Leaf 🍃

You could only lie there, staring into the darkness, imagining the way he must have spoken those words, whether he dictated them to an attendant with that quiet authority of his, or perhaps wrote them himself. They meant something to you. Something unfamiliar, something you had thought long gone.

Your palace was comfortable. Your life was comfortable and safely distanced from every nobleman and every person who, like him, had once expressed interest in knowing you. You had grown used to it. Used to not being known. Used to being… comfortable. Maybe that was why the thought of seeing him again felt so tempting, and at the same time, so terrifying.

What if he liked you? What if he thought of you the same way you found yourself wanting to think of him?

With your parents dictating your every move, you weren’t even sure you would be allowed near him, let alone entertain such thoughts. Were you allowed to feel them? To want them? The question alone was enough to unsettle you, to undo you in ways you didn’t quite understand.

‘Am I allowed to cry?’

You turned onto your back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, and let the Fire Lord’s letter slip from your fingers onto the floor. And still, your mind returned to him, to his eyes, to the way they had lingered. Not improper, never that, but intent. Curious. Careful in a way that almost made it worse. So proper… you almost wished he hadn’t been.

Your hand, still warm from holding the letter, drifted downward, so hesitant and uncertain before you stopped yourself, breath catching.

No. Not now. Not like this.

Who were you to think of Zuko that way?

You turned onto your side, pulling the sheets closer around you as if they could quiet the thoughts still echoing in your mind. Eventually, sleep found you, though not without his voice, his gaze, and the promise of that invitation following you into it.

I dream of cracking locks

Throwing my life to the wolves

Or the ocean rocks

Crashing into him tonight

He's a paradox

I'm seeing visions, am I bad?

Or mad? Or wise?

The palace was louder than you had imagined. Warmer, too. Gold and crimson everywhere, voices layered over music, movement constant and suffocating in its own way.

Your father had let you go under one condition: don’t speak to the fire lord.

How were you supposed to do that when it was him hosting?

There was a quiet, dangerous thought not so much in the back of your mind.

What if tonight you didn’t hold yourself back?

What if you stopped being the version of yourself they had shaped so carefully, so precisely?

What if you let something break?

The thought alone made your chest tighten.

You could almost see it: yourself stepping forward, closing the distance between you and him without hesitation, without permission.

You swallowed, your fingers tightening slightly around the sleeve of your ceremonial robes, dyed in the deep greens and golds of the Earth Kingdom. You stood beside your mother in a quieter corner of the hall, just far enough from the crowd gathered around your father to avoid drawing attention.

“May I get something to eat, Mother?” you asked lightly. “Or perhaps something to drink?”

She didn’t turn to look at you, and you understood immediately what she thought of the suggestion.

“You know what your father thinks about drinking,” she said, her tone measured. Then, after a brief pause, “Though… I wouldn’t mind something myself. If a server happens to pass by.”

As if summoned by the thought, a servant carrying a tray of drinks crossed your line of sight, only to disappear again into the shifting crowd.

“I’ll get it for you, Mother,” you said quickly, already stepping away before she could object.

The further you moved from her side, the louder the room seemed to become. Voices overlapped, silk brushed against silk, and the warmth of the Fire Nation court pressed in from all sides. You caught sight of the servant again and slipped through the crowd, reaching for one of the cups just as someone shifted beside you. Your shoulder brushed against another body making the tray tilt, and in the next second, it slipped from your grasp.

Liquid spilled forward in a shimmering arc, straight onto the figure before you.

The room seemed to still.

“My apologies!” you rushed out, your eyes dropping to the mess spreading across the polished floor. The words came easily, almost automatic, but they faltered the moment your gaze lifted.

The Fire Lord himself.

For a brief second, something unreadable crossed Zuko’s face. Surprise first, sharp and sudden, followed by a flicker of irritation at the disruption. But then he saw you.

And everything softened.

“Fire Lord, I am so terribly sorry, I—” you began, already dipping into a bow, only for him to stop you mid-motion. A quiet gasp rippled through the nearby crowd.

“Please, there’s no need for that,” he said, his voice calm, carrying just enough authority to settle the moment. “It’s only a bit of spilled drink. No harm has been done. You may rest easy.” His gaze shifted briefly outward. “Everyone, do continue enjoying the evening.”

The attention dispersed slowly, though not without lingering glances.

When it was just the two of you again, he looked down at his robes, brushing lightly at the damp fabric with the faintest hint of amusement.

“Nothing a little heat won’t fix,” he added, almost under his breath, before reaching for another cup from a passing tray and offering it to you.

Your fingers brushed as you took it.

That alone was enough to set warmth rushing to your cheeks.

It had been a simple gesture, were you going mad by imagining the heat in his touch?

Up close, he was… unreal. His formal robes were layered in deep crimson and black, threaded with gold that caught the light with every subtle movement, the high collar framing his face, his hair tied back neatly save for a few loose strands that softened the sharpness of his features. He looked every bit the Fire Lord… and yet not at all like the distant figure you had tried to keep him as in your mind.

“Though,” he continued, his voice lowering slightly, “I’ve always believed in fortunate accidents. If not for this, I don’t think I would have had the chance to see you again so soon, Lady…”

“Y/N!”

Your father’s voice cut through the moment before you could respond. He appeared at your side almost instantly, bowing deeply.

“My apologies, Fire Lord Zuko,” he said, his tone respectful but strained. “My daughter is not accustomed to such events. I had hoped her etiquette lessons would have served her better.”

“As I said to Lady Y/N, there is no need to apologize,” Zuko replied calmly. Then, after a brief pause, his gaze flicked back to you. “At least, not for that. Though I must admit, I had expected better etiquette from you, my lord, introducing me to your daughter sooner.”

The words left your father momentarily speechless, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his face, one you knew would return to haunt you later.

“I… wonder how I might remedy that, Fire Lord,” he said carefully.

“I believe I know exactly how.” Zuko’s attention returned fully to you, his expression softening just slightly. “Lady Y/N, would you honor me with a dance?”

He extended his hand. And you didn’t think twice before taking it.

I keep these longings locked

In lowercase inside a vault

Someone told me

There's no such thing as bad thoughts

Only your actions talk

The rest felt like a dream.

You followed him onto the floor, your father’s silence lingering behind you, the music swelling around you so soft and fluid, carried by the delicate strings of a tsungi horn ensemble, its melody weaving through the air in a way that felt almost unreal. It stayed with you long after the night ended, echoing in your thoughts even as you returned home.

It was the only thing replaying in your mind when your father’s voice broke through it- sharp, disapproving, reminding you of your mistake. He spoke of impropriety, of reputation, of how you would not be attending such events again and certainly not those hosted by the Fire Nation.

And yet, and for once, you didn’t care.

Because the melody was not the only thing that followed you to bed that night.

The memory of Zuko’s hands at your waist lingered just as vividly- steady, warm, grounding. The way his touch had been firm but careful, as though he were aware of every boundary and chose, deliberately, not to cross it. Not yet.

You could almost hear his voice, low at your ear.

“I would very much like to see you again.”

“My father won’t allow it, Fire Lord—” you had begun.

“Zuko,” he corrected gently. “Call me Zuko.” There had been the faintest hint of a smile. “And why not? I would imagine your father would be pleased to see you in the company of a head of state.”

You had hesitated, the words slipping out more honestly than you intended. “I can imagine several reasons he would not be.”

You paused instantly.

“Forgive me,” you added quickly, your gaze lowering. “Those are… unkind and bad thoughts.”

“There is no such thing,” he said quietly.

You looked up at him.

“No such thing as bad thoughts,” Zuko continued. “Only actions that follow them.”

These fatal fantasies

Giving way to labored breath

Taking all of me

We've already done it in my head

If it's make believe

Why does it feel like a vow

We'll both uphold somehow?

Your hand found its way back to the curve of your underwear. Being able to hear his voice so close, to see his face that close had been enough.

His cheekbones, sharp yet soft in a way that made your thoughts linger far too long on them. His scar, not something that took away from his face, but rather added to it, giving him a kind of depth you couldn’t quite look away from. The loose strands of hair that had fallen along its edge made him look almost unreal, like something carefully painted rather than lived.

He was perfect.

And his figure… You had noticed it too.

You were smaller than him. Noticeably so. He could cage you beneath him if he wanted to.

Oh, you wished he wanted to.

Your hand began to move, drawing slow circles over your clit.

The line of his throat right at the dip of his collarbone, the space between it and his chest- those alone felt like they could trap you, hold you there. You didn’t need to see beneath his formal attire to know his body was strong, well-built. You could already imagine it.

You wondered what it would feel like to touch him. What he would look like with his abdomen marked with sweat that wasn’t his alone, but shared between you both, as he moved against you, as he pushed into you with the same rhythm your fingers were finding now beneath the covers.

The sounds he would make next to your ear, spirits… If you had barely managed to keep your composure when he whispered to you during the dance, what would his moans do to you?

You came undone under the steady rhythm of your own fingers, your thoughts filled with him- with Zuko, holding your waist against the mattress beneath you as he followed your release with his own. A sound escaped you, unrestrained, as you pictured the way he would look, how he would feel, filling you completely.

As the waves slowly crashed and settled, as your breathing struggled to steady, the thought returned to you.

What he had said.

What he had promised.

“I’ll find a way to see you again.”

What if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh

Only in my mind?

One slip and falling back into the hedge maze

Oh what a way to die

I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top lip kiss

How I long for our trysts

You didn’t hesitate this time.

The path through the maze in your garden was already familiar- the quiet turn past the lanterns, the stretch where the guards rarely lingered, the place where the night seemed to fold in on itself just enough to hide you. If it hadn’t been for Zuko, you would have never dared to explore your estate at night, much less to meet him there again and again.

The first time had felt like a mistake.

The second, like curiosity.

By now… it could only feel like something you had always been meant to do.

And still, as you approached, your thoughts betrayed you.

What if this wasn’t real?

What if you had imagined all of it: the way he looked at you, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way your presence seemed to undo something in him?

What if this was just another version of the fantasies you had built long before he ever touched you?

You knew you shouldn’t be doing this. And tonight, you told yourself, you would end it before it became something irreversible.

At the end of the maze, he was there. As striking as ever.

His smile appeared the moment he saw you- but it faltered just as quickly when he noticed the worry written across your face.

“What is it?” he asked, already moving toward you, concern evident in his voice. “Have you been hurt? Has your father said anything to you?”

His hands came to your shoulders in a reassuring way, until he realized.

You weren’t just worried. You were crying.

He pulled you into an embrace without hesitation.

“What is it, Y/N?” he murmured. “Can I help you somehow?”

You stayed still at first, guilt settling heavily in your chest at the comfort of his arms, and even more so when you wrapped yours around him in return.

“We cannot keep doing this,” you said, your voice breaking. “My father will find out. They’ll send me even farther away, Zuko. I can’t keep doing this.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand lifting to your face, gentle.

“I’ll speak with him.”

“No.” You shook your head quickly, stepping back. “We’ve already talked about what that would mean- for you, for your alliances, for everything. It would ruin you.”

“It already is ruining me,” he admitted, closing the distance again. “I cannot court you openly, and I’ve accepted that, but—”

“But?” you pressed, your tears slowing, something sharper rising beneath them. “Is that what bothers you? That it isn’t proper? That you’d rather stop and find someone you can court without all this?”

“—but you deserve more,” he finished, his voice steady despite everything. “And I can give it to you, if you’ll let me.”

He held your gaze.

“You don’t realize the kind of woman you are… or the kind of man you make me want to be,” he said, stepping closer. “The things you do to me- to my mind… it has never been so full of light, and warmth, and…” he exhaled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his own hovering just as close, “…heat.”

His hand lingered there.

“It’s something I cannot describe. Not with words, not with anything that keeps me at a distance from you. It’s something I’ve…” he hesitated, his voice lowering, “wanted to show you.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“May I?” he murmured, his forehead resting gently against yours.

“Please.”

His hand moved to the side of your face, to your neck, guiding you toward him as his lips met yours so gentle, but filled with a quiet urgency that made your breath catch.

And just as urgently, you answered him.

Your hand rose to his hair, threading your fingers through it, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, as if neither of you knew how to hold back anymore.

The night air was cold, and it made you shiver even in his arms, but then his hand settled at your waist, and warmth spread through you, subtle but unmistakable, his firebending easing the chill. It only drew you closer, pressing into him, returning the kiss with even more need.

And there, beneath the moonlight, it was impossible ignore…

The guilt.

The knowledge that this was forbidden. And, at the same time, it was the most freeing thing you had ever done.

What if I roll the stone away?

They're gonna crucify me anyway

What if the way you hold me

Is actually what's holy?

The knock came without warning. Your breath caught before you could think, your body already moving toward the door as your mind raced ahead of you, unwilling to name the possibility you already felt settling in your chest.

When the doors opened, there he stood.

Zuko, Fire Lord of the Fire Nation, framed by the courtyard light behind him, his presence alone enough to shift the air in the room.

Your heart dropped.

“Zuko—” you began, your voice unsteady, your gaze flickering past him as if the walls themselves might be watching. “You shouldn’t be here. If my father sees you—”

“I intend for him to,” he said, stepping inside before you could finish in a way that only made your pulse quicken further.

Before you could respond, footsteps approached from deeper within the estate. Your father entered moments later, surprise flashing across his face before discipline took over and he bowed.

“Fire Lord. Had we known of your arrival, we would have prepared a proper welcome.”

“I came unannounced on purpose,” Zuko replied with respect. “There is something I wish to discuss with you. About your daughter.”

The shift in the room was immediate.

Your father straightened slowly. “I see. And what matter concerning her would require the Fire Lord himself to come to my home without notice?”

Zuko did not hesitate. “If she’s willing, I intend to make her my Fire Lady.”

The words landed heavily, leaving no space for misinterpretation.

Your father’s expression hardened, disbelief cutting through his composure.

“With all due respect, Fire Lord, my daughter’s future is not a matter to be decided on impulse, nor—”

“It is not impulse,” Zuko interrupted, his voice sharpening, careful of not losing control, but no longer yielding. “And it is not solely yours to decide. She is not a bargaining piece. Not for alliances, and not for appearances. She is capable of choosing her own future.”

Your father’s jaw tightened. “And you believe that future lies with you?”

Zuko’s gaze flicked to you, brief but grounding, before returning to him. “I believe she should be the one to answer that.”

Your father exhaled slowly, studying you now instead of him. “And if she chooses you?”

“Then I will stand beside her,” Zuko said.

At last, your father spoke, his tone measured, reluctant but no longer dismissive. “If this is her choice… then I will not stand in her way.”

If long suffering propriety

Is what they want from me

They don't know how you've haunted me

So stunningly

I choose you and me

... Religiously

The ceremony had been long, filled with eyes that once judged and now simply watched. Some still uncertain, some still whispering, but none daring to stand in the way of what had already been decided. Of what you had chosen.

And now, as the last of the formalities faded into memory, the palace felt different. It felt yours.

Your steps echoed softly against the polished floors as you walked beside Zuko, your hand resting in his as if it had always belonged there. The corridors of the Fire Nation palace stretched ahead, glowing in the low light of the lanterns, no longer intimidating and certainly no longer foreign.

“You’re quiet,” he said gently, glancing at you.

You smiled faintly, your fingers tightening around his. “I think I’m still waiting for someone to tell me this isn’t real.”

His expression softened at that. “It is,” he said simply.

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe it.

The doors opened ahead, attendants bowing briefly before stepping aside to let you pass, and you followed him inside without hesitation.

“This is yours as well,” Zuko said, his voice quieter now, more personal as he guided you further in. “Anything you wish to change, you can. Nothing here is meant to confine you.”

You let your gaze drift around the room, taking in the space and how it opened for you. It didn’t feel like a cage, if anything, it was the opposite of it.

You turned slightly toward him, your expression softer now, lighter in a way it hadn’t been before.

All the years of being what was expected of you felt distant. And standing there, in a place that now felt like it was yours, beside the man you had once only allowed yourself to imagine…

The distance between you disappeared.

You stepped closer, your hands finding him before your thoughts could catch up, and kissed him deeply, without hesitation, right there in the privacy of the chamber he had led you to, away from the noise of the palace.

He responded instantly, just as intense, just as certain.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, lifting you with ease as he guided you toward the bed. The next thing you knew, every fantasy you had buried was unfolding beneath him.

The way he moved inside you was nothing like you had imagined, it was deeper, fuller, leaving no room for thought. His hands shifted from your breasts to the rest of your body, learning you, following the rhythm you had unknowingly taught him, his touch moving with growing certainty.

He explored you completely, as if making up for time that had never existed, leaving nothing untouched, nothing unlearned.

His sounds were low and unguarded, everything you had imagined and more. You were certain his voice alone could undo you.

And the most dangerous part was that no longer had to imagine.

Because now, you were his.

And he was yours.

He sent me 'Downtown Lights'

I hadn't heard it in a while

Am I allowed to cry?

The morning after, Zuko woke before you did. From his side of the bed, he did nothing but watch you resting there, peaceful and untouched by the weight of everything beyond those walls.

Every fantasy he had ever had of you had come true the night before.

But, spirits, the way you had tasted on his tongue, the way your breasts had felt in his hands, the exquisite sounds you had made, the way your body had looked beneath him, tightening around him until he had nothing left to give… none of it compared to what he had imagined in the solitude of his room.

Now your shared room.

Back then, it had only been thoughts- his hand wrapped around himself, lost in the idea of you, picturing the way you would come undone, the way you would fall apart with him, just as you had the night before.

Reality had been far better.

He exhaled quietly, his gaze softening as it traced over your sleeping form. If only you knew.

If only you knew about the letters- all the ruined drafts he had kept hidden, written and rewritten from the moment he first reached out to your family, searching for the perfect excuse to bring you to that celebration.

If only you knew how much he hated those events.

Now you were there: in his chamber, in his bed. Beside him.

And for the first time since taking the throne, Zuko felt something settle within him.

He didn’t feel guilty anymore.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

The room falls quiet, the weight of silence settling around you. It takes a heartbeat too long to realize that Keigo has stopped speaking. Looking up again you see him looking at you with concern written over his face, thumb brushing over your hip—when did it get there?

“You okay there, dove? You spaced out for some time,” his voice softens when he says ‘dove’, like the nickname holds more than just teasing now. And your heart, the traitorous thing it is, beats a little faster at it.

He grins, small, boyish and a little shy. Of course he could feel that, the feather still pressed over the spot where your heart is, but he could probably also feel it with the way your chest is pressed up against his.

You hope he can’t see your cheeks flush (he can, damn him and his good eyes even though it’s dark inside), and just nod once. “Mm. ‘Was just thinking about the time you lost your tooth because you flew into a wall.” Liar, you were thinking if it would still be like this if the commission gave you two more time for yourselves.

Sometimes you wonder if what you feel is love, being in love with your best friend, what a classic trope. But then you push that thought aside, quickly, like it's dangerous. You can’t afford to let yourself want that.

You two are seventeen years old, getting groomed to be the perfect weapons the commission wants you to be. You know if you were to fantasize about it, they would strip it away in the blink of an eye. No, you can’t be in love with Keigo, for it would only end in heartbreak.

Within a second your world tilts. You're now laying on Keigo’s chest, him laying flat on his back, one of his wings dangling off the bed, the other draped over you. The wing twitches slightly, brushing against you as if it’s trying to reassure you, but it only makes your heart race a little faster. Both his arms wrapped around your waist.

“Liar,” he says with a grin on his, stupidly handsome, face. “C’mon dove, tell me. You can tell me anything, you know that right?” The sincerity on his face makes you move your mouth before even realising it.

You gulp once “I was just thinking about what life would be like outside these walls. What our lives would look like. If you—” you trail off, looking to the side, to the same industrial gray wall you’ve seen all your life, not daring to meet his eyes when telling him the next part.

“If you would still be here, with me,” you finish your thought in a whisper, and the room feels heavier somehow, the silence wrapping around you like a blanket.

You hear him sigh before his hand comes up to cup your face, gentle, as if you’re made of glass. You feel yourself melt into his hand slightly, before you catch yourself. His thumb brushes against your cheekbone, an action so soft compared to the actions they’d made him do just earlier today.

His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, when he finally speaks, “Yeah, dove. I’d still be here. With you.”

His words make your face heat up under his hand. Words are stuck in your throat, because it shouldn’t be like this, the two of you can’t be like this. Still, you look at him, first at his eyes, filled with pure adoration, and then that traitorous part of your brain—your heart really—looks at his lips for a heartbeat too long before ripping your gaze upwards again. Shit.

You can only hope he didn’t notice, but of course you're not that lucky. His soft smile, turns into a teasing, smug one that still has hints of softness underneath. You feel his thumb move down to your jaw. His gaze half-lidded now.

A whisper in the back of your mind warns you of the danger, of how you two shouldn’t do this. There are only seven more months until you two get sent off into ‘the real world.’ Just seven, and then your lives would change, no longer living inside these gray, sterile, walls.

“You’re right, we shouldn’t, dove,” Keigo speaks out, startling you, quickly looking up at him again—when did you look away? Did you say that out loud? You don’t know, all you know is that you’re warm, Keigo’s wing still draped over you, feathers whispering against your skin like soft little love notes, his chest steady and warm underneath you, hearts syncing to the same beat.

Still, you slowly start closing the distance between the two of you, murmuring a “We really shouldn’t.” His head lifts from the pillow, one last whisper, before meeting you halfway “We’re not doing anything.”

The first brush of his lips steals your breath, a clumsy meeting of warmth and want. He tastes like something sweet and sharp, adrenaline and something softer hidden underneath. His wing tightens around you, pulling you closer until you can’t tell where you end and he begins.

It’s desperate in the quietest way—the kind of kiss you give when you’ve both spent your whole lives being told you can’t have this. His hand finds the back of your neck, thumb tracing small, grounding circles there, and you think you could drown in the feel of it.

When you finally pull back, the world feels different. Brighter, maybe. Dangerous, definitely. But you’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Your eyes flutter open, looking straight into Keigo’s. Lips a bit red and swollen, drawing your attention to them once again. There’s a slight flush on his face, creeping down his neck and disappearing into his Commission issued shirt.

Hands tighten in the fabric, his wing still tight around you, the little feathers puffed up a bit on your back. He pulls you up a bit more, nosing along your jawline. “We shouldn’t do anything more often,” he murmurs against your skin.

You laugh, small and breathy. It skims across his face like a gentle breeze, making him think of the clouds he sometimes flies through when the Commission lets him out—only for him to do his mission, which most of the time involves something teenagers shouldn’t be even thinking of doing.

“We really shouldn’t.” with that you capture his lips again, stealing his breath—and heart—once more. Eyelashes fluttering against cheekbones, tongues entangling a bit more expertly now, but still awkward. Noses keep bumping into each other, and you exhale a laugh into his mouth. You feel him smile in return before he tightens his hold on you once more.

The rest of the time together is spent like that, adrenaline filling the both of you. This shouldn’t be happening, you shouldn’t even entertain the thought of kissing someone, much less Keigo—or Hawks, as they call him here.

He shouldn’t even be in your room right now, having snuck out of his own earlier that evening. How the two of you haven’t been caught over the years is beyond you, but then again, the two of you aren’t perfect weapons for nothing.

By the time you pull away from him—still close enough to feel and hear his heartbeat beneath you, feel the way his chest rises and falls with every breath—it’s way past the time he normally sneaks back into his own room.

“You should probably go,” you whisper, and his eyes are still on you—on the way your hair is a bit messy now with the way he was running his hands through it. On the way your lips are red and kiss-bitten. On the way your cheeks are almost as red as his wings. “You’re already later than normal.”

And oh, how he wishes he can just stay here, in the same bed as you, wrap his around around you and fall asleep with your head on his chest. But that isn’t reality, is it? The two of you are still in this mindless dungeon your parents sold you off to. Industrial gray fills his vision when he looks around your room once more. The only thing that makes it seem brighter is you—even if what you’re wearing doesn’t have any color in it.

He’s been thinking about this moment for years. Just being alone with you, having you all to himself, away from the watchful eyes of the Commission. He’d buy an apartment for the two of you, living together to save expenses.

Of course he’d have to feed the Commission some bullshit lie about the two of you working better together. Team building isn’t something they’re fond of, but with the right twist of words he can definitely work something out to keep you close to him.

But for now he knows he should go back to his room. Be mindful of the handful of handlers that sometimes walk through the hallways—always watching, except for when they’re not. He’s memorised their routines. How many steps each handler takes. When they do their rounds. Knows the way the camera’s are angled, and how to avoid them.

He knows, but still he can’t seem to let go of you. His hands on your hips, tracing small, invisible shapes into your skin. He surges forward once more, giving you a small peck this time. “Goodnight, dove.”

“Goodnight, Kei,” you whisper back, before pushing yourself off him so he can get out of the room. He glances back toward you one more time, feathers angled towards you like they’re reaching out, before he dips out of your room and towards his own.

Rolling over you bury your face into the pillow and let out a small squeal—one of the only feelings you let yourself feel while inside of this building. It’s so unlike you, so unlike the person the Commission wants you to be. But you can’t help it.

And then you feel it, under your shirt, pressed over your heart—Keigo’s feather. The one he keeps on you to make sure you’re safe. It wiggles a few times before sliding up and slipping out of your neckline. Right, he can hear you. Huffing through your nose you look at it hovering right in front of you. “What?”

The feather shudders slightly, as if laughing. Dickhead. Then it moves towards your face and taps you on your nose once—a small gesture Keigo loves to do when you’re frowning, and now apparently when you’re squealing, too—before it brushes feather-soft over your lips and disappears into your shirt once more.

Rolling your eyes you finally situate yourself in the bed. But your smile never leaves your face, and even in your sleep you can still feel fingers and feathers all over you.

The next few weeks are spent tense. No secret glances, no lingering touches, no acknowledgement that you and Hawks know each other as more than just two perfect weapons in the making. There are handlers constantly watching the two of you, so if your gaze would fall onto him a second too long, they’d know something is off.

Inside of these concrete walls you cannot show your true emotions, face blank at all times of the day, despite you wanting to reach out and hold Keigo.

You’re not sure what the two of you are right now—except for children that are being groomed by those who are supposed to protect heroes—as you haven’t had a chance to talk to him about it yet. There have been no more talks in your bedroom.

But every time you walk past him, that one small feather at your ribcage wiggles just slightly. A small acknowledgement that he’s seen you, that he can still feel and hear you, despite not being there with you.

It’s harder than you expected it to be. Never in your life would you’ve thought that you’d share a kiss with the boy you’ve spent most of your life with. And never in your life would you have thought you’d come to the conclusion that you are, in fact, in love with said boy.

That doesn’t mean you haven’t talked to him, though. Well… talked is a big word, it’s mostly you who did the talking while he would hover his small feather in front of you, sometimes tapping on your skin if he agreed or disagreed with something. It was a small language the two of you had configured when younger.

A smile threatens to take over your face, before you smooth it over and look ahead again. Your handler is walking behind you—an older woman in her fifties—hands clasped behind her back, clipboard in hand, her heels click click clicking on the linoleum floor below, suit crisp, not a single wrinkle in sight. Her expression schooled—the same way yours is, and everyone else’s in this entire building.

Another set of footsteps can be heard from the other side of the hallway, one a bit more lax, and the other right on their heel. You know that gait anywhere. Hawks.

The two of you walk past each other and bow your heads towards one another. Custom, something they drilled into you. There’s nothing to be seen in his golden eyes, not a glimpse of emotion, nor can it be found in yours.

His birthmarks seem darker in these lights, almost as if they had filled them in with an even darker shade of black before he had to train. You’re sure people will think that it’s simply eyeliner, when it’s not.

One of the little kids here—around six—had asked him if it was, and he’d laughed at them. Small but genuine. It was one of the only times he’s ever shown emotion outside of your room, and it made your heart flutter inside of your ribcage. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by the blond, whose feathers puffed up behind him a little.

The footsteps disappear behind you, indicating that Hawks and his handler are away from earshot, which makes your own handler finally speak up. She talks about quirk swapping the kids, aged ten to fourteen. There are only four in total—seven children in the program, including you and Keigo—but they need to know what it’s like to not fight with their own quirk.

It’s your quirk, being able to swap quirks of others. The first time you told Keigo that, he absolutely lit up and asked you if you could swap quirks with him, which you did without a second thought. You’d warned him it meant he didn’t have a quirk, at all, but he just beamed and told you he wanted to see his wings on you.

Seven year old you had done so after confirming he really was okay with it. When he nodded, you focused and swapped them around. Crimson wings sprouting from your back, while Keigo’s disappeared. It went fine for all but 2 seconds, then it went wrong.

Keigo was so used to his wings, he instinctively leaned forward to keep balance. Without his wings, he toppled forward, center of gravity having shifted, no longer being dragged back by his wings. You in the meantime fell backwards, the heavy wings dragging you down, not having braced for the extra weight you’d be carrying on your back.

Keigo landed on top of you, while you landed on one of your—technically Keigo’s—wings. Pain shot through your spine, and up your skull. Tears pricking at your waterline, and one even slid down your temple and disappeared into your hair.

And then came the noise. It was as if everything was tuned up to the max—you could hear the buzz of electricity in the ceiling lights, keypads, electric doors. Could hear your own heartbeat, blood rushing through you, the sound of the feathers twitching behind your back. And you could even hear his heartbeat and blood rushing through him.

Putting your hands to your ears you tried blocking everything out, but it didn’t help. You could hear everything around you, even when you curled up in a ball.

The boy above you was touching your shoulder, speaking, but even that felt like it was too loud—not registering the words he was desperately trying to tell you. You laid on that floor for what seemed like hours, crying about everything being too loud.

It was only when Keigo started whispering, so soft no one else would’ve heard, that you finally heard what he was saying. ‘Swap it back. Give me my wings back and it’ll be fine.’ And you did just that. The red plumes disappearing behind you and reappearing behind their rightful owner.

“Sorry, I should’ve warned you,” Keigo’s voice was trembling a bit, fingers wiping under your eyes to rid them of their tears. “I forgot. I’m used to it now.”

That made your heart stutter a bit. That’s what he hears at all times? It wasn’t something you accounted for. You’ve seen his quirk in action—flying, though it was more hovering in place, and him controlling th individual feathers to slice through objects with precision it scared you—but you never actually asked what it did.

“That’s what you hear all the time?” you breathed out, fingers trembling slightly beside you. Keigo nodded his head, his golden curls bouncing with the motion. The two of you are silent for a bit before you finally spoke up again, “I’m sorry you have to hear all of that.”

He merely shrugged, as if this was normal. As if it’s normal to be able to hear footsteps the floors down. To hear the electricity travel through appliances. To hear your own blood pump through you. And it made little you so incredibly sad. While it’s quiet in the building, it is still loud for him. You always thought it was eerie with how abandoned the building seemed—not because it was falling apart or because there was ivy growing everywhere, but because of how empty it was inside. But for him every single thing is noise.

You’d pulled him into a hug right then and there, and whispered in his ear that you’d talk to him if he ever felt lonely. He merely smiled at you and returned the hug. Just two weapons in training that found solace in each other.

The kids inside the facility, despite being older than you and Keigo were at the time, still remind you of the two of you. The first time you swap their quirks around, they all look confused, still used to how they fight with their own quirk, only to quickly realise they have to adapt.

On one hand it’s a good lesson, you’d never know when you’d lose your quirk during a battle, on the other hand it’s absolutely disgusting that they’re practicing this on barely teens.

You keep swapping quirks around once they get used to how the new quirk feels, just to throw them off. It’s not something you do with great pleasure, but you can’t exactly go against whatever your handler assigns you to do.

It’s something you’ve tried before, only to be put in solitary confinement for a week. In there they still had you practice all sorts of things, but you just didn’t get to be around people anymore. You still shudder every time you think of the place.

Once the handler deems the exorcise to be enough for the kids—almost two whole hours later—you get steered out of the room, onto your next assignment.

“Since you and Hawks are about to debut in a few months, we need to make sure the two of you are desensitized, him moreso than you,” she flips through the papers on her clipboard, occasionally nodding her head at something that’s written down. “You’ll have to act like fans without boundaries. There will be other people pulling him into every direction. Just make sure he doesn’t sharpen his feathers.”

With that she pushes the door open, and in the middle of the room stands Keigo—or Hawks, right now—his red wings spread out into a brilliant arc, showing off all the way from the primaries down to the dowry feathers he has.

His handler is checking his wings, ensuring the strength and health of them, twisting and turning some pieces, and tugging on others. You know he hates that. Hates anyone that touches his wings, except for you. It’s something he’s told you since the two of you were young, said it hurt with how they disregarded the fact that he could feel whenever people touched his feathers, as sensitive as nerve endings.

It took him a while to trust you enough to let the pad of your finger skim over one of the primaries while they were in their half-sharp state. He wasn’t sensitized enough to let you touch his feathers when they were in their resting state just yet, but he did trust you enough that he at least let you touch them. Ever since that moment he started trusting you more and more, to a point where you can now preen him without any problems.

He’s fallen asleep once, when you were preening him after a brutal day. They had him run simulations all day long—fly through rubble and falling buildings, soot and smoke clinging to his feathers turning the brilliant velvet into ash. He had to save hundreds, if not thousands of dummies that were stuck in the wrecks—to a point where the skin at the base of his wings were inflamed.

You’d wanted to trace the skin, soothe it somehow, but you thought better of it. He’d snuck out of his room later that day to get into yours, and the moment you saw him you patted the limited space beside you on the bed.

He’d all but flopped onto the bed with a groan, telling you about how much his wings were hurting him. It’s not something the two of you did often—complain to each other—but after particularly hard days you just had to vent to someone, and who better than your best friend.

So you’d combed your fingers through his wind-swept hair, untangling the obvious knots in them. Sometimes you accidentally tugged on a strand a bit too hard, but he didn’t complain about it even once; merely sighed out into your duvet and kept talking about whatever his mind could conjure up.

At some point your fingers slid down to his wings, and you’d started to carefully preen him. While his wings were cleaner now, there were still some stubborn pieces of soot clinging to them—something you yourself couldn’t get off with just your hands—but that wasn’t something you were after. No, you just carefully started to put every feather into their rightful place, sometimes that meant twisting the feather at the base a bit, and other times that meant getting rid of the keratin casings on the newer feathers.

You weren’t sure when, but somewhere when you switched to preen his other wing, he’d stopped talking and his breath had evened out, eyes fluttering shut. Smiling you continued to preen him.

The sight of the handler tugging on some of the feathers makes you more mad than you should be. Not that you can show it, though. If someone were to suspect anything going on between you and Hawks, you were in some deep shit, whether it be just surface-level friendship, or something deeper. So you swallow and steel your expression.

Your own handler gives a squeeze at your elbow before she leaves the room to go to the monitor room. Once Keigo’s handler steps back, he nods once and walks past you, thrusting a piece of paper and a pen into your hand.

With that, the two of you are left alone. Well… you know there are tens of pairs of eyes upon the two of you, watching, waiting.

And then the simulation starts. A pro hero walks beside Hawks, chatting. The entire room transforms into that of a city, cars buzzing past, people leaving little shops—just a normal day in a city. Not that you and Keigo really know what that looks like.

If you were gonna do this, you could at least have some fun with it. Inhaling, you put a smile on your face, before absolutely squealing. “OH. MY. GOD. IS THAT HAWKS?!”

The simulation responds. People stop on the sidewalk, looking back at ‘the two heroes’, cars slow down slightly. And then you move. Fast. You cross the sidewalk in no time, getting all up in Hawks’ space.

“You’re my favorite hero! I can’t believe I get to meet you— can I get an autograph?” you gush, not giving him a moment to respond before thrusting the pen into his face and holding out the paper the handler gave you.

Hawks, for his part, just smiles, and it makes your heart beat a little faster—something he can definitely hear. “Of course, what’s your name?”

You mumble out a random name before your hand shoots out toward his wing. “These are so cool. And so soft! Do you think I can get one?” You tug on his feathers a bit forcefully, not going as hard as you probably should for the assignment, but you also don’t wanna hurt him.

There’s a slight bristle from his feathers before he smooths them over again. Keigo just chuckles at you, signing your piece of paper before giving back the pen. “Ah, sorry, no can do. Wish I could, though.” He winks over at you before he gets absolutely hoarded by other people—fake or not, they still feel real.

The rest of the day is spent like that, you throwing your arms around him, tugging on his feathers, squealing and screaming. Anything and everything to show the handlers that he’s sensitized enough to be able to walk outside without any problem.

Once the two of you are done, your handler pulls you aside. “We’re gonna run another simulation. Tomorrow. Your turn.”

Right, because they have to know if you’re good enough to swap quirks with him if needed. Luckily the two of you have practiced that many times after the first time.. The Commission telling you that no one else should ever get their hands on his wings, except for you. If he ever loses too many feathers during a fight, you have to jump in and swap quirks. You’ll get his feathers while you give him one of the quirks from the fight—leaving one of the villains Quirkless.

So they have to know you don’t completely shut down in an environment like that. Which you get, but it’s still annoying as fuck.

By the time your handler lets you go, Keigo is already gone. Probably towards his own room for the night. It’s only when you walk past a supply closet that an hand encloses around your wrist and tugs you into it.

The first thing you do is try to twist whoever’s arm it is behind them, but you’re quickly spun around. Your back hits the door with a thud, one hand is covering your mouth while the other is on your hip. “Shhhh, dove, it’s just me.”

Your hands fall to your sides. Blinking a few times your vision sharpens enough to see Keigo’s silhouette. “Fucking hell, Hawks, what are you doing?” you hiss at him once he removes his hand from your mouth. Keigo just smiles at you, small, but dangerous. “What, you think you can just touch me all day without driving me absolutely crazy?”

Right, you did do that, but that was for the assignment. Trying to get an reaction out of him. So what if your fingers skimmed over his most vulnerable parts—the base joints near his shoulder blades—that was all for the assignment, of course.

“You can’t just pull me into a storage closet, what if someone saw us?” you ask him, still not moving from where you’re pressed against the door. “No one saw us, and the camera’s have a dead spot here.”

Damn him and his smart brain. His thumb is tracing small circles on your hipbone, while his other hand creeps up to cup your jaw. Your own arms enclose around his neck, fingers playing with the hairs at his nape.

He surges forward, lips crashing against yours in a frenzy. You kiss him back just as eager. It’s been weeks since the last kiss, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him.

“Missed you,” he mumbles against your lips, nose bumping into yours when he angles his head a bit. “Missed you, too.”

His wing wraps itself around you, feathers whispering against your skin over the fabric. They tremble slightly while your tongues entangle, puffing up slightly in affection he can’t hide.

A string of saliva connects the two of you when you pull away from him. It snaps a second later, leaving your lips shiny and slightly swollen. His aren’t any better, small teeth indentations on his bottom lip from where you pulled it between your teeth.

His forehead drops to yours, eyes halflidded and hazed over a little. Your breaths mingling, but mouths not touching any longer. Your chest rises and falls against his, heartbeats syncing, before it stutters once he looks at you like that—pure adoration filling his eyes.

“Hated not being able to see you for so long,” his voice is breathy, a slight groan pulling from his chest when your finger wraps around one of his locks of hair. “Heard you, though.”

And he did. You talked to him almost every night, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that he wasn’t there in person with you.

“Only five more months,” you reply. Five more months before the two of you are finally free from this prison they keep you in. Those industrial gray walls you’ve seen almost your entire life. The slightly cold rooms that keep you on edge constantly. “Just five before we can get out of here.”

Keigo just smiles at you, not replying with words, but rather by pressing his lips to yours once more. It’s quiet and full of love. “Then let’s endure them and we can finally stop sneaking around like this, love.”

The nickname has you blinking a few times. Maybe it was a slip of the tongue, ‘dove’ and ‘love’ are so similair, after all. But your cheeks heat up all the same. Nodding your head you peck his lips once more before finally letting go of him.

He steps back slightly, fingers lingering on your hip before retracting completely. You twist the doorknob before looking over your shoulder and smiling slightly. With that you leave him in the supply closet, alone.

Keigo presses his forehead against the door for a few moments to let his heart calm down. He didn’t think he would miss you so damn much, but after that once kiss the two of you shared weeks ago, he hasn’t been able to think of anything but you.

Cursing he runs his hands through his hair once, before opening the door and slipping out. Wings dragging behind him like a cape that holds every little sign of affection he’s had for you since the first day he saw you.

It’s only a few days later when Keigo comes to your room again. You honestly hadn’t expected him today. They’d sent him out on a mission that from the looks of it, was going to take all day, if not all night. But here he is, standing in your door opening.

Sitting up you pat the space beside you, inviting him in like you always do. He crosses the room quickly to go sit beside you. His fingers are playing with each other—a small habit you haven’t seen him do often—while he looks at everything but you.

“You okay?” you ask, your hand reaching for his shoulder, only for him to jerk away before you can touch him. Blinking a few times you let your hand fall back beside you. “Hey, what’s going on?”

