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IN WHICH: yuji itadori has an enormous crush on y/n l/n, almost pitiful in a way, yet she barely knows who he is. thus yuji gets the brilliant idea to pretend to flunk biology so that y/n can tutor him - and he can shoot his shot.
warnings: none, just a text fic (smut incoming ;) masterlist
˚⟡˖ ࣪all work is written and owned by me, likes, comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated! do not translate, copy, modify or repost my work or feed my work into ai.
pairing: snow white's son gojo x evil queen's daughter reader
synopsis:: in a world where every legacy is bound to the ending written for them, satoru gojo was always meant to fall in love with his perfect princess, and you were always meant to become the villain in his story. but as legacy day draws closer, destiny begins to crack at the seams. because the more gojo fights for the happily ever after he was promised, the more obvious it is that his ultimate goal might not be having his happily ever after.
cw:: content: mdni. ANGST. smut, hurt/comfort, unprotected piv sex, kissing, gojo is THE yearner, pining, complicated emotions, misunderstandings, fem reader, ever after high x jujutsu kaisen universe.
art creds to @/teaforgods
6.8k words
The afternoon light filtered through the tall windows of the east tower common room, casting long golden patches across the polished wooden floors. Ever After High’s college wing hummed with its usual energy—students rushing between classes, laughter echoing down the stone corridors, the faint sparkle of unfinished spells drifting in the air. You sat on the wide velvet couch near the fireplace, legs tucked under you, a heavy destiny studies textbook open but ignored in your lap.
Satoru Gojo sprawled beside you, head resting against the back of the couch, long legs stretched out. His white hair caught the light like fresh snow, and that easy, princely smile played on his lips even now. He was Snow White’s son through and through—bright, optimistic, and completely convinced that following the script would give everyone their perfect ending.
“Come on,” he said, voice light but with that gentle push underneath. “Just think about it. Signing together would be perfect. You, me, following the path our parents set. It’s what we’re supposed to do.”
You closed the textbook with a soft thud and looked at him. The two of you had grown up together in Snow White’s castle after your mother’s fall. Snow had taken you in out of pity, raising you alongside her son like you were family. Satoru had been your constant—playmate, protector, best friend. The one person who never looked at you like the next Evil Queen in waiting.
“I’m not signing, Satoru,” you said quietly.
He turned his head toward you, blue eyes bright behind the slight tilt of his sunglasses. “You always say that. But Legacy Day is only two months away. We could practice the scene. You poison the apple, I take a bite, fall into the deep sleep. Then Utahime shows up, true love’s kiss, and we wake up to our happily ever after. It’s beautiful. Classic.”
You felt the familiar twist in your stomach. “Beautiful for you, maybe.”
He sat up straighter, turning fully to face you. One of his hands reached out and nudged your knee. “It’s beautiful for everyone. That’s the point of our stories. You get to play your role, I get mine, and everything ends right. You’ve been part of my life forever. It makes sense that you’d be the one to send me into the sleep. Who else could I trust with that?”
The words should have felt sweet. Growing up, you’d spent countless afternoons running through the castle gardens, sharing secrets under the apple trees, him promising he’d always look out for you. But every time he talked about destiny, the walls felt closer.
“I end up in the mirror prison, Satoru,” you said, voice tighter than you wanted. “Just like my mother. Trapped for the rest of my life, watching the world through glass while everyone else moves on. That’s not a happily ever after for me. That’s a life sentence.”
He frowned, but the optimistic shine didn’t leave his eyes. “It’s only temporary. The stories always balance out eventually. And I’ll visit. I’ll bring you news from outside. We can talk through the mirror. It won’t be forever.”
You stood up and walked to the window, arms crossed over your chest. The quad below was busy—students practicing lines for their own tales, others comparing destiny notes. “You make it sound so easy. Like I should be excited to lock myself away so you can get kissed awake by your princess charming.”
Satoru got up too, following you. He stopped just behind your shoulder, close enough that you could smell the faint crisp scent of apples and fresh snow that always clung to him. “Utahime is… well, she’s the one the story picked. She’ll come through when it matters. I know she will.”
A short laugh escaped you. “She hates you, Satoru.”
“She doesn’t hate me,” he said cheerfully. “She just… strongly dislikes my personality sometimes. But true love fixes that. It’s part of the narrative. She’ll see me sleeping and realize what she’s been missing. Then boom—true love’s kiss. Everything falls into place.”
You turned to face him. His expression was so sincere it hurt. This was the same boy who used to sneak you extra slices of pie when the castle cooks tried to follow the strict “evil diet” rules your mother had given snow hite through the mirror. The one who had defended you when other students whispered about your bloodline. But his belief in destiny was unshakable.
“I don’t want to poison you,” you said softly. “Even if it’s pretend. Even if it’s the story. I grew up with you. You’re… you’re important to me. More than just some step in a tale.”
His smile softened. He reached out and took your hand, squeezing it. “That’s why it has to be you. Because you care. It makes the whole thing more real. More meaningful. Come on, just say you’ll think about signing. For me?”
The pressure in his words was gentle, wrapped in that sunny tone he used so well, but it was pressure all the same. You pulled your hand back, though not harshly.
“Two months,” you reminded him. “I still have time to decide. And right now, I’m deciding no.”
He sighed, but the sigh was dramatic and theatrical, the kind meant to make you smile. “You’re killing me here. Literally, if you don’t sign. I can’t have my happily ever after without the poisoned apple part. It’s the setup. The drama. The romance.”
You rolled your eyes, some of the tension easing despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously charming,” he corrected with a grin. “That’s what they say in the previews.”
The two of you ended up back on the couch. Satoru stretched out again, this time resting his head in your lap like he used to do when you were kids hiding from lessons. You found yourself threading your fingers through his white hair without thinking, the motion familiar and comforting.
“I hate when you do this,” you muttered.
“Do what?”
“Act like everything will be perfect if we just follow the book.”
He looked up at you, blue eyes serious for once. “Because it will be. My mom got her happy ending. Your mom… well, things went wrong for her, but that doesn’t mean it has to for you. We can do it right. Together. You poison me, I sleep, Utahime kisses me, and then we all celebrate. Maybe you even get released early for good behavior. The mirrors aren’t that bad. I hear they have great lighting.”
You flicked his forehead lightly. “You’re impossible.”
He caught your hand again, holding it against his chest. “I’m hopeful. There’s a difference. And I want you to have your part in my story. You’ve always been in it, ever since Mom brought you home. Don’t you want that too?”
The question lingered between you. Part of you did—the part that remembered late-night talks in the castle, the way he made you feel less alone in a world that already labeled you as trouble. But the bigger part, the one that had nightmares about endless reflections staring back at you, refused.
“What if I don’t want to be the evil queen’s daughter in that way?” you asked quietly. “What if I just want to be… me. Not trapped. Not waiting behind glass while you live your perfect life with Utahime.”
Satoru was quiet for a moment, something rare. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Then we find a way to make the story work for both of us. But I need you to sign, at least. The rest we can figure out later. Please?”
The gentle push was back, wrapped in affection. You looked down at him, this golden boy who believed so strongly in happy endings that he couldn’t see how some endings weren’t happy for everyone involved.
“I’ll think about it,” you said finally, because saying no outright always led to more arguments, and you were tired today.
His face lit up like you’d already agreed. “That’s my girl. See? We’re already on the right path.”
You didn’t correct him. Instead you kept running your fingers through his hair while he talked about potential ceremony outfits and how he’d make sure the apple was perfectly poisoned—not too deadly, just right for the deep sleep. His voice was bright, full of excitement for the destiny he craved.
Inside, your chest felt heavy. Signing meant betrayal—of yourself, of the future you wanted, of the friendship that had kept you steady all these years. Not signing meant disappointing the one person who had never looked at you with fear or suspicion. And the risk of everyone involved in the story disappearing.
The common room slowly emptied as afternoon turned to evening. Students headed to dinner or evening rehearsals. Satoru eventually sat up, stretching dramatically.
“Want to grab something to eat? I heard they’re serving those sugar apples you like. Symbolic, right?”
You managed a small smile. “Sure.”
He stood and offered his hand. You took it, letting him pull you up. The two of you walked side by side through the corridors, shoulders brushing, the easy rhythm of years of companionship carrying you along. But every step reminded you that Legacy Day was approaching, and Satoru’s gentle pressure would only grow stronger.
Later that night, back in your dorm room, you stood in front of the tall mirror on your wall. Your reflection stared back—features that carried too much of your mother’s sharpness, eyes that already looked tired of fighting fate. You imagined glass closing in around you, years stretching out in cold silence while Satoru lived his perfect story with Utahime.
Utahime, who rolled her eyes every time Gojo tried to talk to her in the halls. Utahime, who once told him to “go find someone else to annoy for eternity” during a group project. The idea of her kissing him awake felt almost laughable. But Satoru believed it would happen. He always believed.
You touched the mirror’s surface, cool under your fingers.
“I don’t want to end up like you,” you whispered to the reflection.
No answer came. Only the faint sound of campus life outside your window—laughter, footsteps, the turning pages of countless destined stories.
Two months. That was all the time you had before you had to decide whether to poison the boy who had been your family, or risk breaking the heart of the only person who had ever truly believed in you.
You turned away from the mirror and curled up on your bed, the weight of destiny pressing down harder than the blankets. Satoru’s hopeful words still echoed in your head, gentle and relentless.
Just sign. It’ll be perfect.
But perfection, you were learning, always came at someone’s cost.
The days after your conversation in the common room grew heavier, like storm clouds gathering over the castle spires. Legacy Day was still two months away, but it felt closer every time Satoru looked at you. The easy rhythm you’d shared since childhood started to fracture, small cracks appearing in places you never expected.
You noticed it first during lunch in the grand dining hall. The long tables were filled with students comparing destiny notes and practicing lines. You sat in your usual spot beside him, poking at a plate of roasted vegetables. Satoru had always saved the best apple tarts for you, sliding them over with that bright grin. Today he didn’t.
Instead, he took the last tart for himself and said, voice light but edged, “You should probably get used to simpler meals anyway. Evil queens don’t exactly get castle banquets after they’re done with their schemes.”
The words landed like a quiet slap. You stared at him. “What?”
He shrugged, blue eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. “Just being realistic. Part of the role, right? You poison me, I sleep, you get locked away. Might as well start adjusting now.”
You set your fork down. Around you, conversations continued, but the space between you and Satoru felt suddenly loud. “That’s not funny.”
“Wasn’t trying to be funny.” He took a bite of the tart, chewing slowly. “You keep saying you’re not signing. If you don’t, you know what happens. But if you do… everything works. I get my sleep. Utahime gets her moment. You get your part in the story. Simple. I promise i'll release you someday. In ten, fifteen years maybe.”
The subtle rudeness stung more because it came wrapped in his usual cheerful tone. He wasn’t yelling. He was just… pushing. Every conversation for the next week carried the same undercurrent.
In the library archives one evening, while you were helping him research sleeping curse variations, he leaned back in his chair and sighed. “You know, if you actually cared about me following my destiny, you’d stop making this so difficult. It’s like you want me to miss my happily ever after.”
You looked up from the heavy book, chest tightening. “I grew up with you, Satoru. I do care. That’s why I don’t want to trap myself in a mirror for eternity.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Temporary. I keep telling you. But sure, keep thinking only about yourself. That’s very… evil queen-like of you.”
The comment hurt. You closed the book harder than necessary. “I’m not my mother.”
“Could’ve fooled me lately,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.
You left the library after that without saying goodbye. Tears burned behind your eyes as you walked back to your dorm through the dimly lit corridors. This wasn’t the Satoru who used to sneak into your room during thunderstorms to keep you company. This version felt calculated, like he was trying to make you angry enough to sign just to prove him wrong.
But underneath his words, you caught glimpses of something else. The way his eyes lingered when he thought you weren’t looking. The way he still sat near you in every shared class, even as his comments grew sharper. The Satoru you knew was there, buried under layers of destiny-driven stubbornness. He didn’t want you to disappear. He just wanted you to choose the story he believed in.
A few days later, you ran into him and Utahime in the training courtyard. She was practicing spellwork, her dark hair tied back, expression already annoyed as Satoru hovered nearby.
“Looking good, Princess Charming,” he called out, flashing his trademark grin. “Can’t wait for that true love’s kiss. Gonna be epic.”
Utahime shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Keep dreaming, Gojo. I’d rather kiss a frog.”
You stood a few paces away, watching. Satoru laughed it off like always, but when his gaze slid to you, the humor faded into something colder. “At least she’ll show up when it matters. Unlike some people who won’t even sign the book.”
The words were meant for you. Utahime glanced between you two, eyebrows raised, then shook her head and walked off muttering about “idiotic princes.”
Alone with him now, the courtyard felt too open, too exposed. “Why are you doing this?” you asked quietly. “Pushing me away like it’ll make me change my mind?”
Satoru crossed his arms, white hair glowing under the afternoon sun. “Because you need to see it. If you don’t sign, you disappear. Poof. No more you. And I…” He paused, jaw tightening for a second. “I need my evil queen for the story to work. It’s not the same if it’s someone else. It has to be you. We grew up together. It’s supposed to be you.”
His voice cracked just slightly on the last part. Yearning slipped through the cracks in his armor—raw and honest for a breath before he covered it again.
“Then stop being cruel,” you said, stepping closer. “Every time you say something mean, it makes me want to sign even less. I don’t want to hurt you, Satoru. But I don’t want to hurt myself either.”
He looked away, toward the enchanted apple trees lining the courtyard. “You think this is easy for me? Watching you fight the one thing that gives our lives meaning? I hate it. I hate thinking about you fading away because you’re too scared to play your part. So yeah, maybe I’m pushing. Maybe I’m being a little rude. But it’s for us. For the ending we deserve.”
You laughed bitterly. “The ending where I’m in prison and you’re happily married to someone who can’t stand you?”
“True love grows,” he insisted, but the words sounded weaker now. “It always does in the stories.”
The tension stretched between you, thick with years of shared memories and clashing futures. Part of you wanted to reach out and hug him like you did when you were kids. The other part wanted to walk away before his gentle pressure turned into something that broke you both.
Over the next week the pattern continued. Subtle jabs in the halls. “Evil queens are supposed to be decisive. Guess that part skipped you.” During group study sessions he’d sit across from you instead of beside, laughing loudly with others while occasionally shooting you looks that said he missed your company. At night, you sometimes found small gifts outside your door—an apple tart, a note with old inside jokes—only for him to act distant the next morning.
He missed you. You could feel it in the way his eyes followed you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way he lingered near your usual spots even after saying something cutting. He didn’t want you gone. He just wanted you compliant. The conflict tore at him, and he handled it by pushing harder, hoping the pressure would force your hand.
One evening you confronted him in the east tower common room again, the same place where this latest tension had started. The fire crackled low. Most students had gone to bed.
“Stop it,” you said, standing in front of him as he lounged on the couch. “The rude comments. The pushing. If you keep this up, I’m just going to avoid you until Legacy Day.”
Satoru sat up slowly. For once, the cheerful mask slipped completely. His blue eyes looked tired. “I don’t want you to disappear,” he admitted, voice quieter than usual. “That’s the last thing I want. You’ve been… you’ve been my person since we were kids. Mom brought you home and you became part of everything. But if you don’t sign, that’s what happens. You vanish. And I’m left with a story that doesn’t have its proper beginning. No poisoned apple from someone I actually trust. No real narrative.”
He stood, towering over you but somehow looking smaller. “So yeah, I’m being an ass. I’m sorry. Kind of. But I’m scared too. Scared you’ll choose nothing over the destiny that could give us both closure. Scared I’ll wake up from the sleep and you won’t even be there to see it.”
Your heart ached at the raw honesty. You wanted to tell him that his destiny wasn’t worth your freedom. That Utahime’s hatred wasn’t something a kiss could magically fix. That you loved the boy he used to be more than the prince he was trying so hard to become.
Instead you said, “I’m scared every day. Of the mirror. Of losing myself. Of signing away my future just so you can have yours.”
He reached out, fingers brushing your arm before dropping away. The touch was brief, almost hesitant. Yearning flashed across his face—clear and painful. “Just think about it. Please. Signing together… it could still be good. We could make the bad parts shorter. I’d visit every week. I’d make sure the mirror prison had the best view in the kingdom.”
The gentle push was back, softer now, mixed with genuine fear of losing you.
You stepped back. “I need space, Satoru. Stop trying to force me toward the apple. I’m not ready.”
He nodded once, but the look in his eyes said he wouldn’t stop completely. Destiny was too deeply rooted in him. As you left the common room, his voice followed you softly.
“I miss you already.”
The corridor felt colder. Less than two months until Legacy Day. The pressure was building, his rudeness a clumsy shield for how badly he wanted you in his story—and how terrified he was that refusing would make you disappear from his life entirely.
You held the wall for support, breathing slow. The boy who had been your family was turning into the prince who might break your heart before the story even properly began. And worst of all, you still cared enough that every sharp word from him cut deeper than it should.
The clock on the tower chimed softly. Time kept moving. Destiny waited. And Satoru Gojo, for all his brightness and belief, was learning that some choices couldn’t be gently pushed into place without consequences.
The east tower felt colder these days. Five weeks until Legacy Day, and Satoru Gojo couldn’t stop watching you. You sat across from him in the library again, flipping through a book you clearly weren’t reading. Your shoulders were tense, the way they got whenever he brought up the Storybook. He hated it. Hated the distance growing between you when all he wanted was to keep you close forever.
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, forcing that light tone he knew annoyed you lately. “Still pretending you have a choice? Come on. Signing isn’t that bad. You do your part, I do mine. Everything works out.”
You looked up, eyes sharp. “Stop pushing, Satoru.”
He shrugged like it didn’t matter, but inside his chest twisted hard. He didn’t care about the sleeping curse or Utahime or any of it. The happily ever after they wrote for him meant nothing if you weren’t in this world to see it. He had loved you since you were children running through the castle halls. Loved you in the quiet way that grew deeper every year. But saying it now would only make you pull away more. So he kept being an ass. If you hated him enough, maybe you’d sign just to get it over with. Maybe you’d stay.
“Fine,” he said, standing up. “Keep delaying. But when you disappear because you refused, don’t expect me to act surprised.”
He walked out before you could answer, jaw tight. The hallway blurred a little as he moved. Five weeks. That was all the time left to convince you. He would rather watch you poison him a thousand times than live in a world where you simply stopped existing.
That night he couldn’t sleep. He ended up on the balcony of his dorm, staring at the stars above the towers. Memories kept surfacing, especially the old ones.
He remembered when you were both six. Snow White’s castle gardens in full bloom, apple trees heavy with fruit. You had scraped your knee falling from a low branch. He had run over, clumsy and small, pressing a slightly dirty handkerchief to the cut.
“It’s okay,” he had said, all serious innocence. “I’ll marry you one day. Then I can protect you from everything. Even high branches.”
You had laughed through your tears, calling him silly. He meant it with every part of his little heart. Even then, the idea of you not being there beside him felt wrong. He still meant it now. But the story demanded a different path, and he was terrified the book would erase you if you refused it.
He clenched his fists on the balcony railing. “Just sign,” he whispered to the night air. “Please.”
The next few weeks dragged and flew at the same time. Four weeks left. He kept the pressure on, subtle but constant. In the dining hall he sat with others more often, laughing louder than necessary whenever you passed by. “Evil queens are supposed to be decisive,” he’d say if you got too close. “Guess some people just want to fade out instead.”
