling in your lower abdomen becomes too much for you to bear. With his large frame resting between your legs, it’s impossible to close your legs shut — impossible to hide your arousal. 

Sukuna’s blood red gaze trails down the line of your throat, catching sight of the small, glistening beads of sweat trailing down your flushed skin, disappearing beneath the collar of your kimono toward the swell of your chest.

For the first time since your wedding, the King of Curses—your husband—finally closes the distance. He leans in, his warm breath fans over the nape of your neck. He sniffs at the skin, and you feel yourself shrinking beneath him. 

“M-My Lord,” your breath hitches when you feel his slick tongue trace over your delicate skin. He licks a long stripe along your collarbone, his chest rumbles with a sound so primal. He pulls away, licking his lips.

“You smell sweeter today,” he hums, “taste is immaculate, too.” 

He breaks into grin, “No wonder why you’ve been acting the way you’ve been. Are you even aware that you’re at you’re most fertile today?”

He trails a large finger along the fabric of your kimono, his digit dipping inside ever so slightly into the soft flesh of your abdomen.

 “Your body’s in need of getting a good fuck,” he growls.

“W-what?—” Your pulse races at the filthy words spilling from his tongue. Every syllable is effortless, rolling off his lips as smooth as honey.

He wants to taste you, so fucking bad. Every day spent observing your feigned indifference, every night spent waiting for your pride to shatter, has led to right where he wants you to be. His senses have never failed him.

“Tell me, my little wife.” He whispers, leaning his forehead against yours — his hot breath ghosts over your lips. It’s taking everything within you to not pull him by the collar of his kimono and crash your hungry lips against his. However, your anticipation precedes you. “Tell me how eager you are to be treated like a slut.”

You being reduced to such a term should have offended you — wound your pride, even. However, you find yourself rocking your hips gently to his derogatory and crude words. It shouldn’t have aroused you much, yet it did. Your walls of pride has long fallen; the need for being touched — the need of having your obscene scenarios coming to life. 

You’ve never been touched, yet your hunger is akin to one of a fucking succubus. 

“Tell me exactly what you want,” a low purr rumbles from Sukuna’s throat, “and I’ll consider giving it to you.”

Consider? 

Your eyes dart down to the large bulge — bulges — nudging against your thigh, and your mouth immediately waters; much akin to your lower lips between your thighs. Your mind’s going haywire at the newfound discovery. He wants this. You truly doubt there was anything else for him to consider.

You want this.

You need this.

The one thing you’ve been aching for an agonizing fourteen nights is merely within your reach.

“Touch me,” you exhale, “please, husband. I need you.”

With a low, guttural growl, his upper hands seize the front of your loosened kimono. Of course, the King of Curses doesn’t bother with the remaining ties keeping your kimono and kosode together; he rips the fabric apart with ease. The sound of tearing fabric rings in your ears, soon followed with a wave of cool air rushing over your chest — your buds growing taut at the contact. The fine embroidery is ruined, hanging in tatters around your hips. Though, he can care less, and so do you. 

You sit on the edge of the wooden table, splayed and bare to his hungry four-eyed gaze. 

He lets out a sharp, jagged breath, his pupils blown wide as he finally sees your pretty cunt coated in all its love juices; your centre slick and glistening — a testament as to how badly you craved for him. 

“You dared to question me whether or not I see you as a woman,” he mumbles, his voice going an octave lower, “as if my restraint wasn’t already a goddamn mercy.”

The silk of his kimono slides from his shoulders in a slow, fluid motion; revealing the true, terrifying scale of his Herculean frame. The candlelight catches the sheen of sweat on his skin, trailing down towards the maw on his abdomen. Its teeth glint, and its tongue flickers out. 

His lower hands slide up the insides of your thighs, the calloused pads of his fingers dragging over the warm, sensitive skin with an agonizing, frustrating slowness. His upper hands trail over your collarbone before dipping down to the center of your chest. He cracks a small smile, amused at the way your heart quickens at his touch. He hasn’t even gotten to the best part yet.

His upper hands continue their slow, possessive descent — it is almost torturous, the pads of his fingers grazing the top of your breasts while his lower hands reach the very apex of your trembling thighs; his palm hovering your aching heat. 

“Hah,” a breathless sound escapes Sukuna’s lips, his lower hands finally making contact with the slick heat between your thighs; his finger dragging through the evidence of your undoing, the sensation of his calloused skin against your sensitive folds elicits a sweet moan escaping your lips. “You’re so fucking drenched.” 

“And whose fault is that?” you retort, your voice just as breathless as your eyes travel down to the hungry maw etched onto his abdomen and your hips thrust upward in a subconscious plea. He follows your gaze and a chuckling scoff escapes his throat. 

“The filth you hide in your mind truly astounds me.” 

He doesn’t pull away — rather, he presses his body closer to yours, his large hands parting your legs further and he shifts your hips. Your mind immediately goes numb. You feel the humid, heavy breath of the maw on his abdomen ghosting over your inner thighs, inches away from your dripping cunt. 

“Please—” your plea finally breaks from your plea in a quiet, broken murmur. 

The word is barely is out before your head snaps, your spine arching off the wooden table as a surprised, sharp gasp of unadulterated pleasure is ripped from your throat as you feel the blunt, calloused tip of his middle finger dipping into your heat. 

A heavy, hitched breath escapes Sukuna’s throat.

“Please, what?” He hums, his lips curling into a knowing smirk as he dips his finger deeper; your walls embraces his digit eagerly, pulsing around him desperately. He finds it all so intoxicating. 

Your hands rush to grip at the biceps of his upper arms, your nails digging into his skin. 

He doesn’t stop at one; he slides a second finger inside, relishing in the way your eyes roll back and your lips part. 

“M-My Lord—” you gasp out, but your husband cuts you off. “Call me by my name.”

He curls his fingers deep inside you, finding that sweet, delicious spot that makes your neck croon and toes curl. 

“Sukuna—!” A loud squeal rips from your throat, paired with the intense clenching and pulsing of your pussy around his two digits. He’s relentless. With each powerful thrust of his fingers, he digs deeper, his knuckles bumping against your entrance while continuously hitting your sweet spot in repeated motions. Your hips buck up against his, your nails digging deeper into his shoulder. 

“P-Please—Ah! I want—I want…” You barely gasp out, your mind turning into mush at his cruel ministrations. You’re far beyond embarrassment now, your whole body engulfed with need and sheer arousal. 

“Mmm… want to feel your tongues on me.” The request leaves your lips in a lewd, broken mewl. 

“Fuck. That’s it.” He licks his lips. Each wet, rhythmic slap of his fingers fingers fucking into your pussy and your sweet, restrained moans sends jolts of arousal straight to his dicks — pressing uncomfortably against his hakama. 

He leans his forehead against yours, his crimson gaze staring deep into yours as the thrusts of his fingers increased in force and speed; his pace relentless and punishing, pushes you ultimately to your climax. “I-I’m… I think I’m going to—” your eyes roll back, your body trembles beneath him. 

A loud moan of your husband’s name breaks from your lips. Your back arches violently, your toes curling as your walls clamp down on his fingers. Yet, he doesn’t slow down, he doesn’t relent — relishing in your unraveling by his two fingers. You try to reach his lower arms, but his upper arms stop you; holding your wrist in a vice grip while he continues to destroy your hole with his two, large, digits. 

“Hah. You’ve finally lost it, haven’t you?” A low rumble vibrates against your bare chest. “Just how dirty were your fantasies that you’re begging for both my mouths?”

“W-wait—!” You cry out, your voice cracking as the pressure in your abdomen builds into something well-nigh unbearable. “You’re—AH! Y-You’re gonna make me pee!”

Sukuna doesn’t flinch, rather it gives him even more of a drive to see you let loose.

 “Let go,” he says, his command immediately reaching your belly. It isn’t long before your sweet, hot juices spray across his hand and the tattooed skin of his abdomen. 

A low, guttural moan escapes his lips, fascinated at the mess you created. Slowly, he pulls digit out of your heat; his eyes glued to the slick nectar coating around his two fingers. You can only watch in awe and embarrassment as he brings the juices to his mouth, his lingua poking out to slowly lap at his own knuckles; savouring your taste with the focus of a connoisseur. 

“You taste so fucking sweet,” his rasp comes out in a strained moan.

Feeling bashful, eyes involuntarily dart lower, only for your skin to flush an immense red. The sight is as hypnotic as it is harrowing. While your husband tastes you above, his maw below has grown restless — your gaze stuck onto the sight as that heavy, muscular tongue lolls out to lap at the juices splayed across your abdomen; primal, wet noises escape the maw and it echoes throughout the dining room. 

You can’t wait any longer. You want him. Now. 

Driven by a sudden, desperate surge of temerity to drown out any remaining shame you have left, you reach up and tangle your fingers into his pink locks, pulling his face down to yours and you finally lock lips. 

Sukuna lets out a brief, surprised hum against your lips, his four eyes widening for a fraction of a second before he melts. He meets your tongue with an overwhelming fervour, one of his upper hands sliding from your waist to cradle the back of your head, softly digging his fingers into your locks. Below, your legs act on their own accord; you hook your ankles behind his his back, your thighs locking around his chiseled torso and bringing his maw closer to your heat. Such a motion hitches your hips upward, dragging your slick, pulsing cunt directly against the heat of his lower mouth.

The reaction is instantaneous — you both moan into the kiss, your tongues entwined into one another while you can feel the maw’s humid breath scorching your inner thighs.  

Sukuna breaks the kiss just enough to huff against your lips, his forehead still pressed firmly against yours. “Fuck, you’re just insatiable, aren't you?”

You can only let out a whimper in response, your head lolling back as the thick, salacious muscle swipes a long line along your drenched slit. “Holy fuck,” is all you can utter. 

He shifts his hips, his lower hands reaching down to grip your knees and spread you even wider on the mahogany table, a raspy chuckle leaves his lips when the tongue pokes out of his abdomen to lap greedily at your pussy before entering inside — eliciting a sweet cry to escape from your throat. 

The noises that escape you are no longer coherent; loud sobs of pleasure and heavy breaths bounce off the high ceilings. You are pinned, splayed, and utterly consumed. 

He rocks his hips slowly, grinding his maw against your heat as it messily laps at your folds, glistening the skin in both your juices and its saliva. Your eyes roll back in ecstasy, a breathless moan escaping your lips. 

“Look at you,” Sukuna purrs, his upper eyes’ pupils blown wide in pure arousal — it almost felt predatory. “You’re taking him so well. How does it feel acting like a harlot when this is your first time ever being touched by a man?”

“I-I’ve always been so — Mmh!” You roll your head back once more, a hitched cry leaves your pretty — drool-drenched lips. “You had… always—ngh! Piqued my interest—!” 

“So much that you’ve become curious as to what my two mouths could do to you? I’m starting to wonder if you’ve spent those nights dreaming the same about my cocks.” 

The thought alone makes your heart Hammer against your ribs. Of course, you have. How could you not?

“You had never summoned me, despite me waiting for days.” You say quietly, biting your lips as you feel his maw fuck its tongue deeper into your hole. “Ahn! So… I-I just let my mind wander.”

“Do you realize how easily you could’ve had me if you used that voice of yours? Hm?”

He licks a small stripe along your incarnadine lips, his lips brushing against the corners of your lips. His hot breath sends a wave of shivers and arousal down your spine. 

He rasps, “You could have crawled to me on the first night — begged, even. And I might have let you taste a fraction of this. You could have dropped that pride of yours and you wouldn’t to rely on such imagination.”

The tongue inside you flickers with a sudden, rapid intensity; briefly exiting your hole before the muscle begins swirling around your clitoris — flicking at the firm, sensitive bud before the mouth circles around it and sucks — drawing your clitoris into his abdomen. 

“Is this anything like you’ve imagined?” He teases, despite the cocky edge in his voice, he sounded strained; his breath raspy and heavy, hitching in tandem with the frantic rhythm of his lower mouth as it devours your pussy. “Answer me, slut.” 

“It’s s’much bettER—Ah!”

You feel as though air is completely knocked out of your lungs, your mind drowning in the immense pleasure he is giving you. The sensation of his maw sucking your clit with such vigour — it’s driving you mad — just as much as it is affecting him.

“Fuck…” He grunts, the profanity torn from his throat as his abs ripple and spasm against your inner thighs.

His cocks pulse frantically beneath the thin fabric of his hakama — the need growing from below has become far too much for him to bear — his patience already wears thin. He needs more. The table alone won’t be enough for what he wants to do so desperately with you.

“We’re going to my chambers.” He growls, his voice dripping with pure, carnal need. 

He doesn’t spare you a second to recover; his lower hands dive under the your thighs, his large hands gripping the plush of your ass with a bruising strength and hoisting you off the mahogany table in one motion. Your hands immediately find refuge in the crevices of his shoulder, snaking your arms around his large frame as he hoists your trembling body up — your cunt still dripping from the relentless assault of his second mouth. You dig your canines into his neck, stifling the loud cries that threaten to slip past your lips. 

With you in his arms, he makes large strides towards the shoji. Though, the maw on his abdomen doesn’t cease to quit; it continues to lap and swirl around your dripping entrance greedily. You inhale sharply, biting your lip, trying to both stabilize and ground yourself.

The shoji flies open with a sharp, echoing clack!

Though, your heart plummets into your stomach — your skin pales. 

Tsubuki and Kuri stands as stlll as statues along the walls, their head bowed in practiced, chilling discipline. They don’t flinch at the sight of their master half-bare, nor do they look up to catch sight of his naked wife in his arms — completely at the mercy of the mouth on his stomach; a mixture of your juices and its saliva dripping down onto the polished wood board.

Despite their stone-faced expressions, you find it hard not to notice the tinge of red staining the tips of their ears. As disciplined as they are, they are neither deaf nor foolish.

“I feel you tightening around his tongue,” he whispers in your ear, “does this arouse you?”

A feverish heat consumes your entire face, and you tuck your head into the crook of his neck. You pray for the ground below you to open up and swallow you whole, yet your body betrays you; breathless moans escapes your lips, muffled only by the hot, sweaty skin of his shoulder. 

“Let’s go already,” you whine, your voice muffled by his skin. 

His heavy strides echoes through the corridor, with every step, your hips meet with the maw. With every step, you’re shocked with jolts of pleasure. Eventually he reaches the shoji leading to his chambers, and he slides them open. Not even a moment after, the wooden door slides shut with a loud thud.

The air in his chambers feel heavy, the strong scent of cedar and sandalwood incense immediately fills your nostrils. 

He doesn’t bother with the futon. Rather, Sukuna pins you against the nearest wall, the sudden impact eliciting a sharp, breathless gasp. He locks his lips against yours, and with a subtle tilt of his head, he deepens the kiss — his tongue dominating yours with ease. He pulls away, sloppily kissing at your neck down to your collarbone; his large, calloused palms molding the soft mounds of your breast, his thumbs lazily flicking and rolling your nipples until he feels your hips jerk against his.

Your breath hitches.

His lips only trail lower and lower until he reaches your breast, engulfing the hardened bud inside his mouth. He returns the same love to your other breast before his lips trail lower, and lower; passing your abdomen and inching closer to your heat. A broken whimper escapes your throat, your fingers traveling up and finding solace in his roseate locks as he sinks to his knees before you. 

His large, calloused hands palm the plush of your ass, nearly bruising the soft skin as he pulls you closer to his face. His tongue is softer, hitting your spots with controlled movements 

“Pl-Please,” You stammer in between soft moans, “I want you now.”

“You can wait,” he replies, his voice muffled as his lips remain on your cunt; his chin drenched in both his drool and your juices. “You’ve always been good at that.”

“You can handle a few more minutes of me tasting you,” He says before wrapping his lips tightly around your clit, sucking around the sensitive bud tightly. Looking up, his four eyes are all fixated on you; relishing in the way your body unravels beneath his tongue. He nearly moans at the sight; his grip tightening around your ass, his fingers digging into the skin. 

“So sweet,” he groans against your skin. 

In the midst of his torture, his lower hands abandon your ass, and they trail down past the rigid muscle of his abdomen with a newfound hurriedness. Then, the silence of the room — paired with your heavy breathing — is punctuated by the heavy rustle of fabric as his hakama finally drops to the wooden floor.

Holy shit. 

Sukuna doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen at the sight, or the way your throat goes dry. In languid movements, he strokes his upper cock with his hand. It takes everything within him not to cackle when he hears you audibly gulp at the lewd sight; your gaze hopelessly trapped by the steady motions of his hand. 

“You still want this?” He questions, his voice dripping in arousal. “Or is it more than you can handle?”

“Of course I do,” you reply almost immediately, as your voice eventually quiets; your eyes narrowing into the daunting size of his girth. 

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Good.”

With a sudden burst of movement, his upper hands snatch your waist, hoisting you off the floor as if you weight nothing at all. A surprised yelp leaves you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips and your fingers digging into his brawny, tattooed shoulders as he strides toward the futon. 

He drops you onto the silk, the impact firm enough to make your hips bounce and your hair fan out across the fabric below you. And before you can even register what’s going on, his massive shadow looms over your frame; the mattress of the futon dipping under his weight as he crawls between your knees as his frame effortlessly pushes your legs farther apart. 

His upper hands reach down, his calloused fingers hooking firmly behind your knees to hike them up toward your chest — a position that leaves your drenched cunt bared and vulnerable to his gaze. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, licking his lips. With one hand, he lazily brings his lower cock up and slaps the heavy, pulsing length against your heat — watching the way the tip of his cock drags through the pool of your shared slickness before slapping it against you once more. “Your body’s practically begging to be filled, ha.”

He pushes your knees further up and pins them toward your shoulders, eliciting a surprised gasp of his name to tumble past your lips. The moment you feel his tip push inside, you keen. 

“God!” A small scream erupts from your throat, your neck craning back into the pillows. The sharp pain immediately strikes you as your walls struggle to accommodate to the sheer size of his —

“Are you really screaming another man’s name when I’m inside you?” He teases, though the humor in his voice is tempered by a strained groan. He rocks his hips slowly, claiming your walls inch by inch. Your cunt’s just as greedy, your walls gripping onto each ridged vein of his monster girth as he slides deeper. All that follows are your sweet moans and whimpers gracing his ears.

“Shit — you’re clenching around me like a fucking vice.” He hisses, tilting his head back slightly. The muscles in his jaw tightens, his four eyes narrowing down at you; his pupils blown wide in some sort of primal desire. “You have to relax for me if you want me to go in all the way.”

“There’s more?!” You exclaim, your voice nearly cracking.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” he says as he presses your further into the mattress, “but I’m barely halfway.” 

“Y-You’re going to rip me apart,” you stammer softly, a faint, instinctual fear blooming in your chest as you look up at the Herculean man above you. 

“With how wet you are for me right now? I doubt it.” He counters, smiling as his voice drops low into a whisper. “Besides, you are going to take it. I will make sure of it.”

With another deliberate tilt of his pelvis, he drives another inch of his cock into you. He relishes the way your eyes roll back at the sensation, your back arching off the mattress as your breath hitches into a high-pitched whine. What began as a brief, sharp sting quickly transitions into pure, unadulterated bliss — a hot spark that short-circuits your every thought and takes over you whole.

“Fuck, fuck…” He hisses under his breath, his jaw tight. The friction of your walls, pulsing and squeezing around him so sweetly is nonetheless, for him, pure torture. “You’re so tight — so goddamn perfect. I’m going all the way now, okay? You feel so fuckin’ good.”

With that, the peach-haired male anchors himself and with a sudden surge of his hips, he drives forward, burying the remaining length of his cock in one motion; his pelvis slamming flush against yours. A loud, needy sob dies in your throat as he fills you to the very brim, stretching your walls in a way that you didn’t realize felt possible — let alone pleasurable. It leaves you utterly breathless, yet yearning for more. 

Sukuna’s brows knit together in a sharp V, stifling whatever noises that threaten to escape his throat. His blunt, manicured nails digs deeper into the flesh of your hips, anchoring you to the futon as he commences a merciless pace. 

“S-Suk—un—“ You try to utter your husband’s name in between moans and broken gasps, your voice getting more incoherent as seconds pass. Your eyes roll back, a thin trail of drool escaping your parted lips. “I-I’m go—fuck! P-Please I’m so close—”

With your knees pinned back and your body tilted at such a punishing angle, your husband makes mean, effortless contact with your cervix with every harsh thrust of his hips; the tip of his cock kissing your sensitive womb. The wet, lewd slap of skin meeting skin echoes through the chamber — paired with the needy moans that escapes your lips as he fucks you through your nth orgasm of the night.