He takes a deep breath in, stops fiddling with his fingers, and looks you straight into the eyes. You get slightly lost in everything that they are—golden with those amber specs in them, all predator when he narrows them—before you shake your head slightly.

“I think we should stop seeing each other,” he states, still holding eye contact with you. And you can feel your heart drop to your stomach. Freezing slightly, everything around you seems to slow down—the way you’re breathing, the slight electral buzz that’s always there in the walls somehow feels muffled and distant, hell even Keigo looks far away.

“What?”

“It’s just not going to work. Not with the way the Commission is always on our asses. And- and I don’t think I really have feelings for you,” he vomits the words out like they’re acidic, burning his tongue if they don’t leave fast enough.

It doesn’t compute for a second. The words sound foreign. As if some random stranger came up to you and told you the sky was purple. “I- what? But what about the five months? You said we only had to wait for five more months before we could stop sneaking around.”

Keigo just shakes his head, standing up from your bed. The distance between the two of you feels greater than it actually is, as if there’s a canyon between the two of you, whereas you two were normally all up in each others’ space.

“Just… don’t. This is better. For the both of us.” With that he starts walking toward the door. You feel under your shirt for the red plume that’s pressed to your ribs.

“Then take this back,” you spit towards him, throwing the feather in his direction without a care. He picks it up before slipping out the door, just as quietly as he came in.

When you hear the door click shut behind him, you let yourself fall back onto the thin matrass, staring up at the cold ceiling. There’s this quake in your chest you refuse to acknowledge.

Almost twelve years. Almost twelve years of knowing the boy with his crimson wings. Almost eleven years of being friends. Ten of being ‘best friends’. And yet, two months of being more than best friends, and everything crumbled.

You knew. You knew the friendship you and Keigo built was based on a house of cards, one wrong move and everything would collapse, but never did you think the collapse would look like this—like him being the one pushing the house to collapse.

All those smiles and giggles. All those memories made in corners the Commission could never reach. And now it’s all gone.

All because you let yourself fall in love with your best friend.

The next few months are a hell on earth—not that you weren’t used to it by now, but it’s definitely different not having Keigo by your side. You pushed yourself into assignments more and more; any free time you did have was spent asking for more assignments, or just training in general.

You couldn’t dare to sit in your own room, forced to sit in the silence that feels more suffocating than ever. The walls still carry the laughter. Still carry the gentle warmth Keigo somehow left behind, almost as if his feathers spanned the walls, feather-soft to the touch.

Whenever you’re in your room you just stare blankly at the ceiling, listening to the buzz of the electrics around you. There was one time you had your pillow clutched to your chest, unable to sleep, because you kept seeing golden eyes staring back at you. Crimson wings touching your skin, and those unruly tufts of wind-swept hair.

The pillow still faintly smelled like him at that point, and you tried so hard not to bury your nose into it and inhale like your life depended on it. You were so lost in thought, trying—and failing—not to think about him, that you startled when you felt something prick into your chest.

Moving the pillow you felt something soft brush over your skin, something that felts suspiciously much like a feather. Heart pounding in your chest you ripped the pillow from your chest, hoping to see that familiar crimson plume you threw back at him in a fit of anger, only to see a singular, sad white feather.

Right, pillows are filled with feathers.

Your hands were shaking when you picked it up, swallowing around the lump in your throat, you laid it under your pillow, which you put under your head again. It was something you couldn’t explain, but it just felt right to keep it there, with you.

It’s still under your pillow, even now—almost five months later. Sometimes you pick it up and twirl it around in your finger, watching the way it droops down like it’s sad. And with the right imagination you can imagine it being red, but even when you do that you know it isn’t his.

His feathers were a little harder, not fanned out as much. They were sturdy and so brilliantly red, you couldn’t imagine it being his.

Despite that you still held onto it like it was worth anything more than it actually was. Sometimes you put it under your shirt while you slept, waking up with an itch, almost as if reminding you it shouldn’t be there. Other times you just… talked.

But this feather doesn’t respond to what you’re saying. Doesn’t hover in front of you, shuddering with laughter when you say something stupid. Doesn’t tap your nose or skin in agreement. It’s just there, clutched between your thumb and index finger.

You sometimes wonder if he misses you as much, but then quickly push the thought away. He broke it up for a reason, so you can’t let yourself go down that route.

Whenever you saw him in the hallways, you didn’t look at him. Didn’t nod like you used to, just stared blankly ahead. Teeth clenched, hands balled, leaving small indents on your palms.

He didn’t look at you, either. Always staring ahead. Hand in his pockets while avoiding eye contact. While the two of you never lingered on each other, there were some glances. Now it’s like the two of you are merely strangers.

So no, you wouldn’t admit you miss him, because he’s clearly doing fine without you. The Commission’s golden boy. Now getting even more praise. You hear it from the ‘kids’ all the time—missions he went on, the absolute control he has over his quirk, anything and everything.

You tune everything they say about him out. Never listening too much about what they’re saying. Not the handlers, not the kids.

The two of you had a mission together two weeks ago, which went… okay. Hawks did most of the work, to be completely honest. Something about not needing you there. It honestly stung when he said that, but you pushed the feeling away, merely telling him he could do whatever he wanted. Which he did.

You’d gotten reprimanded about not participating, while Hawks got all the praise. He’d looked over at you with a smirk on his face—not the one he used to give you, no this one was radiating smugness from him—and you wanted to punch it clean off his stupidly handsome face.

Now it’s time for you to step out into the real world. The Commission had gotten you your own agency with a few sidekicks in the Sendai district, while they had sent Hawks to Kyushu—the other side of the country.

You weren’t sure how to feel about that, feelings conflicting in a tight knot inside your chest. On one hand you were glad he wasn’t with you, on the other hand you felt sad because the two of you had dreamed of running an agency together, or at least close enough to each other that you two would be able to frequently see each other.

And with the way the Commission had sent you out on missions together from when you were younger, to training together, you’d absolutely believed they would let the two perfect weapons stay together, strengthening each other. But alas, the two of you had drifted away from each other.

Now you’re looking at the building that supposedly ‘yours’. You know damn well it’s the Commission’s, but you let yourself believe for just a moment that it’s something of your own. They own you, though, so you’re not sure you’ll ever get something of your own.

Stepping inside the lobby you step into a new part of your life—alone.

The first year goes well. You quickly climb the rankings, no doubt the Commission having something to do with it, but it’s still something. You recently just breached the top 10. Your name being everywhere.

The rookie hero who debuts in the top ten!

But wherever your name is, his follows. Hawks being more popular amongst the masses, purely for being so charismatic. You roll your eyes at that, as if you didn’t know damn well how charismatic he can be. And from everything you’ve seen, the smirks, the winks, the little murmured sentences to his fans—all fake.

You’re muttering to yourself about how his real smirk is more awkward, it has that little adorable tilt to it that makes it more cute than sexy. His wink normally isn’t as smooth. The little dimple doesn’t appear on his face when he smiles.

But not that you notice that. Of course not. He’s made it very clear with what the two of you are, which is absolutely nothing. So you don’t look at it too long, always clicking away whenever his face pops up on the screens.

Seems like despite not working together you still can’t get away from him.

The Commission drowns you in assignments. You do your normal patrols, go out when you get paged, and after that you have to do the dirty work no one ever would even think of heroes doing. Granted most heroes don’t do the things you—and Hawks—do.

It makes for a good distraction, though. You’re simply too exhausted to even care about a certain blond-haired crimson-winged hero at the other side of Japan.

That is until the annual hero billboards come around. Your days have been so swamped that you didn’t even realise it was that time of the year already.

So here you are, walking backstage, waiting for the event to start. Number ten.

You know the Commission definitely messed with the numbers, but you aren’t complaining. There’s a lot of things you do that go unnoticed, so maybe this is a way of them telling you you did a good job. Or maybe they’re trying to keep you under their thumbs by putting you in the spotlights so you can’t slack off for even a day.

The perfect weapons.

That’s all you’ll ever be to them. Not a person. Not a hero. A weapon they created to use at their disposal. Same for the guy you spent almost your entire life beside.

Speaking of— your shoulder collides with another, making you stumble slightly. It’s not something that has happened often, your handler always being on your ass to be alert. Vigilant. Stay aware of your surroundings at all times. But with how tired you are you can’t really focus. Seems like even the strongest sometimes need a break.

You’re bowing a full ninety degrees, mumbling out a ‘sorry’ before straightening up again. And all the air seems to leave your lungs.

A pair of golden eyes is staring straight at you, lips pursed, bushy brows furrowed slightly. An annoyed look you weren’t familiar with. Never in the thirteen years of knowing him has he ever looked at you like that—or anyone for that matter, because handlers would have his head if he so much as disobeyed them.

“See you made the top ten,” he mutters out with a scoff, disdain lacing his voice. But you can’t hear him, not really anyway. Your mind already far, far away from the billboards and rather back in those industrial gray rooms that you were so familiar with.

Eyes that are golden with amber specks in them are looking at you. There’s dark marks around the eyes that has your head tilt a bit. Your hand is fisted in the fabric of this tall stranger’s pants—you’ll later learn that it’s your handler, one of the many you’ll get over the years that you’ll stay in that rotten place you’ve never escaped—while you step away from their legs just slightly when you see the boy stand there.

His golden curls bounce on top of his head, a single curl falls into his eyes, which he swipes away with one hand while the other is clutching a plushy of sorts. You’re not familiar with what, or who it is, but it’s clearly a man with a flaming beard.

Your voice doesn’t come to you, throat hoarse from all the screaming you’ve done when your parents told you to stay here with the nice lady while they went out for errands. You just couldn’t understand why they didn’t want to take you with them and rather let you stay with a stranger.

Eyes welled up with fat tears that rolled down the round apples of your cheeks that were blotched red with the way you were crying for your parents.

Why didn’t they want to take you with them?

Nose snotty and eyes completely red-rimmed you were staring at this boy that seemed to be your age. He wasn’t that much taller than you were, but he was calm, looking at you like you were something interesting. And in that moment you calmed down slightly.

The hiccups stopped after a while, when the handler nice lady told you you could play with the boy. That seemed more fun, for a second forgetting your parents just left you here. Maybe being here for a few hours wouldn’t hurt all that much.

Said boy told you his name was Hawks, and you’d giggled then and told him your real name—something you got reprimanded for by the lady, and your little mind just couldn’t understand why she was scolding you for simply telling him your name—in turn.

The rest of the day was spent with giggles and hushed voices. There might not have been much to play with—only giving the two of you a few blocks to play with—but it was enough to keep your mind off the fact that your parents pretty much had abandoned you here.

It was only when the lady came back and told you two to go to bed that you were brought back to reality. Your little fist rubbing your eyes while you asked if mama and papa were there for you. The lady gave you a look, something between disappointment and reprimand, and told you that you were having a sleepover today.

Your lips pursed while your eyebrows furrowed together. As much as you liked this new boy, you weren’t a fan of sleeping over here. Your parents said they would only go out to run some errands, never saying anything about you staying here for the night.

When you’d pleaded with the lady to just go home, she got angry and told you to behave, almost scolding you like a mom does.

That seemed to do something to the young boy, though, because he immediately clamped his mouth shut while his eyes turned blank—the signs of him being happy were simply erased from his face like a light switch was turned off—and he stood up to go to, what you presumed was, his room.

From then on out there were no more playdates, only people testing your quirk out on different people, trying to gauge your power from when you were a mere five years old. Your parents never came back for you, and you later found out that you’d simply been sold off.

But through it all, from that first day up until almost the last, was one person you could always rely on—Keigo. Or as the masses call him: Hawks. That name makes you shudder, for multiple reasons, but mostly because you know what it meant for him to get a name like that. A prisoner in a corrupt system that should’ve never existed to begin with.

And now he’s here, looking at you like you’re a pest in his life. Like you’re one of them. Not trying to hide his disdain for you, and you can’t help but feel a nerve in your jaw tick at the sight.

Sure, you were the person who fell in love with your best friend—which you knew was stupid to begin with, not just because he might not love you back, but also because the Commission would never allow the two of you to be distracted to begin with—but he’s the one who broke whatever it was the two of you had off.

So why is he glaring at you like you’re mere gum on the bottom of his shoe, or that one little barb he never can reach in his wings that you always had to preen for him otherwise he’d get agitated.

“Mhmm. See you did, too. Must’ve been easy, charming every women to get a little more popularity over there,” you smile at him through gritted teeth, trying so incredibly hard not to let anyone who’d walk past see that there’s any animosity between the two of you.

He smiles at you all condescendingly. It makes your eye twitch just slightly, but his eye see the movement—of course they do, the two of you have been trained to look at little tells like that since you were young, always so in tune with other’s emotions—and his grin widens, almost as if he’s won something.

He’s about to retort something when his wings twitch on his back, a movement so minuscule, no one else would catch it, but you know him better than anyone else, even if you don’t want to acknowledge that part right now.

The two of you straighten up and smile at each other—one of the practiced, fake ones that no one would be able to tell was fake to begin with—pretending to chat about the rankings. One of the heroes walks past and nods his head at the two of you, while the two of you bow back to him.

When he’s out of sight you drop the entire persona, not bothering with the fake smiles and niceties. You note the way Hawks relaxes slightly, feathers betraying his every being no matter how much he tries to hide from you, too.

Your hand shoots to your ribs, fingers skimming over your hero suit. The fabric dark with gold details—just like his, because the two of you might not do things together, but the HPSC still has their claws in the two of you—but it’s empty underneath. Just flesh and bone. No red feather that flutters against your skin whenever the blond saw you, or missed you. No longer replies to your sighs.

It’s easy to get lost in all that’s him. The blond and red. The cocky smirk he has on his face, and the slight stubble he’s beginning to grow. It’s easy to get lost, and then get pulled back into the present when he scoffs and walks past you, shoulder deliberately knocking into yours.

You want to spill your heart out when you once again see him walk away from you, just like that night. Wings held high, feathers trembling slightly and the back of his head turned towards yours. Want to tell him that it meant nothing, that the two of you could still be friends, like old times sake. But you know that won’t happen, no matter how much you want it to.

The two of you have simply… grown apart. No longer best friends, or that more-than-bestfriends thing the two of you had before he broke it off. Right now the two of you are colleagues. Strangers with history. Enemies competing for the better spot on a leader board the two of you don’t care about.

Your hand falls from your ribs to your side, and it’s so easy to make him stay, but it’s also easy to let him walk away. Because what good would it do? He’s made his stance very clear on the matter. No longer wanting you in his life, no matter what he had promised you.

Walls no longer industrial gray, but rather a muted white, but they feel more lifeless that the prison that you called your home for years, because a certain someone isn’t there to brighten them up. Only the sun setting into hues of violet and peach paints the room in colors.

He said he’d still be here with you, yet you watch him walk away from you the moment the two of you see each other again.

Fine. So be it.

And that’s how the competition really begins.

After the first hero billboard comes the petty revenge. Flirting more with your fans—showing him that you can use his tactics to become more popular, too. The hero rankings are constantly fluctuating, you and Hawks surpassing each other every time, trading ranks like you’re trading stock.

People online have started putting bets on who will be higher ranked this year. The two rookie heroes going head to head, making for an exciting race, or whatever it is they’re saying.

He garners attention by flirting with his fans, you garner attention by doing a shoot, face plastered on every billboard across Japan. It’s petty. It’s stupid. It’s the only way you can keep him close to you despite being hundreds of kilometers apart.

There’s a nagging voice at the back of your head now every time you see his face or name anywhere on the internet. No longer associated with Keigo but rather with Hawks the hero who you’re competing against.

The second annual billboard ranks you at five while he’s at six. The saccharine smile you plaster on your face when the two of you are on stage ticks him off. You can see it in the little tells, one of his feathers near his scapula is razor-sharp one second, while soft the other.

People start asking the two of you questions—rookie heroes, dating scandals, anything and everything they can get their hands on. You deflect with a smile and a wink, and he does the same.

Later that same night there’s hundreds of clips posted about how the two of you would make such a good team or would be so good together. Your eye twitches at that, fingers cracking with the way you’re balling your hands so hard your nails breach the skin on your palms and blood steadily trickles down your forearm.

What would they know about you being ‘such a good item with him.’ They do not know Hawks the same way you do, and over your dead body would you go back to him. The feud you have with him is at this point more important than anything else.

So you start doing other things on your off time—which you already barely have, but for the sake of winning this god-forsaken competition you’d give up all of your free time—such as going into schools and telling children about safety and what to do in villain attacks.

Your popularity numbers are climbing by the day, more of you can be seen in tabloids. Face plastered all over social media for helping a cat get out of a tree. Bringing in groceries for the nice old lady on the sidewalk. Things you would never do out of your own volition, purely because that hasn’t been trained into you to do.

Seems like you underestimated how low Hawks would step, though. It’s during one of your regular patrols, the sun is blistering down and sweat is beading off your temple and down your jaw. There’s a marker in your hand while a kid is jumping up and down in excitement to get your autograph.

You’re smiling, already thinking of where you could get something to hydrate, the cold surely feeling nice against your parched throat, when a big shadow falls across you.

People starts squealing and pointing into the sky, and sure enough there he is. Hawks. All red wings and cocky smirks, hovering in the air. He circles a few times before touching down, immediately getting mobbed by tens of fans.

Hell, even the kid you were giving an autograph just… runs away from you. Your pen hovering uselessly in the air. The stench that comes from the marker fills your nostrils, and it finally snaps you out of your reverie.

Pinching yourself once, you confirm that Hawks is, in fact, really here. Standing on your turf, talking and taking pictures with your fans. And you can already hear that stupid counter climb up by the second, getting more popularity by just touching down here.

And as if he can feel your gaze on him, he lifts his head lightly, golden eyes finding your form. For a second he just stares blankly, then he smirks and throws a wink into your direction. Fucking dickhead.

Sighing you continue your patrol while already thinking of how you’ll get your revenge.

Kyushu is… different than you expected. You never read up much about it, but you knew it was an island—duh—so you didn’t expect to see high rise towers litter everywhere you looked. The buildings so high you would almost be able to touch a cloud if you opened the window; an over-exaggeration, but still.

You thought the place Hawks chose, or well, the HPSC chose for him would have more sea. You thought the air would smell salty, like the ocean, and hear the waves crash ashore, but nothing is less true.

Fukuoka is a heavily populated city. There’s buildings, cars, and street life everywhere. When you got sent here you thought it might be different than back in Sendai, but nothing is less true.

The mission had been simple. Go undercover for a drug ring, get the info, let the President know what’s happening, and turn the whole thing upside down before they even know someone infiltrated their home.

What you’d failed to consider, though, is the fact that this is the home of a certain crimson-winged hero who could spot you from hundreds of meters away.

Looks like he didn’t spot you, but rather you him. Tiny feathers slicing through the air at lightning speed, multiple civilians getting pulled out of the way by their clothes while the number two hero fights the villains.

It’s a sight for sore eyes, wings almost down to little nubs, no longer able to fly, and it seems like these villains aren’t gonna stop any time soon.

He’s exhausted. There’s too many innocent bystanders nearby that he has to keep track of while also fighting off two other villains. His wings are almost non-existent, most of the feathers having been used up at this point. One feather-blade is in his hand, luckily still able to use it.

There’s sweat beading down his brow, nearly falling into his eye before it drips to the ground, which is littered with debris from the wreckage the villains have done to the city. It’s honestly more than he’s encountered in the years before—here anyway.

Villains of this size were normally more common in Tokyo, but seems like they decided to bother his district this day.

He deflects one attack while scooping up a child that had fallen trying to run away with one of his feathers, returning the child to his mother who was in tears, officers holding her back from running onto an active villain site.

Then he hears it, a sharp whistle he hasn’t heard in years. It’s music to his ears. It grates him. Almost like he can’t decide if he loves you for being here right now, or if he hates the fact that you’re even here to begin with.

He knows you wouldn’t come here out of your own volition, just like he doesn’t go to Sendai unless ordered, so you’re here on a mission. And here you are, seeing him in this pathetic state, nearly losing to two villains.

You’d probably laugh at him when you have the time, tell him he’s gonna drop a rank and you’ll sprint ahead of him again. The swapping of places hasn’t once stopped. The number two and three, constantly swapping places but never getting that number one spot.

But he knows. He knows he should give you the go-ahead. Get this over with. The civilians are the most important thing right now, so he should do what’s best for them—even if that means you get a tally added to the score.

So he gives his signal that it’s okay to swap. His wings slowly disappearing from his back. The feathers that he has in his hand goes limp—just an ordinary red feather right now—just like all the others that he’s used to get the bystanders out of the way.

Some people gasp, while others are already filming. He can feel the way his quirk has been swapped for someone elses—one of the villains, though he doesn’t know which of the two.

The villains in front of him look confused for a split second before they grin again, certainly thinking they have the upperhand now. Hawks can only grin in turn, tucking his feather in his jacker sleeve—a souvenir he can give to fans if they want it.

And then a flurry of red feathers come down—sharp as can be. The villains get pinned down almost immediately while Hawks goes in to put quirk-cancelling handcuffs on them. He sees you walk up to him a few seconds after, whistling with your hands in your pockets—a sight so him it pisses him off. Of course you’d try and mock him while he’s already down.

More people are gasping and screaming each of your names now, but neither of you give them any attention. You stop in front of him, a lazy nod given while the police officers rush onto scene, dragging away the suspects.

There are some words exchanged while you still have his quirk, crimson stark against the dark fabric of your hero suit. And he can see the way the feathers are trembling, just like your fingers. There’s a slight tick in your jaw you never could hide, not even from the Commission.

You’re overstimulated. His quirk simply picking up too many noises at once, while he can’t hear anything at all. It’s something the two of you haven’t done in a long time—swapping quirks. While you did this on a regular years ago, it’s now something foreign. Still, he has to applaud you for keeping your face as neutral as you are right now, because he knows how rowdy people can be.

After the officer is done talking with the two of you he walks away, leaving the two of you to fend for yourselves. Masses crowd around the number two and three, as if you two are merely circus acts and everyone can just do whatever they want.

People want pictures where you have the wings, others are touching the feathers to see if they really are as soft as Hawks’. And he notes how uncomfortable you are right now, shivers running up your spine when someone tugs on one of the feathers, and he sees the way your—technically his—wings are twitching like they want to lash out.

So he whispers, as low as he can go, that the two of you can get out of here if you just fly away with him. Which is exactly what you do, picking him up with ease—ease that was never there to begin with since he was heavier with the wings dragging behind him—and flying away from the crowd to one of the high-rises.

It’s an bumpy, unsteady flight all the way up to the tallest building there is, and he has to cling onto you to not plummet to his death. Once you land, clumsy and everything, you set him down.

Your wings shudder behind you before they disappear from your back and form back onto Hawks’—only for there to be stubs instead of actual, massive wings he normally has.

There’s sweat clinging to your spine and beading down your temple. You’d forgotten just how loud his world actually is, not having had to bother with it for years on end. That of course doesn’t mean you forgot what his quirk can do—things no one else in the world except for the President and a few handlers know.

You straighten up, swallowing past the bile that was threatening to come up if you stayed down there any longer, you nod to yourself. You’re okay. This is okay. Everything is okay.

The blond is just watching you, for once having no quip ready on the tip of his tongue, but rather just… looking. There’s a hint of concern he can’t quite seem to hide from you, but you don’t focus too much on that.

Walking up to him you pat him on the back, just between his scapulae where he’s the most sensitive. A little payback you’d say, not just for the fact that you had to get the two of you out of there since he didn’t have enough feathers to even fly, but also for all the bullshit he had pulled this year to get ahead of you.

“Well, see you later, number three,” your voice mock-cheerful. You were the number three hero currently, but with today’s save, or whatever you want to call it, you’re sure your rank will rise once again, surpassing Hawks’. “Gotta do stuff.”

Before you can even walk away a gloved hand wraps itself around your wrist, tugging you back. Another hand finds itself on your hip, warm and familiar in a way you don’t want to acknowledge right now. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Clenching your jaw you look over at the blond, brows furrowing and lips pursing into a straight line. You don’t bother to conceal your expression right now, there’s no one around to see, so you can just show your disdain on your face whenever you want—one of the special occasions.

“Oh I’m sorry, I forgot. I… gotta… go,” you slowly annunciate every word, almost as if you’re talking to a deaf person with dementia who has to lip read. You know he can hear you just fine—while he might not be able to hear everything, his ears still work perfectly fine.

The next instant you’re backed onto a brick wall of the bulkhead. Rough stone scraping against your back through the fabric of your hero suit. It has you gasping out slightly, not thinking he would do something like this.

“You’re such a brat sometimes,” he breathes out, pupils almost like slits, and oh, he’s pissed. Not his normal relaxed self, but rather actually annoyed at something you did—and if you had to guess it was to hit him where it hurt the most. “You should be happy I even gave you the go-ahead to use my quirk.”

That ticks you off. It’s not like you want to use his quirk, but he was in a bind and he knows it. If it were up to you, you would never even think of using his quirk. So you do what you know best—hands coming around to his back to where the little wings are still uncovered, one of your fingers tracing over his feather. Slow and teasing.

He groans out at the sensation, eyes fluttering closed for just a second before he opens them again, pupils dilated slightly. Then he turns you around, your chest pressing up to the stone while your cheek lays flat against the rough texture. A gasp rips itself from your throat.

His breath ghosts the shell of your ear while he presses his chest against your back, and you feel the bulge in his pants on your ass, making you gulp out. He cannot be serious right now.

“You sure you wanna do this, birdie?” the nickname has you close your eyes for a split-second. For a moment you can hear it echo in your head, distort it until you hear that all too familiar nickname: ‘dove’, but he doesn’t, he just uses the same nicknames he gives his fangirls.

You scoff out at it, and try to wiggle your way from him, only for your ass to brush his bulge. He moans out at the sensation before pushing his hips further into you—pressing it right against your ass so you can feel just how hard he is. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Pressing your thighs together, you can feel yourself getting hot and bothered. Even after all these years he still gets you going like no other—not that you’ve ever even looked at someone else. The competition between you two has had your focus so much that you haven’t even had the time to go on a date, and honestly you didn’t care to go on one, either.

When you don’t say anything he chuckles. It comes deep from his chest, rumbling it with the sound that’s completely foreign to you.

“Who would’ve thought,” he whispers, fingers slowly tracing up and down your side, not groping, not grabbing, just tracing featherlight touches along your sides while he humps against your ass. It’s almost as if he isn’t aware of his own ministrations, simply rutting against you like a dog in heat—better yet, like a bird in heat. “Bet you flew us here just to rile me up.”

One of his hands slowly goes to the front, fingers skimming your ribs, just where his feather always used to lay. He makes a little shape there before his fingers trace upwards, squeezing your tit once over the fabric. Shivers run down your spine, straight into your core, and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Panties sticking uncomfortably to your folds.

“Hah, you wish—shit,” your head lolls back onto his shoulder when he finds your nipple over the fabric, pinching and rolling the bud between his forefinger and thumb before he tugs on it slightly. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“You’re gonna be full of me in a second,” he murmurs against your cheek, hips never ceasing their motion, while his other hand finally trails down, stopping just at your pants. It’s only when you nod at him that he slips his fingers inside them, digits finding your heat immediately. “Oh? So wet for someone who’s ‘so full of himself’.”

His fingers move over your panties, lightly caressing it, almost like he’s preening himself—careful not to press too hard, nor move too fast, and it has you absolutely whining out for him.

“R-really, that’s all you can come up with. Thought you’d have some—fuck just keep them there—more practice with your l-little fangirls,” you moan out when his fingers skim over your clit, not pressing or rubbing, just featherlight touches that drive you absolutely crazy for him.

Chuckling his finger finally presses down onto your clit, moving it in small circles while pleasure shoots up your core. Your hand clamps itself onto his forearm, not trying to move it, just holding onto it while you gasp out into the open air.

“That’s itttt, love it when your rival plays with your pussy hmmm?” his finger doesn’t stop, just keeps circling your nub until you’re whining out. “Just put them in already, Hawks.”

He makes a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat—something between a hum and a groan—before he finally moves your panties aside and glides one finger through your slick folds. The feeling of the pads of his fingers directly on your skin has you arching into his touch, trying to chase his fingers even though he keeps sliding them through your folds.

One of his fingers finally slide inside your snug walls, warm and wet around him. It has you struggling to catch your breath. When was the last time you even got time to get yourself off? The feeling of his singular finger so much thicker than your own, eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

He slowly starts to pump in and out of your pussy, walls clinging onto him every time he tries to slide his finger out. Soon another one joins the first, stretching you out even further. Blunt nails dig themselves into his forearm, making him hiss out.

“F-feels so good,” you whimper out, careful not to be too noisy. There might not be anyone around, but if someone living in the apartments below, there’s a possibility they’d be able to hear you, and you’d rather not get caught getting fingered by your so-called rival.

His hips pick up pace behind you, still rutting against your ass like a damn animal in heat. Groans fall from his lips like an open faucet, never once stopping. He curls his fingers up while his thumb grazes your clit before it presses down onto it—adding all the more stimulation.

Trusting his fingers in and out a few times, he finally finds a spot that has you actively keen out, your other hand slapping itself over your mouth when he continues to attack your g-spot with his fingers. “F-fuck, please keep them there.”

Hawks just groans while his hips stutter behind you, fingers keeping their pace. Your thighs are starting to shake, knees buckling slightly. Suddenly there’s a tug on your nipple, completely forgetting his hand was still on your breast, and your eyes roll to the back of your skull. “Cumming, cumming— oh shit.”

Your orgasm shoots through you, and it’s so much more powerful than ever before. At the same time his hips cease behind you, warmth seeping through his pants while he muffles a moan into your shoulder.

It’s only when you catch your breath that you look at him from the corner of your eyes. “Did you just cum in your pants just by rutting yourself against my ass?”

His fingers slip from your heat, cunt clenching around nothing after his fingers retreat, when they come down with a quick slap to your clit. You jump slightly at the feeling, yelping while your head turns to the side to look at him.

“Shut up,” his cheeks are blotched pink, not once daring to look you in the eye, confirming what you thought had happened. He eyes his hand, spreading his fingers slightly, looking at the way your arousal webs between his fingers before they snap!

Almost in a trance he pops his fingers in his mouth, lips wrapping around the digits while his tongue licks the wetness right off. He moans out at the taste, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his skull while he can feel his dick twitch to life in his pants again.

Your mouth falls open at the sight, so sinful it makes you all the more hornier. Without realising your hips are moving back, ass brushing against his hardening cock, which he gives a quick slap. He pulls his fingers out of his mouth, lips shiny with a mixture of spit and cum, having your eyes snap to them. “Still haven’t had enough, thought you hated me?”

You roll your eyes at that, not bothering to confirm nor deny his accusations. Turning around your hand cups his member, palm pressing against it while you smile sweetly up at him. “Could say the same thing for you, Hawks.”

He growls—actually growls—at that, eyes narrowing down at you before his fingers make quick work of your pants. You unbuckle his belt, fingers fumbling slightly with how they’re trembling, and you can only hope he doesn’t see it.

He frees his cock from his underwear, mushroom tip angry red and shiny with cum. Giving it a few tugs he gets himself fully hard again. His other hand creeps down your thigh before he grabs just below your knee and hoists your leg up to put it around his waist. Your other feet shuffles around on the ground slightly, trying to find your balance again, while your hand shoots out to grab his shoulder—this time careful not to touch anywhere near his wings.

“Sure you’re ready for this?” he asks, fingers toying with your panties that are soaked through at this point, flimsy material doing nothing to hide your swollen folds.

“Just put it in already,” you roll your eyes at him, watching the way he once again pulls your panties to the side while he lines himself up. There’s anticipation and slight dread running through you now. Are you ready? Did he prep you enough? How are you even sure you can take him?

He glides his shaft through your folds a few times, skin getting shiny with your slick, when his tip rubs over your clit, shooting more pleasure through you. It’s only when he glides over it once again that you feel it—something metal.

Dickhead has a dick piercing.

“Bet your f-fangirls love that,” you whimper out, still eyeing the way he’s gliding through your folds, tip catching on your entrance only to move it up again, and again, and again. “How many compliments did you ge—fuuuckk.”

He doesn’t let you finish your sentence, instead finally deciding to push inside. The stretch feel insane, walls clamping down immediately, tip pushing past that first ring of resistance. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, and your hand tightens on his shoulder.

“S-shit, ease up, d— birdie,” he grunts out, not trying to push in any further. His hand comes down to your hip, thumb rubbing circles on your hip while he lets you adjust to the stretch. “You always this t-tight, or is it just me who has that effect on you?”

“Shut up,” you whine, not caring how you sound right now. You let your body slump to the wall behind you, sweat starting to collect at your nape again. Never in your life did you think it would feel like this. “Y-you can move.”

Looking at you for a few more seconds he slowly inches in, the stretch torturous, and he isn’t even half-way in yet. You claw at his shoulders, trying to find anything to hold onto while he was splitting you open.

“Just a few more inches,” he murmurs down at you with—is that concern? in his voice, thumb sliding from your hip to your clit, rubbing small figure eights on it to help you relax slightly. A few more inches? Looking down you see the way his skin is wrinkling at the base, and yup, he still had two more inches give or take left.

Once he finally bottoms out he lets his head fall forward, straight against your collarbone, breath hot even through the fabric. His tip is smooched against your cervix, and you can feel the two barbells of his piercing sit snug against your walls, even when he isn’t moving.

It’s a weird sensation—the metal cool against your warm cunt, smooth surface rubbing you just right. After a few moment he finally pulls his hips back—just slightly—and thrusts back in. It’s a shallow thrust, but it knocks the breath right out of your lungs.

“Y-you always this weak when fucking your girls?” You shouldn’t ask it, you don’t even want to know his answer to it, but your mouth is moving before your brain can even catch up. Luckily for you he doesn’t reply, only pulls out further before thrusting back in, making you moan out.

He sets a steady pace after that, hips pulling out halfway only to thrust back in, tip hitting your cervix each and every time, pre clinging to your walls. Moans and groans fill the air while the two of you are too lost in the pleasure to even taunt each other.

“F-fuck, pussy gripping onto me—shit look at that—like she doesn’t want me to leave,” he groans out, eyeing the way your lips are wrapping around him every time he pulls out.

“Maybe she just wants you to cum so she can get away from you,” you mutter out, which he hears loud and clear. The stubs on his backs flutter slightly, not bothering to hide any reaction you pull out of him any longer.

His eyes narrow at you before his hand that’s still rubbing circles stops. The pleasure dwindles slightly, only for him to set a more brutal pace, balls slapping against your ass while he pummels into your poor pussy.

“Yeah? Well then maybe— oh fuck… maybe I shouldn’t get you off,” he changes his angle slightly, hiking your leg further up his waist before he starts pistoning his hips in and out of you, an audible squelch can be heard every time he bottoms out.

“Don’t need you—there, please there,” your eyes roll back while you babble out ‘please’ and ‘there’ over and over again. Your mouth falls open, high off ecstasy while Hawks keeps bullying your g-spot with lethal precision.

“There, yeah? Fuck feel her clamping down on me. What was that… hahhh, about not needing me?” he grunts out while he can feel his abs start to tighten.

Your own hand comes down to your sensitive clit, rubbing circles on it while you’re incoherently babbling now, cock-drunk on the way he’s pummeling into your weeping hole. “Gonna—” you gasp out, before it cuts off with a choked cry. Your walls spasm around him while you get thrown into your second climax of the day, thighs trembling slightly.

“F-fuck,” he chokes out before he thrusts once more, hips stilling while he paints your entire walls white. His wings twitch and flex against his back, and you’re pretty sure you can see the left over feathers sharpen and soften against his back through your hazed-out mind.

The two of you stay like that for a while, just breathing in each other’s presence, not daring to move. It’s only when he pulls out with a hiss that you realise the situation. Looking down you see his seed bubble out of you, a bit of red mixed in the mess.

Hawks also sees it, looking down with concern at you. “Shit— fuck, are you okay?”

Rolling your eyes you let your leg fall from his hips, and your thigh almost immediately seizes up. Luckily you can deal with cramps—having been through enough training that this doesn’t feel like anything anymore—but the foreign feeling of your pussy having been stretched out has you grit your teeth.

“That’s your blood,” you mumble out, swiping your thumb on a cut just on his eyebrow. It leaves behind a trail of red, staining your finger in the crimson substance. Holding it up for him to see you just swallows and nods once.

Wiping it off on your uniform, you put your panties back in place, grimacing slightly when you feel the sticky substance ooze out of you. Pulling up your pants you pat everything down to see if you still have everything before straightening up.

There’s an awkward beat where the two of you just look at each other. And it finally sinks in what just happened. You fucked Hawks. Your ex-bestfriend, ex-lover, current rival. The one person you swore you would be done with.

Swallowing you quickly push yourself from the brick wall, finally noticing just how much your back hurts at the moment. Running your fingers through your hair you nod once towards the hero before you open the door and walk away from whatever all of this is.

And while you awkwardly walk down the stairs—gait off and your hole pulsing around nothing—you know that you’re absolutely and utterly fucked.

The time after that moves weird. You hadn’t seen anything of the crimson-winged hero while you stayed in Kyushu, only hearing people whisper about him in passing, but never once seeing that blur of red move through the sky.

You know somewhere deep down that he’s avoiding you, and you’re honestly doing the same. The night in the safehouse after what happened made you unable to sleep, eyes blinking up at that same industrial gray you’ve seen your entire life, and for just a moment—just one—you could feel him beside you on that bed. Only this bed was bigger than the one you had for twelve years.

When you closed your eyes you could feel the way his breath would ghost your skin while laying beside you, his wing flopped over you like a soft, unique blanket that sometimes twitched whenever either of the two of you moved.

Could still feel the way he would trace soft patterns over your arms when he thought you’d fallen asleep before he was out of the room. Could still feel the gentleness in his gazze whenever he looked at you.

But when you opened your eyes you were met by silence. No soft whisper of feathers ruffling or the soft breathing pattern he always had around you—something that had been trained into the two of you. There was still that small electral buzz you were familiar with, but it made your heart only do more complicated flips.

It was like you were suddenly thrown back to when you were seventeen years old and got told that the two of you shouldn’t see each other anymore.

And just like then, you have a feather in your hand. Soft, white, and itchy. Not the crimson, alive feather you used to wear like a shield. Like a promise etched onto your skin. But rather just a dead feather from god-knows-where.

It droops to the side sadly, like it’s reminding you that this isn’t what you were familiar with for half your life. But still you put it on your chest and begin talking to it like it can respond. The stories are quite silly, and you would never actually say all of these things out loud—when you’d done grocery shopping online, the latest villain arrest, a short story about how your sidekick had put soap in the food instead of olive oil.

You’re gesturing around the room wildly, a small smile on your face while your eyes are closed. It’s easier that way, telling stories to a feather that can’t respond. But for a moment you just let yourself believe it can. Let yourself believe that you’re seventeen years old again and that you’re ranting to your friend.

The golden-eyed boy across the hall that always looked like you were more than the weapon they were trying to make you out to be. The one who you shared secret glances and giggles with. The one who put a warm hand over your stomach whenever your cramps got too much, but the handlers just kept pushing you to do more more more.

And when you open your eyes, there’s a slight part in your heart that yearns to see that red feather hovering in front of your eyes. But you’re met with air. The white feather still laying on your chest, not moving an inch from where you last put it.

A tear slides down your face before you can stop it. Quickly wiping it away you chuckle into the empty room. No one can hear you, after all, so why would you care?

There’s a slight throbbing between your legs, soreness running through your muscles—an type of sore you’ve never been before, and it scares you slightly—while there’s no one to tell you it’s okay.

Rolling over you look at the empty spot beside you in the bed. It’s cold and pristine, not a wrinkle in sight. How many times have you imagined there to be someone beside you? It’s honestly too many to count, and you can’t help but let another tear slide down your face.

There’s a slight discontent in your heart that tells you that after today he’ll never even look at you anymore. That this will be just like what happened seven years ago, where he told you the two of you couldn’t be together and walked out of your life.

You had this silly competition, chasing after numbers the two of you knew didn’t matter. While other heroes yearn to be in the top 10, the two of you treated it as an game to one-up one another. Taunting the other with whoever has the higher rank that year.

That was the only time you talked to him, honestly. The annual Japanese Hero Billboard Chart. One of the only times you’d see him in real life instead of on a screen with an update on his latest endeavor.

And somewhere deep down you know that even that will cease to exist after today. The silly competition will be over, no more trying to get more popular, but rather just actually focusing on what the two of you are—heroes.

You grab your pillow, squeezing it to your chest. Of course you had to fuck it up once more.

The pillow feels to hard. Too many feathers stuffed into the thing, and without thinking about it you rip it open, hundreds of little feathers spilling from the casing. Sitting up you look around the room knowing that each safehouse had a small kit with a thread and needle stored somewhere.

Searching around for it, you find it under the sink. Sitting on the bed once more—a few feathers poking you in the butt and your legs—you get to work.