Every sharp word tasted bitter on his tongue. He saw the hurt flash across your face and it killed him inside. But he couldn’t stop. If softness brought you closer, then cruelty might force your hand toward the quill. He needed you here. Alive. Even if it meant you hated him by the end.
Three weeks left. You avoided him in the corridors now. He still found excuses to be where you were—training yard when you practiced spells, library when you studied late. One afternoon he cornered you near the enchanted fountains.
“You used to trust me,” he said, voice low. “We grew up together. I looked out for you when no one else wanted the Evil Queen’s daughter around. And now you won’t even do this one thing for me?”
You stared at him, pain clear in your eyes. “This one thing traps me forever, Satoru.”
He wanted to scream that he didn’t care about forever for himself. That the only forever he feared was one without you in it. Instead he laughed, cold and short. “Selfish. That’s new.”
He walked away before the guilt choked him.
The days blurred. He threw himself into rehearsals, practicing his lines for Legacy day while his mind stayed on you. Utahime rolled her eyes through every session, making it clear she wanted nothing to do with the script. He barely noticed. She wasn’t the one he needed to stay.
Two weeks left. He left small notes under your door again—old jokes from childhood, drawings of the two of you as kids under the apple trees. Then he acted like they meant nothing when he saw you. “Don’t read too much into it,” he said once when you tried to thank him. “Just habit. You’ll be gone soon if you keep this up.”
He saw you cry once, from a distance, hidden behind a pillar in the west courtyard. His hands shook for hours afterward. He loved you. Had loved you since you were small and he promised marriage like it was the simplest truth in the world. Now he was breaking both of you to keep you here.
One week left. The campus buzzed with Legacy Day nerves. Students practiced signatures and final fittings. Satoru found you in the common room late one night, the fire low and the space almost empty. You looked tired. He hated that he had caused some of it.
“Three weeks ago you said you’d think about it,” he said, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. “Time’s running out. I need you to sign.”
You didn’t look at him. “Why do you care so much? You get your princess either way.”
He almost told you then. Almost admitted that Utahime’s kiss meant nothing compared to the years of quiet love he carried for you. That he would happily sleep for a hundred years if it guaranteed you stayed in this world. But he bit it back. Hate me, he thought. Hate me and sign. Just don’t disappear.
“Because you’re supposed to be part of it,” he answered instead. “My story doesn’t start right without you.”
You stood up. “I’m not poisoning you just so I can rot in a mirror.”
He stayed seated as you left, staring at the empty space where you had been. The ache in his chest felt permanent now.
Five days left. He stopped the cruel comments. The pressure remained but quieter, heavier with everything he couldn’t say. He watched you from across rooms, memorizing the way you moved, the sound of your voice when you spoke to others. Every night he lay awake thinking about that six-year-old promise in the garden. He had meant it. Still meant it. If the story let him, he would choose you over any destined princess.
Three days before Legacy Day the tension felt unbearable. The grand hall was already being decorated—banners, the Storybook pedestal polished and waiting. Satoru found you on the balcony of the east tower at dusk, the same one where he had stood alone weeks ago. You leaned on the railing, looking out over the darkening campus.
He stepped beside you, close but not touching. For a long moment neither of you spoke.
“I don’t want you to go,” he said finally, voice rough. “Not like that. Not erased. I’d rather have you hate me and stay than lose you completely.”
You turned your head. “Then stop trying to force me into the mirror prison.”
He swallowed hard. The truth sat right there on his tongue—I’ve been in love with you since we were kids. Since I promised to marry you under the apple trees. But he held it in. If you knew, you might choose to run. Better you think he was just a destiny-obsessed prince.
“I can’t,” he whispered. “I need you here. Even if it means you’re angry at me forever.”
The sun dipped lower, painting the towers in soft oranges and reds. He wanted to reach for your hand like he did when you were small. Instead he kept still, heart heavy with all the love he couldn’t confess and all the fear of a world without you in it.
Three days. That was all that remained. He would keep pushing until the last moment, hoping it would be enough. Because the alternative—waking up one day to find you had simply vanished from existence—was something he couldn’t survive.
He stayed on the balcony long after you left, the evening wind cool against his skin. Inside his chest the years of quiet love burned stronger than ever. You had been his since childhood. He just needed the story to let him keep you.
The night before Legacy Day, the campus was eerily quiet. Most students had gone to bed early, nerves and excitement stealing their rest. Satoru couldn’t sleep. The pressure in his chest had built for weeks until it finally snapped.
He walked the empty corridors of the east tower in silence, white hair messy, sunglasses left behind in his room. His heart hammered harder with every step closer to your dorm. When he reached your door, he didn’t knock softly. He didn’t hesitate. He knocked hard, three sharp raps that echoed down the hall.
You opened the door in sleep clothes, eyes wide with surprise. “Satoru? It’s late. What are you—”
He stepped inside without waiting, closing the door behind him. The room was dim, lit only by a small enchanted lantern on your desk. He looked at you for one long second, all the years of love and fear crashing together, then cupped your face with both hands and kissed you.
It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, months of aching poured into the press of his mouth. You stiffened at first, then softened, hands coming up to grip his shirt. When he pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against yours.
“I’m in love with you,” he said, voice raw and shaking. “I have been since we were kids. Since that day in the garden when I was six and told you I’d marry you one day. I meant it. I still mean it.”
Your breath caught. “Satoru…”
“I don’t care about Utahime. I don’t care about the sleeping curse or any of it. I only pushed you to sign because I can’t live in a world without you. If you don’t sign tomorrow, you disappear. You’re gone. Erased. And I’d rather watch you poison me and visit you in that mirror prison for the rest of my life than wake up one day and know you don’t exist anymore.”
Tears stung his eyes but he blinked them back. His hands trembled against your cheeks. “I need you here. Even if you hate me. Even if you’re trapped. Just… here. With me. Please.”
You whispered his name again, something broken in your voice. He kissed you once more, deeper this time, walking you backward until your legs hit the bed. “Just let me have this tonight,” he murmured against your lips. “Please. One night before everything changes.”
You nodded, pulling him down with you.
Clothes came off in a rush. His shirt, your sleep top, pants shoved down and kicked aside. He laid you on the bed and settled between your legs in missionary, skin against skin. No protection. No prep. He didn’t even think about it. He needed to feel all of you.
At first it was rough. He pushed into you in one deep thrust, groaning at the tight, silky heat surrounding him. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. He set a hard pace right away, hips snapping against yours, burying himself as deep as he could go. The bed creaked under you. Every thrust was urgent, almost angry, like he could fuck away the fear of losing you.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your neck, biting down gently. “You feel so good. So fucking perfect.”
He gripped your hips harder, angling deeper, pounding into you with weeks of pent-up emotion. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the small room, mixed with your moans and his low, broken grunts. He kissed you messily, tongue sliding against yours, then moved down to suck marks into your neck and collarbone like he needed to leave proof that tonight happened.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts, whispering his name like a prayer. The roughness slowly shifted. His movements grew slower, more deliberate. He pulled back to look at you, blue eyes dark and wet with emotion as he rolled his hips deep and steady, grinding against that spot inside you that made your breath hitch.
“I love you,” he whispered again, voice cracking. “I’ve always loved you.”
Every slow thrust felt like a confession. He savored the drag of your walls around his bare cock, the way you clenched when he hit deep. His hand slid between you, thumb circling your clit in slick strokes while he kept that unhurried rhythm. Tears built in his eyes again but he kept them from falling where you could see, pressing his face into the crook of your neck instead.
You came first, trembling beneath him, crying out his name as your walls pulsed around his length. The feeling dragged him right after you. He thrust deep one last time and stayed there, spilling inside you in thick, warm pulses, hips jerking with every wave. He kept moving slowly through it, drawing it out, filling you completely.
When it ended, he stayed buried inside you, arms wrapped tight around your body. Silent tears slipped down his cheeks. He hid them against your neck, shoulders shaking just slightly as he held you like you might vanish at any second. The love he’d carried since childhood poured out in those quiet tears. He didn’t let you see. He couldn’t. Not tonight.
He stayed like that for a long time, breathing you in, feeling your heartbeat against his chest. Tomorrow Legacy Day would come. Tomorrow you might sign or you might not. But tonight you were here, warm and real and wrapped around him.
“I can’t lose you,” he whispered so softly you might not have heard it. “I won’t.”
He eventually pulled out gently, rolling to the side and pulling you against his chest. His arms stayed locked around you all night, one leg thrown over yours like even in sleep he refused to let go. The lantern burned low. Outside, the campus slept under the weight of destiny.
But in your dorm, Satoru Gojo held the only person who had ever truly mattered to him, heart still raw, body spent, tears dried on his skin where you couldn’t see them.
One night wasn’t enough. But it was all he had asked for.
And for those few hours, it felt like everything.
The grand hall buzzed with nervous energy on Legacy Day. Students filled the rows in their finest clothes—gowns, tailored coats, crowns and tiaras polished to perfection. Satoru Gojo stood near the front in a crisp white suit that hugged his frame perfectly, the fabric gleaming under the enchanted lights. His white hair was tamed for once, swept back neatly instead of its usual wild mess. He looked every bit the prince he was supposed to be.
But inside, his stomach twisted. His hands felt clammy. He kept glancing across the aisle to where you sat, dressed up and beautiful in the front row. Every time your eyes met, his chest ached. You hadn’t given him an answer. Not after last night. Not after he had kissed you, confessed, and buried himself inside you like the world was ending.
He was supposed to sign second, right after Sukuna.
Headmaster Grimm called the first name. Ryomen Sukuna stepped onto the stage in his true form—four arms, two faces, monstrous and unapologetic. The hall quieted. Satoru watched, breath tight, as Sukuna approached the Storybook of Legends. The quill hovered in one of his hands.
The entire hall seemed to hold its breath.
Sukuna looked down at the book for a long second. Then he placed the quill down with a deliberate click. His voice rang out, loud and clear.
“I won’t sign it.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Grimm’s face tightened. “Mr. Sukuna, this is not a choice—”
“I said I won’t,” Sukuna cut him off, the second face echoing with a growl. “I’m not accepting the beauty they want to force on me. Not Yorozu. Not anyone. My story ends here if it has to. But it ends on my terms.”
Silence crashed over the hall.
Satoru’s heart pounded so hard he could hear it in his ears. A full minute stretched out, thick and unbearable. No one moved. No one breathed. He waited, just like everyone else, for Sukuna to start fading—shimmering out of existence like all the old warnings promised.
But nothing happened.
Sukuna remained solid on the stage, four arms relaxed, two faces calm. The seconds ticked by. One minute passed. Then more. Still nothing. No disappearance. Just Sukuna, real and defiant.
A quiet murmur spread through the crowd, growing into stunned whispers. Satoru felt something crack open inside his chest. His eyes subtly grew shinier, a glassy sheen he tried to blink away as he turned his head across the aisle.
You were already looking at him.
Your gaze locked with his, wide and full of the same stunned hope. For the first time in weeks, Satoru felt the crushing weight on his lungs lift, even if only a little. If Sukuna could refuse and stay… maybe the rules weren’t absolute. Maybe you didn’t have to disappear.
His hands trembled at his sides. He wanted to run to you right then, pull you into his arms like he had last night, and beg you one more time. But his name was called next.
“Next—Satoru Gojo.”
The hall quieted again as he walked up the steps. His white suit felt too tight now. Every eye was on him. He stopped in front of the Storybook, staring at the golden pages. The quill waited.
He thought of last night—your body under his, the way you whispered his name, the tears he hid in your neck. He thought of six-year-old you laughing in the garden when he promised to marry you someday. He thought of a world without you in it and felt sick.
Satoru picked up the quill. His fingers shook.
He looked out into the audience again, straight at you. Your eyes were shiny too, lips slightly parted.
For a long moment he said nothing. The pressure of destiny, of years believing in the script, warred with the raw fear of losing the only person he had ever truly loved.
He set the quill down without signing.
A new wave of gasps filled the hall.
Satoru’s voice came out steady, though his heart raced. “I won’t sign either. Not if it means forcing her into a prison just so I can follow some perfect ending.”
Grimm looked stunned. The silence returned, heavier this time.
Satoru stepped back from the podium, eyes never leaving yours. The fear was still there—sharp and real—but so was the fragile spark of hope Sukuna had just proven possible.
He walked off the stage, straight toward you. Students parted as he moved down the aisle in his white suit, hair starting to fall out of place again. When he reached you, he didn’t care who was watching. He pulled you up gently and wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your hair for a brief second.
“We’ll figure it out,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Together. I’m not losing you. Not today. Not ever.”
You held him back just as tightly. Around you, the Legacy Day ceremony continued in chaos, but for Satoru Gojo, the only story that mattered was the one where you stayed.
lmk if you would like to be tagged in the next acts
HEAVEN CAN WAIT; guardian angel satoru gojo x reader
in which: satoru gojo’s human life has become a string of non-chronological blurs. his mortal attachments are things of the past; such faraway memories he can barely recall their origins. the only memory he holds dear, the one he keeps close to his heart is that of his lover- y/n l/n. at the crossroads of death satoru offered two paths; he can become a guardian angel and watch over her until her own menial existence comes to an end; or he can ascend straight into heaven. the idea of being reunited with his woman is enough to kick start his dormant heart back into overdrive, and thus, satoru becomes a guardian angel. after months of watching, months of being close enough to see yet too faraway to touch, utterly helpless in his desperation to be reunified; satoru gojo gets that exact opportunity. and he wastes no time at all in making up for the time they lost.
wc: 6.1k masterlist.
warnings! smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, soft dom gojo, minors dni. slight angst? (but lots of comfort ;)
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅
grief is indescribable feeling.
it's not clean, nor simple to navigate. it's not a sensation that settles then dissipates in a matter of weeks. grief is messy, intangible. it's harsh and ragged one day and a burning anger the next. it's an amalgamation of negativity all at once; and at times, complete numbness. it's a constant lacking, a constant reminder of what once was.
it's strange, really. it's such a crushing blow that it's truly bizzare the effects it takes on one's psyche. something so intangible, something that cannot even be seen has the power to completely wreck a persons life.
yet what was even strange was witnessing someone grieve oneself.
satoru gojo would be lying if he said he deserved to go to heaven. like everyone, he's made his fair share of mistakes in his life; committed many a sin. yet when death embraced him and his options were outlined, had he been able to convey emotion shock would be evident.
death was warm, a mellow solace. death cradled him in its arms and begged him to stay, craved his ascension. yet satoru still thought of his earthly attachments, of the other half of his heart still on earth. how could he leave when the woman he adored was longing for his return?
so he told the angels no.
and that is how guardian angel satoru was incarnate.
much like the entirety of satoru's otherworldly existence; being a guardian angel was incredibly strange. he felt nothing, he said nothing, he thought nothing. he merely existed within time and space. the barren landscape in his heart where feeling once lay was replaced by a humdrum of satisfaction. never anything too intense, never anything more than a modicum of sensation. the emotions he felt were subdued, he was unable to breach the 3d, to feel, to touch. he merely floated in a strange space between the earth and whatever lay beyond.
cursed (or blessed, as he saw it) to remain tied to the attachment that prevented him from crossing the final path.
his attachment lay in the woman he loved. y/n l/n. his girlfriend, his woman, his soulmate at that. how could he bare to part from her? satoru had promised her this life and the next, so here he was. floating about what was once their shared bathroom; white pearlescent wings curled as he bobbed behind her.
not that she could see him. she had told shoko that she could still feel his presence; but their friend chalked it up to grieving despair. no one would assume that y/n was in fact correct.
satoru did what he always did. he watched. he watched as y/n completed her morning rituals. her soft dewy makeup, her hair styled meticulously in the way he always liked it - her own homage to him. her gold jewellery, the shiny stud in her nose. he watched as she dressed, capris and pretty sandals: her nails a shocking red which complimented her skin tone perfectly. she moved seamlessly having completed her daily routines time and time again, but it never grew old for satoru. human satoru had enjoyed watching y/n get ready too.
when all he did was watch; it was easy for satoru to notice what would otherwise be unnoticed. the little things.
she tossed her belongings into a simple little handbag. the simplicity of the bag juxtaposed its price. she never had been one for eccentricities. human satoru had gifted it to her for a birthday... or maybe an anniversary? he didn't know, his human days seemed a blur.
oh well.
satoru trailed after her as she strutted through the hallway. making sure all the doors and windows were locked, her small tasks before she inevitably braved the outside world. he stopped in his tracks when she seemed to sway suddenly at the altar she had set up to him.
it was a small thing really, a tiny homage to the man she loved. incense burned softly throughout the day, a photograph stood proudly in an ornate frame. the urn which contained the remainder of satoru's mortal existence stood nearby it; polished and perfect.
he would've hated seeing her do this; human satoru. closing her eyes and muttering soundlessly as she bid a farewell to him every time she left the house. he wouldn't have wanted her to feel anything but joy. but human satoru had no say anymore, his time had passed.
it's not like guardian angel satoru could do anything about it.
in the beginning he had tried to communicate with her. screaming and shouting, singing, anything to grab his woman's attention. it had been to no avail. y/n had no idea he was there. his pale hands had reached for her, for anything but they merely passed though him or slipped out of his grip. he was completely and utterly helpless to the 3d; unable to breach the barrier between the two worlds, merely residing in constant observation.
such a boring and mediocre existence.
her eyes fluttered open and she offered the portrait a smile. it was a silly photograph, one of the pair of them on their first date but it was a photo they had both cherished deeply. it was the beginning of something great.
was.
where was it y/n was going again? ah, yes. brunch with shoko and utahime. it has been the formers idea, a way to get y/n out of the house and satoru's girl had obliged. she admitted that her coping mechanisms were less than healthy.
satoru followed after her as she stepped out of the door and locked it; rushing down the steps to make it for her uber. usually, the woman would be walked bur she didn’t want to risk being anymore late. he crouched awkwardly in the seat next to her, which was silly really as he could've just sat on the roof of the car and it would've had the same effect. he was tied to y/n by some sort of invisible string, forced to go wherever she went, always in the same vicinity.
not that he was complaining. he wouldn't ever have it any other way.
he traipsed behind her as she made it to the brunch spot, waving at shoko and utahime as she stepped out of the uber. it seemed like a quaint little place, with a flowery outside seating area. the windows were stained glass displaying colourful motifs, the entirety of the stone wall covered with scaling wisteria and ivy plants. satoru surmised that utahime must've chosen it.
shoko, surprisingly, had not yet filled the ashtray and satoru was sure she had been waiting for a while- y/n was never early. it was a bad habit that had only worsened when she and satoru got together, the pair were always tardy. shoko hadn't changed. her hair was the same, straight and shiny like a chestnut curtain, her eyes tired, and her manicured hand clutched tightly in utahime's grip. utahime seemed to have dressed up for the occasion, a pastel sundress on her frame with a matching bow in her hair. just as cute as she always was.
everything was the same, except it wasn't. because the seat next to y/n which would've been occupied was gapingly empty.
their entire brunch date was a complete blur to satoru seeing as he spent the entire time staring at y/n. the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, the way she bit her lip as she read the menu; deciphering which was the correct choice. the lovely melodic cacophony which sounded out of her when she giggled at her friends light bickering. by the time they stood up to pay the bill and leave, satoru had blinked.
it would've made human satoru very happy to see y/n enjoying herself. he almost wished that she could stay with shoko and utahime for the entire day if it would take her mind off of the negative.
satoru observed as the trio stood from their seats, thanking the patrons. they walked out of the restaurant, chatting absentmindedly about their plans for the week. utahime complained about her students, and y/n laughed.
