★

You whine a little in protest even though the reference makes your lips tick. "But you guys made me so comfortable already..."

And they truly have.

The bath had been waiting for you before you'd even thought to ask for one. Actually, the idea was planted in Satoru and Suguru's heads the moment you texted that you were dead-tired and grimy to the group chat from the back of Ijichi's car. You had been the only one to head out on a mission today, Satoru spending the day teaching and training the first years and Suguru mirroring him with the third years— Satoru had weaseled his way into a full hands-on day with his students, claiming he needed somewhat of a break, and Suguru spent most of his time teaching rather than hunting curses anymore, anyways.

(You and Satoru have been on the offensive with the higher-ups for years to nail down this arrangement for Suguru. Sure, Suguru still took on the occasional mission when everyone else was stretched thin by their own duties, but for his mental health’s sake, it was best that he stuck to guiding and nurturing the current generation.

You never want to see him as hollowly depressed as he was after everything that went down when he was a student.)

When you'd finally wandered into your shared house with knotted shoulders and your thumbs aggravatedly digging out the soreness from your temples, both your boyfriends snatched you up at the genkan and herded you like wildly insistent border collies to the master bedroom's ensuite, which had been transformed into a luxury spa during your twenty minute commute.

Towels were folded up in their warmer, candles swaying happily, the massive tub brimming with fragrant bathing oils and mineral salts— literally the whole nines. All the tiny things you'd long forgotten mentioning you preferred for a long soak were present, that information lovingly archived inside two impossibly attentive minds.

Before you could burst into happy tears at the lengths they went to for you, Suguru helped peel away your clothes before passing you off to Satoru, who offered both hands the moment you stepped toward the siren call of the water on sore legs, smoothly bowing as though escorting you into a ballroom instead of a bathtub.

Between them, lowering yourself into the steaming water (which was the fucking perfect temperature, holy hell) was less like climbing into a bath— another chore to hustle through before bed when you were already so worn-thin— and more like mindlessly handing yourself over for what they both dubbed your 'princess treatment.'

Suguru's smile is a ray of gentle light coloring his words, "Are we supposed to apologize for being good boyfriends?"

"Yeah. And you have to live with the consequences," you sigh, slumping further back into Satoru. The water rocks with you.

"You hear that?" Satoru says to Suguru over your head. You feel his chin nestle into your crown, arms loosely coiling at your waist. "She's blaming and threatening us."

"This is what happens when we go out of our way and draw us all a nice bath, huh," Suguru kisses his teeth, theatrically disappointed in you and what his and Satoru's efforts have come to. "Shame. I guess we won't be doing this ever again."

That finally gets your eyes to crack, blinking past the steam shrouding your slivered vision. Suguru watches the both of you with a sleepy beam curling the corners of his mouth, midnight lashes dampened and beading at their tips from the humidity. In spite of his long hair being wound up in a picture-perfect bun straight from Pinterest— his thorough wash-day took place yesterday and he's in no hurry to rewash his hair all over again— the baby hairs coiling at his nape and hairline are helplessly frizzy, fallen victim to the moisture in the air.

Suguru's gorgeous, a fallen angel meant to tempt you into the salacious temptations of the forbidden— much like the equally stunning blue-eyed beauty cuddled up to your behind, fluffed up white hair as refreshing as winter's first snowfall and his innate charming smile ten times more devastating than the cursed techniques sown into his very DNA.

"Hey," you protest, somewhat impressed by how he's twisted this situation to his benefit. "I didn't say all of that…"

A big warm palm finds a home on your shoulder, the callouses at the base of Satoru's fingers dragging a satisfyingly scratchy path over your skin. "I didn't agree to that either. Who's gonna appreciate all our hard work and dedication to pampering her if not, well, our princess?" Satoru wonders aloud, each richly pronounced syllable traveling in a velvety rolling rumble through his chest to your back.

Suguru cocks a brow, though he soaks up the reminder with a smoothly executed drag of the wooden bath tray closer to the corner of the tub's edge. Fancy crystalized bottles rattle, winking rainbow prisms across the walls; the oceanic waves of Satoru's irises, the deep earthiness of Suguru's.

You see them in everything, the two men coloring the world you traverse in a gallery forever curated in their likeness, to the point that you couldn't name a single thing on this planet without your lovers tinting your glasses.

Sometimes, you wonder whether the sky was always that boundless, cotton-candy blue, whether the nature crawling dense coils up Tokyo Jujutsu High's mountain campus had always carried such comforting shades of chocolate-brown, or if loving them has simply trained your eyes to always pay homage to Satoru and Suguru. Whatever the case, you're ridiculously smitten.

"Appreciation isn't the point, Satoru," lightly sniffs Suguru.

You wish you could see the stupid grin smeared across Satoru's countenance as he counters, jokingly, "It absolutely is."

"It really isn't," Suguru deadpans, looking to you as if to say get a load of this guy. You giggle.

"I don't know about you, babe, but I wanna be praised for my generous deeds," Satoru announces. "It hits like a line of coke after a long day."

Suguru slowly nods his assent. "That is true… though in your case, I'd say that cake is more your style than coke of all things."

"Snoooore," you loudly mime, deadpanning.

Satoru's laughter sears through your skin, beating a hearty rhythm between your shoulder blades. Suguru fans his fingers over his mouth as he joins in on Satoru's chuckling, amusement blossoming in the air. "Alright, alright. The deluxe princess treatment package is on its way now, promise," Suguru sing-songs with a little flap of his hand, finally easing up now that he's found a way back on track. "Satoru, you'll wash her hair and I'll do her body?"

"For sure," he chirps.

Ah, how nice it feels to lounge around like prized, celebrated royalty without a care in the world while your boys work a plan to pamper you.

All it takes is a simple curl of Suguru's black-painted finger for Satoru to obediently thrust his hand past your head, palm paralleling the ceiling as Suguru pops the glass stopper of a bottle and drizzles a generous heaping of shampoo into his hand's cup.

Satoru loops his arms around your front and works the shampoo between deft palms before your eyes, vanilla and camellia blossoms wafting up to your face, which you dip towards the comforting smell with a hum. It's Suguru's favorite shampoo— you're always surprised when he shares some of it and his conditioner with you, given how he treats it like the holy grail that he alone was blessed and entrusted with.

(Even funnier how he flat out refuses to let Satoru get his hands on it. Not that the white-haired sorcerer cares all that much anyhow; he uses a 3-in-1 shampoo and calls splashing tap water on his face a 'proper face wash.' You'd think a man so prideful about his vanity would splurge on products to properly care for himself and his Adonis body— the same way he buys from luxury clothing brands on the daily— instead of winging it like a head-in-the-clouds college fratboy, but alas…

You've gotta give it to him though: his genetics are killer. Curse Satoru and the goddamned perfectly pretty Gojo bloodline. It's not fair for the rest of you 'simpletons' who actually have to put in the work to groom and maintain yourself in order to look even half as unfairly attractive as he does on a random Thursday morning. The universe shamelessly plays favorites, and Satoru is its dazzling golden child.)

"Tilt your head back for me," he murmurs, long fingers immediately finding your hair— already sufficiently wet— the second you obey.

Humming an absent tune that lulls you into closing your eyes once more, Satoru gathers up all your hair, his usual boundless energy replaced by surprising patience. You can envision the way he's likely got his tongue peeking slightly between his teeth as he smooths the shampoo down your head, working up a rich, pearly lather from your crown to your ends with painstaking care exactly as Suguru once taught him.

Nobody from Jujutsu Tech— not Shoko, not Ijichi, not even any of the students— would expect such gentleness from the strongest sorcerer alive. The same man that tears into curses with calculated, almost joyous violence and blows them apart with a well-placed Red and a dry “oopsies,” is unbelievably tender in his task of shampooing the outer layer of your hair before diving to your roots, firm yet gentle. Reverent, really.

His nails glide along your scalp in purposefully light scrapes that send shivers down your spine. A contented sigh escapes you before you can stop it. "Satoruuuu…" You subconsciously roll the r in the same purring cadence that Suguru speaks his name in.

"Yooo, chill," Satoru splutters behind you, sounding alarmed by who knows what.

Suguru fills in the blank with a suggestive smile and thinning of his eyes: "Moan my name next, baby. I'm feeling left out."

Ah. Curious, you shuffle your hips back further into the cradle of Satoru's pelvis, glad to feel a distinct lack of engorged arousal insistently pestering your back; he's as flaccid as the day he was born. Your foot goes splashing water Suguru's way next. He catches your ankle beneath the surface and chuckles sunnily beneath the playful heat of your half-hearted glare.

"You're such a hater," he chastises.

"Excuse me for trying to enjoy my bath and the princess treatment you both promised me while you two horndogs try to make something out of nothing," you say dryly, though the pretense of sarcasm is rendered null by the next (accidentally) suggestive noise that floats its way past your lips when Satoru tugs a strand of shampooed hair just shy of too roughly.

"I didn't mean to do that, sorry!" Satoru jumps to apologize, presuming you'll give him shit for it and kick him out. But the joint snickers that both men promptly share over your head informs you that they're not exactly remorseful; and they're not even trying to play it sly.

"There's gonna be floggers and pillories in my online shopping cart by the end of the night if you two keep it up," you warn even though you're chuckling yourself. "That, or a sounding rod for you to share."

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am," Satoru and Suguru innocently chorus.

Devils, the two of them.

But you're not any better, for you praise them in the sweetest purr possible, "Thank you. Good boys," and you all too joyfully reap the color budding across their already bath-flushed cheeks, tipping your head back against Satoru's shoulder to see his properly.

Suguru and Satoru: 1.

You: also 1.

You'll break that tie soon.

Fingers still wrapped in a delicate snag around your ankle, thumb sweeping over the protruding bone, Suguru one-handedly pumps a decent dollop of body wash into his palm, making a fist and dragging his fingers through it to warm it up a tad. "Lift your leg a little higher for me, sweetheart," he instructs, voice no louder than twinkling rain shimmering in silvery ribbons from the sky.

Conscious yet uncaring of the fact that you're already flashing him your most private parts (both your boyfriends have literally seen it all in every sexual and non-sexual scenario possible), you do just that, trusting that Satoru's solidity will keep you from sliding forward on your ass and submerging your face. Your hip flexor and quadricep tighten in a show of undemandingly easy dexterity— the movement of the latter has Suguru's eyes flicking down to watch as though you're his favorite film made human.

He scrunches his legs up in order to fit into the 'v' your own make. Shifting his grip to the back of your calf, he paints your skin in fragrant body wash from your foot, kneecap, to the crease connecting hip to thigh, coating you thoroughly and treating you to an impromptu massage along the way, thumbs kneading tenderly into muscle.

You're practically purring once he's done with your left leg. Suguru eases it back into the steaming bathwater and rinses you off with sweeping strokes of his broad hand until the jasmine-scented suds melt into the surface. Then, without breaking the tranquil rhythm you'd both settled into, he gathers your right leg in his grasp and starts anew from your foot upward, every motion as meticulous as the last.

You don't startle an inch when Satoru picks his task up again whilst Suguru works his soothing magic up your shin. Circles that bloom sweetness through your body are drawn into your scalp with the pads of Satoru's fingertips, thumbs gliding behind your ears before sweeping upward along your crown, coaxing the rich lather deeper through your roots.

His fingertips dance across your hair in broad, enthusiastic circles, working the shampoo in with enough vigor to make your head tip slightly. It's embarrassingly effective in making you lose track of where one minute ends and another begins. The little remaining tension loosens from your body like water through a sieve.

"Oh my godddd," you moan, blissful, completely swept up in their pampering that comes without a price. You melt between Satoru and Suguru without thinking, trusting the secure cradle of their bodies as completely as breathing itself. "This is exactly what I needed. This is heaven."

"You deserve only good things, especially tonight," Suguru murmurs affectionately, gently dunking your right leg and rinsing that one off, too.

"All the time, really," Satoru agrees. He leaves your hair once he's sure each strand is thoroughly lathered up. "Seeing you turn into a cute little puddle is the best bonus I could ask for. Just let us take care of you, yeah?"

He returns to you with a wooden rinse pitcher that Suguru hands to him. He cups warm bathwater into it, stray droplets sprinkling across the bath's surface when he pulls the pitcher free with an audible gulp of water. Anticipating what follows, you tip your head back and stay still as Satoru pours the first cascade of water over your head to cleanse you of the fragrant foam, his free hand shielding your forehead to keep it from spilling over your face.

"You wanna know a neat trick I thought of?" Satoru asks, voice overflowing with prideful excitement. You and Suguru rumble low noises from your throats at the same time, encouraging. "If Blue allows me to pull buildings apart at minimum output by drawing everything towards the impossibility, then it makes sense that if I put the tiiiiniest possible output into Blue—" you feel a tempered spike of cursed energy that makes the dampened hair at your nape prick to attention, "—the field of attraction is weak enough that I can siphon water from hair."

Before the dirtied water can rejoin the pooling bathwater lapping over you all, it peels from your hair like a clean, satisfying strip of tape as though the laws of nature, too, submit to the wonder that is Gojo Satoru.

You feel each saturated lock of hair lighten by degrees more than you see it. Suspended at your sides where you can spy it from the corner of yout eye, the extracted water gathers into a lazily revolving sphere no larger than a melon, pale with diluted shampoo that swirls in pearlescent ribbons beneath the bathroom's amber light. You can tell that Satoru's flicked his fingers behind you when it all goes gliding into a bucket by the tub— he probably thought to put it there in advance, you realize— with a muffled sploosh. Suguru whistles, impressed.

"There!" Satoru chirps, grin crystal-clear in his voice as though he'd unveiled the world's greatest scientific breakthrough instead of an absurdly overengineered bath hack using one of the greatest cursed techniques in history. "No gross rinse water in the tub."

"That was cool, Toru," you gush.

Suguru's laugh slips free in a quiet puff. "Good idea, baby."

The dual praise has Satoru radiating like an overjoyed sun behind you. "Right? Right?" He boasts with no modesty whatsover, chest jutting proudly against your back.

"You'll have to do that for my hair sometime, too," Suguru sighs longingly, tilting his head with a charmed look on his face. He's so cute. "I could use one of my curses, but Blue'll save me so much time. My hair's getting even longer than it already is, if you can imagine."

"Please never cut it," you and Satoru pipe up in genuine agony.

Suguru titters, enchanting brown eyes creasing in a blinding smile, brighter somehow for it. "Relax, you two. I won't. Aside from trimming split ends— knock on wood." He raps the wooden bath tray with his knuckles.

The exchange coaxes an involuntary smile of your own, the stretch of your lips so overly fond that your cheeks ache. It is so wonderfully, unmistakably the three of you— Suguru's easy indulgement forever balanced alongside Satoru's irrepressible enthusiasm and your habit of matching them both exactly where they stand.