Hours pass, the dark night sky changing to the soft break of dawn that paints the entire sky hues of orange, to daylight where the sun is shining onto the sealed windows.

Your hands are cramping and bleeding slightly, small spots of red against the stark white feathers that make you just wanna cut your hand open to stain them red entirely—something you decide against when you repeat it in your head.

When you finally lay down the thread and needle you look up at your nightstand. It’s just past twelve in the afternoon, which gives you plenty of time to still get ready for the mission. Scrubbing a hand over your face you look down onto the bed.

An entire sheet of feathers lay there, neatly sown together in something that resembles the form of a wing. The entire thing is soft and way too itchy, but you still run your hands through it, hoping that one of them would twitch.

They never do.

Leaning your body back you look over at the wall, just… staring at it for a good few minutes. Since when were you so lonely that you had to sow together a whole feather blanket just to be reminded of when you were younger?

A small chuckle escapes your lips. Hollow and heartbroken. Of course, of course you would go ahead and fuck him after what happened when you kissed him last time.

Hands shaking you put the feather blanket over your legs, trying to feel the warmth in them—but they are too different. Even your brain knows this isn’t what you want, but it’s the closest what you can get. Sighing you get up to get ready for the day.

The mission comes before anything and everything else.

After that night you haven’t been able to focus, quickly losing sleep and some of your popularity considering you haven’t been doing that good of a job interacting with your fans. You were short and snappy with them sometimes, almost like a bird that’s being cornered into a cage.

Your number two rank—because you did get to two after that save—quickly dropped to four over the span of mere weeks. Tabloids printing out more and more articles about you. Speculations, your latest mishap, you name it and it’s there.

And of course wherever your name went, his was not far behind. Hawks, the number two hero, charming his way with the ladies once more. His ruby studs catching the light just right in the latest picture, and you know his magpie brain loves to see it.

Clicking the screen off you let yourself fall backward. This isn’t what you wanted, not even close. And just like you expected, there’s no more real competition. But maybe that’s also because you’re not letting there be competition.

The Commission has been on your ass about your latest endeavors, scolding you and even putting cameras inside of your own agency, just so they can keep track of what you’re doing in there.

Your sidekicks have been eyeing you carefully, but you just smile at them and tell them everything is fine. Because it is, isn’t it?

No matter how much time passes, every time you get home—if you even get the time to go back to your own apartment, nothing Commission owned—you look in the almost-empty closet and fish out the little feather blanket you made weeks ago.

Every time you can’t sleep, you lay it over you, just to try and trick your brain that everything will be okay, even when it will never be again.

The Hero Billboard Chart that year felt brutal. You fell down the rankings—now the number five hero—while Hawks was at his number two spot. It’s been the first time in years since the two of you didn’t stand next to each other. And oh boy, didn’t people have their opinions about it.

There’s speculation, children and adults alike screaming at the two of you asking if something happened. Others are more bold and ask if the two of you had a falling out of sorts. And of course there are the shippers who are making sad edits about you and Hawks, compiling every picture the two of you are in together to throw a sad song over it while unrelated pictures get used.

It’s honestly… something. Never in a million years would you have thought that people cared like to this extent. The two of you weren’t that close. Not in the public’s eye anyway, and no one knows about the history you have with the birdbrain.

So why is everyone always trying to get you two together anyway? Is it because you two debuted at the same time and rose the rankings together? Or do they see something deeper you yourself are refusing to admit?

Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter, because the HPSC is once again calling a meeting. Walking in you see that one face you were dreading to see, but you can’t just walk back out. Steeling your face you go to sit down at the long table that’s filled with people in business suits.

The meeting drones on and on. Beginning with reprimanding you for losing rank so fast. Rolling your eyes you let them talk about how they are going to rectify things, as if being the number five isn’t good enough.

A pawn. That’s still all you are to these people. Just a little piece on a much bigger board they can use any time they want. Same goes for the crimson-winged hero across from you. He’s leaning back, arms behind his head while he leans back.

There’s a beat of silence before your handler finally speaks up. “The two of you will do an ad together. Just to show everyone there’s no bad blood.”

That makes you freeze up slightly, hairs standing on end like someone threw a cold bucket of water over you. The blond across from you also halts for half a second—one you’re sure everyone around the table saw—before he smiles, big and bright.

“And what would this ad be?” he almost purrs across the table, canines on full display while he sits up a little straighter. The lax position from minutes ago disappearing completely.

The handler looks you over for a second, then him, then looks down at the tablet, just to create a little suspense. You know she knows what the ad is about, everyone here, except for you and Hawks do. They never call in a meeting without being prepared to the max.

“It’s an underwear ad. They want to advertise their new matching sets—for partners. The two of you can do that, right?”

Of course. Of course they would throw you in the deep end like this. It isn’t even just the fact that you have to do an ad with him, but the forced close proximity and underwear. Fucking great. Across from you Hawks’ eyebrows shoot up.

“An underwear ad,” he echoes, dragging every syllable like he’s chewing on taffy and trying to figure out how to get it out of his mouth. “For couples.”

Everyone at the table looks at him before his own handler smiles, cold and devoid of any emotion. “The two of you can do that, right? Show the world there’s no bad blood like they think there is. Just two heroes who are competing to be the better hero.”

You nod slowly, mechanically. There’s no saying no to this, and he knows it as well. His golden eyes flit over to yours, and for the first time in forever you can see a glint of emotion in there. It’s gone as quick as it came, but you swear there was some relief in there.

Which is why you’re here now, two weeks later in a warehouse that doubles as the set. There are people everywhere around you. Two are working on your body, lotioning it up so it looks good in the lighting—or whatever they said, you weren’t really listening to begin with to be completely honest—while there are another two people working on your hair and makeup.

The underwear is plain. A little heart cut out on your ass—nothing scandalous, just something cute—while there is a little bow on the front. Your bra also has a cute little bow at the front, tits sitting snug in it, and it’s honestly cute.

You can hear the assistants whisper to each other about everything and anything, but most of the time yours and Hawks’ name fall from their lips. Straining your ears you can just about hear what they’re saying—He’s adorable’ ‘adorable? he’s so hot.’ ‘I think I like her more’ ‘Fine then, more for me’.

They’re giggling as if you can’t hear what they’re saying, and if you can hear it, you’re certain he can, too.Speaking of, looking in the mirror you can see him walk up and lean against the doorframe, arms over his chest, biceps bulging.

He’s in nothing but boxers, and you have to keep your eyes up to not ogle him. Lean frame gotten a bit more defined over the years, but nothing extreme. He has to be able to fly, after all, and it would be more difficult if he was on the bigger side.

The stylist puts on some lipgloss before she steps away with an watchful eye. Once she determines everything is fine she nods at you to go stand up. Walking over to the guy who fills every room without even trying—though his wings certainly had something to do with that—you stop just short in front of him.

He lets his eyes rake over you, stopping just slightly when he sees the cute bow before he whistles. Low and sharp. A catcall if you ever heard one. Your hand shoots up and hits him on the back of his head, a small little flick of your wrist.

There’s a small, sharp sting on the back of his head. Not hurting him enough to complain, but enough to get him back into the present. The two of you are not alone, and when he looks around, he can see almost every eye on the two of you.

Right. Just an ad campaign and not just the two of you.

“Ready?” he murmurs, pushing himself upright before stepping aside slightly. You roll your eyes at him before pushing past him to make your way to the set. He flicks two fingers into the air to everyone in the dressing room before he turns to follow you. And, oh—oh now that’s unfair. The little heart cutout has his eyes drawn to it.

It’s cute, small enough to be inconspicuous, but enough for him to notice. And notice he does. His feathers bristle slightly before he has to calm them down. Memories of months ago filling his head. You pushed to the brick wall, your warm, wet walls clamping down on his fingers, on his dick—shit.

He flexes his arms in hopes to get the blood rushing to there instead of down there. And he already knows this is going to be a long day.

The director is absolutely delighted when he sees the two of you walk in, immediately shaking your hands and thanking the two of you for coming, since he knows how busy hero work is. He’s absolutely beaming when you start talking a bit more, but then remembers he has to actually put the two of you in positions for the shoot.

It starts out with Keigo sitting down, muscled thighs spread oud, and you have to perch on his lap. Of fucking course. This is a couples ad, after all. But that didn’t mean you weren’t hoping it wouldn’t be like this.

Still the shoot goes on, running through multiple poses. Sitting on his lap, standing in front of each other, standing in front of him while you were with your back turned toward the camera, one of his hands on you waist, which slid lower lower lower, until he was grabbing your ass—which the director absolutely loved to see.

‘Make it more sensual.’ ‘Good, good, look each other in the eyes like you mean in.’ ‘Oh, yes yes that! that’s it!’ ‘Put your hand on his chest—there we goo.’ ‘This is looking good guys.’ ‘Okay now I just need something that shows off the front. Ohhh that’s good!’

He was… energetic to say the least.

By the time the two of you are done with the shoot—having had solo shots done as well—it’s already late at night. Most of the people have packed up already with a promise to go to dinner together, while there are still a few people walking around.

You’re in your dressing room removing your makeup when the door opens. Looking up through the mirror you can see Hawks leaned against the door, crimson wings spread open slightly while his arms are over his chest. Still in just his underwear—same as you.

You’re not sure what happened next. One minute he was talking to you—taunting you, really—and the next the two of you are stumbling to the couch, fingers groping and touching everywhere your eyes can see.

You’re laying on your back, hair splayed out underneath you while Hawks stands over you, teeth in the wrapper of the rubber that he— “Where did you even get that from?” He walked in here in just his boxers, so unless he was hiding it in there you have no idea where he got it from.

“Sent a feather to retreat one from my wallet,” he chuckles before he drops the last piece of clothing, dick springing free and hitting his bellybutton. He’s already hard and leaking for you—a sight you cannot get used to—and the soft amber lighting of the mirror shows you the two barbells just under his tip.

Fuck, if that isn’t hot. Your thighs squeeze together while you feel yourself start to soak through your underwear, white fabric almost turning translucent, sticking to your folds that leaves nothing up to the imagination.

Rolling the condom on he positions himself between your legs, hand at his base tapping his tip on your clit over the fabric a few times. Each tap has your thighs jolt, almost clamping them shut before you feel multiple feathers on them, keeping you nice and spread for him.

“You always like to tease this much or— or are you trying to keep me here longer?” you ask him through your teeth, annoyance dripping from your voice. It just makes him chuckle, golden eyes trained on where you were dripping for him. “Hmm, just wanna get you nice ‘n wet for me, but seems like I don’t have to do much, do I?

You roll your eyes at the statement. It’s not like he’s wrong, though. There’s no hiding it, either, not with the way your spread out for him.

He finally takes your panties off, hooking his slender fingers into the waistband before he lets it snap against your skin once, having you jolt out, before he finally takes them off. He looks down at the way you’re spread open for him—wet slit spread open for him with the way his feathers are keeping you open, and he can’t help but pry your lips open ever further with his thumbs.

Your hole clenches around nothing, more arousal dripping out of you and down the couch. He’s just staring for a few seconds, pupils blown out at the sight, and it would’ve made you chuckle—taunt him about hypnotizing him with your pussy—if it wasn’t for him putting his thumb in your weeping hole.

“Fuck, Hawks. Wanted your cock,” you mewl out when he slowly moves his finger in and out of you, totally transfixed on the way you’re swallowing him whole. “Seriously, just g-get this over with.”

You grab the base of his cock, manicured fingers wrapping around the appendage, before you move it over your slit, head bumping your already-sensitive clit. That finally snaps him out of it, retreating his thumb from your snug walls with a pop!

Positioning him at your entrance, he finally moves his hips, pushing in slowly. The stretch is still overwhelming. Leaning down his teeth sink into the fabric of your bra before he pulls it down just enough to bunch under your tits. Your nipples pebble immediately after they get exposed to the cold air, which just makes him groan before wrapping his lips around one of them.

The dual sensation has you mewling out, hands finding purchase on his back, fingers skimming the base of his wings making them arch out, the red plumes the only thing you can see right now. He whimpers at the sensation, feathers bristling slightly before he folds them back in.

His cock throbs inside of you once he bottoms out, flushed head steadily dripping more pre. The feeling of the rubber is different, the layer between your walls and his flushed cock has you whining out. The little barbell also feels weird, not like last time.

“Stop clenching— fucking hell… like that,” his hand smacks your thigh, aa sharp sting running up your thigh and straight to your core, having the exact opposite reaction he wanted—walls clenching down on him further.

“Just move already,” you moan out when his tongue flicks over your nipple, still waiting for him to move. His hips start to move, pulling them back he thrusts forward again. A deep and brutal thrust that has you clawing at his back, leaving behind angry, red marks. The red that matches his wings.

Your hips move in tandem with his, skin slapping against skin, heavy balls hitting your ass while his mouth finally finds your other tit, peppering it with kisses and bites. “So good for me, love it when I fuck you, don’tcha?” he murmurs against your skin.

Your legs wrap around his waist before you flip the two of you around, his body hitting the couch with an ‘oomf’. Straddling him you grab him at the base before sinking down on his girth, weeping hole swallowing him greedily. “Hate you. Hate you so much.”

His hands come down to your hips, helping you move up and down his cock. His eyes are transfixed on where the two of you are connected, lips stretching around him. “Yeah, hate me? That why you’re bouncing on my cock right now?”

His thumb presses onto your clit while two of his feathers come down to play with your nipples—feather-soft brushes against your skin making you keen out into the air, not caring who could possibly walk by and hear the two of you.

“T-this doesn’t mean anything,” you moan out, ass slapping against his thick thighs with each fall of your hips. Your pace slowly dwindles down, hips not lifting as far up as they did before, which is a wrong move because Hawks tightens his hold onto your plush hips and starts moving you.

“C’mon now, birdie. Wanted to ride me so. ride. me.” he slams you down with each word, tip hitting your cervix every time he bottoms out. You throw your head back at the feeling, back arching to the point where your tits are basically smothering him. Not that he cares though, he just happily groans while licking off the sweat that’s beading down the valley of your breasts.

“You’re—shit—dirty,” is all you can get out while he’s bruising your walls, fingers digging into your flesh in a way that you know will leave behind marks the next day. Luckily your hero suit covers it, because otherwise people would definitely know what happened.

Your thighs are starting to strain, knot in your stomach coiling deeper and deeper until it finally snaps. Body trembling above his, walls constricting around him. “Shit— tryna milk me even when you know you can’t get filled?”

He holds your body against him while he plants his feet on the ground. Pummeling his hips into yours, he chases after his own orgasm. You’re whining out at the overstimulation, hips writhing above him trying to get away from the feeling, only for him to lock his arms around your waist, keeping you still for him.

With a groan he finally cums, rubber preventing you from feeling him fill you up. The only sounds filling the room is the two of you greedily gulping in some air, and his feathers twitching against his back—puffing up slightly with affection before they go down again.

That’s the way the two of you begin this… arrangement of sorts.

Instead of taunting about rankings, the two of you began doing… favors for each other. He ate you out after you shot up the rankings again, and you sucked him off when he was still the number two—above your ranking—the next year.

You can still remember the way he was teasing you about sounding hoarse during patrol. Your throat was constricting around him a mere ten minutes before you had to go out, so there was no time to even look for something to soothe your throat.

And then you had the times where he came over just to take his frustrations out on you, hips pummeling into your ass from behind, grunting about how overworked the two of you were. The Commission still on both your asses, giving you assignment after assignment.

Your ass was red and swollen by the time he was done, puffy cunt absolutely abused while he watched his cum drip out of you only for him to lick it out of there mere seconds later.

Sometimes he came inside of you, other times he pulled out just in time, painting your skin with ropes of white, rubber having been ditched after your third time together. You were whining about not being able to feel him, telling him that you were on the pill so he couldn’t get you pregnant anyway—thank you Commission for doing something good for once.

Which is leads you to today, you’re laid out on a bed. Not the small beds the two of you had in the safehouses, nor the couches backstage somewhere or the rough bricks scratching against your back whenever the two of you find yourselves outside again. No this is Hawks’ bed, massive, just to comfortably fit his wings onto.

He’s pounding into your poor, overstimulated pussy. His hips coming down to grind against you before he pulls back and slams back in. The headboard is hit hit hitting the wall behind you, luckily for the two of you he lives in the penthouse, so there will be no noise complaints.

“Fucking hate them,” he grunts while sweat is beading down his temple, wings spread out behind him in a brilliant, crimson arc. Your fingers are clawing at his biceps while he continues his rant. “No, Hawks, it isn’t enough. Nothing you ever do is enough. We’ll just keep on sending you on missions, because that’s why you’re here. To be a hero means to sacrifice,” he mocks one of the handlers.

It’s not often that he reaches out to you, much less when he actually calls you over. Hell, this has been the first time you were even in his apartment, and you had no time to actually admire the place before he had you pinned to the wall already.

Sinking to his knees he muttered out a, need this. need this pussy to suffocate me. before he all but yanked your shorts and panties down in one, swift movement. His lips immediately latched onto your sensitive nub, making your hand fly to his hair while your head thunked! onto the wall behind you.

“Fucking hell, what’s gotten into you?” you asked him through a moan. While he’s eaten you out before, he was never this desperate to get his hands—or in this case lips—on you. It was always filled with teasing and taunting remarks. But this time he just groaned into your mound like it was the answer to all of his questions. “Seriously, Hawks… what happened?”

You’re pulling on his hair trying to get him to at least acknowledge you, but all it did was make him whimper out into your slit while his wings shuddered behind him. Well guess you found out something new about him.

“Commission was on my ass,” he mumbles through licks, his tongue flitting over your clit while one of his hand is groping your ass like it was his personal stress-ball. “Fuck you taste so sweet.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, hips starting to grind down onto his face while he plunged his tongue inside of you, wiggling the muscle around into your tight walls. “Want me t-to talk about it?” you breathed out, swinging one leg over his shoulder—careful not to pin his wing to his back—to give him more access to your slit, which he happily takes, pressing his mouth further into your pussy.

“Jus’ need you right now,” he grunted out, continuing to eat you out. It was messy, spit dribbling past the corners of his mouth while the lower part of his face was shiny with your arousal. “Pussy loves me, doesn’t she?”

You couldn’t answer that, too busy trying to focus on your upcoming orgasm to even think of responding to him talking to your pussy like it was alive instead of just an organ. Gripping his hair even tighter you began gyrating your hips down onto his face which he happily let you, groaning out while he angled his face so his nose would nudge your clit with each roll of your hips.

Once you came on his face—thighs trembling, tummy clenching, moans flowing free out of you—he dragged you to the bed where he took no time to slide into you. You’re still not used to the way he stretches you out, despite it having been years since you first began fucking him.

He’d filled you up once already while you’ve cum three times, weeping pussy sensitive to each roll of his hips, and you can feel your stomach starting to tighten once more.

“Haven’t I sacrificed enough already?” He’s still talking, still asking rhetorical questions that you could answer—that you would answer if he wasn’t pounding you into oblivion—but all you can do is moan out at him. “D-did everything for them.”

Nodding your head you run your hand through his hair, trying to soothe him slightly, but you just tighten your grip once he finds that spongy spot inside of you again, bullying it when he realises he’s found your g-spot once again.

“F-fuck, Hawks. Wait. Feels weird,” you’re trying to get him to slow down, to get that weird feeling building up in your lower stomach to go away, only for him to continue babbling about the Commission and how they ruined his life. If you weren’t so busy you’d give your two cents on it, but you can’t. Legs starting to tremble around his waist while your toes curl.

He presses his thumb to your clit, and that does it. Your orgasm crashes into you like a lighting strike. Clear liquid gushing out of you and onto Hawks’ abs, thighs, balls and bedsheets. Your hands tighten in the sheets beside you while you sob out his name. “Fuck, Keigo— Kei. Pleasepleaseplease. Love you— shit.”

That makes him still. Just completely still against you. You don’t notice, though, too busy riding out your orgasm to even see the way his eyes are wide open, mouth agape. The pleasure shooting through you has you crying, tears rolling down your cheeks and disappearing into the pillows below you.

“What did you just say?” His voice is so small, unlike his normal, cocky self that you finally open your eyes. Blinking a few times you note the way he’s hunched over you right now, a few feathers suspended in the air while his golden eyes look at you like you’re made of glass. He says your name—not birdie, not dove, not your hero name, just your actual name. The one you haven’t heard in years.

“Say it again,” he breathes out, almost begging you. “Please.”

Gulping you look at those golden eyes you’ve seen your entire life, the ones that always meant that you were safe. The ones you’ve hoped to see beside you every day, but got taken away from you when you were a mere seventeen years old.

“I love you,” you murmur, trying to gauge his reaction. The next second his mouth crashed onto yours, plump lips groaning out after he finally tasted you. It’s been ten years. Ten years since the two of you last kissed. You two hadn’t kissed even once after debuting, despite the two of you having been fuck-buddies for years.

It’s filled with warmth and lust, his tongue clashing against yours while you drink up all of his sounds. The wings on his back unfurl and furl back in, almost as if he has no control over what’s happening to them.

“Love you, love you, love you,” he mumbles out against your lips while slowly starting to trust back inside again. The overstimulation has you keening out, but you just wrap your legs further around his waist while pulling him back in. “Mine, all mine.”

His pace picks up, hips snapping against yours once more. One of his hands gropes your breast while the other squeezes your waist, pulling you down to meet every thrust.

Your body is completely pliant against his, bones feeling like jelly with the way he’s made you cum multiple times already. The last sunrays catch your eyes, and it has him gasping out. You look like an angel beneath him—his angel.

He spills inside you not soon after, a second load filling you up. And you coax him through it, hands running through his hair while his lips latch onto your throat.

You thought he’d be done now, but you can feel him twitch inside of you. “Are you still hard?” you whisper, incredulous.

Keigo merely smiles down at you before he pulls out of you, his thick seed immediately bubbling out of you. He gives you no time to even realise what’s going on, picking you up into his arms and setting you down in front of the big window that overlooks the city.

Your body tilts forward, tits pressing against the cool glass while you turn your head to the side to look at the man behind you. “What are you doing?”

“Gonna show everyone you’re mine,” he growls before nudging your knees apart and slips back inside. Your mouth falls open when he starts moving again, the cool glass a stark contrast to your overheating body.

The streets below are still busy, and if someone were to look up they would be able to see the number two absolutely railing the number three hero. Your nipples brush against the smooth surface, adding all the more pleasure to your core.

Inner thighs are slick with a mixture of your and his cum, and you can see him in the reflection of the glass. The crimson almost getting swallowed by the burnt-sienna of the sky outside, but his eyes are transfixed on you. He chuckles when he feels you clench down onto him, walls fluttering uselessly around him. “You like the thought of people seeing you like this?” he murmurs into your ear, breath warm against the shell.

Your hips move back against him, knees weak with the way he knocks you forward with each thrust. Wrapping his arm around you, he lifts you up, feet dangling uselessly above the ground. You gasp out at that—at him using your body like you were merely a doll he could just pick up whenever he wanted.

“Shit— Keigo,” you whine out his name, forehead thumping against the glass, eyes fluttering close when that piercing passes over your sweet-spot with each pass of his hips. Nails leaving angry indents into his forearm.

“I know, dove. I know,” he murmurs against your cheek, he pounds into you from behind like a man possessed. “Let go for me. Show me how much you want me.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your skull, mouth opening in a broken moan that sounds so unlike you. White-hot pleasure shoots through your core, whitening out your vision for what feels like an eternity.

Keigo is not far behind, hips snapping against your ass like a punctuation. “S-shit, trying to milk me for all I’m worth.”

He spills into you for the last time that night. Hips ceasing their ministrations completely, his sweaty chest pressed flush against your back. Letting your head loll back against his shoulder you look at him, tired eyes blinking over his form.

He’s flushed from his face down all the way to his chest. Sweat beads down his body and he’s panting against your neck. His hair is plastered to his forehead, eyes blown out wide.

Moving the two of you back to the bed, he carefully lays you down before walking away, only to return with a washcloth seconds later. He carefully opens your thighs for him and begins to clean you up. You trash slightly at the sensation. “I know, dovey. Will be over soon.”

He throws the washcloth somewhere to the ground, and it lands with a wet schlap! somewhere in the corner of his bedroom—something you’ll probably reprimand him for when you have more energy, but right now you couldn’t care less.

Shuffling into the bed, he pulls you to his chest. One of his wings wraps itself around you—just like old times. It takes you right back to that too-small bed where the two of you would talk into the late hours of the night.

Feathers are twitching against your skin as if trying to kiss your entire body. It makes you relax, body sinking more into his chest while he traces small shapes in your skin.

“That was… a lot,” you mumble out, not quite sure if you should even address it, but you can’t stay silent any longer. The way he said your name, told you he loved you, gave you your old nickname back. It was, quite frankly, a lot. And even if that all didn’t happen, he also made you squirt for the first time. The memory has you flushing bright red.

“Mhmm, nothing I said was untrue, though,” he mumbles out into your hair, pressing his lips feather-soft against the crown of your head. It has you closing your eyes for a few seconds before opening them again.

“Why did you even leave in the first place, Kei?” It’s been bothering you ever since he walked out of that room. The way he was so fidgety, no longer wanting anything to do with you when the two of you only had a few more months before the debut. A few more months and the two of you could’ve just stopped sneaking around.

You can feel him lean back a little, head angled down before his fingers find you chin and nudges your head up so he can look at you. “What are you talking about, dove? You’re the one who told me that we couldn’t be together.”

Furrowing your brows you look at the golden eyes you’ve known your whole life. Shifting slightly—and hissing when you accidentally rub yourself against his thigh—you sit up a little, just enough to look at him.

“No, no. You came into my room telling me it couldn’t work any longer,” you start, eyes darting around his face, confusion settling over you. You can still remember that night vividly, and it was him who broke it off with you. “Said you didn’t have feelings for me and then just… walked out.”

“Now why would I do that when I’ve been in love with you for all of my life?” He asks you, bushy brows furrowed together. There’s a slight crease between them, and you want to rub it away, but you’re still racking your brain.

He continues, voice lower now, more sad, “I came back from that horribly long assignment and you were waiting for me on my bed. At first you were just… quiet. Then you told me that it was a mistake and that it was just the proximity that had made you kiss me.”

You chuckle at that, hollow and sad all at once. “Just the proximity? Keigo I’ve liked you ever since I realised what it meant to have a crush on someone.”

He just purses his lips at that, not moving an inch. The feathers that are still on your back twitch a few times, a shudder going through them that he doesn’t bother to stop.

“Then why would you—” he trails off, golden eyes almost bulging out of his skull with realisation. “The Commission.”

“Wait, what?” You’re confused now. What does the Commission have to do with any of this? It was just you two that knew about everything, the Commission has never even known that you and Keigo even knew each other outside of any assignments.

“Think about it, dove. You’re saying it was me who broke it of, I’m saying it was you—”

“I never broke up with you. God I was so heartbroken.”

“—and neither of us is saying we did that. Hell, we’re both saying we wanted to be together. So what else could it have been? You know how the Commission is, they could get their hands on any quirk user, and I would bet there’s someone who could shapeshift, or something like that.”

You’re still looking at him, mind racing now. You honestly can’t believe neither of you thought about this earlier, but then again the two of you didn’t really talk. Just played stupid games to be close to each other.

“The feather,” you finally breathe out, fingers ghosting over your ribs where he always put the small feather. The one you’ve been missing on your skin for years. “It didn’t float when I threw it back at you. It just… fell to the floor. And ‘you’ picked it up. Picked it up.”

How could you have missed it—that small detail that would tell you something was wrong. Sure he was acting strange, not letting you touch him and just being twitchy in general, but his feathers were the dead giveaway. They never could quite hide everything he wanted to, despite having been trained for years.

How did it never occur to you that he had telepathic feathers and he picked it off the floor rather than just bringing it toward himself.

“You gave that feather back,” he murmurs, his own thumb coming to your ribs. Then a small, sad chuckle falls from his lips. “Even after all the training we’ve had, we still got outsmarted by the suits. Purely because we couldn’t see past our emotions.”

Tears spring to your eyes, because it’s true, isn’t it? You let the emotions get the better of you, throwing out the small feather that could have solved everything. What would’ve happened if you never threw it back at ‘him’ in that fit of anger? Would the two of you still have been best friends? More than best friends? Or would he not have believed you?

“How did they even find out about it?” you whisper. His thumb comes up and wipes away some of the tears that are gathering on your waterline, the action so soft compared to how he used your body mere minutes ago. “We’ve never gotten caught in twelve years.”

“Must’ve been the supply closet,” he answers, pulling you back to lay on his chest. “Maybe they realised that us walking back took longer than needed.”

And how stupid could the two of you have been? Of course they would know how long it takes for the two of you to walk back—especially considering Keigo had left before you and went out of the supply closet after you.

That’s the exact thing the two of you were trained on noticing, patterns and behaviours. Yet it didn’t occur in your minds that they would be using it as well. Didn’t think about much but him at that moment, to be completely honest.

“Can’t believe secret kisses in a supply closet is what has gotten us caught,” you groan out into his chest, the words slightly muffled. And he laughs at that, a small breath through his nose that rattles his chest. “At least you were my first everything.”

“Wait what?” He looks down at you, looks at the way you’re burrowing yourself further into his chest, trying to find his warmth. His wing instinctively tightens around you, feathers whispering against your skin from where they’re puffing up slightly. “You mean to tell me that time on the rooftop was your first time, too?”

You hum slightly, a small, drowsy thing that comes deep from your throat. His words still have to catch up with your brain, but when they finally register your head snaps up. “What do you mean, too?”

“I never fucked anyone beside you,” he says, not even a tremble can be found in his voice. Looking at him for a little while longer, you let a small chuckle escape your lips. He never fucked anyone else?

“Then why do you have a piercing there?” Your leg shifts slightly over him, making him groan out, wing tightening a fraction. He grabs your leg with one hand, halting your movement, because he can already feel blood rush south again—way too sensitive from the multiple rounds the two of you had earlier.

“Got it so I could jerk off faster—why are you laughing, you out of all people should know that we don’t get any time to get any release. Especially with the way the Commission keeps throwing more and more missions at us.”

“It’s just… I thought you had fucked half the population here in Fukuoka City, and here you are telling me you were a virgin and just got a dick piercing to make yourself more sensitive?”

It’s ridiculous, honestly. And everything makes sense—the way he would never respond to your taunts about other girls, just like you wouldn’t respond to any of his taunts since you wouldn’t just tell him he was the one to take your virginity.

“Guess we have a lot of catching up to do, love.” There it is again, that nickname. Not a slip of the tongue as you thought it was ten years ago. He really did call you ‘love’ back then.

Your eyes close against your will, body finally going boneless against him. “Mhmm, but first we should go to sleep.”

“I don’t care what we do as long as I have you beside me,” he murmurs out against your skin, lips brushing your temple—feather-light, almost like it was never there to begin with.

You don’t know what’ll happen tomorrow. All you know is that you got the boy you loved back and that this time nothing will come between the two of you.

©CursedKisss do not copy, steal, plagiarize, or feed my works into AI. I will send Shigaraki after you if you do.

Perm tags: @tojiscreampie @etheralpanic @yoonsucks @liliklei @dollieadored @starsforvia @iinvivible @jiyuspassion

MHA tags: @mousedit @pukicats @yorikae

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ🛸༄˖°. ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

The Capital Planet of the Gooj Empire floated in space like a jewel carved from the purest of light.

Unlike the barren rock planets that dotted the surrounding star systems, the capital planet had been shaped by thousands of years of careful design, towering crystalline cities stretched far across its vast continents, their structures beautifully built…..vast spiraling towers of translucent mineral, “diamond” and metals that didn’t exist anywhere else in the universe shimmered in every color imaginable depending on the angle of their sun and nearby starlight.

Orbiting the planet were three artificial moons, each one a gleaming ring of little cities and starports where travelers from countless systems came and went in endless streams of ships.

From a distance, the entire world looked less like a planet and more like a floating crown suspended in the cosmos.

And at the center of that crown stood the Imperial Palace.

A structure so vast that it covered nearly an entire mountain range.( about 8,849.82 meters!)

The palace itself was grown from harvested and rare cosmic crystal, its walls glowing faintly with stored starlight gathered over thousands of centuries. Thousands of bridges and floating platforms connected its towering sections, while massive terraces overlooked the sprawling capital city below.

It was here that the council of the Gooj Empire had governed their people for millennia, the absolute and single-handedly most powerful force in the universe. (Until Uratos Gooj was born of course…)

And today…the people of the Gooj empire waited.

Across the capital city, enormous holographic displays lit the sky. “His Lordship returns! Rejoice!” The holograms proudly announced to the crowds gathered in the streets below.

Children sat on their parents’ shoulders, their little eyes sparkling with awe and excitement. Merchants abandoned their stalls filled with merchandise and trinkets from other worlds. Everyone was looking upward with star filled ,dewy gazes. Because a fleet was returning. A fleet led by their prince.

High above the planet’s atmosphere, the blackness of space suddenly fractured, sprinkles like rainbow-like glass across the shield that covered the planet. A glowing tear appeared in reality itself as a massive hyperspace gateway opened and ,one by one, enormous warships emerged from the distortion.

Dozens of them.

Then hundreds.

An entire armada that casted large shadows over the entirety of the empire. Their hulls gleamed silver and translucent white beneath the distant sunlight, each vessel bearing the unmistakable insignia of the Gooj Empire. But at the center of the fleet…there was one ship larger(and prettier) than the rest.

The Imperial Vanguard.

The Zenoral Morteph…

The personal flagship of the crown prince himself. And, inside its command deck, overlooking the empire, stood Uratos Gooj. Even among his own species, the prince was imposing. He stood at roughly seven feet tall with beautiful pure white hair and two blue antennae’s protruding from his head. His skin shimmered faintly with an otherworldly sheen that shifted between shades of deep sapphire and light turquoise depending on the light . His physique powerful yet elegant in the way of being that was built both strength and agility. Four powerful arms extended from his body, two clasped behind his back and two on the control handles steering the ship.

But it was his face that made people stare in starstruck reverence. Behind his royal headgear were three pairs of eyes, six in total, arranged in symmetrical rows across his face like luminous rare gemstones. Each one glowed faintly with an ethereal celestial blue that rivaled nebulas and galaxies alike. The eyes that the prince had seemed to hold the secrets of the universe itself…and perhaps they did ..considering he could see almost everything in existence.

At the moment, however, only two of those extraordinary eyes were open,the other four remained closed beneath a delicate piece of royal headgear designed to protect them. Uratos stared out the observation window at the planet slowly growing larger before the fleet as they descended with a rather blank expression.

He’d made it home….

He’d conquered another empire…

Erased another planet off the intergalactic map for his people…

Again.

And yet he felt nothing.

Behind him, officers moved quickly across the command deck, finalizing landing protocols, making demands into wrist communicators and getting ready to land. Two of the officers approached Uratos from behind and bowed deeply, dipping down onto the ground on one knee and tilting their heads towards the floor.

“Your Imperial Highness,” one of them, with a head full of yellow hair, said respectfully and Uratos turned slightly, his gaze pinning the officer in place even through his headgear. He nearly scoffed at the sight of the light blue-haired officer next to the yellow haired one shuddering, her antennae twitching in nervousness. “The pirate fleet has fully retreated beyond the sector. We are safe to land..”

Uratos sighed as if it was common sense.

“Of course they did.” His voice was calm, almost bored. “They never put up a good fight…how dull….”

The pink haired officer hesitated before speaking up again, voice filled with a hint of awe.

“…You destroyed half their ships.”

Uratos raised a brow.

“Yes….”

“…and took some in as prisoners….”

“Yes.”

Uratos tilted his head slightly, lips twitching and a scowl appearing on his face.

“And?”

The officer blinked, realizing he was asking stupid questions. She blushed in embarrassment and bowed her head, stammering a response.

“…A-Apologies, Your imperial Highness.”

The prince rolled his six eyes and then returned his gaze to the planet below, ignoring the officer swooning behind him dramatically.

Another victory.

Another war ended.

Another problem solved.

It was almost routine at this point.

So dull and repetitive. So fucking boring.

Which was perhaps why the people of the empire had begun to view him as something more than a prince.

Because he was unstoppable…untouchable…..a child from the stars..like the prophecy said…

As the fleet descended into the atmosphere, Uratos could hear as cheers erupted across the capital.

Massive holographic projectors activated across the city, broadcasting a live image of the prince standing in his ship, waving through the wide glass with a charming smile. When the people saw him they let out cheers, roars of awe and reverence before falling silent.

Thousands of citizens dropped to their knees. Not out of obligation but out of reverence.Some whispered prayers. Others simply bowed their heads. Because to them Uratos Gooj was not merely their prince. He was their reborn star. Their way, their truth, their light.

The living embodiment of the ancient prophecy.

The one destined to rule the empire and guide it into a new era of cosmic dominance.

And standing aboard his ship, watching the planet approach…Uratos watched with disinterest, feeling how close he was to abandoning it all.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ🛸༄˖°. ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

The fleet landed steadily within the Imperial Sky Harbor, a massive floating structure large enough to dock hundreds of warships simultaneously.

As the prince stepped from his ship, a wave of cheers echoed across the harbor once again.

Rows of soldiers saluted, officials bowed, and even hardened military commanders lowered their heads in respect. Uratos walked past them calmly, smiling and waving. Stopping a few times to shake hands, kissed newborns…flirt quickly with a few of the onlookers… Victories like this happened often enough that he barely noticed and cared for the celebration anymore.

What once filled him with happiness and pride simply made him feel tired and lonely instead.

What he did notice this time, however…was the figure waiting at the end of the landing platform.

Tall, light lavender skin, dark expensive silk worm woven robes, four sharp violet eyes encased behind long dark lashes…

Long black hair half tied loosely behind his head, half up in a bun , half flowing down his back. And a foxy, charming smile on his pretty face.Calm eyes watching the crowd.

Gurus Tego.

Uratos’s closest and only friend since childhood. His one and only trusted advisor,and ,sometimes more often than not, his right hand in many battles….And the only person in the empire who greeted him without bowing(partially because he was almost exactly on Uratos’ level …and mostly because Uratos forbade it.)

Gurus simply raised a hand, zero formality in his tone as he called out to the crown prince.

“Good morrow, Your Imperial Majesty….You look tired.”

Uratos sighed, annoyed at the title.

“Don’t be a globenborp(dickhead)….I fought an empire of telenwraiths(squid warriors) and wrilengifs(pirates) for three days straight.”

“That does sound exhausting.”

“Tch…You abandoned me…?! You faked being sick so you didn’t have to come….!”

“Well, I was sick..for one rotation….so technically I wasn’t pretending …At least I ended up relaxing, hm~?” Uratos rubbed his temple as he got close enough to drop the fake smile he’d been holding for the people. His antennas and shoulders drooped as exhaustion filled his being and voice.

“Please tell me I can sleep, I’m so tired…,.”

Gurus smiled faintly, apologetically and Uratos groaned, jaw tensing in irritation. He knew before Gurus spoke what it was.

“…The council summoned you.”

Uratos scowled.

“…Now???”

“Right now.”

Uratos groaned and ground his teeth before stalking towards the doors leading into the palace, two guards opening the door for him and Gurus.

They tensed as the prince and his advisor walked pass, feeling the murderous other worldly energy radiating off of the white haired prince.

“I seriously should fucking kill them.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ🛸༄˖°. ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

The main hallway of the imperial palace stretched endlessly, walls that shifted color with every subtle change in ambient light surrounding the pair. Each step echoed against the polished floor, a sound amplified and distorted, reminding them both that even the simplest movement in the Imperial Palace carried weight.

Gurus fell into stride beside the prince, matching his long, confident steps. His lavender-toned skin gleamed faintly in the shifting starlight, eyes closed in thought. His robes whispered against the floor, the intricate silk patterns reflecting constellations from the ceiling above. They walked side by side, the silence between them comfortable but taut, like the calm before a storm.

“Did you see the new garden they finished on the western terrace?” Gurus asked casually, as if commenting on the weather. Trying to lighten the mood. Uratos glanced sideways at him, one white eyebrow raising. “Mm. Probably grown enough to be dull by now.”

Gurus smirked faintly. “You do know, for someone who has conquered fleets and empires, you’re remarkably uninterested in beauty.”

“Beauty doesn’t win battles,” Uratos said, voice even, detached. “Or conquer planets.”

“Right. But it does make the halls more tolerable..does make this place seem less suffocating,” Gurus replied. His tone light, but careful. “You know, for those who have to walk them every day.”

The implication that one of them was stuck on planet while the other was “free” to roam the cosmos was not lost on Uratos.

Uratos’s upper eyes flickered faintly, as if registering amusement …or tolerating it.

“Hmph. Tolerable enough.”

They continued down the corridor, passing arched bridges connecting massive crystalline terraces, cascading waterfalls of luminescent liquid flowing from balcony to balcony. Hanging light orbs drifted lazily above, illuminating the statues of long-dead past emperors and generals whose gazes seemed to follow them with quiet ominous judgment.