"how are you getting home?" shoko asked y/n, a small frown on her face. she hated the idea of her best friend all alone in that massive house.
"i'll walk!" y/n said brightly. shoko and utahime exchanged a look.
"no, honestly! it's such a nice day out i want to enjoy it."
y/n smiled, human satoru's favourite sight by far. her friends dropped the subject, knowing when not to push. utahime changed the subject suddenly by complaining about shoko's snoring. human satoru would've liked that too, he always did like teasing his friends; and shoko had been one of his oldest friends.
y/n turned her head towards shoko, teasing her friend for her snoring with a slight laugh. the action had been so impulsive that y/n hadn't realised where she was going, or what was coming towards her.
it was as fast as a strike of lighting. y/n's entire body stepped off of the cobbled pavement and into the road, a speeding bmw whizzed round the corner with no intention of stopping. satoru's mind was suddenly filled with the gut wrenching vision of his girl on the floor, crushed by the blow of the car with gruesome injuries to boot; her blood staining the road red. if he had a beating heart, it would be soared.
he moved without thinking, without thinking of the fact that he wasn't human; she couldn't see him. his hands reached for her shoulders, dragging her onto the pavement.
"y/n!" he exclaimed, his voice hollow and booming.
just as the words left his mouth, he felt enraged with himself. how could he be so stupid? she couldn't hear him. what good would it do if he screamed and shouted?
satoru's panic only worsened as y/n's head whipped towards where he was, her eyes wide with shock. his pale hands still wrapped across her shoulders, and as he tugged them off of her he seemed to make contact. y/n stumbled back, almost tripping over herself as she fell onto the pavement, the breeze of the bmw's passing kicking up all sorts of debris onto her legs.
her eyes never left his. even as shoko and utahime gasped in surprise and scooped her off of the floor. even as they panicked and asked her hurriedly if she was okay. nothing else seemed to matter. she was entranced.
"satoru?" she breathed, voice no louder than a whisper.
"you can see me?" he sucked in a breath, eyes wide. oh, how he had longed for this day.
y/n nodded, a short jerk of the head which would be completely missed by the untrained eye. but he saw it, satoru saw everything. her eyes were wide with panic, her bottom lip trembling slightly.
"satoru?" she breathed again, and her shaking hand came up into the air as though she was going to stroke his face. satoru jerked away in reflex, and a flicker of hurt flashed through y/n's wide eyes.
"satoru? no y/n he's not here. oh shoko, shes in shock!" utahime moaned, a firm grasp on her friends bicep. "did the car hit her?"
shoko frowned, cigarette lolling from her bottom lip. "no it missed her. i think she's just out of it."
human satoru would've mocked shoko's response. the omniscient doctor that diagnoses her patience with 'being out of it'. but guardian angel satoru could barely move from where he stood before y/n, his azure gaze locked by her glowing orbs. could she truly see him? how could that be? it had been weeks; perhaps months since satoru's incarnation onto the earth. how could she suddenly see him now?
the gap in his chest where his heart would be twisted.
shoko and utahime firmly refused to allow y/n to walk home on her own, ignoring her incessant pleas. once they had dutifully concluded that she did not, in fact require medical attention; they forced her to drink a cup of water that had been brought over by a bystander who witnessed the entire ordeal- then practically frogmarched her the whole way back to her apartment. satoru trailed after he like he always did, his wings curled in fear. strange feelings spread across his body, his eyes never leaving the back of y/n's head. one thought remained in his mind.
'did she really see me?'
it didn't help that every so often, y/n glanced over her shoulder, eyes on fire as she looked directly at satoru. he couldn't tell whether she was looking at him, or at the space he occupied. was it him she was searching for, or rather the absence of his presence? satoru couldn't be sure. yet y/n's hands hadn't stopped shaking since her eyes locked work his, and her mouth kept moving as though she was whispering something strange to herself.
shoko and utahime made sure to walk y/n up the stairs to her flat, watching carefully as she unlocked the door and situated herself. they forced her to drink more water, to change into her pyjamas and lay down. shoko gave her express orders that she was not to leave her flat for the next 24 hours while the shock wore off. her friends didn't fully trust her behaviours yet. as far as they were concerned, she had suffered a near death experience then muttered incoherently about her dead boyfriend for twenty minutes. it was a volatile and bizarre reaction, one that would surely not end well.
satoru stayed as far away from y/n as he could while her friends made sure she was settled; which, in fact was not very far at all. he was only just next to her bedroom door, peeking through the gap every now and again to catch her eyes. and he did so every single time. what was this feeling that he felt? panic? nerves? oh god, he didn't know. had he done something? had he finally done what everyone had joked and turned y/n crazy?
for such a transcendent being, his mind was being extremely limited in its rambling. his thoughts were loose ends, messy. when shoko and utahime finally left, satoru was in such a mess of nervousness he didn't know what to do with himself.
for he had longed for this for so long. he had craved y/n's attention, to be the object of her attention, her desire once more. he longed for the day where she would finally see him, speak to him, touch him even. under the moons graceful kiss he watched y/n dream and was swept up by dreams of his own; dreams of the day she would finally regard him. and now she had, and he was reduced to a stressed, blubbering mess.
he shut his eyes then opened them, white eyelashes fluttering. he was being silly. y/n had tasted death and thought of her only connection to it, which was her boyfriend. she hadn't seen him. she was in shock and he was being silly. after all, how did he know any of this was even real? for all he knew this could all be a strange dream. a strange bridge between the two paths. he was being extremely stupid. human satoru had overthought, had to think of explanations to every single thing. he was no longer human satoru, he was more than any of this.
he floated round the corner and into her bedroom, fluttering his wings as he did so. y/n had her back turned to him, but her ears seemed to prickle as he entered her vicinity. satoru could hear her breathing, how it staggered, how her heart rate seemed to pick up.
she glanced over her shoulder tentatively, as though she was afraid of what lay behind her. y/n's eyes went wide once more, her eyebrows furrowed deeply - a telltale sign that she was on the verge of tears.
"i'm being crazy." she whispered to herself, hands wrapping around her shoulders in a gentle touch. "he's not really there."
she laughed a hollow laugh, as though her so called insanity was somehow funny. satoru opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
"y/n." he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. she couldn't see him, it was impossible.
her shoulders shook, and her head whirled around towards the angel once more. the expression on her face was enough to tear satoru in two, something so anguished and painful it hurt him to even see.
"satoru?" she said in the same cadence, as though she was questioning herself. "you're not there... you can't be!"
"i'm here." he said softly, gliding through the air towards her. her breathing became laboured as anxiety tore through her.
"no... you can't be." she repeated slowly, tears welling in her wide eyes. her bottom lip trembled. she chuckled slightly, shaking her pretty head. "i'm going crazy."
"you're not crazy." satoru answered, voice low. he sat before her on the bed, which strangely seemed to sink as he did so; as though it was accommodating his weight. "can you really see me?"
she shook her head once more, tears streaming down her face in an endless torrent of upset. a sob wracked through her, and satoru frowned.
"i'm going crazy." she said for a third time, a choked sound escaping her throat. she gripped her face with her hands, hiding herself from the angel before her. "you're not here."
"i'm here." he repeated again. satoru shut his eyes for a moment, sighing deeply. this was awful, nothing like the heartfelt and romantic reunion he had imagined before. what a stupid, naive idiot he had been. how could he have thought that a reunion would seem like insanity to his woman? he had left her, not by his own will, of course, but left her nonetheless. she had no idea he had been watching over her this entire time.
she peeked at him through a gap in her fingers, eyes darting across his figure. she could hardly believe that what she was seeing was real, that the man before her was the deceased man she loved- for how could she? she had grieved him, she had cremated him, she had held herself while they sobbed at his funeral. she had woken up alone in an empty bed in an unnaturally quiet house. months of agonising loneliness, of unshakeable quiet and now on a random saturday he appeared before her?
she must have been going insane. y/n made a mental note to make an appointment with a therapist.
he looked like satoru, sounded like him too. but something was off. he was wearing a strange outfit, a sort of silk set of robes. his skin was still the smooth milky pale she had always loved, but there was a sheen to it, a sort of pearlescent glow. his hair was the same, his eyes were free of any sort of covering; a stunning cerulean blinking back at her, encaged by a flurry of long white eyelashes. the look of concern on his face was so intense, so much like the look he had given her in his mortal life that it sent panic surging through her.
what the hell was going on?
she wanted it to be him. she wanted it to be her satoru so badly. she wanted to believe that he had come back for her, that he had never left but her mind couldn't shake the horrible sinking feeling that something was terribly wrong. this was not real, it couldn't be. it was simply impossible.
her hand moved without thinking. it reached forward, slowly, hesitantly gliding through air and space until it made contact with his wrist. he jolted wildly at the touch, mouth agape. her fingers tingled as she felt the cool skin beneath them, trembling at the brief contact.
he was there. he was solid and he was real. she had felt it. his wrist was cold, much like a marble statue; but it was there. hallucinations were not tangible. satoru was.
y/n shot up from the bed, shaking her head over and over again. this must be a bad dream. something in that cafe has caused her to experience hallucinations, bad ones. there was no way any of this could be possible.
"you can touch me?" satoru murmured, hand flexing. he glanced at y/n curiously, an underlying excitement in his words. "you can see me and you can touch me?"
"you're not real." y/n said without thinking. she looked away; then glanced back at him and nodded slightly. she could see him, and she had touched him.
joy graced satoru's heavenly features, spreading across his face like a watercolour painting. he ran a hand through his hair, smiling softly to himself before plunging towards y/n.
she had no time to react. no time to back away or deny the contact. satoru threw himself at her, strong arms stretched around her body, wrapping her in a tight embrace. he was cold, yet so comforting. it was the embrace she had sought solace in so many time before. her body was stiff upon initial impact but before long she found herself simply melting into his touch, allowing him to feel her.
tears flowed. sobs wracked through her, unrelenting. she couldn't wrap her head around what was going on, but she could at least enjoy it, couldn't she? even if this was a hallucination, a bad reaction to whatever he had eaten at least she had a chance for closure, for a real goodbye.
"don't cry, my baby. please, don't cry." satoru said, his hand reaching to stroke the top of y/n's head. she cried harder.
"you left me." she sobbed, words muffled. "you said you would never leave, but you did."
"i know. i'm sorry." he said. "but i never left you, not really. i've been here this entire time."
y/n said nothing, and they pulled away eventually. she sniffled hard, blinking back the pools of tears building in her eyes. she glanced up at him through her eyelashes.
"what do you mean, satoru?" she whispered. "you're not real. this is all just has to be a strange dream•
"im not a dream, i promise. i've been here this entire time."
y/n shook her head, her meticulously groomed eyebrows furrowed in confusion. she frowned too, overwhelmed and utterly baffled at what was occurring.
"i don't understand." she said after a while, her voice was shaky and uneven. "i really don't understand what's going on."
"it's probably easier if i show you." satoru replied, straightening himself up.
"show me what?"
satoru didn't reply with words, he merely allowed himself to stand straight at his full stature, then, he spread his wings grandly, allowing them to flutter as they extended to their full wingspan. the feathered twinkled under the dim lighting, almost winking at y/n as he shook them out. he made a big show of stretching out his arms too, a performance much like the show of a male peacock to its female counterparts.
y/n's widened, her mouth slightly agape as she was entranced by his heaven like appearance. she hadn't been able to see his wings from where they were tucked behind his back before, but now, at full capacity she was utterly awestruck. it was like nothing she had ever seen before, captivating in their curiosity. they were almost nothing like a birds wings, so beautifully unique.
y/n thought back to when she had played the angel gabriel in her schools nativity as a child. none of those cheap, frilly costumes could compare to the sheer size and illustrious nature of the real thing. how naive humankind has been, to think that an angels transcendence could be defined with a halo made of tinsel and a pair of cardboard wings.
"you're an angel!" she exclaimed, and satoru smiled. not the picture perfect smile he had offered over the years, no, the smile he kept only for her. the crooked, toothy smile that encompassed his boyish nature. her stomach twisted and her heart skipped a beat. he was here. he had come to see her. she hadn't been alone all of this time!
"i'm your guardian angel." he answered, stepping back towards her. "i've been watching you for months."
"i never saw you." she said, like it was a confession. satoru almost laughed at how silly the concept was.
"you weren't meant to. i don't know how, or why you can see me now." he confessed, the latter part almost making him feel nervous.
this reunification was a gift, it was all he had longed for since he shut his eyes for good. but it happened so quickly, so randomly, surely it could be taken away just as sporadically?
he came close to y/n until he was at the edge of the bed, right next to where she sat. he knelt down until he was at eye level with the woman, their fingers brushing in the process. satoru nearly jumped at the tingling in his extremities at the feel of her skin, the way it seemed to light them to life. her piercing gaze met his cerulean irises, almost lost in the swirl of pale blue.
"can i... can i touch them?" she asked shyly, gesturing to his wings. satoru nodded. god, how he had longed to feel her touch on his skin, anywhere. how he had longed for her warmth, her smoothness, her loving caress. his muscles tensed at the anticipation, his abdomen swirling in excitement. please, he almost said, please do touch them.
lost in desire, he hadn't noticed y/n's outstretched hand, or the way her fingers reached for him. he didn't realise she was touching him, well, until he felt the divine sensation of her fingertips threading through his wings, almost stroking them.
his shoulders jerked, his back almost arched in satisfaction. the way her smaller fingers felt between the feathers, the soft touch of her skin against his most neglected place. she was soft, hesitant even, avoiding harsh touches or being rough, just curiously stroking the feathers on his back. she grew more bold, harsher touches, closer to the base of his wings - where he was the most sensitive.
he shuddered, a breathy moan tearing through his throat. y/n retracted her hand abruptly.
"did you just... moan?" she asked. satoru nodded slowly.
"felt nice."
y/n giggled at his candour, god how she had missed it. how she had missed hearing him, not only hearing his prayers of pleasure, but just hearing his witty quips; his silly jokes, all of it. she wished he had never departed from her. wished she had done more while he was still here.
'well, he's here now.' a sneaky little voice in the back of her head said. y/n bit her lip, her eyes boring holes into satoru's pearlescent ones. he was here now, sat before her, almost kneeling in prayer between her legs.
she reached for him, hands wrapping around the back of his neck, fingers interlacing themselves within his white locks. her lips moved with practiced precision, pressing themselves against his plush ones. satoru melted into her touch, much like he always had. his lips responded instantly. the kiss was messy, it was months of unheard confessions, of longing for the other person. it was hunger, their craving to feel each other once more. y/n's lips parted with ease, teeth clashing and tongues meeting in desperation.
when they pulled apart she was breathless and rather flushed. satoru's lips were blushed with the pressure, and her heart skipped a beat. it was so strange, so insanely otherworldly to finally get something you had longed for for so long. something so seemingly impossible finally become possible. she couldn't get enough, she was becoming greedy now. who knew how long she would be able to experience him again? experience his love for her once more?
if she repeated this to one of her friends they would have her sectioned almost immediately. yet y/n knew this was not a hallucination. this was complexly and utterly real, this was a miracle. and she'd be damned if she let it go to waste.
this time, satoru reached for her. his hand wrapped around her throat the way it always had, soft, yet present. his lips found solace against hers, an orchestration of desire. he was becoming hedonistic, so overcome with his desire that he had completely forgotten that she still needed to breathe. he pulled away instantly, muttering a soft apology and pressing a kiss to the side of her mouth. then her chin, her jaw, her neck, her collarbone until his sharp canines were nipping playfully at her throat.
"i missed you." he breathed into her and he felt her smile.
"i missed you." she replied instantly.
his hands snaked around her waist, squeezing the flesh of her hips. then they travelled lower, the plush of her ass. he suppressed a smirk at the way her thighs pressed together.
"how about i make up for lost time?" he murmured, fingers dancing across her bare thighs. y/n suppressed a smile and wordlessly, she raised her bottom slightly, pulling off her pyjama shorts and her panties in one big swoop. the sight of her naked pussy nearly sent satoru into overdrive, it was more than he had ever bargained for, more than he had ever wished for.
he wasted no time. he parted her legs with experience, allowing his head to fit between them, lowering his mouth to her skin and pressing chaste kisses along them. he licked a teasing stripe along the length of her bikini line, long fingers spreading her sopping folds apart. the scent of her sex overpowered his senses, his eyes shut for a moment, almost savouring it.
then his tongue darted out, a soft tentative lick that sent a shiver up y/n’s spine. her hands flew to his platinum tresses reflexively, gripping hard on the strands as he began his assault. his tongue grew bolder, harsher, slurping messily.
“fuck, toru!” y/n breathed, her back arching as the sensations took over her body. satoru’s abdomen soared at the nickname, a groan tearing through him and sending vibrations through y/n’s core. his left hand rose up, applying a delicious amount of pressure on her tummy, his thumb rubbing soft circles along the skin.
his other hand found its home within her holes, two fingers buried deep within her, curled. his pursuit was relentless, the feeling of his rough tongue against her core, his long fingers embedding themselves deeply within her. it was so much, too much at once. y/n’s head lolled in pleasure, her fingers tightly gripping satoru’s hair which seemed only to drive him further.
the whole thing was so utterly sinful, the otherworldly angel on his knees before her, gobbling at her soaked cunt. his hot breath against her pussy only made her cunt clench around him more, months of neglect building into one indescribable release.
satoru pulled away for a moment, lips slick with her arousal. “fuck, you don’t know how much i’ve missed the taste of you.”
his words only added to y/n’s arousal, her hips rocking slowly against his face, and he pulled her tightly against him with the hand that wasn’t buried deeply within her. her climax built into a knot in her torso, toes curling and eyes rolling back into her head as it washed over her like waves against a rocky shore. satoru’s name slipped from her lips like a broken prayer, yet he continued lapping at her, clit sensitive, her hole aching for the stretch of his cock.
“toru,” she whined, breathless. “i want you.”
“yeah?” he teased, licking his lips. he pulled his fingers out of her, sucking her juices off of them. the sight alone made y/n’s core throb.
he didn’t let her respond, he merely wrapped his hand around her throat, dragging her down towards him and pressing his lips against hers. the taste of her release against him was dirty, so dirty it made y/n kiss him harder, desperate to feel every inch of him. their teeth clashed, tongues dancing against each other as they embraced one another with their mouths.
satoru pulled away, holding her hand with his own and placing it against his crotch. under the silky material of his robes y/n could feel how achingly hard he was, how desperate he was to feel her.
“you see what you do to me?” he murmured against her mouth. “i need you so bad.”