Even through the haze of the pleasure clouding your thoughts, you can’t ignore the heavy, pulsing weight resting against your navel. Without thinking twice, your hand reaches out, your fingers curling around the girth of his upper cock; your small palm sliding over his pulsing length as your thumb languidly presses against the tip, smudging his pre-cum across the skin. 

A surprised hiss leaves Sukuna’s lips, his rhythm faltering for a brief moment as his four-eyed gaze snaps down to where your hand lies before traveling back up to yours. You still look fucked out — wide-eyed and breathless — but despite having your shit absolutely ruined, you still look adorable as ever. 

“Mmh. Keep going. Just like that.” He commands, though the authority that was once present in his voice is beginning to fray. Small, involuntary groans tear out of his throat as he attempts to maintain his composure. However, with your hand working him above and your pussy practically milking him from below, he, too is coming undone — much closer to his limit than he’d ever care to admit. 

Low moans of your name tumbles past his lips as he rocks his hips into yours, his pace growing more frantic and uncontrolled by the second; his blunt nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he pulls you closer — the tip of his cock kissing your cervix each time, and his upper length gliding against the gentle palms of your hand. 

Glancing down at your trembling figure, your face contorting in pure bliss, and your lips drenched in your own drool as you pathetically try to suppress your noises — You look absolutely undone, and he loves every single bit of it. He licks a long stripe along your ankle, before pressing a chaste kiss against the sweaty skin; grinning at the way your body immediately jolts at the sensation. 

“You…” He begins in a low murmur, though you can feel him smile against your skin. “I’m going to put all my seed in you, and you’re going to take it. All of it.”

He almost laughs at the way your walls squeeze around his cock almost immediately, as if it is begging for him to do so. You, however, can only whimper out jumbled out a series of ‘yes, please’ 

“Fucking harlot,” he bemuses, “out of all the normal men on this earth, the only one your cunt’s craving so shamelessly for just had to be some abomination?”

He leans closer, pressing his cock somehow deeper; he devours the sound of your keen, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. “Take it,” he snarls, the command sends jolts throughout your entire body. 

“Please, fuck. I need — Ngh! Please ‘Kuna, I need it—”

With one final thrust and a deep, guttural groan, he pins you into the mattress with his weight; his fingers digging into the back of your thighs as all your vision turned to white. The sensation is immediate — a hot, pulsing warmth that seems to fill every hollow of your being. His upper cock twitches above your abdomen, spilling out hot spurts of his thick, white seed across your skin, painting a messy trail from the curve of your abdomen all the way up to your flushed, breathless face. 

The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by your shallow pants; the air thick with the scent of salt and sex. You can barely find the strength to move your legs, your muscles still twitching from your release.

Sukuna’s large figure looms over you, all four of his eyes tracking the way your chest heaves and your gaze struggles to focus, seemingly committing every detail to memory. Most importantly, his eyes trail over your body and the way his seed maps across your skin like it was a work of art. He moves slowly, his upper hand reaching towards your flushed face.

His thumb finds the streak of white across the apples of your cheek, swiping at the skin with a newfound gentleness. Despite the fondness that’s present in his expression, there’s also a smug look that’s faintly etched across his face as he brings the digit towards your mouth. You’re truly no better as you wordlessly stick your tongue out, meeting his gaze with a heavy-lidded, breathless stare. Stripped off all your pride, you let your tongue swirl around his digit before sucking on it softly — cleaning his finger free from his cum. 

With another hand, he brushes his fingers across the soft locks of your hair.

“Good girl,” Your husband murmurs, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear before dragging lower towards your jaw. He smiles, almost teasingly.

“I don't know what other thoughts you have swimming around in your head, but I hope you didn’t think a single round would be enough to tire me." He leans closer, brushing his lips against your ear. "After a fortnight of waiting, I'm more than certain you feel the same way."

a/n: HAHAHAHHA GOTCHA BITCHES🫵🫵 SLAPPING A PART THREE FOR YOU

please do not copy, repost, or feed into ai. ©unknvhx

[requested by anon]

After everything? After holding you in the rain as you both slept, giving you the first of proper rest you've had in months?

Sukuna sat his bulky form up, having previously been sprawled against the dewy grass.

He felt as if he couldn't move as you set about cleaning up his living space a little, giving the ears on top of his head an affectionate graze with your fingers. "Mornin', sleepyhead. Looks like that nasty storm finally subsided."

Silence.

You shrugged, deciding it was simply just the hybrid being his usual aloof self — but six days in his enclosure had clouded your judgement. It had lowered your guards, and the predatory look he had cast your way was ignored.

Satoru tugged at Suguru's arm until the long-haired man turned around to face his on-and-off lover. "Hey … don'tcha think he's looking at her all weird?"

"Yeah. 's he horny again?"

Satoru snorted at that, but his concerns didn't subside. Sukuna's posture remained deathly still — the only movement visible being his red eyes, tracking your each and every moment. "Nah, can't be."

Back inside the enclosure, you were chatting away to deaf ears. Sukuna inhaled — the sound rumbling as it cut you off. His nose twitched, each nostril flaring briefly before he finally spoke, stiff.

"You smell different."

You turned around. Blinked at the hybrid.

"Huh?"

"You smell different," Sukuna repeated. It was only then that you registered the increasingly hostile look on his face, the way he struggled to contain his sharpened nails as they dug into the dirt. The veins snaking down his biceps bulged out of his own accord. Sukuna's head swam — yet he forced himself to get up onto his feet and drag himself to you.

It didn't escape you that his tail wasn't swaying from side to side as it usually did when you were near. "Oh, right," you chuckled, backing up a fraction. "Satoru lent me his jacket 'cause I got wet meerkat feed all over mine."

Sukuna's eyes narrowed into slits when you moved away from him — you had never shown an ounce of fear towards him since you first started working in his enclosure. It wounded Sukuna — especially when he didn't have the soothing balm which was your scent to calm him down. So he went back to his little living space, drove his fists into a tree or two before he could do something worse, and ignored your collective gasps.

"What the fuck—"

Both Satoru and Suguru rushed up the cool observation glass, dramatically mouthing at you to leave the damn enclosure. You glanced back with wide eyes and your heart in your throat as Sukuna dragged his nails down splintering bark in an attempt to self-soothe.

Clearly, it wasn't working.

"Eaaasy, now. What's got you so worked up?"

Suguru banged on the glass, aggravating Sukuna further. "Get the fuck out of there. Who do you think you are?! Y/N?"

A collective shriek left the onlookers outside the enclosure, almost indistinguishable against the tearing of metal. Sukuna grunted, tore off his roof and shredded it in half. If he couldn't take out his anger on Satoru, then he'd have to settle on the next best thing.

"What the hell do we do? Do we go in?"

"Fuck, no. What the hell do I look like, Superman?" Satoru blurted at the other staff member, eyeing the damage. "Let her handle it."

You threw your hands in the air, mentally cursing at your supervisor before tentatively approaching Sukuna. "Are you going to talk to me or keep messing up your living space like an animal?"

"I am an animal," Sukuna snarled in response, kicking at scraps of metal. You sighed at that, mentally noting to demand Satoru for a pay rise.

"No, that's not what I meant. You're beating everything up out of seemingly nowhere. Why?"

For the third time, Sukuna repeated his previous words — wondering how on earth you were so dense. "You. Smell. Different."

The words were low, a barely-veiled threat hanging over them. It took you a moment to register what he meant, but when you did, your face paled a fraction. "Oh, is it my— sorry, Satoru's jacket?"

Sukuna simply stood there, chest heaving as he remained facing a tree. Then, he nodded. Behind the glass, Satoru winced. Suguru rolled his eyes. "Idiot."

"Scent means everything to a tiger," Sukuna began, turning to face you. "Thought you knew that. Thought you were a smart girl."

You were rooted in place as Sukuna stepped forward, approaching you yet again. He seemed bigger than he usually did — turning into a mass of scarred tissue and stiff muscle as he towered over your trembling form. "I'm … I'm sorry, it seemed to have slipped my mind."

"Carelessness will get you killed around me. What do you think killed off everyone else in the pits?"

Ah, the fight club. Sukuna watched you, looking down as you absorbed his words. Everyone outside seemed to fade into the background, and the hybrid didn't bother looking up when they scurried out of the building.

You did, though — looking backwards and throwing a panicked look at Satoru. He threw you a thumbs up before shoving Suguru out with him. Bastard. Your eyes met Sukuna's, the way he wanted you to.

"Scent means everything. It's what makes me me, and you you," he continued, hearing the way your heartbeat pulsed rapidly. "So when you come in here, smelling of another man … what am I meant to think?"

"That I'm simply borrowing the jacket of a coworker who was generous to help me out," you bit back, defensively crossing your arms over yourself.

"It's disgusting. Take it off."

You stared at Sukuna, bewildered. "It-it's just a coat. You don't get to order me around like that."

"But you're in my enclosure, little keeper. And I don't want that scent on you."

"You're being ridiculous," you muttered, but even you didn't believe that. If anything, hours spent researching Sukuna's species in detail should have given you enough of a warning that he had the full capacity to be volatile around foreign scents. This was all on you.

A silence fell heavy, stifling. Sukuna's head continued to throb painfully.

"Alright, alright," you mumbled, unzipping Satoru's jacket. "I'm taking it off. There, happy?" You tossed it behind you, putting some distance between it and Sukuna.

And everything suddenly felt lighter. Your scent was prominent again, finally familiar.

Sukuna rolled his bare shoulders back, taking a proper breath of air in for the first time since you stepped into the enclosure that morning. Your scent was more noticeable now, and he gulped it down greedily, committing it back into memory.

"… happy."

That should have been the end of it, but Sukuna came closer, evidently greedy for more. Satoru's scent on you had shaken him up more than he wanted to admit — making him lean down to nose at your neck. He felt you stiffen against him, yet ignored it.

"But you still smell like him."

"I can't do anything about that right now, Sukuna. I mean—," you tried to explain, but Sukuna cut you off.

"Keep going," he grunted, "take more off. Please."

You gawked up at the hybrid, remembering rule five of the handbook.

'Rule no. 5 » Do not attempt to form personal relationships with subject'

But clearly you were well past that stage, having already broken the rule of making direct eye contact with the hybrid. Even then … stripping yourself before Sukuna just to make him feel better seemed crazy. Unethical, even.

Sensing your hesitation, his tail came around and gripped your wrist. "Please. I'll fix it."

"Fix what? The enclosure? Because that's definitely coming out of my paycheck."

"No. I want to rub my scent on you."

The words lingered between you both, eliciting a warmth inside you that wanted to bloom across your face. You couldn't let that happen, no matter how enticing it all sounded.

"That's not part of my job description," you mumbled, looking back to make sure no one else was in the habitat. There wasn't.

"Neither was sleeping with me yesterday," Sukuna reminded you, tense from exerting himself earlier but taking on a faint teasing lilt to his tone. "Please. Aren't you sorry? Don't you want to help me feel better?"

"Ugh, you're ridiculous," you scoffed, the hand that was uncertainly hovering over your printed t-shirt now yanking it up and over your head. You refused to look at the hybrid, letting him take in the warm expanse of your newly-exposed flesh. But even the sight of you in your bra wasn't enough.

"More. All the way."

And as much as you should have said no, you didn't — because the prospect of making Sukuna feel better, to right what you had done wrong, was too strong to resist. Besides, it wasn't every day a zookeeper was lucky enough to cuddle up to a hunk of a hybrid, and you were curious for some skin on skin contact.

That was why you stripped further, shaky fingers undoing the buttons of your durable khaki pants before they dropped to the grass. You kicked them away, hugging yourself as the cold wind hit you. Sukuna tutted, attentively honing in on the underwear you were wearing.

"Smells … nice. Take them off."

You tutted, hoping that just maybe he'd let you keep them on. But you stripped anyway, muttering to yourself about how ridiculous he was ordering you around like this, that you were the keeper here — not him.

Soon, the swell of your bare breasts met the air, too. Your hips, the soft angles of your legs, the dip of your spine … you were everything Sukuna wasn't, and he loved you for it.

"Stop staring, it's weird."

"Yet you're aroused."

A jolt of heat sparked in you, melding with the embarrassment as you dug your shoes into the grass. For some odd reason, you had kept them on. "Stop making things up and just … do your thing. There's cameras here and I don't want to be giving them a free show."

Sukuna let out a chuffing sound at that and lifted you up effortlessly — slinging you over his shoulder. He couldn't hear you, or at least chose not to when you squealed and banged your fists on his back. He walked to his ruined little shelter, kicking away the debris as best as he could before sitting down with a thud.

This was your first proper exposure to the intimate act of scenting, and it took you by surprise when Sukuna immediately began rubbing his entire face across your form. Two heavy arms secured you on his lap, squeezing as he dug his lips, his cheeks, his chin into the crook of your neck.

He gave you no time to protest, the enclosure silent save for your collective heavy breathing and the wind blowing in. You trembled, screwing your eyes shut as Sukuna nosed his way across your throat and inhaled over and over. Satisfaction wasn't a strong enough word to convey how the hybrid felt.

Sukuna was greedy.

And you were unsure, letting your hands hover above his shoulders. "… Sukuna?"

"Hold me."

You set your hands down, feeling his muscles shift as his chest rumbled against yours. Your breasts had pressed up against him, drawing out happy grunts from the hybrid — who was currently dragging his cheek along your collarbones. There was a slight prickling sensation from the stubble as Sukuna repeated the action, coating you in his increasingly potent scent.

It clung to him, and now it clung to you — stubbornly, just like Sukuna was. He pawed at your exposed rear, careful not to let his claws dig into your tender skin when you jerked against him.

"Sukuna—," you yelped, cold air breezing past your exposed holes. It was vulgar, the way the hybrid was now trying to stake his claim on you in more ways than just his scent. It was unfair how your body responded involuntarily, goosebumps arising and pussy clenching around nothing. Sukuna could smell it all.

"You're still shaking," he noted. "Are you still scared of me?"

You shook your head, a surprised noise leaving you when Sukuna nipped at the skin of your throat with his lips. "No. You're just … touching me far more than you should be."

"And do you hate it?"

…

"No."

"Then let me do this." Sukuna set you down on the grass without letting you respond, shifting to a kneeling position so that he could shuck off his own pants the zoo had given him. You let out a startled noise and covered your eyes as he disrobed.

"You aren't exactly subtle, ah—"

One large hand dragged you back to him by the ankle, and suddenly you were face to face with Sukuna's crotch. A wild tuft of pink hair decorated the base of his cock, which had progressively become erect during your little scenting session.

You shouldn't have been surprised, considering how large of a stature Sukuna sported — but were cocks this big seriously normal for his species?

Pulsing, fat veins decorated his tanned length, which darkened at the tip into a leaking shade of plum. Sukuna's balls sat heavy underneath, aching and full and heavier on the right side. These physiological reactions went beyond anything to do with his territorial instincts — indeed, Sukuna was in the mood for some mating action.

He grunted, cock bobbing he settled his hot palms on your waist, intending to flip you around. Eager. "Get on top of me. I'm not done … scenting you yet."

"T-that's really not necessary, 'kuna," you interjected, wondering if this was all moving too fast for your liking. It was giving you a whiplash, rendering you unable to steady yourself when Sukuna lay flat on the grass with you on top of him. Your pussy hovered above his face, and a fierce heat spread over your cheeks when he repeatedly sniffed. "Pervert."

"I know, now sit down."

Mmph.

A muffled yet delighted hum left the hybrid when he yanked you down by the hips, cunt planting right on top of the lower half his face. You were soaked — undoubtedly so as Sukuna began eating you out with vigour, subconsciously minding his sharp teeth. He made sure to rub his entire face against your lower half, nipping and kissing at your thighs as he spread you open as wide as he could.

You, of course, were writhing on top of him. The cameras would be sure to relay this all back to the bewildered security, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. "Your tongue … 's so rough," you keened out, hips bucking down under the stimulation. Sukuna gave a sorry smooch on your clit, angling his jaw until he could slip it into his mouth and languidly suckle.

"Sorry, 'm so sorry," he groaned, hissing when you took the initiative to grasp onto his cock. Your fingers just about managed to grip onto him, pumping erratically. Sukuna didn't seem to be apologising for his tongue — but rather for scaring you before with his outburst. "Didn't mean it. Promise."

You kept jerking at him, bending down with lidded eyes so that you could experimentally lick at his aching tip. The saltiness was overpowering, nothing like you had ever tasted before. It seemed to cloy your taste buds in a way that was rather addicting — prompting you to ease his head into your mouth with a wet pop.

"Thaaat's it," Sukuna crooned from between your parted legs, trying his damn hardest not to thrust his dick further into your mouth. There was no way you could take him all, and you opted for jerking whatever couldn't fit in your mouth. "Suck on it f'me. Just like that."

Shame had long gone, and you were positively cockdrunk. Thick fingers had slid into you at one point as you bobbed your head up and down, scissoring you open as Sukuna eagerly lapped at your wetness. The tell-tale signs of your impending orgasm had begun, making him double down on his efforts until your cries were garbled around his cock.

Splash!

Sukuna's eyes fluttered shut reflexively as you came suddenly, effectively scenting him with your syrupy juices.

Over 'n over, your body spasmed with the aftershocks of your release, until his cock had slipped out of your grasp and you had slipped onto the grass. "A-ah, that's too much," you spluttered, trying to catch your breath. Sukuna shifted until he was able to roll you onto your back, situating himself between your spread legs. The sight of your cunt, glistening and puffy, was enough to make him shudder.

Another chuff left him, the hybrid visibly delighted at how responsive you were — and the fattened curve of his tip caught against your clenching entrance. "Can I? Will you let me in?"

"It won't fit," you croaked, "you're too big."

"Just the tip, it'll fit," he whispered, leaning down to mash his lips onto yours. You could both taste each other, slick webs of saliva connecting you by the tongue as he murmured reassurances into your mouth. When you nodded, Sukuna's thumb found your clit, pert and waiting for his touch.

So he pressed down, circling against it until your back arched up into him. He could feel your nipples, the way the hardened buds nudged against his own. It was all a distraction to help alleviate the discomfort of his cock finally slipping into you. You cried out — hands gripping every surface they could. You even tugged on Sukuna's tiger ears, making the rumbling in his chest claw out of his throat.

"Oh, you're so wet for me," he shook, forehead against yours as you both lay there on the grass. You panted — trying to accommodate your pussy to his obscene girth, feeling boneless and spent already. "Should've done this the second the white-haired fool stepped a single foot in here. Right in front of him."

"Huh—"

With that, Sukuna withdrew his tip, before sliding some of his fat inches back into your heat. He repeated the process until the pain on your face melted into pleasure, and you were able to take more of him with each stuttering thrust.

The cameras continued to blink, and jaws sagged open — including yours. A scandal at that, that the zookeeper of Enclosure 20 was having her pussy stretched out by the feared tiger hybrid before opening hours. Sukuna braced his arms on either side of your head, a lecherous grin on his face as his hips pummelled into yours with a chorus of wet plaps,

Adorable — his favourite little keeper was taking his cock so well.

You tugged at his ears again, body ablaze when the sound of his balls clapping down against the curve of your ass grew in tempo. Sukuna's tail came around, gentle around your thigh — which was a stark contrast to the way he was driving into your walls with the sole intention to fill your womb with his seed and make you climax.

Which you eventually did.

"Coming—!" you gasped aloud, head thrown back into the grass as the peak of pleasure finally hit you both like a ton of bricks. Sukuna had been holding back, but the splashes of your cunt spasming out moisture, coating his chest with your orgasm, was too much for Sukuna to handle.

"Take it," he rasped, "take it all." Sukuna choked on a groan, opting to suck on your throat even if the urge to bite was taking over all coherent thought. Warm spurts of his release filled you up from the inside, rendering you utterly stuffed to the brim with cum.

You could only be grateful that pregnancy wasn't viable between humans and hybrids, because at the rate Sukuna was going? He wouldn't have let you go until you were having triplets if you were one of his kind.

Speaking of Sukuna, he was panting in your ear, gently rubbing his body against yours to ensure you were thoroughly scented. He cradled you, looking down to see the imprint of his cock making your stomach bulge out the slightest amount. Before his cock could stir once more, Sukuna pulled out with a curse, pecking you when you whimpered from discomfort.

Somewhere during the routine of cleaning you up with his trousers, he had turned his rabbit plush around — muttering a small 'oops' as he realised it had been a silent witness to the whole thing. Your breathing slowly evened out, and Sukuna had glanced back at the camera. The red light blinked steadily, and a pang of guilt hit him as he realised he had put your career in jeopardy.