“You think they’ll drone on as usual?” Gurus asked under his breath, voice low, almost a hush. “Ceremonial nonsense. Protocol. Endless praise.”

“Of course,” Uratos said softly, tone flat but edged with steel. “They will talk. I will listen. And I will endure it. Per usual.”

Gurus allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible nod. The walk was long, winding deeper into the heart of the palace. Occasionally, they would see servants scurry past, heads bowed, avoiding direct eye contact with the prince and his advisor, aware even at a distance of the barely contained calamity that walked among them.

After what seemed like an eternity, they arrived at the grand doors of the Royal Council Chamber. Massive, taller than any ordinary doorway, etched with sigils that glowed faintly under their touch, a subtle hum resonating from the ancient magic infused within.

Gurus paused at the threshold, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his silk robe. “You know I must wait here,” he said quietly, bowing his head slightly which made Uratos bristle slightly. His six eyes scanned the intricate frosted doors, the floating platforms visible beyond, the endless tiers of crystal chairs holding the insufferable council beyond. His hands twitched restless, just enough to let the power thrum beneath his skin, restrained but alive. Itching to be used.

Gurus’s voice softened and he cracked a small smile or encouragement. ”Try not to get bored. Or angry. Or both.”

A faint exhale. Not a reply, just …..acknowledgment. Then Uratos stepped forward, every movement deliberate, measured, and deadly in its calm. The massive doors opened before him without him touch them…as if anticipating his will, and he entered the chamber alone, leaving Gurus standing silently in the hallway outside.

The doors sealed behind him with a final, resonant chime. The echo lingered, bouncing off walls grown from the same living crystal as the palace itself, sending shards of light scattering across the chamber in fractal patterns.

The Royal Council Chamber was vast beyond mortal comprehension. Circular tiers rose endlessly, carved from polished starlight-infused stone, each step a monument to centuries of brilliance and absolute control. The chamber itself seemed alive, its surfaces subtly shifting and pulsating , light pulsing like veins beneath skin, responsive to those who entered.

Above, the domed ceiling stretched like the vast infinity of space, but more deliberate.

Uratos stopped at the threshold of the central tier, face one of calm serenity. Every council member’s gaze locked on him immediately. Their positions were perfectly choreographed, tiers spiraling upwards like a thrones built for judgment rather than rule. The elder, seated on the central of the others, exhaled through his nose, the faintest quiver betraying his attempt at calm.

“Prince Uratos Gooj,” his voice boomed from above, echoing unnaturally, amplified as if by the chamber itself. “We are pleased to welcome you back from your campaign.”

Uratos’s eyes glimmered faintly under the protective headpiece. He did not bow. He did not kneel. He did not show the slightest sign of reverence or submission.

“…Council,” he regarded flatly, his voice quiet but measured, carrying a weight that made several of the junior members flinch.A ripple of disapproval passed across the tiers, subtle, almost imperceptible….but it was there. They expected compliance. Expected Humility. Submission. They would not receive it.

Not from him.

“You have returned victorious, securing yet another sector for the empire,” another voice droned, smoother but equally obnoxious. “Your prowess in battle, your leadership, has again preserved the stability of our people.”

“Yes,” Uratos replied , once again, flatly.

Silence filled the tense air and the council shifted. Subtle irritation at his audacity rippled through them. They hated that. He knew it.

“Peace has been maintained across multiple systems,” the elder continued, tone deliberate, pacing his words. “And the threats posed by external factions, particularly the wrilengifs(space pirates), have been neutralized under your command.”

“Yes.”

Another pause. Waiting. Expecting Uratos to fill it with words of gratitude. He , once again, did not.

“…Your loyalty and service to the empire have been commendable,” the elder in the center finally said, voice firm. “And now…”

Uratos’s upper eyes twitched beneath his headpiece, just enough for the council to notice. “…Now,” he echoed, voice cold and soft , “what do you want from me?”

The elder’s hands moved slightly, as if to contain the chamber’s energy through gesture. “The time has come for you to…fulfill your…next Imperial duty.” Uratos’s head tilted slightly. His six eyes ,all of them now faintly open and glowing blue, tracked each member of the council in turn. Beneath the calm exterior, a low, coiled energy began to thrum dangerously low, a subtle warning that the weapon they had molded was alive, and entirely uncontainable if unleashed.

“…I am listening,” he said, calm. But every syllable carried a warning underneath : I am the weapon you made. And if I choose, there is nothing in this room that could survive or escape my wrath.

For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of starlight-infused crystal and the distant shimmer of light reflecting across the massive space.

“You are to be wed,” another council voice droned, “to Princess Aremi of the Eim Eim Empire. This union is to solidify an interstellar alliance, ensuring peace across our borders and expanding our influence.” Uratos did not move. Did not breathe audibly. Did not betray emotion. But his lips tightened imperceptibly, sharp teeth clicking with disgust. He had heard of her before, of course, thanks to the gossip that trickled through intergalactic aristocracy like radioactive dust. The council continued, oblivious to the storm gathering in him. They droned on about the importance of duty, of diplomacy, of the honor bestowed upon him and his family. Their words were endless, ceremonial bullshit, the kind of meaningless praise that only served to further demonstrate their desperation for control.

But beneath the surface, beneath the careful, ritualized tones, they had not accounted for what Gurus had whispered to him a few moons back during one of their times together during an escapade: the little rumor, the scandal of the Eim Eim royal house. That their “princess” did not abide by normal moral constraints… that she had joined with her little brother many rotations younger than her. Uratos’s jaw tightened. His upper eyes twitched sharply. For a fraction of a heartbeat, the controlled calm of the prince cracked.

The council, oblivious to his rising disdain, continued their monotonous drivel.

“Through this union, our empire shall secure an era of unparalleled peace and prosperity.”

Uratos’s voice, when it finally broke the chamber’s silence, was quiet, soft, but every council member felt the weight behind it. “…And if I refuse?”

A collective, faint gasp echoed across the tiers and sharp looks of disapproval burned into him as if the very notion was damnable. The elder’s fingers twitched. The chamber trembled, subtly, as if sensing the underlying danger. As if to say how dare the vellro (dog) they raise decide to bite back at the hand that feeds him.

“You will attend,” the elder said firmly. “You will WED. You will consent to the arrangements.”

Another long pause…his hand twitched violently and for a second..Uratos considered the possibility of killing the council right then and there. Weighed out all the pros and cons and saw that, truly, there was no one on or off planet that could stop him from wiping everything out of existence……but then, he thought of Gurus…of his mothers dying wish to protect the empire she and his father had ruled together, the sight of little children looking at him with reverence, his purpose, his …duty….and his urge to destroy dissipated entirely.

“…..Yes,” Uratos said, tone softening, almost imperceptibly. “…I will comply.”

But his six eyes betrayed none of the submission. He was a weapon. Molded by their hands, trained for destruction. But alive. Uncontainable. And he had ,once again, chosen restraint.

The chamber fell into uneasy silence once more. The council had won the outward compliance and he could feel how ecstatic they were to have his compliance… but the storm simmering beneath his skin,the barely restrained power, the divine threat of his wrath…remained volatile.

Uratos didn’t wait to be dismissed but the council then. He turned around, ignoring whatever old bastard was calling his name, and walked out of the council room with his head held high.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ🛸༄˖°. ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

He was submerged in the glowing pool of his royal bathtub, the liquid light curling around his frame, clinging to his skin like it recognized him…like it belonged to him.

Or maybe like he belonged to it.

Immediately after the meeting with the council he’d dismissed gurus and headed straight to his chambers, to his bath to soak in his emotions. He’d long dismissed his attendants in favor of bathing himself.

And yet he hadn’t moved in ten minutes until now.His shoulders slowly sank lower. His antennae drooped.And for the first time in a very, very long time…he let the stillness stay.

“What now.” The words came out quietly and unexpectedly . Not directed at anyone.Not even really a question. Just…something that slipped out.

His eyes drifted upward, all six of them opening slowly, staring at the vaulted ceiling of the bathing chamber where faint constellations had been embedded into the crystal above.

They shimmered.Moved.

Endless, beautiful, and completely meaningless.

“I fight,” he whispered.The water rippled.

“I win.”Another ripple.

“I return.”His jaw tightened slightly.

“They praise me.”A pause.

“…Repeat.”

The words felt…wrong.

Like he was truly hearing and understanding them for the first time.Like he’d never actually thought about it before.His fingers flexed faintly beneath the surface.

“…And now I’m to marry.”

“…..and for what?”

Silence answered him.

Of course it did.

The universe had always been very good at staying quiet when its beloved “son” needed answers.

His chest rose slowly.

Then again.

Then…something…began to change.

A tightness. It was there.

Right beneath his ribs.

Uratos frowned slightly, one of his upper hands moving to his chest.

A hand splaying over his heart.

“…What…”

His breathing hitched.

The water around him began to react, light flickering, distorting, rippling faster now, responding to the sudden spike of something….

His “heart.”

Or the orb of pure light that acted as his life source embedded within his chest.

It was pulsing….

But it was too fast. Too loud. Too wrong.

Each pulse sending a strange, hollow pressure through his body that made his heart ache. His vision flickered. The ceiling above blurred.

“…No,” he said under his breath, more confused than afraid.This wasn’t battle and there was no enemy.

No threat.

So why? Why did he feel like he’d just fought for hours? Like he couldn’t breathe? Like he would collapse??

The chamber seemed to close in on him. Everything felt too empty. Felt like too much.

His thoughts spiraled.

What is this? What is wrong with me? Why can’t I—?

It wasn’t enough.

The water around him flickered violently now, light stuttering, reacting to his unstable state. The entire pool pulsed erratically, responding to the chaos he couldn’t control.

“I—”

His voice broke for the first time in his life, face falling.

Uratos’s eyes widened slightly, all six of them unfocused now, trying to ground onto something,anything,but finding nothing to hold onto. But there was no escape from the next question that left his lips.

“…What is my purpose.”

Barely audible.Raw. Full of desperation and helplessness.

“If I am not fighting…” His breath rasped out again.

“If I am not winning…”His grip tightened against his own chest, nails pressing lightly into his skin.

“…then what am I..?”

…..

“…Is there nothing else for me…in this universe?”

It was all too much.

Uratos surged up from the water, light and water cascading violently down the muscled planes of his body as he stood, breath uneven, shoulders tense, the entire chamber flickering in response to his instability.

He stepped out.His hands trembled….just slightly as he stood there for a moment.Breathing. Looking down at his shaken reflection in the water.

Trying to ground himself and push his emotions back in the place he’d always confined them to.

After a few long, silent seconds….he finally moved. Dried off, got dressed, fixed himself.

Mask back on. Everything perfectly fine…..

Or at least…it looked like it.

Gurus didn’t rush.

He never did.

When he entered, he too had changed from formal robes into something looser, softer, draped casually over his muscled and lean frame. His hair hung gloriously down his back, sleeves pushed back casually.

Like he belonged here(which he kind of sort of did-.)

“…You called—?”

He stopped.

Uratos stood near the glass doors leading to his balcony, back turned, the glow of the city painting his silhouette in soft blues and golds. His posture was…off. Too stiff. Too tense.

Gurus’s expression shifted into one of slight concern.

“…You look like hell.”

No response then rephrased his wording.

“…Worse than usual, I mean.”

Still nothing.

Gurus let the silence sit for a moment, then walked further in, slower now, eyes narrowing just slightly.

“…Alright….Uratos, What happened?”

Uratos exhaled slightly.

“…They want me married.”

Gurus blinked and then scoffed lightly, like it was expected.

“Of course they do. They’ve been hinting at that idea for—”

“To the crown princess of the eim eim empire.”

That made Gurus choke, the rest of his sentence dying on his tongue.

A dynastic marriage……

And with THAT princess… he shuddered at the thought.

“…Oh.”

Silence.

Gurus rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a low hiss.

“Yes, well that’s…that’s not ideal….”

Uratos let out a humorless huff, finally turning halfway toward him.

“Ideal?”

His voice was tight now and Gurus could feel the simmering fire of rage flickering underneath his best friend’s skin.

“They want to bind me to her, Gurus. To them .”

The crack in his voice gave away to the raw emotion he truly felt almost all the time..

Gurus didn’t joke or laugh, dark eyes watching his friend.

“…I figured.”

Uratos ran a hand through his hair, pacing now…slow at first, then sharper, more restless.

“They sat there,” he continued, voice picking up pace, frustration laced in every word, “listing treaties, alliances, ‘peace,’ as if I’m some…some piece to be moved across their board. All for the sake of the empire!”

His steps echoed against the floor, hands waving in wild gestures.

“They didn’t ask!”

A pause.

“They didn’t even pretend to ask.”

Gurus watched him carefully.

“They commanded me.”

Uratos Turned fully now to face Gurus, expression one of anger.

All six eyes open, intense and bright.

“…They told me what I would do with the rest of MY life. A Life that will outlive theirs by millions of years.”

Gurus crossed his arms slowly, his own eyes narrowing slightly.

“…And you didn’t vaporize them? Impressive restraint indeed.”

Uratos let out a short, breathless laugh.

“I thought about it…Momentarily...”

“Mm. Progress. Usually, you linger on those thoughts longer and bitch to me about them passionately.”

Uratos shot him a sharp look, but it didn’t stick.

Because the frustration was still there but it wasn’t towards him.

“They want me to stand there,” he continued, voice lower now, but heavier, “smile, perform, bind myself to someone I don’t know….for an empire that only sees me as a weapon..for ….for nothing.”

Gurus tilted his head.

“…You are their weapon, this is true-.”

“I know what I am.”

Uratos snapped, almost scowling now.

The air shifted slightly.

Then, he exhaled.

Long.

Forcing down the storm of emotions within.

“…That’s the problem.”

Silence filled the tense air and Uratos turned away once again, shoulders tightening.

“…I don’t know anything else.”

There it was again….softer now.

That same quiet, dangerous honesty from before when he was alone in his bath.

“I fight. I win. I return. And now I must marry.” He laughed softly, bitterly. “What comes after that, Gurus? More of the same? Another war? Another command? Having heirs with a filthy pyriam (nasty woman) like that who sleeps with her own tzeytal(little brother)??”

His hand clenched at his side.

“…Is that all I am…..? Is this my only purpose?”

Gurus’s gaze softened,just slightly and he moved to his friend…putting one of his hands on his shoulder.

“…No.”

Uratos shook his head at the response.

“Then what..what am I?”

Gurus stayed silent before he stepped closer, slower, deliberate and squeezed Uratos’ shoulder.

“You’re asking the wrong question.”

Uratos snorted and spoke again.

“Then enlighten me.”

“What do YOU want.” Gurus said, eyes searching his friends facial expression.

That made him pause and His brows furrowed slightly.

“…That’s …irrelevant-.”

“It’s quite literally the only relevant thing right now.”

“I don’t have the luxury of—”

“Yes, you do.”

Uratos turned again, eyes narrowing slightly as he appraised his friend. Gurus held his gaze, unbothered and kept speaking.

“You just don’t take it.”

Another beat.

“You could’ve said no,” Gurus continued on, voice softening further. “You could’ve walked out. You could’ve torn that chamber apart if you really wanted to.”

Uratos’s jaw tightened but Gurus continued on.

“ You must understand that …they would tie you to anything if it meant controlling you absolutely.”

Silence.

And then Uratos spoke up again…

“…I told them I would attend.”

Gurus guffawed softly, rolling his five eyes.

“Of course you did. How noble.”

Uratos didn’t react to the tone, didn’t acknowledge it.

“…Not because I agree.”

“I know.”

“…Not because I want this.”

“I know.”

A beat.

“…Because I can’t just …..abandon everything. Abandon the only thing I’ve ever…known.”

Gurus studied him for a long moment.

“…You’re going to suffocate here.” He said suddenly.

Uratos didn’t respond. Because he already knew that. It’s why he felt like he was fading away, just drifting like an asteroid in space… Gurus ran a hand through his hair, pacing once, then stopping in front of him again.

“…You’ve never actually lived, you know that?”

Uratos’s eyes flickered, blinking at him as he kept speaking.

“You’ve existed. Functioned. Performed. But lived?” He shook his head. “No.”

Uratos’s voice dropped, exhaustion creeping through.

“…And what does that even mean.”

Gurus smiled faintly, flicking his forehead softly. An action that would cost anyone else their and their families lives.

“It means doing something that isn’t for them.”

A pause.

“…it means you need to do something..for you.”

Uratos’s gaze sharpened slightly…

“…Such as…?”

Gurus shrugged.

“Leaving. Like how we used to do when we were younger? When we’d steal one of the vanguards ships and go off planet for one rotation. Only this time…You’ll be the only one to disappear,” Gurus continued, tone calm, like he was suggesting something so simple. “No council. No war. No arranged marriage.”

A slight tilt of his head.

“Just you.”

Uratos stared at him.

“…They would attempt to come for me.”

“Eventually. Not immediately though. You know how to hide your tracks.”

“…They would try to bring me back.”

Gurus smirked, looking at him with an “are you kidding” look.

“ You know they can’t stop you.”

Uratos knew that.

That was never the issue.

“…I would be abandoning my responsibilities.”

“You’d be choosing yourself.”

“That sounds selfish.”

“You’re acting like the council doesn’t run the planet behind the scenes anyways. You’re their bellindum(spokesperson) until you become emperor anyways.. I think it’s time for you to make them realize that you’re not just Uratos Gooj the strongest..but the strongest because you’re Satoru Gooj..The honored one.”

Uratos huffed faintly at that, understanding what he meant immediately. Leave it to Gurus to somehow uplift his spirits.

“…You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, I’m right. As usual.” Gurus sang haughtily, tossing his dark strands over his shoulder.

Uratos turned back toward the window, looking back out at the city stretching endlessly before him.

The life he’d always known.

The role he’d always played.

His fingers flexed slightly.

“…If I leave,” he said slowly, “I don’t come back the same.”

Gurus leaned casually against the wall.

“…It’s just for a while,” Gurus added, softer now. “Go somewhere far enough that none of this matters. Figure out what you are when you’re not…this. Or don’t come back at all.”

Uratos shot him a stricken look, as if the notion of not coming back was a cruel one. (He loved Gurus too much not to come back)

But the thought….it had roots now.

“…How would I go about this?”he said at last, eyes finding his friends and filled with a sliver of hope.

Gurus smiled brightly and clapped his hands.

“Fear not… I’ll help you execute your escapade, your imperial majesty. It’s the least I could do.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ🛸༄˖°. ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

The Capital Planet had never looked more alive.

From orbit, it burned.

Not in flame..but in brilliant, pure light.

The imperial capitol shimmered beneath layers of ceremonial projection, vast ribbons of color weaving through the atmosphere like bedazzled auroras. The three artificial moons had dimmed their usual traffic patterns, their ringed cities aligning in perfect symmetry above the Imperial Palace..as if even the stars themselves had been ordered into formation for the occasion.

Because today…

their prince would finally be bound.

.

.

.

They came from everywhere.

From distant sectors and neighboring systems, from trade routes and military outposts, from halfway across the universe, from colonies that had not seen the Capital in generations.

Civilians flooded the lower terraces and outer districts, packed shoulder to shoulder along the ascending platforms that spiraled toward the palace. Merchants abandoned stalls entirely this time, screens left flickering unattended as their owners craned their necks toward the sky.

All whispered excitedly about the prince, about the star-born ruler, the one who could tear fleets apart with a mere thought. Some spoke of him with awe.Some with reverence.Some with fear.

(Most with all three.)

“He’s really going through with it…”
“A union between Gooj and Eim Eim…”
“That kind of alliance….it’ll stabilize half the galaxy.”
“They say she’s beautiful.”
“They say he’s untouchable.”

“They say he’s not entirely…real.”

That last one was whispered.

Because even here and now… people were afraid to speak of him too casually.

Above them all, the military held formation. The Imperial Armada hovered in perfect stillness around the planet’s upper atmosphere, ranks upon ranks of warships gleaming beneath distant starlight. At the outermost perimeter, where space itself thinned into something stranger… the Great Hyperspace Rift pulsed with unfathomable power.A massive, stabilized tear in reality.

The gateway.The passage through which empires, like the eim eim fleet, moved to be welcomed into their space. And today, it was sealed under the watch of the empire’s strongest fleets. Nothing in. Nothing out. Not without permission. Not on this day.

And Deep within the Imperial Palace,the council waited.

Absolutely pleased.

Not outwardly, of course. They were far too composed for that.But it lingered in small ways. The stillness of their posture.The lack of tension in their voices. The absence of contingency.For the first time in a long time, there were no obstacles. No uncertainty.The weapon they had forged…was finally behaving accordingly.

The ceremony chamber, The Aestral Veyth, stretched endlessly, a cathedral made up of more rare crystals that arched upward into impossible heights. The walls shimmered faintly, reflecting distant galaxies across their surfaces as if the entire universe had encased just to witness the grandest event of all time.

Rows upon rows of dignitaries, royals, commanders, and council affiliates filled the chamber.All whispering, watching, waiting.And in the center, she stood.

Princess Aremi of Eim Eim.(ew)A beautiful woman with light blue ,almost white hair, and dark eyes like the abyss itself. Draped in layered silks that flowed like liquid starlight, her form was adorned in delicate gems that glimmered with each subtle movement. In her hands, she held a bouquet of bioluminescent fliorca(flowers from the moon europia)softly glowing, petals pulsing faintly like heartbeats.

Perfect.

Composed.

Smiling.

Waiting as the minutes passed.

Then some more. The chamber began to still as time stretched on.No one spoke.No one dared.

All waited with baited breaths and pounding hearts.Because any moment now,he would enter. Would bless them with his radiant benevolence.

Then, The doors opened. A collective shift rippled through the room that was subtle, immediate, and electric.Heads turned.Spines straightened.

The council’s attention sharpened. Smiles on all faces.

Finally.

.

.

.

But it wasn’t him.

A single figure walked forward.

Unhurried.Unbothered. Draped in deep, dark silk that drank the light around it instead of reflecting it.so starkly different from the ceremonial brightness of the chamber that it felt almost…intentional.Like the void itself trapped in a living being. Haughty, charming..disrespectful.

Gurus Tego.

He walked to the center of the chamber, hands loosely tucked into his sleeves, expression calm..almost bored before stopping in front of the bride and council. His signature foxy smile on his lips as he bowed (mockingly).

“…What is the meaning of this,” one of the council members said sharply.

Gurus glanced up at them.

Cue a dramatic pause.

And then a his foxy smile widened into an amused smirk.

“ His Imperial Highness will not be attending the wedding between the Gooj and eim eim empire this rotation.”

Dead silence.

And then ..

Pure Chaos.

Officials exploded into chatter, whispers carrying through the crowds with scandal and shock-.

“…Explain yourself at once!!!” an elder demanded, shouting.

Gurus tilted his head slightly, as if considering how much effort he wanted to put into this.

Then decided he , again, didn’t care.

“…There’s not much to explain.” He shrugged, gaze drifted lazily across the chamber.

Across the shocked princess. Across the enraged council.Across the scandalized audience.

“He’s simply…. gone.”

The words landed silkily,playfully.

“That is not possible.”

“It is.”

“…Where is he,” another voice demanded.

Gurus shrugged again lightly. “Off planet.”

“The rift is sealed—”

“Not for him. Come now, the universe bends to his will….You know that better than I do.”

A beat.

Then, with the faintest hint of amusement he added:

“By now, He’s most likely half way across the universe..Hm, you may never know.”

Voices from both empires began rising just enough to betray the loss of control. The princess stood frozen, still smiling. But her grip on the bouquet tightened. Her eyes blinking as the court whispered many a things.

And Above it all, the council finally understood.

Too late now.

And somewhere far beyond any of their reach…

Uratos Gooj did not look back as he traversed the stars alone for the first time in his life.

Thanks for reading! Check back next Friday!! :3

Gojo Satoru.

The infamous ruler of the Kingdom of Hybrids.

The shadow looming over your kingdom.

The last snow leopard hybrid alive.

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

Except for one.

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

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

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

The opposing kingdom always seemed colder, always seemed crueler.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s been a long and cruel battle.

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

There never flourished a fruit sweet from blood and gore.

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

Why had it even started? One could only guess.

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

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

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

It had happened last week—the letter.

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

The resurgence of the people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To the future Queen.

A carriage had been called immediately to the royal palace.

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

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

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

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

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

“To my dearest future Queen,

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

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

My apologies, it has happened again.

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

I know you know.

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

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

Marry me.

Marry me. Marry me. Marry me.

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

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

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

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

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

I await your response impatiently, the my future Queen.

Yours truly,

Gojo Satoru.”

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

One moon.

One night.

One night with the cruel King Gojo Satoru.

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

There was nothing more to be said about Gojo Satoru.

Everyone had a story about him.

Everyone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To Gojo Satoru,

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

Regards,

The future Queen.”

The date was set. You were to be married.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you simply must understand that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve heard he’s grotesque-”

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

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

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

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

BANG—!

When a sharp gale causes the windows to slam shut. 

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

That had just come out of nowhere…

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

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

They had a wedding to prepare you for.

And the groom was already here.

.

.

.

Music was pouring out of the gilded venue.

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

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

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

“Do you see him- move-”

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

“I thought he had…”

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

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

What did Gojo Satoru look like?

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

You had an image of Gojo Satoru in your head.

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

Something as mythical as they made him sound.

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

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

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

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

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

It really was cold inside the venue.

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

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

Your own hands, it catches up to you.

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

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

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

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

And a soft, smooth tone follows- his. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your voice falters.

His hands grow a little tighter on yours.

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

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

United as one.

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

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

And oh.

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

He looked utterly human.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something deep, deep, deep—

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

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

Burned.

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

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

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

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

Gojo.

Gojo. Gojo. Gojo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you’re both disappearing into thin air.

Leaving behind only the rose bouquet.

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It trembles just a little as he swallows.

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

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

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

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

“You know not a thing about me-”

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

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

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

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

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

You balk, “What?”

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

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

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

As he walks away, he calls.

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

You feel yourself sliding down the stone wall.

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

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

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

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

“You may even leave.”

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

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

Your panting breaths. Your widened gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All down that column. Lymph nodes.

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

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

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

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

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

“Pardon?” She cocks her head.

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

Or whatever it was that hybrids had equivalent. 

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

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

And that scared you more than any legend.

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

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

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

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

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

You gulped, “And the King-”

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

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

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

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

And you did not know how to answer her.

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

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

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

Piled higher than your head.

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

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

Just how long had he been planning this?

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

All your favorites.

How did they…

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

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

You?

You’re stopping short, “King Gojo—”

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

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

Not the one at the head of the table.

The one beside it.

Lower-tiered.

“His Majesty’s request.”

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

Slightly trembling, you’re taking your seat nonetheless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart jumps to your throat.

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

You don’t know why you’re disappointed. 

.

.

.

You admit that the dinner passed by in a blur - delicious, and yet still a blur. 

Perhaps if you don’t miss anything of this excursion, then you’ll at least think back on those delicacies fondly.

Although, you admit that Utahime - and even the ever-anxious Ijichi - had certainly grown on you. They kept you company throughout the rest of the dinner, and once you were finished the red panda hybrid escorted you to your royal quarters.

It was a vast chamber located not too far from Gojo’s study.

Even though most of the palace found itself composed of cold, hard stone—this room was special. It had the most delicate layers of paint spread across it, something you hadn’t seen before even during your tour - baby blue in color, with faint patterns of snowflakes etched into every corner. Gilded decorations on every piece of furniture. A fireplace against one wall. More books than you could ever read in your entire life - let alone single moon here. 

There was a balcony overlooking a befogged land that you could not discern, and a drop from it would have been fatal. 

What drew you in the most, however, was the painting.

Most chambers in the North Palace were decked with precious paintings - hand-crafted oils of color in silver frames, those that looked more valuable than a room full of treasure and perhaps just as ancient - for it seemed that King Gojo was a lover of the arts. Interestingly enough.

You wouldn’t have expected that of him.

But this one…this painting was the largest of them all.

It took up the space of one entire wall, which - according to your mental calculations - would have been thirty-two feet tall and eighty-eight feet wide. One side of your bedroom that was donning robes of oil paint—featuring the most picturesque vision of…your kingdom.

Your palace. Your people. Your dream as a monarch: seeing the people of your kingdom as happy as they should be.

The humans in this painting were hand-in-hand in the town square, dancing around a roaring bonfire. Around them were heaving tables laden with food, and behind- oh. Your eyes widened as you take in the painting even further - it wasn’t just the humans that were dancing with one another. There were hybrids, too.

Your bed was a sprawling four-poster, and you huddled in amongst the silk-covered pillows.

This was your one night with King Gojo Satoru.

The first and the last.

Your one and only.

But there must have been a reason for this marriage, for his condition- there must have been. A full moon circled high in the sky, and peace couldn’t have been so easy.

You kept your dagger underneath your pillow that night.

And so you slept—not as fitfully as one might have expected. 

When you wake up- it’s still nighttime.

You’re sitting up on the bed and attempting to blink your vision back. It must have been an hour, perhaps two, since you’d gone to sleep- and you hate to admit it, but that must have been the best hours of sleep you’d gotten in years.

You might not even have woken up at all had it not been for the thunderous sound of footsteps outside. 

Someone was running- no. Multiple people were running.

Heart battering against your chest, you’re grabbing the dagger out from underneath your pillow and getting onto your feet. You were wearing a thin layer of silk Utahime had bestowed upon you as a nightgown, but there was no time to consider propriety now - something was happening inside the North Palace. 

Quickly unlocking the latch upon those double doors, it’s dark enough in the corridors that you’re slipping past the personal guards stationed outside your chamber. And crowded enough that you could slot into the chaos unnoticed.

Attendants. Advisors. Knights.

Hybrids of all different types and varying degrees of urgency - from urgent to being nearly in tears - were trampling like a herd in the same direction down the corridor. 

You’re keeping your head down low as you fit into a sparse gap of space and let yourself be led to wherever it was they needed to be. Forwards. Down a hallway. Forwards. Forwards. 

Ultimately, you’re not travelling too far before heading down a high-ceiling hallway—the pathway leading up to a private chamber. And by the sheer luxury of this wing - and the constantly incremental paintings of the Gojo family - you’re guessing that this must be where the Hybrid King slept.

Something stirs at the pit of your stomach- did something happen to…?

No, you couldn’t let yourself think that.

Shaking your head free from such thoughts, you’re managing to squeeze past attendants and staff that stuffed every nook and alcove here like sardines. Everyone was fervid to get inside, and even more desperate to get out before too long—

Then…the slightest crack in the door.

Breath catching in your chest, you shoot your arm out to catch it before it closes. Warm light filters from inside, and even warmer air follows it - fighting against whatever hybrid attendant was attempting to close it, you’re managing to wrench it open far enough to push yourself within. 

Just as you’re thrust inside, you turn around and catch Utahime’s gaze- also pressed against one wall of the corridor. 

Her eyes widen as she realizes just who it is—and her mouth shouts out a silent ‘no-’ 

Those double doors slam! shut.

It’s a royal bedroom just as large as yours.

And you could go on describing all the polished pieces of furniture, and the draped blue curtains, and the chandeliers, and the books. One of the walls in his bedroom was covered in a painting, just as the wall in your room had been - though you’re not too focused on it right now. A carpet spread from underneath the king-sized bed and nearly to every corner of the room—it was a stone-cold white, stitched intricately in the Gojo family emblem. But that was exactly what caught your eye.

Not the carpet, no- the bed.

Not exactly the bed itself, but rather the heavy metal chains on either side of it. Like dungeon chains.

There were six rings - thick and composed of rusting iron, one being half the length of your body - fastened to both walls sandwiching the bed. Falling from them were chain-links, each one the size of your head and twice as hefty—snaking like boa constrictors along the chamber floor, the foot of the bed, on top of the mattress.

Each one was shackled to the hands and feet of Gojo Satoru.

Panting. Flushed.

Feverish.

Surrounded by some guards, Shoko, and the rest of her healers who kept pressing cold cloths to his forehead, wiping him down furiously. 

Bucking into the air with a husky groan- it makes the dungeon chains rattle as they’re tugged on. Hard enough to make the metal creeeeeak—!

You don’t know what more to gape at - the fact that he was strong enough to fight against six of those massive chains and nearly win, or the fact that Gojo was underneath a thin cover and…naked.

Something stirs between your legs.

And instantly-

Instantly, Gojo stills.

The healers take a startled step back, cold cloths suspended in their hands as they assess their silent King. 

But Gojo doesn’t mind them.

He’s sitting up properly on the mattress, eyes widened and locked on- oh.

Locked on you.

It makes you jolt.

For there was a harrowed look in his gaze - as though he’d just stumbled across a carnage site, might perhaps be tempted into creating one. And Gojo’s pupils were the size of pinpricks, the sea of blue around them somewhat glowing—were you going mad? Were they really glowing?

His beautiful face was expressionless and primal.

His head raises into the air and sniffs it-

And suddenly those pearly white teeth display in an animalistic growl.

One by one, the healers follow their monarch’s line of sight - and their lips part as they take you in. His human bride.

Shoko’s the first to take a step forwards, “Your Majest-”

“Out.”

A strange thrill runs through your body.

It’s not that Gojo’s voice was particularly loud, nor was it particularly threatening—but it makes every single hybrid inside the room bow. 

Falling to their knees. 

They’re nodding once.

And in the blink of an eye, the healers - and most of the guards - are jerking onto their feet and running out - barely even throwing you a glance. Those double doors crack open once more, and you’re realizing that the commotion outside had calmed—you get the strange feeling that if you were to turn around, you would see that every other hybrid there was kneeling, as well. 

You don’t know how you’re so sure - but you know he isn’t speaking to you. 

In mere moments, it’s only Shoko and Higuruma that remain at Gojo’s bedside. They look at you in concern, and then each other- opening their mouths to say something when—

“Out.”

Gojo’s sole command is followed by gales of wind that clatter the windows open and send the two hybrids toppling. They’re collapsing to the ground from the sheer force - ultimately being pushed up until the tips of your feet.

Their King needn’t say a word more for them to stumble onto their feet and make a break for it.

The doors close thunderously, though not nearly as loud as your racing heart.

The wind dies down as they’re leaving you alone with Gojo, and you’re wondering whether he even realized. Not a single waft of the gales had touched you somehow. 

You swallow.

It’s just you and him now.

Him and you.

And you’re not understanding where it came from, but you’re overwhelmed by the sudden feeling to walk over to him-

As soon as the thought manifests in your chest, you blink—

And Gojo Satoru’s standing right in front of you.

Towering figure. Heated pants.

Your dagger falls to the floor.

He was flushed as though burning from the inside out. 

You swear that he’s even larger than you remember him—and you do remember him being large in the first place. But Gojo’s size right now was nearly inhuman - he stood about a foot taller than before; and the tips of his fingers had elongated with predator-like claws, the canines of his teeth had grown even sharper. 

His fluffy patterned tail swishes agitatedly from side-to-side.

Nostrils flared as he drinks in your air.

Envelopes in it.

You’re hesitating before raising your eyes up to meet his- and a gasp catches in your chest at his contracted pupils. Like a snow leopard on the hunt.

He stares you down like his most delicious prey. 

And it should make you run- it should. But your body takes a stuttered step closer, until you could feel the heat radiating off of his body in feverish waves. 

You’re keeping your gaze confined to the area of his face n’ his sculptured chest, words picked carefully. “Satoru…”

“Leave.” But whatever was on the tip of your tongue washes away with his breathless tone- voice sibilant as though a prayer. “I need you to—fuck, I wish for you to-”

“I refuse.” And your response bewilders the both of you, “You’ve exhausted your requests of me. Are we not fulfilling the marriage contract?”

“We will- we have—” His blue eyes clench shut, as though he was holding himself back. Fists clenched firmly at his sides, they shake- “Fuck, this was not the planned course for our first meeting. Know that you are free to leave if you so wish - leave the chamber, leave the palace, leave the kingdom-”

“I will not breach the conditions-”

“I rescind the conditions.” 

Shock pumps through your body, “Pardon?”

“I wished to romance you, I wished to write to you- I wished to show you the beauty of my kingdom tonight but…those gloves- you made me…” He shakes his head, “War shall not prevail—we shall commence the peace negotiations without a moon spent together.” He’s slicking back his dampened white hair, “O-on the terms of an unforeseen illness, you may leave-”

“What sickness?” You demand.

“Rut.”

Oh.

Oh.

It was one of the preliminary lessons in your hybrid history classes: the rut. A period of intense pheromonal and sexual desire; during which the hybrid grapples with the physical, emotional, and pheromonal desire to mate. It was always a concept that intrigued you. For a hybrid, these ruts are best exhausted when spent with a partner, though unmated hybrids may choose to weather through the week independently. 

The mating period ends once the hybrid bites into the scent gland of their partner. 

Between hybrids.

So why were you feeling so feverish, as well?

You’re unsteady on your feet- and Gojo’s hands shoot out, but then surge back to his sides as though he thought better than to touch you when he was in this state. “Please-”

“I would like to spend the moon with you.” You’re blurting out before you can stop yourself, drunk on the heady scent of winter pine in the room—was it growing stronger? You look at him squarely, “As newly-weds do.”

His breath catches, “You are not aware what you ask of me-” Though his tail wraps around your ankle.

“I am.”

“You are not aware what you ask of yourself.”

“I am.” Insisting. 

Something deep inside you. Something deep inside you. Something deep inside you.

Fingers reaching up to the tie of your nightgown- before getting stopped instantly by Gojo’s hand. He pulls back with a hiss as though you burned—the pine fragrance grows even stronger inside the chamber. 

His voice cracks as he looks at you, “You…” Eyes blowing out ferally, “You humans are not built to handle a hybrid in rut. I shall easily ruin you-”

“Then so be it.” Your cunt twitches.

And Gojo sniffs the air as though he could smell it.

He moans.

And in a split-second you’re being tackled to the ground- pounced upon. As though you really were nothing but a pretty prey beneath his fingertips, Gojo spreads your back flatly against the carpeted ground—too far gone right now to even start thinking of the bed.

Hands caging either side of your head. Hot breaths wafting your features like a furnace.

He slots his toned, naked hips between your bent legs and ruts-

“Fuck.”

Before letting out the most erotic sound you’ve ever heard in your life - his spit-slicked lips fall open with it and stay open as he keeps pushin’ his trembling hips into yours. Glazed eyes clenching shut. Perspired head falling behind him. 

Again and again.

You’re feeling his thickened, throbbing erection press against your pussy through your thin nightgown. Openin’ up the crevice of your folds and massaging all along your outer cunt - because of how closely he was collapsed on top of you, you couldn’t make out just what his cock looked like. But you could feel the heat, you could feel the pulsing of his prominent veins that glissaded down the damp patch of your entrance and made you squeal—

“Y-Your Majesty-” You buck.

And he’s fucking pinning you down with his capped knees upon your legs. His bodyweight leaning on you. “Satoru.” He whispers breathlessly, eyes wide and somewhat dazed still. 

“Pardon?”

The hybrid reaches his hand across your body, “My mate shall call me Satoru.”

Mate…?

The fingers on his dominant hand snake down your front and grab a fistful of that satin nightgown you were wearing- before his claws extract and he’s teeeeearing straight through it. Ripping it into nothing but shreds that he’s throwing blindly over his shoulder. 

Soon enough, you’re left in nothing but the scraps of what had once been a decadent robe. And the coating of lust across your body.

The evidence was undeniable - even in the yolky yellow fireplace lighting up the bedroom, there was a lecherous glisten between your legs. Naked. Pulsing. 

A pretty gloss that makes Gojo take just one wide-eyed look- and gulp.

You think you can audibly hear the effect merely seeing your dampened cunt has on him, and it sends a thrill up your spine. The bed chambers only seem to be spiking in temperature.

A bead of glitterin’ slick drops from your tight hole, making you shiver as it falls vertically between your pussylips- only to be stopped by a single chaste kiss of Gojo’s swollen cockhead. He grasps his base using his right hand, motioning that plump, puckered tip to point around the orifice of your cunt.

He’s probing the reddened top of his shaft against your hole and letting it stretch just a lil’ bit- “Fuck.” You think that it should be you spewing out the profanities - but it’s Gojo instead. He growls. His blue peripherals roll to the back of his skull as he feels you clench around nothing. “Fuh-fuuuuck.”

“Shit—”

He dots at the pearly bead of slick.

He swirls it around your entrance.

He uses it to lacquer his already-glistening cock before reeling his hips back and pushing in-

You’re gasping, hands coming up to dig your nails into his broad back. “Sa-Satoru-”

And his jaw practically unhinges at the hot, heavenly feeling. “Oh heavens…” Muttering something primal at the back of his throat—“O-oh heavens.” He’s feeling the first few centimeters of his throbbing cock get suctioned in, before there’s a sudden tightness of resistance that makes jerk his hips back and push once more- “Oh my Queen—”

“Satoru…” Just about the only thing that you can say, like a frenzied mantra. Eyes shuttering, “Shit, I think you must know-”

The knobbly edge of his thumb veers between your pussylips, stretchin’ them apart and taking a good look in-between. He pumps even harder - “My Queen—please take it.”