Suguru re-lathers his hands to work on your abdomen, muscles fluttering in delicate butterly wings behind the bountiful garden of your skin at the ticklish feeling of his slickened touch; Satoru ladles another pitcherful over your head and repeats the process of gathering and discarding every soapy drop with Blue. Suguru glides soap up the valley between your perked breasts and beneath them as well, even massaging your tits without a lick of sexual intent; Satoru gives you one last rinse before passing curious fingers through your hair until the strands slide cleanly through his hands, gently teasing apart the few stubborn knots left over. The bathwater gently rocks against your ribs whenever they both shift, focused on their individual tasks but nonetheless in tune with one another.

By the time Suguru finishes off your front by washing your collarbones and shoulders and Satoru's just teased apart the few stubborn knots left over in your hair, your hair hangs sleek and impossibly clean, you're feeling squeaky clean from head to toe, and the bathwater around your bodies remains as clear as when you'd first slipped into it, aside from the body wash that's sluiced off of you.

You feel as though they’d somehow washed away not only the day's sweat and oils, but every bothersome thought that had settled there alongside them. You could seriously fall asleep any second without realizing you'd slipped into unconsciousness.

"Look at us working together in sync," Satoru lilts, signaling for the conditioner over your shoulder. Suguru hands it off from the bath tray without missing a beat. "The G.G. Salon is taking off."

"G.G.?" You ask, faint laughter already bubbling through your nose before he even elaborates. You're anticipating something so stupid that it's somehow funny.

"Get gucked," Satoru supplies, only to shriek a soprano's pitch and jackknife his leg through the water when Suguru aggressively pinches Satoru's big toe. "Yeesh, can't a guy joke around here? I meant the Gojo-Geto salon."

Suguru smiles serenely.

They make quick— but not rushed— work of the rest of your treatment. Suguru reaches between yours and Satoru's bodies to bathe your back while Satoru conditions the ends of your hair with the creamy fixture.

Clearing your hair of conditioner after it soaks in is easy as it was for Satoru with the shampoo. He splashes water along your back to finish off Suguru's work, and Suguru leans in to nuzzle a brief kiss against your forehead, lips lingering for only a second before he settles back against the tub's rim again, the picture of handsome relaxation. A moment later, Satoru cranes his head to smooch the side of your neck as if unwilling to be left out, then ducks past you to peck Suguru's mouth.

No words are needed in the wakeful peace that draws a curtain over you; you, Satoru, and Suguru seemingly come to a silent agreement to soak in the jasmine-fermented bath a while longer, all of yours eyes closed in bone-deep gratification. Heat loosens muscles and peels the firm grip of old aches and pains stemming from battles old and new, determined to ease your bodies that've been carved out from years and years of sorcerery. You only clamber out when the bathwater is cool enough to be drained, yours and Satoru's and Suguru's fingers and toes pruny from the extended soak.

The tired little shiver that quakes you when the air hits your damp skin is noticed immediately by Suguru, who quietly directs Satoru to empty the bucket of dirtied water down the tub before turning to you with towels straight from the tower warmer. He wraps one loosely around your hair and gently squeezes away the excess water.

His sweetened cooing of how cute you are when you're all sleepy and doted-on makes you duck your head into his touch if only to hide your face from the loving searchlights of his eyes. You allow Suguru to similarly wrap your body up in a second towel and you gleefully burrow into the fluffy comfort of it.

Satoru zips to your side in literal seconds with two more towels bunched under his arm, blue eyes alight and completely comfortable in his nudity. "My turn," he announces.

"Didn't you have plenty of turns in the bath?" Suguru amusedly points out in a lowered tone. "She's already dried off, anyways."

Satoru pokes his pretty pink lips out in a pout, sulky as a cat denied its dinner. "I want another."

"You always want another," you hum, eyes half-closed and about ready to conk out on the tile of all places. A plane could crash outside and you wouldn't even be fazed, your mind too up in the clouds and doped up on the princess treatment your boyfriends gave you to care.

“Well, I like taking care of you both,” Satoru admits with some sheepishness, scratching his shorn-short nape that you're sure is soon to be warmed pink as you and Suguru look at him with hearts for eyes. "Can't blame a guy for being in love, yeah?"

You really can't; not when you're just as stupidly infatuated with them both. Especially when, adorably, he surprises you both by turning to Suguru and toweling him off with great attention, making your dark-haired partner flush an even ruddier red than the hot water gave his body. For all of Satoru's impossible strength and impossible speed, his hands fuss with deliberate care as they work the plush fabric around Suguru's waist, folding one edge neatly over the other before tucking it securely against his hip. Then Satoru guides a stray bang that fell loose from his bun behind his ear, fingers lingering sweetly.

Suguru blinks once, twice, as though momentarily caught off guard by the simple gesture. "... Thank you, Satoruuu,” he purrs warmly.

The words are accompanied by a smile so soft it melts years off of Suguru's face, leaving behind only the boy who'd once looked at you and Satoru with that same impossible tenderness after late-night konbini store runs and shared umbrellas beneath summer rain as you all ran back to campus after shared misions— long, long before that accursed village sent him into a year-long spiral. Affection settles visibly into every elegant line of him, warming his browned eyes until they resemble polished amber.

Color rushes into Satoru's ears as he's blasted with the full superlunary rays of Suguru's love, almost shying away from his exuberant beam. "Don't mention it," he mutters, already smiling despite himself as he finally slings his own towel around his hips.

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it, sleepy and airy, and both pairs of eyes snap toward you with such immediate fondness. Your heart gives such a smitten start that it damn near ping-pongs off your ribs.

And then you open your unfiltered mouth, "You're both so cute. You two act like you guys haven't explored each other's holes for literal years."

Their expressions slacken into ones of pained amusement immediately. "Sweets, I love you so so sooo bad, but do you ever think before you reduce years of heartfelt intimacy to digging out each other's asses?" Satoru snorts.

"Please don't say it like that," Suguru bemoans, propping one hand on his towel-wrapped hip while the other drives a thumb into his creased forehead. Even so, he's openly snickering, even moreso when he slaps Satoru's chest. "Are you under the impression that you're any better?"

Satoru touches his heart with theatrical offense. "I've never said anything outrageous as her."

"You literally just did?" Suguru points out, exasperatedly tickled.

You attempt to muster a joke to chip in with, but a yawn stretches your jaw instead, eyes watering as exhaustion overtakes any dignity you might have had left.

"Awww," Satoru breathes out an impossibly stricken coo. "She's gonna fall asleep standing up like a horse."

"I was thinking the same thing," Suguru murmurs, tilting his head at you.

"I am awake and alert and alive," you mumble automatically.

Clearly, neither of them believes you for even half a second. Suguru chuckles beneath his breath before stepping forward, large hand finding the small of your back through the towel. "Looks like the delirium's getting to you, huh, angel? You've had a long day."

Satoru immediately appears at your other side. "For sure. Let's go get dressed and go to bed." Without ceremony, he bends his knees and scoops you into his arms bridal-style as though you weigh nothing at all. You let out the weakest little noise of surprise imaginable before instinctively curling against his warm chest, your cheek finding the familiar place beneath his collarbone.

"I c-can…" Your own yawn slashes the sentence in half, making Satoru throw his head back laughing as he turns towards the bathroom's entrance, "… walk."

"Oh, sweetheart," Suguru rumbles out a laugh.

"I can,” you grumble.

"You just lost consciousness mid-sentence."

"Mmmf," you say intelligently.

Suguru reaches over to straighten the towel atop your head one final time, brushing his knuckles fondly across your temple. "So spoiled," he whispers.

You hum contentedly, already halfway to sleep. "Your fault."

"Our fault," Satoru corrects, carrying you toward the door with Suguru walking beside him, shoulder brushing his every few steps. Then, as an aside to Suguru, "To be fair, we kinda made her expect this."

"I think I deserve princess treatment everyday," you exhaustedly pipe up, words dragging as you gradually drift off.

Satoru and Suguru exchange looks over your lolling head. So cute.

Plap!

Tears steamed down your cheeks as your nails scratched against the muscled forearms folding you in half. Head cradled in his hands, feet dangling in the air, you whimpered as the Grand Master held you suspended, his hips slapping into yours. With another rough thrust, one of your shoes fell off your feet, clattering against the wood floor with a loud thump. Varka’s breath was hot on your ear, the smell of smoked meat and booze wafting over you with each exhale. As he rammed himself into you, you dug your teeth into your trembling lower lip and cried.

“Shh, shh…” Varka said, kissing your temple. “You’re okay, pumpkin.”

Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one being held midair, getting split open on the girth of his cock. To make matters worse, you were still operating under business hours. At any moment, anyone could wander into the library looking for a book, only to wind up finding you, getting your cunt destroyed by Grand Master Varka. You tried to stifle your moans, but when he stuffed you full of him for the umpteenth time, stretching you beyond what you thought yourself capable, you gasped out, “Fuck.”

“Shh, shh, shh,” he whispered. “Not so loud, pumpkin. You’re doing…” He grunted, thrusting his dick into you, making you see stars. “You’re doing great, hon.”

You clawed at the hands supporting your head, your vision blurred with hot tears. Petulantly, you whined, “Grand Master, you’re…too big…”

“You can do it, hon,” he whispered back hotly. “I know you can.”

“Oh, fuck,” you sobbed, feeling your insides throb when his tip mashed into your cervix. “Grand Master, please. Not so deep.”

“I’m sorry,” he answered immediately, his voice coming out rushed. In another soothing whisper, he said, “Shh, pumpkin, shh. I’m sorry.”

His hips didn’t thrust so deep anymore. You felt like you could finally breathe.

“I got carried away,” he murmured. “Your pussy’s so tight, hon. Feels so good for me.”

Those words were strangling you.

“You’ve gotten so good at this,” he told you. “So much better than when we first started. Hold on for me a little longer, yeah?”

He was right. The first time Grand Master Varka revealed to you that he had interest beyond what you had originally thought, you were flabbergasted. It wasn’t that you didn’t find him attractive—no, it was quite the opposite—but your whole life, you had only seen Varka as a role model. An ideal, really. Not as a man, and certainly not as one who would fill you to the brim with him every night that you allowed him to. Your first time was awkward, a bit painful, but Varka held you through it. Always gave you kisses and praise, even when you could barely handle the motion of his tip alone. You wanted to be able to take all of him, to let him use you as he saw fit, but unlike him, you were far too limited by pain. It frustrated you, to have taken him this many times and still be struggling. But Varka told you best—your rate of improvement was truly astounding. Even to yourself.

“All good, sweetheart?”

You looked downwards, your eyes catching the movement of his thick cock, glistening with you as it thrust halfway in and out of your hole. Chewing your lower lip, you nodded.

He let out a grunt, his fingers squeezing harder around your head. Something rough grated his tone when he asked, “Is it okay if I cum inside?”

“Yes,” you whined. “Yes, Grand Master, yes.”

“Mngh, just…just call me Varka, pumpkin.”

You let out a choked sound when he snapped his hips upwards, and even though it was only half of him, you felt so incredibly full. Tears streamed down your face as you gasped and sputtered for breath, nails digging into his wrists as you wailed, “Grand Master.”

“Varka,” he answered, his tone far more brusque than usual. Something about him sounded feral when he growled, “Call me Varka.”

Another rough thrust of his hips into yours had you squirming. “Oh, fuck,” you sputtered, your eyelids fluttering to the beat of your uncontrollable heart. “Varka.”

When his dick pushed past that halfway point of his, shoving its way into your innermost walls with its violent ram, your nails pierced the skin of his hands. Crying for him, you scratched away at his skin, leaving deep gashes that left him marred with your love. Varka was shushing you again, his hips were thrusting deep again, and as you whined his name, you were overwhelmed by the force of your own orgasm. You felt hot, you felt blind, and as Varka pumped you full of him, you let the intensity of your voice rip through the silent library.

“Varka,” you were crying. “Varka.”

“Fuck,” he whispered back. “Here you go, pumpkin.”

His base was flush to yours, resounding through the library with a wet smack! You struggled in his arms, your eyes twitching as discomfort and pleasure weaved themselves equally throughout your insides. Letting him cum this deep inside of you was surely a recipe for disaster, but the feel of his cock throbbing within you only led you to your second slope.

“Varka,” you slurred, your eyes blurred by your tears. “I’m cumming again.”

“Oh, yeah? That’s good, pumpkin.”

He held you in place, even after his limp cock fell out of you. You felt the trickle of his cum as it dripped from your hole, your teary eyes pressing shut as a second orgasm wracked through you. Something about doing it like this, him watching without even being inside you, was both embarrassing and enthralling.

“Good job, pumpkin,” Varka murmured. “I’ll put you down, okay?”

Breath shuddering, you nodded. Ever so gently, Varka maneuvered his intense hold on you until your feet were on the floor. He held one of your hands while he reached for your fallen heel, sliding it back onto your foot for you.

When Varka stood back to his full height, he cupped your face in his hands. He leaned down, closing the distance between you, and gave you a firm kiss. Your hands rose to his wrists, gripping them hard as you whimpered against him. He lavished your tear-stained face with booze-scented kisses, and in his deep, rumbling voice asked, “Wanna go home?”

You nodded, your arms looping around his broad waist. Your legs trembled beneath you, rendered so by the way he had pinned you midair and the intensity of how he had fucked you. Quietly, you replied, “You might have to carry me.”

Varka laughed.

“Sure thing, pumpkin. I’ve got ya.”

But you don’t say any of that. You just stare at your knees and let the silence thicken.

Gran’s voice saves you both.

“Kids!”

You jump. Caleb straightens like he’s been caught doing something wrong.

She’s standing in the doorway, dressed in her going-out blouse, small rolling suitcase at her side.

“I’m headed downtown for three days. Something came up. Emergency stuff. You two will be fine, right? Like always.”

She’s said the same thing a hundred times over the years. Back then it meant popcorn fights and falling asleep to horror movies on the couch. Now the words land differently. Heavier.

The front door clicks shut behind her. The sound echoes.

Suddenly the house feels too quiet. Too big. Too empty except for him.

You’re hyper-aware of every inch of Caleb next to you. The sleeveless shirt clings to his chest from the humidity, dark at the collar where sweat’s gathered. His shorts ride up just enough to show the thick muscle of his thighs. His arms—God, his arms—flex every time he shifts, biceps rounding, veins standing out against his skin. He’s broader than last summer, taller, filled out in all the ways that make your mouth dry and your core ache.

You stare out the window at the garden like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Anything to avoid looking at him.

He notices.

Caleb chuckles again, softer this time, and reaches out. One finger brushes your cheek—light, teasing, the same way he used to when you pouted as a kid.

“Aww, is my meimei sad? Mm… I’m here. We can spend some quality time together—”

The touch is barely there, but it burns straight down your spine. Your whole body jerks away like you’ve been shocked.

Caleb freezes, finger still hovering in the air. His eyes widen.

“Pipsqueak… are you okay?”

You can’t look at him. Your face is on fire, heart slamming so hard you’re sure he can hear it. Your nipples are already tight under your thin tank top, traitorously visible, and you cross your arms quickly to hide them.

“I’m—fine,” you mumble, staring at the floor. “Just… hot.”

