misspercy's gone nuts

“There she is—my little wife,” he comes in cheering, full of lazy smiles and devious eyes as per usual. 

You’d been hiding yourself away in the reading room—a place you doubt he’s ever visited—and still he found you, just like he always does. Suppose those six eyes are to blame. 

Even if you never really understood what they do, you know it’s something bad, judging by the sight of him.

“Ew,” you cringe. “You’re covered in blood, go wash.”

It wasn’t an overstatement. He literally was. White hair and pale skin all filthy with red. He doesn’t seem to think much of it. On top of you despite your comment, with no regard to the book you were reading, with a chuckle against your neck, drawling, “Don't say that, you’ll hurt my feelings.”

You sigh, disgusted with him more than usual, deciding it was time to put your plan into effect,  “How ‘bout you go fuck one of your whores instead and leave me alone.” Cringing under his touch, and how he reeks of rust and salt.

“Aw—you’ jealous?” he grins in your ear.

This time you scoff, teeth grit. “Not particularly. I just fail to see the point in having you keening in my ear when there’s nothing to be made from it.” And with another sigh, you mumble the suggestion, “At least a whore can get you an heir.”

He doesn’t seem to pique his interest. Only snorting at the prospect while he continues in his pursuit of touching you beneath your shirt, “Tch, trust me, the last thing I want is a stinky brat running around spoiling all my fun.”

With a grimace, you veer your head away from his onslaught, feeling his bloody hands grip your waist rough, molding your body against his, into that hard bump kept in his slacks. 

You swear, trying to talk to him is like trying to talk to a dog with a bone.

“It’s not as though you’d be bothered,” you continue nonetheless, insistent. “Raising the thing would be my responsibility anyway.”

That actually gets his attention. Stopping, he lifts his head from sucking marks into your chest and looks down at you, now with a furrow between his brows. 

“You’d really do that? Raise my bastards?” He questions.

To which you just shrug, saying, “Of course. Seeing as I'm stuck here, I might as well do what I’ve trained to do all my life. It’s my only purpose now, after all.”

His brow quirks, repeating your words as a question, “Your purpose?”

He laughs again then, this time more heartily, saying, “Silly wife… Your purpose is much simpler than that...” 

Shaking his head at you before leaning back in, now with his lips just a breath away from yours. “Being mine.”

The proximity invites goosebumps, and so do his words. Feeling a deep shudder run through you. Nearly whining as he continues from where he left off, back with his hands around your waist, tugging your skirt up until there’s nothing separating his fingers from your skin, groping into the fat of your haunches with entitlement and want.

Voice getting gruffer as he gorges himself in your warmth like it’s his personal sanctuary, saying “I'm your first in everything. Your first kiss, your first fuck, your first time making a mess.”

“Don't be gross–” you cringe, but he pays it no mind.

Only continuing, “And I'll be your only one until you die—”

For the first time in a moment, you’re the one who laughs, “Tch—I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Tone mocking as you roll your eyes—he’s so full of himself it’s ridiculous.

His head lifts again, looking at you in dumb askance.

To which you just tilt your head slyly, talking to him like the great big man-child he is, “Oh, come on, Satoru. Are you forgetting what line of work you’re in? You could drop dead any day.” With a sneer, you cup his face in your hands in sardonic affection. “You really think I'll stick around to weep at your grave when you go?”

A groan rises from low in his chest. At first you think it’s a growl, feeling victorious about having angered him. But then he all but moans, “It makes me so fucking horny when you speak like that.”

Kneading your hips, he rubs his clothed bulge against you, messaging you both with the friction between his pants and your panties. Too busy touching you to unbuckle his belt. 

His rust is only a heated whisper, kissing your cheek with tongue and teeth as he keeps going, “Knock up a whore, get a brat? I don't think so.”

He pops his collar, and wrings his jacket off quickly. Tossing it aside before bearing back over you.

“Though, it’s funny you think you’d even have the time to spare when you already have your hands full with me.” 

Looking down at you with those crazed blue orbs—you wish he’d just keep that infernal blindfold on, the way you feel them strip you bare even with your clothes still halfway on.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I don't plan on dying anytime soon.” 

Hands on his belt next, he makes quick work of it without taking his eyes off you and that annoyed little face of yours, thinking you’re stupid for ever believing he’d need, want or even be open to sharing it with anyone.

“Nah… it’ll just be you and me playing house all by ourselves. So you better get used to it.”