Mewling.

He’s tugging those dampened lips even further apart, “Please fit in.” Only growing more and more desperate the longer your cunt refuses to gobble him up whole, “Please- please fit in–”

“Satoru- fuck.”

Fingertips trembling where they were glued to the side of your pussy, stretching your entrance. Thwack after thwack. “Please take- me-”

“You must-” And he was now hammerin’ his hips into you in short, rapid semi-thrusts just to see himself swallowed up. So tight that it felt nearly impossible. So tight that a single drop of crimson escapes you, “-know that-”

“My Queen-”

“-this is my first time.”

There’s a ragged exhale that gusts across your features, making your eyes fall shut at just how scalding hot it was feeling - molten inside. Every bit of his skin in contact with yours felt as though he was burning up—“Oh.” That pretty, spit-glossed mouth of his falls - he ruts once more. “Oh.”

Your toes curl at the swabbin’ intrusion - Gojo was just so big that it was hard for you to take him. Bigger than any normal human.

And you’re feeling it even more once he’s pulling out.

With the most lecherous squelch! his erection plops out of your geysering orifice and ends up laid between your shivering thighs. 

“I see…” Gojo hoarsely mutters, eyes entrenched in a staring competition with your pussy. “Mine, too.”

“Pardon?” You lean up onto your elbows instantly.

“I believe I said—” He trails off, “Mine, too.”

A thousand and one questions are whirling through your mind - everything from why Gojo hadn’t partaken in a mating period prior to this, to why he’d chosen you—

And then you’re blinking.

And suddenly you’re finding yourself sprawled out across his king-sized bed.

Head laid gently against the numerous luxurious pillows, your legs spread apart as though you’d never moved from the floor. You’re faced with the slight inertia of the entire room shifting so suddenly- and it takes you longer than it should’ve to realize that he’d just teleported the two of you once more.

You’re clamoring up to rest upon your elbows, and staring down at the hybrid that’d slotted between your legs now.

His soft strands tickle your body. Gojo’s already shifted until his face was level with your navel - his hot breath wafting across your skin. It sends goosebumps skittering across your middle n’ all the way down to your cunt—

Something that he’s leaning in and sniffing.

Breathing in. 

And then Gojo trundles out a low, animalistic growl.

You feel your hips bucking up in response and you’re not quite sure as to why-

But you don’t have the time to ponder upon it for too long before Gojo dips the tip of his looooong, luscious tongue between your pussy’s slit. 

He’s sticking just the very edge of his tastebuds fitting between your folds and slide-slide-sliiiiiding down that dampened crevice. Up and down. Slipping between the two and slurping away the dewy droplets of sap that cling onto your cunt-

Gojo halts as the first taste of your pussy trickles into his mouth.

And then he’s gasping his parched lips open- already sounding as though he’s run a fucking field. “So this-” Letting those deep vibrations of his voice scatter right between where you were most sensitive, “-this is what my mate tastes like.”

There it was again—mate. 

Your body thrums, taking a strange pleasure in being titled that by the hybrid. 

“Wh-what do you mean by m—oh.” Moan turning into a yelp as his fluffy rosette-decorated tail - one you hadn’t even realized was snaking ever-closer to your body - wraps around your right thigh and wrenches you closer to his hungry body. You stare into his eyes- starving.

Plastering his lips against your other ones as though he was fucking famished- Gojo’s nose digs between the wet slit of your core. Delving in-between. “My mate.” The only thing he can manage to utter. The pointed tip pushes on the nub of your clit as though a button, grindin’ away deftly as he’s making out. “My mate, my mate, my mate—”

“Satoru—” You’re crying out, “I-I’ve never done this before…is it supposed to feel this good?”

“Hmmm…” He’s clearly leering against your sensitive parts- and you can feel it. The hardness of his pearly whites tracin’ all over your entrance - “I haven’t partaken in such activities either, is this kitty supposed to taste this sweet?”

You gasp. “You can’t just utter such obscenities-”

To which he pays no attention before rubbin’ his flushed cheek along the inner parts of your thighs—Gojo leans in takes a gooooood whiff of where your pheromones were most saturated. Eyes falling shut as he indulges himself in it, and once he’s opening them back up you swear those pupils of his have transformed into hearts. “Is this kitty supposed to smell this sweet?”

You’re simply bucking in shock at that.

Elongated claws tapping warningly against where he’s holding the right side of your waist, “Settle, my mate.”

And he can smell it- the way your cunt grows even more aroused, even sweeter, at being given this command. Paired up perfectly with your pet name.

That’s when he decides that he’s had enough of lappin’ away at the numerous layers of slick that polished your cunt - he’s had enough.

He wasn’t some little kitty.

Gojo Satoru was a big cat, and that meant he has a big tongue.

Big enough to drown himself completely n’ utterly silly in the sweetened juices leaking out of you. In a mere few moments, he’s licked you completely dry. And he’s spreadin’ away the inside of your rim, scouring his tongue inside for more, more, more—

Long, thorough slashes inside your cunt.

“Sh-shit—” You’re babbling away stupidly, back arching off of the mattress. Ending up draggin’ your pussy even further against Gojo’s mouth - knocking against his nose and making him take your restless body on happily. “Shit, your tongue-” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, “-it’s sho big—”

“All the better to taste you, dear.” It’s a wonder that Gojo could detach himself from your pussy even for those brief seconds to answer.

Thrusting right between those swollen pussylips of yours- right into that quivering hole. He swirls his thickened muscle around a few times, “And y-you’re so…” You could feel the texture of his uniform, ridged tastebuds molding to the sides of your walls. “-fuck, your tastebuds are so pointed.”

“All the better to feel you, dear.” But of course, if you were in any better state of mind then perhaps you would’ve remembered that snow leopards in particular possessed tongues with specialized tastebuds. Longer. Sharper.

Yet right now, the only thing you’re thinking of is just how good it feels to have Gojo Satoru fuck you with said tongue.

He was just so looooooong and thick. He stuffs you to the brim already.

Spreading and stretchin’ his tongue against your walls- as far inside as it could possibly go. Quite audibly, you swear you can hear the sounds of his wet muscle expanding against that snug channel. “A-and, Satoru…” To him, your mewls sound like the prettiest song he’s ever heard. “-you’re so ravenous.”

He chuckles out something feral - something octaves higher than his usual baritone - against the front of your pussy. Pulling away from it with a wet smack! “All the better to…” And you know the strangely predatory tone of his voice shan’t bode well for you. And you know the way he fucking purrs—yes, purrs as he nears your pussy once more shan’t bode well for you. “-eat you, my dear.”

And then Gojo’s slamming every inch of his tongue back inside you - every fucking inch.

Except, this time…there’s a clear motivation tinglin’ at the honed tip of muscle. You could practically taste it in the soft sizzling wads of spittle that kept on leaking out of you. 

Gojo was tonguing at your pussy like a maddened man- letting his nose crush against your clit, letting his canines nip slightly on your bloated folds. He plasters your cunt against his chin, head angled juuuuuust the exact number of degrees it’d take for him to propel his tongue forwards and hit a particular spot inside you.

Your feet anchor onto the luxurious mattress. Your back forms the perfect curvature against the bed.

You’re letting your moans pour out of you twofold as you throw your head back n’ forcefully wrench your hips forward. “There—” Registering, it takes a second for your mind to catch up to the fact that Gojo’s lengthy hybrid tongue has just rammed into your g-spot - with just his tastebuds. “Y-you hit my…I didn’t know that was even—oh, Toru.”

“My Queen.” Hoarse. Hissing. His tone was completely fucked as he uses his powerful tail to tug you even further against his slackened mouth, “My mate.”

“Toru, that feels too-”

“Let this kitty cream on my mouth.” Even his high cheekbones burn a faint crimson at the declaration, though he doesn’t deny nor retract it. “Let this, kitty—” Come to think of it…the snow leopard hybrid was purring as he’s makin’ out between your legs. “-let this kitty cum…”

“Gonna—” Your voice starts hatching at the back of your throat, “G-gonna cum-”

Spurred on by your affirmations, those slashes at your g-spot grow even faster. More frequent.

Deeper.

There’s a tingly buzz coating your outer pussy at the rapid movements of his tastebuds- back n’ forth, back n’ forth, back n’ forth. And you’re feeling your pleasure start to ember even more powerfully as he keeps on planting constant hits and thrashes.

Tugs and pushes.

Hit after hiiiiiiit upon your poor g-spot.

Soon enough, your vision starts to overload with sultry white stars of bliss. And Gojo smells the cloying pheromones on you before you even register it- but you’re cumming.

All over his tongue.

It’s a wave of euphoria that starts from the tips of your toes and explodes where his tongue was diggin’ between your pussylips- before ultimately shooting through every valve, blood vessel, and capillary within you. Taking over you.

Toes curling. Tears shooting up to your eyes.

This might just have been even better than those long, lonely nights beneath your royal covers - when you’d slip in a finger or two and fervently hope that your attendants didn’t need you for anything.

You’re letting out the prettiest few echoes of his name- and you don’t even care who hears you right about now. Because the one person that commanded them all - this entire land - had his head between your legs and his tongue lappin’ away hungrily.

As though he hasn’t had a proper meal in months—you’re suddenly remembering with a jolt that he’d missed dinner tonight.

Gojo manages to probe your most sensitive spot during peak after peak.

Rush upon rush of dopamine flooding your body- he was sure to drag his textured tastebuds along your most precious caverns when those times came. And perhaps if your mind was any less muddled, he’d be able to tell you that he’s timing them perfectly using the spikes of your heady pheromones whenever you felt too good - but he was happy to merely listen to your babble right now. To fuck you stupid with his mouth.

He was tugging aside your pussylips and scraping every inch of your walls as though he wanted his entire nation to hear you—“Mine.” The pointed tip of his tongue tickles your g-spot, “My mate-”

Those mere few droplets of slick you were letting out wasn’t enough for Gojo, and he’s using the unyielding restraint he had on your ankle to keep on gyrating your hips. Manhandling your hips. Grinding your wet pussy against his mouth.

His maw slurpin’ every orifice-

Spreading aside your velvety walls as though he wished to go even deeper. And he’s reaching up his right hand to push aside those swollen lips of yours and—

“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re just barely surfacing from your last orgasm when you feel something cold n’ clammy sliding down your swollen pussylips. 

Claws retracted. The knobbly tips of Gojo’s fingers spread you open—and you’re just starting to wonder which set of hands this is…when you feel the frigidness of his fucking wedding ring probe inwards. It was a band of pure silver far colder than even his own hands- contrasting thoroughly against the heat of your pussy.

You’re whining as though you’re wounded (though it was the complete opposite of feeling as such) as the ice-cold sensation of it circles your sensitive hole a few times.

Gojo teases your entrance before he’s properly sinking in. Taking his time—not at all.

Did you really think that a hybrid in heat took his time? Did you really think that a hybrid in heat didn’t have the patience to merely take his ready mate?

And that was exactly what the King was doing with his perfectly prolonged digits - already having stretched out your cunt enough that he doesn’t have to hesitate before plunging in two fingers into your wet cavern. “Wait- you’re still not done?”

His long lashes flutter, “Would you like me to be, Your Majesty?”

“N-not exactly, it’s just…” And you almost feel shy admitting this to him - even though you’ve already come…so far, there were still some etiquette lessons drilled into you. “-I thought I’d be getting Your Majesty’s cock by now.”

And that makes him stall.

That makes his doughy fingertips lurch up and hit the roof of your cunt—accidentally locating your g-spot with just a bit of swerving.

“Oh.” Gojo’s jaw drops a bit- and those dimples make an appearance once more. “Worry not, my Queen.”

There’s the most long, lecherous sluuuuuurp! as he then pulls his fingers out.

“A beautiful creature such as yourself shan’t be fucked like any other lowly human.” The hybrid leers up at you with a half-lidded gaze, and those fingers of his twitch excitedly at your entrance. He murmurs thickly, “I’m going to breed you.” 

Slam! 

And that’s all it takes for his fingers to stuff you in every nook n’ cranny. 

Those mountainous knuckles of his start up like a battering ram between your legs, and no matter how much you’re squirming at the overstimulation- you can bet on Gojo’s tail to hold you in place. Stronger than it looked with its unassuming demeanor. 

Every time you’re being lurched backwards by the sheer force of his fervid thrusts, the King drags you back down using his appendage.

Leaving you not an ounce of mercy as he’s swabbin’ his rounded fingertips into your g-spot—so long that he’d be able to tease that particular bundle and then glide down to swat your cervix. 

Your eyes bulge at the feeling of his intrusion, back arching. “O-oh my god—” 

“Satoru, you mean.”

“Sato—pardon?” Tears layering over your peripherals, your vision’s starting to become hazy nonetheless. And a shiver runs down your spine as you’re watching his handsome face lean closer to your dripping wet core once more.

All the excitement of Gojo hookin’ his fingers in n’ ruining you from the inside meant that your slick was overflowing. Excess that he leans down to lap his tongue over as though the sweetest nectar- and maybe it really was.

Gojo’s flattened tongue starts rolling the most lewd kitty licks over your throbbing clit—holding eye contact with you all the while. “My mate.”

“Satoru-” You yelp.

“My mate—” The constant rhythmic slamming against your g-spot was starting to make your g-spot feel tender. Perhaps it has even started bruising - perhaps you were hurtling into your second orgasm faster than you might’ve thought. 

And it’s with his upper half bowed over your pussy - with his canines gnawin’ away on your clit - that Gojo pushes you into cumming. Again.

He makes yet another zap of euphoria take over your body- so lightheaded now that it felt as though you could keel over at the softest breeze. Your thighs tremble. Your legs fight to wrap around his head.

And Gojo’s taking such utter pleasure in stopping your squirming hips from moving- from smoochin’ and smoochin’ the slender tips of his fingers against your sweetest spots.

“Hafta make my- ngh, mate feel good.” He’s whispering, almost to himself. Gojo runs the plumpness of his fingertips aaaaaaall across your insides, quirking them perfectly when he has to run you through a peak of your high. “Hafta-”

“Cumming—” Too late, you’re bellowing out. “I’m c-cumming, Toru.”

“I know.” He responds simply. “This kitty told me.”

And you swear that’s enough to push you straight over another edge - another high. Sparks of friction breaking out across your skin. As Gojo stimulated your clit n’ your deepest innards to elongate this current one, and past that into another one, and another one, and another-

“Cum—fucking cum, kitty kitty.” He hums. 

Four- yes, four of his fingers pushing aside your slick-glazed walls now. 

By the time you’re letting the waves of pleasure wash over you, you’re completely and utterly spent. Exhausted. Unable to do anything but lay yourself spread-eagle on the duvet, you’re raising your head weakly to look down at Gojo.

He pulls off of your clit with a lecherous pop! 

A few thin strings of spittle still connect you to his mouth, “Brace yourself, my mate.”

“Brace…?” And as he straightens from his position at your feet - from his position worshipping your pussy at your feet - you’re letting your jaw drop. “Oh.”

Because it was justified for him to ask you to brace yourself.

Hell, you might just not make it out alive if you didn’t brace yourself. 

You’d already known that Gojo was considerably big from his time ruttin’ against you on the carpeted floor like some animal. But what you didn’t know was just what he looked like exactly. 

Large.

Lavished in veins.

It was expected that Gojo would be bigger than a human man - or, at least, what you’d assumed a human man would average based upon your sparse knowledge from anatomy books - but it’s just how much bigger than made your jaw drop. For he was comfortably around eight inches, perhaps even veering into nine.

Seeing the sheer girth of his base was enough to make your thighs squeeze together- squelch! You’d underestimated just how wet you’d gotten.

Plump tip furiously swollen n’ agitated - the merest breeze was enough to make him dollop out a generous serving of his precum. It was flushed a shade of pink that matched the blush upon Gojo’s cheeks as he took in your staring.

Vermicular veins. Throbbing circumference. 

And then there were his pretty balls - so full. Decorated along his v-line with a spattering of snow-white hair.

And you found yourself admitting that Gojo Satoru was strangely—pretty. 

All the way down to his cock.

You swallow, “S-so?”

“Pardon? And so?” The King cocks his head in cute confusion.

His ancient bedframe then creeeeeaks as you’re lifting your hips up, “Aren’t you going to breed me like you promised, Your Majesty?”

He flinches as though he’s just been struck.

Oh…hasn’t anyone ever taught you not to poke the bear? Or in this case, the snow leopard? Nevermind that now, however, because it was far too late for it - given you’d found yourself married to one. 

To the beast that bears his teeth carnally upon your provocation.

To the monster that slots his hips between your thoroughly jittery legs and gives your cunt a gooooood spankin’ with his ruddied tip.

To Gojo Satoru who runs his twitching tip down the forefront of your pussy a few times before he’s spreading apart your pussylips and push-push-puuuuushing. Sinking in his teeth into his lower lip as he sinks his cock into you—and immediately, tears spurt to his eyes.

Gojo’s barely easing an inch between your swollen folds before he’s fucking sobbing-

“It- it feels—” He’s clawing out a few wretched moans from the back of his throat. “It feels s-so—”

“So—?” You’re attempting to coax out of him. This was his first time just as much as yours, and although you might not know much about hybrid mating rituals, one thing was for sure - Gojo was extra, extra sensitive tonight.

“So g—ngh.” Choking those words straight back into his throat- he’s just barely managing to fit his plump, reddish tip in. It was throbbing against your walls and slippin’ inside with the help of your slick. “How can it feel so good?” He hisses.

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, “Pardon? Y-you’re asking me- hck! how?”

“How.” As though no other explanation was needed. Gojo’s fucking into you in shallow, short thrusts—almost nothing. Barely squeeze-squeeze-squeezing the first thickened segment of his shaft inside before he’s met with the resistance of your tight channel- and then he’s pulling back with a pained groan as if it killed him to detach himself from the glutinous embrace of your pussy.

And the more n’ more he’s feeling you—the more he’s utterly breaking upon entering your warmth. “Is there magic that you use? I-is there a spell you’ve put me under?” His grip on your waist trembles.

“No…” You whimper, “And for what reason…”

“For i-it should not be possible for a kitty to feel so…” He groans. Gojo’s eyes are fluttering shut once you give his throbbing girth a little clench, and when he opens them back up again you’re finding those sky-blue peripherals to have been covered with a few layers of tears. “-so delicious.”

“You make it sound as though you wish to- ngh, feast upon me.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

The hybrid edges his perspired head closer to yours, letting the tips of his white bangs tickle your skin. “For what else must newly-weds do on the night of their wedding?”

That silver wedding ring glints on his left hand - both due to the quality of the metal, and due to the fact that it was still covered in the remnants of your sweet juices. 

Gojo notices this, too.

And without a single warning, he’s reaching his hand up and sucking off the glaze of slick. Looking you straight into your dilated pupils as he does so.

It sends a carnal throb down to your cunt that he sniffs in the air-

And then everything’s happening at once.

Gojo’s jolting, Gojo’s grasping both of your pretty legs and throwing them over his shoulders. Hands upon either side of your limbs n’ wrangling them easily as he bends his upper half down looooow—kissing his sweaty forehead to yours.

The sudden change in positions makes you keen. “A-and you’re completely sure you’re inexperienced, Toru?”

“Promise, my mate.” He exhales into your mouth. “I’d never take another but you.”

And though the gesture had started off sweet…the further his mazin’ tip scoured in, the sharper his canines grew against your poor wobbly lips. The stronger his body seemed to grow in response to pinning your needy hips down and shoooooooving rude cock inside-

“Take it.” Gojo snarls into the crook of your neck, “Take it.”

“Please—” Being pushed constantly up towards the mahogany headboard.

“Take- oh.” Absent-mindedly, he wraps his powerful tail around your left thigh once more. Stopping you from being jostled back and forth because of the sheer force of his rovering hips- hips that were just hungry to feel his mate warped around his entire, rock-hard cock.

And you wonder whether he even realized.

Because if you thought it was far-fetched to assume that Gojo Satoru was breaking on your pussy just from the ruined state of his voice, then you’d be sorely mistaken.

The longer he’s tunneling between your sodden pussylips, the more n’ more he’s less the composed gentleman you’d been married to at the altar. “Take it-” To be quite honest, you’d be comfortable stating that he was becoming more hybrid than human the longer he was in lecherous contact with the wet cavern of your cunt. “Take it, take it, take it—please.”

Tears falling down his pretty cheeks.

The longer his thrusts became, the more hidden crevices inside you that he was opening up. You’d been completely right to ogle Gojo’s massive cock- because right now it felt like he was splitting you in half. 

In the best way.

“You need to take it, sweetheart—” Gojo damn near whimpers, “You n-need to take your mate’s cock…”

He was straightening out the smallest crevices at your innards, he was digging his claws deeeeep against the sides of your thighs. Pulling you back after every thrust.

And it’s not long before Gojo finds himself completely bottoming out.

Letting his divot baaawl out a few ribbons of pre that slick towards your womb. Letting his bulbous, blushin’ tip thud! away at the very back of your cervix. 

The silken bedsheets are bunching up where Gojo’s knees were scrambling to get even closer to the bottom of your pussy. Attempting to push his probin’ cockhead even deeper inside your sponge-covered depths, Gojo’s practically falling over himself to bend you in half.

To bend and to bend.

To thrust and to thrust-

The bed creaks in a cacophony that accurately represents just how he’s fucking you like he’s furious. Body burnished in heat. Hissing and snarling between his clenched fangs.

Those unfairly attractive hips of his were affected, too, because they’re starting to stutter forwards as though he’s just found heaven inside of you. Reeling his hips aaaaaall the way back in reverse - until his rounded, reddened tip was the only thing holding your entrance open. 

And then Gojo wastes no time before pounding himself inside all the way till the hilt.

The very hilt. 

You’re squirming at the patch of his white, white hair that scratches your pretty clit. “A-and about the breeding thing…”

“Hmmmm?”

“Are you really going to fuck me- ngh, pregnant, Toru?”

Awwwww—how cute. Those glowing azure eyes of his widen in amusement- or perhaps something else entirely that you weren’t able to pinpoint. He leans in with a simpering smile, “Fuck you pregnant? How crass.”

“N-ngh—” Your head throws back at the feeling of his globular cockhead lining down your g-spot. He ends up rubbin’ over that particular bundle of nerves for a few seconds, before glissading a hit straight to your womb-

“I’m going to make you my mate, my Queen.”

“Oh-”

“Officially.”

You’re unsure what exactly such an arrangement between hybrids would entail—but all you know is that you want it. Badly. 

A primal desire deep-rooted into your very being, one that you couldn’t explain even if you tried - it was from the depths of your soul, pouring outward in every ribbony wire of slick that you were letting out. All for Gojo Satoru. Clinging onto Gojo Satoru.

It’s coating his thickened cock in numerous layers that glisten underneath the pale lighting of a royal chamber, splatterin’ between your two bodies as his frenzied pace only accelerates. “Sa-Satoru—”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

It always sent such a shocking thrill across your body to realize that he was the one referring to you like that - perhaps your most formidable foe yet. 

And the massive bedframe creaks as you’re raising your hips up to meet his- the constant smack-smack-smacking of skin on relentless skin growing in pitch and volume. “I need it.” Looking at him through your tear-drenched lashes, “I need it s-so badly—”

“What is it?” He breathes out in an almost desperate tone. Gojo presses his lips to yours and kisses you in a way that was so fucking filthy—he’s flickering his tongue in and out, fishing out the sweet wads of your saliva. Before leaning his head back a bit and spitting between your wobbling lips - claiming every spot inside you that he wanted to. “What is it that you wish for, my Queen?”

Before anything else, his right hand then snakes between your two sweaty bodies.

Familiarly locating your cute clit and giving a few niiiiice rolls between his index and his thumb.

“Tell me—” He responds. He begs. “Tell me what it is your heart desires-” His sentences and syllables being punctuated by a solid slam against the back of your pussy every time. “Tell me, and I shall move mountains and heaven for you, my mate.”

And after such a declaration, a part of you almost feels embarrassed about the next words out of your mouth—“I want you to…cum inside me, Toru.”

He jolts. “Sweetheart, are you aware-”

“Not that.” Gojo answers - and the sudden leer that follows is something that makes your lips part. Something that was certainly not going to bode well for you or your poor pussy…“Sweetheart, are you aware that-”

And before he’s finishing that particular sentence, Gojo reaches down and gently clasps your dominant hand in his own.

He tugs it down between his legs-

To where you’re feeling the smooth gliiiide down his erect shaft—down every single curve, crevice, and vein. He was just so long that this made you squirm. Ultimately, you’re ending up with your fingertips pressed against the very start of Gojo’s hilt, where the carpet of his white hair was just ending.

And you’re wondering just what it is he was trying to oh-so-lecherously make you feel when…

When your palm pushes up against something so very thick and swollen at the base of Gojo’s cock. And you’re just gasping-

“A-are you aware of the effect you have on me, Your Majesty?” Gojo’s ragged tone permeates your hearing, punctuated by the constant thrashes n’ bucks of his hungry cock. Inside, inside, inside. “Are you aware that this is how you make me feel?”

He crushes your hand even further against that extra swollen portion of his erection, “And h-how exactly…”

He falters, “Pardon?”

“How exactly is…this, Toru?”

“How exactly?” He’s hissing through his teeth, tone wavering unsteadily. He sounds ruined, he sounds shattered—he sounds gone. There’s almost a sense of amusement in his tone as though you were pulling on his leg - he bores deeeeply into your eyes whilst he fucks you. “How exactly—?” 

“Y-ye—oh.”

Slam!

At that very moment, he’s rammin’ his hips into yours so hard that the skin around his pelvis reddens. Stings. 

And Gojo himself can’t help but let his head fall backwards with a guttural hiss, those pretty white brows of his knotting—“Fuh-fuck.” Before starting to rut down in even sloppier pushes of his firmed-up cock.

Hard.

Fast.

Your ass cheeks were practically refusing to have contact with the bedspread below. Just bent that far. 

The question he’d asked you earlier had been a rhetorical one - though that doesn’t stop Gojo himself from pistoning into you as though he was attempting to fuck the answer out of you. As though he was hoping the globular edge of his shaft would reach your pretty brain, n’ swerve around a bit to ultimately activate whatever part of you there was that’d understand. 

To flick a switch on - something carnal. 

Once you’ve been pounded utterly stupid- Gojo presses down with his mazing cockhead until you’re filled up to the very hilt. And you can feel the swollen ring at his base start to relax against the front of your puckered pussylips, “What you need to know is…this is a knot, sweetheart.”

“A knot?” Babbling through your tears.

“A knot.” Gojo affirms, “And do you know what hybrids do to their mates using their knots?”

Shaking your head.

“First, we claim our mates.” He’s draggin’ his roughened thumb down between your sultry pussylips and rolling over your clit. If you were in any clearer a state of mind right now, perhaps you’d have noticed that he was spelling out his first fucking name on top of that swollen nub. “First, we fuck them until they can’t speak—can’t move—can’t do anything but beg for more.”

You’re bucking upwards greedily, and in response he’s letting out a growl. “Y-yes, and?”

“Then we let them cum a few cute times—” He’s giggling at the way your mouth drops in realization - he was doing the exact same thing to you.

Was technically, still doing the exact same thing to you with the way he’s stimulating every fibre of your being. “And then-”

“Then we get them in a cute- hah, mating press.” His fluffy tail swooshes around before looping around your left thigh and tightening, veering dangerously close to the in-betweens of your legs. As if he was sharing his most precious secret in the world with you, Gojo leans dooooown until his lips were at your ear- “Then we cum so much inside them that they can’t even breathe without feelin’ me all inside your pretty kitty.”

Sobbing, “Th-then—?”

“Then…” The King’s reeling his powerful hips backwards, all the way until he’s nearly pulled out. Only the better to fuck you with…“Then m’fucking you with my fat knot until you can’t even think about letting my cum go to waste, my mate.”

“Oh—”

And with one hand braced upon the right side of your head - the other furiously toying with your perked clit - Gojo’s striking your pussylips in constant thwacks! Thwack! after thwack!

Trying to get his knot to fit inside.

Gojo’s vein-covered cock massaging your walls in such a frenzy just feels so good- “O-oh my god…” You’re babbling out, “Toru, m’gonna cum again.”

“Good.”

“Toru, m’gonna cum now—”

“Good.”

Those half-lidded blue eyes of his were locked on every expression you were making - even the tiniest shifts and twitches. His nostrils flare once you’re feeling your stomach give into the surges of pleasure shooting up from your cunt—and the hybrid seems to know before even you do when you’re crash-landing straight into your nth high of the night.

You’ve seriously lost count.

“C-cumming…” You mewl out weakly- hands coming up to clasp onto his sweaty head. Pressing your lips against his as he fucks you through every zap of pleasure. “Feels so good- ngh, feels so good—”

“Is that so?” He harkens, “Is that so, Your Majesty?”

“Never felt anything better-”

Eventually, your high rises and falls faster than it has before - solely due to the sheer number of times tonight. It’s nothing but the splash of dopamine that engulfs your body and leaves it sizzling with pleasure moments afterwards.

Even the slightest rub-a-dub of Gojo’s veiny patterns leaves you gaping. Those aftershocks were so strong that it makes your eyes tear up—“I need it.” 

Before long, Gojo feels you grab onto a handful of his perspired hair and haul him even closer. And he can’t deny the way that makes his swollen tip twitch just a little harder inside you-

“I need you to c-cum inside me…” You’re pleading up at him, “Need you to- ngh, mate me, Toru.”

“Oh…” After a few more sloppy strikes, he’s letting his tail drift up from your legs to your abdomen. Just where your spine ended, you’re feeling that powerful appendage of his push up on your body and arch your hips up a bit further. “Then brace yourself, my mate.”

And it takes only a single, slammin’ thrust for him to empty out his wads of cum.

Bucketload upon bucketload that he’d been waiting to pour into you for soooooo fucking long now. Thick. Treacly. Those constant ribbons of cum web your insides like a flood, splashin’ around and helping him reach your womb in no time.

It’s just so hot and wet.

It’s just bloating up those poor pussylips of yours- before the man himself eases down his pace to better end up pushin’ those wettened wads inside.

You could physically feel the flared ridge of his mushroom tip—spreading apart those gluey walls of yours and fucking his cum even deeper. Deeper. “Fuck.” Clinging onto every nook n’ hidden cranny inside you as you’re getting utterly stuffed—straight to the brim. It’s already starting to froth outwards, “Fuck-”

“Settle, my mate.” Gojo’s dragging you in with his fluffy white tail, ears flattened in pleasure. It takes a single tug for him to jerk you down- “Shhhhhhh shhh shh, settle.”

“I’m- I’m trying—”

“We’re not even halfway done yet.”

“Pardon?”

It’s the last thing you’re hearing before Gojo jerks his hips forward and fucks his knot past that first ring of your entrance - only about halfway through.

The Hybrid King has to use his hand upon your clit to stretch your pussylips apart- to ease your elastic hole to the side just a bit before he’s siiiiiiiinking his thickened base inside. It takes a few tries - a few animalistic bucks - for him to finally fit his knot between your legs with the loudest slurp. “Got it—”

Gojo’s hissing breath cascades down the front of your body, and his clammy head drops into the crook of your neck.

“G-got you.”

Before you know it, you’re feeling the sharp punctures of his canines against your swollen scent glands. Those sensitive bumps against the side of your neck - you’d noticed them growing more and more inflamed throughout the course of the night, and they’re just so volatile as Gojo sinks his leopard-like fangs in.

You feel something deep inside you pop!

Your scent gland. Or whatever it was that humans had similar…

And he holds you there like this - like a predator with his teeth dug into the throat of his prey - until both your waves of bliss have completed. Until he’s emptied his swollen balls inside of you, and he’s completely n’ utterly sucked dry by the wettened warmth of your pussy.

You’re squirming at the feeling of his heaping puddles of ivory deep inside you—“T-Toru.”

Gojo finally pulls off with a heated pwah! and stuffs his face into the crook of your neck. “Yes, my mate?”

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Now you were officially his mate. 

His knot was pulsing deep inside you, softening ever-so-slightly as the moments pass.

You’re running your hands through his perspired air, “I just wanted to know…” Wording your sentence carefully, your sentiments hidden. “Why m-”

“Who else would it be but you?” He’s interrupting you instantly. Immediately, Gojo pulls away and peers at you with his widened eyes—“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but in this life and every other…” He grasps your hand and presses his pinkish lips to the back of it, “-this lowly hybrid has always been fated to be yours.”

“Every other?” You ask with bated breath.

“Every other.” He affirms. “In every life, we were meant to find one another…” And he looked almost shy admitting such a thing—“We hybrids…we can feel it. Though for you humans, it may not be so strong.”

“Oh.” Your mouth drops softly.

“But even if we weren’t…” Gojo finally tears his eyes off of you- as though it pained him to not have you before his gaze for even a mere moment. “—I would have found you if it tore down the Earth.”

And then you’re turning with him.

Following his line of sight.

Right to the wall of his bedroom that you’d noticed had been painted before- but never noticed exactly with what upon it—

It was a painting of you.

More specifically, of a landscape from what you’d assumed to be this very bedroom: the sprawling valleys and fields that led up to your kingdom. The thorn barrier that separated him from you. Though no barrier could ever possibly hide the spiral of your wing, the blinking light that you’d put out every night - hoping, just hoping that someone would see it and answer.

How had you not noticed this before?

Perhaps, in your own way, you’d been searching for him, too.

“I would like to stay, Satoru.” You breathe, as if a secret. “I would like to stay- and I would also like for you to love my kingdom just as much as I shall love yours.”

“Then it shall be done.” He presses his forehead to yours, “Revenge has never been my strong suit.‘

Unbeknownst to yourself, you’ve teared up- and Gojo reaches down to gently wipe those hot tears away. He murmurs deeply, “My mate…”

“Yes, my husband?”

“We’re going to rule the world.”

You’re learning two more things about hybrids in the succeeding hour. 

The first being that they really did have a particular talent for the arts - Gojo especially, considering that he’d been the one to paint most of the artworks in the palace. Including this one.

The second being that ruts last for a week.

A/N. HYBRIDS AND ROYALTY AUS MY TWO FAV THINGS-

Gojo Satoru.

The infamous ruler of the Kingdom of Hybrids.

The shadow looming over your kingdom.

The last snow leopard hybrid alive.

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

Except for one.

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

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

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

The opposing kingdom always seemed colder, always seemed crueler.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s been a long and cruel battle.

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

There never flourished a fruit sweet from blood and gore.

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

Why had it even started? One could only guess.

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

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

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

It had happened last week—the letter.

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

The resurgence of the people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To the future Queen.

A carriage had been called immediately to the royal palace.

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

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

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

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

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

“To my dearest future Queen,

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

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

My apologies, it has happened again.

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

I know you know.

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

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

Marry me.

Marry me. Marry me. Marry me.

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

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

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

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

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

I await your response impatiently, the my future Queen.

Yours truly,

Gojo Satoru.”

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

One moon.

One night.

One night with the cruel King Gojo Satoru.

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

There was nothing more to be said about Gojo Satoru.

Everyone had a story about him.

Everyone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To Gojo Satoru,

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

Regards,

The future Queen.”

The date was set. You were to be married.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you simply must understand that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve heard he’s grotesque-”

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

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

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

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

BANG—!

When a sharp gale causes the windows to slam shut. 

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

That had just come out of nowhere…

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

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

They had a wedding to prepare you for.

And the groom was already here.

.

.

.

Music was pouring out of the gilded venue.

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

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

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

“Do you see him- move-”

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

“I thought he had…”

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

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

What did Gojo Satoru look like?

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

You had an image of Gojo Satoru in your head.

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

Something as mythical as they made him sound.

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

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

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

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

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

It really was cold inside the venue.

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

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

Your own hands, it catches up to you.

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

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

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

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

And a soft, smooth tone follows- his. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your voice falters.

His hands grow a little tighter on yours.

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

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

United as one.

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

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

And oh.

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

He looked utterly human.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something deep, deep, deep—

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

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

Burned.

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

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

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

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

Gojo.

Gojo. Gojo. Gojo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you’re both disappearing into thin air.

Leaving behind only the rose bouquet.

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It trembles just a little as he swallows.

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

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

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

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

“You know not a thing about me-”

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

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

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

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

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

You balk, “What?”

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

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

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

As he walks away, he calls.

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

You feel yourself sliding down the stone wall.

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

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

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

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

“You may even leave.”

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

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

Your panting breaths. Your widened gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All down that column. Lymph nodes.

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

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

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

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

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

“Pardon?” She cocks her head.

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

Or whatever it was that hybrids had equivalent. 

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

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

And that scared you more than any legend.

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

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

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

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

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

You gulped, “And the King-”

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

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

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

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

And you did not know how to answer her.

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

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

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

Piled higher than your head.

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

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

Just how long had he been planning this?

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

All your favorites.

How did they…

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

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

You?

You’re stopping short, “King Gojo—”

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

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

Not the one at the head of the table.

The one beside it.

Lower-tiered.

“His Majesty’s request.”

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

Slightly trembling, you’re taking your seat nonetheless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart jumps to your throat.

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

You don’t know why you’re disappointed. 

.

.

.

You admit that the dinner passed by in a blur - delicious, and yet still a blur. 

Perhaps if you don’t miss anything of this excursion, then you’ll at least think back on those delicacies fondly.

Although, you admit that Utahime - and even the ever-anxious Ijichi - had certainly grown on you. They kept you company throughout the rest of the dinner, and once you were finished the red panda hybrid escorted you to your royal quarters.

It was a vast chamber located not too far from Gojo’s study.

Even though most of the palace found itself composed of cold, hard stone—this room was special. It had the most delicate layers of paint spread across it, something you hadn’t seen before even during your tour - baby blue in color, with faint patterns of snowflakes etched into every corner. Gilded decorations on every piece of furniture. A fireplace against one wall. More books than you could ever read in your entire life - let alone single moon here. 

There was a balcony overlooking a befogged land that you could not discern, and a drop from it would have been fatal. 

What drew you in the most, however, was the painting.

Most chambers in the North Palace were decked with precious paintings - hand-crafted oils of color in silver frames, those that looked more valuable than a room full of treasure and perhaps just as ancient - for it seemed that King Gojo was a lover of the arts. Interestingly enough.

You wouldn’t have expected that of him.

But this one…this painting was the largest of them all.

It took up the space of one entire wall, which - according to your mental calculations - would have been thirty-two feet tall and eighty-eight feet wide. One side of your bedroom that was donning robes of oil paint—featuring the most picturesque vision of…your kingdom.

Your palace. Your people. Your dream as a monarch: seeing the people of your kingdom as happy as they should be.

The humans in this painting were hand-in-hand in the town square, dancing around a roaring bonfire. Around them were heaving tables laden with food, and behind- oh. Your eyes widened as you take in the painting even further - it wasn’t just the humans that were dancing with one another. There were hybrids, too.

Your bed was a sprawling four-poster, and you huddled in amongst the silk-covered pillows.

This was your one night with King Gojo Satoru.

The first and the last.

Your one and only.

But there must have been a reason for this marriage, for his condition- there must have been. A full moon circled high in the sky, and peace couldn’t have been so easy.

You kept your dagger underneath your pillow that night.

And so you slept—not as fitfully as one might have expected. 

When you wake up- it’s still nighttime.

You’re sitting up on the bed and attempting to blink your vision back. It must have been an hour, perhaps two, since you’d gone to sleep- and you hate to admit it, but that must have been the best hours of sleep you’d gotten in years.

You might not even have woken up at all had it not been for the thunderous sound of footsteps outside. 

Someone was running- no. Multiple people were running.

Heart battering against your chest, you’re grabbing the dagger out from underneath your pillow and getting onto your feet. You were wearing a thin layer of silk Utahime had bestowed upon you as a nightgown, but there was no time to consider propriety now - something was happening inside the North Palace. 

Quickly unlocking the latch upon those double doors, it’s dark enough in the corridors that you’re slipping past the personal guards stationed outside your chamber. And crowded enough that you could slot into the chaos unnoticed.

Attendants. Advisors. Knights.

Hybrids of all different types and varying degrees of urgency - from urgent to being nearly in tears - were trampling like a herd in the same direction down the corridor. 

You’re keeping your head down low as you fit into a sparse gap of space and let yourself be led to wherever it was they needed to be. Forwards. Down a hallway. Forwards. Forwards. 

Ultimately, you’re not travelling too far before heading down a high-ceiling hallway—the pathway leading up to a private chamber. And by the sheer luxury of this wing - and the constantly incremental paintings of the Gojo family - you’re guessing that this must be where the Hybrid King slept.

Something stirs at the pit of your stomach- did something happen to…?

No, you couldn’t let yourself think that.

Shaking your head free from such thoughts, you’re managing to squeeze past attendants and staff that stuffed every nook and alcove here like sardines. Everyone was fervid to get inside, and even more desperate to get out before too long—

Then…the slightest crack in the door.