“take me, toru. have me, i need to feel you.”
satoru moaned a breathy whine against her, her words so naughty it only drove him further to sinful release. he shed his clothes, pushing her back onto the bed until she was laying flat on her back. he palmed at his cock eagerly, dragging the tip against her wet folds. y/n bit her lip, her eyes locked with his azure gaze.
satoru almost smiled as he plunged into her, his mushroom tip bullying its way into her. she was tight- oh, so tight, sucking him in so perfectly. the brief moment of solace he had had at the crossroads of death, the taste of heaven was nothing compared to this. no, this here was satoru’s own personal heaven, feeling every inch of y/n as he ploughed into her was exactly how he wanted to spend every minute of his day. the intimacy of being momentarily connected, the skin against skin, it was pure bliss.
the overwhelm of sensation seemed to kick start something within satoru, as his thrusts became harsh- and mean. he drove into her tenaciously, eyes burning with desire, hips snapping over and over and over again.
satoru looked down at y/n who’s face was contorted in hedonistic pleasure, her eyes rolling back into her head, her lip between her teeth. his fingers brushed her clit, her toes curling at the feeling of him against her already sensitive bud. this was it, this was eudaemonia.
without warning, the white haired man flipped her into a different position, her legs high in the air, his hips pressed harshly against them almost locking them into place. a mating press, a mean one at that.
his heavy balls thwacked against her asshole with every thrust. her words became incoherent, a slew of pleasure that merely egged satoru on. he pounded into her erratically, his release building within him. their lewd sounds and the sound of skin slapping filled the room, and y/n’s orgasm came once more. it was less satisfying as before, it tore through her, hips jerking against satoru, toes curled and hands gripping the bedsheets so hard her knuckles went white.
her man wasn’t far behind her. eyes glowing, wings bowed as his release racked through him. white flashed in his eyes as a moan ripped through him, his release spurting into her in thick, white ropes. his thrusts sloppy, but he didn’t stop, still fucking his cum back into her. a whimper escaped his throat at the overstimulation, hands shaking as he finally pulled out of y/n with a guttural squelch.
y/n’a hands wrapped around his head, pulling him close to her. they lay like that for a while, naked bodies against each others, the only sounds in the room their racing heartbeats. it was so intimate, the skin to skin, the soft caresses.
“i love you.” y/n whispered, and satoru kissed the skin on her sternum.
“i love you.” he whispered back, and for the first time in a long time; he closed his eyes.
who knew if when satoru opened his eyes y/n would still be able to see him. who knew whether their reunion would be short lived, or when it would end. neither one of the adults knew whether one day they would be ripped apart from each other once more, but they couldn't find it within themselves to care. they had been torn apart once before, and were more than prepared for it to occur again.
for now, y/n was content, basking in her orgasmic bliss, her hands wrapped around satoru as his head listened to the melodic sound of her heartbeat. who cares, satoru thought, if this was only temporary, then he’d just have to fuck y/n into oblivion until the heavens themselves stopped him from doing so.
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅
˚⟡˖ ࣪all work is written and owned by me, likes, comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated! do not translate, copy, modify or repost my work or feed my work into ai.
in which: choso kamo’s main passion in life has always been music. and now finally, after years of messing about with his friends they’ve finally stsrted a real band; one that’s beginning to garner genuine interest and fame. yet despite his newfound celebrity status, and the fans that come with it, the only attention he wants is from the woman he loves, his best friend: y/n l/n (who’s utterly and ridiculously oblivious to his flirting).
warnings!: none <3, just a text fic (for now…) masterlist
˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞
˚⟡˖ ࣪all work is written and owned by me, likes, comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated! do not translate, copy, modify or repost my work or feed my work into ai.
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𑣲⋆。˚ cocky af; mean girl reader meets her match with emo megumi. (slight angst, smut) pt1, pt2, pt3?
𑣲⋆。˚ kisses, boxer yuji finds solace in his girlfriend. (smau, smut) pt1, pt2 pt3
𑣲⋆。˚ sex is on fire; up and coming rockstar choso and his unrequited love for his best friend. (smau). pt1
𑣲⋆。˚ heaven can wait; satoru gojo is y/n l/n’s guardian angel, but when a near death experience causes her to be able to see him, he doesn’t hesitate to make up for lost time. 1
𑣲⋆。˚ while we’re young; yuji itadori comes up with a master plan to finally shoot his shot with his crush, y/n l/n. p1 p2?
⋅°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・AVATAR THE LAST AIRBENDER⋅°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・
𑣲⋆。˚ my moon my man; firelord zuko and his quest for an heir with his favourite concubine. pt1, pt2, pt3?
⋅°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・MY HERO ACADEMIA ⋅°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・
*COMING SOON*
˚⟡˖ ࣪all work is written and owned by me, likes, comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated! do not translate, copy, modify or repost my work or feed my work into ai. (last updated 30/04/26)
MY MOON MY MAN PT2; firelord zuko x concubine reader. pt1 here
in which; fire lord zuko’s quest for an heir continues, but when their attempts seem futile, frustrations grow and y/n questions her importance. no matter, zuko is more than happy to show her how important to him she truly is. nsfw, minors dni!
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩
the door to y/n l/n’s private chambers swung open with a loud slam. the woman could barely sustain her shock at the noise before surprise washed across her features. the firelord was here, in her domicile.
only mere months ago, the firelord had retained his year old position that he did not entertain his concubines. he did not summon them, nor did he appear in their chambers unannounced. but after a sultry late night rendezvous in the gardens, firelord zuko had since taken a step back from his previous position.
to say he was pussy drunk was an understatement. years of deprivation had him addicted to the woman and the heat between her legs. the sheer concept of impregnating her with his seed drove him crazy. it was territorial, in a way. she was his consort, would be the mother of his child. on the advice of his royal advisors, zuko has utilised every free moment he had to fulfill this suggestion. he’d be damned if y/n l/n wasn’t pregnant before the end of the year. it was more than sex, to zuko, in a way. he was giving her a piece of him, a piece of him to cherish. she had left her imprint on him a long time ago, zuko could not get the woman out of his mind.
was it love? no… zuko had felt love. love was easy and carefree, love was a breeze on a hot day; utterly satisfying, relieving. this was deeper than that, hot and passionate like the flames that shot from the palms of his hand. this was red and fiery, obsession. consuming, and deliciously sweet.
“my lord.” she said, with a curt bow. he tutted and waved his right hand.
“haven’t i told you not to call me that? that title is beneath you, you and i are equals.” he said, stepping closer to her with a sweep of his robes.
zuko was in his whole getup today, crimson robes embellished with gold, ornate hairpins and other fancies. his scar prickled, as if often did when his cortisol was high and stressed racked through him.
he clasped her hands within his larger ones. “well? did the healer come by and check you over?”
she frowned, looking down for a moment before meeting his piercing gaze.
“no luck. it seems we’ve gotten nowhere.”
zuko huffed, a hot, billowing stream of steam evading his nostrils. his body felt hot all over, fire burning through his veins in annoyance. what good were his efforts if he fell short every time?
it seemed that y/n was having similar thoughts.
“zuko… maybe you would have more luck with one of the other consorts. they are older, perhaps more ferti-”
her words fell short once she caught sight of the furious look on the firelords face. zuko looked simply indignant. his hands left hers suddenly and he stormed to the side of the room, arms crossed as he gazed angrily out of the window. the only sounds heard in the small chamber were that of his heavy breathing, and y/n’a fidgeting with her bangles at the tension.
love would not anger zuko to such an extent, would it? he wouldn’t be so furious at the thought of his woman, his consort, suggesting he lay with another woman. what would he gain from bedding another woman? how could y/n truly think that this was something he would desire?
her bare feet padded across the ground slowly, ornate robes dragging along the tiles. her hands met the small of his back, rubbing soft circles along his shoulder blades.
“zuko… have i angered you?”
“you-” zuko began, then stopped. his breath was ragged, his eyes burnt with indignation. his words fell short, his mind at a standstill. why was it he was so utterly incensed in the first place?
“you dare suggest i lay with another woman?” he said finally, words monotone as he turned around to meet y/n’a gaze. she seemed surprised at the question.
“i was trying to help. you want an heir. i am not your wife, you may lay with whomever you please.” she said curtly, though her voice was hollow.
zuko clenched and unclenched his jaw, hesrt hammering, eyes narrowing. there it was, the annoyance from before, the same rush in his heart rate. in many ways, he was still the same sixteen year old boy who had rose to the throne - still driven by his emotions.
“i do not wish to bed another.” he said through gritted teeth. “do you?”
“no, zuko.” y/n said with a surprised chuckle, her eyebrows raised. his stomach stiffened; was his displeasure a source of hilarity?
zuko looked away, tearing his eyes off of the woman before him, lest his desire betray him. this was it, the passion, the tension, the sheer frustration of not knowing what it is he wanted.
“is this funny, to you?” the firelord asked despite himself. y/n rolled her eyes, a hand reaching to rest on her hip.
“no zuko, but this is ridiculous. you can’t expect me to not be surprised you do not wish to lay with the others. it is part of our role. i’ve accepted it, and you should too.”
zuko let out a bitter, humourless laugh. why was he so angry? y/n bit her lip in annoyance, and the simply action sent heat flying down to his crotch. his gaze flicked over her once more, dolled up in the regal robes he had gifted her, the dainty gold jewellery shimmering against her silk skin. his breath rose and fell; ragged.
he couldn’t help himself. his hand reached forward, stretching across the skin of her neck, caressing a soft circle before gripping, bringing her closer to him and embracing her lips with his own. it was much like their first kiss; messy, pent up frustration melting away with one touch, his tongue flicking across her bottom lip briefly. the hand around her throat tightened, his free left hand stretching down to the small of her back, the feeling of her body pressed against his leaving him dizzy.
the pair broke apart, the raven haired man pressing his forehead against hers briefly. her lips were plush and ruined, and oh, he wanted to ruin her all over again
“you’re impossible.” she breathed, her hands pressed against his chest. he scoffed.
“you’re completely infuriating.”
their lips met again, philharmonic, a ragged moan leaving his lips as he encapsulated her once more. it was deeper this time, hungrier even, desperate to feel closer to her, to engulf her lips with his own. his tongue met hers, a melange of desire.
“still infuriated?” she teased when they pulled apart. then her voice grew serious. “you can’t just kiss me when you’re angry.”
“i know.”
“then tell me what’s wrong.”
zuko smashed his lips against hers once again, ravenous, like a starving man. he kissed and kissed, their lips moulding together in perfect harmony.
“are you so blind, woman?” he said after a beat. she cocked her eyebrow in surprise.
“whatever do you mean?”
“you don’t see how i burn for you? how my body responds to your every touch? you’re not just my consort, you’re my woman. in every way. i’ll be damned if either of us touch anyone else.”
his voice was heavy, laced with want and pining. her eyes softened.
“i am not your wife-”
“then i will make you my wife. i am the firelord, nobody will question me.”
plus, it was not honourable to use a person as a means to an end. and zuko has spent so much of his life trying to be honourable.
he pressed his lips against the side of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw, then her neck. his grip was firm on her waist, as he lifted her off of the floor, placing her on the bed and flipping her over with the same ferocity that he had kissed her with before.
“zuko!” she squealed in surprise. his large hands caressed the back of her head, trailing further and further down her back.
“get on all fours, y/n. i’m going to take what’s mine.”
she obliged, dragging herself into position, her legs shaky with arousal. her clit throbbed with want, her groin tingling as she felt his touch travel up the fabric of her robes, tearing them off her with one sharp rip. his touch was electric, his hands so warm and alluring.
fingers pressed at her entrance, travelling upwards and rubbing a small circle across her clit. the sensation left her body aching for more, y/n resisting the urge to squeeze her legs for some sort of release, some sort of pressure. zuko retracted his finger slowly, a shark intake of breath at the arousal dripping off of his digits.
“fuck… you’re soaked.” he breathed, and y/n whined, burying her face in the duvet.
“please.” she said, voice muffled through the fabric.
“my needy girl…”
her hole ached as he tentatively inserted his index finger, pushing deeply and curling it upwards slightly as he did so. y/n’s breath hitched, her lip finding home between her teeth as he inserted another finger, slowly, gently at first before fucking into her.
a moan ripped through y/n. his fingers pressed into her over and over again, her wet pussy and his fingers digging into her creating an obscene squelching sound. her hands flailed wildly, griping the sheets tightly as if to steady herself. there was no rhythm to zuko’s abuse on her pussy, merely a warm up for the finishing act which was about to take place.
after a few moments of him fucking his fingers into the woman; he pulled them out, rubbing the wetness across the sticky mess that was accumulating between her thighs. he shed his robes quickly (it was second nature at this point), stroking his cock a few times before dragging it along her folds.
“doing so good for me, baby.” he praised, his voice a low growl in her ear. he practically mounted her, chest flush against her back, knees pinning her hips into place.
slowly, zuko inserted himself into her, his mushroom tip bullying its way into her entrance. y/n whimpered as he bottomed out, the fullness of it making her head spin. he thrust slowly a few times, letting her get used to the sensation. his thrusts were slow and agonising, he let her feel every single inch before pulling out then ramming himself straight back into her. over, and over, and over he hammered against her sweet spot.
but firelord zuko was not a patient man. he wanted what he wanted, as soon as he wanted it. his frustration from before was still lingering, and the feeling of her pussy sucking him in so deeply send a shudder up his spine; and a craving for more. he began thrusting erratically, hips smashing into hers, his heavy balls thwacking her clit with each thrust.
“it’s too much!” y/n cried. every thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through her, an electric shock of eudaemonia.
“you can take it.” he grunted, teeth clenched. she was taking him so well, her pussy sucking him in so deeply. every thrust had his tip kissing her womb, over and over and over again.
y/n moaned and zuko groaned, their lewd sounds and the sound of skin slapping filling the small room. his jaw was clenched harshly, his arm snaking across the underside of her jaw, pulling her into a mean headlock.
“you’re the only one im gonna fuck like this, y’hear me?” he growled into her ear. a strangled moan left y/n’s throat, the position making her toes curl and her eyes roll back into her head.
his hips snapped again, rolling into hers with mean precision. “i’m yours, and you’re mine. say it.”
“i’m yours- ah!”
he kissed her shoulder, his thick cock bullying her pussy further and further. arousal pooled within him at her words, igniting him to go faster, to go harder.
“and?”
“-and, you’re mine!” she sobbed, her knuckles white as she gripped the sheets harder. her words drove zuko to an unrelenting pace, thrusting into her at an erratic speed.
“i’m gonna fuck my heir into you, you want that?”
“fuck- yes!” y/n whined, her back arching and her legs trembling violently. her release tore threw her, her toes curling to the maximum, her back arched like a cat.
zuko felt his vision go white, his hands burn as steam surfacing from his palms as his orgasm rippled through him. this was nothing like what he had ever felt before, this was nirvana. complete bliss, his orgasm rushing over him. between her legs was where he sought solace, where he bared his soul and found forgiveness for his trespasses. his release spurted out of him in thick white ropes, still rolling his hips into hers; fucking every last drop of his seed back into the woman he had marked as his own.
later, after the pair had cleaned themselves up and y/n had succumbed to her tiredness; too fucked our for her own good, zuko paced. he did two things he had wanted to do for a long time. he dismissed all of the other concubines, and then he ordered the royal artisan to curate a ring.
firelord zuko did not know if what he felt for y/n l/n was love. but he had never felt passion like this in his lifetime, a sensation that both invigorated and frustrated him. and he’d be damned if he let it go to waste.
especially now that unbeknownst to the pair; their efforts had in fact not proved to be futile.
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩
a/n: i’m so obsessed with zuko i was lit thinking about this story alll day at work and what id do for pt2, best believe i got straight to writing as soon as i got home…
MY MOON MY MAN; fire lord zuko x concubine reader. pt2 here
in which: zuko’s royal advisors are adamant he needs to produce an heir, and while his mind is in two, he stumbles across his consort on a late night stroll. nsfw, minors dni (porn with very little plot!)
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩
after the defeat of fire lord ozai during sozin’s comet, the formerly disgraced fire lord was stripped of his power and the title was bestowed upon his heir; prince zuko.
currently a few years into his reign, the new fire lord zuko had done everything he had promised to do. he had forged a new path for the fire nation, stronger relations, stronger balance, a reign built on compassion rather than fear. yet his rule had been marked by disillusion in the system that had stood proud for so many years.
mainly the imperial consorts.
zuko resented the idea of a harem, a group of women at his beck and call, prepared to give in to his primitive desires. his father had had many consorts, but zuko had resisted their advances at any given turn. he was not his father. the fire nation he was pioneering was meant to be different from the past, modern, innovative, free.
so how could he accept such a hedonistic concept? how could he be paving a way for his people and still have these women in such an archaic position?
his royal advisors were having none of it. consorts were customary. it gave the women financial security, political influence, and social standing. it seemed that zuko would be doing these women a great disservice by dismissing any of them.
so he kept them around. he never summoned them into his chambers. he never bedded them, or took advantage of their devotions to him. it was not honourable to use women for his own selfish needs. he was doing them a favour. they retained their positions, and he didn’t have to be intimately involved with any of them.
it was a good compromise, or so he thought.
his advisors were adamant on an heir. it would show security in the new rule, a united front against the crimes and threats of the past. the royal family would be a symbol of change, step into the right direction. the issue?
zuko refused to wed.
his breakup with mai had frankly soured his disposition when it came to romantic relations. he did not want to become involved with another woman like that ever again. his body had aged, his mind had matured, but deep down he was the same sixteen year old boy who rose to power.
awkward, unsure of himself. what woman would want to be with him? he didn’t know how to be a husband, a boyfriend, hell, even a father. a decade ago, he didn’t ever think he’d be where he was now.
despite his unsureness of his romantic capabilities, zuko was sure about one thing. he was a good leader, a strong one. he was making real, substantial advances as fire lord and he’d be damned if anything was going to take that from him. if a united front, a strong royal family was what they wanted, he’d give them exactly that and more.
he needed to fuck an heir into one of his consorts.
he let out a groan. the thought made his head ache and his heart twist. zuko ran a hand through his hair, his ebony strands free from their usual ornate constraints and falling across his back like an inky curtain.
when his mind ran wild like this, he would walk through the imperial gardens. the grounds were flush with meticulously groomed shrubs and trees, various flowers in pink or red littered across the grass. the floral smell hung heavy and humid in the air, settling deep within zuko’s lungs.
the night was cool, yet not cold. the moonlight cast a bright, bluish sheen across the grounds, illuminating his path as he strolled. the same questions tore through his mind, the lack of answers contorting his features into a permanent scowl.
his heart nearly leapt out of his chest as he turned the corner. a woman stood crouched by the bushes, her hand outstretched, a soft smile on her face. zuko leaned closer, eyes squinting. it was one of his concubines.
y/n l/n.
his gasp forced the woman’s head to snap towards him. she seemed to kick herself into gear, straightening up and stepping into a small, polite bow.
“my lord.” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “i do apologise, i didn’t know you were there.”
zuko’s eyebrows furrowed. “well, don’t stop on my account. were you fetching something?”
a small smile played at her lips. “i was trying to get the cat out of the bushes. he belongs to one of the other consorts, she’s been beside herself thinking he was lost.”
a cat? zuko didn’t even know that the consorts had pets. was he so concerned with the state of the world he had failed to notice trivial things in his own palace?
this was not the first time that zuko had laid eyes upon y/n. yet it was the first time he had seen her in such a casual context. her soft linen nightdress, her hair free and in its natural state. her face without any sort of rouge or makeup. the moonlight only seemed to illuminate her features, grace the highest points of her face. she was beautiful, that was clear.
“i am sorry that i disturbed you, my lord. i shall leave you be.” she said, with another small bow, seeming to forget about the furry creature that drew her out of here in the first place.
“no!” zuko exclaimed before he could stop himself. “don’t leave on my account, join me, by all means!”
her eyebrows shot up in surprise, not expecting the invitation. zuko felt heat rise in his face, he had never been alone with any of his consorts before.
“if you insist, fire lord.” she said with a sweep of her hand. zuko took a step closer to her.
“well, allow me to help you find this cat.”
the two adults spent an embarrassing amount of time attempting to coax the creature out of the bushes. what ever progress y/n had made disappeared as soon as zuko approached, as it was completely terrified of him and ran further away. y/n laughed despite herself, a lovely melodious sound.