"Shit, 'm sorry," he uttered as he looked back down at you — but you had already fallen unconscious, snoring softly and dreaming of fuzzy ears.

Alas, this was an issue for day seven.

© bluukive on tumblr, all rights reserved. Do not copy or redistribute any of my works.

You were on another mission. Nevermind the almost life-ending injury you sustained on the last one, oh no, the higher-ups were not having you sit out of another mission. 

This one landed you in a middle school where the staff had been filing some complaints, and normally you would have almost been excited to go do your job. This is what you were born for, after all, but this mission was different. You felt incomplete. You felt incapable. You weren’t the sorcerer that you used to be, and you weren't even sure that you could complete this mission successfully. 

Megumi stood in front of you, assessing the school. Did he know how unprepared you felt? Did he know how impotent you were now that your stomach had been sliced open and you lost, according to Shoko, almost 2 liters of blood? 

“I think we should just go in and look for something, honestly. I can’t see anything from here,” Megumi said, looking over his shoulder at you.

You nodded, barely registering the comment, and gave a quick, “Okay.”

His eyebrows furrowed and he walked towards you. Megumi could always tell when something was off with you. “What’s up, huh? Where’d you go?” he said, lifting your chin so you were forced to look at him. You didn’t even have to say anything before he understood, he could read your face like an open book by now. “Babe, it’s gonna be fine. Gojo said this was an easy mission, nothing like the hospital. Hell, he said I could do this one myself if I needed to, they just wanted you to get out again.” You nodded. “It’ll be okay, I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

A chaste kiss was placed on your forehead as he gave your shoulder a rub. “Come on, it’ll be fun,” he said, grinning as he pulled you forward with him.

You rolled your eyes, not being able to help the smile that snuck onto your face. There wasn’t anything that Megumi couldn’t make at least a little bit better in your opinion. He seems like a dull person until you get to know him, and then boom, a personality appears. A little bit of sarcasm mixed with some charm and dry humor leaves you with the handsome man pulling you towards a cursed middle school in the middle of the afternoon. 

The two of you made your way through the doors, and almost immediately you were met with the sight of a ginormous, gelatinous curse that was squelching through the halls. It was absolutely deplorable to look at, and you almost laughed at the look of revulsion on Megumi’s face as it slowly made its way towards you. 

“Oh my god, that’s disgusting,” he said, sizing it up in order to find the best plan of attack. It wouldn’t be difficult, you knew that much, and he was right, he didn’t need you. He could handle this easily by himself. 

And that’s exactly what he did. One second, he was squeezing your hand, and the next he was across the room with his shikigami absolutely obliterating Jabba the Hutt over in the corner. And then it was over, a green pile of sludge melting into a puddle where the curse once stood. He didn’t make you lift a finger, which you felt bad about, but secretly you were relieved. 

He was turning around, smiling at you and wiping the sludge off of his hands when a wetness hit your face, splattering across your eyelids. If that’s slime, I’m gonna vomit. It took you a few seconds to register the smell of metal and the warmth of it all before you were looking up again, straight into Megumi’s slit throat. 

“...megumi?”

A hand went up to cup his neck, choking, wet gurgles coming from his mouth before his knees hit the ground, blood spilling onto the floor in front of him. 

You couldn’t move, you couldn’t speak. All you could do was stand there while the love of your life lay dying on the floor in front of you. And then came the sobs.

Great, choking sobs that shook your entire body came crashing down on you as you ran towards Megumi, probably already dead on the ground. They rattled your brain and sent jolts of pain down towards your scar as you sat there in the growing pool of blood, clutching at your boyfriend's face.

“No-” you breathed, “No, you’re supposed to- you’re supposed to stay with me. You promised… you PROMISED me that-” another ugly cry forced its way out of your throat. “You weren’t gonna leave, you said you would stay. You have to stay-”

Baby

“You have to STAY.”

Baby, wake up.

“I can’t- I…”

Shhhh, shh. It’s okay.

Your eyes opened into darkness, someone’s hands smoothing over your hair and rubbing down your back. You couldn’t breathe, the blackness of the room was suffocating.

“Hey, hey, baby. It’s okay,” Megumi soothed, trying to grab your attention. “Everything’s okay, look, I’m right here.” He took your hand and pressed it to his heart. “I’m right here holdin’ you, everything's fine.”

You tried to breathe, but all that came out were little whimpers mixed with hyperventilation. Megumi knew the drill for these moments, you’d had too many nightmares to count in the weeks following the hospital mission. So had he, but never as bad as you. 

“You’re okay,” Megumi murmured into your hair. He kept your hand on his chest, breathing deeply until you started to follow him and eventually calmed down a bit. “Nothin’ bad’s gonna happen, baby, everyone’s safe. We’re home.” 

You sniffled, finding his frame in the darkness of your bedroom before moving impossibly closer, as if the contact could make you forget where you had just come from. You felt his arms snake around you, pulling you flush with his body.

After a few minutes of breathing together in the darkness of your bedroom he spoke, “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

You couldn’t answer that question, it was so complicated. You hadn’t really revealed to him how nervous you felt now that you had been injured, and to be honest, you were embarrassed. Sorcerers were supposed to be strong, not just physically, but mentally. You had thought that you had a strong mind, an unbreaking will to save and protect and win, but you didn’t know where that was anymore. It was like your resilience faded out of you when your heart had stopped.

You took a breath, “I- I just keep having these dreams where I can't do anything. I mean, you know, you’ve been here for all of them.” Your fingers found a strand of his hair, twirling it as a distraction. “But it’s- different. It goes deeper. I just- I feel so powerless now.” Megumi held you tighter, “It’s like I just know that there will be a day when someone needs me and I can’t help them because I wasn’t strong enough.”

“Baby,” Megumi whispered as his hand snaked down to rub your back once more. “You’re one of the strongest people I know.” He stopped at the skin right next to your scar, hand ghosting over it as if to say, you’re still beautiful, still mine, before moving it back to rest on your lower back. “I know that what happened- what you went through, was terrible. I was so fucking scared watching you almost die on that table and not being able to do anything.” He paused, pressing little kisses to your hairline, “But all of those experiences and that resilience is proof that you are strong. You’re capable of doing whatever the hell you want, I know because I’ve seen you do it. I’ve watched you convince Gojo to let you have his snacks, which is honestly one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen a human being do.”

You smiled into his chest, it was a really good piece of mochi. 

“I know it may not make the nightmares stop or the doubt go away, but I know that you’re still the smart, tenacious, beautiful, amazing woman that I fell in love with. No curse or scar or near-death experience will change that for me.” 

A couple seconds of comfortable silence passed, and then you tilted your head up to kiss him, whispering a soft, “I love you,” against his lips.

Megumi smiled, knocking his nose against yours. “I love you too, sweetheart. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

And as you slid back down into his arms and drifted off into a peaceful sleep, you swore you could feel the coolness of shadows wrapping around you.

==================================================

When the clock ticks to 5:45pm, he’s had enough and tries to get a hold of you. Your phone goes straight to mailbox and when he calls your work, nobody picks up for a long time until some stressed out woman tells him that you left earlier than usual, chipper and excited for your date.

Great, you’ve been talking again, your whole workplace eager to get snippets and bits of your relationship and piece together the unlikely match. Not that he cares.

What he very much cares about is you not showing up. You’ve went by foot this morning, claimed to get some fresh air and something you called a “walkout”. He knows the route you take.

So, with a hiss and a sneer, Sukuna stuffs his phone back into his pocket and tracks the way towards your work. You must be somewhere, right?

Funnily enough, he does find you, two streets over, past the sidewalk on a patch of green grass beneath one of the old walnut trees that drape the street in speckled shadow. You’re crouched on the ground, holding something close to your chest and for a stuttering, frightened heartbeat, Sukuna fears you’re hurt.

You don’t notice him approach, barely react when he calls your name and only lift your head when he’s right beside you, knees digging into the soft grass as he settles beside you. Large hands grab your shoulder and he half expects you to be in tears, to flinch or start crying but instead, you just turn to him with wide eyes and a pout.

“Look at it…” you whisper, and hold out your hands.

In the cup of your palms rests something tiny and naked, all wrinkles and rosy skin, eyes closed shut — utterly helpless.

“Fucking hell…” he curses and sits back on his haunches, relief and exasperation battling for dominance as he watches you stand.

“I thought you were fucking dead or something—”

You laugh at that, shake your head and gently free a hand, holding it out to him.

“I found this baby and couldn’t just leave it here, could I?”

He takes it and gets up with enough momentum that you’re not really doing anything to help. Still, he lets you live with the illusion and inspects the tiny creature closer.

It’s a squirrel, newborn and defenseless, small enough to fit into one of your palms, tiny heart hammering away as it’s whole body shudders.

“You could have called, you know?” he grumbles but starts circling the tree, attempting to find the drey it clearly fell out of.

“Phone died during lunch break, I figured you would show up here if I won’t make it in time.”

“Damn you, woman…”

You smile again, tilt your head in a way you only ever do when you know he might be grumbling and cursing but doing it with a devotion barely anyone gets to witness. He’s already here, already trying to solve the problem you posed.

“It was making tiny squeaks, it sounded so miserable, Sukuna…” you tell him with a breathless voice, carefully stepping closer towards the trunk as you stare up into the crown of the giant tree.

By now, spring has caused a spurt of growth in all the greenery nearby, bright new leaves and tiny flowers decorate the branches but by far not enough to hide the massive ball of leaf litter and twigs that makes up the squirrel’s nest.

No sign of the mother, no sign of more babies up in the drey.

You’re not even sleek when you move to his side, bumping your shoulder with his.

“You know, I tried climbing the tree but I’m not really a good climber.”

Sukuna gives you a massive side eye before examining the trunk. It’s not a great tree to climb, nothing really inviting anyone to try and make it up the tree with the first stable branch at least two meters off the ground. With a jump he might reach it but you - no chance.

Groaning, Sukuna has to realize that you were just eagerly waiting for him to come to your - and the squirrel’s - rescue. And here he is, immediately admitting defeat.

“Fine, I’ll try. But you figure out something else if it doesn’t work. And you’re paying the hospital bills if I fall or get attacked by a rabid squirrel.”

“Oh don’t you worry, big man, you’ll be fine,” you coo and stand on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his jawline before carefully offering him the baby.

He’ll need both hands and so ends up tucking it in the hood of his jacket before starting the adventurous climb.

As expected, he can reach the lowest branch with outstretched arms and a big jump, manages to pull himself up and shimmy to the trunk where he then finds a row of other branches that steadily lead him up the tree and closer to the nest.

No angry mother is to be found, no rabid rodents and no breaking twigs.

Sukuna makes it to the drey safely and finds a small ball of even more babies, all naked and tiny and asleep. Fluttering hearts beneath fluttering ribs. He has to twist weirdly to get the baby out of his hood but manages with a bit of strain before carefully setting down the lost one among it’s siblings. Immediately it shimmies closer to the warmth they provide and ends up indiscernible from the others.

Rescue mission accomplished.

Now to getting back down.

When he glances towards the ground, you’re right there, hands twisted with anxiety, eyes full of worry as you watch him slowly make his way back down.

Only when there’s solid ground beneath his feet do you start cheering, cheeks flushed with joy as you jump towards him, arms finding their way around his neck as you hug him like a koala, his hands managing to catch you just in time before you would fall on the ground.

“You did it, is it safe?” you asks, showering him in kisses that taste like late-afternoon coffee and that specific chapstick you keep losing in your bag.

“Yea, back with it’s siblings and as far as I can tell, I didn’t get bit.”

“That’s good,” you grin and press another kiss to his lips. “A real squirrel hero. And mine. Mostly my hero, yea.”

“You’re the reason I already find gray hairs…,” he mutters and you only grin wider.

“Still my hero. Squirro, if you must.”

“I was just about to say that you’re worth every single gray hair but if you keep calling me that, I might rethink it.”

You grin wide, run a hand through his hair and wriggle to be let down.

“I like every single gray hair of yours, oh my squirro!”

He lets you down and demonstratively rolls his eyes, grabbing your hand and tugging you back towards the sidewalk.

“Hero is fine, squirro - not so much.”

“You’re just jealous of my creativity…”

“Drained, you mean.”

“You love me, you meanie!”

“Yes I do… but you’re gonna be the death of me, woman.”

“You’ll die very happy then.”

And to that, he can only chuckle, tugging you closer. Hero or Squirro, doesn’t really matter to him as long as it’s you looking at him with all that love in your gaze.

“You’re thinking loud again,” Satoru chirped, not looking away from the screen. He popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth with theatrical grace. “It’s distracting me from the plot. And this guy is about to find out his brother is actually his dad.”

“Sorry,” you murmured, turning your attention to the screen again.

“It’s distracting. Is the main character too handsome? I can go dye my hair brown if you want a change of pace,” he offered jokingly which pulled a quiet laugh from you. “I could add green contact lenses too.”

“You're fine,” you assured him with a smile but as the minutes ticked on, that cloud of doom and gloom hovered over you again and your humor fell from your face.

“Earth to girlfrienddddd,” your boyfriend sang, waving a hand in front of your face. He didn't look at the screen; he was looking at you, his six eyes taking in every spike in your cortisol. “Sweetheart, the negative energy is radiating off you in waves and I'm not trying to be mean but I'd rather not deal with the curses it might summon. It’d be a pain to pause this very serious cinematic masterpiece."

The movie was a low-budget rom-com.

“I’m just wondering,” you whispered, your grip tightening on your mug before you set it down. “Why me, Satoru? There are women who can actually stand beside you. Women who understand your world. Half the world adores you, and the other half is terrified of you, but they all see you. I’m just normal.”

Satoru went still. The playful aura didn't vanish, but it shifted, becoming sharper. He turned, leaning back against the sofa cushions. The scar on his abdomen—the one that reminded you both how close he’d come to leaving—pulsed slightly as he moved.

That infinite, piercing blue fixed on you. He didn't offer a platitude. He didn't say, 'Because you’re beautiful' or, 'Your pussy is the meanest.' Instead, he let out a sharp, dramatic sigh and flopped his head into your lap.

“Ugh, so boring,” he groaned, rubbing his cheek against your thigh like a spoiled cat. “The 'Strongest' this, the 'Honored’ one that. Everyone treats me like a monument or a disaster. Shoko treats me like a medical miracle. The higher-ups treat me like a headache—which is good in their case, heh.”

“And what's wrong with being normal?” He repeated the word like it was a foreign delicacy he didn't quite know how to eat. It might as well have been as he'd kill to be human if it meant you wouldn't have to worry about his life being threatened every other day.

“You think I want more 'special' in my life? I’ve spent twenty-nine years being a monument, sweetheart. Everyone sees the ‘Limitless.’ They see the Six Eyes. They see the guy who can’t be touched.”

He reached out, his long fingers trailing down your cheek. There was no Infinity between you now—there never is. Just skin on skin.

“You’re the only person who gets annoyed when I forget to take the trash out. You’re the only one who tells me my jokes are lived-in and dusty,” he grinned, that familiar, arrogant flash in his eyes returning. “The 'Strongest' is a lonely job. But Satoru? Satoru just wants to watch bad movies and eat snacks with the girl who doesn’t look at him like a weapon.”

He saw the lingering doubt in your eyes, the way you looked at the screen instead of him. Satoru wasn't one for traditional reassurance. He found flowers boring and poetry tedious. He preferred direct evidence.

With a sudden, feline movement, he sat up and grabbed your hand. His skin was warm against yours as he guided it downward. You expected him to place it over his heart, or perhaps the long scar on his abdomen to remind you of his mortality. Instead, he moved your hand lower, pressing your palm firmly over the heat and unmistakable hardness through his sweats.

Your breath hitched, your face erupting in a hot flush as his mischievous cackle rang out, clearly delighting in flustering you. “Satoru!”

“See?” he whispered, leaning in to whisper in your ear, his voice dropping into a low, vibrating register that made your toes curl. “My power might belong to the world, but my heart and this? This is very much a local resident. And he’s a huge fan of yours. Is that 'special' enough for you, or do I need to be more descriptive?”

He let out a sharp, delighted bark of laughter at your expression, pulling you flush against his side. The insecurity didn't vanish instantly, but as he tucked his head into the crook of your neck, smelling of sugar and expensive shampoo, the world outside felt very far away.

A few years ago, you only meant to wade into the ocean that was Satoru Gojo—just enough to feel the water curl around your ankles. But he came like a tide, and now you're swept up in the current of a man who made the water filling your lungs feel like they were breathing air into it. His white hair glints like foam under light, his blue eyes deep and endless, and you've drifted farther than you ever meant to go and you'd foolishly let the wave pull you under if it so desired.

To the world, he is a spectacle—the striking white hair, the infinite blue of his eyes, and a being carved with god-like precision. But to you, his beauty isn't found in what is visible, it is found in what he doesn't let most see.

While others see an untouchable sorcerer with charming smiles and carefree laughter that teases them with the unattainable. You see how his mouth twitches with uncertainty around you when he doesn't know if he's doing this whole boyfriend thing right, like how normal men do.

When he's flaunting his good looks and wooing girls without trying, you see how he'd refuse to look at his reflection in the mirror and sneer at his scars when he first came back as if he for once in his life found himself hideous.

While his students and others heard his assertive, confident voice, you recall how it had faltered into something fragile and tender, his piercing sapphire eyes melting with ethereal tears that bubbled as you kissed across his scars and showed him just how beautiful he was and how much you loved him when insecurity ate at him.

To you, he is not a monument to be admired from afar. He is the place you wish to rest until the end of your days and the lives that come after that.

Now you feel an entirely different kind of blue compared to the despondent, melancholic one from earlier that made your heart heavy. This blue was calm, relaxed and reflected in the cerulean irises of your boyfriend. Your heart was lighter now, floating on a fluffy cloud that's soft and as sweet as cotton candy.

“I love you, Satoru,” you whispered to him, voice honeyed with your unconditional adoration as you combed your fingers through his soft, silky strands.

“Yeah, you love this dick—”

“Gojo Satoru!”

Raising his hands in surrender, his shoulders shook with silent laughter as you glared at him half-heartedly, shaking your head at how unserious he could be.

Slipping his longer, slender fingers into yours, he interlaced them, bringing your hand to his plush, pink lips and kissing up the length of each of your fingers up to the manicured nails. Peering at you, his snowy lashes fluttered.

“Hey, baby?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too. So fucking much.”

Melting, you were about to sink into the couch and kiss him silly when his teeth caught your fingertip and sunk into it, making you gasp out a squeak. He hummed in approval at the sound, chest rumbling with something close to a purr as he licked over your bitten finger.

Ripping it out of his grip, you shoved his head away lightly as he laughed like a fucking maniac, hands up to shield his face when you began beating him with the couch cushions.

“You annoying Furby-looking ass!”

“Look at this? I'm keeping my infinity down so my beautiful girlfriend can abuse me. What would you call this if not the highest form of love?”

you sigh, the sound lost under the weight of approximately eight kilograms of silk, and shuffle over to the lacquered box. the brush is there, stained, looking vaguely judgmental. you hand it over without comment.

sukuna takes it with his lower left hand, twirls it once, then uses it to scratch behind one ear like a very large, very dangerous cat. "better."

you're his only concubine left. the others... well. he got a little hungry last month. the court ladies whispered about it for months until he ate the whisperers too. now the halls are quiet. too quiet, sometimes. but he keeps you around because, as he puts it, "you don't bore me to immediate death, woman."

high praise.

he yawns—wide, showing too many teeth—and stretches all four arms at once. the room seems to shrink. "nap time. unsleep me in an hour. or two. whenever the sun moves enough that it's annoying."

you tilt your head. "unslee— what??"

"unsleep me." he says it like it's obvious, already closing his eyes. both sets.

"un... sleep you?" you repeat slowly. the word feels wrong in your mouth, like chewing on poetry written backward.

he doesn't open his eyes. "yes. unsleep. poke me. sing. recite bad poetry. threaten to leave. i care not. just make the boredom stop."

you stare at the ceiling beams for a long moment. "that's not a word."

"it is now." a lazy smirk curls across the mouth on his stomach. creepy bastard. "you're clever. invent it properly if you must."

you consider inventing several new words involving sharp objects and his anatomy, but decide against it. instead you settle beside him, careful not to disturb the careful arrangement of his limbs. he naps like he fights—like everything might explode if you breathe wrong.

an hour passes. maybe two. the incense has burned low, smelling faintly of sandalwood and charred dreams. you lean over, poke his shoulder with one finger.

nothing.

you poke harder.

a grumble.

"woman. that was pathetic."

"you said poke."