He swallows. You hear it—the dry click of his throat. His gaze drops for half a second, catches the outline of your nipples, then snaps away like he’s been burned too.

“Right. Uh… yeah. Hot.” He exhales, rough. “Alright. I’ll be in the kitchen. Lemme know what you want for lunch.”

He stands. The couch dips and rises with his weight. You watch his back as he walks away—broad shoulders rolling under the shirt, the dip of his spine, the way his shorts hug the curve of his ass and the powerful flex of his thighs with every step.

The second he disappears around the corner you clench your thighs together so hard it hurts.

You’re already wet. Have been since he sat down. Since he said your nickname. Since he touched your cheek.

You need a shower. Cold. Now.

You bolt upstairs before you can think better of it, lock the bathroom door, strip in record time. The dildo is already in your hand—pulled from under your mattress like it’s been waiting for you.

The water’s barely warm when you brace one foot on the edge of the tub, line up the thick head, and sink down with a broken moan.

It stretches you open in that perfect, filthy way—veins dragging, curve kissing your front wall, heavy balls nudging your clit on the downstroke. You fuck yourself fast, desperate, water pounding your back, free hand braced on the tile.

“Gege—fuck—gege—”

You don’t even try to be quiet. The house is empty except for him, and part of you hopes—prays—he hears.

Downstairs, Caleb grips the kitchen counter so hard his knuckles turn white.

The second you disappeared upstairs he felt it: that familiar phantom squeeze around his cock, hot and wet and impossibly tight. Then the rhythm starts—fast, shallow, greedy.

He’s hard in seconds, leaking into his shorts, breath coming in short pants.

He glances toward the stairs.

He knows what you’re doing.

He knows because he’s been doing the same thing to your toy every night.

And now you’re both home.

Both alone.

Both breaking.

He doesn’t go upstairs. Not yet.

Instead he leans his back against the counter, the cool edge biting into his spine like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His cock is painfully erect under the thin fabric of his shorts, the obscene bulge straining forward, tenting so hard the waistband digs into his lower abs. Every shallow breath makes it twitch, every phantom slam of your hips upstairs sends a fresh jolt through him. He moans—low, broken, helpless—each sound punched out of his lungs as your rhythm rocks him from the inside out. His knees buckle once, twice; he catches himself on the edge of the sink, knuckles white, hips grinding forward into nothing like he’s fucking the air.

He reaches down without thinking, palm cupping the thick ridge through the cotton. One rough stroke and his head falls back, throat working on a groan. The wet spot at the front of his shorts spreads fast—dark, sticky, obscene. He grinds harder into his own fist, hips rolling in slow, filthy circles, eyes fixed on the mess he’s making, precum soaking through until the fabric clings transparently to the flushed head.

Upstairs, you stand frozen under the cold spray for a long minute, water pounding your shoulders, doing absolutely nothing to dull the ache between your legs. Your pussy throbs in time with your heartbeat, still fluttering around the memory of double penetration, still greedy for more. The shower did jack shit. You shut off the water with a frustrated huff, towel yourself off in jerky movements, and stumble back to your room naked, skin pebbled, nipples tight from the chill and from want.

You don’t even close the door all the way.

You crawl onto the bed, legs splaying wide, knees bent and feet planted so you can watch yourself take it. The dildo is still warm from earlier, slick with your earlier mess. You line it up, tease the fat head through your folds once—then slam it home to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Your back arches off the mattress with a choked cry, pussy clamping down like a vice, walls rippling around every veiny inch.

Down the hall, Caleb sucks in a whimper so sharp it hurts. His eyes roll back; he has to brace both hands on the banister to keep from collapsing right there on the stairs. The phantom grip around his cock returns—tighter, hotter, wetter than before—and he knows exactly what you’re doing.

He climbs the last few steps on shaking legs, drawn like a magnet. Your door is cracked open. He shouldn’t look. He knows he shouldn’t.

He looks anyway.

And everything inside him fractures.

There you are—his sweet, innocent meimei—legs spread obscenely wide on the childhood bed you used to share during storms, tits heaving with every frantic roll of your hips, pussy stretched wide around a thick, veiny dildo that looks exactly like his cock. Down to the upward curve, the heavy balls slapping wetly against your ass with every thrust, the flushed brownish-pink head disappearing inside you over and over.

He can see the way your walls cling to it when you pull back, the slick strings connecting silicone to your swollen lips, the way your clit peeks out swollen and red every time you grind down.

“Mmhhh gege! Ahhh gege fuck—need you—mmpphhh!!”

Your voice cracks on his name, back bowing, tits bouncing wildly as you fuck yourself stupid, chasing that edge with desperate, sloppy thrusts. The sheets are soaked beneath you, wet patch spreading.

Caleb’s sure he would have moaned loud enough to wake the whole coast if he hadn’t bitten his lower lip bloody. It’s better than any porn he’s ever seen—hotter, filthier, because it’s you. His pipsqueak. His meimei. Ruining herself on a perfect copy of his dick.

The realization hits like a shockwave.

It was you.

All this time.

The ghost pussy milking him dry every night.

The way it clenched exactly when he needed it.

The way it knew his rhythm, his kinks, his breaking point.

And he’s been doing the same to you.

He shoves his shorts down in one rough yank; his cock springs free, angry red and leaking, veins standing out thick and pulsing. He wraps a fist around the base, strokes once—hard—and has to slap his free hand over his mouth to muffle the groan.

“Mmhh pipsqueak…” he whispers, voice wrecked, hips thrusting into his own grip like he’s fucking you through the doorway. “Such a needy little meimei… arghhh—it was you all along, huh?”

He can see every detail from here— the way your thighs tremble, the way your fingers dig into the sheets, the way you arch and sob his name like a prayer while you slam the toy deeper, chasing the stretch he’s been giving you in secret for months.

And he’s glad.

Fucking glad.

Because it’s mutual.

You out-freaked him first—ordered a replica of his dick and rode it until you cried his name—but he matched you, customized a perfect copy of your cunt and fucked it raw while whispering yours.

You’re both freaks.

Two depraved, lovesick freaks who’ve been secretly fucking each other stupid across hundreds of miles, and now you’re under the same roof with no Gran to stop you.

He strokes faster, matching your rhythm—every time you slam down, he fucks up into his fist. Precum drips over his knuckles, slicking the way. His balls draw up tight, aching.

You’re close. He can tell by the way your moans turn high and broken, the way your hips stutter, the way your pussy visibly flutters around the toy.

He’s right there with you.

One more thrust—yours, his—and you both shatter at the exact same second.

You come with a muffled scream into your pillow, body convulsing, squirting around the dildo in messy pulses that soak your thighs and the bed. The toy stays buried deep as you ride the aftershocks, whimpering his name over and over.

Caleb’s knees finally give out. He catches himself on the doorframe, biting his fist as he comes hard—thick ropes painting the floorboards, his hand, his stomach—while the phantom squeeze of your pussy milks him through every pulse.

He slumps there, panting, cock still twitching in his grip, eyes locked on you through the crack in the door.

You’re still trembling, legs limp, toy lodged inside you, chest rising and falling in shaky breaths.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

But the door creaks just a fraction wider under his weight.

And your eyes—glazed, wrecked, still teary—slowly lift.

They meet his.

For one endless heartbeat, neither of you breathes.

Then your lips part on a soft, broken whisper that carries straight to him,

“…gege?”

And everything that’s been building for months finally snaps.

You freak out the second your eyes blink from eye contact.

The sheets fly up in a frantic scramble, bunching around your chest and thighs as you yank them to your chin. Your cheeks ignite—burning, scorching hot—while a high-pitched squeak tears out of you like a startled animal.

“What are you—!”

The door, already ajar, swings wider under Caleb’s unsteady weight. He loses his balance completely—arms windmilling for half a second—then crashes forward with a loud, graceless thud, face-planting straight into the floorboards.

You squeak even louder, the sound shrill enough to rattle the windows.

He groans, low and pained, and slowly lifts his head. Blood trickles from his nose in a thin, bright red stream, dripping onto the wood. He blinks once, twice, dazed, then pushes himself up on shaking arms. His shorts are still shoved halfway down his thighs from earlier, so his dick—half-hard, flushed dark, still glistening at the tip—bobs free with the motion, jumping against his stomach like it has a mind of its own.

Your breath snags in your throat, sharp and audible.

You stare. You can’t not staring.

When you’d scrolled through that sketchy website a month ago, trembling and horny and stupid, you’d picked every detail from memory—the exact length you’d felt pressed against your hip during too-long hugs, the slight upward curve you’d glimpsed once through damp sweatpants, the heavy hang of his balls, the thick veins that stood out when his forearms flexed carrying your luggage. You’d thought it was obsessive fantasy.

But seeing it now—in the flesh, real, twitching, leaking a bead of precum that rolls slowly down the shaft—you realize with dizzying clarity—they didn’t just make a replica.

They made an exact fucking match.

Everything clicks into place like a lock tumbling open.

The “ghost” sensations.

The double penetration every night.

The way your toy always seemed to know exactly when he was close, clamping down harder, milking tighter.

The way his phantom cock always mirrored your rhythm, pounding deeper when you slammed down hardest.

Caleb hauls himself to his feet, swaying slightly. He notices your wide-eyed stare locked on his cock and flushes darker than you’ve ever seen him—red creeping from his collar to his ears. With a rough, embarrassed jerk, he yanks his shorts back up, the waistband snapping against his hips, but it does nothing to hide the thick outline still straining forward.

“Pipsqueak…” His voice comes out hoarse, cracked, half-lidded eyes dark and glassy. A thin trail of blood slides from his nostril, curving over the bow of his upper lip. He doesn’t wipe it away.

You snap back to yourself with a jolt.

“Caleb—your nose is bleeding!”

You scramble forward on your knees, sheets slipping dangerously low as you reach for the box of tissues on your nightstand. One hand presses a wad against his nose while the other clutches the fabric to your chest—but not fast enough. The sheet drops just enough to bare your breasts again, nipples peaked and flushed from everything that’s happened.

Caleb’s gaze drops instantly.

He stares—openly, hungrily—for one long heartbeat before you yank the sheet back up with a mortified squeak. Only then does he drag his eyes back to yours, pupils blown wide.

“It’s not because I fell,” he rasps, voice thick. “It’s because of…”

His stare rakes down your body again—slow, deliberate—taking in the way the sheet clings to your sweat-damp skin, the dark patch between your thighs where you’re still dripping, the toy still half-buried inside you under the covers. You squeak again, smaller this time, thighs pressing together instinctively.

“Caleb!”

“Okay—okay, I want you to stop freaking out and listen to me—”

You look away fast, heart hammering so loud it drowns out everything else. You don’t know how to explain this. How to admit that you’ve been coming undone on a silicone clone of him for months. That you’ve whispered his name like a prayer while your pussy clenched around fake-him, imagining real-him pinning you down. That you’re terrified of what it means now that the secret’s out.

Who fucks a replica of their gege’s dick?

You do.

You really, really do.

Before you can spiral further, Caleb’s hands—big, warm, calloused from flight controls—cup your cheeks. Gentle. Steady. He tilts your face up until you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

They’re soft. Guilty. Desperate. Everything at once.

“We need to figure this out, okay?” he whispers, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. “Wait—I need to show you something.”

And just like that he’s gone—bolting out of your room, bare feet slapping the hallway floor, leaving the door swinging wide behind him.

You’re alone again.

The room smells like sex and shame and him.

Your thighs tremble. The dildo is still inside you—warm, thick, stretching you open—and every tiny shift makes it drag against your oversensitive walls. You clench once, involuntarily, and a fresh trickle of slick leaks out around it.

You can hear him in his room now—drawers opening, something thudding to the floor, a muffled curse.

Your mind races.

He’s going to show you something.

You already know what it is.

A possible pocket pussy.

The one he’s been fucking every night while you rode his replica. The one that’s been milking him dry from three hundred miles away.

And now it’s here in this house with both of you.

You swallow hard, heart in your throat.

The floorboards creak as he comes back down the hall.

You don’t move.

Don’t pull the toy out.

Don’t cover up any more than you already are.

You just wait—sheets clutched to your chest, thighs still spread, pussy still stuffed, pulse roaring in your ears—while the footsteps get closer.

When Caleb steps back through the doorway, holding the black satin box like it’s evidence in a crime scene, eyes locked on yours with something raw and unguarded…

You know.

There’s no going back now.

Not for either of you.

Caleb steps back into your room, the black satin box cradled in his big hands like it’s both a confession and a trophy. He doesn’t hesitate—doesn’t even try to play coy. He flips the lid open right in front of you.

Your eyes blow wide. Your mouth drops into a perfect, stunned little ‘o’.

Nestled inside, glossy and obscene, is the pocket pussy—soft silicone lips parted just enough to show the glistening pink interior. And draped over it, stretched across the entrance like a filthy bow, is one of your missing lace panties. The pale pink ones with the tiny bow at the front. The ones you swore the washing machine devoured months ago.

Caleb—shameless bastard now that the mask is off—hooks two fingers under the waistband and tugs the fabric aside. He drags the pad of his thumb slowly along the outer folds, parting them gently, stroking the slick entrance like he’s petting something precious.

The sensation hits you like lightning.

A surprised, broken moan rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Your pussy clenches hard around the dildo still buried inside you, walls fluttering wildly, fresh slick leaking out around the base.

Caleb flushes darker—cheeks, neck, ears—but his grin is pure sin. He chokes on his own spit when your inner muscles clamp down again, the toy translating every spasm straight to his cock.

“You get it now?” he rasps, voice wrecked.

Your brain kicks into overdrive, thoughts crashing faster than light.

You’d spent months drowning in guilt—convincing yourself you were the only freak here, the only one twisted enough to order a perfect replica of your gege’s dick and ride it until you sobbed his name into your pillow. You’d hated how much you wanted it, how wrong it felt, how right it felt every time you came clenching around fake-him.

But look at him.

Look at your freak of a gege standing there holding a replica of your cunt, wrapped in your stolen panties like some depraved keepsake. He didn’t just buy it—he customized it, scented it, fucked it raw while thinking of you, and then he kept your underwear like a trophy.

“CALEB YOU STOLE MY PANTIES?!!?” The scream explodes out of you, eyes huge, accusatory, betrayed.

He squeaks—actually squeaks—scratching the back of his head with his free hand, sheepish grin wobbling.

“Umm… well… I rescued them to wash but uh… hehehehehe—”

You lunge.

Your fists rain down on his chest, shoulders, arms—smacking him over and over, forgetting the sheet, forgetting the toy still stretching you open, forgetting everything except righteous fury.

“YOU JERK!!! I KEPT BUYING CUTE PANTIES AND YOU STOLE THEM?!??! HOW DARE YOU!!! I THOUGHT THE WASHER WAS EATING THEM!!”

“Ow—ouch—ouch—pipsqueak!”

He’s half-laughing, half-squeaking, trying to shield himself but not really fighting back. The sounds are ridiculous, boyish, so much like the old Caleb that it almost hurts.