“ill have to try again tomorrow.” she said, brushing dust off of her nightdress and standing up straight. “shall we continue our promenade?”
“yes. let’s.”
while they strolled, zuko snuck sideways glances at y/n, who rambled incessantly about the various plants that lined the grounds. zuko knew nothing about plants, and usually he’d be annoyed by such rambling but y/n had a nice voice, and it was a welcome distraction from the stresses of ruling. it seemed that zuko’s mood was evident upon his face.
“is there something that plagues you, my lord?” she asked, gazing up at him through her eyelashes. her gaze was alluring, charming even. zuko couldn’t help but sneak a glance at her plump lips.
“don’t worry yourself with my troubles.” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. his gaze met her eyes again, a strange sensation shooting through his groin, a flush spreading across his face.
“that is my job.” she said with a smile. “though you never summon me.”
her hand rubbed at her neck awkwardly, drawing zuko’s attention to the smooth skin of her décolleté. her averted his eyes.
“i don’t summon any of you.” he said firmly. “it is beneath me, and you.”
“well then; think of me as a friend. will you tell me what plagues you then?”
y/n stepped closer and zuko’s heart hammered wildly in his chest. she could feel the heat radiating off of his body, perpetually hot due to his bending technique, and he could smell her jasmine perfume. the scent was beginning to drive him crazy with desire.
“i… i cannot.” he said, stumbling over his words. “it’s slightly embarrassing.”
“don’t be embarrassed.” she breathed. the warmth of the fire lord drew her closer, like a moth to a flame, like icarus towards the sun.
“my royal advisors want me to sire an heir.”
“and you do not want to?”
‘with you, i would’, an evil little voice said in his head. a fleeting thought that sent shivers of desire through the fire lord, and annoyed him at the same time. what was it he said before, about the concubines? why is it that he didn’t want anything to do with them? he could barely remember, desire and the want for pleasure tainting his thoughts.
“something like that.” zuko said after a short while. his eyes dropped to her lips again.
the moonlight shed across y/n’a features sent tingles through zuko’s stomach, his skin alive with want. he wanted her; her lips, her neck, her chest, and whatever laid further. she thought similarly, it seemed, a strange gleam in her eyes, a soft bite of her lip.
oh, she was driving him crazy.
fuck it, he thought, and he leaned in, lips meeting hers. the kiss was messy and rough, teeth clashing, lips colliding hedonistically. the feeling of her against him caused him to growl in hunger, hands stretching around her midriff. he pulled away, breathless.
“do you want me, my lord?” she whispered.
he groaned. “yes.”
“then take me.”
alarm shot through the man. “here? what if someone sees?!”
y/n reached for him this time, her lips against his, moving in unison. it was softer, messier if possible, their tongues melting against each other.
“you’re the fire lord. no one will question you.”
her words ignited something in him. he held her tighter, hands snaking lower and gripping the fat of her ass. this movement elicited a moan within the woman, sinfully sweet. the pair lowered themselves to the grass, zuko’s back against a tree with y/n between his legs, pressing soft kisses along his jaw.
his jaw, then his neck, then her hands were clambering at his robes, pulling them off roughly as if she was desperate to uncover what lay beneath them. her hands were cold against the warmth of his skin, caressing against his scars and callouses with practiced intent. her small hand finally stopped its exploration when it settled in his crotch.
“keep going.” he groaned, and she smiled almost cheekily. his head was swimming with the thought of her.
she gripped the base of his crotch, her grasp firm and eliciting a sharp gasp out of the man. she pumped the length of his cock a few times, her finger stroking the slit of his tip. then, suddenly, she lowered her head, poking out her tongue and licking a long stripe across the length of his tip. zuko shuddered, hands flying out as if to grip something and steady himself.
y/n sucked the tip of his cock with expert precision, flattening her tongue to lick across the ridges, sucking every last drop of pre cum out of his cock. she began bobbing her head, fucking his cock with her mouth over and over again.
the lewd sounds that resounded across the garden sent even more blood rushing to zuko’s cock. spit trickled down her chin, tears pricking at her eyes and threatening to spill. the sight alone made zuko groan once more, his hands gripping the grass beneath him. steam surfaced from his pores, his face red and flushed.
a knot of pleasure built up in his stomach, growing and growing before bursting suddenly. white flashed across zuko’s eyes, his legs trembling as his release washed over him, cum spurting from his cock and painting her throat with white. y/n slurped greedily, sucking every last drop before finally pulling off of him.
“my my, that was fast.” she teased, and zuko huffed, eyes heavy with pleasure.
“come here. i want to feel you.” he ordered, a finger beckoning her closer. the sight of her fucked out face was enough to get his cock hard once more.
y/n obliged, crawling onto his lap and gathering the ends of her nightgown in her hands. she straddled his bulge. she grinded herself against him a few times, wetness spreading between them.
“my my,” zuko mocked. “no panties, aren’t we slutty?”
y/n smirked, her hands snaking across his neck for stability. she grinded against him again, rolling her hips harder. zuko leaned forward and pressed a slow kiss to her lips.
y/n lifted herself up slightly, lining his cock with her entrance, before slowly, so annoyingly slowly, sinking herself down into him. zuko’s breath hitched, his heart racing. she was so tight, so good, almost too good. the feeling of her plush walls against him was enough to send him into a panic, the pleasure overwhelming. y/n bottomed out finally, rolling her hips once again, slower this time.
“fuck!“ he exclaimed, hands gripping her ass.
y/n gave him no time to adjust, she began fucking herself greedily against him. her pursuit was relentless, bouncing on top of him over and over again, pretty little moans spilling from her lips. even through the material of her nightdress, zuko could see her tits bouncing up and down, the feeling sending waves of pleasure through him.
he wasn’t going to last long, he knew that. it had been a while since he was intimate with anyone. he didn’t want to neglect her own pleasure. the thought seemed to kick him into drive. his large hands travelled higher, gripping her waist tightly and lifting her up a bit, before driving into her.
“fuck! it’s too much!” she cried, eyes rolling into the back of her head.
“you can take it.” zuko groaned into her ear, pressing a kiss to her earlobe.
she was squeezing him so tightly, the obscene sounds turning him on even more. he couldn’t believe he ever rejected her, rejected this. this was heaven, if not better. between her legs was where he found solace, where he found salvation. he could fuck her forever.
“my lord-”
“that’s not my name.” he growled, desperate to hear it roll off of her tongue.
“zuko! ‘m gonna cum!” she cried, tears spilling from her eyes once again.
zuko’s forever was a longtime and y/n was a sensitive woman. her vision went white, her legs limp as her release crashed over her like waves against a rocky shore. her body tingled and her moans broken against his lips.
zuko was right behind her. his thrusts became sloppy, his grip tightened as he ploughed into her. then with one jerky thrust, his release spilling into her; painting her walls white. his breath hitched and a cracked groan broke from his lips.
they sat like that for a while, his cock still inside of her, their foreheads slick with sweat pressed against each other. zuko’s skin prickled with heat, his breath shaky. he kissed her again, chaste pecks against her lips.
the fire nation would have its heir, zuko was sure of it. and he may still not like the idea of concubines; but that just meant he’d have to wed y/n l/n to clear his conscience.
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩
a/n: pics r from pinterest! this isn’t proofread (when do i ever proofread…) but i was in flow state lol, would we want a pt2 of this?
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𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡- IN WHICH: yuji loses his match and the only thing that can help his mood is his pretty girlfriend. aged up yuji, nsfw, minors dni. masterlist
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·。
the door to the backstage of the boxing ring flew open with a loud slam. y/n’a breath hitched as her gaze landed on the figure in front of her, her hand flying to her mouth. she had seen yuji lose before. she had seen him defeated, bruised and forlorn. but she had never seen him like this.
yuji was a joyful person. he always had some sort of smile on his face, always showed determination in the face of bleakness. but there was no smile on his face, his perfect features contorted into a mask of anger and frustration, dried blood at the corner of his mouth. yuji was still wearing his boxing shorts, a vibrant red against his milky skin, his fists curled furiously at his sides, knuckles shredded.
“oh, yu.” y/n said sadly. she shut the door behind her, closing the distance between them in two short strides.
yuji didn’t say anything, he merely sat in the stiff metal chair behind him, pulling y/n’s torso into his embrace and pressing a kiss to her belly button.
“m’sorry i lost.” he mumbled against her skin. his breath was warm and sent a shiver up her spine. “embarrassed you.”
“you didnt embarrass me, baby.” y/n chastised softly. “let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”
y/n pushed him off of her, gently, then reached into the cupboard for a first aid kit. she ripped open a pack of sterile wipes to clean his wounds, then took her rightful seat on yuji’s lap.
his hazel eyes remained on hers as she wiped the blood off of his face, her touches light and loving. yuji’s hands snaked around y/n’s waist, pulling her closer to him before reaching lower and gripping the flesh of her ass.
“there!” y/n smiled, pursing her lips and pressing a chaste kiss to yuji’s.
“ow.” he groaned, and y/n furrowed her brows in concern.
“sorry.” she breathed, their gazes fixated on each other. her fingers brushed over his lip, as if satiating the pain.
“not there, baby.” yuji said, his voice a low groan. he held her tightly as he spoke, and y/n felt a hard bulge settling beneath her.
“hmm. was it here?” she asked, fingers brushing his bare chest. she lowered her head, pressing a soft peck to the skin.
“no.” he replied, voice barely louder than a whisper.
“here?” hands trailed lower now, pressing beneath their bodies to the skin of his abdomen.
“close, but no.”
y/n smiled slightly to herself reaching her smaller hands into the material of his shorts. she felt the short stubbly of yuji’s happy trail tickle her fingers, pushing her hand down further until her fingertips pressed against the base of his cock.
“there?” she breathed. yuji nodded slowly, a smirk against his lips as he leaned in. their kiss was slow, saccharine in a way. y/n rocked her hips slowly against his stiff cock, her boyfriend groaning into her embrace.
“i think he needs a kiss too, don’t you agree?” she asked sultrily. yuji nodded slowly, biting his lip.
“please, y/n.”
his girlfriend obliged more than happily, hopping off of yuji’s lap and sinking between his legs and onto her knees. yuji fished his cock out of his shorts with one movement, standing before y/n’s line of sight in all of its glory. his cock was red with arousal, already spurting precum.
y/n pressed a soft kiss to the tip, before sticking her tongue out and swirling it across the top of his cock. yuji’s breath hitched as she did so, his legs tensing slightly.
“don’t be a tease.” he strained.
y/n indulged him, stretching her mouth open and taking him in. she bobbed her head slowly, savouring the taste of his manhood. she always loved sex with yuji after his matches, he smelt so alluring, so manly, and he was always so full of endorphins from exercising. her eyes pricked with tears, her chest heaving as she gagged from the sheer size of him. she glanced up at yuji through her eyelashes, and the sight of him with his head lolled back and his lip between his teeth sent delicious sensation straight between her legs.
she was already throbbing for him.
so despite her tiredness, and the ache in her jaw y/n picked up the pace. she ignored the burn of his chest and bobbed harder and faster, saliva wetting his dick; one of her hands gripping his leg for stability, the other reaching up to massage his balls. yuji groaned loudly from above her, a string of her name and ‘oh fuck!’. the sound of him falling apart from her mouth turned her on like no other. his hand gripped her hair, not pulling but a firm hold none the less.
“y/n! fuck!” he grunted, hips bucking into her mouth as he came. his release was unprompted, ropes of cum marking her throat. y/n swallowed his release, pulling off of him with a loud pop. her lips stretched into a smile.
“c’mere baby.” yuji drawled, and y/n stood on shaky legs. he stood up, pulling her into him and cupping her jaw with his hand. his lips pressed against hers, but not as softly as last time. yuji was hungry for her, greedy even, kissing deeply and exploring every inch of her mouth with his tongue. when they broke apart, the pair of the were breathless, eyes heavy with desire.
“need you so bad, y/n.” he whispered, kissing the side of her mouth, her jaw, her neck. y/n inhaled sharply.
“please yu,” she moaned. “please fuck me.”
yuji grinned against her jaw, the same cocky grin when he was winning a fight. “turn around for me.”
y/n turned around, letting yuji press her against the metal table, letting him bend her over and press her against the cool surface. he made a quick job of tugging off her jeans and letting them pool at her feet. he hooked a finger around her lacy panties, pulling them to the side with a sharp intake of breath.
“this all for me baby?” he asked rhetorically. y/n huffed.
“hurry up and fuck me.”
yuji said nothing, simply dragged his cock across her wet folds, collecting her arousal before plunging into her with a hard thrust. y/n’s hands curled into fists, a loud moan forcing its way out of her. yuji wasted no time, his hands found their home on her hips as he began thrusting harshly.
he was relentless, the tip of his cock bullying its way in and out of her over and over again. yuji pounded into her mercilessly, her name slipping from his lips like a prayer, the sounds of skin slapping and her sweet little moans filling the air. yuji’s name fell from her lips like a prayer, his cock hitting her sweet spot. white hot pleasure surged through her, her toes curling in her shoes, her eyes rolling back into her head.
“yuji! m’gna cum!” she cried.
“cum for me, pretty girl.” he replied. he lowered himself to her, pressing his body weight onto her, littering kisses across her shoulders.
sounds came out of her that she didn’t even know she was capable of creating, her arms searching desperately for something to stabilise herself on. her orgasm rushed over her like waves against a rocky shore, legs tensing, hips thrusting back into him. yuji’s name spilling from her somewhere between a moan and a cry. tears of pleasure pricked at her eyes.
yuji’s tempo did not falter, he continued thrusting into her, almost mean with his pursuit; the overstimulation driving y/n crazy. tears were flowing freely from her eyes now, her legs limp and jelly like. eventually, yuji’s thrusting became erratic, his hips jerky he reached his second peak.
“you’re so good, y/n. i love you.” he slurred into her ears. he was high, oh, so high on her. she was a drug and he was completely addicted to her. he slammed into her with one final thrust, painting her walls white, a shaky moan breathed into his ear. after a long moment he pulled out, y/n wincing at the loss of sensation. yuji pressed a kiss on her shoulder, on the nape of her neck, on the small of her back, rubbing her hip softly.
“roll over baby, i’ll clean you up.”
yeah, yuji definitely felt a lot better about his loss now. y/n was all he needed.
a/n: pics r from pinterest, i LOVEEE a boxer au :P
⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡- mean girl reader gets dared to hookup with the notoriously shy and emo megumi fushiguro. (aged up megumi!) nsfw, minors dni.
p1 here
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·。
y/n scowled as she swirled her drink around with her straw, gazing at the whirlpool before her. loud music pumped through the speakers of the club. ever since her first rejection last week the girl had been in a fowl mood.
there was no way in hell that megumi fushiguro was a normal man.
his rejection wasn’t rude, it wasn’t mean or insulting like how y/n had left a multitude of men. it was short, clipped; polite even. as if he was merely reciting the weather forecast.
as if y/n’s charm had no effect on him whatsoever.
y/n attempted to take the rejection in stride. it wasn’t a poor reflection of her, no way. it must just go to show that there was something dreadfully wrong with megumi fushiguro. perhaps he had poor eyesight, or he was just so taken aback by her presence that his natural response was rejection. it was all too easy for y/n to speculate as to why he said what he did, but she couldn’t help but feel somewhat drawn to his presence now. after all, it was the first time in her life she had ever been rejected.
and now y/n was here. she and the girls in her on her course had banded together and thrown an ‘end of semester’ celebration; which was really and truly a glorified excuse to get drunk and party all night. yet y/n wasn’t enjoying herself. her heels were too tight, her skirt too short and her top too sparkly. her peers were dancing, socialising and such like - yet y/n stood glued to a bar stool, simply stirring her drink and watching the ice melt.
y/n l/n didn’t take rejection well, it seemed.
she sipped her drink, or rather, gulped it down and snapped her fingers at the bartender for a refill. she wasn’t enjoying herself, but at least everyone else was and she wouldn’t become a social pariah. the best thing she could do was drown her feelings of insecurity with a cold vodka redbull.
or however many it took for y/n to be drunk as a fish.
the fizz on her tongue was a welcome distraction from the noise of the party. it wasn’t like y/n to be sat at the bar like she was some kind of wallflower, failing to socialise with everyone else. usually she was the life of the party, singing and dancing with all eyes on her.
the thought made her scoff, and she sipped the rest of her drink with one large gulp. the more she drank; the more these feelings would disappear, surely?
as she lifted her head and her line of sight off of her glass, the fuzziness of the vision and the heat of her skin told her exactly what she wanted. she was perfectly merry enough to enjoy her party. she took her phone out of her pocket and glanced at her reflection in the camera. perfect features, flawless makeup, and not a hair out of place. why was it she was feeing so stupid again? y/n could barely recall the reason, lost in love with her own reflection.
a sensual r&b song trickled out of the speakers, the melody ripping through y/n’s skin and beckoning her to dance- like a siren call. she slid off of the barstool (albeit a bit wobbly on her feet, but alcohol will do that to you!) and made her way through the sea of sweaty bodies, till she found herself directly under the dark mood lighting of the bar. red illuminated her features; accentuated her long legs. she swayed her hips softly, hands all over her body as she swished to the beat.
she was lost in her own world of dance. no one was watching her, no one was around. it was just her and the music.
her eyes flicked up. they scanned the room, sweeping across the sea of heads. y/n’s eyes darted until they finally landed upon a sickeningly familiar figure. just as suddenly as the thoughts of inferiority evaporated from her mind, they returned with much more figure at the sight of him.
the man who plagued her mind; megumi fushiguro.
anger bubbled in her stomach and threatened to rise and explode. her heart hammered against her ribcage. was it the alcohol in her system blurring her emotions together; or was it her pride?
her legs seemed to move on their own; her anger igniting them into motion. she strutted over to megumi, his stormy gaze fixated on his drink. his hands were littered with silver rings, his jeans low and baggy. even in the dim lighting, his sharp jaw and high cheekbones ignited something primal deep in y/n’s core.
“what are you going here?” she asked spitefully, arms crossed over each other. he turned to her - eye brow cocked in surprise.
“didn’t know i wasn’t allowed to join the party.” he said sarcastically. “if you must know, yuji dragged me here.”
y/n scoffed. she should’ve known yuji would’ve been here, her dance club who threw the party were sure to invite the other athletic students and yuji was the darling of the basketball team. with them being best friends, she should’ve known megumi would be here.
he took a sip of his drink.
“do you always have to be like that?”
megumi spluttered. “like what?”
god, his monotonous tone was starting to get on y/n’s nerves. who did he think he was? first he rejects her, and now he’s stood here at her party, sulking in the corner?
“like you’re allergic to fun!”
megumi forced a short laugh. “we have two very different ideas of fun.”
“that’s clear.” y/n retorted with a roll of her eyes. a small smirk played at his lips.
“is this attitude because i rejected you?”
white hot annoyance surged though y/n, her extremities tingling with indignation. was he trying to embarrass her?
“i’ll have you know that i completely forgot about that.” she said dismissively, avoiding his gaze.
“uh huh.” he replied, the same incessant smirk on his face. “sure you did.”
“it’s hard for me to remember… so many boys speak to me on a daily basis…” y/n continued, pretending to be deep in thought. megumi chuckled.
“done pretending?”
“i’m not pretending.” y/n deadpanned, and she felt as though she could stamp her foot and throw a tantrum like some sort of spoilt child. why was he so frustrating?