"i said unsleep. put effort into it."

you roll your eyes so hard you nearly see last week's dinner. then, because why not, you lean in close to the ear on his right face—the one that actually listens sometimes—and whisper, "the kitchen just received fresh river fish. the kind you like to eat raw while complaining it's not human enough."

one eye snaps open. "you lie."

"maybe." you shrug, silk rustling. "but now you're awake. congratulations. you're unslept."

he stares at you for a long beat. then the stomach mouth laughs—low, rolling thunder. "you're insufferable."

"you're welcome."

he sits up slowly, joints popping like dry branches. "feed me."

"you ate the last cook. and uraume's busy"

"then cook."

"i'm a concubine, not a scullery maid."

"you're whatever i say you are today." but there's no heat in it. just that odd, lazy amusement he reserves for you alone.

you stand—gracefully, because layers—and pad toward the low table where servants used to leave trays before they learned better. there's rice, pickled radish, some grilled eel that looks suspiciously like it fought back. you arrange it with the care of someone who knows refusal means becoming dessert.

sukuna watches, chin propped on one fist, another hand idly tracing patterns on the tatami. "you move like you're plotting murder."

"only on mondays."

he snorts. "good. keep that spirit. dull women get eaten faster."

you set the tray before him. "eat. before i decide you're the dull one."

he picks up a piece of eel with two fingers, examines it like it's an ancient scroll, then pops it into the stomach mouth. the main face chews something else. multitasking cannibalism. charming.

"tell me something amusing," he says around a mouthful.

you sit across from him, knees tucked properly because court manners die hard. "the fujiwara sent another poem this morning. something about cherry blossoms and fleeting life."

sukuna's upper lip curls. "and?"

"i burned it. the ink smelled like cowardice."

he barks a laugh—genuine this time. "that's my woman."

not lover. not wife. just woman. possessive in that ancient, casual way of his. like claiming the sky claims clouds.

you watch him eat. it's oddly mesmerizing—terrifying and mundane at once. when he's done he licks his fingers, all four hands moving in sync, then leans back.

"bored."

"already?"

"entertain me."

you consider. poetry? music? dance? all the things concubines of normal men are supposed to do. but ryomen sukuna was anything but normal.

instead you say, "arm wrestle me."

he blinks—all four eyes in sequence. "what."

"arm wrestle. you have four. i'll use both of mine on one of yours. fair odds."

he stares like you've suggested he become a monk.

then he grins. wide. dangerous. delighted.

"very well."

you kneel closer. he extends his lower right arm—thick, corded, tattooed. you grip it with both hands. his skin is warm. too warm. like holding a furnace.

"ready?" you ask.

"begin when you cease stalling."

you pull.

nothing happens.

you pull harder.

his arm doesn't budge. but his mouth—the stomach one—starts laughing again.

"pathetic," he says fondly.

"cheater," you grunt, leaning your whole body weight.

slowly—very slowly—he lets his arm move. inch by inch. like indulging a child. when your hands hit the mat he releases suddenly, sending you sprawling backward into silk pillows.

"i win," he announces.

"you let me win the losing part."

"semantics."

you sit up, hair falling out of its pins in dark rivers. heian beauty standards demand long hair, pale skin, mystery. you look like a disheveled crow spirit.

he reaches out—one hand cups your chin, thumb brushing your lower lip. "you amuse me."

"high praise from the king of curses."

"don't get used to it." but his grip is gentle. oddly gentle.

you lean into it anyway. "nap again?"

"perhaps." he pulls you closer until you're half in his lap, silk tangling with his robe. "but first—unsleep protocol."

"what?"

"if i doze, you have permission to bite me awake."

"bite?"

"teeth. preferably neck. make it interesting."

you stare. "you're deranged."

"and you're still here."

true enough.

the afternoon drags into evening. incense smoke curls like lazy ghosts. sukuna dozes—eventually—head tipped back, mouths slack. you wait the required hour (or two), then lean in.

hesitate.

then gently—very gently—nip the skin at the base of his throat.

his eyes snap open. all of them.

"woman," he growls, but it's amused. hungry in a different way.

"unslept," you say primly.

he pulls you flush against him. "good girl."

outside, the capital hums with poetry and politics and fragile human schemes. inside, it's just you and the monster who ate everyone else because they weren't interesting enough to keep.

and somehow—you're still here. still sassing him. still alive.

he calls you woman like it's a title.

you call him idiot when he's being particularly dense.

and somehow, in the golden haze of heian-kyō, that's enough.

the next morning—or what passes for morning when the king of curses decides time is optional—you wake to him staring at you. intently. like you're a puzzle he hasn't solved yet.

"what?" you mumble, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

"you snore."

"i do not."

"like a small angry boar."

"charming."

he smirks. "i like it. keeps things lively."

you throw a pillow at him. it bounces off his chest harmlessly. he catches it, tosses it back—harder.

you roll your eyes. get up. start the ritual of layering silk again because apparently even monsters appreciate aesthetics.

"today," he announces, stretching, "we visit the gardens."

"the ones you set on fire last month?"

"new ones grew back. nature fears me."

"everything fears you."

"except you." he says it casually. too casually.

you pause mid-knot. "someone has to keep you humble."

he laughs—low, rolling. "foolish woman."

"arrogant curse."

he stands. towers. offers a hand—two, actually. "come."

you take them. because why not.

the gardens are quiet. rebuilt with eerie speed. lotus ponds reflect sky like mirrors. cherry trees pretend nothing happened.

sukuna walks beside you—slow, for once. no stomping. no destruction.

"peaceful," you note.

"boring," he counters.

"you could destroy it again."

"tempting." he glances sideways. "but then you'd scold me."

"damn right."

he chuckles. "stay interesting, woman. or..."

"or you'll eat me?"

"no." quieter now. "i'd miss the scolding."

you stop. look up at him—all four eyes, all that power, focused entirely on you.

"then don't give me a reason," you say softly.

he doesn't answer. just reaches out, tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear with surprising care.

"deal."

back inside, the day unwinds slow. he practices techniques—cursed energy crackling like summer lightning. you watch from a safe distance, chin in hand.

"show off," you call.

he flicks a spark your way—harmless. it lands on your sleeve, singes a tiny hole.

"hey!"

"oops."

you throw the singed sleeve fabric at him. he catches it in his teeth. spits it out.

"disgusting."

"your cooking is worse."

"you ate three bowls yesterday."

"i was hungry."

"you're always hungry. fatass."

"true."

evening comes. lanterns glow like captive fireflies. you play the koto—badly. he doesn't complain. just listens, eyes half-lidded.

when you finish he says, "again."

"no."

"yes."

"make me."

he does—by pulling you into his lap. "play."

you do. fingers stumbling over strings. his chin rests on your shoulder. warm breath on your neck.

"you're terrible," he murmurs.

"you're listening anyway."

"someone has to."

you lean back against him. silk and skin and something almost tender.

"don't eat anyone else for now," you say suddenly.

he stills.

"why?"

"because then i'd be alone with you. and you'd get bored eventually."

silence.

then—quiet, almost gentle—"i won't."

promise? threat? who knows.

you turn. kiss the corner of his mouth—the one that doesn't have extra teeth.

he freezes.

then kisses back. careful. controlled.

when you pull away he says, "woman."

"yes?"

"stay interesting forever."

you smile. small. real.

"only if you stay annoying forever."

"deal."

and in the flickering lantern light, with the capital sleeping beyond paper walls, the king of curses and his only concubine—best friend, pain in the ass, survivor—settle into something that isn't quite love.

but it's close enough.

and no one's getting eaten tonight.

…

the days after that last mission felt like walking on broken glass.

megumi had saved you, again. a grade 1 curse had erupted from the shadows of an abandoned subway tunnel, its jagged claws slicing through the air toward your throat.

you’d raised your cursed technique instinctively, a shimmering barrier of raw energy flaring to life, but it wasn’t going to hold. not long enough, not against something that fast and vicious.

then Megumi was there, as always.

his divine dog materialised in a burst of shadow, teeth sinking into the curse’s neck before it could finish its strike. the curse thrashed, but megumi didn’t hesitate.

he stepped in front of you, shadows pooling at his feet like spilled ink, and with a single, precise command the shikigami tore the curse apart.

black ichor sprayed across the concrete. the air stank of decay and burnt ozone.

when it was over, silence rang louder than the fight.

you stood there panting, heart slamming against your ribs, adrenaline making your hands shake.

megumi turned to face you. his expression was closed off, eyes flat and unreadable. “stay out of the way next time” his voice sharp, cold, each word clipped and unyielding.

you glared at him. “i had it handled.”

he scoffed, actually scoffed, and turned away, coat flapping as he walked toward the exit without another word. leaving you standing alone in the dark tunnel with the echo of his dismissal and the cooling corpse of the curse.

it wasn’t the first time. it was the hundredth small cut. the way he avoided your gaze in the hallways of jujutsu high.

the clipped, one-word answers during mission briefings. the deliberate way he left any room the moment you entered, like your presence physically repelled him.

but you’d seen the contradictions too, the way his eyes lingered on you when he thought no one noticed.

the way his fingers twitched when you stood too close during training, as though he had to physically stop himself from reaching out. the way he always took the hits meant for you without a second thought.

he acted like he hated you. and it was killing you.

not in loud, dramatic sobs. in the quiet, persistent ache that settled behind your sternum and made every breath feel borrowed.

you lay awake at night replaying every interaction, searching for the exact moment you’d crossed some invisible line with him.

had you laughed too easily at yuji’s jokes? pushed too hard during sparring?

or was it simpler, crueler, was it just you? the way you refused to let his walls stay intact. the way you kept looking at him like he was worth seeing.

you started avoiding him in return. ate meals in your room. trained at odd hours when the grounds were empty.

but the school was too small, and megumi was a shadow, everywhere and nowhere. you caught glimpses of him, staring at nothing, walking alone under the cherry blossoms that were just starting to fall.

standing on the rooftop at dusk, hands in his pockets, looking like he carried the weight of the entire world.

one night the rain came down in sheets, drumming against the dormitory windows like it wanted in.

you’d come back from a solo mission bruised and hollow, every muscle screaming, every thought circling back to him. before you could talk yourself out of it, your feet carried you to his door.

you stood there for a full minute, knuckles hovering, rain dripping from your hair onto the hallway floor. then you knocked.

no answer.

you knocked again. harder.

the door opened a crack. megumi stood framed in the dim light, wearing a plain black hoodie, hair still damp from a shower.

his eyes flicked over you, taking in the soaked uniform, the bruise blooming on your cheek, the exhaustion written across your face.

something flickered in his expression. gone in an instant.

“what?” he said. you swallowed. your voice came out quieter than you intended. “we need to talk.”

he stared at you for a long beat. Rain hammered the roof. then he stepped aside, letting you in without a word.

his room was painfully sparse. bed made with military precision. a single shelf of books on cursed techniques and shikigami theory. no photos. no decorations. it smelled faintly of cedar and rain soaked earth.

you stood in the center of the floor, arms wrapped around yourself like armor. the silence stretched until it hurt.

“why do you hate me?” the question tore out of you before you could stop it.

megumi closed the door softly, leaning back against it, crossing his arms over his chest. “i don’t.”

“bullshit.” your voice cracked on the word. “you’ve been acting like I’m poison ever since, i don’t even remember when. you push me away. you snap at me on missions. you act like I’m a burden every time we’re in the same room. if I did something wrong, just say it. but stop pretending i don’t exist.”

his jaw tightened. A muscle ticked in his cheek. “you’re imagining things.”

“am I?” you took a step forward, voice rising despite yourself. “then look me in the eye and tell me you don’t.”

he looked away. toward the window where rain streaked the glass in silver rivers. the silence was worse than any insult he could have thrown.

tears burned behind your eyes, hot and humiliating. you blinked them back furiously. “do you have any idea how much it hurts? to care about someone who treats you like you’re nothing? i hoped we were at least friends, teammates. but you make me feel invisible. Like I don’t matter.”

something shifted in him then. a crack in the stone wall he’d built. his voice came out rough, almost pained. “stop.”

“no.” you wiped your face with the back of your hand.

“you don’t get to shut me up anymore. I’ve spent months tearing myself apart wondering what I did to make you despise me so intensely”

his head snapped up, eyes widening for the briefest second before his expression locked back into place, but inside it felt like something had split open and started to unravel.

your words didn’t echo, they sank in, quiet and precise, pulling at him thread by thread, and the thought of you walking out that door, of choosing to leave because of him, hit harder than any curse ever could.

he didn’t show it, didn’t let it reach his face, but beneath the controlled silence his chest felt tight, like his heart was being drawn apart slowly, painfully, and all he could do was stand there and endure it without giving you a single sign of how much it was costing him.

you pressed forward, voice trembling but steady. “so if you hate me, say it. right now. tell me to leave and never speak to you again. please.”

he didn’t speak for what felt like an eternity. the rain filled the room, relentless.

then, so quietly you almost missed it “i don’t hate you. the words hung between you, fragile.

“then why?” you muttered, coming out more shaky than intended.

megumi pushed off the door, took one step, then another. until he was standing close enough that you could see the faint shadows under his eyes, the tension carved into every line of his shoulders.

“because I can’t afford to care.” you blinked. “what?”

he exhaled sharply, like the admission cost him something vital. “my life- our lives, are borrowed time. curses don’t stop coming. people die. tsumiki…”

his voice fractured on her name. he clenched his fists at his sides until his knuckles bleached white. “she was good. kind. innocent. and she’s gone because of this world. because people like me drag everyone else down with them.”

“megumi- ”

“my father left us., the zenin clan only ever wanted me as a weapon, a bargaining chip. gojo pulled me out of that, but even he can’t change what i carry.” he finally met your eyes. raw. exposed.

there was strain in the set of his shoulders, in the way he stood as if bracing for impact.

“i’m not built for this. for feelings. for someone looking at me and seeing something worth keeping.” his jaw tightened, and for a brief moment his composure faltered before he forced it back into place.

“if i let you in, if i let myself want you, then when the inevitable happens- when I fail, or when I die first you’ll be left with regret.” the words cost him, you could see it in the subtle tension around his eyes, in the quiet weight settling over him. “just like i am.”

your heart twisted painfully. “that’s not—” it wasn’t anger in his words you were reacting to but the quiet, deeply ingrained belief that loving you would only make losing you inevitable.

“it is.” his voice rose, edged with something desperate. “you think I don’t notice? the way you smile at me like i’m not broken. it terrifies me. he paused, and for a second the hurt on his face was impossible to hide, like the words were costing him more than he wanted to show.

he swallowed, jaw tightening as if steadying himself, because he truly believed what he was saying was right.

‘’because if I admit it, if I admit that i love you, then i have to live with knowing i’m dooming you. this life doesn’t give happy endings. it chews people up and spits out ghosts.”

the word landed like a physical blow. love. he’d said it.

you stared at him, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. “you… love me?”

megumi looked like he wanted to claw the confession back. but he didn’t. instead he stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the faint heat radiating off him, smell the clean cedar scent of his skin.

i shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered, voice lower now, controlled again. “it doesn’t matter.”

his gaze stayed fixed somewhere over your shoulder, avoiding yours. “feelings don’t change anything. he paused, jaw flexing as if he were physically holding himself together. “it’s just a weakness. that’s all.”

the he fell quiet, standing there like he was trying to convince both you, but mostly himself, that what he felt could be reduced to something small enough to ignore.

the silence after his words felt heavy, stretched thin between you.

he looked like he was preparing himself to step away again, to reduce what he felt into something small enough to survive. but you moved before he could retreat.

you closed the distance slowly, as if approaching something fragile, until you were right in front of him.

your hands rose without hesitation, settling around his wrists first, grounding him, stopping him from pulling back. his skin was warm beneath your fingers, tense but real. for a second, he went still.

carefully, as if handling something fragile, you guided his hands upward, holding them between you instead of letting them fall away.

your grip wasn’t forceful. it was steady. intentional. like you were choosing him on purpose.

your expression did the talking before your voice did, eyes glossy but unwavering, brows drawn slightly as if you were asking him not to disappear from you.

there was no anger there anymore. just determination and something painfully soft. when you spoke, it was quiet.

‘’i love you.” not dramatic or rushed. just certain.

your thumbs brushed lightly over his knuckles as you continued, voice gentle but firm. “all of it. your past doesn’t scare me. the clan doesn’t scare me. what you’ve lost doesn’t change what you are to me.”

you lifted one hand slowly, letting go only so you could cup his face instead, your palm fitting against his cheek. your touch was warm, grounding, not demanding anything, but present. his breath hitched, and this time he didn’t hide it.

you leaned in slightly, not enough to kiss him, just enough that your foreheads almost touched, your eyes searching his.

his gaze softened. not completely, but enough. for the first time, he didn’t look like someone preparing for loss. he looked like someone trying to believe he wasn’t about to be abandoned.

your hands were still on his face, warm and steady, and you didn’t rush him. you just stayed there, letting the silence speak for you.

his fingers tightened around yours again, not out of fear this time, but out of something grounding.

almost cautiously, he leaned closer. but not like someone surrendering, like someone choosing.

his hand slid from yours to rest lightly at your waist, hesitant at first, as though waiting for you to stop him. when you didn’t, when you only softened your expression and held him a little closer, something inside him finally settled.

he exhaled your name under his breath, quiet, unguarded and closed the last bit of distance.

the kiss was gentle. brief. uncertainty tainting it at first, like he was still afraid the moment might disappear.

but when you responded, when your hands stayed on his cheeks and didn’t let him drift away, it deepened, not in urgency, more like relief.

when you both pulled back, it was only by a fraction, enough to breathe. for a moment, neither of you spoke.

the he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closing as if memorizing the feeling. his grip stayed firm around you, like he finally understood you weren’t going anywhere.

the rain outside softened, its intensity fading just as the sharp edges between you did, the storm giving way to a quiet that felt steady instead of fragile.

in the quiet of his room, with your foreheads touching and your breaths slowly syncing, the fear that had lived between you felt smaller than it ever had before.

please do not copy, repost, or feed into ai. ©unknvhx

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Gojo Satoru.

The infamous ruler of the Kingdom of Hybrids.

The shadow looming over your kingdom.

The last snow leopard hybrid alive.

There was a reason to that that made your heart clench—you’d felt the floor fall out of your history lesson the second it’d been taught to you. Legend said that your people had hunted down every last snow leopard hybrid after discovering that the opposing kingdom’s monarchs were of that family - every last one.

Except for one.

It was unsure how or when Gojo Satoru had escaped during the massive conflict, but your people had gotten their penance once he’d returned - stronger than ever - and declared battle.

But you didn’t want to think about that right now- not when all that led to were thoughts about just how the patriot might enact revenge for it upon you.

The Kingdom of Hybrids and the Kingdom of Humans have sat beside one another since the dawn of time, and so has the resentment between the two. It has always been ever-present and ever-growing. Your ancestors, and your ancestors’ ancestors. Like the overpass of frothy white clouds hovering through your blue, blue skies above—churning into dark storm clouds and blizzards once they reached the gloomy land of the neighboring kingdom.

The opposing kingdom always seemed colder, always seemed crueler.

And you were sure that the primary reason for that was the geographical difference between the two: your kingdom sat at the bottom of a mountain, where the valleys were fertile and nature flourished. Whereas the Kingdom of Hybrids was scattered in large, stone towers and huts across the enormous mountain range.

Only sharpening in weather and bite the further up the mountain one went. Its peak was completely obscured by clouds, and not even on the clearest day could you spot the spirals of where Gojo Satoru’s palace - aptly named the North Palace - was rumored to be.

Out of morbid curiosity, you did sneak a glance every day. Hell, you even fixed a lantern from your royal chambers—perhaps hoping that someday you might witness a lantern blinking back.

Though that was an experiment yet to bear results - you haven’t spotted even a single hybrid subject coming out of those hard stone homes. It was as if a ghost kingdom.

Even if the news from the front lines clearly stated otherwise.

The hybrids obscured themselves with snow and fog. Cloaked themselves in storms that sent trundling vibrations even to your palace. Residents of a perpetual winter that tore through their kingdom - even the stray gusts of air from the mountain made your subjects shiver, you couldn’t imagine what it was like to be borne and passed in such a state.

Borne and passed, because it was forbidden for subjects of either kingdom to cross into the other.

As all good neighbors must, your ancestors had raised a barrier separating the two lands for good; a thorny forest about seventy feet high and several towns’ length wide. It was made of thorned trunks about the size of boa constrictors. Plunging into the clouds with their barbed limbs as though to make the world pay for ripping apart the one body of the land into two parts.

Though if you made such a comparison in any of your tutoring classes, you knew you’d be punished forthright. 

It wasn’t a surprise when the resentment had exploded in the coming years.