Breath catching in your chest, you shoot your arm out to catch it before it closes. Warm light filters from inside, and even warmer air follows it - fighting against whatever hybrid attendant was attempting to close it, you’re managing to wrench it open far enough to push yourself within. 

Just as you’re thrust inside, you turn around and catch Utahime’s gaze- also pressed against one wall of the corridor. 

Her eyes widen as she realizes just who it is—and her mouth shouts out a silent ‘no-’ 

Those double doors slam! shut.

It’s a royal bedroom just as large as yours.

And you could go on describing all the polished pieces of furniture, and the draped blue curtains, and the chandeliers, and the books. One of the walls in his bedroom was covered in a painting, just as the wall in your room had been - though you’re not too focused on it right now. A carpet spread from underneath the king-sized bed and nearly to every corner of the room—it was a stone-cold white, stitched intricately in the Gojo family emblem. But that was exactly what caught your eye.

Not the carpet, no- the bed.

Not exactly the bed itself, but rather the heavy metal chains on either side of it. Like dungeon chains.

There were six rings - thick and composed of rusting iron, one being half the length of your body - fastened to both walls sandwiching the bed. Falling from them were chain-links, each one the size of your head and twice as hefty—snaking like boa constrictors along the chamber floor, the foot of the bed, on top of the mattress.

Each one was shackled to the hands and feet of Gojo Satoru.

Panting. Flushed.

Feverish.

Surrounded by some guards, Shoko, and the rest of her healers who kept pressing cold cloths to his forehead, wiping him down furiously. 

Bucking into the air with a husky groan- it makes the dungeon chains rattle as they’re tugged on. Hard enough to make the metal creeeeeak—!

You don’t know what more to gape at - the fact that he was strong enough to fight against six of those massive chains and nearly win, or the fact that Gojo was underneath a thin cover and…naked.

Something stirs between your legs.

And instantly-

Instantly, Gojo stills.

The healers take a startled step back, cold cloths suspended in their hands as they assess their silent King. 

But Gojo doesn’t mind them.

He’s sitting up properly on the mattress, eyes widened and locked on- oh.

Locked on you.

It makes you jolt.

For there was a harrowed look in his gaze - as though he’d just stumbled across a carnage site, might perhaps be tempted into creating one. And Gojo’s pupils were the size of pinpricks, the sea of blue around them somewhat glowing—were you going mad? Were they really glowing?

His beautiful face was expressionless and primal.

His head raises into the air and sniffs it-

And suddenly those pearly white teeth display in an animalistic growl.

One by one, the healers follow their monarch’s line of sight - and their lips part as they take you in. His human bride.

Shoko’s the first to take a step forwards, “Your Majest-”

“Out.”

A strange thrill runs through your body.

It’s not that Gojo’s voice was particularly loud, nor was it particularly threatening—but it makes every single hybrid inside the room bow. 

Falling to their knees. 

They’re nodding once.

And in the blink of an eye, the healers - and most of the guards - are jerking onto their feet and running out - barely even throwing you a glance. Those double doors crack open once more, and you’re realizing that the commotion outside had calmed—you get the strange feeling that if you were to turn around, you would see that every other hybrid there was kneeling, as well. 

You don’t know how you’re so sure - but you know he isn’t speaking to you. 

In mere moments, it’s only Shoko and Higuruma that remain at Gojo’s bedside. They look at you in concern, and then each other- opening their mouths to say something when—

“Out.”

Gojo’s sole command is followed by gales of wind that clatter the windows open and send the two hybrids toppling. They’re collapsing to the ground from the sheer force - ultimately being pushed up until the tips of your feet.

Their King needn’t say a word more for them to stumble onto their feet and make a break for it.

The doors close thunderously, though not nearly as loud as your racing heart.

The wind dies down as they’re leaving you alone with Gojo, and you’re wondering whether he even realized. Not a single waft of the gales had touched you somehow. 

You swallow.

It’s just you and him now.

Him and you.

And you’re not understanding where it came from, but you’re overwhelmed by the sudden feeling to walk over to him-

As soon as the thought manifests in your chest, you blink—

And Gojo Satoru’s standing right in front of you.

Towering figure. Heated pants.

Your dagger falls to the floor.

He was flushed as though burning from the inside out. 

You swear that he’s even larger than you remember him—and you do remember him being large in the first place. But Gojo’s size right now was nearly inhuman - he stood about a foot taller than before; and the tips of his fingers had elongated with predator-like claws, the canines of his teeth had grown even sharper. 

His fluffy patterned tail swishes agitatedly from side-to-side.

Nostrils flared as he drinks in your air.

Envelopes in it.

You’re hesitating before raising your eyes up to meet his- and a gasp catches in your chest at his contracted pupils. Like a snow leopard on the hunt.

He stares you down like his most delicious prey. 

And it should make you run- it should. But your body takes a stuttered step closer, until you could feel the heat radiating off of his body in feverish waves. 

You’re keeping your gaze confined to the area of his face n’ his sculptured chest, words picked carefully. “Satoru…”

“Leave.” But whatever was on the tip of your tongue washes away with his breathless tone- voice sibilant as though a prayer. “I need you to—fuck, I wish for you to-”

“I refuse.” And your response bewilders the both of you, “You’ve exhausted your requests of me. Are we not fulfilling the marriage contract?”

“We will- we have—” His blue eyes clench shut, as though he was holding himself back. Fists clenched firmly at his sides, they shake- “Fuck, this was not the planned course for our first meeting. Know that you are free to leave if you so wish - leave the chamber, leave the palace, leave the kingdom-”

“I will not breach the conditions-”

“I rescind the conditions.” 

Shock pumps through your body, “Pardon?”

“I wished to romance you, I wished to write to you- I wished to show you the beauty of my kingdom tonight but…those gloves- you made me…” He shakes his head, “War shall not prevail—we shall commence the peace negotiations without a moon spent together.” He’s slicking back his dampened white hair, “O-on the terms of an unforeseen illness, you may leave-”

“What sickness?” You demand.

“Rut.”

Oh.

Oh.

It was one of the preliminary lessons in your hybrid history classes: the rut. A period of intense pheromonal and sexual desire; during which the hybrid grapples with the physical, emotional, and pheromonal desire to mate. It was always a concept that intrigued you. For a hybrid, these ruts are best exhausted when spent with a partner, though unmated hybrids may choose to weather through the week independently. 

The mating period ends once the hybrid bites into the scent gland of their partner. 

Between hybrids.

So why were you feeling so feverish, as well?

You’re unsteady on your feet- and Gojo’s hands shoot out, but then surge back to his sides as though he thought better than to touch you when he was in this state. “Please-”

“I would like to spend the moon with you.” You’re blurting out before you can stop yourself, drunk on the heady scent of winter pine in the room—was it growing stronger? You look at him squarely, “As newly-weds do.”

His breath catches, “You are not aware what you ask of me-” Though his tail wraps around your ankle.

“I am.”

“You are not aware what you ask of yourself.”

“I am.” Insisting. 

Something deep inside you. Something deep inside you. Something deep inside you.

Fingers reaching up to the tie of your nightgown- before getting stopped instantly by Gojo’s hand. He pulls back with a hiss as though you burned—the pine fragrance grows even stronger inside the chamber. 

His voice cracks as he looks at you, “You…” Eyes blowing out ferally, “You humans are not built to handle a hybrid in rut. I shall easily ruin you-”

“Then so be it.” Your cunt twitches.

And Gojo sniffs the air as though he could smell it.

He moans.

And in a split-second you’re being tackled to the ground- pounced upon. As though you really were nothing but a pretty prey beneath his fingertips, Gojo spreads your back flatly against the carpeted ground—too far gone right now to even start thinking of the bed.

Hands caging either side of your head. Hot breaths wafting your features like a furnace.

He slots his toned, naked hips between your bent legs and ruts-

“Fuck.”

Before letting out the most erotic sound you’ve ever heard in your life - his spit-slicked lips fall open with it and stay open as he keeps pushin’ his trembling hips into yours. Glazed eyes clenching shut. Perspired head falling behind him. 

Again and again.

You’re feeling his thickened, throbbing erection press against your pussy through your thin nightgown. Openin’ up the crevice of your folds and massaging all along your outer cunt - because of how closely he was collapsed on top of you, you couldn’t make out just what his cock looked like. But you could feel the heat, you could feel the pulsing of his prominent veins that glissaded down the damp patch of your entrance and made you squeal—

“Y-Your Majesty-” You buck.

And he’s fucking pinning you down with his capped knees upon your legs. His bodyweight leaning on you. “Satoru.” He whispers breathlessly, eyes wide and somewhat dazed still. 

“Pardon?”

The hybrid reaches his hand across your body, “My mate shall call me Satoru.”

Mate…?

The fingers on his dominant hand snake down your front and grab a fistful of that satin nightgown you were wearing- before his claws extract and he’s teeeeearing straight through it. Ripping it into nothing but shreds that he’s throwing blindly over his shoulder. 

Soon enough, you’re left in nothing but the scraps of what had once been a decadent robe. And the coating of lust across your body.

The evidence was undeniable - even in the yolky yellow fireplace lighting up the bedroom, there was a lecherous glisten between your legs. Naked. Pulsing. 

A pretty gloss that makes Gojo take just one wide-eyed look- and gulp.

You think you can audibly hear the effect merely seeing your dampened cunt has on him, and it sends a thrill up your spine. The bed chambers only seem to be spiking in temperature.

A bead of glitterin’ slick drops from your tight hole, making you shiver as it falls vertically between your pussylips- only to be stopped by a single chaste kiss of Gojo’s swollen cockhead. He grasps his base using his right hand, motioning that plump, puckered tip to point around the orifice of your cunt.

He’s probing the reddened top of his shaft against your hole and letting it stretch just a lil’ bit- “Fuck.” You think that it should be you spewing out the profanities - but it’s Gojo instead. He growls. His blue peripherals roll to the back of his skull as he feels you clench around nothing. “Fuh-fuuuuck.”

“Shit—”

He dots at the pearly bead of slick.

He swirls it around your entrance.

He uses it to lacquer his already-glistening cock before reeling his hips back and pushing in-

You’re gasping, hands coming up to dig your nails into his broad back. “Sa-Satoru-”

And his jaw practically unhinges at the hot, heavenly feeling. “Oh heavens…” Muttering something primal at the back of his throat—“O-oh heavens.” He’s feeling the first few centimeters of his throbbing cock get suctioned in, before there’s a sudden tightness of resistance that makes jerk his hips back and push once more- “Oh my Queen—”

“Satoru…” Just about the only thing that you can say, like a frenzied mantra. Eyes shuttering, “Shit, I think you must know-”

The knobbly edge of his thumb veers between your pussylips, stretchin’ them apart and taking a good look in-between. He pumps even harder - “My Queen—please take it.”

Mewling.

He’s tugging those dampened lips even further apart, “Please fit in.” Only growing more and more desperate the longer your cunt refuses to gobble him up whole, “Please- please fit in–”

“Satoru- fuck.”

Fingertips trembling where they were glued to the side of your pussy, stretching your entrance. Thwack after thwack. “Please take- me-”

“You must-” And he was now hammerin’ his hips into you in short, rapid semi-thrusts just to see himself swallowed up. So tight that it felt nearly impossible. So tight that a single drop of crimson escapes you, “-know that-”

“My Queen-”

“-this is my first time.”

There’s a ragged exhale that gusts across your features, making your eyes fall shut at just how scalding hot it was feeling - molten inside. Every bit of his skin in contact with yours felt as though he was burning up—“Oh.” That pretty, spit-glossed mouth of his falls - he ruts once more. “Oh.”

Your toes curl at the swabbin’ intrusion - Gojo was just so big that it was hard for you to take him. Bigger than any normal human.

And you’re feeling it even more once he’s pulling out.

With the most lecherous squelch! his erection plops out of your geysering orifice and ends up laid between your shivering thighs. 

“I see…” Gojo hoarsely mutters, eyes entrenched in a staring competition with your pussy. “Mine, too.”

“Pardon?” You lean up onto your elbows instantly.

“I believe I said—” He trails off, “Mine, too.”

A thousand and one questions are whirling through your mind - everything from why Gojo hadn’t partaken in a mating period prior to this, to why he’d chosen you—

And then you’re blinking.

And suddenly you’re finding yourself sprawled out across his king-sized bed.

Head laid gently against the numerous luxurious pillows, your legs spread apart as though you’d never moved from the floor. You’re faced with the slight inertia of the entire room shifting so suddenly- and it takes you longer than it should’ve to realize that he’d just teleported the two of you once more.

You’re clamoring up to rest upon your elbows, and staring down at the hybrid that’d slotted between your legs now.

His soft strands tickle your body. Gojo’s already shifted until his face was level with your navel - his hot breath wafting across your skin. It sends goosebumps skittering across your middle n’ all the way down to your cunt—

Something that he’s leaning in and sniffing.

Breathing in. 

And then Gojo trundles out a low, animalistic growl.

You feel your hips bucking up in response and you’re not quite sure as to why-

But you don’t have the time to ponder upon it for too long before Gojo dips the tip of his looooong, luscious tongue between your pussy’s slit. 

He’s sticking just the very edge of his tastebuds fitting between your folds and slide-slide-sliiiiiding down that dampened crevice. Up and down. Slipping between the two and slurping away the dewy droplets of sap that cling onto your cunt-

Gojo halts as the first taste of your pussy trickles into his mouth.

And then he’s gasping his parched lips open- already sounding as though he’s run a fucking field. “So this-” Letting those deep vibrations of his voice scatter right between where you were most sensitive, “-this is what my mate tastes like.”

There it was again—mate. 

Your body thrums, taking a strange pleasure in being titled that by the hybrid. 

“Wh-what do you mean by m—oh.” Moan turning into a yelp as his fluffy rosette-decorated tail - one you hadn’t even realized was snaking ever-closer to your body - wraps around your right thigh and wrenches you closer to his hungry body. You stare into his eyes- starving.

Plastering his lips against your other ones as though he was fucking famished- Gojo’s nose digs between the wet slit of your core. Delving in-between. “My mate.” The only thing he can manage to utter. The pointed tip pushes on the nub of your clit as though a button, grindin’ away deftly as he’s making out. “My mate, my mate, my mate—”

“Satoru—” You’re crying out, “I-I’ve never done this before…is it supposed to feel this good?”

“Hmmm…” He’s clearly leering against your sensitive parts- and you can feel it. The hardness of his pearly whites tracin’ all over your entrance - “I haven’t partaken in such activities either, is this kitty supposed to taste this sweet?”

You gasp. “You can’t just utter such obscenities-”

To which he pays no attention before rubbin’ his flushed cheek along the inner parts of your thighs—Gojo leans in takes a gooooood whiff of where your pheromones were most saturated. Eyes falling shut as he indulges himself in it, and once he’s opening them back up you swear those pupils of his have transformed into hearts. “Is this kitty supposed to smell this sweet?”

You’re simply bucking in shock at that.

Elongated claws tapping warningly against where he’s holding the right side of your waist, “Settle, my mate.”

And he can smell it- the way your cunt grows even more aroused, even sweeter, at being given this command. Paired up perfectly with your pet name.

That’s when he decides that he’s had enough of lappin’ away at the numerous layers of slick that polished your cunt - he’s had enough.

He wasn’t some little kitty.

Gojo Satoru was a big cat, and that meant he has a big tongue.

Big enough to drown himself completely n’ utterly silly in the sweetened juices leaking out of you. In a mere few moments, he’s licked you completely dry. And he’s spreadin’ away the inside of your rim, scouring his tongue inside for more, more, more—

Long, thorough slashes inside your cunt.

“Sh-shit—” You’re babbling away stupidly, back arching off of the mattress. Ending up draggin’ your pussy even further against Gojo’s mouth - knocking against his nose and making him take your restless body on happily. “Shit, your tongue-” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, “-it’s sho big—”

“All the better to taste you, dear.” It’s a wonder that Gojo could detach himself from your pussy even for those brief seconds to answer.

Thrusting right between those swollen pussylips of yours- right into that quivering hole. He swirls his thickened muscle around a few times, “And y-you’re so…” You could feel the texture of his uniform, ridged tastebuds molding to the sides of your walls. “-fuck, your tastebuds are so pointed.”

“All the better to feel you, dear.” But of course, if you were in any better state of mind then perhaps you would’ve remembered that snow leopards in particular possessed tongues with specialized tastebuds. Longer. Sharper.

Yet right now, the only thing you’re thinking of is just how good it feels to have Gojo Satoru fuck you with said tongue.

He was just so looooooong and thick. He stuffs you to the brim already.

Spreading and stretchin’ his tongue against your walls- as far inside as it could possibly go. Quite audibly, you swear you can hear the sounds of his wet muscle expanding against that snug channel. “A-and, Satoru…” To him, your mewls sound like the prettiest song he’s ever heard. “-you’re so ravenous.”

He chuckles out something feral - something octaves higher than his usual baritone - against the front of your pussy. Pulling away from it with a wet smack! “All the better to…” And you know the strangely predatory tone of his voice shan’t bode well for you. And you know the way he fucking purrs—yes, purrs as he nears your pussy once more shan’t bode well for you. “-eat you, my dear.”

And then Gojo’s slamming every inch of his tongue back inside you - every fucking inch.

Except, this time…there’s a clear motivation tinglin’ at the honed tip of muscle. You could practically taste it in the soft sizzling wads of spittle that kept on leaking out of you. 

Gojo was tonguing at your pussy like a maddened man- letting his nose crush against your clit, letting his canines nip slightly on your bloated folds. He plasters your cunt against his chin, head angled juuuuuust the exact number of degrees it’d take for him to propel his tongue forwards and hit a particular spot inside you.

Your feet anchor onto the luxurious mattress. Your back forms the perfect curvature against the bed.

You’re letting your moans pour out of you twofold as you throw your head back n’ forcefully wrench your hips forward. “There—” Registering, it takes a second for your mind to catch up to the fact that Gojo’s lengthy hybrid tongue has just rammed into your g-spot - with just his tastebuds. “Y-you hit my…I didn’t know that was even—oh, Toru.”

“My Queen.” Hoarse. Hissing. His tone was completely fucked as he uses his powerful tail to tug you even further against his slackened mouth, “My mate.”

“Toru, that feels too-”

“Let this kitty cream on my mouth.” Even his high cheekbones burn a faint crimson at the declaration, though he doesn’t deny nor retract it. “Let this, kitty—” Come to think of it…the snow leopard hybrid was purring as he’s makin’ out between your legs. “-let this kitty cum…”

“Gonna—” Your voice starts hatching at the back of your throat, “G-gonna cum-”

Spurred on by your affirmations, those slashes at your g-spot grow even faster. More frequent.

Deeper.

There’s a tingly buzz coating your outer pussy at the rapid movements of his tastebuds- back n’ forth, back n’ forth, back n’ forth. And you’re feeling your pleasure start to ember even more powerfully as he keeps on planting constant hits and thrashes.

Tugs and pushes.

Hit after hiiiiiiit upon your poor g-spot.

Soon enough, your vision starts to overload with sultry white stars of bliss. And Gojo smells the cloying pheromones on you before you even register it- but you’re cumming.

All over his tongue.

It’s a wave of euphoria that starts from the tips of your toes and explodes where his tongue was diggin’ between your pussylips- before ultimately shooting through every valve, blood vessel, and capillary within you. Taking over you.

Toes curling. Tears shooting up to your eyes.

This might just have been even better than those long, lonely nights beneath your royal covers - when you’d slip in a finger or two and fervently hope that your attendants didn’t need you for anything.

You’re letting out the prettiest few echoes of his name- and you don’t even care who hears you right about now. Because the one person that commanded them all - this entire land - had his head between your legs and his tongue lappin’ away hungrily.

As though he hasn’t had a proper meal in months—you’re suddenly remembering with a jolt that he’d missed dinner tonight.

Gojo manages to probe your most sensitive spot during peak after peak.

Rush upon rush of dopamine flooding your body- he was sure to drag his textured tastebuds along your most precious caverns when those times came. And perhaps if your mind was any less muddled, he’d be able to tell you that he’s timing them perfectly using the spikes of your heady pheromones whenever you felt too good - but he was happy to merely listen to your babble right now. To fuck you stupid with his mouth.

He was tugging aside your pussylips and scraping every inch of your walls as though he wanted his entire nation to hear you—“Mine.” The pointed tip of his tongue tickles your g-spot, “My mate-”

Those mere few droplets of slick you were letting out wasn’t enough for Gojo, and he’s using the unyielding restraint he had on your ankle to keep on gyrating your hips. Manhandling your hips. Grinding your wet pussy against his mouth.

His maw slurpin’ every orifice-

Spreading aside your velvety walls as though he wished to go even deeper. And he’s reaching up his right hand to push aside those swollen lips of yours and—

“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re just barely surfacing from your last orgasm when you feel something cold n’ clammy sliding down your swollen pussylips. 

Claws retracted. The knobbly tips of Gojo’s fingers spread you open—and you’re just starting to wonder which set of hands this is…when you feel the frigidness of his fucking wedding ring probe inwards. It was a band of pure silver far colder than even his own hands- contrasting thoroughly against the heat of your pussy.

You’re whining as though you’re wounded (though it was the complete opposite of feeling as such) as the ice-cold sensation of it circles your sensitive hole a few times.

Gojo teases your entrance before he’s properly sinking in. Taking his time—not at all.

Did you really think that a hybrid in heat took his time? Did you really think that a hybrid in heat didn’t have the patience to merely take his ready mate?

And that was exactly what the King was doing with his perfectly prolonged digits - already having stretched out your cunt enough that he doesn’t have to hesitate before plunging in two fingers into your wet cavern. “Wait- you’re still not done?”

His long lashes flutter, “Would you like me to be, Your Majesty?”

“N-not exactly, it’s just…” And you almost feel shy admitting this to him - even though you’ve already come…so far, there were still some etiquette lessons drilled into you. “-I thought I’d be getting Your Majesty’s cock by now.”

And that makes him stall.

That makes his doughy fingertips lurch up and hit the roof of your cunt—accidentally locating your g-spot with just a bit of swerving.

“Oh.” Gojo’s jaw drops a bit- and those dimples make an appearance once more. “Worry not, my Queen.”

There’s the most long, lecherous sluuuuuurp! as he then pulls his fingers out.

“A beautiful creature such as yourself shan’t be fucked like any other lowly human.” The hybrid leers up at you with a half-lidded gaze, and those fingers of his twitch excitedly at your entrance. He murmurs thickly, “I’m going to breed you.” 

Slam! 

And that’s all it takes for his fingers to stuff you in every nook n’ cranny. 

Those mountainous knuckles of his start up like a battering ram between your legs, and no matter how much you’re squirming at the overstimulation- you can bet on Gojo’s tail to hold you in place. Stronger than it looked with its unassuming demeanor. 

Every time you’re being lurched backwards by the sheer force of his fervid thrusts, the King drags you back down using his appendage.

Leaving you not an ounce of mercy as he’s swabbin’ his rounded fingertips into your g-spot—so long that he’d be able to tease that particular bundle and then glide down to swat your cervix. 

Your eyes bulge at the feeling of his intrusion, back arching. “O-oh my god—” 

“Satoru, you mean.”

“Sato—pardon?” Tears layering over your peripherals, your vision’s starting to become hazy nonetheless. And a shiver runs down your spine as you’re watching his handsome face lean closer to your dripping wet core once more.

All the excitement of Gojo hookin’ his fingers in n’ ruining you from the inside meant that your slick was overflowing. Excess that he leans down to lap his tongue over as though the sweetest nectar- and maybe it really was.

Gojo’s flattened tongue starts rolling the most lewd kitty licks over your throbbing clit—holding eye contact with you all the while. “My mate.”

“Satoru-” You yelp.

“My mate—” The constant rhythmic slamming against your g-spot was starting to make your g-spot feel tender. Perhaps it has even started bruising - perhaps you were hurtling into your second orgasm faster than you might’ve thought. 

And it’s with his upper half bowed over your pussy - with his canines gnawin’ away on your clit - that Gojo pushes you into cumming. Again.

He makes yet another zap of euphoria take over your body- so lightheaded now that it felt as though you could keel over at the softest breeze. Your thighs tremble. Your legs fight to wrap around his head.

And Gojo’s taking such utter pleasure in stopping your squirming hips from moving- from smoochin’ and smoochin’ the slender tips of his fingers against your sweetest spots.

“Hafta make my- ngh, mate feel good.” He’s whispering, almost to himself. Gojo runs the plumpness of his fingertips aaaaaaall across your insides, quirking them perfectly when he has to run you through a peak of your high. “Hafta-”

“Cumming—” Too late, you’re bellowing out. “I’m c-cumming, Toru.”

“I know.” He responds simply. “This kitty told me.”

And you swear that’s enough to push you straight over another edge - another high. Sparks of friction breaking out across your skin. As Gojo stimulated your clit n’ your deepest innards to elongate this current one, and past that into another one, and another one, and another-

“Cum—fucking cum, kitty kitty.” He hums. 

Four- yes, four of his fingers pushing aside your slick-glazed walls now. 

By the time you’re letting the waves of pleasure wash over you, you’re completely and utterly spent. Exhausted. Unable to do anything but lay yourself spread-eagle on the duvet, you’re raising your head weakly to look down at Gojo.

He pulls off of your clit with a lecherous pop! 

A few thin strings of spittle still connect you to his mouth, “Brace yourself, my mate.”

“Brace…?” And as he straightens from his position at your feet - from his position worshipping your pussy at your feet - you’re letting your jaw drop. “Oh.”

Because it was justified for him to ask you to brace yourself.

Hell, you might just not make it out alive if you didn’t brace yourself. 

You’d already known that Gojo was considerably big from his time ruttin’ against you on the carpeted floor like some animal. But what you didn’t know was just what he looked like exactly. 

Large.

Lavished in veins.

It was expected that Gojo would be bigger than a human man - or, at least, what you’d assumed a human man would average based upon your sparse knowledge from anatomy books - but it’s just how much bigger than made your jaw drop. For he was comfortably around eight inches, perhaps even veering into nine.

Seeing the sheer girth of his base was enough to make your thighs squeeze together- squelch! You’d underestimated just how wet you’d gotten.

Plump tip furiously swollen n’ agitated - the merest breeze was enough to make him dollop out a generous serving of his precum. It was flushed a shade of pink that matched the blush upon Gojo’s cheeks as he took in your staring.

Vermicular veins. Throbbing circumference. 

And then there were his pretty balls - so full. Decorated along his v-line with a spattering of snow-white hair.

And you found yourself admitting that Gojo Satoru was strangely—pretty. 

All the way down to his cock.

You swallow, “S-so?”

“Pardon? And so?” The King cocks his head in cute confusion.

His ancient bedframe then creeeeeaks as you’re lifting your hips up, “Aren’t you going to breed me like you promised, Your Majesty?”

He flinches as though he’s just been struck.

Oh…hasn’t anyone ever taught you not to poke the bear? Or in this case, the snow leopard? Nevermind that now, however, because it was far too late for it - given you’d found yourself married to one. 

To the beast that bears his teeth carnally upon your provocation.

To the monster that slots his hips between your thoroughly jittery legs and gives your cunt a gooooood spankin’ with his ruddied tip.

To Gojo Satoru who runs his twitching tip down the forefront of your pussy a few times before he’s spreading apart your pussylips and push-push-puuuuushing. Sinking in his teeth into his lower lip as he sinks his cock into you—and immediately, tears spurt to his eyes.

Gojo’s barely easing an inch between your swollen folds before he’s fucking sobbing-

“It- it feels—” He’s clawing out a few wretched moans from the back of his throat. “It feels s-so—”

“So—?” You’re attempting to coax out of him. This was his first time just as much as yours, and although you might not know much about hybrid mating rituals, one thing was for sure - Gojo was extra, extra sensitive tonight.

“So g—ngh.” Choking those words straight back into his throat- he’s just barely managing to fit his plump, reddish tip in. It was throbbing against your walls and slippin’ inside with the help of your slick. “How can it feel so good?” He hisses.

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, “Pardon? Y-you’re asking me- hck! how?”

“How.” As though no other explanation was needed. Gojo’s fucking into you in shallow, short thrusts—almost nothing. Barely squeeze-squeeze-squeezing the first thickened segment of his shaft inside before he’s met with the resistance of your tight channel- and then he’s pulling back with a pained groan as if it killed him to detach himself from the glutinous embrace of your pussy.

And the more n’ more he’s feeling you—the more he’s utterly breaking upon entering your warmth. “Is there magic that you use? I-is there a spell you’ve put me under?” His grip on your waist trembles.

“No…” You whimper, “And for what reason…”

“For i-it should not be possible for a kitty to feel so…” He groans. Gojo’s eyes are fluttering shut once you give his throbbing girth a little clench, and when he opens them back up again you’re finding those sky-blue peripherals to have been covered with a few layers of tears. “-so delicious.”

“You make it sound as though you wish to- ngh, feast upon me.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

The hybrid edges his perspired head closer to yours, letting the tips of his white bangs tickle your skin. “For what else must newly-weds do on the night of their wedding?”

That silver wedding ring glints on his left hand - both due to the quality of the metal, and due to the fact that it was still covered in the remnants of your sweet juices. 

Gojo notices this, too.

And without a single warning, he’s reaching his hand up and sucking off the glaze of slick. Looking you straight into your dilated pupils as he does so.

It sends a carnal throb down to your cunt that he sniffs in the air-

And then everything’s happening at once.

Gojo’s jolting, Gojo’s grasping both of your pretty legs and throwing them over his shoulders. Hands upon either side of your limbs n’ wrangling them easily as he bends his upper half down looooow—kissing his sweaty forehead to yours.

The sudden change in positions makes you keen. “A-and you’re completely sure you’re inexperienced, Toru?”

“Promise, my mate.” He exhales into your mouth. “I’d never take another but you.”

And though the gesture had started off sweet…the further his mazin’ tip scoured in, the sharper his canines grew against your poor wobbly lips. The stronger his body seemed to grow in response to pinning your needy hips down and shoooooooving rude cock inside-

“Take it.” Gojo snarls into the crook of your neck, “Take it.”

“Please—” Being pushed constantly up towards the mahogany headboard.

“Take- oh.” Absent-mindedly, he wraps his powerful tail around your left thigh once more. Stopping you from being jostled back and forth because of the sheer force of his rovering hips- hips that were just hungry to feel his mate warped around his entire, rock-hard cock.

And you wonder whether he even realized.

Because if you thought it was far-fetched to assume that Gojo Satoru was breaking on your pussy just from the ruined state of his voice, then you’d be sorely mistaken.

The longer he’s tunneling between your sodden pussylips, the more n’ more he’s less the composed gentleman you’d been married to at the altar. “Take it-” To be quite honest, you’d be comfortable stating that he was becoming more hybrid than human the longer he was in lecherous contact with the wet cavern of your cunt. “Take it, take it, take it—please.”

Tears falling down his pretty cheeks.

The longer his thrusts became, the more hidden crevices inside you that he was opening up. You’d been completely right to ogle Gojo’s massive cock- because right now it felt like he was splitting you in half. 

In the best way.

“You need to take it, sweetheart—” Gojo damn near whimpers, “You n-need to take your mate’s cock…”

He was straightening out the smallest crevices at your innards, he was digging his claws deeeeep against the sides of your thighs. Pulling you back after every thrust.

And it’s not long before Gojo finds himself completely bottoming out.

Letting his divot baaawl out a few ribbons of pre that slick towards your womb. Letting his bulbous, blushin’ tip thud! away at the very back of your cervix. 

The silken bedsheets are bunching up where Gojo’s knees were scrambling to get even closer to the bottom of your pussy. Attempting to push his probin’ cockhead even deeper inside your sponge-covered depths, Gojo’s practically falling over himself to bend you in half.

To bend and to bend.

To thrust and to thrust-

The bed creaks in a cacophony that accurately represents just how he’s fucking you like he’s furious. Body burnished in heat. Hissing and snarling between his clenched fangs.

Those unfairly attractive hips of his were affected, too, because they’re starting to stutter forwards as though he’s just found heaven inside of you. Reeling his hips aaaaaall the way back in reverse - until his rounded, reddened tip was the only thing holding your entrance open. 

And then Gojo wastes no time before pounding himself inside all the way till the hilt.

The very hilt. 

You’re squirming at the patch of his white, white hair that scratches your pretty clit. “A-and about the breeding thing…”

“Hmmmm?”

“Are you really going to fuck me- ngh, pregnant, Toru?”

Awwwww—how cute. Those glowing azure eyes of his widen in amusement- or perhaps something else entirely that you weren’t able to pinpoint. He leans in with a simpering smile, “Fuck you pregnant? How crass.”

“N-ngh—” Your head throws back at the feeling of his globular cockhead lining down your g-spot. He ends up rubbin’ over that particular bundle of nerves for a few seconds, before glissading a hit straight to your womb-

“I’m going to make you my mate, my Queen.”

“Oh-”

“Officially.”

You’re unsure what exactly such an arrangement between hybrids would entail—but all you know is that you want it. Badly. 

A primal desire deep-rooted into your very being, one that you couldn’t explain even if you tried - it was from the depths of your soul, pouring outward in every ribbony wire of slick that you were letting out. All for Gojo Satoru. Clinging onto Gojo Satoru.

It’s coating his thickened cock in numerous layers that glisten underneath the pale lighting of a royal chamber, splatterin’ between your two bodies as his frenzied pace only accelerates. “Sa-Satoru—”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

It always sent such a shocking thrill across your body to realize that he was the one referring to you like that - perhaps your most formidable foe yet. 

And the massive bedframe creaks as you’re raising your hips up to meet his- the constant smack-smack-smacking of skin on relentless skin growing in pitch and volume. “I need it.” Looking at him through your tear-drenched lashes, “I need it s-so badly—”

“What is it?” He breathes out in an almost desperate tone. Gojo presses his lips to yours and kisses you in a way that was so fucking filthy—he’s flickering his tongue in and out, fishing out the sweet wads of your saliva. Before leaning his head back a bit and spitting between your wobbling lips - claiming every spot inside you that he wanted to. “What is it that you wish for, my Queen?”

Before anything else, his right hand then snakes between your two sweaty bodies.

Familiarly locating your cute clit and giving a few niiiiice rolls between his index and his thumb.

“Tell me—” He responds. He begs. “Tell me what it is your heart desires-” His sentences and syllables being punctuated by a solid slam against the back of your pussy every time. “Tell me, and I shall move mountains and heaven for you, my mate.”

And after such a declaration, a part of you almost feels embarrassed about the next words out of your mouth—“I want you to…cum inside me, Toru.”

He jolts. “Sweetheart, are you aware-”

“Not that.” Gojo answers - and the sudden leer that follows is something that makes your lips part. Something that was certainly not going to bode well for you or your poor pussy…“Sweetheart, are you aware that-”

And before he’s finishing that particular sentence, Gojo reaches down and gently clasps your dominant hand in his own.

He tugs it down between his legs-

To where you’re feeling the smooth gliiiide down his erect shaft—down every single curve, crevice, and vein. He was just so long that this made you squirm. Ultimately, you’re ending up with your fingertips pressed against the very start of Gojo’s hilt, where the carpet of his white hair was just ending.

And you’re wondering just what it is he was trying to oh-so-lecherously make you feel when…

When your palm pushes up against something so very thick and swollen at the base of Gojo’s cock. And you’re just gasping-

“A-are you aware of the effect you have on me, Your Majesty?” Gojo’s ragged tone permeates your hearing, punctuated by the constant thrashes n’ bucks of his hungry cock. Inside, inside, inside. “Are you aware that this is how you make me feel?”

He crushes your hand even further against that extra swollen portion of his erection, “And h-how exactly…”

He falters, “Pardon?”

“How exactly is…this, Toru?”

“How exactly?” He’s hissing through his teeth, tone wavering unsteadily. He sounds ruined, he sounds shattered—he sounds gone. There’s almost a sense of amusement in his tone as though you were pulling on his leg - he bores deeeeply into your eyes whilst he fucks you. “How exactly—?” 

“Y-ye—oh.”

Slam!

At that very moment, he’s rammin’ his hips into yours so hard that the skin around his pelvis reddens. Stings. 

And Gojo himself can’t help but let his head fall backwards with a guttural hiss, those pretty white brows of his knotting—“Fuh-fuck.” Before starting to rut down in even sloppier pushes of his firmed-up cock.

Hard.

Fast.

Your ass cheeks were practically refusing to have contact with the bedspread below. Just bent that far. 

The question he’d asked you earlier had been a rhetorical one - though that doesn’t stop Gojo himself from pistoning into you as though he was attempting to fuck the answer out of you. As though he was hoping the globular edge of his shaft would reach your pretty brain, n’ swerve around a bit to ultimately activate whatever part of you there was that’d understand. 

To flick a switch on - something carnal. 

Once you’ve been pounded utterly stupid- Gojo presses down with his mazing cockhead until you’re filled up to the very hilt. And you can feel the swollen ring at his base start to relax against the front of your puckered pussylips, “What you need to know is…this is a knot, sweetheart.”

“A knot?” Babbling through your tears.

“A knot.” Gojo affirms, “And do you know what hybrids do to their mates using their knots?”

Shaking your head.

“First, we claim our mates.” He’s draggin’ his roughened thumb down between your sultry pussylips and rolling over your clit. If you were in any clearer a state of mind right now, perhaps you’d have noticed that he was spelling out his first fucking name on top of that swollen nub. “First, we fuck them until they can’t speak—can’t move—can’t do anything but beg for more.”

You’re bucking upwards greedily, and in response he’s letting out a growl. “Y-yes, and?”

“Then we let them cum a few cute times—” He’s giggling at the way your mouth drops in realization - he was doing the exact same thing to you.

Was technically, still doing the exact same thing to you with the way he’s stimulating every fibre of your being. “And then-”

“Then we get them in a cute- hah, mating press.” His fluffy tail swooshes around before looping around your left thigh and tightening, veering dangerously close to the in-betweens of your legs. As if he was sharing his most precious secret in the world with you, Gojo leans dooooown until his lips were at your ear- “Then we cum so much inside them that they can’t even breathe without feelin’ me all inside your pretty kitty.”

Sobbing, “Th-then—?”

“Then…” The King’s reeling his powerful hips backwards, all the way until he’s nearly pulled out. Only the better to fuck you with…“Then m’fucking you with my fat knot until you can’t even think about letting my cum go to waste, my mate.”

“Oh—”

And with one hand braced upon the right side of your head - the other furiously toying with your perked clit - Gojo’s striking your pussylips in constant thwacks! Thwack! after thwack!

Trying to get his knot to fit inside.

Gojo’s vein-covered cock massaging your walls in such a frenzy just feels so good- “O-oh my god…” You’re babbling out, “Toru, m’gonna cum again.”

“Good.”

“Toru, m’gonna cum now—”

“Good.”

Those half-lidded blue eyes of his were locked on every expression you were making - even the tiniest shifts and twitches. His nostrils flare once you’re feeling your stomach give into the surges of pleasure shooting up from your cunt—and the hybrid seems to know before even you do when you’re crash-landing straight into your nth high of the night.

You’ve seriously lost count.

“C-cumming…” You mewl out weakly- hands coming up to clasp onto his sweaty head. Pressing your lips against his as he fucks you through every zap of pleasure. “Feels so good- ngh, feels so good—”

“Is that so?” He harkens, “Is that so, Your Majesty?”

“Never felt anything better-”

Eventually, your high rises and falls faster than it has before - solely due to the sheer number of times tonight. It’s nothing but the splash of dopamine that engulfs your body and leaves it sizzling with pleasure moments afterwards.

Even the slightest rub-a-dub of Gojo’s veiny patterns leaves you gaping. Those aftershocks were so strong that it makes your eyes tear up—“I need it.” 

Before long, Gojo feels you grab onto a handful of his perspired hair and haul him even closer. And he can’t deny the way that makes his swollen tip twitch just a little harder inside you-

“I need you to c-cum inside me…” You’re pleading up at him, “Need you to- ngh, mate me, Toru.”

“Oh…” After a few more sloppy strikes, he’s letting his tail drift up from your legs to your abdomen. Just where your spine ended, you’re feeling that powerful appendage of his push up on your body and arch your hips up a bit further. “Then brace yourself, my mate.”

And it takes only a single, slammin’ thrust for him to empty out his wads of cum.

Bucketload upon bucketload that he’d been waiting to pour into you for soooooo fucking long now. Thick. Treacly. Those constant ribbons of cum web your insides like a flood, splashin’ around and helping him reach your womb in no time.

It’s just so hot and wet.

It’s just bloating up those poor pussylips of yours- before the man himself eases down his pace to better end up pushin’ those wettened wads inside.