Then his arms snap around your waist.

One hard yank and you’re flush against him—chest to chest, hips to hips, the thick ridge of his cock pressing right against your lower belly through his shorts. Your breath punches out of you in a startled gasp.

“I can buy you new ones, yeah?” he murmurs, voice dropping low, rough. “Anything you want. But right now… we need to talk about this, meimei.”

The name hits like a shockwave.

You stop breathing.

His eyes are locked on yours—dark, molten, stripped of every layer of pretense. You feel every inch of him: the heat radiating off his skin, the hard planes of his chest, the insistent throb of his cock trapped between you. And lower—the dildo still lodged deep inside you, making your walls flutter every time you shift.

“Take it out, pipsqueak.”

Your cheeks burn so hot you think they’ll combust. You shake your head frantically—no, no, no—too embarrassed to move, too mortified to pull the replica of him out of your dripping cunt while he watches.

Caleb frowns, impatient.

His hand slides down—big, warm fingers wrapping around the base of the dildo where it’s buried in you. He groans low in his throat at the feel of your walls gripping it—gripping him, then yanks.

The toy comes free with a wet, filthy pop.

You gasp sharply—sharp enough to hurt—your pussy clenching around sudden emptiness. Slick gushes out in a messy splash, coating your inner thighs, dripping onto the sheets, making everything even more obscene.

“Come on,” he chuckles, dark and teasing, holding the glistening dildo up between you like evidence. “I know you weren’t shy fucking this replica in Linkon, huh? No wonder the ghost was so needy…”

His eyes drag over the toy—taking in the way it’s coated in your arousal, veins shiny, base slick—and then rake back up your body, slow and hungry.

“I should’ve known it was my naughty little pipsqueak. After all… it’s only meimei who takes this much from her gege, hmm?”

His voice drops to gravel.

You gulp, panting softly, chest heaving. You pout up at him—bratty, defiant—and smack his chest again, weaker this time.

“But… you had a replica of mine too!”

Caleb laughs—low, rough, relieved.

“In that case… I’m guilty too.”

Then he moves.

One step forward and your back hits the mattress. You both go down in a tangle—sheets ripping away completely, your naked body splayed beneath him, still sweaty, still flushed, still smelling like sex and shame and him.

He braces on his forearms, caging you in, face inches from yours.

“Then we should share this sin together, right?”

His hips settle between your thighs. The hard length of him—real this time—nudges right against your soaked entrance, hot and thick and leaking through his shorts.

You whimper—small, broken, needy.

His mouth hovers over yours, breath mingling.

“Tell me to stop, meimei,” he whispers, voice trembling just enough to betray how close he is to breaking. “Tell me and I’ll walk out right now. We’ll pretend this never happened.”

Your hands slide up—fingers curling into his shoulders, nails digging in.

You don’t push him away.

You pull him closer.

“Don’t you dare,” you breathe against his lips.

And that’s it.

The last thread snaps.

Caleb’s mouth crashes down on yours—hungry, desperate, years of pent-up want pouring out in one bruising kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming, tasting, while his hips grind forward, dragging the fat head of his cock through your folds.

You arch up into him with a sob, legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper.

He groans into your mouth—raw, wrecked.

“Fuck—pipsqueak—been waiting so long—”

Caleb pulls back just enough to drink you in—really drink you in.

You’re sprawled beneath him like a fever dream: lips swollen and glossy from his kisses, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow pants, eyes glassy and half-lidded with want. His gaze drags down slow—over the flushed peaks of your tits, the soft curve of your belly still trembling from aftershocks, then lower, to where your thighs are parted and your pussy is clenching desperately around nothing. Slick shines on your inner thighs, dripping down toward the sheets in lazy rivulets. The toy’s absence has left you empty and aching, walls fluttering visibly like they’re begging to be filled again.

His whole body burns—not just from the heat of the moment, but from the sheer, dizzying reality of it. His wildest, most shameful dream is right here: you, naked and wrecked and his, finally letting him see you like this. Touch you like this. He’s drowning in emotions—guilt, relief, raw hunger—but he forces himself to focus. He wants this to be good for you. Better than good. He wants to feed every filthy craving you’ve both been hiding, satisfy the hunger that’s been eating you alive for months.

“So pretty,” he stutters, voice cracking as two fingers glide down your slit. He parts your folds gently, watching the way your clit twitches under the lightest brush.

You yelp, thighs jerking inward on instinct. “Caleb!”

He shakes his head, firm but soft. His free hand comes down in a sharp spank to the plush meat of your thigh—hard enough to sting, soft enough to make the flesh jiggle.

“Oh no no no no,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “Don’t go hiding from me now. You’re beautiful, pipsqueak. I want to admire all of you.”

You bite your lower lip hard, cheeks flaming, but you don’t close your legs again. You watch—breath hitching—as his fingers continue their slow exploration: tracing your entrance, dipping just inside to feel how soaked you are, then sliding lower. He gropes one ass cheek shamelessly, kneading the soft flesh before landing another weak, appreciative spank. The jiggle makes him groan low in his throat.

“Aw damn…”

You huff, mortified and turned on in equal measure, and reach up to grab his ear—tugging hard.

He yelps instantly. “Ow ow ow—what’s wrong? Did I hurt you—”

You scoff, cutting him off, and slide both palms under his shirt. Your fingers find the hard planes of his pecs, cupping them shamelessly, thumbs brushing over his nipples.

“Take off your clothes too, dummy,” you mutter, voice bratty and breathless. “I don’t wanna be the only one naked.”

Caleb blinks once—then grins so wide it’s almost stupid, ear-to-ear and boyish despite the filthy situation.

“Fair enough.”

He yanks the sleeveless shirt over his head in one smooth motion, muscles flexing under sweaty skin as it hits the floor somewhere behind him. Next come the shorts—hooked thumbs in the waistband, frantic tug downward. The fabric slides off his thighs and his cock springs free, slapping lewdly against his lower abs with a wet smack.

You gasp—sharp, involuntary.

It’s exactly like the dildo. Down to the last detail: the thick veins, the slight upward curve, the flushed brownish-pink head already leaking, the heavy balls hanging low. Your pussy clenches hard around nothing at the sight, a fresh gush of slick trickling out.

“Like what you see, huh?” he smirks, voice hoarse and wrecked. He grips the base and smacks the fat head against your dripping folds—once, twice—coating himself in your mess.

You whine instantly, hips jerking up. “Ahhh fuck—Caleb—mmmpphhh!!”

But instead of pushing in, he pulls back. You frown, confused and needy—until you see him reach for the dildo again.

With a slow, sinful smile, he lines it up and slides it back inside your tight cunt.

“Hai—ahhhh—Caleb!?!”

You can only stare up at his face—pleasure twisting his features, mouth falling open in a perfect ‘o’—as he pushes the toy deeper. A low, rumbling groan escapes him.

“Fuck… exact feeling…”

He keeps going—slow, torturous—watching your face the whole time while he feeds inch after inch back into you. Your walls stretch around the familiar silicone, fluttering, sucking it in greedily until it’s buried to the hilt again: tip kissing your cervix, heavy balls pressed flush against your ass.

Only then does he stop.

But he’s not done.

He manhandles you with easy strength—big hands under your thighs, lifting you like you weigh nothing. You squeak as he repositions you properly on the bed: flat on your back, head near the pillows, legs spread wide. He climbs over you, straddling your chest, knees bracketing your shoulders.

His cock hovers right above your face—hard, twitching, leaking a fat pearl of precum from the slit.

Your brain empties completely. All you can do is stare: at him, at the dick that’s been haunting your nights for months, now real and inches from your lips.

“You’ll suck it, right baby?” he rasps, voice trembling with restraint. “Mmmh… suck gege’s dick while the replica stretches you open.”

He lowers himself slowly. The swollen head smacks against your lips—hot, sticky, salty.

You open immediately.

Your mouth wraps around the tip, tongue swirling, sucking gently at first. Caleb throws his head back with a guttural sound.

“Ohhh fuck—dual sensation—ahhh… shit!”

His fingers slide into your hair, gripping gently but firm. He starts fucking your mouth in shallow thrusts—careful not to choke you yet, but deep enough to make your eyes water.

“Fuck baby… take it deeper. I know you can—ahh… you’ve been swallowing that dick down your throat, haven’t you? Hah…”

You can barely think—pussy stuffed full and throbbing around the toy, mouth stretched around the real thing, taste of him flooding your senses. But you obey.

Your hands fly up—gripping the firm meat of his ass, nails digging in as you pull him forward. You relax your throat and swallow him to the base in one slow, greedy glide.

Your nose buries into the neatly trimmed, newly shaved patch of pubic hair. His scent—musk, clean sweat, him—overwhelms you. Your eyes roll back, lashes fluttering, fingers sinking deeper into the thick muscle of his thighs while tears of effort slip down your temples.

Caleb’s head snaps back, face contorting in raw pleasure—jaw slack, brows furrowed, a broken moan tearing from his chest.

“Fuck—pipsqueak—good girl—fuck—”

He holds himself there for a heartbeat—letting you feel every thick inch pulsing on your tongue—before he starts to move again.

Slow, deep thrusts into your mouth while the dildo stays buried in your cunt, every rock of his hips making the toy shift inside you just enough to drag against your walls.

You’re stuffed at both ends.

Full.

Claimed.

His.

And he’s not stopping until you both break again.

Caleb keeps fucking your mouth with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips—balls smacking wetly against your chin on every deep thrust, the filthy sound echoing in the quiet room. His moans are low and ragged, pleasure ripping through him in waves as your throat flutters around his length, tongue pressing flat against the underside, sucking greedily.

You snap your hips forward uselessly, clenching desperately around the dildo still buried deep in your cunt. The dual fullness—mouth stuffed with real him, pussy stretched by fake him—has you trembling, thighs shaking, slick dripping down your ass in steady rivulets.

That’s when he breaks.

Caleb’s whole body locks up, shaking violently. His fingers tighten in your hair—almost too hard—burying himself to the root until your nose presses flush against his pelvis. A guttural groan tears from his chest as he starts cumming.

Thick, hot spurts flood your mouth instantly—salty, bitter, overwhelming. Your eyes roll back so hard you see stars, throat working frantically to swallow it all, but there’s too much. It overflows the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin in messy strings.

He doesn’t stop.

He pulls out with a lewd, wet pop—cock still jerking—and shoots the last few ropes across your face: warm streaks painting your cheeks, your nose, your swollen lips. You gasp for air, tongue darting out instinctively to lick what you can reach, tasting him everywhere.

Caleb pants above you, chest heaving, staring down at the mess he made. You look wrecked—face covered in his cum, eyes glassy and dazed, lips parted and shiny. He knows he should feel ashamed. He should apologize, clean you up, stop this madness.

But fuck—you look so hot like this it’s rewriting his brain chemistry. Ruining him for anything else.

You flutter your lashes up at him, slow and deliberate, tongue tracing your lower lip to catch another drop. The sight snaps something inside him.

He groans, low and broken, and reaches for the dildo. One rough yank and he pulls it free from your overstimulated pussy.

You arch violently off the bed, hips jerking, a gush of slick squirting out around the sudden emptiness. “F-fuck—Caleb—!”

He stares, mesmerized. “Fuck… you’re so hot, meimei. I think I’m losing my mind.”

You’re panting, trying to catch your breath, body still twitching with aftershocks. Guilt crashes over him like cold water—he reaches for the tissue box on your nightstand with shaking hands and starts wiping your face clean, gentle despite everything.

His cheeks are crimson, burning with embarrassment and leftover heat. “Ah shit—sorry pipsqueak, didn’t mean to… fuck… I’m sorry, okay?”

You just stare up at him—brain fried, body humming—and reach out. Your fingers wrap around his still-hard cock, slick with spit and cum.

He hitches a sharp breath. “Ahhh—oh god—mmhh—”

You give him lazy, teasing strokes, smirking mischievously through the haze.

“I want it, Caleb,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “I want your dick.”

He groans, hips snapping forward into your touch. Hearing you talk like that—filthy, needy—makes him throb harder in your palm.

“Say it again, meimei,” he rasps, voice trembling. “Say it… properly.”

You bite your lower lip, thumb flicking over the sensitive head, circling the slit, smearing precum.

“I want your dick, gege,” you purr, slow and deliberate. “Please?”

You don’t stop. Somehow you sit up—legs shaky—free hand sliding up his arm, over the thick muscle of his shoulder, then flicking his hard nipple. You lick your lips again, eyes locked on his, and climb into his lap.

“Need you inside, gege,” you breathe against his throat. “Not the… toy. Need your dick to fuck this pussy—mmhh!”

Caleb snaps.

Since when did his sweet pipsqueak become this seductive little tease?

He hauls you up the bed in one swift motion—then slams you back down onto the mattress. Not too rough—just enough to make you squeak in surprise, tits bouncing with the impact.

“Fuck—look at that sultry expression,” he growls, voice dark. “You’re such a tease, meimei. Such a dirty girl begging her gege’s dick.”

His palm comes down in a sharp smack against your pussy—wet, obscene. You whine, arching hard, the sting turning into molten heat that makes you even wetter.

“You bought a dildo to fuck this needy little cunt, huh?” Another smack—harder. You sob, mindless, hips grinding back toward his hand. “Used a replica of your gege’s dick to train this pussy?”

You can only nod—whimpering, desperate—grinding shamelessly against his palm.

“Fuck—but who am I to judge?” he chuckles darkly. “I’m a freak too, ain’t I?”

He presses the fat head of his cock to your entrance—hot, leaking, real—and snaps his hips forward in one powerful thrust.

You both nearly scream.

The bed shakes beneath you as he bottoms out—thick, burning, stretching you in ways the toy never could. Your walls clamp down instantly, fluttering around every veiny inch.

Caleb grips the headboard above you, knuckles white, hovering over your body. His other hand slides between your legs—fingers finding your clit, pinching and flicking with his thumb while he watches your face twist in pleasure.

“Good thing is… I don’t have to train you for my dick anymore, hah,” he pants, hips rutting in sloppy, messy thrusts. “You’re nice and ready to take me full… fuck… I never thought—”

He throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut. Tears well at the corners—not from pain, but from too much everything: pleasure, relief, fear.

He’s terrified he’ll cry in front of you. Terrified you’ll disappear when this ends. Terrified he’ll lose you after finally having you.

So he fucks you deeper—hands roaming everywhere: groping your tits, spanking your ass, squeezing your thighs. Rough, unpracticed, desperate. He can’t help it. He’s never done this before—not like this, not with anyone.

Suddenly he stops—mid-thrust, sweat dripping down his chest in rivulets. He looks down at you, panic flashing in his eyes.

“Hey—hey hey hey, pipsqueak… hah… are you like—feeling actually good? Like… or…”

His whole face is on fire. He gulps, vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache.

Your brain is too fried to process deeply. You just grin—mindless, blissed-out—and grind back against him with a small, innocent smile.