By the time you were in your teenage years, announced as next in line to the throne, Gojo Satoru had already taken the mantle as king. And that was when the conflict had started.

Hybrid warriors attacking the outskirts of your kingdom. Your own feverish subjects bloodthirsty to set fire to their sparse farms.

It’s been a long and cruel battle.

You could sit here and recount the history lessons that your palace tutors had drilled into you - all those sabotages of war plans, all those attempts to oust either throne. The time your locals had been attacked by a ravenous pack of wolf hybrids, and the time your subjects had cut through the barrier, and clamored up the mountains just to spear through some of the prey. Hybrids with a taste for humans, and humans that bled no warmth. Blood and gore. Blood and gore. 

There never flourished a fruit sweet from blood and gore.

And the roots of the thorn barrier had been watered with such for ten years now. More from your own kingdom’s people than his.

Why had it even started? One could only guess.

You knew what the royal history tutors proclaimed - this was because of their hybrid powers, they’d been poisoning the wells and farmlands with their mystique, they’d been kidnapping humans for nourishment - but you also knew that those of the other side must proclaim something far different. Have conflicting stories ever settled on one answer? One truth?

Most definitely not. Battle only gave one answer, and the question was what numbers were lost.

Luckily for your kingdom, however, the end of the fighting was nigh. 

It had happened last week—the letter.

Just a day after you’d been announced to take up the throne in the upcoming week. The next Queen.

The resurgence of the people.

On a day when the fighting was stalled, and it wasn’t looking pleasant for your side: a sole hawk hybrid flew between those winding thorns, scratches upon his wings from the long flight, a white handkerchief of surrender tied around his neck.

The arrow upon your kingdom’s front lines had raised the moment the flapping of wings became clear. Drew closer.

If not for the wave of surrender, you weren’t sure what would have happened - Gojo Satoru was not the type of ruler to stand for a single one of his subjects being harmed. Especially one so seemingly harmless. And your lines of soldiers had been pushed back in the last few months…they wouldn’t have stood a chance.

The soldiers had shuddered as the half-human, half-bird creature drew nearer—something mythical from their storybooks, their greatest nightmares.

You hadn’t been there alongside them that day, and Commander Masamichi Yaga was the one to take the first step towards him. A handkerchief of white held in his own hand.

The two had met in the middle, you’d heard, on your side of the nation. 

There, the hook-nosed Commander - or so you’d heard from the whispers of the soldiers that had been there that day - had handed over the envelope. It was a snow-white parchment, cool to the touch; so starkly empty except for the slight heft in its weight, and the single, slanted line of blue cursive on its back.

To the future Queen.

A carriage had been called immediately to the royal palace.

Higuruma had flown off thereafter, and the Commander had set off down those high-ceiling, gold-capped corridors of the palace. At once.

You remember exactly where you’d been when you first saw the letter - in the circular meeting table with your royal advisors, poring over your nth war tactic that day. You’d just opened your mouth to suggest another treaty proposal between the two kingdoms - your strongest men and women and every warrior in-between couldn’t possibly last much longer against the formidable foe - when Yaga had barged in—his face solemn, his body bowed, his hand trembling where he held that unopened letter.

And at first, you’d assumed that something had gone horribly wrong - that your subjects had been harmed. But then you’d reached out and taken it.

The letter had no sender’s name, but it didn’t need one.

It was the first correspondence with King Gojo Satoru since he’d taken up the throne. Ever.

“To my dearest future Queen,

Though I suppose it shall be a falsehood to claim you as mine—that is not a privilege this lowly hybrid holds just yet. So I suppose you must forgive me; to the dearest future Queen.

I am aware of your kingdom’s valiant efforts against my own, and I commend you for maintaining such a fervent battle. I admit, no kingdom prior has managed to prolong one of my battles thus far—you’ve made me exercise battalions I never believed I would get the chance to, in this lifetime, and it has been quite thoroughly exciting to face my first challenge. You hold your fights well, my future Queen.

My apologies, it has happened again.

But you must be aware of what is undeniable - your kingdom is losing. Though not instantly, it is inevitable that, ultimately, your kingdom shall crumble before mine. Your humans are injured, and you falter in resources.

I know you know.

However, fret not. For it seems that across the duration of our snipes, I have grown to hold a strange affection for your kingdom, and most of all—you.

To the future Queen: if you wish for the war to come to a close, in a way that benefits both parties equally, I am extending this one olive branch.

Marry me.

Marry me. Marry me. Marry me.

You may hold the celebrations in any manner or place you wish, you may annul the marriage if you do so please. This lowly hybrid proposes that you may even take other lovers, shall it be your desire to do so; my only condition is that Your Majesty must reside in the North Palace alongside yours truly for one moon.

Yes, one moon with you is all I ask. After which you are free to return, to register the annulment, to even reside in the North Palace as long as you please.

Though, this lonely King shall do his best not to heighten his hopes.

On the moon after our union, my troops will pull back from the borders - we shall be at war no longer. 

On the third moon after which this letter has been received, Commander Higuruma will be awaiting in front of the thorn barrier for your response. Do not attempt to herald an attack, for there is a reason that hawks are birds of prey.

I await your response impatiently, the my future Queen.

Yours truly,

Gojo Satoru.”

The letter had dropped from your hands once you finished reading it.

One moon.

One night.

One night with the cruel King Gojo Satoru.

And of course, there was no promise that you’d ever be coming back—for, who could trust a King like so?

There was nothing more to be said about Gojo Satoru.

Everyone had a story about him.

Everyone.

Perhaps from the odd disappearance of a family member that strayed too close to the barrier, or a childhood bedtime story that always featured him as the fearsome villain. Lately, you have been the hero, of course. 

Though one knew not of what the hybrid looked like, nor his age, nor the full extent of his powers, nor any insight into his motivations - everyone knew one thing for certain: and that was to stay away. 

Gojo was deemed to be a brutal king—the cruelest of them all. The most wicked. The one that appeared on battlefields as fleetingly as a snowflake upon your palm, and disappeared just as quick - so quick that one won’t even be able make out his features, his form - leaving behind a trail of carnage that piled up high enough to form their own kingdoms. In just a single second.

And the more he aged, the more his powers grew.

He was the reaper. And you were being asked to walk right into his claws.

What followed had been a fervent series of letters - penned by only the best of the best advisors, authors, and peace negotiators in your kingdom - that were rejected one by one. Your kingdom’s messengers disappeared into the barriers upon their surrender-white horses, holding bagloads of letters and pleas from your council, and arrived with the very same an hour later—somewhat disoriented.

According to them, they’d followed the route to the other kingdom to a T - and yet, somehow found themselves exiting back out through your side of the wall once more.

Gojo’s magic, you knew. Though unaware of its uses and intricacies, you understood that this was what you’re getting for not following his instructions—waiting for Higuruma.

And you also understood that if his prowess was this expansive, then what more could they possibly do to your kingdom…

And so - after three moons - you’d accompanied Commander Yaga and the troops to the area where they’d first encountered Higuruma. Sure as ice, the hook-nosed man was standing there proudly.

He bowed luxuriously at you, before clipping the response letter into his clutches—then he stretched the massive wingspan upon his back and took flight. Disappearing towards his own kingdom in but a few blinks.

And you could only watch as your response was carried away.

“To Gojo Satoru,

I accept your proposal. It is time we finish this war.

Regards,

The future Queen.”

The date was set. You were to be married.

And so you’ve found yourself being fussed over by the entire palace - and even the tailors, and cake-makers, and florists from outside. The people. The outraged and the delighted alike.

Everyone and anyone bursting the seams of the palace in an attempt to catch a glimpse of you on your wedding day. What an honorable date it was, wasn’t it?

On the day that should have been your coronation as Queen, you’re being fitted into your wedding outfit.

It was initially supposed to be your first gown as ruler.

A lavish few meters of white silk pampered, teased, and pressed into frills. Millions upon millions of miniature diamonds bedazzle the fabric in increasing saturation towards the bottom, making it look as though you were the beauty of nature itself; the soft sunlight across freshly-ladden snow, the hymn of tree branches against the winter wind, an ice shard itself. Sharp when you’re not looking.

The train of your wedding outfit had taken several attendants to fix onto your jewel-encrusted tiara, and it billowed out the length of several ballrooms. 

It was equally as decorated with tiny fixtures of diamonds, heavy yet grounding - you’d specifically asked the tailor to add these on. If you’re going to bear yourself before the most wicked King, then you might as well make an impression.

You touch the silk gloves that covered you from fingertips to elbows - also something you’d requested. Just one night. You’d show that your kingdom wasn’t just the feeble humans he must think he was toying with- and afterwards all diamonds were ordered to be distributed amongst the people. 

This was your choice to marry your opposing monarch. Everything was yours.

Though the bouquet of white roses must have been a choice of the palace. Must have…

Your mask of quiet acceptance fixed. Your appearance radiant. You’re staring at the person in the mirror that seemed so distant from yourself—was this the new Queen of the Hybrids? 

Attendants and tailors fluttered around you like butterflies, harried that they weren’t able to suckle the honey out of you fast enough. They’re smoothing your fabrics down and fussing with your train, they’re making last-minute adjustments to the size and fitting- 

“Careful.” Your mother warns from a distance, and her tone is enough to make the entire room jolt. She stares down one of the tailor’s apprentices, “Heaven forbid you prick her- goodness knows what he will have to say.”

“Pricked or unpricked, he shall have to deem fit what he sees.” You’re responding, head held high. “For I was not the one that insisted upon a marriage.”

“But you simply must understand that—”

Mercifully, your mother’s getting cut off by the shrieking of trumpets outside.

There were many a royal and noble guests invited to your wedding, and each entrance had been marked by the stirring of your orchestra and the announcement by the chief butler. But this…this was a sheer symphony of sound, shivers, and suspense that made you realize that this couldn’t have been anyone but—him.

There was a special melody for your husband-to-be, and your heart thundered along to its march as everyone inside the dressing room rushes to the window overlooking the sprawling courtyard. It was a massive stone masterpiece - the brilliance of human craft - a swooping row of colonnades with a glittering fountain in the middle. Areas sectioned off for the spectators, and marbled pathways from which guests came and went.

Your hands grip the smooth windowsill as you witness a coach of pure white approaching. 

It was as unassuming as that of any other guest, only standing out for its sheer elegance. 

Large spiralled wheels pulling along a well-built carriage, with a gleaming white hood and its curtains drawn. Larger than most. It seems that the Kingdom of Hybrids had a tendency to use horse hybrids as both coachmen and those tugging on the reigns, they threw their long heads proudly as they pulled on the royal carriage. 

“Can you see him—can you see him?!” The attendants whisper to one another.

“I can’t see him yet- say, is it really true that he has the horns of the devil and wings like a bat?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, he’s a snow leopard hybrid. I’ve heard he turns into a leopard at whim.”

“My acquaintance’s acquaintance says he’s cursed with six eyes- yes, six.”

“I’ve heard he’s grotesque-”

They falter, and flicker their gaze towards you. You don’t react.

Your eyes follow its parade between crowds that hush as it passes. It leaves a cold breeze behind it that makes even the heartiest of those celebrating tremble, it leaves the flowing water of your royal fountain freezing. Ice. 

You’re leaning even closer to the edge of the balcony, hoping to see but a-flutter of those curtains that might reveal something about the man who was surely inside-

“Ouch-” Startling at the sudden prick of something against your shoulder, you’re turning around to find that the young apprentice had leaned into you- holding her needle from before. The very tip of it had accidentally touched your skin, in her frenzy to see the King himself—and as her face drops in apology, you’re opening your mouth to tell her that it was perfectly alright when-

BANG—!

When a sharp gale causes the windows to slam shut. 

Everyone in the dressing room jumps back a foot away from the offending part of the chamber, looking at each other as if to confirm whether they didn’t feel a single breeze prior. You certainly hadn’t, either.

That had just come out of nowhere…

Rattled, no one makes to open the window once more.

The trumpets blare yet again - this time with a slightly less rich tune signalling another guest from a far-off land - and some of the younger attendants merely stare at the closed window longingly—wishing to just see. But one look from the main attendant has them jumping back into action, pins and all.

They had a wedding to prepare you for.

And the groom was already here.

.

.

.

Music was pouring out of the gilded venue.

In a letter later sent by Commander Yaga - and allowed through the barrier by Gojo’s powers - you’d specified that you’d like the wedding to be held in this magnificent limestone building; older than the rest of the palace it was attached to, and just as revered. Gojo’s reply had been simple: I am already aware of this arrangement, my future Queen.

And you didn’t want to think of how he knew.

Low chandeliers. Sprawling rose pathways. Attendants zipped back and forth between extending your train and sneaking looks inside the royal cathedral.

“Do you see him- move-”

“Oh, heavens—is that him?” Your skin prickles in goosebumps.

“I thought he had…”

“I would never have expected him to be so…”

Traitorous to that expressionless facade you had on, your heart races as yet another attendant hastens to join the troupe peering inside the pews- and gasps. For, what could that mean? What could such a reaction be indicative of? 

What did Gojo Satoru look like?

It’s not that you held physical looks upon a pedestal - you knew such frivolities were ephemeral, and you’d met far too many handsome nobles whose good looks did little to compensate for their manners or lack thereof. But it’s just…

You had an image of Gojo Satoru in your head.

Though legends often described him as a half-man, half-leopard with six eyes and bat-like wings that carried him over vast battle fields—you envisioned him as something slightly different. Perhaps a half-man, half-beast just as they said, with paws far larger than a normal snow leopard, and a fur-muzzled face that looked ready to eat you.

Something as mythical as they made him sound.

You’re shivering, and one of the attendants asks you whether you’re cold.

You’re shaking your head evenly, and they look up at each other and nod. You touch your gloves for comfort. 

They throw the gauzy veil over your face and fully open the double doors to the cathedral. The music had uplifted: it was time for you to walk down the aisle.

Your steps were just as poised and perfect as your years of etiquette lessons had taught you - and to the naked eye, you might even look confident. There goes the Queen, our savior, our monarch, marrying off the monster from the Kingdom of Hybrids to protect her people.

But out of their view, you knew your hands shook where you clutched that white rose bouquet.

It really was cold inside the venue.

It seems like eons before you’re reaching the end of the altar, and before your royal officiant begins his speech. Due to your veil, your vision of Gojo was obscured - other than the pointed tips of polished white shoes. You could sense that he was tall—but just how tall (taller than a human could be?) was still a mystery to you.

As the officiant reaches the end of his speech, two pale hands come into your line of vision. Long with slender fingers, slightly blushed at the tips of his knuckles - Gojo’s hands, you realize with a jolt - were reaching out for something you had.

Your own hands, it catches up to you.

And, tentatively, you’re putting your left hand in his.

It flinches- for just a split-second because of its frigidness. Before you’re keenly aware of the restlessness of your ministers in the front row, and you’re placing it back into his grasp.

“Your Majesty, if you could now place the ring on Her Highness’s finger and repeat after me—” And there was no ring in Gojo Satoru’s hands- there was no ring. But the next time you’re blinking - as if it had just manifested out of thin air - he’s suddenly holding the most beautiful band of silver in his hands.

A delicate wreath of precious metal, fashioned into two ferns that enveloped your ring finger perfectly, settled with a teardrop alexandrite in the middle and two smaller white diamonds on either side. Gojo’s fingers were cold as they held yours and pushed the ring on. The officiant continues, “-with this ring as a symbol of love, of commitment, of unity, and of peace—”

And a soft, smooth tone follows- his. 

Not quite the low, animalistic growl that you might have expected, nor the hissing sibilance of something shadowy - but something different entirely.

“With this ring as a symbol of my eternal love, of my commitment, of our unity, and of peace—”

It was the rich, noble tone of a royal. Gojo enunciated his words perfectly - and his deep voice echoed across every corner of the vast cathedral. Such a pretty voice and so- so human that it makes the hairs on your body raise.

The officiant continues with a light cough - if he were equally as surprised at the King’s voice, then he makes no indication. “I wed thee—”

“I wed thee—” And then Gojo says your name and it makes your heart almost stop. The way it rolled off of his tongue…it sounded like a prayer. 

“-and pledge my love to you in this lifetime.”

“-and pledge my love to you in this lifetime, and in each one after.”

There’s a slight shifting on the numerous wooden pews as Gojo takes his freedom with the vows. And then a slim silver band is handed to you - it feels cold in your palm, impersonal, though not nearly as cold as your future husband’s fingers - and your hands tremble as you take them in yours. The officiant turns towards you and utters those same vows- 

“With this ring as a symbol of love, of commitment, of unity, and of peace…” You’re repeating, sliding the ring onto his lengthy ring finger. Almost inhuman in nature. “—I wed thee, Your Royal Majesty, King Gojo Satoru-”

Your voice falters.

His hands grow a little tighter on yours.

“-and pledge my love to you in this lifetime…” And you’re unsure what makes you take it- you’re so unsure. But you can’t help but echo just what the snow leopard hybrid had stated earlier, “-and in each one after.”

A soft rush of exhales as both rings now glint upon your matching fingers.

United as one.

The officiant’s booming voice announces, “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you…husband and wife.” In the distance a bell tolls, and it swells above the creaking of mahogany as the spectators lean in their chairs. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Gojo’s hands - now clad with a single wedding ring - lift up the safety of your veil. And you’re blinking at the sudden rush of light now—you’re blinking up at him.

And oh.

Your breath catches in your chest, heart a-stuttering. Pert lips. Dimpled cheeks. Young- he couldn’t have been more than a few years older than you. Eyes such a pale blue that they looked almost white. For the crisp white strands of his hair catch the sunlight filtering through the windows, setting his features a-glow and revealing to you the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Human. 

He looked utterly human.

Gojo Satoru lowers his head towards yours but hesitates, his gaze searching for an answer in yours. And perhaps it was the shock of seeing the King of Hybrids for the first time - after so long looking out of your window for a glimpse of him - or perhaps it was the dizzying rush of warmth that’d suddenly run through your body but—but you’re leaning in first.

You’re the one kissing him, sealing your fate with the cruelest king of them all.

His lips were smooth and cool to the touch, tasting faintly sweet. 

You feel Gojo smile into the union, before he’s pulling back and re-slotting his mouth more eagerly against your own. 

Cheers erupt in the cathedral. And surely your advisors were shaking hands with one another, surely your mother was wiping off tears. 

One of your hands rests against the silken material of Gojo’s suit, pressed up against his chest where his heart battered. Only slightly faster than your own racing one - even though it wasn’t an embrace too scandalous nor prolonged, a thrill rushed through your body that you couldn’t explain.

Gojo cups your left cheek softly, though there was a lack of pressure that let you know that you were free to pull back any time. And you had to pull back - you needed to.

If not for the fact that this was a man you’ve never met before, then for the fact that The Ton would have far too much to say after the wedding - the King’s condition of a single night only added to the scandal.

But you just….you just didn’t want to. Some strange part of you deep, deep down only wanted to sigh through your nose as you leaned even deeper into him.

Something deep, deep, deep—

Before a hoot of celebration from somewhere in your audience jolts you back into your senses. 

And you’re pulling away from him as if it burned. 

Burned.

Burned—your body felt as though you were burning up. Feverish. 

It feels as though your veins were suddenly thrumming with an energy that wasn’t entirely yours, and the faster every single particle of you was vibrating - the hotter your body was feeling.

Warm tears welling up in your eyes. Mind never having felt clearer.

You’re panting once and it’s the most scorching breeze you’ve ever felt—“Fuck.” A ripple runs through your body as you realize you’ve just sworn without meaning to- and it seems to extend past you and into the body of Gojo himself.

Gojo.

Gojo. Gojo. Gojo.

Whose nostrils flare and his eyes grow sharper. Behind him, his fluffy tail of white with rosettes swings from side-to-side—tail? You hadn’t seen that before…And you’re stumbling closer as if to get a closer look, to which Gojo Satoru easily catches you in his arms.

His strong hand clasps at your waist, and you’re finding your body leaned shamefully into his chest.

Looking up into his pale, pale blue eyes - like the skies of an ever-present winter - you gulp. And then you tilt your neck slightly to the side, as though bearing it for him.

Gojo’s lips part, and you see sharp canines peaking between his pink lips.

The cathedral has gone quiet by now, any sense of humor and victory bled dry - as dry as he could bleed you, if ever his canines chose to make a target of your pretty neck. As though reading their urgent thoughts, the Hybrid King leans in—close enough that his cold pants cascade down your throat and your arched spine.

You gulp as his dampened teeth approach until they’re mere millimeters away.