You could physically feel the flared ridge of his mushroom tip—spreading apart those gluey walls of yours and fucking his cum even deeper. Deeper. “Fuck.” Clinging onto every nook n’ hidden cranny inside you as you’re getting utterly stuffed—straight to the brim. It’s already starting to froth outwards, “Fuck-”

“Settle, my mate.” Gojo’s dragging you in with his fluffy white tail, ears flattened in pleasure. It takes a single tug for him to jerk you down- “Shhhhhhh shhh shh, settle.”

“I’m- I’m trying—”

“We’re not even halfway done yet.”

“Pardon?”

It’s the last thing you’re hearing before Gojo jerks his hips forward and fucks his knot past that first ring of your entrance - only about halfway through.

The Hybrid King has to use his hand upon your clit to stretch your pussylips apart- to ease your elastic hole to the side just a bit before he’s siiiiiiiinking his thickened base inside. It takes a few tries - a few animalistic bucks - for him to finally fit his knot between your legs with the loudest slurp. “Got it—”

Gojo’s hissing breath cascades down the front of your body, and his clammy head drops into the crook of your neck.

“G-got you.”

Before you know it, you’re feeling the sharp punctures of his canines against your swollen scent glands. Those sensitive bumps against the side of your neck - you’d noticed them growing more and more inflamed throughout the course of the night, and they’re just so volatile as Gojo sinks his leopard-like fangs in.

You feel something deep inside you pop!

Your scent gland. Or whatever it was that humans had similar…

And he holds you there like this - like a predator with his teeth dug into the throat of his prey - until both your waves of bliss have completed. Until he’s emptied his swollen balls inside of you, and he’s completely n’ utterly sucked dry by the wettened warmth of your pussy.

You’re squirming at the feeling of his heaping puddles of ivory deep inside you—“T-Toru.”

Gojo finally pulls off with a heated pwah! and stuffs his face into the crook of your neck. “Yes, my mate?”

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Now you were officially his mate. 

His knot was pulsing deep inside you, softening ever-so-slightly as the moments pass.

You’re running your hands through his perspired air, “I just wanted to know…” Wording your sentence carefully, your sentiments hidden. “Why m-”

“Who else would it be but you?” He’s interrupting you instantly. Immediately, Gojo pulls away and peers at you with his widened eyes—“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but in this life and every other…” He grasps your hand and presses his pinkish lips to the back of it, “-this lowly hybrid has always been fated to be yours.”

“Every other?” You ask with bated breath.

“Every other.” He affirms. “In every life, we were meant to find one another…” And he looked almost shy admitting such a thing—“We hybrids…we can feel it. Though for you humans, it may not be so strong.”

“Oh.” Your mouth drops softly.

“But even if we weren’t…” Gojo finally tears his eyes off of you- as though it pained him to not have you before his gaze for even a mere moment. “—I would have found you if it tore down the Earth.”

And then you’re turning with him.

Following his line of sight.

Right to the wall of his bedroom that you’d noticed had been painted before- but never noticed exactly with what upon it—

It was a painting of you.

More specifically, of a landscape from what you’d assumed to be this very bedroom: the sprawling valleys and fields that led up to your kingdom. The thorn barrier that separated him from you. Though no barrier could ever possibly hide the spiral of your wing, the blinking light that you’d put out every night - hoping, just hoping that someone would see it and answer.

How had you not noticed this before?

Perhaps, in your own way, you’d been searching for him, too.

“I would like to stay, Satoru.” You breathe, as if a secret. “I would like to stay- and I would also like for you to love my kingdom just as much as I shall love yours.”

“Then it shall be done.” He presses his forehead to yours, “Revenge has never been my strong suit.‘

Unbeknownst to yourself, you’ve teared up- and Gojo reaches down to gently wipe those hot tears away. He murmurs deeply, “My mate…”

“Yes, my husband?”

“We’re going to rule the world.”

You’re learning two more things about hybrids in the succeeding hour. 

The first being that they really did have a particular talent for the arts - Gojo especially, considering that he’d been the one to paint most of the artworks in the palace. Including this one.

The second being that ruts last for a week.

A/N. HYBRIDS AND ROYALTY AUS MY TWO FAV THINGS-

Seething silently while he showered, chewing the inside of his mouth raw when he had to return to work, walk back down the halls he'd basically thrown you away for.

What good was the money he made now that he couldn't spend it on you?

Well, technically, he tried, throwing alimony offers at you like candy, but you declined everything.

You were done with him.

And he was pathetically, uselessly, completely in love with you.

It didn't matter if the word ex was in front of it. How was he supposed to stop seeing you as his wife? How was he meant to look forward to a future you weren't in?

His pining was pointless.

He knew that much. Knew that while he was wishing you were back in his bed, your fingers sifting through his hair while he laid on your lap, you might already be moving on.

Might have forgotten the years you were his in favor of being someone else's.

He unlocked his phone, typing in your birthday as his passcode as he swiped through apps until he found one he was embarrassed to even open. Changing to a spam account he specifically created after you cleared yourself out of his life. When you blocked him from all the social media you used to beg to post him on.

Tonight though, he wasn't looking at your page.

No, he was looking at the one person who probably hated him more than you.

Suguru Geto couldn't fucking stand him from the first day you brought him around - and made a point in reminding him who was there for you first. Who you belonged to first. Touching you in ways that weren't platonic, trying to push buttons just to see how much he could piss Sukuna off before he started a fight. Threw a punch. Threatened to break his fingers for putting them on you.

You always ended up scolding him for it, pouting at him and trying to goad him into getting along with your absolute asshole of a best friend.

Oblivious to the fact he was dying to fuck you.

Defending the dickhead despite his sly little smirks and smug remarks, but Sukuna still backed off, told himself that he was the one whose arm you were on, whose ring was on your finger.

If he could go back in time, there was a lot he'd fucking change. But first?

He'd break that pretty face of his, bust his lips before he could murmur the terrible things about him Suguru absolutely peddled inside your cute head.

Part of him was tempted to do it now. Wait outside his work and catch an assault charge. It would feel good for a second. An hour or two. More probably, consider how hot the rage burned in his chest when he clicked on that prick's story to see you there, glossy lips pushed out in a pout, standing on the sidewalk of some fancy restaurant and wearing his jacket.

He just couldn't risk you hating him any more than you already did.

"What are you going to do?"

That really was the question, wasn't it?

Tell Sukuna? Hide it from him? If you did, for how long? Forever?

"You don't have to make any decisions now," Suguru continued softly, his hand slipping underneath where his jacket was draped over you, rubbing soothing circles over your back as you stepped inside his apartment, dropping shopping bags on the floor.

You felt sorta bad. Guilty, almost.

He spent the entire day spoiling you, taking you out for nice meals and shopping at all your favorite stores, all soft and understanding even though you were sure he was probably disappointed in you for doing exactly what you said you wouldn't do the day you divorced Sukuna.

You had promised you were done. Finished with that chapter of your life. Choosing yourself for once.

Just to go back to your favorite bad habit and turn your ex-husband into your baby daddy.

And still, despite the months he spent wiping away your tears while you whined about missing him and comforting you when you cried, he still reassured you. Reminded you that he wasn't going anywhere.

Sukuna could never find time for you.

But Suguru promised that all his time was yours.

"You can say it," you murmured under your breath, slipping off your shoes and taking off his jacket. He took it from your hands, hanging it up on the hook as he pretended not to know what you were talking about.

"Say what?"

"That I'm an idiot," you whispered under your breath.

He chuckled, shaking his head at you as he cupped your cheek and made you look up at him. "Don't call yourself that."

"But I am," you argued. "I shouldn't-"

"You made a mistake," he spoke firmly, but there wasn't the judgement there you kept waiting for. You didn't know why you wanted it. Why your heart kept thrumming so hard against your rib cage like you were expecting him to break it too. "But it's okay."

"It doesn't really feel okay right now," you swallowed hard, discomfort pricking the longer his fingers lingered on your face. But you didn't want to pull away either. Craved his warmth, how soft his palm felt, free of callouses or rough skin. "I don't know what to do."

"Whatever you decide," Suguru softly said. "I'm here."

He didn't have to say it for you to know how his sentence ended. You could see it in the little crinkles by his eyes, the small upturn of his smile when he looked at you.

Suguru was here, and he wasn't going anywhere.

"Do you think it'd be stupid to keep the baby?" You asked, tilting your head thoughtfully. You'd put on a front all day. Told yourself you were fine. But there were only so many concerned glances and casual touches you could take before you started to crumble.

"Not if you want it," he hummed, brushing back a loose strand of your hair as you sighed. "You won't have to do it alone."

"I don't know how Sukuna will take it," you breathed, biting your bottom lip as you tried to picture his reaction. He didn't want the divorce - but if he couldn't spare his days for you when you were his, you couldn't imagine he'd be able to spend his nights changing diapers and making bottles.

Or perhaps it would go the other way, and he'd go overboard trying to play father of the year to win you back as his wife.

You didn't know which was worse.

"I wasn't talking about him," Suguru lightly scoffed, one corner of his lips curling up higher than the other as his thumb traced over your cheekbone. "What about me?"

my blog was marked as mature due to someone reporting me so reblogs + comments are even more appreciated than usual <3 gonna get this fic uploaded on ao3 and backing up most of my fics there so be safe

tags/warnings: 18+, AU, fluff, smut, size difference, dry humping, mutual masturbation, awkward sex, piv, riding, premature ejaculation, reindeer style (doggy style hehe), banter, spanking (once, does it count?) soft Satoru, multiple orgasms, squirting.

a/n: yes i know i’m super late to the party. xmas was last year lmao, consider it a very late but super special present? yes? no? i’d just like to add that this story was inspired by my two fav hybrid stories: Snowed In by @indiewritesxoxo it’s such a brilliant and timeless story that can be read during all seasons (yeti!gojo is a need not a want!). and my other fav Overboard — Drag Me Down (i’m so in love with sharkjo it’s not even funny).

wc: 18.1K oops

“Aaaaand all done!”

You stepped back with the jolliest grin, cheeks sore from smiling nonstop all day. Right before your eyes, stood the product of your hard labor, hours and hours of strategic placement, ornaments glowing as they hung from the Christmas tree: a tiny Santa on a vacation in a Hawaiian shirt, delicately-intricate snowflakes, gingerbread men with gumdrop buttons, and other homemade trinkets with too much sparkles and glitter. Baubles and tinsels swayed gently, tinkling as warm air blasted from the heater, filling the room with a cozy, festive buzz.

“Not so fast,” Ieiri Shoko said, smirking as she held up the last ornament, letting it dangle from her index finger. “You forgot our poor, little red-nosed friend.”

You blinked at the miniature reindeer ornament—shiny, red nose glowing faintly under aureate light. Somehow it looked most alive, doe-eyes staring into your soul with everlasting innocence. “I didn’t forget about him,” you protested, grabbing it out of her hand, “I was saving him for last.”

Shoko rolled her eyes but laughed. “Sure, sure. Just don't break him like last year’s snowglobe..and the year before that…and the year before that.”

You winced at the memory of the fragile snowglobe that had not survived your clumsy decorating. A beautiful replica of the North Pole—complete with twinkling lights and skiers imprisoned inside a bubble of glass—had shattered into a thousand pieces when you’d accidentally knocked off the mantle. “That snowglobe had no chance,” you countered, trying to mask your embarrassment. “I swear, it just…exploded.”

“Yeah, it exploded for three consecutive years in a row, didn’t it?” Shoko teased, a playful grin on her lips.

“Okay, okay, that’s not the point,” you retorted, childishly sticking your tongue out at her. “I’ll be careful this year. Promise.”

But even as you said the words, you twirled the ornament between your fingers, your thoughts already drifting. The legend of the reindeer-human hybrid: Reindeer Man. The glowing red nose, the mysterious sightings on every Christmas Eve…you hadn’t taken it seriously at first—you, the person who honored myths like biblical scripture—but the more you’d read about it, studied sketches of its anatomy, traced its shape with your fingertips until you could almost feel it—the more the idea intrigued you. It wasn’t just intrigue. Obsession pooled into your skull like spinal fluid until all you wanted to do was uncover the truth.

This hybrid haunted your thoughts at night, filling your dreams with images of magnificent antlers, fur, and a glowing red nose—a creature that seemed to step between the world of myth and reality. Half-animal, half-human merged together like a lab experiment. You imagined it vividly: a bunch of scientists in a sterile lab, handling fragile glass beakers, adding a drop of this and a dash of that before mixing it with a vortexer. Chemically-engineering this mythical hybrid, born of strange concoctions and twisted fables, an impossibility that somehow manifested into reality.

All your friends thought you were skeptical, of course. They always had been since the moment you’d created your very niche blog, Mythunderstandings—and posted about your unlimited knowledge. Myths, urban legends, creatures, and mysterious stories—you devoured it all, piecing together folklore from all corners of the world. You’d spent hours reading, researching, and getting lost in the mythical and enigmatic realms that seemed to be just beyond reach—veiled, almost attainable—but slightly outside your grasp.

Your blog had been a passion project, a digital shrine you’d built out of your own findings, theories, and adventures. While you had worked on decorating it with sea monsters and dragons—more people who shared your insight began to listen, to share their own thoughts and experiences. You had created a small community of mythbusters, eager individuals who wanted to either debunk the universe's greatest mysteries or have a I-told-you-so moment for all the skeptical souls out there.

Still, your friends laughed. Always dismissing your outlandish post with eye rolls and playful jabs. “Isn’t it a little too late for believing in legends?” Shoko had once questioned, cigarette between her candid lips, mocking the stories of the reindeer-hybrid you were obsessed with.

You didn’t really mind. You loved them, despite the relentless teasing. They still supported your endeavors—all of them were onboard when you’d suggested a spontaneous winter trip. Luckily, one of your close friends—Nanami Kento—had a rich uncle who owned a cabin in the Nagano Prefecture, tucked into a highland forest, where the snow piled each year.

And coincidentally, where the Reindeer Man had been sporadically spotted. It was like the universe was telling you this was meant to be—everything about this trip fell together seamlessly.

It was the perfect place for you and your friends, providing the group with never-ending activities that would never leave room for boredom. You knew they had their own itinerary planned: skiing down powdery slopes at dawn, sneaking into crowded lodges for hot chocolate, mulled wine, and sake—chasing après-ski thrills while you chased after colossal footprints and creatures with serpentine tails.

“Alright you two, hurry up and finish decorating,” Haibara Yu said while he laid on the couch, all bundled up with a massive bowl of popcorn balanced on his lap. “Let the Christmas Movie Marathon begin!”

Shoko scoffed, reaching for another ornament—an ordinary candy cane. “You say that like you helped.”

“Hey! I provided moral support,” Haibara replied dramatically. “And snacks. That’s essential.”

You laughed and hung the reindeer, watching it swing in the air almost like it was flying. You carefully adjusted the other decorations as the tree lights flickered to life, bathing the entire living room in champagne-gold. Snow tapped softly against the windows, the promise of tomorrow’s trip humming quietly in the back of your mind—unknown, uncharted, and patiently waiting.

But for now, you were going to enjoy your friends’ company and have a fun night before the celebrations truly began. Ever since you’d all met back as hormonal teenagers—brace-faced, pimply, and angry at the world—you’d made it a tradition to host a Christmas movie marathon. One night every year dedicated to questionable holiday films, cliché tropes, and far too much junk food.

It didn’t matter where life took you or how busy things became. Somehow, you always found your way back to this: the couch barely big enough to fit all of you, blankets piled high, clad in ugly holiday sweaters, laughter echoing louder than the movie itself.

You gazed at the couch, doing a quick headcount, and noticed that you were missing a huge chunk of your group. Shoko was here. Yu was present. But where were the others? Suguru’s favorite spot on the edge of the couch was vacant. Nanami’s bean bag chair was nowhere to be found. Yuuji’s usual sprawl across the floor—half-blanket, half-limbs—was conspicuously absent. Even Megumi’s spiky head—which was usually resting on his boyfriend's shoulder was nowhere to be seen. And Nobara? Why wasn't she here, gossiping on her phone and talking over the movie, her commentary somehow louder than the actors on the screen?

The room felt quieter without them—less festive, less Christmassy—like a scene missing its background noise.

“…Where…where is everybody else?” You asked, brows furrowed, gesturing at the empty spots.

“Oops! I forgot to tell you,” Shoko said lightly, reaching for her phone. “They all decided to head to the cabin ahead of us.”

Yu blinked, his hand freezing midway before he grabbed a handful popcorn. “Wait…all of them?”

Shoko shrugged, scrolling like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Yeah. Nanami said his uncle called him—asked him to come grab the keys to the cabin before he left the country since he was in a rush. He suggested they should all just drive there as a group since the roads were supposed to get worse overnight.”

Yu nodded. “Smart. Less cars to worry about.”

You hummed in agreement. “And—more space for my equipment,” you chirped, happy with the arrangement.

They both groaned in unison.

You let out a small laugh at their reactions, then added, “Guess that leaves us as the stragglers.”

Shoko grinned. “The responsible ones,” she corrected lightly.

With that settled, the room slipped back into its easy rhythm—the crackle of the fire, the glow of the tree lights, and familiar Christmas jingle of the movie’s opening credits. Whatever tomorrow had in store could wait.

For tonight—the merry sounds of genuine laughter, of cozy friends clumped together, sharing a thick blanket and camaraderie—was enough.

“So,” Yu said, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk, but somehow still paying attention to the road ahead of him, the headlights cutting through the white haze. It wasn’t snowing yet, but according to the weather channel, there was a snowstorm coming in. “What do you think the chances are you find this hybrid? A one in a hundred? One in a thousand?”

Shoko scoffed from the passenger seat, playing with a fidget toy because she hadn’t smoked for the past two hours. It was way too cold outside for her to crack open the window and burn through a cigarette—it wasn’t worth it. “Maybe we’ll find him right after we find Bigfoot and the Loch Ness monster.”

You snorted, but the adrenaline was rising. “It’s not just some made-up story,” you said, shifting in your seat. “People have seen him. I swear. And I’m going to prove it.”

Yu quirked an eyebrow, but his playful grin told you he didn't believe a word of it. “Alright, Mythbuster. Whatever you say.”

You reached into your pockets, feeling for the reindeer ornament you’d grabbed from the Christmas tree this morning before you’d all piled into the car. It felt right to bring it along with you, a small, foolish comfort—a sentimental token to steady your nerves. Your thumb brushed against the smooth glass, erasing any doubt from your mind. If you didn’t see him during this trip, you were going to be devastated, but you clutched the ornament tighter, as if it would bargain with fate on your behalf.

The drive to the cabin felt like it would never end, despite the five minutes of the estimated time of arrival blinking on the GPS. You gazed out the window, enjoying the picturesque scenery, the half-peeking cabins, grocery stores, and local bars, blanketed by snow, trees loomed in the distance, branches heavy with more snow, their shadows creating eerie shapes as they blurred past. Grey silhouettes of hilltops curved across the sky, tiny lights flashing patterns in the distance like fireflies. The place looked like something out of a winter postcard, some winter wonderland frozen in time.

Finally, the cabin appeared, nestled in the woods. Yu parked the car, killing the engine before he clambered out, beanie skewed, chestnut strands poking out from underneath. Warm light spilled from the windows, casting a welcoming glow in the snow-covered landscape. The smell of wood and pine greeting you as soon as you climbed out, feeling the cold bite at your cheeks. Even with all the layering, the winter’s air invaded your lungs, each inhale fresh and an undeniably glacial.

Nanami's rental was already parked, a mini van suited more for a soccer mom than a salary man. You internally chuckled, envisioning him behind the wheel while a bunch of rowdy adults sat in the back, ignoring his scolding at their childish behavior. Even though he was younger than most of you, he was indefinitely the father of the group—his stoic demeanor making him much wiser and authoritative.

“Here we are!” Yu exclaimed, upbeat, grinning as he pulled the bags out of the trunk. The first thing he handed you was your mythbuster expedition kit—your camera, notebooks, a thick packet of articles, and a flashlight—all the tools needed to capture evidence.

The three of you headed toward the front door, Yu excitedly rambling about their evening plans as Shoko rang on the door bell. Of course, Nanami was the first to greet you, the rest of your friends following soon after. All of you huddled together in a group hug—merrily laughing, commenting about the drive here, and the incoming snowstorm.

You all made your way inside, shaking off the cold—shrugging off your coats and removing your boots. You dumped your bags by the door, entering the cabin with curious steps. The place was huge, big enough to house eight boisterous adults—albeit cozy—woodsmoke clinging to the beams and warmth lingering in the floorboards, already welcoming you with comforting familiarity.

Once the greeting period ended, you stood at the foyer, excitement fueling the air. The cabin felt more alive, the promise of adventure just beyond the door.

In the midst of the chatter, you could hear Christmas music playing in the background. Rudolph the Red-nose Reindeer drifted through the room, tinny and cheerful, its melodious tune almost mocking you, bright and insistent in a way that felt pointed. A voice inside your head told you it wasn't a coincidence—your friends would undoubtedly put on this specific song as a joke.

“Alright,” you called out, already grinning despite yourself, “who put this on?”

“What do you mean?” Suguru draped an arm over your shoulder, half-smirking. “This is a Christmas classic. You didn’t think we’d skip it, did you?”

You rolled your eyes, shrugging out of his embrace. “Right. A classic.”

Suguru grinned, violet eyes playfully glinting. “We’re heading to the bar later. You’re coming too, right?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Isn’t it supposed to storm?”

“Tomorrow,” Yu chimed in, removing his scarf from around his neck. “Tonight’s still clear—cold, and we might get a few inches, but nothing too crazy.”

“Besides,” Shoko added, already pulling out her cigarette and waved it with mock reassurance, “we’ll be back before it gets bad.”

“Well, I think I’m gonna stay in a bit,” you replied. “Got some research to do.”

“Research, huh?” Suguru teased, but didn’t push. He might tease you from time to time, though he always seemed to be your least judgmental friend, sometimes he’d even listen to your ramblings with more patience than you’d expect, offering quiet advice when you’d needed it.

“We still have a couple of hours to burn before nightfall,” Nanami spoke up, flashing you a small smile as he turned back to the group. “Would you like a tour of the place since we haven't had one yet?”

You glanced toward the others, who seemed eager to explore. “Sure, why not?”

The cabin was vast with high ceilings and old wooden beams that gave the place a rustic charm. A wagon wheel chandelier dangled, a sophisticated design to complement the interior style. Nanami led the group through the rooms, pointing out the quirky details—the antique furniture, the vintage collection of mismatched lamps, and windows with breathtaking views of spindly patterns in the surrounding forest.

After the tour, you all gathered in the living room, warming up by the roaring fireplace—drinking refill after refill of hot beverages—spread around in random spots. You were sitting right next to Shoko and Suguru, who were whispering amongst themselves. The rest your friends were laughing at a story Yuuji relayed, animatedly gesturing with his hands to narrate the events. You were barely listening. Instead, you focused on the snowflakes lullingly descending outside—on how the snow clung to the trees, on how the roads might be slippery tomorrow morning, and whether anyone actually wanted to risk venturing out at all. You let their chatter wash over you, voices coalescing as you quietly sipped from your cup, nodding along when prompted but mostly content to watch.

When the sky transitioned into a lavender shade, the last light of day slanted through the cabin windows, casting long shadows across the floor.

The room began to stir, and Megumi, the second-most punctual person in the group said, “We should probably head out before the storm traps us tomorrow.”

The others murmured in agreement, zipping up their coats, wrapping around their scarves, tugging on their boots, and with a chorus of excited goodbyes and promises to say safe, you friends finally left, the cabin suddenly quieter, the faint echo of Christmas music lingering the background.

As soon as you heard the door shut, you practically jumped off the couch, running over to grab your kit. In no time, you were sitting criss-crossed on the floor and chewing on the tip of a pen, papers sprawled all over the room, marked with red ink and half-formed doodles. You tried to organize them into loose piles—articles, witness accounts, photographs, folklore—a goldmine of information that fired up your fixation. Dates were circled, important names underlined, connections drawn and crossed out again as you tried to make sense of it all.

You spent what felt like eternity until the sky shed any remnants of light, darkness pressing softly against the windows as snow began to fall. You leaned back, tiredly rubbing at your eyes, only to catch a flicker of movement beyond the window. Something passed between the trees, too quick and indistinct to identify.

“Probably just the wind,” you muttered to yourself. Or maybe a animal foraging for some frozen berries.

You tried to return to the documents—but your eyes flew back to the frosted glass. The snow outside had stilled, not a single sound of life outside. Curiosity tugged harder than reason. You could stay here and dismiss the whole thing as nothing, but that wasn’t the point of the trip. You came here for something—and holing yourself in this cabin defeated the purpose.

Then you saw it—a red light, subdued, switching on and off in the distance like a faint, distant heartbeat. It flickered again, almost rhythmically against the frozen forest.

Maybe it was a signal. Or maybe it was—no, it was signal, a calling—you could no longer ignore it.

You grabbed the essentials in haste—coat, boots, phone—not bothering with anything else, slipped them on in a rush, and pocketed your phone. Then, you reached for the flashlight, the beam clicking on with a soft snap.

A moment later, you were stepping into the cold, breathing out a cloud, the cabin door shutting behind you with a muted thud.

The forest was uncharacteristically quiet.

Snow muffled your footsteps as you ambled, boots sinking into fresh powder. Every tree around you looked like it was housing a hundred secrets, snow blanketed brittle branches, thick and heavy, glittering underneath a sphere of silver lighting. A voice warned you to turn back—but curiosity had you rooted to the spot, like you’d become one with the trees. This was your chance, a once in a lifetime opportunity to witness something that only ever existed in dried ink, something that only lived in perceived notions.

And then, you caught it again.

Movement.

You tried to shine your flashlight in it’s direction, but the light quickly turned off—dimming before it completely drained out of battery. Feeling a wave of frustration, you repeatedly clicked on the button—click, click, click—lowly cursing at your unfortunate luck before you threw it on the snow. Someone out there had to be praying for your downfall. Your eyes flew toward the silhouette, thinking your mumbles might’ve sent it scurrying back into the heart of the forest, seeking refuge from an eccentric human.

But no—it was still there.

Half-hidden among trees, an incomplete picture of idiosyncratic features—glimpses you couldn’t put together without a full preview.

An unnaturally tall silhouette. Broad-shouldered. Antlers arcing against the night sky like jagged crowns. Oh, it was definitely not an it—but a he—the height a dead giveaway. Could it be…Reindeer Man? His red glowing nose cut through the snow like a lantern. Every instinct in your body screamed both run and stay.

He didn't move closer at first. Still maintaining distance. When he looked at you—really looked—it was his eyes that held you captive. Chilling blues, impossibly transparent—arctic—like the winter sky stretched thin over ice. He watched, the weight of his eyes heavy, calculating. And then—you smelled it before you realized what it was, before you could give it a name. A deep, musky heat emanating from him, carrying the unmistakable pull of raw, animal desire. Your heartbeats accelerated, chest tightening.

He stepped forward. Antlers scraping softly against branches, hooves pressing into snow where boots should have been. Each movement fluid, deliberate, predatory yet restrained. Your breath fogged in the air, a cloud of frozen vapor, fighting the warmth that suddenly seemed to congregate between you.

Then came the subdued signs: the barely-perceptible twitch of his ears, the low rumble vibrating through his chest, the way his gaze held yours like he could see something buried deep inside. He wasn’t human—not entirely—but somehow your body knew. Your body reacted.

Once more, your limbs urged you to flee…but the magnetic pull of him, of the forest, of the storm, kept you in place—unmoving, curious. He circled, slow, vigilant, antlers grazing more protruding branches—but not you, not yet. Every step drew you into a tension that was almost unbearable, a heat that had nothing to do with the snow.

Finally, he stopped. Inches away—an arm length separation. You could feel the heat radiating off his frame, stronger now, in rippling waves, your breath mingling in the cold—battling, then embracing it. And even though he didn’t touch you, the sheer proximity was more than enough to make your skin tingle, enough to make the impossible, unhuman desire to flicker like fire against the winter chill.

The storm raged on around you—but here, in this suspended moment, nothing else existed but the two of you. His instincts, raw and primal, pressed against the limits of restraint. Yours, just as raw, mirrored him perfectly, effortlessly, like you were both communicating through an innate bond.

It was a fated meeting of predator and curiosity—myth and mortal, winter and heat…and neither of you could look away. His stare was unwavering, as if measuring whether you were a threat or something else entirely.

He leaned slightly forward, exposing the halo around his head, hair a striking white, a shade that rivaled snow—ethereal under the moonlight. Shadows bathed his features, a form of protection for both of you—a form of quiet mercy—sparing him from a stranger's gaze, and protecting you from seeing something outlandish, something your human mind couldn’t fully process.

An intoxicating waft of his scent infiltrated your senses—a faint trace of pine and something earthy, woodsmoke-like—a reminiscent of burning firewood. Your skin prickled again, hairs standing on end as a blend of fear and fascination controlled every single cell in your body.

He lowered his head, brushing a film of snow from your shoulder with the tip of an antler—not sharp, not threatening, but precise, thorough, as if he was performing a task with intentional conviction. The contact was electric, a jolt of awakening. You flinched, then froze, too aware of how close he was, how undeniable the pull between you felt.

Another reverberating sound echoed through his chest, deep and resonant, like a warning—but it didn’t feel hostile. It felt more…drawn. Curious. Wanting. You realized that this was his nature—instinct honed over centuries, every movement resolute, every muscle prepared to act—to attack or protect—yet controlled.

You swallowed—heart thumping, blood roaring. You found yourself warring with fragment parts of you—one part that wanted to return to your cabin, and another part—the foolhardy, impulsive part, wanted to eat the distance, to see if the warmth you felt was real.

He mimicked you, ever so slightly. One hand—or what passed for a hand, large, clawed, surprisingly gentle—hovered near your arm. Not touching, not grabbing, not pinning…just tracing along your sleeve—testing, waiting for you to react. For you to cower away and disappear into a blanket of white, never to be seen again. To become a legend to him, just like he was to the rest of the world.

The wind picked up, howling through the branches, flurries of snow swirled around you like you were encased inside a real-life snowglobe—the breeze tugged at your hair and coat, but you barely noticed. Snowflakes stuck to your lashes—dainty, graceful—and you blinked them away, clearing your vision. All that existed was the two of you. Two beings drawn together by a peculiar force—a complex combination of instinct, curiosity, and hunger that neither of you completely understood.

You gulped, the cold biting your lungs, and took a brave step closer. The snow crunched beneath your boots, loud against the sudden hush of the forest. Even nature was holding its breath around you, watching you with unseen eyes—soundless, anticipating.

And just before anything more could happen, he straightened. Something in his posture shifted—a tightening at the shoulders, an alert tilt of the ears, crimson glowing brighter than before, before he visibly forced it down. His gaze broke from yours, turning toward trees, toward escape.

He lifted a hoof above the snow-draped ground, preparing to leave.

He had already turned away when you spoke—not a plea, not a command, just a soft sound meant to bridge the gap between you. “Wait—you…you don't have to go,” you spoke aloud, voice shaky. Not stay. Just…not go.

You weren’t sure if he could even speak let alone understand you—but you had to try anyway. If he slipped away from your grasp, you would never forgive yourself for allowing something extraordinary, so supernatural to vanish so easily.

He paused, mid-step—mid-decision.

Slowly, he looked back at you, muscles coiled—rigid and stiff. His eyes were darker now, searching your face, now your hands, not your scent—your expression. Confusion crossed his features, followed by something heavier. Awareness.

His shoulders rose with a deep exhale, breath exiting through flared nostrils. You could see the moment it clicked for him: the subtle difference between curiosity and instinct. Between choice and something wired far deeper.

“You don’t understand,” his voice was low, rough around the edges. Unused. “If I stay here—like this—” He shook his head. “This isn’t a place for explanations.”

Oh, he speaks, and he’s fluent.

You almost crossed over to his threshold out of pure excitement, then stopped yourself, hand curling around your flashlight in hopes of containing the jar of emotions. You shut it tightly, securely, before it would burst and scare him off. What spouted out of your mouth next was shocking, even to you: “Then explain somewhere else.”

That earned you a long pause.

He examined you again—not like prey, not like temptation—but like a variable he hadn’t accounted for. Something unexpected. Dangerous in a different way.

Finally, he exhaled, shoulders hunching like he had released all the tension in one go.

“Come with me,” he requested.

Not demanding. Not urgent. Careful.

Your heart skipped many beats. “Where?”

“Somewhere the forest can’t hear us,” he vaguely answered. “Somewhere I can keep distance…if I need to.”

The red glow returned—faint, honest—betraying the truth behind the restraint.

“If you follow,” he continued, tone deliberate and steady, “you do so knowing I won’t touch you. Not unless you decide to turn back first.”

It wasn’t a warning—it was a choice.

It was respect.

He gave you his back, not running—just walking deeper into the woods, hooves sinking noiselessly into the snow.

He didn't glance back.

He didn't need to.

You were already trailing after him.

The walk seemed aimless.

You legs burned from navigating through the snow, exhaustion creeping in and hindering your progress as you tried keeping up with his long strides, ducking your head from outstretched branches. Tufts of frozen grass and brittle twigs snapped underfoot, the ground fighting back as you trudged forward. Ahead, your reindeer companion was trekking along, the forest his home, welcoming him with melodious sounds: owls hooting, nocturnal animals skittering through shadows, snow dropping from the trees with a soft thud, as if their branches had finally surrendered their burden.

Eventually, a cabin materialized through the trees like a secret kept by the forest itself. Christmas lights decorated the roof, dangling in festive loops, casting colorful hues across the all-white backdrop of the crisp winter night. Smoke curled lazily from the stone chimney, rising up to the pale sky. More walking, then he was at the door, pausing before he looked back at you, halfway, just enough for you to catch the unreadable expression.

“This is…where you live?” You asked quietly, brushing snow from your coat.

He nodded, pushing the door open. The warmth inside greeted you immediately, carrying his now familiar scent and something indefinably wild. He stepped aside, silently inviting you in first, and you accepted, walking past him with a pep in your step before he shut the door behind you.

You should be deathly terrified, any normal person would be freaking out, imagining countless ways things could go wrong. He could kill you. He could skin you and eat you alive. He could impale you with his antlers. He could decapitate you and have your head taxidermy mounted above the fireplace. The possibilities were endless, but your intuition sensed none of that from him—only this tranquil energy flowing out of him like a slow-moving stream, washing away you fears before they could take root and grow into giant beanstalk—into something uncontainable.

The glow of his nose dimmed almost instantly, as if the cabin’s shelter gave him control over himself. You noticed the rigidity in his shoulders ease slightly, though the alertness in his eyes remained. He moved with careful precision, shuffling inside with a pile of snow. Shaking his head, flecks of snow flew off his hair, fluffing around him like a cloud.

You giggled, the sudden sound capturing his attention—ears flattening with a swift flick.

For the first time, you saw him standing there, in all his glory under a cape of burnt yellow. The shape of him made your breath hitch—somehow inside the confines of his home, he was bigger and taller—antlers sprouting out of his head, sweeping back in smooth, curves—light-toned against the dark wood of the cabin. They looked heavy. Solid. Hard-earned. His ears sat higher than they should, hiding under a layer of silken silver, tapered and furred, flicking subtly as if tracking every sound you make.

The fur started at his neck.

A thick ruff spilled over his shoulders and down the upper part of his chest, dense and soft-looking, pallid, darkening into a gradient of gray where it shadowed his collarbones. It attenuated as it traveled inward, becoming almost scarce, giving way to the bare skin at the center of his chest and stomach—human skin, cool-toned and alive, rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.

His arms were powerful, more pale fur lining the outsides from the shoulder to forearm, leaving the insides bare like his stomach. When he moved, you could see the contrast clearly: winter-built strength wrapped around human joints and hands. His fingers were long, slender, nails darker and a tad sharper than yours, but still, they classified as hands.

More fur started again at his hips, thickening along the sides before it fading down to his thighs. Your gaze landed on the shorter fur around the pelvic area—blending seamlessly with the human-like skin texture—then quickly darted away, heat blossoming across your cheeks before you could really focus on the patent outline of something you’d seen in numerous diagrams of the male anatomy: a cock. It wasn’t like you had never seen one before, you had your fair share of lovers, but a dick attached to a reindeer-human hybrid was certainly—

“See something you like?”

Your eyes practically bulged at his swift, playful transition, searching his face for that serious mask he wore a few minutes ago. Nope. Not a trace. Just like his physique, your brain lagged at the vision before you. His face was mostly human. Sharp jaw that could carve out glass. Sculpted cheekbones. Eyes bright and mirthful. Only his nose gave him away completely: rounded, reindeer-soft, and glowing faintly red in the light, the color deepening the longer his gaze lingered on you.

He wasn’t hiding what he was.

He was just…waiting.

After the silence between you stretched, he took a step in your direction, the sound of clopping against creaky floorboards stole your attention. His legs were a strange mix of strength and dexterity, with fur that barely covered his calves. The texture of his legs felt both human and wild, the fur fading as it reached the hard, polished hooves. His hooves were dark and sleek, their presence grounding him while he stood proud, bordered by an untamed aura.

“You’re not bolting,” he said, teasing now, voice light but with an edge to it. “Most people would be sprinting by now, I’ve been waiting for you to run for the hills, but you’re still here, looking at me like I’m your next big adventure.”

The smirk on his lips was irresistible—pointed canines and charm. The tension from earlier seemed to melt away as he leaned in a just a smidge closer, his eyes glinting. “I gotta say…you’re either braver than most or completely out of your mind. Either way, I’m not too opposed to finding out.”

All you could do was watch him, fascinated. He ambled around carefully, keeping distance, as if the space was itself reminded him of an imaginary, redline he couldn't cross. Every movement was purposeful, but there was this grace beneath it—this silent awareness of someone who had mastered the art of balancing instincts he couldn't fully suppress.

“You should know the truth,” he said, finally sitting on a couch near the fire you hadn’t noticed since you were too busy gawking at him. An amber glow caught the tips of his antlers, and he gestured for you to take a seat. He grabbed a pillow and placed it on his lap, a gesture you found to be odd, but perhaps he was being modest. “I’m not…fully human. I shift once a year, during the coldest nights. When the instincts I can’t fight take over.”

You walked over to the other end of the couch and sat down, feeling the heat from the fireplace wrap around you like a soft blanket. Despite the toasty temperature, you still shivered, your puffy coat taking time to preserve the warmth. You nodded slowly, absorbing his words, though part of your mind raced with excitement. “Yeah, I know. I read the stories. But I wanted to see it for myself. To understand…”

Reindeer Man smirked at your answer, head tilting as he assessed you like you were the strange, mythical creature. “Read stories, huh? So, what…you think you're some kind of expert now?” He chuckled, the sound almost low and mocking, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes. Amusement, maybe. Intrigue, definitely.

You were taken aback, unsure whether you had offended him. “Well, yes. I did a lot extensive research. I wouldn’t call myself an expert per se, but—” You paused, realizing you were prattling, and shifted to soften the moment. The corners of your mouth lifted up, and you angled your head, trying to make your voice light, less combative.

“I run a blog.” You added the words with a nervous laugh in an attempt to lower his defenses. “It's called Mythunderstandings. You know, for those interested in myths, legends…the weird stuff.”

He raised a silver eyebrow, looking thoroughly unimpressed—but the smirk never quite left his face. His eyes narrowed slightly, sizing you up like you were a puzzle he hadn’t figured out.

“A blog.” His repeated, tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “So, you write about…what? Magical creatures? Half-man, half-reindeer hybrids?” A bridge separated you, somehow his presence was crowding, oozing confidence, but there was something else in his gaze now, something that bordered on curiosity. “I gotta admit. I didn’t think anyone would actually look for a freak like me.”

“You’re not a freak,” you blurted, your words firm, almost too quick, as if the idea of him calling himself that was unacceptable to you.

His smile wavered for a fraction of a second—enough that you caught it. But then he leaned back, shaking his head, as though brushing the moment entirely. “Not a freak, huh? I’ve been called worse.”

He chuckled softly, but there was a brief glimmer of something raw behind his flippant demeanor. Perhaps it was your imagination or the cold had gotten to you, but he seemed a bit surprised by your response—maybe a little disarmed. You dismissed that label for him, straight-faced, without a second thought.

“Guess I’m just lucky then,” he shrugged, his voice light and unserious, though the vulnerability he’d shown a moment ago quickly faded behind a veil of cockiness. “But hey, I don’t mind the whole freak thing. Keeps people from getting too close.”

Your brows knitted together. “This was certainly not mentioned in the articles. Seeking isolation…sounds a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

He grinned, relaxing in your presence. “Dramatic, maybe. But it keeps things interesting…” his eyes flicked to yours, playful yet piercing. “Besides, it’s not like I’m completely alone tonight, right?”

You blinked, again, unprepared for his unpredictable response, but he didn’t wait for an answer. “Most people clutter their lives with noise,” he resumed, voice dropping just slightly, a softer edge beneath a teasing tone. “But…when it’s quiet…the little things matter more. Even unexpected visitors.”

Something about the way he said unexpected visitors tugged that same strange feeling your chest—amusement and something else—something warmer, more fragile. “Unexpected visitors, huh?”