“yeah yeah.” megumi looked away for a second, and busied himself with chugging his drink as though he was readying himself for something.
“did you mean it?”
“mean what?” y/n answered confused.
megumi took a step closer to her, heat radiating off of his body. his hands reached out and fixed the strap of her top, fingers brushing her shoulder with practiced expertise.
“when you asked me out.” he breathed, etching closer and closer. “did you mean it?”
something deep and guttural pulled at y/n’s groin, her stomach feeling light and fluttery. her skin felt cold where his touch had once been. she sucked in a breath of air, taking a step closer.
“why don’t you try find out?”
a hint of a smile played at his lips. his hands reached forward, one resting behind her head as he lowered himself to her height and pressed his lips against hers. she gasped into his touch as their lips moved in unison.
he tasted like aphrodisiac and cologne; sinfully addictive. his lips were soft and supple against hers, their bodies pressed against each other, megumi’s hands caressing the fat of her ass.
they broke apart, y/n’s heart racing and her breathing uneven.
“was that a good enough answer?”
before she could smirk his lips were upon hers again, a hedonistic attack. he sucked her bottom lips greedily; his tongue sliding into mouth. he was less soft this time, more hungry, greedy for a taste of her.
“want to come back to mine?” he breathed against her and y/n smiled.
the uber journey to megumi’s student accommodation was a blur of sneaky caresses and desperate touches. they barely kept their hands off of each other as megumi fumbled with his house keys, but as soon as the door was opened and he pulled her into his bedroom his lips found solace once more against hers.
shoes strewn across the room, clothes all but forgotten; their teeth clashed as they kissed, hungry and desperate for the others touch. megumi’s large hands traced up and down her body, squeezing her tit in his palm. she clenched her legs unconsciously, her clit throbbing.
“i want you.” she moaned into him, and he groaned.
“be patient, want to savour you.”
his lips found her nipple, tongue flicking against it softly. he wrapped his lips around it, sucking hard.
“megumi…” y/n breathed, her back arching. his touch was electric.
his pursuit continued. he released her nipple with a loud ‘pop!’. his tongue licked a trail from her sternum, all the way down to the trove between her legs. his fingers traced the skin softly, spreading her folds apart. he sucked in a breath.
“fuck. you’re soaked.”
y/n breathed a moan as his finger traced her clit, shuddering under his touch. he spread her wetness across her folds.
“please!” y/n whined. she was never usually this needy when it came to sex… it must be the alcohol. her head was fuzzy with desire.
“i’ve got you, baby.” he answered. megumi lowered his head, pressing a kiss to her clit, before flicking his tongue across it. slow and hard.
fuck! y/n breathed a whine, her back arching and her toes clenching as megumi licked and sucked her clit. he relished the taste of her, licking long stripes across her pretty pussy as if he was a man starved. one of his arms wrapped across her legs, keeping them spread as she moaned and whined above him, the other hand stretching underneath his jaw, finding her neglected opening. pushing a finger inside, then another, curling upwards slightly as y/n chanted his name like a mantra.
megumi devoured her pussy deeply as he fingered her to oblivion. his fingers curled and reached spots y/n didn’t even know she had; white hot pleasure surging through her, dark black spots flashing across her eyes. she bucked her hips, once, twice, her greed almost hedonistic; grinding her pussy deeper into megumi’s face, her legs crossing and locking behind his head.
between her legs was where he sought solace, where he bared his soul and found forgiveness for his trespasses. he moaned into her pussy, her greed egging him on. megumi’s grip was tight on her hips, his unoccupied fingers digging into her soft skin and keeping her close to him. he back arched against the bed, her sensitivity reaching its peak.
“m’gna cum!” she slurred, breathless. megumi moaned into her, as if the sheer thought of her reaching her release turned him on like nothing else. he fastened his pace, y/n’s toes curling as she felt her orgasm crash over her like waves against a rocky shore.
megumi kept lapping up her release, his assault softer as to not overwhelm her any further. her thighs were coated in sweat and her own slick; her chest rising and falling - completely out of breath.
megumi licked his lips greedily, lowering himself to press a chaste kiss to her pursed lips. he rubbed softly along her torso.
“need another one out of you, okay baby? need you so bad.” he sighed, palming his cock with his other hand. y/n nodded softly as megumi spread her legs further with his knee, pushing the head of his cock against her abused pussy.
“don’t be a tease, megumi.” y/n chastised and he smiled slightly, pushing his cock further into her. y/n winced at the sudden intrusion, his cock bullying its way into her.
“fuck! you’re tight.” he winced, grimacing as he bottomed out. he gave y/n a moment to get used to the stretch before he began moving.
his thrusts were slow and agonising, he let her feel every single inch before pulling out then ramming himself straight back into her. over, and over, and over he hammered against her sweet spot. the same pace, the same force. he was slow- yet tantalising.
but y/n wanted more.
she planted her legs on the bed firmly, pushing herself up with her arms before flipping the two of them over. now megumi was on his back, and she rearranged herself to straddle him. y/n winced as his cock found its home in her pussy once more. megumi’s hands traced her tits, grabbing big handfuls and squeezing.
“keep going, y/n.” megumi rasped.
y/n bounced herself up and down, alternating between rutting against him and fucking herself on his cock. he groaned as she did so, no regard for him or his sensitivity, merely selfishly chasing her own high. she slammed hard against him over and over again, a sticky mess coating his pelvis. her legs shook, her breath hitched yet she continued her relentless pursuit.
but her bounces became sloppy, not as hard or as fast as her legs grew tired. megumi sucked in a breath, biting his lip hard between his teeth. he lifted her legs slightly, pulling her body closer to his so her tits pressed against his chest and began driving into her with unremitting speed.
“fuck! m’gna cum!” y/n squeaked, her jaw slack with pleasure. she grinded into him, matching his pace as she felt her legs shake in complete anticipation. her release was sudden and unprompted, washing over her like a burst of light; causing her back to arch and her legs to jerk uncontrollably. tears pricked at her eyes, threatening to fall.
“m’right behind you.” megumi grunted, still driving into her, still chasing his own high. his chest was wet with sweat, his eyes heavy as he filled the room with borderline pornographic noises.
he jerked into her once, twice, then moaned breathlessly, his cum painting her walls white. he kept thrusting, fucking his cum back into her.
moments passed with the two of them in this position, catching their breath, megumi pressing soft kisses against her jawline and neck. after a long while, he pulled out of her, the pair wincing at the loss of contact.
“let me get you a washcloth.” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her jawline once more. she nodded, sliding off of him and laying flat onto the bed.
y/n smiled to herself- basking in the euphoric bliss of her post-orgasmic state. she caught her breath finally, as megumi wiped his cum off of her.
“megumi.” she said, her voice strangely quiet.
he hummed in response.
“why did you say no at first?”
the question had been plaguing her for days, and both the alcohol she had consumed and the excitement from their sexual endeavour seemed to loosen her tongue.
“i didn’t think you really meant it. thought it was a joke.” he said casually. “i can tell i was wrong.”
oh. y/n sucked in a harsh breath as he flopped down next to her. there was a nasty little pit forming in her stomach, a sinking sensation pinning her to the bed. megumi threw the duvet over the pair of them, tossing an arm across her midriff before he finally succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep.
y/n shut her own eyes yet sleep would not come. this was what she did, wasn’t it? it wasn’t the first time she had used a man for pleasure. yet why did it feel so wrong? why was her heart so heavy and her stomach twisted in such a knot?
she had won the bet.
this time was not different. y/n l/n was a bitch, she was a man eater. she simply felt strange because she was still slightly tipsy.
right?
she peeked at megumi’s sleeping form and as sneakily as she could she reached onto the floor and grabbed her phone, pretending to just be shuffling in her sleep. she waited a long moment before opening her phone and swiping onto the camera.
click. she snapped a photo of his sleeping form next to her, and sent it to yuki. there. she had won the bet. she had proven yuki wrong, the miata was hers.
mission accomplished. yet why did she feel so hollow?
⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡- mean girl reader gets dared to hookup with the notoriously shy and emo megumi fushiguro. (aged up megumi!)
pt2 here.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·。
y/n l/n has always been a bitch. she's always been mean. her mind his sharp and her tongue is sharper, quick with witty and venomous remarks.
her attitude only grew worse as the girl grew older, as she grew into her good looks and full figure. she knew she was beautiful; and that knowledge gave her power. her demeanour seemed to have people fawning over her her, attracted to a seemingly 'untouchable' silhouette that rests on a pedestal; or the exact opposite (thank god yuki could fight!).
university was a different experience entirely. it was less of the community experience of secondary school, where everyone knew each other and there were clear divides within friendship groups. the campus was bigger, the people more unique and diverse, less catty girls and boisterous boys. yet it was more similar than it was different - everyone seemed to know each other, especially within social settings. seeing as y/n had stayed in her home town for university, her name got thrown around among the male population like some sort of urban legend.
it only further fuelled her ego.
she spent much of her time in the cafe on the west side of campus. it was a large space with bright white lighting and almost picturesque decorations, florals hanging off of the walls, crushed velvet seats and bejewelled mirrors in the bathrooms. the coffee was overpriced and the pastries too sweet, but it didn't matter much to y/n, especially when she could get such good photos for her instagram!
"for the last time, yuki I'm in no rush to settle down." she chastised with a laugh, applying a layer of glittery lipgloss to her plump lips. yuki rolled her eyes.
'you always say this.' she said, tossing her brilliant blonde hair over her shoulder. y/n snapped her handheld mirror shut and dropped it into the discord that was her handbag.
yuki was y/n's best friend. yuki was just as confident and sarcastic as the other girl, their aura's seemed to draw each other in naturally. the pair had been friends since they were younger, despite yuki being a few years ahead of her; their friendship blossomed on the netball field and the rest was history. they did almost everything together, it was very rare to see one girl without the other.
well, it had been, until yuki had made things official with choso and the dark-haired boy occupied almost all of her free time. if y/n thought deeply, today's coffee date had been the first time she had seen yuki on her own in weeks. the idea of settling down perturbed y/n to no end. why would she devote all of her time to one man when she could simply utilise many for the things they could provide her with?
yuki firmly disagreed with this point of view. ever since she had locked things in with choso she seemed hellbent on creating a match for her best friend. it seemed that choso truly brought something new to Yuki's life, a sort of magic she believed should be spread. y/n was happy for her friend, choso was, albeit slightly rough around the edges and completely imperfect, a good match for her friend. but why did that mean that y/n had to settle down?
and god, if yuki tried to set y/n up with one of choso's deplorable friends, y/n would throw a fit.
"all im saying is that it might do you a world of good. don't you want to get laid?"
y/n scoffed. "I could get laid in a matter of seconds if I wanted to."
yuki laughed, crossing her arms over her chest. "oh yeah? cocky much."
"I mean it!" y/n exclaimed. "just because I don't do it often doesn't mean I cant."
yuki laughed.
"prove it then. I dare you to hookup with the next guy who walks in here."
y/n felt her face grow hot, and her pulse quicken. she breathed harshly through her nostrils. y/n definitely did have a quick temper, and yuki's teasing didn't do anything to satiate this. how could she say no to such a tempting dare? y/n didn't have anything to prove, but oh, did she love being right.
“and what’s in it for me?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “apart from being right, of course?”
yuki paused and looked up, seemingly lost in thought.
“loser has to pay the winner £50?”
y/n scoffed. “absolutely not. if i win, i want your car for a month.”
yuji’s car was her pride and joy. a baby pink mazda miata that had been modified and tuned to illegal perfection. she never trusted anyone, let alone y/n to drive in it alone.
yuki’s mouth opened wide, before a gleam shot across her eyes and she grinned.
“fine. when i win, you have to do all of my cooking and my laundry for a month!”
not a bad trade off, y/n thought. apart from the fact that yuki was dreadfully lazy when it came to domestic affairs and she could eat enough to feed the 5000. she did seem horribly sure of herself, especially when her precious car was part of the bargain. was y/n being too full of herself?
who was she kidding? cocky ran threw her blood, y/n could get anything she set her mind to.
"fine." she said simply, a smile playing at her lips. this was sure to be easy.
yet with her back to the door, she couldn't help but feel a short surge of anxiety. when the bell rang and she heard footsteps trekking across the floor, her heart thumped.
'please don't be naoya zenin' she thought, her fists nearly clenching and the mere imagination of the man. she looked up at yuki, who was grinning determinedly and snapped her head around.
him?
y/n would be lying if she said she knew who the boy was. she had seen him sat at the back of the lecture theatre, always with his wired headphones in; a graphic band tee splayed across his abdomen. his face was a sea of discontent, his dark haired falling messily in wavy tendrils. he wasn’t ugly, far from it, his nonchalant demeanour was kind of cute.
“there’s no way you’re winning.” yuki grinned, and y/n cocked an eyebrow.
“you’re underestimating me?”
“no, you’re overestimating yourself. there’s no way megumi’s gonna hookup with you.”
megumi. so that was his name. y/n rolled her eyes once more.
“you know him?”
“he’s friends with choso’s younger brother. choso says he’s never had a girlfriend.”
y/n merely hummed in response. yuki loved a good wager, so y/n was sure she was trying to force y/n to back down.
“well i can change that.” y/n said smugly, flashing yuki one of her dazzling smiles. she rose slowly from the chair, smoothing down the back of her skirt as she did so; and walked over to megumi in three long strides.
his back was still turned, his headphones bearing what y/n could only assume was an illuminating guitar riff. he stood slouched by the wall, his hands on his pockets and his eyes fixated on a chipped tile in the flooring.
y/n sauntered towards him, straightening her back. she extended a perfectly manicured fingernail and tapped him on his shoulder.
“hi!” she exclaimed, gracing him with a charming smile. his eyebrows furrowed as he removed an earphone out of his ear.
“… can i help you?” megumi asked, confusion lacing his tone.
“you’re megumi, right? you’re in my class with professor hiruguma!” y/n said.
“erm… yeah.” megumi deadpanned. “did you have a question about the class - or..?”
y/n giggled, raising an hand and swatting him on his bicep; which felt surprisingly firm.
“no, don’t be silly! i’ve seen you around and i think you’re cute. would you want to hang out?”
she kept her gaze fixed on his stormy eyes, her smile wide and her posture perfect. she was the picture of desire, there was absolutely no way he could reject her advances. what man in his right mind would ever-
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SUM. Ryomen Sukuna always indulged in the spoils of war, you a devoted temple girl happens to be one of them.
CONTENT. Trueform!Sukuna, Knives mentioned, blood mentioned, kissing, p in v, pet names, his two dicks mentioned, loss of virginity, making it fit, cervix kissed, bulges, cumflated, fluff.
W/C. 8.6k
A/N. I enjoyed writing this
The Heian era stretched long and bloody under skies that never quite cleared of smoke. Villages burned not for conquest alone, but because Ryomen Sukuna found the sight of flames prettier than the thatched roofs they devoured. He moved like calamity given legs—four arms thick with corded muscle, tattoos crawling black across scarlet skin, eyes the color of fresh-spilled blood and just as hungry. They called him the King of Curses long before any true cursed spirit bore the name; humans feared him the way prey fears the open mouth of a tiger, and with good reason. He slaughtered priests mid-chant, crushed shrine maidens beneath his geta, left offering bowls overturned and spilling rice across blood-slicked tatami. Faith irritated him. Devotion irritated him more. It was the only thing that ever made him pause long enough to really look at someone.
You were different in the way a single unbroken flower is different in a field turned to ash.
The temple sat modest on its hill, cedar beams darkened by centuries of incense. You had spent your life inside its walls—sweeping stone paths at dawn, replacing withered chrysanthemums, murmuring sutras until your voice felt less like your own and more like something borrowed from the kami themselves. Your hands were calloused only from scrubbing floors and carrying water; your body soft in the way of someone who had never known violence except as stories whispered after dark. When war finally clawed its way up the mountain road, you did not run. You knelt deeper. Forehead to the cool floor, palms pressed together, lips shaping the same prayer you had spoken every morning since childhood.
Sukuna found you like that.
The sliding doors exploded inward in a spray of splinters. Smoke curled around his silhouette as he stepped inside, two of his arms crossed, the other two loose at his sides. Blood still dripped from the knuckles of his rightmost hand; somewhere behind him a monk’s severed head rolled to a stop against a lantern post. He tilted his head, regarding you. You did not lift your gaze. You did not scream. You only whispered the next line of the sutra, voice trembling but unbroken.
He laughed once—low, rough, amused in a way that made the air feel heavier.
“Still praying,” he said, voice like gravel dragged over silk. “Even now.”
You swallowed. Tears slipped free, hot against your cheeks, but your hands stayed joined.
He crossed the prayer hall in three strides. One massive hand closed around the back of your neck—not cruel yet, only possessive. He lifted you as though you weighed nothing, your knees scraping the floorboards before they left them entirely. Your prayer beads clattered to the ground. You reached instinctively for them; he caught your wrist mid-motion and pinned it behind you with casual strength.
“If I’m not there,” you managed, voice cracking on every word, “who will take care of the temple?”
He went still.
For one heartbeat the only sound was the crackle of distant fires and your own uneven breathing.
Then he leaned in until his mouth brushed the shell of your ear.
“That’s what I like about you already,” he murmured. “You think the gods still need you.”
He carried you out of the ruined temple slung over one shoulder like a prize of war. You beat uselessly at his back until your strength gave out; tears soaked the fabric stretched across his shoulder blades. The last thing you saw of your home was the torii gate tilting sideways, half-consumed by flame.
His fortress crouched against jagged black cliffs, more cavern than castle—rough-hewn stone corridors lit by flickering braziers, air thick with the smell of iron and cedar smoke. Servants scattered like leaves when he entered, heads bowed so low their foreheads nearly kissed the floor. Only one did not flinch: Uraume, pale and composed, white hair falling straight as a blade. They regarded you with cool interest as Sukuna dumped you unceremoniously onto the wide, low platform that served as his sleeping mat.
You scrambled backward until your spine hit the wall, kimono tangled around your knees, chest heaving. The room was vast, shadowed, dominated by his presence even when he turned away to shrug out of bloodied outer robes. No partition. No second mat. No door that closed between you and him.
You were his now.
He did not speak the words. He did not need to.
Uraume approached without being summoned, carrying a lacquered tray. Steaming rice, grilled fish, pickled vegetables arranged with meticulous care. A clay cup of water. They knelt before you, expression unreadable.
“Eat,” they said simply. “He does not tolerate weakness in what belongs to him.”
You stared at the food, stomach twisting with nausea and hunger in equal measure. Your fingers shook when you reached for the chopsticks.
Later—after the tray had been cleared away—Uraume returned with folded yukata of soft undyed silk and a wooden tub already filled with heated water scented faintly with yuzu. They gestured toward a screened alcove at the far side of the chamber.
“Wash,” they instructed. “He will want you clean.”
You obeyed because there was nothing else to do.
The water was almost too hot; it turned your skin pink as you sank into it, knees drawn to your chest. You scrubbed mechanically—arms, shoulders, the crook of your neck—until every trace of soot and temple incense had been erased. Your hair hung heavy and dripping when you finally stepped out. Uraume waited with a dry cloth and the yukata. They did not touch you; they simply watched until you had dressed, until the sash was tied neatly at your waist.
When you emerged from behind the screen, Sukuna was already reclining on the wide mat, one elbow propped beneath him, four eyes fixed on you with lazy predatory interest. The yukata clung slightly to still-damp skin. You felt naked beneath his gaze despite the layers.