“Mmhh… best big brother ever…”

Caleb’s mouth falls open. He chokes on a laugh—or maybe a sob—then shakes his head and goes back to fucking you.

He’ll ask when you’re sober. Right now you’re too drunk on his cock to think straight.

He finds your clit again—rubbing tight circles—and feels the telltale shiver in your hips. You’re close. He can see the faint bulge in your lower belly every time he bottoms out, and it makes him shy and so fucking turned on at the same time.

The fact that he’s claiming you like this—fucking you so deep you’ll feel him for days—makes his head spin. He prays this isn’t a fever dream.

His own brain is melting from the pleasure, the sensation, the sight of you taking him so perfectly.

He reaches down—presses the heel of his palm against the bulge in your belly—and pushes.

Both your eyes roll back at the same instant.

Broken moans spill from your tongues as you cum together—hard.

You squirt violently—soaking his cock, his abs, the sheets in messy arcs—walls clamping down like a vice around him.

Caleb comes with a shattered whimper—hips stuttering, spilling inside you in thick, endless pulses until it leaks out around his base, dripping down his balls and onto the ruined bed.

He collapses next to you—breathing ragged, eyes half-focused and glassy.

After a long moment he reaches over—gentle now—brushing damp hair off your face. A soft, satisfied smile curves his lips.

“Thank you…” he whispers, voice hoarse and raw.

You turn your head—still panting, still trembling—and press a lazy kiss to his palm.

“Gege…”

He pulls you close—bodies sticky, tangled, hearts hammering in sync.

Caleb’s hand comes up slow—almost reverent—caressing the side of your face, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone like he’s memorizing the texture of your skin. His breath hitches when he feels the warmth, the realness of you still flushed and glowing against him. A low, stuttering rumble escapes his chest.

“Did you… like it, pipsqueak?”

You’re draped over him now—breasts cushioned against the hard plane of his chest, cheek pressed to the thick swell of his pec, listening to the thunder of his heartbeat slow. You grin lazily, voice cracked and hoarse from all the moaning, all the screaming his name.

“I fucking loved it, Caleb.”

His smirk falters—just for a second—something soft and vulnerable flickering in his eyes. His thumb circles lazy patterns over your hipbone, the touch grounding and possessive at once.

“Me too.” He swallows. “I thought I was pushing things too fast… making it uncomfortable since I’ve never—”

Your eyes shoot open. You half-scream, half-gasp, bolting upright so fast your tits bounce against his chest.

“WAIT—you… YOU MEAN YOU WERE A VIRGIN?!?!”

Caleb’s whole face ignites—crimson flooding from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut in pure mortification, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward in a faint, sheepish grin.

“Yeah yeah… first time got my dick wet. Kinda nervous.”

You beam—bright, wicked, delighted—and crash your mouth to his in a messy, giddy kiss. Then you’re scrambling off him, lunging for your phone on the nightstand.

“Wait—lemme take a picture of us losing our virginities together!”

Caleb’s mouth drops open. You were a virgin too. The realization hits him square in the chest—funny, warm, possessive—and a smug grin spreads across his face before he can stop it.

You flip the camera to selfie mode, crawling back into his lap, thighs bracketing his hips. His arms snake around your waist immediately—tight, claiming—pulling you flush against him while you stick your tongue out in a naughty little pose.

“Say cheese!”

He looks straight at the lens—smug as hell, eyes half-lidded and dark with leftover lust—while you giggle and snap the photo.

Caleb huffs softly after, nuzzling into your neck. “You better not show this to anyone.”

You wiggle your eyebrows mischievously. “Oh, I’m gonna show it to any guy who’ll bother me like—you should be scared of my big brother.”

He wheezes—chokes on his own spit—and bursts out laughing, arms squeezing you until you squeak in protest.

“Diabolical.”

His palm comes down in a light, playful spank on your ass—watching the flesh bounce with open delight.

“You’re a menace to society, you know that?”

“I get it from you.”

You bite your lower lip, rolling your hips back slow—grinding your slick folds along his still-hard cock. He groans low in his throat.

“Fair enough.”

He dives back in—kissing you deep, tongues tangling messy and hungry. You both moan into each other’s mouths, hands roaming, relearning every inch now that the barrier’s gone.

“Fuck… I’m gonna miss you when I go back to Skyhaven…”

You grin against his lips, crawling higher up his body until you’re straddling his chest. Your hand wraps around his cock—still slick, still leaking—and guide the head to your mouth.

“That’s what the toys are for, gege.”

You hum as you wrap your lips around him again—slow, teasing—tongue swirling over the sensitive slit. Caleb lets out a low, rumbling moan, hips twitching up into the wet heat of your mouth.

“Ahhh… I almost forgot…”

His fingers slide down—two thick digits pushing into your dripping pussy without warning. You moan around his cock, the vibration making him curse under his breath.

“Three days left… fuck, I can’t get enough of you, meimei…!”

Neither can you.

The next three days blur into one long, feverish haze.

You fuck like rabbits—hours bleeding into hours, positions changing, surfaces shifting—bed, floor, shower, kitchen counter when Gran’s still gone, even on the old couch in the living room where you used to watch cartoons together as kids.

He eats you out until your thighs shake and you’re crying his name.

You ride him slow and deep until he’s begging.

He pins you against the wall and fucks you standing until pictures rattle on their hooks.

You suck him off in the hallway while he tries—and fails to stay quiet.

Every time one of you starts to flag—exhausted, sore, spent—the other just reaches over, touches, whispers filthy encouragement, and the fire reignites.

Even after Gran comes back—bags in hand, cheerful questions about your “quiet week”—you keep sneaking.

Late-night tiptoes down the hall.

Muffled moans pressed into pillows so she doesn’t hear.

Quick, desperate fucks in the bathroom while the shower runs to cover the sounds.

His hand over your mouth while he grinds into you from behind, whispering “quiet, meimei, or Gran’ll hear how much her good girl likes her gege’s cock.”

When the vacation finally ends, you stand on the platform watching the train to Skyhaven pull away.

Caleb leans out the open window one last time—hair mussed, eyes soft and dark—and presses a final, lingering kiss to your lips.

“Be good,” he murmurs against your mouth.

You grin, wicked. “No promises.”

The train starts moving. He disappears down the track.

You stand there until it’s gone, thighs clenched tight—still feeling the fresh load he stuffed you full with this morning before dawn, warm and thick and leaking slowly down your inner thighs under your skirt.

You shift your weight—feel it drip a little more—and smile to yourself.

Three hundred miles apart again. But the toys are waiting. And now you both know exactly what the other needs. You turn toward your apartment in linkon, already counting the days until the next break.

your hand moves from your robe to your stomach, pressing against the plane of your belly. you're small. you know this. delicate in a way that makes people underestimate you. and blind. gods, the blindness. the one thing that has sent every single suitor running in the opposite direction.

princes would see your face first—the one they called ethereal, otherworldly, beautiful in a way that seemed impossible—and they'd fall to their knees.

they'd whisper sweet words, promises of devotion, declarations of love at first sight. and then you'd speak, and they'd realize your eyes didn't track their movements, didn't meet their gaze. and slowly, painfully, you'd listen to them pull away. hear the hesitation creep into their voices. feel the distance grow until they were gone.

you were used to it.

but sukuna? sukuna had looked at you once, for a single moment, and said yes. the entire empire had been shocked. the king of curses, the ruthless murderer, the emperor who had never shown interest in any woman, accepting a blind bride from a neighboring kingdom? it was scandalous. impossible.

and you'd felt hope.

you hate yourself for that hope now.

because three months of silence have taught you the truth. he doesn't want you. he tolerates you. and honestly? you'd almost prefer cruelty. at least cruelty would be a reaction. at least cruelty would mean he saw you as something worth acknowledging.

but this nothingness? this endless, suffocating nothingness?

it makes you feel like you've already disappeared.

the servants guide you through your days with practiced efficiency. they dress you, feed you, lead you through the palace halls. you've memorized the layout of your chambers, the path to the gardens, the number of steps from your room to the dining hall. you've learned to navigate this world without sight, just as you've always done.

but you can't navigate him.

you don't know where he sits at meals. you don't know if he watches you. you don't know if he even notices when you're in the same room. his presence is a void—a massive, oppressive absence of warmth that you can feel but never touch.

tonight was bad.

you'd been led to the gardens by a new servant, someone who didn't know your habits. she'd taken you left instead of right, and you'd walked straight into a hedge, thorns scratching your calves before she'd yanked you back with a flurry of apologies.

then you'd almost fallen down a staircase—the grand staircase with its uneven steps—your foot catching on the edge, your heart lurching into your throat as you'd pitched forward. a guard caught you just in time.

and the whispers.

you can't see their faces, but you can hear their voices. the concubines. the noblewomen. the servants who think you can't hear them.

"the blind empress."

"does he even notice her?"

"i heard he hasn't touched her once."

"what a waste of a pretty face."

"she must be so lonely."

"she must be so pathetic."

you'd smiled through all of it. kept your head high, your shoulders back, your voice steady. you learned long ago that showing weakness only invites more cruelty. so you'd walked through the halls with your practiced grace, your cane tapping against the marble floors, your face serene.

but inside, you were crumbling.

and now, lying in this massive bed, with your hair spread across a silk pillow and the scent of incense curling through the air, you can feel him beside you. he's so close. you know he's sitting up, his back probably against the headboard, his presence a heavy weight in the darkness.

does he ever sleep?

you've never heard him snore. never heard him shift in his sleep. he's so still, so silent, you sometimes wonder if he's even real.

a long, long time passes. the candles burn down. the incense fades. the night wraps around you like a shroud.

and you can't take it anymore.

"ryomen?"

your voice comes out soft, barely above a whisper. you hate how small you sound. how vulnerable. you'd wanted to sound strong, confident, demanding. instead, you sound like a child calling out in the dark.

silence.

you wait. count your heartbeats. one. two. three. four. five.

just when you're certain he's ignoring you, just when the familiar ache of rejection settles into your chest, a voice cuts through the darkness.

"what."

it's gruff. low. a single word that rumbles through the air like distant thunder. and it's the most he's said to you in days.

you swallow. your throat is dry. your fingers twist in the sheets.

"i...i want to ask you something."

more silence. you can feel him staring at you. you can't see it, but you can feel it—the weight of his gaze, heavy and unreadable.

"ask."

you take a shaky breath. this is it. this is the moment you've been building toward for three months. the question that's been eating you alive, consuming you from the inside out.

"do you hate me?"

the words hang in the air between you. they sound so small. so pathetic. you wish you could take them back, but it's too late. they're out there now, exposed and raw.

"hate you?" his voice is strange. almost...confused?

"because of...because i'm...y'know, blind." the words taste like ash in your mouth. "i know it's...i know i'm not what you expected. i know i'm not the best option. i know i'm—"

"stop."

the word is sharp, and you flinch. your breath catches in your throat. you brace yourself for anger, for cruelty, for him to finally confirm what you've suspected all along.

but instead of harsh words, you feel movement. the bed shifts. his weight moves closer.

and then, without warning, a hand wraps around your waist and pulls.

you let out a frightened shriek as you're yanked from your position, your body colliding with something solid and warm. your hands fly out, grasping at fabric, at skin, at anything. you're on his lap, straddling his thighs, your chest pressed against his. he's so big—so impossibly large—that you feel like a doll in his arms.

"ryomen!" your voice is high, panicked. "what—"

"quiet."

his hand settles on your thigh. it's huge. calloused. rough in a way that sends shivers down your spine. but the touch is gentle. impossibly gentle. he strokes your thigh once, twice, a soothing motion that slowly calms your racing heart.

"you really think," he says slowly, his voice rumbling against your chest, "that i hate you?"

you can't speak. your throat is too tight. you settle for shaking your head against his chest, even though it's a lie.

a low sound escapes him—not quite a growl, not quite a laugh. his hand slides from your thigh to your chin, tilting your face up. his thumb brushes across your lower lip, feather-light.

"open your eyes."

the command catches you off guard. "what?"

"your eyes. open them."

you blink, confused. your eyes are already open. you can't see anything, but they're open. you tell him as much.

"no." his voice is strange. softer. "i mean...look at me."

"i can't see you."

"i know." his thumb traces your jawline. "but i can see you. and i want to see your eyes. please."

please.

the word catches you off guard. the king of curses, saying please? to you?

you don't move. don't breathe. just let him hold your face in his massive hand, his touch devastatingly tender.

"i don't hate you," he says, and his voice cracks on the words. "gods, woman. i could never hate you."

your heart stutters. "then why—"

"because i'm fuckin' terrified."

you blink. "what?"

"do you know what i am?" his hand slides from your face to your hair, fingers threading through the strands. "i'm a killer. i've been killing for centuries. my hands are stained with blood i'll never wash clean. i'm rough, and violent, and i don't know how to be gentle."

"but—"

"but when i saw you..." he trails off. his fingers tighten in your hair, just barely. "when i saw you, i couldn't breathe. you were so beautiful. so small. so... perfect. and i thought, 'she's too good f'me.' , 'i'll break her.' , 'i'll hurt her.'"

his voice drops to a whisper.

"so i stayed away. because every time i look at you, i want to touch you. and every time i touch you, i'm afraid i'll destroy you."

tears prick at your eyes. you don't understand. you can't understand. this entire time, you thought he hated you. you thought he found you repulsive, broken, worthless.

but he was...

...afraid?

"you don't hate me?" you whisper.

"no." his forehead presses against yours. "i love you. i've loved you since the moment i saw you."

a sob escapes your throat. it's ugly and raw and you can't stop it.

"but you never—you never talked to me—"

"because i didn't trust myself." his other hand comes up to cup your cheek. "because i knew if i started, i wouldn't be able to stop."

"then don't stop."

the words leave your mouth before you can think. they hang in the air, bold and desperate.

"don't stop," you repeat. "please. i don't want you to stop."

sukuna goes still. so still that you wonder if he's stopped breathing.

"you don't know what you're asking."

"i do." you reach up, your fingers finding his face. you trace the planes of his cheeks, the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips. "you're my husband. i want you. all of you."

"i'll hurt you."

"i don't care."

"i'll break you."

"i don't care."

his breath hitches. and then, finally, finally, his lips crash against yours.

the kiss is desperate. hungry. it tastes like three months of longing, of confusion, of aching loneliness. his hand fists in your hair, pulling you closer, and you gasp against his mouth. his tongue slides against your lower lip, asking for entry, and you give it willingly.

he tastes like sake and power and something darker. something that makes your toes curl and your heart race.

he pulls back, breathless.

"tell me to stop, and i will."

"don't," you say immediately. "don't stop."

he groans. his hands slide down your back, gripping your hips, and he lays you down on the bed. you fall against the silk sheets, your hair spreading around you like a halo. you can't see him, but you can feel him—his weight on the bed, his heat surrounding you, his breath ghosting across your skin.