In what feels like another far-off land, you’re hearing the cluttering of iron and armored knights approaching. The footsteps of your kingdom’s best troop, led by Commander Yaga, and their shouts for Gojo Satoru to cease as he himself plunges into this inexplicable daze. Flesh on flesh.

But you’re only closing your eyes in anticipation of his bite-

His bite that falters as Gojo flicks his snow leopard-like ears over to the storming knights- and he cracks a slight smile. 

One arm on your waist, and the other gently grasping your nearly ring-clad hand, he swings the two of you around as though waltzing to a music you couldn’t hear. The orchestra had long stopped.

And then you’re both disappearing into thin air.

Leaving behind only the rose bouquet.

.

.

.

By the time you’re opening your eyes, you weren’t at the royal cathedral any longer, and it feels as though you never were.

And one look around the room you were in makes you think that you never will be again. Ever again.

The chamber opened up like the mouth of a beast, of which you were inside with no way out. Teeth-like artifacts and ridges of bookshelves swathed the circular room luxuriously; titles of both human and hybrid languages of which you knew only a few sparse words. This was clearly the room of someone well-read, and your eyes glazed over at the large mahogany desk scattered with pictures, diagrams, and maps. 

Portraits. Balconies with more bookshelves. Stairs and spirals. And a few remnants of armor emblazoned with your kingdom’s insignia, the debris of a meal well-had. Like a massive uvula a chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and the longer you stared at it- the more it dawned upon you that it seemed to be made of some ever-lasting ice. 

Its windows provided little light and even less location. Fogged with frosty clouds, they were merely windows into a beast that had no soul—a beast that only hungered with no thoughts. A chill runs down your spine.

In just a second, you knew where you were: you were in the North Palace. Presumably in one of King Gojo’s studies.

You’re feeling his cold presence next to you- and you’re pressing yourself against the stone wall instantly. And he follows. Putting a hand down your right glove and pulling out the dagger you’d hidden beneath—always had. Always will.

You raise the tip of its silver blade to kiss Gojo Satoru’s neck.

It trembles just a little as he swallows.

Gojo has you pushed against the wall - chest to chest, pant mingling with pant - and one of his arms rested on the space above your head. He looks down at you with steely blue eyes.

His snow leopard tail quivers for a little bit- before coming to wrap around your leg. 

He almost tugs you to him and you’re gasping, pricking the dagger against his neck until a bead of crimson follows. “A step closer and I shall end this war right now-” You’re hissing.

And to your surprise, Gojo merely smiles. “You may believe that.” He lazily flickers his eyes down to the weapon you had clutched, and a slow frost starts overtaking everything from its handle to the blade. “But I am aware you won’t.”

“You know not a thing about me-”

“So you may think.” He reaches up and you almost flinch- in fact, every fibre of your rational being believes that you should flinch. But something else…something else entirely deeper and ancient keeps you in place, staring into Gojo’s eyes as he runs his fingers down your cheek. Letting the cold metal of his wedding ring kiss your skin, and you’re leaning into the touch - you wanted it so bad. But you didn’t know why. “But I believe I know you more than you might think, my Queen. In this life and others.”

You struggle to keep your breath even- why did you wish to lean into him once more? “You’re nonsensical. You’re crazy.”

“Perhaps so.” Gojo hums, his canines glinted in the dim lighting of the chandelier. “But this lowly hybrid only grows crazy for you.”

Your breath stutters. You’re breathing in his ice-cold scent. 

Gojo raises his nose in the air as if smelling something - you do, too, but you’re unable to sense anything but the coldness of winter and pine. But whatever he smells in the air makes him smile something simpering, “You are free.”

You balk, “What?”

“You are free to roam wherever you wish.” He says, finally creating some distance between you two. “You are free to…” Something catches his attention- he reaches out. And for a second there, you think he’s about to steal your dagger—but what Gojo clasps onto is your glove. The King presses that precious fabric against his face and inhales your essence, “-do whatever you wish.”

Leaving you stunned, the hybrid turns his back to you and walks towards the arched door. Glove crushed between his fingers.

He makes it until the frame of the door - of which he fills out most of its vast shape - before looking over his shoulder at you. “Everything except leave, of course. For the night.”

As he walks away, he calls.

“My attendants shall see to it that you’re led to your room and given a tour around the palace, and they shall provide you robes to which you may change into. The bath is already drawn, and my kitchens have prepared refreshments.” 

You feel yourself sliding down the stone wall.

“Dinner shall be served once night falls- do not be afraid to let the royal chefs know what nourishments please you.” 

Ultimately ending up on the floor. Hand shaking on your dagger.

“Once morning comes, you may do anything you please.”

You’re wondering what it was you felt earlier as you bared your neck to him.

“You may even leave.”

It’s then that a troupe of attendants enter after Gojo’s exit, hybrids of all shapes and sizes and colors—human. For the most part. They were similar to Gojo in the sense that they possessed more human features than the stories of your kingdom foretold, with ears and tails pertaining to their hybrid type, and demeanours which gave away their status as hybrids even if they wore cloaks.

One such hybrid - a red panda with a scar across her beautiful face - introduces herself as Utahime, the head attendant. She looks down curiously at you.

Your panting breaths. Your widened gaze.

“Forgive my manners, Your Majesty, but I haven’t seen a human before.” She tilts her head down at you, red ears twitching. “Worry not…it’s a little startling the first time for us, too.”

“The first time?” You’re being helped to stand by her.

“The first time.” Utahime nods, “Are you perhaps a little disoriented? We may pay a visit to my mate, Shoko, in the healing ward - she’s a caracal if that interests you - if you wish?”

“A caracal—no, hold a moment-” So much was swirling in your head—the first time, the mate, the existence of a healing ward just as your palace did. What on Earth was…“What do you mean by the first time? A mate?”

Utahime looks confused, mouth dropping slightly. “Why, because His Majesty has-”

“Utahime.” A stern, feminine voice sounds from the doorway.

You’re looking over the red panda hybrid’s shoulder to see a woman with short, straight hair standing at the stone door. Her ears so large and triangular - twitching back and forth with its tufted tips—“Allow me to look over Her Majesty.”

“O-of course.” Utahime moves to the side.

The hybrid - Shoko, you assume - looks over you for any signs of injuries or scratches during the journey here, including testing you for symptoms of magical nausea. 

And it seems a somewhat regular check-up, one that was reminiscent of the ones conducted in your own kingdom, until Shoko takes a cotton swab out of her medical bag and slides it down the tender spot of your throat.

All down that column. Lymph nodes.

As if your skin was more sensitive than ever, you’re shivering.

She inspects that cotton swab and lets it waft in the air for a seconds - seemingly all ordinary, it’s not long before Shoko’s wrapping it up and placing it all back in her bag. 

And you’re not able to ask what that particular process was about before Utahime’s bounding up to you again. The attendants had waited for your brief check-up to conclude. 

“Are you prepared for your tour, Your Majesty? Or would you prefer we bathe you first?” She asks.

“I believe I would like to freshen up first.” You answer, before looking at the woman that had an open expression on her face. Little nubs of her canines peaked out through her smile. She wasn’t nearly as terrifying as all the stories had led you to believe, “For what reason do you do that?”

“Pardon?” She cocks her head.

“For what reason do you call me that—‘Your Majesty’?” Being led by her out of the study, you’re being shown around the various hallways and artifacts that were just as grand. “My coronation is yet to be held, though it was supposed to be today…”

“Oh…” Utahime looks at you in slight confusion, “But you are our Queen.”

Your brows furrow, “I am yet to be the Queen of my kingdom yet-”

“You are the Queen of the Hybrids, Your Royal Majesty.”

.

.

.

You’d been slightly too harrowed to wonder just what the condition of ‘one night’ would entail. If you were to go that far…perhaps you’d expected for the consummation of your marriage.

Or whatever it was that hybrids had equivalent. 

You’d been ready for it, however, both with your knife and your will.

If you had to fuck Gojo Satoru, then so be it—at least, that had been what you’d thought. Before. Before you’d seen him on the altar, and now, there was a part of you that would gladly exchange the rites of flesh. 

And that scared you more than any legend.

Utahime was a wonderful guide around the palace, she explored every grand nook and cranny with you. The ballrooms. The libraries. The frozen fountains- yes, frozen. She took you from staircase down hallway down secret alleyways between bookshelves, leading you into grand halls with portraits of the Gojo family.

You stared quite longingly at those: white-haired, noble-faced hybrids that resembled Gojo in their species and strength. He looked more like his beautiful mother, you learned.

And something clenched in you as you remembered just why they weren’t here.

Looking at the cherub face of the blue-eyed heir in the portrait, you couldn’t help but ask Utahime- “What are the consummation traditions in your kingdom?”

She’d looked towards you slightly startled, “The mating traditions, Your Majesty? Why…the same as your human mating traditions, I suppose.”

You gulped, “And the King-”

“His Majesty would never force you into something that you do not wish to happen.” Utahime reaches out and holds your hand, you’re learning that it’s just as cold as her monarch’s. “Fear not for your safety in this kingdom, my Queen. Harm shall never fall upon you in the Kingdom of Hybrids.”

You trusted her- you didn’t know why, but you trusted her.

It had been past afternoon when you’d arrived at the North Palace, and well into the evening once you’d finished your tour. Thoroughly spent, your jaw had dropped once Utahime told you that it was just a few wings of the palace that’d been explored-

“Tomorrow, we may explore the towns. The people shall be overjoyed to meet their new Queen-” And then she’d stopped in the middle of her sentence, throwing a nervous look your way. “That is…if you so wish to stay past the conditions, Your Majesty.”

And you did not know how to answer her.

Later, after some reading in their vast libraries - far greater than even your own palace’s - you’d been led into a sprawling dining hall for dinner. 

It was a chamber that reminded you of Gojo’s study, though vertically longer to accommodate for the snaking table. Polished wood. Sparkling chandeliers. Paintings plastered across its oblong walls. Spread from nearly end-to-end of the royal room, you counted at least a hundred or so chairs on either side as you were bowed inside the great dining hall. Knights stood on guard with their weapons, though they didn’t seem to pose a threat.

The table was laden heavy with food, fantastical ice sculptures, and a fireplace: you wondered how those ice sculptures didn’t melt. Was this a work of Gojo’s powers, as well? Puddings and pastries. Truffles and rice. Steaks and vegetables. Sweet and sour.

Piled higher than your head.

Chocolates melted and crafted into all sorts of artworks that you didn’t even know was possible to do with such an ingredient. In the middle of the table sat a six-tiered wedding cake, proudly crowned with miniature fondant figures of Gojo Satoru and…you.

A cake like this would have taken well over two days - since your response - to create. And that’s not to mention the fact that he already knew what you looked like…

Just how long had he been planning this?

There was everything your heart could desire- and you meant that. You hadn’t taken Gojo up on his offer to make the kitchens privy to your preferences, and yet you were pleasantly surprised to find that almost all of the foods were…your favorites.

All your favorites.

How did they…

You’re being led to the chair positioned at the very end of the table - the head chair often reserved for the leading ruler. The King, in this case.

Only…Utahime pulls out the silver-tipped chair at the very end and gestures for you to sit there.

You?

You’re stopping short, “King Gojo—”

“Shall be sitting beside you, Your Majesty, worry not.” And you’re unsure whether you should be embarrassed that she’d assumed you missed him - rather than the fact that you were wondering when he’d make an appearance, claim that chair the way he claimed you. 

And as if to emphasize her point, she’s tapping at the chair right beside yours.

Not the one at the head of the table.

The one beside it.

Lower-tiered.

“His Majesty’s request.”

You’d never heard of a King who’d been happy to sit at a position lower than his Queen- let alone request for such a seating arrangement. 

Slightly trembling, you’re taking your seat nonetheless.

And just as soon as you’re settling in- the doors bang! wide open.

In hurries a ferrety man in spectacles, holding an agenda to his chest and bowing so low that his nose touches the floor. “Y-Your Majesty!”

“At ease.” You’re responding, somewhat wary.

“Ijichi…” Utahime grumbles, “What’s the meaning of this? You’re interrupting the royal couple’s dinner together.”

“I-I fear that’s exactly the problem, Your Majesty.” The man - Ijichi, it seems - turns to you with an expression that couldn’t have looked more apologetic if he tried. “I have been sent by His Majesty to inform you that he extends his deepest apologies, for he shan’t be able to attend the royal dinner tonight.”

You’re gripping the silver butter knife at your side, “Pardon?”

And he flinches as though he’s just been struck—“Forgive me! It seems that some ah- unavoidable circumstances have risen that make it somewhat…difficult for His Majesty to join Her Majesty tonight- th-though that’s not certainly not for a lack of want! And His Majesty is supremely upset over the fact, it’s simply…”

Ijichi looks to Utahime for help. In the far corner of the room, the knights shuffle on their feet at the tension.

With a cautious expression, the woman steps closer - and as soon as she’s within his proximity, Ijichi leans down to whisper something in her ear—and her expression melts into one of understanding. Disappointed, but understanding.

She turns to you with an equally apologetic expression, “My apologies, Your Majesty…”

Your heart jumps to your throat.

“The King is unable to attend tonight’s dinner.”

You don’t know why you’re disappointed. 

.

.

.

You admit that the dinner passed by in a blur - delicious, and yet still a blur. 

Perhaps if you don’t miss anything of this excursion, then you’ll at least think back on those delicacies fondly.

Although, you admit that Utahime - and even the ever-anxious Ijichi - had certainly grown on you. They kept you company throughout the rest of the dinner, and once you were finished the red panda hybrid escorted you to your royal quarters.

It was a vast chamber located not too far from Gojo’s study.

Even though most of the palace found itself composed of cold, hard stone—this room was special. It had the most delicate layers of paint spread across it, something you hadn’t seen before even during your tour - baby blue in color, with faint patterns of snowflakes etched into every corner. Gilded decorations on every piece of furniture. A fireplace against one wall. More books than you could ever read in your entire life - let alone single moon here. 

There was a balcony overlooking a befogged land that you could not discern, and a drop from it would have been fatal. 

What drew you in the most, however, was the painting.

Most chambers in the North Palace were decked with precious paintings - hand-crafted oils of color in silver frames, those that looked more valuable than a room full of treasure and perhaps just as ancient - for it seemed that King Gojo was a lover of the arts. Interestingly enough.

You wouldn’t have expected that of him.

But this one…this painting was the largest of them all.

It took up the space of one entire wall, which - according to your mental calculations - would have been thirty-two feet tall and eighty-eight feet wide. One side of your bedroom that was donning robes of oil paint—featuring the most picturesque vision of…your kingdom.

Your palace. Your people. Your dream as a monarch: seeing the people of your kingdom as happy as they should be.

The humans in this painting were hand-in-hand in the town square, dancing around a roaring bonfire. Around them were heaving tables laden with food, and behind- oh. Your eyes widened as you take in the painting even further - it wasn’t just the humans that were dancing with one another. There were hybrids, too.

Your bed was a sprawling four-poster, and you huddled in amongst the silk-covered pillows.

This was your one night with King Gojo Satoru.

The first and the last.

Your one and only.

But there must have been a reason for this marriage, for his condition- there must have been. A full moon circled high in the sky, and peace couldn’t have been so easy.

You kept your dagger underneath your pillow that night.

And so you slept—not as fitfully as one might have expected. 

When you wake up- it’s still nighttime.

You’re sitting up on the bed and attempting to blink your vision back. It must have been an hour, perhaps two, since you’d gone to sleep- and you hate to admit it, but that must have been the best hours of sleep you’d gotten in years.

You might not even have woken up at all had it not been for the thunderous sound of footsteps outside. 

Someone was running- no. Multiple people were running.

Heart battering against your chest, you’re grabbing the dagger out from underneath your pillow and getting onto your feet. You were wearing a thin layer of silk Utahime had bestowed upon you as a nightgown, but there was no time to consider propriety now - something was happening inside the North Palace. 

Quickly unlocking the latch upon those double doors, it’s dark enough in the corridors that you’re slipping past the personal guards stationed outside your chamber. And crowded enough that you could slot into the chaos unnoticed.

Attendants. Advisors. Knights.

Hybrids of all different types and varying degrees of urgency - from urgent to being nearly in tears - were trampling like a herd in the same direction down the corridor. 

You’re keeping your head down low as you fit into a sparse gap of space and let yourself be led to wherever it was they needed to be. Forwards. Down a hallway. Forwards. Forwards. 

Ultimately, you’re not travelling too far before heading down a high-ceiling hallway—the pathway leading up to a private chamber. And by the sheer luxury of this wing - and the constantly incremental paintings of the Gojo family - you’re guessing that this must be where the Hybrid King slept.

Something stirs at the pit of your stomach- did something happen to…?

No, you couldn’t let yourself think that.

Shaking your head free from such thoughts, you’re managing to squeeze past attendants and staff that stuffed every nook and alcove here like sardines. Everyone was fervid to get inside, and even more desperate to get out before too long—

Then…the slightest crack in the door.

Breath catching in your chest, you shoot your arm out to catch it before it closes. Warm light filters from inside, and even warmer air follows it - fighting against whatever hybrid attendant was attempting to close it, you’re managing to wrench it open far enough to push yourself within. 

Just as you’re thrust inside, you turn around and catch Utahime’s gaze- also pressed against one wall of the corridor. 

Her eyes widen as she realizes just who it is—and her mouth shouts out a silent ‘no-’ 

Those double doors slam! shut.

It’s a royal bedroom just as large as yours.

And you could go on describing all the polished pieces of furniture, and the draped blue curtains, and the chandeliers, and the books. One of the walls in his bedroom was covered in a painting, just as the wall in your room had been - though you’re not too focused on it right now. A carpet spread from underneath the king-sized bed and nearly to every corner of the room—it was a stone-cold white, stitched intricately in the Gojo family emblem. But that was exactly what caught your eye.

Not the carpet, no- the bed.

Not exactly the bed itself, but rather the heavy metal chains on either side of it. Like dungeon chains.

There were six rings - thick and composed of rusting iron, one being half the length of your body - fastened to both walls sandwiching the bed. Falling from them were chain-links, each one the size of your head and twice as hefty—snaking like boa constrictors along the chamber floor, the foot of the bed, on top of the mattress.

Each one was shackled to the hands and feet of Gojo Satoru.

Panting. Flushed.

Feverish.

Surrounded by some guards, Shoko, and the rest of her healers who kept pressing cold cloths to his forehead, wiping him down furiously. 

Bucking into the air with a husky groan- it makes the dungeon chains rattle as they’re tugged on. Hard enough to make the metal creeeeeak—!

You don’t know what more to gape at - the fact that he was strong enough to fight against six of those massive chains and nearly win, or the fact that Gojo was underneath a thin cover and…naked.

Something stirs between your legs.

And instantly-

Instantly, Gojo stills.

The healers take a startled step back, cold cloths suspended in their hands as they assess their silent King. 

But Gojo doesn’t mind them.

He’s sitting up properly on the mattress, eyes widened and locked on- oh.

Locked on you.

It makes you jolt.

For there was a harrowed look in his gaze - as though he’d just stumbled across a carnage site, might perhaps be tempted into creating one. And Gojo’s pupils were the size of pinpricks, the sea of blue around them somewhat glowing—were you going mad? Were they really glowing?

His beautiful face was expressionless and primal.

His head raises into the air and sniffs it-

And suddenly those pearly white teeth display in an animalistic growl.

One by one, the healers follow their monarch’s line of sight - and their lips part as they take you in. His human bride.

Shoko’s the first to take a step forwards, “Your Majest-”

“Out.”

A strange thrill runs through your body.

It’s not that Gojo’s voice was particularly loud, nor was it particularly threatening—but it makes every single hybrid inside the room bow. 

Falling to their knees. 

They’re nodding once.

And in the blink of an eye, the healers - and most of the guards - are jerking onto their feet and running out - barely even throwing you a glance. Those double doors crack open once more, and you’re realizing that the commotion outside had calmed—you get the strange feeling that if you were to turn around, you would see that every other hybrid there was kneeling, as well. 

You don’t know how you’re so sure - but you know he isn’t speaking to you. 

In mere moments, it’s only Shoko and Higuruma that remain at Gojo’s bedside. They look at you in concern, and then each other- opening their mouths to say something when—

“Out.”

Gojo’s sole command is followed by gales of wind that clatter the windows open and send the two hybrids toppling. They’re collapsing to the ground from the sheer force - ultimately being pushed up until the tips of your feet.

Their King needn’t say a word more for them to stumble onto their feet and make a break for it.

The doors close thunderously, though not nearly as loud as your racing heart.

The wind dies down as they’re leaving you alone with Gojo, and you’re wondering whether he even realized. Not a single waft of the gales had touched you somehow. 