He crooked two fingers.
You hesitated.
He crooked them again—slower this time, deliberate.
You crossed the room on unsteady legs and sank to your knees at the edge of the mat, head bowed, hands folded in your lap the way you had been taught to approach superiors. The posture felt wrong here. Too reverent. Too much like prayer.
He reached out, caught your chin between thumb and forefinger, and tilted your face up.
“You still smell like incense,” he said, almost thoughtful. “I’ll have to fix that.”
His thumb dragged once across your lower lip—rough, warm, deliberate.
Then he released you.
“Sleep,” he ordered, lying back and closing two of his eyes while the other two remained trained on you. “You’ll need your strength.”
There was no spare futon. No corner to curl into. Only the space beside him on the wide mat, close enough to feel the furnace heat rolling off his body.
You lay down carefully, on your side, facing away from him, every muscle rigid. Tears slipped silently into the thin pillow beneath your cheek.
Behind you, he exhaled once—almost a laugh.
“Good girl,” he murmured into the dark. “Faithful things last longer when they learn their place.”
The braziers guttered low. The fortress settled into uneasy quiet.
And you, stolen from the gods, lay awake listening to the slow, steady rhythm of the monster’s breathing at your back—knowing he had only begun to claim what he wanted.
The first days blurred into a haze of stone walls and flickering firelight. You kept to the edges of the chamber like a shadow trying to disappear into itself. Every time Sukuna moved, your body tensed—waiting for the strike that never came. Not yet. He lounged on the wide mat most hours, sometimes sleeping with all four eyes closed (a rare vulnerability you noted and immediately regretted noticing), sometimes watching you with the lazy patience of a cat that has already cornered its mouse. Uraume appeared at regular intervals with trays of food you refused to touch. Rice cooled untouched. Fish grew dull-eyed on the lacquer. Pickles wilted. You told yourself it was defiance. You told yourself starvation was preferable to accepting anything from the thing that had burned your world down.
Hunger, though, was not impressed by principle.
Your stomach clawed itself hollow. Your limbs felt heavy, your head light. You sat with your back to the wall, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tight around them as though you could hold yourself together that way. Sukuna noticed. Of course he did. He noticed everything.
On the fourth evening—or perhaps the fifth; time had begun to slip like sand—he rose from the mat without preamble. Uraume had just left another untouched meal on the low table. Sukuna crossed to it in two strides, picked up the bowl of rice still faintly warm, and carried it to where you sat.
You pressed harder against the stone.
He crouched before you—too close, always too close—balancing the bowl on one massive palm. The other three hands rested loose at his sides, deceptively calm.
“Eat,” he said. Not an order this time. Almost conversational.
You stared at the floor between his knees. “No.”
A beat of silence. Then a low sound—not quite a laugh, more like air pushed through teeth.
“You think starving yourself hurts me?” He tilted his head, studying the stubborn line of your jaw. “It only makes you weaker. And I don’t keep broken things.”
“I’m not yours to keep.”
The words came out quieter than you meant, cracked from disuse and thirst. Still, they hung between you like a thrown gauntlet.
He considered them. Then, without warning, one of his lower hands lifted—slow, deliberate—and cupped the side of your face. Not rough. Not gentle either. Just there. Warm. The calluses on his thumb rasped once against your cheekbone.
“You will eat,” he said, softer now, almost amused. “Or I will make you.”
You jerked your head away. “I said no.”
His grip tightened—just enough to still you, not enough to bruise. The other hand—the one holding the rice—moved closer. He scooped a small clump with two fingers, brought it to your lips.
You clamped your mouth shut. Turned your face aside.
He waited.
The seconds stretched. Your pulse hammered in your ears. Hunger roared louder than pride.
Then—slowly, so slowly you hated yourself for it—your lips parted. Just enough.
He pushed the rice inside.
You chewed mechanically, eyes stinging, hating the way your body betrayed you by swallowing. The grains were perfect—soft, faintly sweet from whatever subtle seasoning Uraume used. You hated that too.
Sukuna watched every motion. The way your throat worked. The way a single grain clung to the corner of your mouth until his thumb brushed it away.
“Good,” he murmured.
He fed you another bite. Then another. Never rushing. Never forcing more than you could take at once. One of his free hands settled at the small of your back—not pulling you closer, just resting there, steadying you as though you might topple sideways from the effort of hating him while your body demanded to live.
You ate half the bowl before shame choked you again. You tried to turn your head.
He didn’t let you.
The last bite he held between his fingers longer than necessary, letting you feel the heat of his skin, the faint pulse beneath it. When you finally took it—lips closing around the pads of his fingers for one humiliating second—something flickered in his eyes. Not lust, not yet. Satisfaction. The quiet pleasure of something stubborn beginning to bend.
He set the empty bowl aside. His hand lingered on your cheek a moment longer before falling away.
“You’ll eat tomorrow,” he said, rising to his full height again. “And the day after. And every day I decide you’re still useful alive.”
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, glaring up at him through wet lashes. “I hate you.”
He smiled—small, sharp, genuine.
“I know.”
He returned to the mat, stretched out on his side, and closed two eyes while the other two stayed fixed on you. You stayed where you were, back to the wall, knees still drawn tight, tasting rice and salt and the ghost of his fingers on your tongue.
Hunger sated. Defiance cracked, just a little.
And in the shadowed quiet of the fortress, the King of Curses watched his stolen faithful with the patience of someone who already knew how this story ended.
Days bled into one another until the rhythm of captivity began to feel less like chains and more like gravity—inescapable, constant, wearing down edges you once thought sharp. You no longer pressed yourself to the farthest wall when he entered the chamber. You no longer flinched at every shift of his massive frame. Vigilance replaced panic; observation replaced despair.
You learned the fortress the way a prisoner learns the bars of a cage. The low wooden chest near the alcove held his smaller blades—curved tanto with black-wrapped hilts, edges honed to split hairs. You watched him retrieve them once, twice, committing the latch’s soft click to memory. Uraume never lingered near it; Sukuna himself seemed to forget it existed most days, as though no one in this place would dare touch what was his.
You told yourself the knowledge was survival. You told yourself the plan forming in the quiet hours—when his breathing evened out beside you and the braziers burned low—was justice. The temple still haunted your dreams: splintered beams, overturned altars, the last prayer dying on your lips as he carried you away. Revenge felt righteous. Necessary.
And yet.
His body had become a fixture. Four arms that could crush stone now draped carelessly across the mat at night—one slung over your waist when he slept deepest, another curled beneath his own head, the remaining two loose at his sides. The heat of him seeped through silk and skin alike, a furnace you could no longer pretend to ignore. You hated how your muscles learned to relax against that warmth instead of locking in terror. Hated how, when he spoke—low commands, mocking observations—your replies came edged but quieter now. Less venom. More resignation. Familiarity was its own slow poison.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
Sometimes his gaze lingered longer when you answered him. A faint curl at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. Something pleased. Something patient.
You waited for the right night.
It came without fanfare.
The moon hung thin and pale beyond the narrow window slits. Sukuna had returned late from whatever carnage called him away—reeking faintly of smoke and copper, outer robes discarded carelessly near the entrance. He collapsed onto the mat with a grunt, eyes sliding shut faster than usual. Exhaustion, perhaps. Or arrogance. Two eyes closed completely; the other pair fluttered half-lidded for a moment before drifting shut as well.
You lay motionless beside him until his breathing deepened—slow, even pulls that lifted the wide plane of his chest. Minutes stretched. Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you were certain he would wake from the sound alone.
He didn’t.
You moved.
Silent as temple shadow, you slipped from beneath the thin cover. Bare feet met cold stone. You crossed to the chest on trembling legs, fingers numb as they worked the latch. The blade came free easily—lighter than you expected, wicked curve glinting faintly in the dying ember light. You gripped it so tightly your knuckles ached.
Adrenaline sang in your veins. Fear. Fury. Something darker.
You returned to the mat.
Sukuna laid on his back, arms splayed, tattoos stark against scarlet skin. Vulnerable in sleep the way only predators can afford to be. You swallowed once—hard—then swung one leg over his waist. The yukata rode up your thighs as you settled your weight astride him, knees bracketing his hips. He was massive beneath you; your thighs strained to accommodate the breadth of him. The heat of his body immediately soaked through the thin layers separating you.
You leaned forward.
One hand braced on his chest—feeling the steady thud of a heart too strong, too steady—while the other brought the blade to his throat. The edge kissed skin just below the sharp line of his jaw. A single bead of blood welled where steel met flesh, dark and sluggish.
You pressed.
Not deep. Not yet.
Just enough to feel resistance. Enough to imagine the rest.
Your breath came in shallow pants. Tears pricked your eyes—not from fear now, but from the sheer weight of what you were about to do. What you had to do.
He didn’t stir.
Not yet.
But beneath you, his body registered the new pressure. A subtle shift—muscles tightening minutely under your thighs, the slow rise of his chest hitching once as though some animal instinct registered weight, warmth, threat.
His four arms remained lax.
His eyes stayed closed.
The blade trembled in your grip.
And still he slept—deep enough that the King of Curses had not yet woken to the faithful girl straddling his waist with death at his throat.
He felt you.
Not the weight of your body first—not the press of your thighs around his hips or the tremor in your knees—but the cold kiss of steel against his throat. A single drop of blood had already slid down the side of his neck, dark against scarlet skin, before instinct finally pulled him from sleep.
His eyes opened slowly.
Two at first, then the other pair followed, crimson slits widening into lazy, unhurried focus. No jolt. No surge of violence. Just that deliberate unfurling of awareness, like a beast deciding whether the thing on its back was prey or amusement.
He tilted his head—just enough that the blade bit a fraction deeper, another thin line of red welling up. His gaze locked on yours.
You froze.
The hand holding the tanto stayed firm, knuckles white, but the rest of you went still as temple stone. You had never been this close. Not really. Not like this. You had seen him bare-chested after baths, yukata slipping low on his shoulders, tattoos shifting over muscle as he moved. You had felt the furnace heat of him at night when one careless arm draped across your waist. But this—straddling the King of Curses, thighs spread wide over the hard plane of his abdomen, faces inches apart—was different. Intimate in a way that made your pulse roar in your ears. His breath ghosted warm against your lips. His eyes held yours without blinking, pupils blown wide in the low light, drinking you in.
“You’re quite brave,” he murmured, voice rough from sleep, low enough that it vibrated through your joined bodies. “Finally took your chance.”
Your mouth opened. Closed. The words came anyway, cracked and furious and trembling all at once.
“You took everything from me,” you whispered. “You’ll take from others just like you did me.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. One corner of his mouth curled—small, almost fond.
“I will,” he said simply. No apology. No justification. Just truth laid bare between you like an offering.
Then quieter, almost gentle: “You should follow through with something if you’ve made up your mind.”
The blade trembled. Your arm ached from holding it steady. This was it—the moment you had rehearsed in the dark, the righteous stroke that would end him, end the fear, end the slow unraveling of who you used to be.
You couldn’t.
The steel stayed pressed to his throat, but your fingers wouldn’t close. Wouldn’t push. Tears burned hot at the corners of your eyes; you hated them as much as you hated him.
His lower pair of hands moved first—slow, deliberate—sliding up your arms until they settled on your shoulders. The grip was firm. Not bruising. Just enough to anchor you.
He shook you once—light, almost playful.
“Do it,” he said.
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe right.
“If I don’t kill you,” you managed at last, voice breaking, “you’ll harm more.”
Something flickered in his eyes—amusement, maybe, or recognition. Then motion.
In one fluid roll he flipped you.
The world tilted. Stone mat rushed up to meet your back. Air punched out of your lungs. He loomed above you now—massive, unyielding—caging you beneath the breadth of his chest and the weight of four arms. One hand braced beside your head. Another pinned your waist to the mat, your trembling fingers keeping the blade trapped between your palm and his throat. The edge still kissed skin; a fresh bead of blood slid down to drip onto your collarbone, warm and slow.
He didn’t pull away.
Didn’t disarm you.
He simply looked down at you—eyes half-lidded, mouth curved in that same unreadable almost-smile.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, the tanto still clutched in your shaking fingers, steel pressed firm to the pulse at his neck.
Neither of you moved.
The braziers crackled faintly in the silence.
Blood dripped.
And in the shadowed space between your bodies—close enough to feel every rise and fall of his breath against your skin—you both simply looked at each other, suspended on the razor’s edge of what came next.
His lower arms moved first—slow, deliberate, palms broad and warm as they settled around your waist. Fingers splayed wide, thumbs brushing the dip just above your hipbones. He held you firmer then, not trapping, not bruising, just claiming the shape of you as though measuring how perfectly you fit in his grasp. The pressure was steady. Inescapable. Your yukata—already loosened from the roll—slid higher under the coaxing slide of his hands. Silk whispered against skin until cool air kissed the bare curve of your thighs, the soft swell of your hips, the vulnerable heat between them.
You were bare underneath.
He was bare too.
The realization hit like a struck bell: the hard, thickening length of him—two cocks, heavy and hot—pressed flush against the slick seam of your cunt. No fabric between you now. Just skin on skin. The blunt heads nudged against your folds with every shallow breath he took, smearing warmth, promising stretch, promising ruin. Your body clenched on nothing; a shameful pulse of wet heat answered him before your mind could catch up.
It was too much.
Too aware.
Too close.
He never looked away.
Those four crimson eyes held yours—unblinking, unhurried—watching every flicker of defeat cross your face. Your lips parted on shallow pants. Tears clung to your lashes. The tanto still trembled in your grip, edge kissing the steady throb at his throat, but the fight had bled out of your arm. You looked small beneath him. Broken open. Waiting.
He leaned forward until his mouth hovered a breath from yours.
“Stupid girl,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough and almost tender.
Then he kissed you.
Slow.
Sweet.
His lips caught yours with a gentleness that felt obscene coming from him—soft press, slow drag, tongue tracing the seam of your mouth until you opened for him on instinct. He sucked at your lower lip, gentle pull that drew a broken sound from your throat. One of his upper hands cradled the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, tilting you deeper into the kiss while his lower hands pushed the yukata higher still—baring the soft plane of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts, every inch of skin he could reach.
He moaned into your mouth low and hungry, it vibrated through your chest.
The blade slipped.
Your fingers loosened. The tanto fell from your grasp, clattering sharp against the stone floor somewhere to the side. Forgotten.
Then your now empty hand rose instead, hesitant and trembling—until your fingers found the nape of his neck. Tangled in the coarse silk of his hair. Pulled.
Not away.
Closer.
You arched beneath him without meaning to, breasts brushing the hard planes of his chest, cunt sliding slick against the underside of one thick cock. The friction dragged a whimper past your lips; he swallowed it, tongue stroking deeper, tasting the salt of your tears and the faint sweetness still lingering from the rice he’d fed you nights before.
His lower hands tightened on your waist—thumbs stroking slow circles over your hipbones—keeping you pinned, keeping you open, keeping you his.
He broke the kiss only long enough to drag his mouth along your jaw, down the column of your throat where his lips felt your pulse flutter against it. His tongue flicked over the skin there, tasting your defiance turned to surrender.
You shuddered.
Your fingers tightened in his hair.
And beneath him, bare and trembling, you stopped pretending you wanted anything else.
His lower hands tightened on your hips—fingers digging into soft flesh just enough to bruise tomorrow—and he rocked you forward in a slow, deliberate grind. Your slick cunt dragged along the thick undersides of his cocks, parting around them, coating them in the shameful evidence of your want. The friction was obscene: hot, slippery, relentless. Every slide nudged the swollen heads against your clit before gliding back, teasing without entering, promising everything and giving nothing yet.
A moan tore from your throat—raw, broken, involuntary. You couldn’t swallow it down. Couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there.
He exhaled against your skin, a low, pleased rumble that vibrated through your ribs.
“That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “So wet for me, doll… so wet already.”
The words landed like a brand. You swallowed hard, throat clicking, but your arms only wound tighter around his neck—fingers knotting in his hair, nails scraping scalp as though you needed to anchor yourself to the very thing destroying you. Your thighs trembled where they bracketed his waist; your hips jerked once on their own, chasing the pressure before shame could catch up.
He kissed down the column of your throat—slow, open-mouthed—then lower still. His mouth found the soft swell of your breasts, tongue flicking once over one peaked nipple before he closed his lips around it. Sucked. Hard. The wet pull drew a sharp gasp from you; your back arched off the mat, offering more without meaning to. He switched to the other, teeth grazing just enough to sting before soothing with slow, languid licks. Your nipples throbbed under the attention—sensitive, aching, flushed dark from his mouth.
One of his upper hands slid down the inside of your thigh, palm rough and warm, pushing your leg wider. Then the other—spreading you open until the cool air of the chamber kissed the slick heat between your thighs. Exposed. Vulnerable. His cocks slotted perfectly now—thick lengths gliding through your folds, the blunt heads catching on your clit with every roll of his hips. Harder. Faster. The rhythm built until wet sounds filled the quiet room: your arousal, his low groans, the slick slide of skin on skin.
You whimpered—high and helpless—hips lifting to meet him, cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for more than friction. Tears slipped free again, sliding down your temples into your hair, but they weren’t from fear this time. Not entirely.
He lifted his head just enough to watch your face—eyes half-lidded, mouth wet and swollen from kissing you earlier. One hand came up to thumb away a tear, almost gentle.
“Look at you,” he rasped, rocking you harder against him, letting you feel every ridged inch of him glide over your clit. “Already dripping. Already begging without saying the word.”
Your breath hitched. Your fingers dug deeper into his shoulders.
He leaned in again—mouth brushing yours, not quite kissing, just breathing you in.
“Say it,” he murmured against your lips. “Tell me what you want, little faithful. Or I’ll keep you right here—teasing, grinding, until you cry for it.”
Your thighs shook. Your cunt pulsed. The heat between you was unbearable now—wet, aching, unbearable.
And still he waited—patient, predatory, rocking you slow and filthy along the length of him—watching every flicker of surrender cross your face.
You broke first.
The words slipped out on a trembling exhale—soft, fractured, barely louder than a whisper. “Please…”
It wasn’t surrender spoken in anger. It was need, raw and stripped bare, voice cracking on the single syllable like glass under pressure. Your thighs shook where they cradled his hips; your fingers clenched in his hair so tight it pulled at the roots. You were shaking apart beneath him, cunt fluttering uselessly against the slow, torturous glide of his cocks along your folds, and still he waited—watching, drinking in the way defeat looked on your face when it finally wore your pride thin.
His mouth curved against your temple—almost gentle.
“That’s it, sweet girl,” he murmured, voice low and thick with something darker than amusement. “I’ll fill you up.”
He shifted then—slow, deliberate—aligning the thicker of his two cocks with your entrance. The blunt, leaking head nudged past your folds, parting slick lips that had never known anything but empty ache. You were untouched. Virgin. He could feel it in every instinctive clench, every flutter of your inner walls trying to decide whether to push him out or pull him deeper. Your body was too eager—too overwhelmed—muscles fluttering wildly around the intrusion before he’d even breached you properly.
He kissed you again—deeper this time, tongue sliding slow and possessive against yours, swallowing the small, helpless sounds that spilled from your throat as he began to press forward.
The fat tip breached you.
Your cunt squeezed—hard, reflexive, impossibly tight. A sharp, startled cry muffled against his mouth. He groaned low in his chest at the resistance, at the velvet heat clamping down like it wanted to strangle him already. Precum smeared inside you, thick and hot, easing the way just enough that he could inch forward another fraction. Your walls fluttered desperately around the crown—trying to accommodate, failing, trying again. Too much. Too full already and he’d barely started.