"m'gonna show you," he says, his voice low and rough. "m'gonna kiss every inch of your body. gonna taste you until you scream my name. i want to make you feel so good that you forget every single doubt you've ever had about yourself."

your breath catches. "ryomen—"

"let me." his lips brush against your neck. "let me show you how much i love you."

you nod, unable to speak.

his hands find the tie of your robe. he undoes it slowly, reverently, like he's unwrapping a gift he's been waiting centuries to open. the fabric falls away, cool air hitting your skin, and you shiver.

"beautiful," he breathes. "so fucking beautiful."

you feel his lips on your collarbone. soft. worshipful. he kisses down your chest, his tongue tracing a path between your breasts. his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples, and you gasp.

"sensitive," he murmurs. "good. i'll remember that."

he takes one nipple into his mouth. his tongue circles the peak, slow and deliberate, and you arch into him with a desperate moan. he laves at you, sucking gently, nipping with his teeth until you're writhing beneath him.

"more," you gasp. "please—"

"patience." his voice is a dark promise. "i haven't even started with ya' yet."

he switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention. his hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing patterns on your skin, until he reaches the apex of your thighs. you're already wet—embarrassingly wet—and he lets out a low growl when he feels it.

"fuck," he mutters against your skin. "you're soaked. f'me?"

"yes," you whimper. "only you."

he groans. his fingers slide through your folds, collecting your wetness, and you buck into his touch.

"tell me what you want."

"i want—" you gasp as his thumb circles your clit. "m'want your mouth."

his laugh is dark and breathless. "demanding little thing, aren't ya'?"

"please," you beg. "ryo, please—"

"shh." he kisses your stomach. "i'll give ya' what y'want."

he moves down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire. he kisses your hips, your thighs, the inside of your knees. by the time he reaches your core, you're trembling, desperate, aching.

and then his tongue touches you.

you cry out, your hands flying to his hair. he laps at you like a man starved, his tongue sliding through your folds, circling your clit, dipping inside you. he moans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.

"taste s'good," he mutters against your skin. "could eat ya' forever."

he sucks your clit into his mouth, and you scream. your hips buck against his face, but he holds you down, his massive hands gripping your thighs. he alternates between sucking and licking, building a rhythm that has you climbing higher and higher.

"that's it," he praises. "let go f'me...lemme taste ya'."

his fingers find your entrance, sliding inside you without warning. two fingers, thick and long, stretching you. he curls them, hitting a spot that makes you see stars, and you shatter.

you come with a scream of his name, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through you. he doesn't stop. he laps at you through your orgasm, drawing it out until you're sobbing from the intensity.

when you finally come down, he crawls up your body, his lips finding yours. you taste yourself on his tongue, and it's the most intimate thing you've ever experienced.

"m-more," you whisper. "m'want more."

his eyes—you can feel them—search your face.

"are you sure? we can stop. we can—"

"i'm sure." you reach for him, your fingers finding his chest. "i want you...please."

he hesitates. you feel the tension in his muscles, the restraint he's barely holding onto.

"m'bigger than ya'," he says, matter of factly. "a lot bigger. and i have...i have two dicks, woman. i don't know if—"

"i don't care." you pull him closer. "i trust you."

he groans, pressing his forehead against yours.

"if it hurts too much, tell me. and i'll stop."

"okay."

"promise me."

"i promise."

he shifts above you, and you feel something heavy and thick press against your thigh. and then another. two cocks. the thought should terrify you, but instead, it sends a thrill through your body.

he aligns himself with your entrance, and you feel the tip pressing against you. he's huge—so much bigger than his fingers—and you wonder if you can actually take him.

"relax f'me," he murmurs. "breathe."

you inhale deeply, and he pushes in.

just the tip, and you gasp. he's stretching you in a way that's almost unbearable. it hurts. there's a burning sensation, a pressure that's too much and not enough.

"shh," he soothes. "you're doing s'well. so good f'me."

he pushes deeper, inch by agonizing inch. you feel your body struggling to accommodate him, your walls clenching around his length. and then—

a sharp pain.

fuck...you forgot.

you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. he stops immediately.

"did i hurt ya'?"

you can't answer. the pain is fading, replaced by a strange fullness. you feel something wet trickle down your thigh. warm. sticky.

blood.

his eyes slowly flicker down, and you can hear his breath stop. he's tense. too tense.

"fuck," he hisses. "you're—you're a fuckin' virgin?"

you nod weakly, biting your lip. your heart is pounding fast. loud. "is that...bad?"

"no." his voice is strained. "no, it's not bad. i just—fuck—i didn't know. i would have been more careful, woman."

"you are being careful," you whisper, fingers pressing into his shoulders "keep going."

"you're fuckin' bleeding."

"i don't care. please. i want to feel you." you sniffle. god, the pleasure is making you bold. too fucking bold.

he lets out a shaky breath. "you're going to kill me."

but he pushes deeper, slower this time. gentler. his lips find yours, kissing you softly as he sinks into you. the pain fades, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that makes you moan.

when he's fully sheathed, he stops. lets you adjust. his forehead presses against yours, his breath ragged.

"y'feel incredible," he breathes. "so tight. so...fuck...perfect."

"move," you beg. "please."

he pulls out slowly, then pushes back in. the friction is delicious, the stretch exquisite. he sets a rhythm—slow, deep, deliberate—each thrust hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

"ryomen," you gasp. "r-ryo—"

"i know," he murmurs. "i know, doll. feels s'good, doesn't it?"

"yes—yes—"

his hand slides down your stomach, pressing against the slight bulge where he's buried inside you. the feeling makes you moan.

"look at that," he says, awe in his voice. "you can feel me, can't ya'? right here."

he presses down, and you feel it—the outline of him inside you. it's obscene. it's incredible.

"more," you gasp. "harder—"

"y'sure?"

"yes—please—"

he obliges. his pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent. the bed creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with your moans and his grunts.

"gonna come," he warns. "where do you want it?"

"inside," you gasp. "please—i want to feel you—"

he groans, his hips slamming into yours. and then he's coming, hot and thick, filling you so completely. you feel it—his release pouring into you, painting your walls, claiming you from the inside. his cum is already trickling down your thigh, oozing out of your cunt.

at the same time, he's stroking his other cock. you feel the wet spurts hit your stomach, warm and sticky.

he collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you. his face buries in your neck, and you feel his breath, ragged and uneven.

"i love you," he whispers, gruff. it's funny. you've always thought the word love doesn't exist in his vocabulary. but here he is, saying it over and over again. "i love you so much it terrifies me."

you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer.

"i love you too."

a long moment passes. then another. and then—

"we're going to do that again."

you laugh, breathless.

"right now?"

"after i clean you up." he kisses your neck. "and then again. and again. and again. until ya' can't walk."

"promise?"

he pulls back, and even though you can't see him, you know he's smirking.

"promise."

you're already half asleep when he pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll disappear. his lips press against your hair, your forehead, your eyelids.

"my wife," he murmurs. "my perfect, beautiful wife."

you smile against his skin.

"my husband."

"forever."

"forever."

2026 ── 𝓦𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐎𝐅 @atelphobist 𝜗ৎ

ᥫ᭡ | © 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳. 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘪.

Even more gorgeous than you’d been during those brief formal interviews, between clans and council members who nudged each other at the fact that he had finally chosen a bride. 

You’d swapped out your wedding robes for an actual robe that was much…riskier. Stuck to your skin, glistening in the faint candlelight. You were semi-sprawled comfortably across the bed, having patiently waited for their ‘team meeting’ to have finished. 

And Sukuna would’ve yelled at any of them for gaping stupidly from the doorway, he should have - if he wasn’t gaping stupidly himself, that is. Lips parted, crimson eyes bulging. 

This was the clan leader rumored by some to be a monster, and rumored by others to fight like a monster: now fully frozen at the sight of you. 

It takes about seven different council members and Itadori Wasuke poking Sukuna’s muscular back with his wooden cane to make him move. “Ryo-” Jin hisses in slight concern, fingers starting to itch towards his phone, namely in the sequence of the emergency number he’d memorized for tonight. “Ryo move- you- oaf-” 

Respect for the head of the household be damned, they were deadset on bullying him inside the romantically-decorated room. Finally making him move one foot. Two. 

As soon as he staggers through the entrance, the towering mahogany doors then slam shut behind him. Somewhat snapping Sukuna out of his little reverie - somewhat. He shakes his head free of that vision of you, gaze dropping to the floor- anywhere but where you were sitting, so beautiful and unbothered. 

An heir.

Right, an heir. What was that nonsense about six heirs? Right now, he felt he’d be lucky to get to not faint.

“I uh-” You lean closer with a smile when he starts to sputter out, and the act itself nearly makes him take a step back. Heart rushing to the surface of his tattooed skin, “Ah, I mean-”

He gulps. And almost as if they were sensing the tension inside the bedroom, the group outside abruptly starts up the distant saxophone of a George Michael. It filters through the slight gaps of the doorway and into the thick silence inside. 

You were looking at him with a raised brow, clearly waiting for him to speak first with his interesting reaction.

Which is exactly what Ryomen Sukuna does - exactly why he clears his throat gravely. All seven feet of his figure straightening, toned chest puffing out. Jin had told him to smile before he smoldered, and right now Sukuna does neither. Only asking in grim seriousness-

“So are you uh…open-minded?”

“What?”

“What?”

BANG!

He’d removed himself from the honeymoon suite before you could even blink. 

And as you sat up on the bed in genuine confusion, the clan leader outside - your husband - was crouched against the now-closed bedroom doors. Knees to his pecs, all four palms coming up to cover his face- though, they do nothing to hide the scorching red flushed at the tips of his ears. 

The elders can only gawk; they’d known Sukuna since birth, and never had he acted in this manner. Never had he been so flustered, blushed so bright that it looked like he was steaming from his very skin. Flinching at the touch of his brother, he groans once the older one starts punting him with questions.

Jin squawks, “Is your wife okay- are you okay?”

“Yes- no.”

“Do I need to call the fire department?”

“No.”

“The exorcist-”

“No no no- fuck! She was just so…” Sukuna finally manages to string together more than one coherent syllable, running his hefty fingers down his features, like he wanted to scrub the embarrassment off of him. And the tail end of his response rings out as nothing but a whisper. So small, so shy. “…beautiful.”

He looks up at the circle surrounding him like he was pleading, “So, so beautiful.” Baritone dropping into an even lower volume, he scratches the back of his head like a child recounting a crush. “And she- she smiled at me, heh. What’d I do to end up with a wife like her?”

The elders and family members look at each other. 

Silence.

At least, as much silence as you could get in the Itadori Estate. Because, before long, Wasuke clutches his aged heart and gasps, “No!” Only once every pair of eyes has turned to look at him- “My son has no game.”

The emergency services were called that night. 

Though, it’s more for a health check on his father’s heart than for anything gone wrong with your honeymoon. And Jin thinks that’s pointedly to do with the fact that you don’t have a wedding night - at least, not in the sense of the word. 

After he’d offered Sukuna a general health check-up too (he’d vehemently denied) and a heart check-up in particular (he’d considered) you’d finally ended up walking out of the bedroom. Barely getting through one word of their overlapping explanations before you’d held up a hand. 

“It…actually might be better if I don’t know.” You’d sagely remarked, and quite smartly. Before turning to your new husband, who’d all but cowered at your gaze, “But you need to get some sleep, mister. Don’t think I don’t know about how cranky you get otherwise.”

“Hell yeah, ma’am. So true, ma’am.”

And Sukuna had sauntered back into the marital suite of his own accord, for a night of sleep. Nothing but sleep - though, Jin thinks he caught Sukuna fist pumping in celebration when you insisted he didn’t have to sleep on the couch.

There seemed to be no hope for an heir that night. Or, ever, at this rate.

And the trusty council of elders that were present would later retell the story in the morning after, with varying degrees of humor - some cackling about the fearsome head’s one weakness, others grieving the lack of heirs that the Itadori clan shall now have.

But most had been left with quite a different impression. They eyed each other during breakfast, when you’d come down with no marks, no signs of lost sleep. Surely, there was no other explanation - Ryomen Sukuna was impotent. 

He might not be the sweetest clan leader, or the most empathetic, or clearly the most savvy with the ladies, but he was their leader nonetheless. 

And they had to do everything in their power to help.

.

.

.

“-and then the ol’ man starts playing fuckin- I mean, freaking ‘Careless Whisper’ and then I make a fool of myself-”

“Mhm.”

“-but she was oh-so-sweet about it. Which makes no sense, how can one be beautiful and sweet? I mean, look at me- I’m a right bastard-”

“Mhm.”

“-not that I’m complaining. And then when we shared the bed, heh, she told me ‘goodnight.’ Can you believe that? Goodnight? Obviously, she’s into me.”

“Mhm.” Five-year-old Itadori Yuji looks up from where he’d been playing with blocks on the archery dojo, “Uncle Kuna, can we go play hide-and-seek now?”

But the older man lets go the taut, tough string of his bow- hitting the bullseye of his target dead-on. “You’re right! She’s totally into me- heh, ten points for Sukuna.” It was already nearing sundown, and he’d been cooped up in the Estate’s dojo for hours after the fiasco that was his wedding night a few days ago. 

Nothing else had occurred between the two of you since. For which he was equally as grateful as he was disappointed - obviously you didn’t want to spook him. And obviously he wanted you.

But it wasn’t his fault he’d been trained in the arts of commandeering rather than communication. 

Which is how he found himself with that lil’ nephew of his as a therapist, shooting away arrows with the specialized bow designed for Sukuna’s four beefy arms, and fourfold strength. As if that would help ease the tension.

The clan leader opens his mouth again and it’s enough to make Itadori throw himself back onto the polished wooden floor. Starting off- “And did I tell you that when she told me ‘goodnight’ it was in a tone of like-”

“Ahem.”

If there was anything that could make big, bad Sukuna quieten down, then it certainly wasn’t his advisors, or his older brother, or anything else but you. 

And all you had to do was clear your throat once to signal your intrusion, having wandered your way through the massively sprawling Estate. You’d somehow led yourself straight to him.

You bow politely, “I hope I’m not disrupting.”

“C-course not.” To your surprise, your husband speaks first. “We were just-”

“Talking about you-” You giggle as Itadori instantly runs to cling onto your arms. Excitedly squealing at a mile a minute, “Uncle Kuna says that- that he has a huuuuge crush on you and-”

“No!” Sukuna interjects in panic- that traitor. 

“And- and he liked the way you say ‘goodnight’ and-” 

“Itadori Yuji, I will pay you to stop talking.” 

You’re watching the situation like a tennis match, and Yuji does stop - for about three seconds, that is. Until his voice drops into a conspiratorially low whisper, hands cupping his mouth- “Did you know he also called an exorcist-”

“What the f- I did not?” Husky bass damn near cracking, he rips the little boy away from you. “Scram, gremlin.”

Pushing at his back to make the toddler waddle away and give the two of you some space, Sukuna hastens to straighten up and puff his chest out. Making sure that the loose fabrics of his training yukata would slip aside to flash you with a sliver of his toned pecs, glistened with a thin layer of sweat. 