He winked, a little mischievous gesture, then shrugged like it’s nothing. “You can decide if that’s a compliment or a warning. Honestly? I don't really care. I just…like the company.”

You looked down at your blood-drained fingertips, biting back a giddy smile. “I don’t mind the company either.”

The space between you felt charged, but in a way that was almost casual, as if it was just the two of you inside a cabin, with nothing to hide. “So, tell me,” he continued, a wicked glint lighting up his eyes, and just with a flip of a switch, the topic became a thing of the past, “What exactly do you think you know about me?”

For a moment, you eyed the dancing flames like they contained all the answers, the crackling logs was the only sound that filled the room, along with the distant hum of the wind outside. Your eyes slid back to his, and you spoke, voice steady, even if your heart was racing a little. “I’d rather hear it straight from the source.”

“Straight from the source?” He echoed your words, leaning closer as if he had misunderstood you. “You know, not many people would be brave enough to ask a guy like me. Most would just stick to the story and let their imagination fill in the missing pieces.”

“I’m not like most people,” you said, unyielding, your fingers curling into fists. Now it was your turn to be defensive, fire in your eyes. “I don’t rely on imagination alone. I rely on evidence, on concrete proof. Myths shouldn't remain as ink trapped in pages and documents—they deserve to be shown. They deserve to be recognized as real and not fiction.”

He observed you—long and hard. “I’ll admit, that’s a bold take,” he commented, his eyes not leaving yours, and you couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad thing. “But I guess you’ll see if finding out the real story’s worth exposing.” He paused, his expression unreadable for a second, then without breaking eye contact, he added in a calmer tone. “Though…there are things that neither stories or articles prepare you for.”

Before you could respond, another shiver wracked you, teeth chattering despite the fire nearby.

Reindeer Man tilted his head, ears ticking as he watched you shiver. “Wow. You're still shaking. Thought the fire would’ve helped.” Then, like it was obvious, he stood up to take action. “Okay, emergency protocol.” He was already crossing over to a kitchenette connected to the living room, each clomp of his hooves purposeful. “Hot chocolate. Extra sugar. Extra marshmallows. No arguing.”

Five minutes later, you were cradling a mug crowned with a mountain of marshmallows, peppermint speckled over them like confetti—a thick blanket tucked snugly around your shoulders.

“Thanks…” you smiled at the gesture, hands thawing around the mug. That was when you noticed it. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, carved into glass—cartoonish and exaggerated. Adorable. “So…I’m listening.”

“Straight to the point, huh?” He grinned, leaned back on the couch, pillow back on his lap, maintaining that distance—an invisible barrier he couldn’t trespass.

“Why beat around the bush?” You shrugged, then jokingly added, “Pun totally not intended.”

He snorted. “You totally intended that.”

“I did not! You're just too suspicious.”

“I have to be. I have a nosy little mythbuster trying to interview me.”

“You should be flattered.”

“Oh, I am,” he said, grin widening, teeth flashing. “Absolutely.”

He’s too witty, you inwardly noted, stomach performing backflips. Time to switch tactics.

You cleared your throat, serious-mode on. “As the appointed Mythbuster, I’m obliged to ask: which came first, the reindeer…or the man?”

“Ooooh, heading straight for the tough questions, huh?” He straightened his posture, fingers steepling underneath his chin. “You really think I'm gonna give away all my secrets that easily?”

“Mr. Reindeer Ma—”

“Gojo Satoru,” he smoothly corrected, introducing himself with loud pride. “Satoru works just fine.”

“Satoru,” you tested the name, letting it melt in your tongue as you kept your eyes trained on him. You’d be lying to yourself if you said that hearing it didn’t rouse something inside you. “Reindeer…or man?”

Satoru’s grin softened, but the glint in his eyes lingered. “Well…” he began, fingernails tapping the armrest. “It wasn’t exactly a choice. One day I was…human enough, and the next this,” he gestured to his antlers and his hybrid features, “was a result of a curse.” He adjusted in his seat, shrugging lightly. “So technically, the curse came first. The man…I had to figure him out after.”

Your eyes were full of wonder, exhilarated by the information, your mind storing it with almost embarrassing eagerness, already cataloging it like a discovery you didn’t want to mishandle. Afraid that if you blinked, you might lose it.

“C-curse?”

He exhaled, and the faint red glow at his nose flickered for a second, betraying the stirrings of what he wouldn't act upon. “It’s a curse passed down generations—it shows up once every four hundred years—I got the short end of the stick and got stuck with antlers this time—yippee,” he bitterly showed his teeth, then elaborated, “I leave human civilization during this season because even when I’m human, some behaviors…linger. I can't risk them being seen, being acted upon.”

You sipped on your hot beverage, steam of cocoa wafting upward as you let it warm your hands. “And yet,” you recalled softly, “you let me follow you.”

His gaze met yours, steady, wary, and something else—that same unspoken pull that was just beneath the surface, dormant, waiting to be activated. “I let you because I think…you’re someone I might grow to trust. But you need to understand, nothing happens here without choice. Mine. Yours. Both.”

You leaned forward slightly, drawn by more than just curiosity, aware of the warmth emitting from him. The tension in the cabin was even thicker than it had been in the forest. His nose glowed a little brighter for a heartbeat, then dimmed again, a quiet acknowledgment of the pull he felt but refused to indulge.

“Can you control it?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitated, jaw tight, eyes dark—flames coloring his side profile. “I try. But some nights…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “The cabin’s my anchor. Without it..I wouldn't know what’s human and what isn’t.”

Your eyes did a brief scan of the cabin. A cozy sanctuary consisting of warm timber paneling, and soft honeyed lighting, the kitchenette tucked to the one side with the kettle still faintly steaming. A low coffee table sat in front of the couch, scattered with magazines and a bowl filled with fancy chocolates—half-wrapped, half-gone—like indulgence was an everyday habit than a special occasion. Melted candles lined the mantle, their fragrance subtle, like you had to sniff really hard to catch a fresh breath of cinnamon and nutmeg.

In the corner, there was a little Christmas tree, adorned mostly with candy canes, twinkling lights that looked like he’d plucked the stars from the night sky and scattered constellations all over evergreen leaves.

You understood why he cherished this place—it felt like a place he could unapologetically be himself, it felt like home to him.

Finally, he spoke again, snagging your attention. “You don't have to understand completely. But you can stay here tonight. See for yourself. Watch. Learn if you want.”

You nodded, your heartbeat quickening. Spending the night with the Reindeer Man? If your hands weren’t preoccupied you would've pinched yourself to make sure you weren't dreaming. “Okay…does that mean I get to ask you more questions?”

The grin returned to his face, and it amazed you how sanguine he was despite being tethered to this curse. “Careful,” he drawled. “At this rate, I’ll start charging you per question.”

“How about this? First ten questions free of charge?” You proposed, setting down the mug on the coffee table gently.

He laughed under his breath. “Alright, fine. First ten are free. After that, I start lying.”

Now that he’d given you the green light, you were stumped, unsure of where to start. With icebreakers? Or dive straight to the terminus of the glacier—the deepest part, where the ice was the thickest and most unforgiving.

“So,” you asked, half-joking, half-curious, “do you know Santa Claus? Or is that a different department of Christmas folklore?”

Satoru let out another adorable snort. “Haven't seen him. If he’s real, he’s better at hiding than I am.”

You hummed, taking in his answer. “Are there other people like you…y’know…with this same curse?”

He shrugged, an easy smile back in place. “If there are, we don’t exactly have a group chat.”

“You haven’t tried to find out?”

He scoffed like you’d asked him something ridiculous. “Tried to what—post flyers? Rent a billboard?” The humor thinned. “Some doors are easier left closed.”

So far, this interview wasn't headed in a successful direction. Even though he was answering—he was deflecting—deliberately leading you to a dead end.

You waited a beat, then, quieter, “Is there a way to break it?”

He didn’t answer right away, letting the question simmer. “They say,” Satoru said eventually, voice careful, his nose blazing, “that if someone ever loved me. Really loved me. And I loved them back.” He shrugged like it was all he could offer. “Maybe then.”

No promises. No certainties. Just possibilities.

Love.

A strange concept for you.

Feeling awkward, you quickly searched for a way to change the subject. “Uh…pictures!” You exclaimed, startling him, and you let out an anxious laugh. You didn’t have your mythbusters equipment with you, but your phone had a decent camera. “Do you think I could take a few pictures of you?”

He blinked at the abrupt request, then laughed. “Wow, is that your getaway car?” He cocked his head. “Pictures, huh? You’re gonna sell my pictures to the tabloid? Perhaps post some on your blog?”

“I mean—only if you’re okay with it,” you added, scrambling a bit. “Think of it as…documentation,” you joked weakly. “Very ethical documentation.”

He agreed—reluctantly, but with a crooked smile—and you stood up, stepping closer before you pulled out your phone, checked for service, but couldn’t find any signal. You guessed the weather had a huge effect on that. After you switched to the camera, you circled him slowly, murmuring observations under your breath as you snapped photos after photo. The curve of his antlers, and how they branched regally. The way the light caught in his silver spun hair. The way his fur accentuated his physique. The subtle flicks of his ears that didn’t seem to stand still. The harsh outline of his jaw softening when your smiled at him.

“Hold still,” you muttered, half to yourself, stepping around until you were standing between his knees. “You're…unfairly beautiful.”

The sketches didn’t do him any justice. The lines were too sharp, jagged—they captured more of his bestial physiognomy—completely disregarding those features that also made him human even though he was a blend of both.

Satoru let out a breathy laugh, shoulders tensing as you leaned closer, fingers brushing his antlers with reverent care—studying them with dedication. That was when his posture shifted, like before, when he felt threatened, when he felt the need to bolt.

“…Too close?” You asked, pulling away a fraction.

“A little,” he admitted, eyes flicking elsewhere.

You tilted your head, studying him now instead of the camera. “Can I get one of your legs too?”

“No.”

The answer came too fast.

Your brows furrowed together. “Why not?”

He paused, grip tightening around the pillow resting on his lap. “Because,” he said carefully, “some things don’t need documentation.”

You eyed the pillow, then him, a mask of amusement covering your face. “You’re hiding something.”

He shot you a warning look, but his nose betrayed him, turning into this flustered-red shade. “Don’t.”

All of a sudden, it dawned on you, and you froze. The distance. The strong, musky scent coming from him. The pillow on his lap. The amusement on your face dimmed, the guilt slipping in. “Hey,” you said, half-flustered, half-embarrassed. You knew what he was going through, you just didn’t want to say it. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” Satoru denied too quickly. “You’re just…very meticulous.”

You released a small laugh—more air than sound—and lowered your phone. “Occupational hazard.”

A pause, long and endless. Your eyes flicked to his mouth, then back up, caught in his allure. He noticed. Of course he did. But you weren’t trying to be discreet either. Pretending that the attraction, that mesmerizing force was nonexistent only intensified it—made it too astronomical to hide from.

“Is this still part of the interview?” Satoru asked quietly.

You shook your head, breath unsteady. “No.”

You hesitated for a second before stepping closer, close enough that your knees brushed his. The space between you suddenly felt too small, too intimate. You leaned forward, bending at the waist, lower, unsure if you were misjudging the distance—or the signals he gave you—but he lifted his chin instinctively, meeting you partway.

The kiss landed a little crooked, an awkward misalignment.

Your noses bumped, a soft, clumsy collision that made you huff out a breath against his mouth. He laughed quietly, stunned, and the sound vibrated through you. When you tried to pull away, rosy-cheeked and smiling, your boot caught the edge of the rug.

“Oh, shit—”

You pitched forward before your could recover, hands flying out, phone jumping out your grip as you stumbled and it fell facedown on the rug with a muffled thud. You prayed the screen didn’t crack, but that was the least of your concerns right now. Instead of hitting the floor, you awkwardly toppled over him, one knee knocking into the couch as you half-perched on his thigh. His hands came up automatically, dropping the pillow to steady you at the waist, fingers tense like he wasn't sure whether to move or freeze.

For a moment, neither of you did anything.

Your faces were close again—a hairbreadth away—breaths mingling, heart hammering as you registered exactly where you’d ended up.

“…Wow,” you breathed, cheeks burning.

He swallowed. Hard. You could hear his throat bobbing as he pushed everything down. His nose had burned brighter.

“Uh,” Satoru said, voice a little too vigilant, hands still hovering at your waist like he was afraid any movement would make things worse. “You didn't fall far—at least.”

You let out shaky laugh, mortified and relieved all at once. “I promise I’m more coordinated than this.”

“Sure,” he replied lightly, though the smile tugging at his mouth was soft, not teasing. “I’ll take your word for it.”

You shifted, realizing you were still sitting on his thigh, feeling the heat of him, and went to straighten up. His hands tightened just slightly—more reflex than intention—before he caught himself, but didn't release you.

“Maybe you should sit here for a bit,” he brazenly said, this time unmistakably smug. His hand rested on the dent of your waist, blocking your easy escape. “Wouldn’t want you to having another accident. You’re a safety hazard to yourself.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re clearly enjoying this.”

Satoru’s grin spread, slow and unrepentant. “Oh—immensely.”

You shifted despite yourself, resting more securely where you were seated. The movement brought you even closer, and the air between you changed immediately. You felt it in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his gaze dropped to your mouth and stayed there.

You were suddenly aware of everything: the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his knee had braced like he'd already decided he wasn’t letting you fall again.

The space between you—that minuscule sliver—between your faces shrank. This time, there was no rush, no misjudged distance. When he kissed you again, it was deeper than before—still careful, but certain. Warm. Soft. Like he knew exactly where you were now. His hand came up to your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek as if grounding himself to the reality of the moment.

Holy shit, were you actually kissing Reindeer Man? And he was a great kisser. Once you’d gotten past the absurdity of that sentence alone, everything else felt dangerously natural.

Satoru pulled away, his lips curving into something slow, satisfied. You thought that was the end of that. But no. His mouth crashed onto yours again. It wasn’t tender or sweet. It was ravenous, exciting, passionate—lips were fiery and demanding, his tongue already gliding into your mouth, tasting like a combination of frostbite and cinder and something indulgently sweet.

You groaned into his mouth, adjusting your legs until you were straddling his thigh—pressure between your legs—your hands gripping the ends of his hair—caressing snowy wisps. You kissed him back hard, greedy, teeth pulling at his lower lip, your tongues engaging in this filthy combat—both of you moaning—melting into the kiss. Wet smacks filled the vicinity, your mouths tilting, kisses becoming sloppy—there was no need to be deliberate, not need to be organized. It was all about embracing chaos. Your spine arched, wanting more of him, hips involuntarily rocking against his thigh, the gusset of your panties slickening with wetness, your cunt clenching around hollowness.

The fleece-lined leggings you wore were thin, but you still needed direct contact—to ride his thigh without any barrier. You were humping against him, feeling the heat built, eyes fluttering, grinding down desperately, empty and aching and aroused. And the stupid layers—God, the stupid layers were triggering your frustration—getting in the way of getting yourself off.

You both parted, your body trembling. “Satoru—I need—”

“Yeah,” he choked out, eyes foreign—a color you recognized as lust—nose so red, the type of red you saw in sirens. His nails dug into your flesh, right at the crease of your hips—the veins on his neck were throbbing, like he was really grappling for control before he unleashed something frightening. “Take it all off.”

You stand up, knees buckling, following his order like he had said something prophetic. Your puffer jacket was instantaneously unzipped and gone, layer after layer shed, your fingers stripping off the fabric from your skin with barely-hidden keenness. Multitasking to speed up the process, toeing off one boot as you removed the sweater, your bra, then hopping on one foot while you tugged at your socks.

“That’s a lot of layers,” Satoru remarked, watching you with amusement, though you caught flashes of his growing aggression.

You chucked one of your boots somewhere, shooting him a teasing grin, wiggling out of soaked panties. “Some of us don’t come with built-in coat.”

“Touché.”

Finally, your were naked, the heat around the cabin enveloping you. You didn't shy away from Satoru’s gaze, eyes raking your body with admiration, resting exactly where the heat nestled in your core. You held your breath, unflinching when he crossed over and lifted you like you weighed nothing. Your breath hitched, a little gasp fleeing, legs coiling around his waist, holding onto him for purchase the same way a helpless sloth hung on trees, arms wrapping around his thick neck—bodies impossibly close, your breasts squished against his chest—almost merging into one.

Satoru set you on the couch, your back resting against it as he hovered over you, leaving just enough space for you to notice the monster between his thighs. Pale, long, veiny and thick—slightly furry at the base—and half-erect—the slit oozing beads of precum. Iridescent pearls. There was no way that was going to fit, no matter how much you prepped yourself. Horrified, you brought your knees together, clenching your thighs as if that would keep him out. Your cunt was hungry though, a rapacious hole that throbbed, didn't care about the size, didn't care about being ripped.

He angled his head sideways, cocking an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his equally-swollen lips. “Aw, c’mon. I showed you mine—only fair you return the favor.”

You exhaled, wondering how you could politely tell him his massive dick could possibly sent you to the emergency room. “Satoru—maybe—”

“What? Afraid it might not fit?”

There was no point in lying to him. “Well…yeah.”

Satoru let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his shoulders like the weight of your doubt physically pained him. “Didn't think you’d give up so easily, y’know?”

Your face heated instantly. “That’s not—”

“You worry too much,” he said casually. “Half the fun is figuring things out as you go.”

Reaching over, his sharp fingernails ghosted over your thigh, coming to a stop at your knees, lingering there for a second longer than necessary—a reassuring touch—eyes fixed on yours. “So,” he continued, grin returning as he pulled away. “You backing out…or are you gonna actually prove me wrong?”

You tensed, legs slowly spreading, showing your dripping pussy, shaky hand floating between your thighs, caught in a moment that felt more consequential that it should've been.

Your mouth felt cotton-stuffed.

“Go on,” Satoru murmured, pushing you just far enough. “Let me see how you lose control—thinking of me.”

You obeyed, fingers reaching lower, ghosting over your puffy folds, spreading them apart, stretching out your cunt to show your glossy insides. Your hole was pulsing to the rhythm of absence, soddened with translucent slick, forming a messy pool of arousal on the couch. Satoru released an indistinguishable sound—a groan that fully transformed into a growl—teeth gritting at the sight.

Your eyes fell shut, shame and excitement knotting together at the thought of someone watching you touch yourself. You had never done this within the presence of a stranger, let alone a mythical creature—laid out, pussy bared—but you had already went too far, balancing on the edge of something you couldn’t undo.

With the same fingers, you smeared your arousal over the seam of your pussy—dragging them upward to your aching clit—you began rubbing frantic circles, stimulating yourself, walls constricting like they had something between them. Your eyes shut tighter, a reflexive shield against whatever reaction might have. Heat spread across your chest, unfurling upward until it reached your ears, then slowly cascaded down your body. Sweat gathered at your temple, a sheeny layer betraying how far gone you already were.

“Hey,” Satoru said softly.

You felt his heat rising, getting closer as he shifted on the couch. “Open your eyes,” he murmured. “Look at me.”

There was no teasing in his voice—just calm, steady insistence, like he wanted you here, present in the moment with him, not hiding behind closed eyelids.

You kept them shut for half a second, hesitant, then peeled them open. He was already watching you, hand wrapped around the base of his cock—holding it. Up close his expression had changed, rearranging his features in a way that made him more animal than man. You’d noticed that about him—how he could easily transform, how quickly the human softness fell away, revealing something innate, watchful, dangerous.

“There you are,” he said under his breath.

Something in your chest tightened. Being seen like this—flushed, vulnerable, undone—felt more exposing than anything you’d done before. It was as if a scalpel had parted you at the seams, splitting you open and laying your nerves bare. And yet, he didn't look amused. He looked focused.

“Don’t look away,” Satoru added, tone still soft.

Two fingers slipped inside your heat—as deep as you could get them—shuddering at the sensation, your back arching against the couch. The flesh wasn’t stretched out enough, so you added a third finger. But even that probably wouldn't suffice. Satoru thumbed his drooling tip. He started slow, jostling his hips forward to pump his length across his hand, coating precum all over his shaft.

You were already soaking, but watching his gaze on you, sent your body into a frenzy. “Satoru…” you moaned, driving your fingers in and out, your shiny digits hooking upward, pressing that devastating spot as you bucked your hips, again and again. Your other hand meandered over to your breast, cradling the rounded mass, thumb circling your pebbled nipple. “I can’t—I can't wait any longer…”

“Me neither,” he rasped, his chest heaving as he fisted his cock, up and down, in syncopation with your own hands—jaw unlocked, groaning deep and feral—then he abruptly stopped.

And you did the same, whimpering as your gesticulations ceased, your cunt weakly fluttering around your fingers before you pulled them out—strings of slick clung as you spread them apart.

Satoru was enraptured—glacial eyes fixed on your fingers, breath heavy, low vibration rumbling from deep in his chest like warning you could feel more than hear.

Courageously, you held out your hand.

He seized your wrist like instinct had taken over, grip firm and unrelenting, almost predatory, and hauled it over to his mouth as if he’d been starved of you. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips brushing, canines grazing enough to make your pulse jump. He kept his eyes trained on you the whole time—unblinking, intent—like he wanted you to understand exactly what you’d offered him.

The intimacy was too overwhelming, erotic in a way that coiled your stomach and made your pussy clench. He lingered far more than necessary, tongue laving your arousal, the webbed space between each finger, savoring it all with a low, satisfied sound before finally releasing you. When he pulled back, there was something undeniably pleased in his expression—feral, unapologetic—as if he’d just tasted something he intended to claim again.

“If you’re going to do that…don’t stop halfway.” You didn’t know what possessed you to say that, to have this nervous courage, but the words were already spoken.

“If I start, I won’t pretend to be gentle.”

You nodded, drowning in the effect of his promise. “Good. I wouldn’t ask you to be.”

His eyes darkened, then—

With the speed that could rival the snowstorm outside, Satoru moved—shoving the coffee table out of the way with a sharp scrape before folding his knees and spreading the blanket with quick, efficient motions. There was nothing careful about it, no hesitation. It was instinctive, almost territorial like he needed the place cleared now—no delay.

When he looked back at you, the shift was categorical. His focus was narrowed, resolute, something feral flickering in his eyes. He didn’t rush you, but everything about his body language told you that he was barely withholding himself.

“There,” he said, voice rumbling from his chest, edged with impatience. “Come here.”

You didn't overthink it this time. You moved without restraint.

One step, then another—fast, impulsive—until you were on the blanket with him, knees sinking into the fabric as if pulled there by instinct alone. The moment you were close enough, you felt his attention lock in completely, she and hungry, like he’d been waiting for you to choose this—to get on all fours, nerves mangled, anticipation coursing through your veins.

He knelt behind you, guiding his cock through your folds, the fat tip pressing against your entrance, and with no preface, pushed it in, one powerful thrust that shoved his length midway—coaxing a foreign noise of you—something half-whimper, half-whine. Instead of bottoming out, Satoru began moving, gripping your hips tightly, pounding into you, running on this short-lived rush, a fuse that burned too quickly. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the cabin, his cock pistoning in and out—rough, shallow—grunting, breathless and wrecked. The jerky, unsteady motions rocked your body forward, your thighs straining to keep up, knees scrapping against the blanket, elbows aching from putting your weight.

You felt the built-up, the rise of something in your core—but it was also hiding—peeking just enough to thrill you, to tease you, then ebbing away. A plateau. Inside you, his cock was already twitching, body shuddering as he picked up the pace, chasing his release with relentless determination. And then, his muscles locked up—tensing behind you.

“Fuck."

The surge was more than what you expected—almost too much for you to process, his hybrid nature seeming to take over as he emptied himself, leaving you gasping in surprise as you felt the weight of it flooding your cunt, leaking around his cock, hot and thick, then trickling down the back of your thighs.

The whole thing lasted less than fifteen seconds.

“Did you—did you just come?”

“Fuck, I’m sorry—I thought that—”

You felt him pulling away, his body trembling slightly from the intensity of the moment. You swore you could sense his embarrassment roll over you, the way his breath caught as if he was trying to hide it. But you weren't upset. You glanced over your shoulder, getting a glimpse of transient vulnerability in his eyes, lips slightly pouty—brows dipping downward in disappointment, nose radiating an alarming red. He's so cute, you inwardly raved, smiling at him with unspoken reassurance.

“Guess the fire’s not the only think that burns hot around here,” you joked with a playful grin. “Don't worry, I can handle a little enthusiasm.”

“Wasn’t little enthusiasm,” he muttered, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “I came. A lot. And fast.”

You tilted your head, lips twitching. “Oh, I noticed.”

“It wasn’t intentional,” he said, avoiding your eyes, but his nose betrayed him, flaring brighter. “I didn’t exactly pace myself.”

Your gaze softened as you looked at him, realizing how significant this moment was. It wasn’t just about the quick release or the embarrassment—it was about the both of you. Together. You wanted to explore this connection with him, and you weren’t going to ruin it over something as trivial as that.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice gentle but determined. You could feel the ambiance shift slightly, the weight of everything unsaid hanging there. “Let’s try again, okay?”

Satoru’s eyes met yours, confusion flickering for just a second. He seemed unsure, almost afraid to take that step, but there was something else there too—a glimmer of hope, a small but powerful trust that you earned for not judging him for what had happened.

“Are you sure?” His voice was skeptical, cautious, but there was this fragility in it that he had only shown a few times. “I didn’t mean for it to go like this.”

You nodded, wishing you could offer him a solacing touch, but the position you were in forbade you from doing so. “I'm sure. We don't have to rush this. Let's just take it slow…together.”

“How about…protection? Are you—” Satoru cut off mid-sentence. “The condoms won't fit.”

The last statement came out a little smug. Of course the condoms wouldn't fit—he had a monster cock.

“I’m on the pill,” you anxiously interrupted, alleviating his concerns. It wasn’t like you had planned on having sex with a reindeer-hybrid. You weren’t even sure how sex with him worked—he was half-human—so maybe it was the same. Questions swirled inside your mind, but it was already too late. “You don’t have to worry.”

There was a long pause, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath, and then, almost as if he was still unsure of himself, he nodded slowly. “Alright.”

Hands returned to your hips, fixing your arch until you spine curved with the flexibility of a stretching feline, ass in the air, face pressed into the thick blanket. This time his touches were articulated, less eager, more willing to learn your anatomy as much as you wanted to learn his. Studious. Blunt tip nudged at your sopping hole as he lined up his cock, tracing over your slit, lubricating it with slick before he thrusted in, slowly as possible, stretching you until he was buried to the hilt.

“Knew you could take me,” he breathed, sound too proud like you'd accomplished something worthy of praise. “Perfect. Warm. Tight.”

Somehow, this time he was able to fit deeper, pelvis flushed against the curve of your ass, soft fur tickling your cunt. The head pressed against your cervix, abdomen bulging from his size, cock pulsing while he remained still. Satoru groaned, unmoving, just reveling in your warmth—both of you lost in calm and caution. You could tell that he was worried it would happen again, leave you unsatisfied.

“Satoru,” you began, “it’s okay, you can—”

He drew back without a warning and rammed back in, giving a few experimental thrusts—slow, steady—navigating through spongy walls, cock drawing a map that led to that sensitive, tender spot deep inside. You released a sound akin to a moan, spine bowing, wondering how you had managed to stumble upon this hybrid creature that found your g-spot faster than any fully-human man ever could.

“Aha! There it is!” Satoru exclaimed from behind, voice carrying a smug tenor. “I found it.”

If that wasn’t tormenting enough, his hand meandered down, between your legs, rubbing slow spheres over your clit, the swollen nub twitching under his stimulating motions. His nails grazed it ever-so slightly, with care, like he didn’t want to hurt you. Your walls were contracting around his cock as he kept fucking you against the soft blanket.

“Oh, God…its too much,” you moaned, tightly shutting your eyes from the overflowing sensations, fisting the blanket like it was your only source of survival, blood circulation cutting off from the tight hold until your knuckles turned numb. “Satoru—please…”

“Tell me what you want, Little Mythbuster,” he teased, fingers circling with applied pressure, extracting pleasure, shoving you straight to the edge, letting you dangle there like an offering. “Tell me what it’s gonna take to make you unravel.”

“Harder…I want you to go harder,” you rasped, hips rocking back and forth—cunt pulsing with need, fur grazing your clit each time you pushed back against him—insatiable and desperate even when you were teetering on the the pinnacle of ruin.

“Like this?” Satoru cooed, dragging his cock through your walls, branching veins grating against the elasticy tunnel. He was mounting you, a large mass of muscles and sinew folding over your body like he wanted to both shield and break you, rutting against you, hard and desperate—the tip hammering your cervix in a way that made fireworks explode behind your eyelids. “Here you go—you want it harder—shit—I’ll give it to you however you want.”

All his weight pressed on your spine, nuzzling your neck while grunting against your skin, hips pushing forward while you threw yours backwards, weakly meeting every thrust. He led and you followed. “Look at how greedy she is, swallowing me whole, drooling for me. She likes me, doesn't she?” He groaned, low, primal when you clenched around him. “Ah, fuck—I like her, too.”

You whimpered, cries muffled against the woolly fabric as he fucked you even harder, each thrust turning more punishing—bruising—charged with stamina and animalistic power. You moans streamed out, keen and reedy and so loud—your throat was undoubtedly wrecked, demolished. Your thighs were trembling, sore and overworked, seconds away from giving out. That sweet spot, you realized, sparked an obsession, he wouldn't stop hammering it with full devotion, body rocking forward with every brutal snap of his hips.

He reverted back to a sluggish rhythm, his hips drilling deeper, making you writhe, body convulsing under him. You were bleary-eyed, sobs trapped in your throat, but he doesn’t let up, not even for a second, his cock was attached to you, like it had separation anxiety, pushing harder against your cervix until your eyes rolled into another dimension. He used you like you were his own personal fucktoy, just this soaking, weeping hole that helped him through his sexual excitement, that tapped into his desire to mate.

“Fuck—fuck—Satoru, right there—don’t stop,” you babbled, words slurring together, nonsensical, laced with unintelligible moans and his name in a loop, “please, don’t stop—fuck.” Your thighs were burning as the pleasure coiled in your belly, threading itself deep into your guts.

“You’re taking me so well—bent over—stuffed full of my cock, still starving—” he pulled out slowly, just to slam back home, hard enough for ass to jiggle from the impact. Darkness closed in, but you couldn’t lose consciousness—not yet. “Ah—fuck—she’s sucking me. Greedy, isn’t she?” Satoru let out a breathless chuckle, almost taunting. A palm pinned you down, right between your shoulder blades, tautening your arch—into an acrobatic crescent—a form you were sure not even gymnasts could perfect. “You wanted me to fuck you harder, right? You’re gonna feel it for days—weeks, even.”

He kept fucking you just in that same position, hips bucking forward in rough strokes, brutal—feral, aggressive—punishing in a way that made you see stars. Every drag of his cock was electrifying, every ridge and vein scratching at friction, the pressure building again, fast, and you were afraid the climax would turn into catastrophe you wouldn't survive. Your pussy was fluttering around him—starting off with weak pulses, growing stronger, rapid.

The sensation of it all was dizzying, his cock pounding into you, cunt throbbing for release. His hips stuttered for a second, like he was falling off his rhythm, losing that momentum before he gained it back, moving even harder, heavy balls smacking against your recoiling skin. Again, the hand on your hip was back on your clit, rubbing messy circles—motions that turned your brain straight to mush.

“God, yes! Just like that—I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna come…” you gasped, thighs shaking uncontrollably, becoming gelatinous—nonfunctional.

“Yes, come—show me—fuck let me feel you,” Satoru urged, desperate, hissing at how you were clamping around him. “Please, I wanna feel you squeeze me before I fill you up—fuck—”

Your orgasm collided into you like an eighteen-wheeler in a dark highway. Your entire body seized. You couldn’t see it coming, but you felt it all. Violent. Forceful. Bone-shattering. Mouth gaping open, you could only scream him name—throat pushing out syllables with heat.

Your pussy was palpitating, erratic tremors before you gushed around his cock, splattering him, soaking his balls, thighs, fur—the blanket—everything within radius. But that doesn’t stop him. It’s as if your scent had made him more feral, more aroused—both hands gripped your hips—pulling you onto his hard length, chasing his own release, fucking you through your comedown. Back and forth. Cock slick and throbbing, making each thrust an easy glide, he leaned forward again, covering your body with his, tongue licking a stripe to taste the saltiness of your sweat, breaths ragged, his heart beats drumming against your back as another orgasm threatened to drag you under.

“Satoru—” you sobbed, wrecked and breathless, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I can’t…gonna come again.”

“I know—fuck, I know,” Satoru crooned, his rhythm floundering, hips pumping forward—deeper—cock twitching inside you with vigor. “You can take it. I know you can.”

You came before him, another orgasm crashed into you like a tidal wave—and you swore you blacked out. Your body operated without your control, cunt convulsing around him—his muscles tightening—body locking against you before he pumped you full of his load. Ropes of cum painting your walls, his hips jutting forward, grinding into you, pushing your shared release deeper into your womb until it spurted out the sides.

He slumped forward, half collapsing, body draped over yours, both of you breathing hard, lungs overexerted, his cock still twitching inside you, riding out the lingering tremors as they slowly faded. He doesn’t immediately get up, like it hadn't occurred to him. You were trapped beneath him, caught between embarrassment and the comforting heat radiating from his body. He left lazy kisses on your sweat-stained skin—unhurried and warm—like he was taking his time on purpose.

He let out a breathy laugh against the curve of your neck, his cock slowly going flaccid inside you. “Hey…you still with me?”

“Mhm,” you murmured softly, body still thrumming—still boneless. “I’m okay. Just…catching my breath.”

Satoru eased his weight slightly, still close, voice low and calm. “Yeah,” he said, gently. “No rush. I got you.”

You’d almost fallen asleep when something nudged insistently against you, making you frown, half-awake. “Hey,” he murmured, amused, hips rolling against you. “Don’t bail on me now.”

You squinted at him, one eye barely open, but you could feel his erection now, prodding—familiar and persistent. “You really don’t let me rest, do you? Whatever happened to no rush?”

But you were no better than him, your horniness outweighing your inhibitions—betrayed by your body—cunt already clenching around the phantom of his cock, wanting him between your legs again.

“Sorry, darlin’…it’s the rut,” he pointed out, tone husky and teasing, nose glowing brighter. “Can’t help myself. If it makes you feel any better, I generously let you doze off for six minutes—you’re welcome.”

You groaned, squirming against him, though a tiny smile broke out. “Satoru…”

Before you could protest further, he withdrew just enough to look at you, eyes shimmering with a familiar glint. “C’mon,” he encouraged temptingly, “one more round.”

You were enamored, senses dulled by lust, by a craving that felt too sharp to label—addiction-adjacent, and hungry for more.

You nodded before reason had the chance to intervene.

Satoru pulled you from your position, guiding you with ease, his hands gentle yet firm as he turned you to face him. You could imagine how you looked, hair matted against your forehead, glossy-eyed from how hard he’d fucked you, drool pouring down the corner of your mouth, heartbeats echoing with the same rhythm as your spasming inner muscles.

“Let me see,” he said, voice gentle, but also wavering with this burning curiosity. His hand pried your legs apart so he could inspect the aftermath—your glistening pussy, swollen and sensitive, so stuffed with your slick and his cum until the excess was dripping down the slit in opaque rivulets, seeping out with every tremor.

“Satoru, stop,” you croaked, embarrassed, your legs shutting fast from his invasive gaze. “You don't have to examine it like that.”

“Oh, so it’s okay when you do it and I can’t?” He said, brows lifting, clearly enjoying himself.

You gasped at his puckish comeback, sputtering, “That’s—that’s different! I was only—”

“Admiring?” Satoru supplied smoothly. “Studying? Documenting?” His grin turned downright obnoxious. “You spent a good five minutes staring at my antlers like they were in a museum exhibit.”

“That is not the same thing,” you protested with a petulant pout. “I was looking at your antlers—and you—you looked at my—”

“Your pretty pussy,” he cut in smoothly, eyes sparkling and nose glowing. “Leaking with my cum.”

Your jaw dropped. “That is not—”

“Oh, come on,” he said, laughing. “You freeze up like I committed some great crime, but you were absolutely unashamed five minutes ago.”

“That was for scientific purposes,” you shot back.

“Uh-huh,” Satoru leaned in closer, clearly too entertained by the banter. “And what I was doing was…appreciating symmetry.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands.

“There it is,” he pointed out softly, amused. “That reaction.” Then, lighter again, “Adorable. You make teasing you way too easy.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, letting out a short laugh as you shook your head, “Guess I’m too much of an open book.”

“A book I’d never want to put down,” he said, eyes mellowing, a playful smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You did so good for me,” he suddenly murmured, voice syrupy and warm. “But I was thinking…maybe you’d like to take the lead this time. What do you say, Little Mythbuster? Think you could give me another?”

Your spine went rigid, the unexpected shift in power catching you off guard. His eyes never left yours, never strayed, studying you with that blend of playfulness and something deeper—something that could be mistaken for cardiac arrest. You didn’t break eye contact, your heartbeat accelerating like it was trying to prove a point.

His fingers brushed against your jaw, a soft touch meant to ground you, and then his lips found the curve of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “If you’re game,” he murmured against your skin, almost seductively, “I won't stop you.” His tone held a quiet command, but there was still an undertone of affection.

Without thinking, you moved, hand closing around his wrist before you pulled him to you. It’s a futile tug, too weak to haul a full-grown reindeer that wouldn't budge, especially when you were in this state—wrung-out, quivering. Another tug, an invite he accepted with a teasing chuckle, allowing you to take him back to the couch, where you both sat down, you occupying the space beside him. His mouth was eager to seek yours with impatient desire, lips warm and hungry, tongue parting the seams, then gliding past, exploring every inch, every narrow corner, like he couldn’t miss out on tasting you.

His hands were firm on your hips, pulling you effortlessly into position. You straddled him, the heat of his body burned against you. His skin was blazing underneath your touch—warm and smooth, but with muscles that were robust, strong, the way a predator’s would be, taut and ready. Beneath the softness of his chest, you could feel the unyielding power of his reindeer form—the muscular definition was honed, a body that could move with the grace of an animal, yet the strength to carry the weight of both man and beast.

One of his hands slid down your spine, pulling you impossibly close. You felt his textured fur brush against your skin—a strange contrast of smooth skin and soft fur of his hybrid attributes sending shivers down your physique.

He was kissing you like it was his salvation, like it was the only way to break the indestructible curse that bound him. His lips were urgent, his breath ragged, like the only way he could break free from the pain of his nature was through you.

You breath caught when he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, euphoria rushing to your skull until you felt wildered. The kiss grew slower, stretching into permanence—his tongue brushing against yours with a reverent drag, canines nipping your bottom lip before gently caressing the sting away. Every second sank you deeper into him, you were melting faster than ice—utterly consumed by the force of his existence.

You broke away, your hands lingering on his extensive chest, feeling the irregular rhythm of his heartbeats beneath your palms. Every rise and fall of his chest sent a jolt through you, a reminder of how close you were—how alive and real he was—not a rough draft of imaginative pencil strokes. The tautness of his muscles, was a testament to the strength beneath his hybrid form—but right now, under your touch—he was pliant, willing.

Steadily, you lowered yourself onto his cock—sliding between slick folds—savoring the moment with every burning inch you welcomed. You could feel the head parting you open, overwhelming pressure settling down below that unleashed a heady gasp. This position was a new adjustment, your walls taking shape to make way for his size, to take the wholeness of his cock which was only half-way in—cunt fluttering around his girth—resisting despite how you were still dripping, until you wiggled your hips, sinking down all his length. You were deeply seated, filled completely with him, gasping at the delicious, dizzying ache.

Satoru’s head fell backward, antlers tilting, mouth purging out a throatier growl—a sound of primal submission.

You faltered, uncertain of the rhythm. You’d never ridden a reindeer-man before, and the novelty of it all left you second-guessing every movement.

Satoru doesn’t speak, not verbally—just with a nod and a challenging smile—a smug tilt of the head as if to say: “can you handle this?” Unspoken taunts that drew out your competitive side, that urge to always prove others wrong—including sexy hybrids. You began to move, hands bracing on fur-coated shoulders, your hips rolling, slow and deliberate—targeting that tender spot deep inside you, fur brushing over your clit. Satoru let out a resonant groan with every circular grind, and you bookmarked every reaction, studying him with devout curiosity: pupils blown-out, brimming with lust and hunger, like you were lichen he wanted to devour, nose a crimson beam, jaw flexing as if he was restraining the untamed, wild version of himself.

His hands located to your breasts, palming heavy, sensitive mounds, thumbs stroking your aroused nipples. His head drove forward, hot breath fanning over your skin before his mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking, the other hand pinching and twirling the other nipple between his thumb and index finger. The ministrations sent electric shocks through every nerve, breaking you out of the grind-and-roll pattern you had created.