You swallow.

It’s just you and him now.

Him and you.

And you’re not understanding where it came from, but you’re overwhelmed by the sudden feeling to walk over to him-

As soon as the thought manifests in your chest, you blink—

And Gojo Satoru’s standing right in front of you.

Towering figure. Heated pants.

Your dagger falls to the floor.

He was flushed as though burning from the inside out. 

You swear that he’s even larger than you remember him—and you do remember him being large in the first place. But Gojo’s size right now was nearly inhuman - he stood about a foot taller than before; and the tips of his fingers had elongated with predator-like claws, the canines of his teeth had grown even sharper. 

His fluffy patterned tail swishes agitatedly from side-to-side.

Nostrils flared as he drinks in your air.

Envelopes in it.

You’re hesitating before raising your eyes up to meet his- and a gasp catches in your chest at his contracted pupils. Like a snow leopard on the hunt.

He stares you down like his most delicious prey. 

And it should make you run- it should. But your body takes a stuttered step closer, until you could feel the heat radiating off of his body in feverish waves. 

You’re keeping your gaze confined to the area of his face n’ his sculptured chest, words picked carefully. “Satoru…”

“Leave.” But whatever was on the tip of your tongue washes away with his breathless tone- voice sibilant as though a prayer. “I need you to—fuck, I wish for you to-”

“I refuse.” And your response bewilders the both of you, “You’ve exhausted your requests of me. Are we not fulfilling the marriage contract?”

“We will- we have—” His blue eyes clench shut, as though he was holding himself back. Fists clenched firmly at his sides, they shake- “Fuck, this was not the planned course for our first meeting. Know that you are free to leave if you so wish - leave the chamber, leave the palace, leave the kingdom-”

“I will not breach the conditions-”

“I rescind the conditions.” 

Shock pumps through your body, “Pardon?”

“I wished to romance you, I wished to write to you- I wished to show you the beauty of my kingdom tonight but…those gloves- you made me…” He shakes his head, “War shall not prevail—we shall commence the peace negotiations without a moon spent together.” He’s slicking back his dampened white hair, “O-on the terms of an unforeseen illness, you may leave-”

“What sickness?” You demand.

“Rut.”

Oh.

Oh.

It was one of the preliminary lessons in your hybrid history classes: the rut. A period of intense pheromonal and sexual desire; during which the hybrid grapples with the physical, emotional, and pheromonal desire to mate. It was always a concept that intrigued you. For a hybrid, these ruts are best exhausted when spent with a partner, though unmated hybrids may choose to weather through the week independently. 

The mating period ends once the hybrid bites into the scent gland of their partner. 

Between hybrids.

So why were you feeling so feverish, as well?

You’re unsteady on your feet- and Gojo’s hands shoot out, but then surge back to his sides as though he thought better than to touch you when he was in this state. “Please-”

“I would like to spend the moon with you.” You’re blurting out before you can stop yourself, drunk on the heady scent of winter pine in the room—was it growing stronger? You look at him squarely, “As newly-weds do.”

His breath catches, “You are not aware what you ask of me-” Though his tail wraps around your ankle.

“I am.”

“You are not aware what you ask of yourself.”

“I am.” Insisting. 

Something deep inside you. Something deep inside you. Something deep inside you.

Fingers reaching up to the tie of your nightgown- before getting stopped instantly by Gojo’s hand. He pulls back with a hiss as though you burned—the pine fragrance grows even stronger inside the chamber. 

His voice cracks as he looks at you, “You…” Eyes blowing out ferally, “You humans are not built to handle a hybrid in rut. I shall easily ruin you-”

“Then so be it.” Your cunt twitches.

And Gojo sniffs the air as though he could smell it.

He moans.

And in a split-second you’re being tackled to the ground- pounced upon. As though you really were nothing but a pretty prey beneath his fingertips, Gojo spreads your back flatly against the carpeted ground—too far gone right now to even start thinking of the bed.

Hands caging either side of your head. Hot breaths wafting your features like a furnace.

He slots his toned, naked hips between your bent legs and ruts-

“Fuck.”

Before letting out the most erotic sound you’ve ever heard in your life - his spit-slicked lips fall open with it and stay open as he keeps pushin’ his trembling hips into yours. Glazed eyes clenching shut. Perspired head falling behind him. 

Again and again.

You’re feeling his thickened, throbbing erection press against your pussy through your thin nightgown. Openin’ up the crevice of your folds and massaging all along your outer cunt - because of how closely he was collapsed on top of you, you couldn’t make out just what his cock looked like. But you could feel the heat, you could feel the pulsing of his prominent veins that glissaded down the damp patch of your entrance and made you squeal—

“Y-Your Majesty-” You buck.

And he’s fucking pinning you down with his capped knees upon your legs. His bodyweight leaning on you. “Satoru.” He whispers breathlessly, eyes wide and somewhat dazed still. 

“Pardon?”

The hybrid reaches his hand across your body, “My mate shall call me Satoru.”

Mate…?

The fingers on his dominant hand snake down your front and grab a fistful of that satin nightgown you were wearing- before his claws extract and he’s teeeeearing straight through it. Ripping it into nothing but shreds that he’s throwing blindly over his shoulder. 

Soon enough, you’re left in nothing but the scraps of what had once been a decadent robe. And the coating of lust across your body.

The evidence was undeniable - even in the yolky yellow fireplace lighting up the bedroom, there was a lecherous glisten between your legs. Naked. Pulsing. 

A pretty gloss that makes Gojo take just one wide-eyed look- and gulp.

You think you can audibly hear the effect merely seeing your dampened cunt has on him, and it sends a thrill up your spine. The bed chambers only seem to be spiking in temperature.

A bead of glitterin’ slick drops from your tight hole, making you shiver as it falls vertically between your pussylips- only to be stopped by a single chaste kiss of Gojo’s swollen cockhead. He grasps his base using his right hand, motioning that plump, puckered tip to point around the orifice of your cunt.

He’s probing the reddened top of his shaft against your hole and letting it stretch just a lil’ bit- “Fuck.” You think that it should be you spewing out the profanities - but it’s Gojo instead. He growls. His blue peripherals roll to the back of his skull as he feels you clench around nothing. “Fuh-fuuuuck.”

“Shit—”

He dots at the pearly bead of slick.

He swirls it around your entrance.

He uses it to lacquer his already-glistening cock before reeling his hips back and pushing in-

You’re gasping, hands coming up to dig your nails into his broad back. “Sa-Satoru-”

And his jaw practically unhinges at the hot, heavenly feeling. “Oh heavens…” Muttering something primal at the back of his throat—“O-oh heavens.” He’s feeling the first few centimeters of his throbbing cock get suctioned in, before there’s a sudden tightness of resistance that makes jerk his hips back and push once more- “Oh my Queen—”

“Satoru…” Just about the only thing that you can say, like a frenzied mantra. Eyes shuttering, “Shit, I think you must know-”

The knobbly edge of his thumb veers between your pussylips, stretchin’ them apart and taking a good look in-between. He pumps even harder - “My Queen—please take it.”

Mewling.

He’s tugging those dampened lips even further apart, “Please fit in.” Only growing more and more desperate the longer your cunt refuses to gobble him up whole, “Please- please fit in–”

“Satoru- fuck.”

Fingertips trembling where they were glued to the side of your pussy, stretching your entrance. Thwack after thwack. “Please take- me-”

“You must-” And he was now hammerin’ his hips into you in short, rapid semi-thrusts just to see himself swallowed up. So tight that it felt nearly impossible. So tight that a single drop of crimson escapes you, “-know that-”

“My Queen-”

“-this is my first time.”

There’s a ragged exhale that gusts across your features, making your eyes fall shut at just how scalding hot it was feeling - molten inside. Every bit of his skin in contact with yours felt as though he was burning up—“Oh.” That pretty, spit-glossed mouth of his falls - he ruts once more. “Oh.”

Your toes curl at the swabbin’ intrusion - Gojo was just so big that it was hard for you to take him. Bigger than any normal human.

And you’re feeling it even more once he’s pulling out.

With the most lecherous squelch! his erection plops out of your geysering orifice and ends up laid between your shivering thighs. 

“I see…” Gojo hoarsely mutters, eyes entrenched in a staring competition with your pussy. “Mine, too.”

“Pardon?” You lean up onto your elbows instantly.

“I believe I said—” He trails off, “Mine, too.”

A thousand and one questions are whirling through your mind - everything from why Gojo hadn’t partaken in a mating period prior to this, to why he’d chosen you—

And then you’re blinking.

And suddenly you’re finding yourself sprawled out across his king-sized bed.

Head laid gently against the numerous luxurious pillows, your legs spread apart as though you’d never moved from the floor. You’re faced with the slight inertia of the entire room shifting so suddenly- and it takes you longer than it should’ve to realize that he’d just teleported the two of you once more.

You’re clamoring up to rest upon your elbows, and staring down at the hybrid that’d slotted between your legs now.

His soft strands tickle your body. Gojo’s already shifted until his face was level with your navel - his hot breath wafting across your skin. It sends goosebumps skittering across your middle n’ all the way down to your cunt—

Something that he’s leaning in and sniffing.

Breathing in. 

And then Gojo trundles out a low, animalistic growl.

You feel your hips bucking up in response and you’re not quite sure as to why-

But you don’t have the time to ponder upon it for too long before Gojo dips the tip of his looooong, luscious tongue between your pussy’s slit. 

He’s sticking just the very edge of his tastebuds fitting between your folds and slide-slide-sliiiiiding down that dampened crevice. Up and down. Slipping between the two and slurping away the dewy droplets of sap that cling onto your cunt-

Gojo halts as the first taste of your pussy trickles into his mouth.

And then he’s gasping his parched lips open- already sounding as though he’s run a fucking field. “So this-” Letting those deep vibrations of his voice scatter right between where you were most sensitive, “-this is what my mate tastes like.”

There it was again—mate. 

Your body thrums, taking a strange pleasure in being titled that by the hybrid. 

“Wh-what do you mean by m—oh.” Moan turning into a yelp as his fluffy rosette-decorated tail - one you hadn’t even realized was snaking ever-closer to your body - wraps around your right thigh and wrenches you closer to his hungry body. You stare into his eyes- starving.

Plastering his lips against your other ones as though he was fucking famished- Gojo’s nose digs between the wet slit of your core. Delving in-between. “My mate.” The only thing he can manage to utter. The pointed tip pushes on the nub of your clit as though a button, grindin’ away deftly as he’s making out. “My mate, my mate, my mate—”

“Satoru—” You’re crying out, “I-I’ve never done this before…is it supposed to feel this good?”

“Hmmm…” He’s clearly leering against your sensitive parts- and you can feel it. The hardness of his pearly whites tracin’ all over your entrance - “I haven’t partaken in such activities either, is this kitty supposed to taste this sweet?”

You gasp. “You can’t just utter such obscenities-”

To which he pays no attention before rubbin’ his flushed cheek along the inner parts of your thighs—Gojo leans in takes a gooooood whiff of where your pheromones were most saturated. Eyes falling shut as he indulges himself in it, and once he’s opening them back up you swear those pupils of his have transformed into hearts. “Is this kitty supposed to smell this sweet?”

You’re simply bucking in shock at that.

Elongated claws tapping warningly against where he’s holding the right side of your waist, “Settle, my mate.”

And he can smell it- the way your cunt grows even more aroused, even sweeter, at being given this command. Paired up perfectly with your pet name.

That’s when he decides that he’s had enough of lappin’ away at the numerous layers of slick that polished your cunt - he’s had enough.

He wasn’t some little kitty.

Gojo Satoru was a big cat, and that meant he has a big tongue.

Big enough to drown himself completely n’ utterly silly in the sweetened juices leaking out of you. In a mere few moments, he’s licked you completely dry. And he’s spreadin’ away the inside of your rim, scouring his tongue inside for more, more, more—

Long, thorough slashes inside your cunt.

“Sh-shit—” You’re babbling away stupidly, back arching off of the mattress. Ending up draggin’ your pussy even further against Gojo’s mouth - knocking against his nose and making him take your restless body on happily. “Shit, your tongue-” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, “-it’s sho big—”

“All the better to taste you, dear.” It’s a wonder that Gojo could detach himself from your pussy even for those brief seconds to answer.

Thrusting right between those swollen pussylips of yours- right into that quivering hole. He swirls his thickened muscle around a few times, “And y-you’re so…” You could feel the texture of his uniform, ridged tastebuds molding to the sides of your walls. “-fuck, your tastebuds are so pointed.”

“All the better to feel you, dear.” But of course, if you were in any better state of mind then perhaps you would’ve remembered that snow leopards in particular possessed tongues with specialized tastebuds. Longer. Sharper.

Yet right now, the only thing you’re thinking of is just how good it feels to have Gojo Satoru fuck you with said tongue.

He was just so looooooong and thick. He stuffs you to the brim already.

Spreading and stretchin’ his tongue against your walls- as far inside as it could possibly go. Quite audibly, you swear you can hear the sounds of his wet muscle expanding against that snug channel. “A-and, Satoru…” To him, your mewls sound like the prettiest song he’s ever heard. “-you’re so ravenous.”

He chuckles out something feral - something octaves higher than his usual baritone - against the front of your pussy. Pulling away from it with a wet smack! “All the better to…” And you know the strangely predatory tone of his voice shan’t bode well for you. And you know the way he fucking purrs—yes, purrs as he nears your pussy once more shan’t bode well for you. “-eat you, my dear.”

And then Gojo’s slamming every inch of his tongue back inside you - every fucking inch.

Except, this time…there’s a clear motivation tinglin’ at the honed tip of muscle. You could practically taste it in the soft sizzling wads of spittle that kept on leaking out of you. 

Gojo was tonguing at your pussy like a maddened man- letting his nose crush against your clit, letting his canines nip slightly on your bloated folds. He plasters your cunt against his chin, head angled juuuuuust the exact number of degrees it’d take for him to propel his tongue forwards and hit a particular spot inside you.

Your feet anchor onto the luxurious mattress. Your back forms the perfect curvature against the bed.

You’re letting your moans pour out of you twofold as you throw your head back n’ forcefully wrench your hips forward. “There—” Registering, it takes a second for your mind to catch up to the fact that Gojo’s lengthy hybrid tongue has just rammed into your g-spot - with just his tastebuds. “Y-you hit my…I didn’t know that was even—oh, Toru.”

“My Queen.” Hoarse. Hissing. His tone was completely fucked as he uses his powerful tail to tug you even further against his slackened mouth, “My mate.”

“Toru, that feels too-”

“Let this kitty cream on my mouth.” Even his high cheekbones burn a faint crimson at the declaration, though he doesn’t deny nor retract it. “Let this, kitty—” Come to think of it…the snow leopard hybrid was purring as he’s makin’ out between your legs. “-let this kitty cum…”

“Gonna—” Your voice starts hatching at the back of your throat, “G-gonna cum-”

Spurred on by your affirmations, those slashes at your g-spot grow even faster. More frequent.

Deeper.

There’s a tingly buzz coating your outer pussy at the rapid movements of his tastebuds- back n’ forth, back n’ forth, back n’ forth. And you’re feeling your pleasure start to ember even more powerfully as he keeps on planting constant hits and thrashes.

Tugs and pushes.

Hit after hiiiiiiit upon your poor g-spot.

Soon enough, your vision starts to overload with sultry white stars of bliss. And Gojo smells the cloying pheromones on you before you even register it- but you’re cumming.

All over his tongue.

It’s a wave of euphoria that starts from the tips of your toes and explodes where his tongue was diggin’ between your pussylips- before ultimately shooting through every valve, blood vessel, and capillary within you. Taking over you.

Toes curling. Tears shooting up to your eyes.

This might just have been even better than those long, lonely nights beneath your royal covers - when you’d slip in a finger or two and fervently hope that your attendants didn’t need you for anything.

You’re letting out the prettiest few echoes of his name- and you don’t even care who hears you right about now. Because the one person that commanded them all - this entire land - had his head between your legs and his tongue lappin’ away hungrily.

As though he hasn’t had a proper meal in months—you’re suddenly remembering with a jolt that he’d missed dinner tonight.

Gojo manages to probe your most sensitive spot during peak after peak.

Rush upon rush of dopamine flooding your body- he was sure to drag his textured tastebuds along your most precious caverns when those times came. And perhaps if your mind was any less muddled, he’d be able to tell you that he’s timing them perfectly using the spikes of your heady pheromones whenever you felt too good - but he was happy to merely listen to your babble right now. To fuck you stupid with his mouth.

He was tugging aside your pussylips and scraping every inch of your walls as though he wanted his entire nation to hear you—“Mine.” The pointed tip of his tongue tickles your g-spot, “My mate-”

Those mere few droplets of slick you were letting out wasn’t enough for Gojo, and he’s using the unyielding restraint he had on your ankle to keep on gyrating your hips. Manhandling your hips. Grinding your wet pussy against his mouth.

His maw slurpin’ every orifice-

Spreading aside your velvety walls as though he wished to go even deeper. And he’s reaching up his right hand to push aside those swollen lips of yours and—

“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re just barely surfacing from your last orgasm when you feel something cold n’ clammy sliding down your swollen pussylips. 

Claws retracted. The knobbly tips of Gojo’s fingers spread you open—and you’re just starting to wonder which set of hands this is…when you feel the frigidness of his fucking wedding ring probe inwards. It was a band of pure silver far colder than even his own hands- contrasting thoroughly against the heat of your pussy.

You’re whining as though you’re wounded (though it was the complete opposite of feeling as such) as the ice-cold sensation of it circles your sensitive hole a few times.

Gojo teases your entrance before he’s properly sinking in. Taking his time—not at all.

Did you really think that a hybrid in heat took his time? Did you really think that a hybrid in heat didn’t have the patience to merely take his ready mate?

And that was exactly what the King was doing with his perfectly prolonged digits - already having stretched out your cunt enough that he doesn’t have to hesitate before plunging in two fingers into your wet cavern. “Wait- you’re still not done?”

His long lashes flutter, “Would you like me to be, Your Majesty?”

“N-not exactly, it’s just…” And you almost feel shy admitting this to him - even though you’ve already come…so far, there were still some etiquette lessons drilled into you. “-I thought I’d be getting Your Majesty’s cock by now.”

And that makes him stall.

That makes his doughy fingertips lurch up and hit the roof of your cunt—accidentally locating your g-spot with just a bit of swerving.

“Oh.” Gojo’s jaw drops a bit- and those dimples make an appearance once more. “Worry not, my Queen.”

There’s the most long, lecherous sluuuuuurp! as he then pulls his fingers out.

“A beautiful creature such as yourself shan’t be fucked like any other lowly human.” The hybrid leers up at you with a half-lidded gaze, and those fingers of his twitch excitedly at your entrance. He murmurs thickly, “I’m going to breed you.” 

Slam! 

And that’s all it takes for his fingers to stuff you in every nook n’ cranny. 

Those mountainous knuckles of his start up like a battering ram between your legs, and no matter how much you’re squirming at the overstimulation- you can bet on Gojo’s tail to hold you in place. Stronger than it looked with its unassuming demeanor. 

Every time you’re being lurched backwards by the sheer force of his fervid thrusts, the King drags you back down using his appendage.

Leaving you not an ounce of mercy as he’s swabbin’ his rounded fingertips into your g-spot—so long that he’d be able to tease that particular bundle and then glide down to swat your cervix. 

Your eyes bulge at the feeling of his intrusion, back arching. “O-oh my god—” 

“Satoru, you mean.”

“Sato—pardon?” Tears layering over your peripherals, your vision’s starting to become hazy nonetheless. And a shiver runs down your spine as you’re watching his handsome face lean closer to your dripping wet core once more.

All the excitement of Gojo hookin’ his fingers in n’ ruining you from the inside meant that your slick was overflowing. Excess that he leans down to lap his tongue over as though the sweetest nectar- and maybe it really was.

Gojo’s flattened tongue starts rolling the most lewd kitty licks over your throbbing clit—holding eye contact with you all the while. “My mate.”

“Satoru-” You yelp.

“My mate—” The constant rhythmic slamming against your g-spot was starting to make your g-spot feel tender. Perhaps it has even started bruising - perhaps you were hurtling into your second orgasm faster than you might’ve thought. 

And it’s with his upper half bowed over your pussy - with his canines gnawin’ away on your clit - that Gojo pushes you into cumming. Again.

He makes yet another zap of euphoria take over your body- so lightheaded now that it felt as though you could keel over at the softest breeze. Your thighs tremble. Your legs fight to wrap around his head.

And Gojo’s taking such utter pleasure in stopping your squirming hips from moving- from smoochin’ and smoochin’ the slender tips of his fingers against your sweetest spots.