And when - only when - he catches your eyes dipping downwards, he clears his throat—smooth, Ryomen Sukuna. You’ve made people disappear, you can do smooth- “H-hi.”

His vocals crack.

Nearly passing out from the shame - but you don’t seem to mind. “Hi to you, too. I see you’re working hard?”

“Yeah- I mean no.” As you raise a brow, “Who needs ta work hard when you’re just good?”

“Is that so?” It’s a blatant brag, but one that didn’t go unsubstantiated. Your eyes drift to the side to where targets had been lined along the distant wall, each of them punctured right through the middle with a sharp arrow. “Oh, that’s impressive. I don’t think I could ever-”

“Would ya like to try?”

You’re nearly as shocked as Sukuna at the words that escape his mouth, before he can mull and chew over them first. But that swiftly melts into a look of eagerness once you nod- being handed his hefty bow.

“It’s heavier than normal.” Before you know it, he’s sidled up behind you. Leaned down so close that his warm breath blankets your neck- pointed chin hitting somewhere by your temple, tense core pushed up against you. 

So close. Easily, two of Sukuna’s hands help you hold the weight of his massive bow, and another two fall down to your waist to guide you. “Easy there, mama.”

“Th-thank you-” You’re find yourself stammering from the pure intimacy. And it was just so unfair how pliable he found you - heart racing, mind spinning at the thought - angling you bodily to face the targets. “So I just pull and release, then?”

“Mhm. You pull reeeal hard.” Deep, throaty. You’re noticing just how warm his hands were when they’re on yours, helping you pull, pull, pull back on the feathery edge. “Breathe in reeeeal slow.” You do, and you feel him match yours. “Position it.”

His honed strength helps you find the target, and his hands- oh, but his hands were nearly making you lose sight of the bullseye. “Aaand-” Two of his rough palms draaaagging down your sides for stability for him to tower over you, and then two more gently rubbing over your hands for reassurance as you- “-shoot.”

Schwing–!

It lands dead-center in the bullseye.

He grins, “Hell yeah.” 

“Yes!” You’re hissing, bow still in your arms as you leap into Sukuna’s. It was a brief embrace, just the quickest few seconds - but your husband nearly melts.

With your face tucked into the crook of his neck- his eyes nearly bulge out of his sockets, four massive palms hovering in the air like he didn’t know what to do with himself. In a flash, you’re reaching ‘round your body to let him rest them on your back, and he gasps, “O-oh-”

“Oh?” With a slight chuckle, you pull back, and he nearly whines in agony. But this was the Ryomen Sukuna, of course he can hold it back…to merely a slight grunt of pain. “Thank you for teaching me.”

“Thank you for being my wife-”

“Pardon?”

“Nevermind- I uh-” All four palms come up to cover his face in utter horror- it had been going so well if it wasn’t for the clan leader’s big mouth. Everyday was seemingly an unfortunate reminder that he was related to the blabbermouths that were Jin, Yuji, and…

Speaking of, where was Yuji?

Little did he know that a certain pink-haired toddler was holding a certain group of elders hostage behind the screens that led to the dojo’s entrance. Their bodies, formerly leaned over the doorway to spy on the couple, were now crouched on the floor. 

Disappointed- how could their revered clan leader not take the bait? Impotency strikes again.

But, right now, the masterminds were slightly more occupied with something else. Fingers to mouths, voices in whispers- begging the little boy standing in front of them to remain quiet.

But Yuji only smiles, standing proudly in front of them. He whispers, “Do you wanna play hide and seek?”

The council of the greatest minds in the household look at each other, “Uh…no?” Unsure of what else to say to the boy.

Before their ears are pierced by the most noisy child-like shriek of Sukuna’s name—“Uncle Kunaaaaa—it’s the exorcists!”

An arrow shoots their way. And by the way it strikes precisely into the wooden panels between the elders’ heads, precisely where it didn’t harm anything but their motivations, their egos, and perhaps slightly their heart conditions - they’re guessing it was their loving clan leader that shot it.

.

.

.

Sukuna always did hate stuffy clan meetings.

The ones where documents were piled into columns taller than himself, council men and women spoke over each other to try and earn his attention, and he had to act for hours like he actually tolerated the guest invited that day. All in the name of ah- politics, or whatever. 

And today was much the same - except for one shocking, sudden surprise. You. 

You, seated directly opposite him on the large round table now that you were officially part of the clan. You, perfectly positioned for him to take in every pretty inch of you. You, who he’d give anything just to have beside him and chatting his ear off, or helping with his papers.

And, honestly, with a view like that he wouldn’t even complain about being forced to discuss- what was it again-

“The socioeconomic impacts of clan bonding activities and how they-” Choso - who’d recently started attending for education on the clan - drones in such tired monotone, shrugging at their two-toned guest, Zenin Naoya, without looking up from where he was doodling on some contract. “-could really benefit from those.”

“Tch- don’t talk like I didn’t know that, brat.” Sukuna narrows his eyes down at his eldest nephew.

Only to get a withering eyebrow raise in return, “Well, did you?”

“Yes…” No-

And almost as if he could read the pure lie on his uncle’s face, the middle-schooler has the audacity to put his pencil down and grin. More interested in the happenings of the meeting than he had been in four hours now. “Oh really? Well then, dear uncle of mine, would you care to explain to your nephew who comes up with these bonding activities?”

“The fuck do I look like? Stupid? It’s…Jin.” It was a guess, no one else would do something like that. He turns his face away from Choso and towards you. Politely laughing at something that the person next to you had said-

“And why is it important?”

He grumbles, this damn kid. Absent-mindedly- because oh, how was he expected to focus when your lips move to talk so prettily. As if in slow motion, like in those sappy movies Jin loved. “Uh, socio-something or the other-”

“And what do we hope to get out of today?”

“Erm-” Furrowing his brows, laser-focused on wracking his brain when- you turn his way. All you have to do is look at him for Sukuna to blurt- “Six kids, a summer house, and pets of her choice.” 

In stunned silence, Choso only gravely draws a tally count. 

You: 3

Sukuna: -478

“Oi- I’m at least in the double digits-”

“I think you have bigger things to worry about.” He muters, jabbing a pencil in your direction. “Your wife’s about to get stolen.”

And oh.

Ryomen Sukuna didn’t take kindly to snapping his head over and recognizing that slight glint in Naoya’s eyes; the way his mouth curled up meanly, body leaning just a tad closer to yours whenever you pulled back. Not kindly at all. 

Worst of all, he’d just been hit with the realization that it was that rat bastard who’d been making you laugh while he’d been stuck with duties. 

Simply on opposite ends of the room, and yet, it feels like an eternity until the hulking clan leader rises from his seat. Feet pounding their way over to where you were, your eyes raise instantly-

“Oh, there you are.” You start to smile - only for it to falter, coldly, at the shadowed expression on Sukuna’s face. He looked like he’d just seen a raging ghost, and his expression was downturned as such. 

You couldn’t pinpoint whether it had been the stress or the fact that the future heir to the Zenin clan couldn’t take a hint. But you’re trying to soothe him, “You looked quite busy-”

“I was, ah-” He was always weak to anything you said, “-bonding…activities…socioeconomics.”

Sarcastically, “How riveting.”

“No need to worry, I kept her company, though.” An annoying, grating voice bursts through your bubble. And before you can do anything to stop him, Naoya has his arm thrown ‘round the back of your seat. Around the room, one by one, the elders were starting to turn in their own chairs. Discussions dropping to whisper- “And my father always does commend my networking skills, clan leader Sukuna.”

And you think Sukuna might burst. You think he might just rip into him-

But, no. Instead, he breaks out into a smile, “Ah, young master Zenin, huh? Didn’t notice ya there.” A smile that was just slightly jarring, slightly…dangerous. “I see you have met my wife. Quite charming, isn’t she?”

“Yes yes, quite beautiful.” Naoya waves off with a chuckle, elbowing the taller man where he could reach. Huffing, “Though, I must say, it’s quite smart to let the wife inside a clan meeting. Gives you something to look at, at least.”

You seethe, brows furrowing, “Pardon-” But your husband already has a hand signalling you to seat yourself back down comfortably. A commotion was starting to stir by now, and if anyone was going to make a mess of clan politics and reap the consequences, it would be him.

He could and would take the fall for you.

“Young master Naoya.” He declares in a booming voice, “The Itadori clan has decided that we would so ah- love to indulge you in a practical example of our very own bonding activities.”

As you tilt your head in slight confusion - this certainly wasn’t part of the meeting agenda, and the council seemed to notice it, too, Naoya hums. “Oh?”

“Right now. You’re welcome.”

“What? Now? But-” 

As the lanky man scrambles in his seat, Sukuna grasps the very back and topples Naoya right out of it. “No no, let me.” And all it takes is one hand to lift their guest straight into midair and march him out of the room. 

The door slams shut behind the duo.

And you didn’t need to hear the yelps, or the punches, or the begs for mercy to know exactly what your husband had in mind as a ‘bonding activity.’ 

It seemed the member of the Zenin clan would be leaving here bruised for his words, and it seemed that the elders were strangely…excited at the notion? Buzzing impatiently, tittering to each other. 

It only increases twofold as Sukuna re-enters the meeting hall - knuckles suspiciously bruised, and notably without a pompous heir behind him - and you find yourself fighting back a smile. Muttering some half-hearted lecture about treating guests well, which he seems to lap every word of, you end it off by reaching upwards and kissing the side of Sukuna’s cheek. 

Fleeting and innocent.

But the elders gasp-

“Oh my god- oh my god, it’s happening—”

“My money’s on a girl child being the firstborn-”

“-maybe he’s only half-impotent-”

Keen eardrums catching the whispers and congratulations, you only have the time to catch the tips of his cheekbones smearing bright red - before the clan leader stumbles back out of the meeting room.

“Oh, I think I jinxed it-”

Choso, meanwhile, crinkles his nose and reaches for his eraser and pencil once more. 

Sukuna: -477

“Gnarly.”

.

.

.

“Uncle Kuna—-!” It was inevitable that every single person inside of Yuji’s cute lil’ kindergarten would end up knowing when his father wouldn’t be able to pick him up, and his uncle would arrive instead.

For one, it was all he would talk about the day beforehand. And two, they’d all hear his shrill squeal- except, most students and teachers used to this little ritual were probably shocked at the scream that followed after. “Mama—!”

And you were just as caught off-guard. 

Somewhere, in the distant bushes at the very end of the kindergarten playground, a few elders and Itadori Jin fistbump one another. All those lessons, not gone to waste!

“Ah- Yuji?” You’re fighting the way your voice wobbles in surprise, and it felt like a tiny cannonball had been shot at you with the way he runs straight to you. “What did you say, baby?”

Somewhat confused, two large eyes peak up at you. And his voice is tiny, “Mama?”

Ruffling the curly pink locks of Yuji’s hair, you just-so-happen to glance at the boy’s uncle. Your husband. Who was currently steaming from his ears and flushed bright crimson, veins bulging at his forehead, mouth opening and closing stupidly. “I- you- who-”

He was speechless.

Barely even breathing- honestly, you’re hit with the slight urge to reach forwards and feel for Sukuna’s pulse before a calm voice breaks through. “Ah! I see Yuji’s favorite uncle is here today.” A soft, bowl-cut man claps his hands as he walks up. Your eyes drop down to his nametag and read ‘Haibara.’ “And you must be-”

“My wife-” Sukuna spits out, before another word can leave Haibara’s mouth. “My wife, Jin could never pull anyone like-”

“Excuse my husband.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

With yourself properly introduced - this time with names - you find yourself laughing along to one of Haibara’s anecdotes of Yuji, something to do with a dare and attempting to eat a terribly finger-shaped stick. He smiles breezily at you and hums, “He’s a good kid, and seems to be very fond of you. You should come visit more often.”

“Well, I hope to.” Grinning right back, you squeeze Yuji’s squirming body as Sukuna takes off his tiny back-pack. And you can’t help but think that it all felt so…domestic. 

Evidently, the cozy atmosphere had been obvious. Haibara ponders out loud, “Forgive me for asking, but do the two of you plan on having children soon? You seem like you’d be wonderful parents.”

Oh, you look at Sukuna. And Sukuna doesn’t meet your eyes, though, with his face turned straight ahead- what you could see was the way the tips of his ears were slowly starting to redden.

It seems like ages, it seems like he was waiting for your answer just as Haibara innocently was. And your mouth opens-

“Mister Haibawa, Yuji’s uncle can’t be a parent, he’s already an exorcist.” What the f—the trio of adults snapped their heads down to see that a black-haired boy - another Zenin, confound it - had just tugged on his teacher’s sweater. Butting into the conversation- Sukuna thinks he could recall this boy’s name, something Gummy? Megumi?

“Oh?” Then it wasn’t an orange-haired girl on his other side, “My mommy says he’s unemployed.”

“That, too.”

Somewhere, in the distant bushes at the very end of the kindergarten playground, a few elders and Itadori Jin facepalm. All those lessons, gone to waste!

“Well I don’t think he can be a parent because he looks stupid.” This time, one burly boy with a buzzcut enters the scene. And he was sparing no punches, both metaphorically and literally - he knocks out a good few backhands against Sukuna’s core. 

“That, too.”

“He doesn’t look stupid, Todo.” His nephew whines at him- that’s his boy! 

Sukuna could almost shed a tear, oh, how proud he was. So proud, in fact, that he’s hoisting the babbling boy over his shoulders without a second thought. 

Maybe Jin hadn’t completely failed as a father, after all. Maybe the boy wasn’t a hopeless case and had actually come to appreciate the strong, kind parental figure that was his uncle- “He just looks sorta stupid when he thinks he’ll embarrass himself in front of his wife. Because he does that a lot. That’s all.”

“Like the time with the exorcist.” Megumi nods, sagely.

“Like the time with the exorcist.” Yuji agrees, smacking the top of Sukuna’s head. 

“There- there was no time with the exorcist.” The clan leader tries to clarify to an extremely confused Haibara. 

And the girl - Nobara, according to the nametag on her glittery back-pack - points up at him, accusing. “I like his hair. He also can’t be a parent because he wears wigs.”

Sukuna growls, “You’re just jealous, bob-cut-”

You furrow your brows, “Do you wear wigs?”

“No.”

Yuji giggles, “Will you wear wigs?”

“No-”

“When will you wear wigs?” 

“Never!” Honestly, children these days. He damn near pounces on Haibara, who’d asked that last question.

Megumi - honestly what was this kid’s problem - seems to pipe up for the sake of piping up, “And he steals candy from babies.”

“That was one time-”

“Hey hey-” Without warning, Todo was tugging on Sukuna’s trousers to gain his attention. Snickering as the older man looks down with the most weary face in existence, “You wanna learn how to actually impress fine shyt?”

“What is…fine sh-”

“That’s enough for today. I think.” Their teacher claps his hands, “And Todo Aoi what have I told you about using certain words? Don’t think I won’t have a talk with your guardian again, young man.” Flustered, he throws an apologetic look your way before corralling his tiny students inside. “Now- inside!”