He held your hips steady with his lower hands—thumbs stroking soothing circles over the sensitive skin just above your mound—while one upper hand cradled the back of your neck, keeping your mouth locked to his. The other braced beside your head, caging you without crushing.
“Relax,” he rasped against your lips, voice rough with restraint. “Breathe for me, doll. You’re taking it so well already.”
Another slow push.
Your back arched off the mat—sharp gasp tearing free as another inch sank in. The stretch burned—sweet, aching, overwhelming—your cunt spasming around him, milking the thick head like it couldn’t decide if it hated or craved the invasion. Tears slipped hot down your cheeks; he licked them away without breaking the kiss, tasting salt and surrender.
He didn’t rush.
He rocked—tiny, shallow thrusts—working the fat tip deeper with every careful roll of his hips, letting your body adjust inch by torturous inch. Your nails raked down his shoulders; your thighs trembled wide around him. The second cock—still hard and heavy—dragged along your clit with every motion, smearing slick, keeping the pleasure sharp and constant even as the stretch threatened to undo you.
You whimpered into his mouth—high, broken, needy.
He swallowed it.
Pressed deeper.
Your cunt yielded another reluctant inch—walls fluttering, squeezing, fluttering again—clinging to him so tightly he had to grit his teeth against the urge to slam home. Not yet. Not when you were still trembling like this, still so sweetly overwhelmed, still giving him every fractured sound and shudder.
He broke the kiss only to drag his mouth to your ear.
“Good girl,” he breathed, voice wrecked with want. “Let me in. Let me fill that tight little cunt the way it’s begging to be filled.”
Another slow, relentless push.
Your body opened—just barely—around the thickest part of him.
And still he kept going—slow, patient, merciless—determined to bury every inch until you were stuffed full and weeping for more.
Too big.
The thought looped through your mind like a broken sutra—too big, too big, too big—as the thick head of his cock sank deeper, stretching you beyond what felt possible. Your walls fluttered wildly around him, spasming in protest and pleasure both, forced to yield inch by merciless inch. He swelled inside you—hot, throbbing, impossibly thick—filling you up up up until every shallow breath pushed your belly taut, until you could feel the blunt pressure of him high against the deepest place inside.
Your body had no choice but to mould itself around him.
Soft inner walls reshaped themselves to the heavy ridge of his cock—clenching, fluttering, trying to push him out and pull him deeper all at once. He pushed again—slow, relentless—and your cunt gave another reluctant inch, the stretch burning sweet and sharp until tears spilled freely down your cheeks. He was rearranging you from the inside—carving space where there had been none, claiming every fluttering inch as his.
The fat head kissed your cervix—then pressed harder. You gasped, high and startled, hips jerking uselessly beneath him. He didn’t stop. Another shallow thrust and the tight ring of muscle yielded—opening for him like it had been waiting, like your body had always known it would bend to this. He bottomed out with a low groan that vibrated through your joined bodies, cock buried to the hilt, pulsing hot against the deepest part of you.
“So tight,” he rasped against your throat, voice wrecked with restraint. “Look at you… taking it all. Opening right up for me like a good little thing.”
You whimpered—broken, overwhelmed—nails digging crescent moons into his shoulders. Your cunt clenched hard around him, milking the thick length instinctively, every spasm dragging a rough sound from his chest. He stayed still for a long moment—letting you feel every inch, every throb, every vein—letting your body adjust to the brutal fullness.
His second cock—still hard, still leaking—dragged heavy along your clit with every tiny shift of his hips, smearing precum and your slick in filthy streaks. He could imagine it: both cocks splitting you open, stretching your poor cunt until it gaped around him, until you sobbed from the overstimulation alone. The thought made his hips twitch forward once—sharp, involuntary—bumping your cervix again and drawing a choked cry from your lips.
But not yet.
He wasn’t going to force it. Not tonight.
He wanted to work this tight little cunt open on one first—train it to take him properly, to crave the stretch, to weep and flutter every time he sank in deep. He rolled his hips—slow, grinding circles—keeping himself buried to the root while the blunt head rubbed insistently against that sensitive inner spot. Your thighs shook around his waist; your breath came in ragged little pants.
He kissed you again—messy, open-mouthed—swallowing every broken sound as he began to move.
Shallow thrusts at first—barely pulling out before sliding back in, letting your walls cling desperately to every retreating inch. Then deeper. Harder. Each stroke dragged along your fluttering walls, bumping your cervix, forcing it to soften further under the relentless pressure until it kissed the tip of him like a welcome.
Your body trembled beneath him—sweat-slick, overstimulated, utterly full. Your cunt squeezed him like a vice—wet, hot, greedy now—coating him in slick that dripped down to soak the mat beneath you.
He groaned low into your mouth.
“That’s it,” he murmured, hips snapping once—deep, punishing—making your back arch and your toes curl. “Let it open for me, doll. Let me ruin this pretty cunt until it only knows my shape.”
Another thrust—harder still—cervix yielding completely now, letting him grind against the deepest place inside you.
You sobbed against his lips—pleasure and pain blurring into something white-hot and overwhelming.
And still he moved—slow when you needed slow, hard when your body begged for it—working you open, reshaping you, claiming you until there was nothing left but the slick slide of him inside you and the broken, needy sounds spilling from your throat.
Fuck, it was so sloppy.
The way your cunt finally gave in—opened wide and wet and greedy around the thick length of him—made obscene, slick sounds with every slow withdrawal and deeper plunge. Your walls clung desperately, fluttering and spasming, coated in a thick sheen of your own arousal that dripped down his shaft, down your thighs, soaking the mat beneath you in dark, glistening patches. No resistance left. Just raw, yielding heat that swallowed him whole every time he sank back in.
He watched it happen.
Watched the way your soft belly began to bulge—properly now, unmistakably—every time he bottomed out. The fat head of his cock pressed high against your cervix, then higher still, stretching your insides until the outline of him showed beneath your skin. A slow, obscene swell that rose just below your navel, then receded slightly when he pulled back, only to bloom again with the next deep thrust. He could see it. Feel it. The way your body reshaped itself around him, forced to accommodate every ridged inch until the shape of his cock was etched into your flesh.
He was mesmerised.
One of his upper hands left the mat and slid down—palm broad and warm—settling right over that curious swell. Fingers splayed wide, pressing gently at first, then firmer, feeling the hard length of himself moving beneath the soft layer of your stomach. He groaned low in his throat—rough, reverent—hips stuttering once at the sensation.
“Look at that,” he rasped, voice thick with dark wonder. “Look how full you are, doll. Look how your little cunt bulges for me.”
You whimpered—high and helpless—head tipping back against the mat, tears slipping sideways into your hair. The pressure of his hand only made it worse—made you feel every inch more vividly, every throb, every slow grind against that deep, sensitive place inside. Your walls clenched hard around him in response; slick gushed anew, coating him, easing the next brutal slide home.
He rocked deeper—deliberate now—watching the swell rise and fall beneath his palm like he was mapping new territory. His thumb traced the outline once—slow, possessive—following the exact ridge of his cock as it pressed outward. Another groan tore from him, low and wrecked.
“Fuck,” he breathed, almost to himself. “I could watch this forever. Watch you take me… watch this pretty belly swell every time I fill you up.”
He leaned down—mouth finding yours again, messy and hungry—kissing you through the next deep thrust that made the bulge bloom higher. His lower hands gripped your hips tighter, angling you just right so every stroke dragged along that spot that made your thighs shake and your cunt flutter wildly.
You sobbed into his mouth—overwhelmed, overstuffed, ruined in the sweetest way—nails raking down his back as your body surrendered completely.
He didn’t speed up.
He kept it slow—torturously slow—savoring every sloppy, wet slide, every visible proof of how thoroughly he was claiming you. Hand still pressed to your belly. Eyes fixed on the swell. Mesmerised by the sight of his own cock reshaping you from the inside out.
And still he moved—deep, relentless—watching, feeling, owning every trembling inch of the faithful girl who had once held a blade to his throat.
Now you only held him.
Deep.
Full.
Bulging.
His.
The wet noises filled the chamber—filthy, unmistakable. Every deep plunge of his cock dragged slick sounds from your stretched cunt: the lewd squelch of your walls clinging desperately to him, the wet slap of skin meeting skin, the obscene drip of your arousal coating his shaft and pooling beneath you. No hiding it. No pretending this wasn’t happening. Your body sang for him in every sloppy, soaked rhythm.
He fucked into you now—deeper, faster—lower hands locked around your waist like iron bands, holding you steady while he pulled you down hard onto every thick inch. The force of it jolted through you: cervix kissed roughly with each snap of his hips, the bulge in your belly rising sharp and obscene every time he bottomed out. Your thighs trembled uselessly around him; your nails raked red lines down his back. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe right. Only feel—full, stretched, claimed.
His second cock—still untouched inside you—dragged heavy and hot along your clit with every brutal thrust. The fat, leaking tip slid over the swollen bud in perfect, relentless friction: up when he pulled back, down when he slammed home. Edging you mercilessly. Building the pressure until your whole body wound tight, thighs shaking, cunt fluttering wildly around the cock already buried to the hilt.
“Fuck—look at you,” he growled against your throat, voice wrecked and reverent. “Taking it so deep… dripping everywhere… gonna cum for me, aren’t you, doll?”
You couldn’t answer. Only whimper—high, broken, needy—as the dual assault pushed you higher. The thick length inside you grinding against every sensitive spot; the second cock rubbing filthy circles over your clit until sparks burst behind your eyes.
Then it hit.
Hard.
Your cunt clamped down like a vice—spasming, milking him in violent waves as you came undone around the fat cock splitting you open. A sob tore from your throat; your back arched off the mat, hips jerking uncontrollably as pleasure ripped through you in white-hot pulses. Slick gushed around him—hot, messy—coating his shaft, dripping down to slick the second cock still teasing your oversensitive clit. Your walls fluttered and squeezed, greedy and relentless, trying to pull him deeper even as your body shook apart.
He groaned low—almost pained—hips stuttering once at the sudden, brutal grip of your orgasm. His fingers dug harder into your waist, holding you pinned as he fucked you through it: short, punishing thrusts that dragged every last tremor from your cunt, making the bulge in your belly pulse with every slam.
“That’s it,” he rasped, mouth brushing your ear, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “Cum all over my cock… make it sloppy… make it yours.”
You shuddered—aftershocks rolling through you—tears slipping hot down your cheeks as your cunt kept fluttering around him, still so full, still so stretched, still weeping slick with every slow grind he gave you now.
He didn’t stop moving.
Didn’t pull out.
Just kept you impaled—deep, steady—watching your face with half-lidded eyes as your body trembled in the aftermath, the second cock still dragging lazy, teasing strokes over your throbbing clit.
Ready.
Patient.
Waiting to see how much more his sweet, ruined faithful could take.
He fucked into your creaming cunt with purpose now—deep, punishing strokes that slapped wet and filthy against your thighs every time he bottomed out. Your slick had turned thick and white around his shaft, frothing at the base with every brutal plunge, coating him in creamy evidence of how thoroughly your body had surrendered. The bulge in your belly pulsed visibly with each thrust—rising sharp when he buried himself to the hilt, receding only to bloom again as he dragged back and slammed forward. Your walls fluttered helplessly around him, milking greedily, still spasming from the orgasm that had ripped through you moments before.
He groaned low—voice wrecked, ragged—hips snapping harder, faster, chasing the tight, wet heat that gripped him like it never wanted to let go.
“Fuck—look at this messy little pussy,” he rasped, one hand still pressed to the swell of your stomach, feeling himself move beneath your skin. “Creaming all over my cock… taking it so deep… gonna fill you up, doll. Gonna stuff this cunt so full you’ll feel me for days.”
Your head thrashed against the mat—tears streaming, mouth open on broken moans you couldn’t swallow down. Your nails dug into his shoulders; your thighs trembled wide and useless around his waist. Every thrust knocked the air from your lungs, bumped your cervix, ground the fat head against that spot inside until stars burst behind your eyes again.
He was close.
You could feel it—the way his cocks throbbed heavier inside and against you, the way his rhythm stuttered, the low growl building in his chest. His lower hands clamped down on your hips—bruising, possessive—yanking you down hard onto every upward snap as he fucked his way toward release.
Then it hit him.
A rough, guttural sound tore from his throat—half growl, half moan—as he slammed in one final time, burying himself to the root. His cock pulsed violently inside you, swelling thicker still, and then he came..hot and it felt endless inside of you.
Rope after thick rope flooded your fluttering pussy—hot cum spurting deep against your cervix, filling you so fast, so much, that your walls couldn’t contain it all. Your cunt clenched reflexively around the invasion, milking him greedily, but there was too much. It leaked out around his shaft in creamy white streaks, dripping down to soak the mat, yet still he kept pumping—hips grinding slow, deep circles now, forcing every last drop higher inside you.
Your belly swelled visibly—bloating with the sheer volume of his release. The bulge that had once only shown his cock now rounded softer, fuller, stretching your skin taut as cum packed your womb and pussy full. You whimpered—overstimulated, overwhelmed—feeling the obscene pressure build inside, the heavy slosh of it every time he shifted even slightly.
He stayed buried deep—cock still twitching, still leaking the last weak spurts—while one hand slid up to cup the new, soft swell of your lower belly. Fingers splayed wide, pressing gently, feeling the warmth and fullness he’d forced into you.
“Fuck,” he breathed, voice low and reverent, eyes fixed on the way your cunt bulged around him, lips stretched tight, creamy cum seeping out in slow, thick rivulets. “Look at you… stuffed so full… bloating with my cum like a perfect little vessel.”
You shuddered beneath him—body trembling, cunt still fluttering weakly around the thick length keeping you plugged. Tears slipped hot down your cheeks; your breath came in shallow, hiccuping pants.
He leaned down—mouth brushing your ear, voice dark and satisfied.
“You’re mine now,” he murmured, hips giving one last lazy roll that made more cum leak out around him. “Every inch… every drop… every swell. All mine.”
And still he didn’t pull out.
Just stayed seated deep—letting you feel the heavy, warm weight of him inside, the obscene bloat of your belly, the slow drip of his seed claiming you from the inside out—while the braziers flickered low and the fortress held its breath around the ruined faithful girl who had finally, completely, fallen.
The chamber settled into a heavy, humid quiet.
Only the low crackle of dying braziers and the uneven rhythm of your shared breathing remained. Your body felt foreign—softened, swollen, reshaped from the inside out. His cock still rested deep inside you, softening slowly but not withdrawing, keeping every thick drop of his release plugged tight where it belonged. The obscene bloat in your lower belly had settled into a warm, heavy fullness that shifted with every shallow inhale. When you moved even slightly, you could feel the slow, lazy slosh of cum deep within—thick, warm, too much to be contained.
A faint trickle escaped anyway—creamy white slipping from where your stretched lips clung to the base of his shaft, sliding down the cleft of your ass to pool beneath you on the already ruined mat. The scent of it filled the air: musky, salty, unmistakably him. Mixed with the sharp tang of your own release. It clung to your thighs, your skin, your hair. There was no escaping it.
You lay limp beneath him—limbs heavy, trembling faintly in aftershocks. Your cunt throbbed around the softening length still buried inside, fluttering weakly every few heartbeats like it couldn’t decide whether to mourn the stretch or beg for more. Tears had dried on your cheeks, leaving salty tracks; your lips felt swollen from his kisses, bruised and tingling.
He hadn’t moved much.
One lower hand stayed splayed over the soft swell of your abdomen—palm warm, possessive—thumb tracing idle, slow circles over the place where his cum had bloated you full. The other lower hand rested at the small of your back, holding you arched just enough to keep him seated deep. His upper arms braced on either side of your head, caging without crushing, while his face hovered close—breath warm against your temple.
He watched you.
Not with hunger now. Not with that predatory gleam. Something quieter. Almost contemplative.
His thumb pressed once—gently—against the rounded curve of your belly. You whimpered at the pressure; more cum leaked out in a slow, warm trickle. He exhaled through his nose—almost a laugh.
“Still leaking,” he murmured, voice low and rough from exertion. “Even plugged like this… your greedy little cunt can’t hold it all.”
You swallowed. Throat raw. No words came.
He shifted—slow—pulling back just enough that the fat head dragged along your oversensitive walls. You gasped—sharp, startled—as another thick gush of cum followed the motion, spilling free in a messy rush. Your thighs trembled; your hips jerked involuntarily.
He stilled again. Didn’t pull out completely.
Just watched the way your body reacted—how your cunt clenched around nothing now that he’d eased back an inch, how more of his seed dripped out in slow, obscene rivulets.
One hand slid up—cupped your cheek—thumb brushing away the last damp track of tears.
“You took it well,” he said. Simple. Almost soft. “Took every drop. Look at you… all swollen and full. Marked inside and out.”
Your breath hitched.
He leaned down—pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. Not demanding. Not claiming. Just there.
Then he finally began to ease out.
Inch by torturous inch.
Your walls fluttered desperately around the retreating length—clinging, fluttering, trying to keep him inside even now. When the head finally slipped free with a wet pop, a fresh flood followed—thick, hot, pouring from your gaping cunt in a slow, creamy cascade. It soaked your thighs, the mat, everything beneath you. Your belly deflated slightly as the pressure eased, but the fullness lingered: a deep, aching warmth that pulsed with every heartbeat.
You whimpered again—small, broken—legs falling open wider on instinct as your body tried to adjust to the sudden emptiness.
He stayed above you—watching.
One hand dipped between your thighs—two thick fingers sliding easily through the mess, gathering the slick mix of cum and your release before pushing back inside. Slow. Deep. Plugging you again with just his fingers while the rest continued to leak around them.
“Shh,” he murmured when you shuddered. “Keep it in. Let it settle.”
His fingers curled once—pressing against that spot inside that made your hips twitch—then stilled.
He withdrew them slowly. Brought them to his mouth. Licked them clean with deliberate swipes of his tongue—eyes never leaving yours.
Then he gathered you.
Four arms moved at once—lifting you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing. Your head lolled against his shoulder; your legs draped limp over one arm. Cum still dripped from between your thighs, warm trails sliding down his skin now too.
He carried you to the alcove where the wooden tub still waited—water long cooled but clean. Uraume had prepared it earlier, before everything unraveled.
He lowered you into it carefully.
The water stung at first—cool against fever-hot skin—then soothed. He knelt at the edge, one hand supporting your neck so your head rested against the rim, the other dipping beneath the surface to cup water and rinse the mess from your thighs, your folds, your belly.
Gentle.
Methodical.
He washed you like something precious. Something his.
When the water turned cloudy with the evidence of what he’d done, he lifted you out again—wrapped you in a thick, dry cloth, carried you back to the mat (a fresh one already laid out; Uraume was nothing if not efficient).
He laid you down. Pulled the thin cover over your trembling body.
Then he stretched out beside you—close, always close—one arm draped over your waist, palm settling once more over the soft, lingering swell of your lower belly.
“Sleep,” he said against your hair. Voice low. Quiet. “You’ll need it.”
Your eyes fluttered shut—exhaustion crashing over you like a wave.
The last thing you felt was the steady rise and fall of his chest at your back, the warmth of his hand cradling the place he had filled, claimed, ruined, and—somehow—kept.
The flood had passed.
But the aftermath lingered, with you you'd never been this close to being worshiped, oh how the roles reversed and he would always keep you tethering between God and him.