“Hafta make my- ngh, mate feel good.” He’s whispering, almost to himself. Gojo runs the plumpness of his fingertips aaaaaaall across your insides, quirking them perfectly when he has to run you through a peak of your high. “Hafta-”

“Cumming—” Too late, you’re bellowing out. “I’m c-cumming, Toru.”

“I know.” He responds simply. “This kitty told me.”

And you swear that’s enough to push you straight over another edge - another high. Sparks of friction breaking out across your skin. As Gojo stimulated your clit n’ your deepest innards to elongate this current one, and past that into another one, and another one, and another-

“Cum—fucking cum, kitty kitty.” He hums. 

Four- yes, four of his fingers pushing aside your slick-glazed walls now. 

By the time you’re letting the waves of pleasure wash over you, you’re completely and utterly spent. Exhausted. Unable to do anything but lay yourself spread-eagle on the duvet, you’re raising your head weakly to look down at Gojo.

He pulls off of your clit with a lecherous pop! 

A few thin strings of spittle still connect you to his mouth, “Brace yourself, my mate.”

“Brace…?” And as he straightens from his position at your feet - from his position worshipping your pussy at your feet - you’re letting your jaw drop. “Oh.”

Because it was justified for him to ask you to brace yourself.

Hell, you might just not make it out alive if you didn’t brace yourself. 

You’d already known that Gojo was considerably big from his time ruttin’ against you on the carpeted floor like some animal. But what you didn’t know was just what he looked like exactly. 

Large.

Lavished in veins.

It was expected that Gojo would be bigger than a human man - or, at least, what you’d assumed a human man would average based upon your sparse knowledge from anatomy books - but it’s just how much bigger than made your jaw drop. For he was comfortably around eight inches, perhaps even veering into nine.

Seeing the sheer girth of his base was enough to make your thighs squeeze together- squelch! You’d underestimated just how wet you’d gotten.

Plump tip furiously swollen n’ agitated - the merest breeze was enough to make him dollop out a generous serving of his precum. It was flushed a shade of pink that matched the blush upon Gojo’s cheeks as he took in your staring.

Vermicular veins. Throbbing circumference. 

And then there were his pretty balls - so full. Decorated along his v-line with a spattering of snow-white hair.

And you found yourself admitting that Gojo Satoru was strangely—pretty. 

All the way down to his cock.

You swallow, “S-so?”

“Pardon? And so?” The King cocks his head in cute confusion.

His ancient bedframe then creeeeeaks as you’re lifting your hips up, “Aren’t you going to breed me like you promised, Your Majesty?”

He flinches as though he’s just been struck.

Oh…hasn’t anyone ever taught you not to poke the bear? Or in this case, the snow leopard? Nevermind that now, however, because it was far too late for it - given you’d found yourself married to one. 

To the beast that bears his teeth carnally upon your provocation.

To the monster that slots his hips between your thoroughly jittery legs and gives your cunt a gooooood spankin’ with his ruddied tip.

To Gojo Satoru who runs his twitching tip down the forefront of your pussy a few times before he’s spreading apart your pussylips and push-push-puuuuushing. Sinking in his teeth into his lower lip as he sinks his cock into you—and immediately, tears spurt to his eyes.

Gojo’s barely easing an inch between your swollen folds before he’s fucking sobbing-

“It- it feels—” He’s clawing out a few wretched moans from the back of his throat. “It feels s-so—”

“So—?” You’re attempting to coax out of him. This was his first time just as much as yours, and although you might not know much about hybrid mating rituals, one thing was for sure - Gojo was extra, extra sensitive tonight.

“So g—ngh.” Choking those words straight back into his throat- he’s just barely managing to fit his plump, reddish tip in. It was throbbing against your walls and slippin’ inside with the help of your slick. “How can it feel so good?” He hisses.

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, “Pardon? Y-you’re asking me- hck! how?”

“How.” As though no other explanation was needed. Gojo’s fucking into you in shallow, short thrusts—almost nothing. Barely squeeze-squeeze-squeezing the first thickened segment of his shaft inside before he’s met with the resistance of your tight channel- and then he’s pulling back with a pained groan as if it killed him to detach himself from the glutinous embrace of your pussy.

And the more n’ more he’s feeling you—the more he’s utterly breaking upon entering your warmth. “Is there magic that you use? I-is there a spell you’ve put me under?” His grip on your waist trembles.

“No…” You whimper, “And for what reason…”

“For i-it should not be possible for a kitty to feel so…” He groans. Gojo’s eyes are fluttering shut once you give his throbbing girth a little clench, and when he opens them back up again you’re finding those sky-blue peripherals to have been covered with a few layers of tears. “-so delicious.”

“You make it sound as though you wish to- ngh, feast upon me.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

The hybrid edges his perspired head closer to yours, letting the tips of his white bangs tickle your skin. “For what else must newly-weds do on the night of their wedding?”

That silver wedding ring glints on his left hand - both due to the quality of the metal, and due to the fact that it was still covered in the remnants of your sweet juices. 

Gojo notices this, too.

And without a single warning, he’s reaching his hand up and sucking off the glaze of slick. Looking you straight into your dilated pupils as he does so.

It sends a carnal throb down to your cunt that he sniffs in the air-

And then everything’s happening at once.

Gojo’s jolting, Gojo’s grasping both of your pretty legs and throwing them over his shoulders. Hands upon either side of your limbs n’ wrangling them easily as he bends his upper half down looooow—kissing his sweaty forehead to yours.

The sudden change in positions makes you keen. “A-and you’re completely sure you’re inexperienced, Toru?”

“Promise, my mate.” He exhales into your mouth. “I’d never take another but you.”

And though the gesture had started off sweet…the further his mazin’ tip scoured in, the sharper his canines grew against your poor wobbly lips. The stronger his body seemed to grow in response to pinning your needy hips down and shoooooooving rude cock inside-

“Take it.” Gojo snarls into the crook of your neck, “Take it.”

“Please—” Being pushed constantly up towards the mahogany headboard.

“Take- oh.” Absent-mindedly, he wraps his powerful tail around your left thigh once more. Stopping you from being jostled back and forth because of the sheer force of his rovering hips- hips that were just hungry to feel his mate warped around his entire, rock-hard cock.

And you wonder whether he even realized.

Because if you thought it was far-fetched to assume that Gojo Satoru was breaking on your pussy just from the ruined state of his voice, then you’d be sorely mistaken.

The longer he’s tunneling between your sodden pussylips, the more n’ more he’s less the composed gentleman you’d been married to at the altar. “Take it-” To be quite honest, you’d be comfortable stating that he was becoming more hybrid than human the longer he was in lecherous contact with the wet cavern of your cunt. “Take it, take it, take it—please.”

Tears falling down his pretty cheeks.

The longer his thrusts became, the more hidden crevices inside you that he was opening up. You’d been completely right to ogle Gojo’s massive cock- because right now it felt like he was splitting you in half. 

In the best way.

“You need to take it, sweetheart—” Gojo damn near whimpers, “You n-need to take your mate’s cock…”

He was straightening out the smallest crevices at your innards, he was digging his claws deeeeep against the sides of your thighs. Pulling you back after every thrust.

And it’s not long before Gojo finds himself completely bottoming out.

Letting his divot baaawl out a few ribbons of pre that slick towards your womb. Letting his bulbous, blushin’ tip thud! away at the very back of your cervix. 

The silken bedsheets are bunching up where Gojo’s knees were scrambling to get even closer to the bottom of your pussy. Attempting to push his probin’ cockhead even deeper inside your sponge-covered depths, Gojo’s practically falling over himself to bend you in half.

To bend and to bend.

To thrust and to thrust-

The bed creaks in a cacophony that accurately represents just how he’s fucking you like he’s furious. Body burnished in heat. Hissing and snarling between his clenched fangs.

Those unfairly attractive hips of his were affected, too, because they’re starting to stutter forwards as though he’s just found heaven inside of you. Reeling his hips aaaaaall the way back in reverse - until his rounded, reddened tip was the only thing holding your entrance open. 

And then Gojo wastes no time before pounding himself inside all the way till the hilt.

The very hilt. 

You’re squirming at the patch of his white, white hair that scratches your pretty clit. “A-and about the breeding thing…”

“Hmmmm?”

“Are you really going to fuck me- ngh, pregnant, Toru?”

Awwwww—how cute. Those glowing azure eyes of his widen in amusement- or perhaps something else entirely that you weren’t able to pinpoint. He leans in with a simpering smile, “Fuck you pregnant? How crass.”

“N-ngh—” Your head throws back at the feeling of his globular cockhead lining down your g-spot. He ends up rubbin’ over that particular bundle of nerves for a few seconds, before glissading a hit straight to your womb-

“I’m going to make you my mate, my Queen.”

“Oh-”

“Officially.”

You’re unsure what exactly such an arrangement between hybrids would entail—but all you know is that you want it. Badly. 

A primal desire deep-rooted into your very being, one that you couldn’t explain even if you tried - it was from the depths of your soul, pouring outward in every ribbony wire of slick that you were letting out. All for Gojo Satoru. Clinging onto Gojo Satoru.

It’s coating his thickened cock in numerous layers that glisten underneath the pale lighting of a royal chamber, splatterin’ between your two bodies as his frenzied pace only accelerates. “Sa-Satoru—”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

It always sent such a shocking thrill across your body to realize that he was the one referring to you like that - perhaps your most formidable foe yet. 

And the massive bedframe creaks as you’re raising your hips up to meet his- the constant smack-smack-smacking of skin on relentless skin growing in pitch and volume. “I need it.” Looking at him through your tear-drenched lashes, “I need it s-so badly—”

“What is it?” He breathes out in an almost desperate tone. Gojo presses his lips to yours and kisses you in a way that was so fucking filthy—he’s flickering his tongue in and out, fishing out the sweet wads of your saliva. Before leaning his head back a bit and spitting between your wobbling lips - claiming every spot inside you that he wanted to. “What is it that you wish for, my Queen?”

Before anything else, his right hand then snakes between your two sweaty bodies.

Familiarly locating your cute clit and giving a few niiiiice rolls between his index and his thumb.

“Tell me—” He responds. He begs. “Tell me what it is your heart desires-” His sentences and syllables being punctuated by a solid slam against the back of your pussy every time. “Tell me, and I shall move mountains and heaven for you, my mate.”

And after such a declaration, a part of you almost feels embarrassed about the next words out of your mouth—“I want you to…cum inside me, Toru.”

He jolts. “Sweetheart, are you aware-”

“Not that.” Gojo answers - and the sudden leer that follows is something that makes your lips part. Something that was certainly not going to bode well for you or your poor pussy…“Sweetheart, are you aware that-”

And before he’s finishing that particular sentence, Gojo reaches down and gently clasps your dominant hand in his own.

He tugs it down between his legs-

To where you’re feeling the smooth gliiiide down his erect shaft—down every single curve, crevice, and vein. He was just so long that this made you squirm. Ultimately, you’re ending up with your fingertips pressed against the very start of Gojo’s hilt, where the carpet of his white hair was just ending.

And you’re wondering just what it is he was trying to oh-so-lecherously make you feel when…

When your palm pushes up against something so very thick and swollen at the base of Gojo’s cock. And you’re just gasping-

“A-are you aware of the effect you have on me, Your Majesty?” Gojo’s ragged tone permeates your hearing, punctuated by the constant thrashes n’ bucks of his hungry cock. Inside, inside, inside. “Are you aware that this is how you make me feel?”

He crushes your hand even further against that extra swollen portion of his erection, “And h-how exactly…”

He falters, “Pardon?”

“How exactly is…this, Toru?”

“How exactly?” He’s hissing through his teeth, tone wavering unsteadily. He sounds ruined, he sounds shattered—he sounds gone. There’s almost a sense of amusement in his tone as though you were pulling on his leg - he bores deeeeply into your eyes whilst he fucks you. “How exactly—?” 

“Y-ye—oh.”

Slam!

At that very moment, he’s rammin’ his hips into yours so hard that the skin around his pelvis reddens. Stings. 

And Gojo himself can’t help but let his head fall backwards with a guttural hiss, those pretty white brows of his knotting—“Fuh-fuck.” Before starting to rut down in even sloppier pushes of his firmed-up cock.

Hard.

Fast.

Your ass cheeks were practically refusing to have contact with the bedspread below. Just bent that far. 

The question he’d asked you earlier had been a rhetorical one - though that doesn’t stop Gojo himself from pistoning into you as though he was attempting to fuck the answer out of you. As though he was hoping the globular edge of his shaft would reach your pretty brain, n’ swerve around a bit to ultimately activate whatever part of you there was that’d understand. 

To flick a switch on - something carnal. 

Once you’ve been pounded utterly stupid- Gojo presses down with his mazing cockhead until you’re filled up to the very hilt. And you can feel the swollen ring at his base start to relax against the front of your puckered pussylips, “What you need to know is…this is a knot, sweetheart.”

“A knot?” Babbling through your tears.

“A knot.” Gojo affirms, “And do you know what hybrids do to their mates using their knots?”

Shaking your head.

“First, we claim our mates.” He’s draggin’ his roughened thumb down between your sultry pussylips and rolling over your clit. If you were in any clearer a state of mind right now, perhaps you’d have noticed that he was spelling out his first fucking name on top of that swollen nub. “First, we fuck them until they can’t speak—can’t move—can’t do anything but beg for more.”

You’re bucking upwards greedily, and in response he’s letting out a growl. “Y-yes, and?”

“Then we let them cum a few cute times—” He’s giggling at the way your mouth drops in realization - he was doing the exact same thing to you.

Was technically, still doing the exact same thing to you with the way he’s stimulating every fibre of your being. “And then-”

“Then we get them in a cute- hah, mating press.” His fluffy tail swooshes around before looping around your left thigh and tightening, veering dangerously close to the in-betweens of your legs. As if he was sharing his most precious secret in the world with you, Gojo leans dooooown until his lips were at your ear- “Then we cum so much inside them that they can’t even breathe without feelin’ me all inside your pretty kitty.”

Sobbing, “Th-then—?”

“Then…” The King’s reeling his powerful hips backwards, all the way until he’s nearly pulled out. Only the better to fuck you with…“Then m’fucking you with my fat knot until you can’t even think about letting my cum go to waste, my mate.”

“Oh—”

And with one hand braced upon the right side of your head - the other furiously toying with your perked clit - Gojo’s striking your pussylips in constant thwacks! Thwack! after thwack!

Trying to get his knot to fit inside.

Gojo’s vein-covered cock massaging your walls in such a frenzy just feels so good- “O-oh my god…” You’re babbling out, “Toru, m’gonna cum again.”

“Good.”

“Toru, m’gonna cum now—”

“Good.”

Those half-lidded blue eyes of his were locked on every expression you were making - even the tiniest shifts and twitches. His nostrils flare once you’re feeling your stomach give into the surges of pleasure shooting up from your cunt—and the hybrid seems to know before even you do when you’re crash-landing straight into your nth high of the night.

You’ve seriously lost count.

“C-cumming…” You mewl out weakly- hands coming up to clasp onto his sweaty head. Pressing your lips against his as he fucks you through every zap of pleasure. “Feels so good- ngh, feels so good—”

“Is that so?” He harkens, “Is that so, Your Majesty?”

“Never felt anything better-”

Eventually, your high rises and falls faster than it has before - solely due to the sheer number of times tonight. It’s nothing but the splash of dopamine that engulfs your body and leaves it sizzling with pleasure moments afterwards.

Even the slightest rub-a-dub of Gojo’s veiny patterns leaves you gaping. Those aftershocks were so strong that it makes your eyes tear up—“I need it.” 

Before long, Gojo feels you grab onto a handful of his perspired hair and haul him even closer. And he can’t deny the way that makes his swollen tip twitch just a little harder inside you-

“I need you to c-cum inside me…” You’re pleading up at him, “Need you to- ngh, mate me, Toru.”

“Oh…” After a few more sloppy strikes, he’s letting his tail drift up from your legs to your abdomen. Just where your spine ended, you’re feeling that powerful appendage of his push up on your body and arch your hips up a bit further. “Then brace yourself, my mate.”

And it takes only a single, slammin’ thrust for him to empty out his wads of cum.

Bucketload upon bucketload that he’d been waiting to pour into you for soooooo fucking long now. Thick. Treacly. Those constant ribbons of cum web your insides like a flood, splashin’ around and helping him reach your womb in no time.

It’s just so hot and wet.

It’s just bloating up those poor pussylips of yours- before the man himself eases down his pace to better end up pushin’ those wettened wads inside.

You could physically feel the flared ridge of his mushroom tip—spreading apart those gluey walls of yours and fucking his cum even deeper. Deeper. “Fuck.” Clinging onto every nook n’ hidden cranny inside you as you’re getting utterly stuffed—straight to the brim. It’s already starting to froth outwards, “Fuck-”

“Settle, my mate.” Gojo’s dragging you in with his fluffy white tail, ears flattened in pleasure. It takes a single tug for him to jerk you down- “Shhhhhhh shhh shh, settle.”

“I’m- I’m trying—”

“We’re not even halfway done yet.”

“Pardon?”

It’s the last thing you’re hearing before Gojo jerks his hips forward and fucks his knot past that first ring of your entrance - only about halfway through.

The Hybrid King has to use his hand upon your clit to stretch your pussylips apart- to ease your elastic hole to the side just a bit before he’s siiiiiiiinking his thickened base inside. It takes a few tries - a few animalistic bucks - for him to finally fit his knot between your legs with the loudest slurp. “Got it—”

Gojo’s hissing breath cascades down the front of your body, and his clammy head drops into the crook of your neck.

“G-got you.”

Before you know it, you’re feeling the sharp punctures of his canines against your swollen scent glands. Those sensitive bumps against the side of your neck - you’d noticed them growing more and more inflamed throughout the course of the night, and they’re just so volatile as Gojo sinks his leopard-like fangs in.

You feel something deep inside you pop!

Your scent gland. Or whatever it was that humans had similar…

And he holds you there like this - like a predator with his teeth dug into the throat of his prey - until both your waves of bliss have completed. Until he’s emptied his swollen balls inside of you, and he’s completely n’ utterly sucked dry by the wettened warmth of your pussy.

You’re squirming at the feeling of his heaping puddles of ivory deep inside you—“T-Toru.”

Gojo finally pulls off with a heated pwah! and stuffs his face into the crook of your neck. “Yes, my mate?”

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Now you were officially his mate. 

His knot was pulsing deep inside you, softening ever-so-slightly as the moments pass.

You’re running your hands through his perspired air, “I just wanted to know…” Wording your sentence carefully, your sentiments hidden. “Why m-”

“Who else would it be but you?” He’s interrupting you instantly. Immediately, Gojo pulls away and peers at you with his widened eyes—“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but in this life and every other…” He grasps your hand and presses his pinkish lips to the back of it, “-this lowly hybrid has always been fated to be yours.”

“Every other?” You ask with bated breath.

“Every other.” He affirms. “In every life, we were meant to find one another…” And he looked almost shy admitting such a thing—“We hybrids…we can feel it. Though for you humans, it may not be so strong.”

“Oh.” Your mouth drops softly.

“But even if we weren’t…” Gojo finally tears his eyes off of you- as though it pained him to not have you before his gaze for even a mere moment. “—I would have found you if it tore down the Earth.”

And then you’re turning with him.

Following his line of sight.

Right to the wall of his bedroom that you’d noticed had been painted before- but never noticed exactly with what upon it—

It was a painting of you.

More specifically, of a landscape from what you’d assumed to be this very bedroom: the sprawling valleys and fields that led up to your kingdom. The thorn barrier that separated him from you. Though no barrier could ever possibly hide the spiral of your wing, the blinking light that you’d put out every night - hoping, just hoping that someone would see it and answer.

How had you not noticed this before?

Perhaps, in your own way, you’d been searching for him, too.

“I would like to stay, Satoru.” You breathe, as if a secret. “I would like to stay- and I would also like for you to love my kingdom just as much as I shall love yours.”

“Then it shall be done.” He presses his forehead to yours, “Revenge has never been my strong suit.‘

Unbeknownst to yourself, you’ve teared up- and Gojo reaches down to gently wipe those hot tears away. He murmurs deeply, “My mate…”

“Yes, my husband?”

“We’re going to rule the world.”

You’re learning two more things about hybrids in the succeeding hour. 

The first being that they really did have a particular talent for the arts - Gojo especially, considering that he’d been the one to paint most of the artworks in the palace. Including this one.

The second being that ruts last for a week.

A/N. HYBRIDS AND ROYALTY AUS MY TWO FAV THINGS-