You can finally breathe a sigh of relief - finally, finally. 

Though, you don’t know what bewilders you more - the fact that they listen, or the fact that Todo was the only one that didn’t. And it was all because of the fact that he had Ryomen Sukuna kneeled down to match his height, mouth snarling, but head nodding intently to whatever Todo was whispering in his ear. You look at Haibara, and he shrugs just as helplessly.

“Umm…mister Haibara?” Another one. The pink-haired man’s soul damn near leaves his body as another teeny, toddling monster starts pulling on the teacher’s sweater. 

Likely expecting an encore of the chaos just prior, his smile stretches thin. “Yes, Toge?” And you, too, start praying that it wasn’t any more love advice, or choice words about Sukuna’s character.

Pale hair cut into severe bangs, the boy mumbles in a small voice, “There’s some old men in the bushes.”

Ryomen Sukuna has never run up to a bush to kick it so fast. 

And, later, with Jin left explaining to the teachers and the elders still walking off their bruises, he found himself walking down a softly sunlit road with you. Yuji now fast asleep on his shoulders, and you by his side.

It was a perfect day. Made only more perfect by the gentle tugging of your husband’s fingers towards yours, in midair. In all his years, it’s perhaps the scariest thing he’s done. They hesitate, and then they reach - the slow curves of his digits gliding down your wrist, before interlocking with yours. Warm. Firm. And yet, softer than his palms have ever felt. 

He thinks he catches you smiling, and Sukuna thinks Todo’s advice might not have been so bad after all. 

And from a nearby bush, Itadori Jin pumps his fist in success. Impotency or not, not a complete waste, then.

.

.

.

One night a week later, the elders decide, push should come to shove.

Literally; cold towels were thrust into your hands before you’d been shoved through the damp wooden gates of the Itadori household’s bathroom. It was the largest one, special in the way a large portion of the room was occupied by a steaming hot spring.

And from your position at the very edge of the humid chamber, you could see the toned shoulders of Ryomen Sukuna. Back turned to the door, just the upper half of his body was peaking out of the water. Glistened with dampness, deltoids flexed as he leans his elbows back against the floor.

You’re semi-glancing behind you at the members of the council that had all but thrown you inside- something about ‘marital bonding.’ Which was really just a way for them to take care of their head’s little ah…rumored problem. 

To them, it was perfect - your gorgeous wife comes up to you in a hot spring and…helps. What more could he want? After all, there’s nothing wrong with impotency - there was just something wrong with their clan leader.

You’re game either way.

And you gently knock against the wall to denote your entrance, before walking up to where Sukuna was gawking from now. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“Helping.” You reply simply, wringing the towels before folding them over his heated forehead. “Do you wish for me to leave-”

“N-no!”

It comes out faster than he’d have liked, more hitched than he would have liked. Honestly, the sentence barely even leaves your lips before Sukuna sits up straighter. Letting sploshes of scalding water drip down his abs, he leans further back against your touch. “I mean- stay.”

“Mhm, I heard you had a long day.”

“The worst, mama.” And part of his response is half-grunted with the way you’ve now situated yourself properly behind him. With your lap now a bed for his damp head, fingers weaving through those coral pink locks. “Had to refurbish the dojo, then take care of the problem with that damn Zenin brat…then donate to Yuji’s…kindergarten, then…promote a few elders… and one I had to…” Heavier and heavier, he was sinking into you with each nimble movement of your fingertips. “-fuck.”

“You fucked an elder before you fucked me?” You raise a brow in humor.

“Huh- no!” He’s growling, steam curling from the water. And as you’d briefly halted your ministrations to tease him, he guides your hands back to move. “I would never…eugh. Shit, can’t even imagine doing somethin’ like that with anyone but you.”

Suddenly, it’s silent. Except for the slow curdle of the water, and the soft grunts that Sukuna was oh-so-desperately trying to bite back. 

Fuck, he was so handsome.

Such naturally chiselled muscles, and dark circular tattoos on just about every joint he had. 

You massage his burning temples, slipping down into the longish length of his hair. “Oh, is that so? And do you imagine it often with me, clan leader Sukuna?”

“Stop being such a fuckin’ tease.” Hissing, Sukuna’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs as he practically begs. And he looked so pretty when he was begging; brows upturned, mouth unintentionally pouty. “How can I help myself?”

“And am I doing anything to stop that?”

“Yes-” Forgoing the massage, Sukuna now stops your right hand. Holding it tightly as he turns his head and presses a kiss to the tender inside of your wrist, hot with water and his blush. “Just existing is enough.”

“Sukuna…”

Your mouth parts, and it’s like a string being drawn- your lips are on his. It’s messy, with the way he’d angled himself from upside down, tilted up just to sliiide the plushness of his mouth across yours. It’s light, like he was holding himself back.

And you knew what he was capable of.

Which was likely what made you reach for the back of his head, pulling him in to deepen the kiss. Gasping, your mouth just barely parts for his hungry maw to clasp ‘round your sugary tongue. Sucking—before-

Before a button clicks, and suddenly the bathroom walls are trembling with lyrics singing ‘I just had sex—’

You could’ve caught whiplash with how fast you’re both staring at the entrance: meeting with the sight of the several elders, Wasuke, and a ridiculously large boombox. Piled onto an embarrassing heap on the floor, they’d seemingly fallen over- likely from their spying over one corner of the door. 

‘And it felt so good—’

“Wrong one dammit- this is what Wasuke was on music.” You’re catching one of them murmur. Just about the only thing they have time for before scurrying away - leaving the boombox very, very behind. And you don’t have to look behind you to know that Ryomen Sukuna was likely seething enough to make the spring water itself bubble. 

Sukuna growls, “Fucking George Michael.”

“Actually I think that’s Akon.”

Sukuna slams his open palm against the edge of the pool, and you have to open up your palms to stop yourself from being splashed. He murmurs, more to himself, “All because I didn’t wanna fuckin’ scare you- not that they’d-”

“Wait, why’d you think you’d scare me?” You ask in confusion.

To which he looks at you in genuine bewilderment, as if that wasn’t even worthy to be a question. “You’re beautiful.” He states, like there were no truer words. 

Before gesturing at himself- those naturally rosy locks, the four arms, the faint slash across his abs where they said his second mouth was to be. Cursed with strength, cursed with power, cursed with looks that defined him as something more than human. “Look at me- just fuckin’ look at me. And that’s not all- how shall I be expected to live a normal marriage when I’ve been cursed from birth? I only ask for forgiveness that I’d been selfish with my choice of you, my wife-”

“Well, I don’t forgive you.” 

It’s silence, and he looks torn between hanging his head in understanding, and taking your words head on.

“Because I think you’re beautiful, too.” You say it honestly. “My beautiful husband.”

And, for not the last time that night, the big, bad cursed Sukuna blushes.

‘Felt so good~’

.

.

.

“Sh-shit—” Your back arches lewdly, allll the way back until your naked, puffy core could reach as much of Sukuna’s mouth as possible. “Think I like it better when you’re like- ngh, this.”

Just a few minutes and one rapid trip to your bedroom later found you with your previous clothes in a heap across Sukuna’s bedroom floor. Your thighs shakin’, hips bucking wildly as you straddled his mouth—no, not his first. 

You were riding his second mouth.

The wildly monstrous one slashed across the middle of his stomach, large and hungry. He’d gaped it open immediately once you’d clamored up his washboard abs, letting the curled tip of his second tongue slide deftly between your inner thighs.

Playfully flickering in patterns straight up to the target of your cunt-

“Haaah, so you’ve decided you like- mmm, this mouth more than me?” One of his four hands teasingly dips downwards to grace your pussy with a solid spank. 

So loud, so wet that it makes his cursed mouth lick its lips in greed. “Really not gonna talk t’me now then? Not even through these lips?” Another one. And it’s letting off the rawest slurp that muffles your own squeal- “Though, I think she disagrees, huh, baby?”

Through gritted teeth, you somehow manage to force out, “Shut up-”

“Alright alriiiight.” Sukuna trails off, seemingly back to focusing on the ministrations of his tongue. 

Your eyes are dangerously on the verge of criss-crossing as he glissades it up every bead of slick escaping you. Laid flat n’ draaaaagging across every inch of skin he could reach, the flexible tip of his tastebuds were just barely touching your treacly folds when-

Spank!

Even harder this time. And your mind whirls stupidly at the stinging sensation that just felt so good- “N-ngh, fuck–”

You were bending so cutely on top of him, and Sukuna can’t help but lean his hulking figure further down the king-sized mattress. “Atta girl.” Bucking up so that you’re fully seated on top of his second mouth now, slick dribbling all down his obliques, his cursed tongue glued to your clit. 

Sticking between your folds, his pinkish tastebuds rover ‘round and ‘round that fat nub where you were most sensitive. Just barely gurgling out, “And here I th-thought you were shy-” 

“And here I thought you were dumbified, hmpf.” With a roll of his eyes, your husband chuckles. “Guess not yet.”

It was as much a warning as he would give you - and it wasn’t a warning at all.

Before the fat girth of his finger is rudely pryin’ apart your pussylips and shoving the first few inches inside. Until you’re being spearheaded by him, he’s trying to scope every inch of you. He’s trying to snake his muscle in until he’s probed into every nook n’ cranny.

“F-fuuuuuck—” Sukuna groans out, watching through half-lidded peripherals at the way your tight hole was trying to suck him up. So thick, he can count every throb of your walls around him, one-two-three-four- “Are we sure yer not dumbified- hah, already? Look how fucking wet ya are, mama.”

“N-ngh, Kuna—”

Your whines are botched with pants, after each time his finger is swabbing its way inside. Fitting in two- moving in the slightest half-ruts just to fit inside- again. And again and again.

Each passing second had him probin’ into a new corner of your pussy - and yet, it still wasn’t enough for the clan leader. Which is why Sukuna finds his tongue slithering back and forth your folds, pushing them apart until he was given a front row seat to your depravity. “See? A damn- fuck- waterpark. Are ya always like this or m’I just special, huh?”

“You’re not gonna be special if you- mmpf, talk so- ngh, much-” The stretch is so incredible that you’re forced to bite down on the gummy insides of your cheek. A necessity if you didn’t want to wake the entire house up tonight.

But Sukuna had other plans.

Rose brows raising in slight surprise, “Ohhhh? That good, huh?” The edges of his sleazy grin twitch once he’s tuggin’ on your dripping wet entrance even further, pumping in the expanse of a third lengthy finger. “M’just gonna take that as a sign m’special~”

“Kuna-”

Oh, you were just so pretty huffin’ and puffin’ atop him like this. It’s enough to make his second mouth slobber with greed, edging dangerously towards the circle of your stuffed hole. “Alright alriiight. Brace yourself, baby.”

“Brace m- wha- oh.”

Before you know it, his fat fingerpads are pushed oh-so-deeply inside. So deep that you think he’s filling out every drivelling orifice, pumping furiously. 

Sukuna fucks you with his fingers like he’s trying to make you remember. Like he’s trying to hook into all of your sweetest spots, the ridges of his joints brush up slightly against your g-spot. You mewl, “It’s so- oh, I’ve never felt so full-”

“Yeahhhh- those fingers of yours can’t do this, huh? Poor thing.” Fauxly cooing, he’s rovering you so open. Your husband’s fingers were so big that he didn’t even have to try to leave you trembling- to leave you whimpering as he pulls out in a quick split-second.

Wordlessly despite your disappointed cries, you crack your teary eyelids open to find that Sukuna was slipping off the silver metal wedding ring off of one of his left hands. And pushing it down onto his slick-glazed right hand- before thoroughly thrusting. “S’gonna be a stretch- gonna be a biiig stretch. You can take it, mama.”

“C-can I?” Your thighs twitch stupidly at the frigid feeling of his ring scraping your soft insides. 

This way, you could pinpoint the exact way he was moving inside of you: in and out in and out, curling to hit your g-spot. 

And Sukuna can tell the exact moment his stirrin’ fingers target your most sensitive spot- because you’re panting, you’re bucking. You’re throwing your head back once he plunges his slick-glazed fingers out to do it all over again and again, until his knuckles hit your pussylips raw. “Hell yeah, ya can. How’re you gonna, mmm, take all of me if you can’t even- oh, take these, hm?”

You’re pouting, “I-I can…”

“What’s that?”

In an effort to prove it to him, you bounce your hips right back into his sloppy cadence. “I can-” And it only makes your cunt squelch even louder the closer you are to his slippery tongue. 

“You can?”

“Y-”

His hips jerk upwards roughly, grazing that ridged texture of his tastebuds from the very bottom of your pussy, up, up, up to the tip of your slope. And it’s loud. “You can?” Your heart races, it’s only then that you realize he wasn’t talking to you - he was talking to your other pair of lips. “Then take it- take- ngh.”

Harder and harder. His probin’ mess was reaching a fever point and you’re rubbing yourself pathetically on the prolonged muscle of his tongue. 

And the more ravenous his cursed mouth became - edging his globular tip nearer n’ nearer to your stretched-out hole - the more ruined he was becoming. Bucking himself up animalistically, two hands of his control the grindin’ of your hips- manhandling you down just enough so that the wetness of your cunt just barely touches his rock-hard cocks. 

“F-fuck!” You’re whining at the feeling of two thick mushroomy tips touching your skin. 

And Sukuna doesn’t touch himself- no matter how many hands he has. Having you on top of him like this would be a sure-fire way to cream himself in his pants before he even started. His pretty lips wobbling, eyes scrunching closer the harder his aching erections throbbed. 

He was so sexy. And you can’t stop yourself from staring- something he notices even when he’s in this state. “Wh-what?” Flinching at the sheer intensity, “The fuck are ya looking at, huh?”

“I’m just th-thinking…” And you have to stop yourself from moaning as he pulls out his plump fingers in punishment. They were glistening, dripping with so much of your juicy sap that Sukuna sucks clean in front of you. 

Before slipping back in—“That I’d- oh- love to make you, mmm, shut up.”

Rolling his crimson eyes, “Oh, you’d love to make me shut up, huh?” And he was so smug. So sure of himself…until the leader catches onto the way you’d been rutting against his second mouth. Riding. And, slowly, those hazy peripherals of his widen- “Fuck…don’t tell me-”

You only nod.

“-you seriously wanna be fucked by my cursed mouth?”

Nodding drunkenly again-

“O-oh.” His head falls back into the satin pillows as you’re slipping it in, the slimy tendril of his tongue finally scouring into where he’d wanted to for so long now. 

It feels incredible. 

Finally hooking ‘round your tight entrance to push in, in, in—he’s just so big that once Sukuna’s unfurling his greedy tongue, it feels damn near never-ending. And you felt so tight pulsing around him, squeezing him inside once, twice, thrice. “Ya- ya really are gonna be the death of me- fuck!”

You start to ride him and it makes the big, bad Ryomen Sukuna mooooan, twitching his way inside of you. Since you were already softened up by his fingers, it was easy work for him to pull out and immediately replace himself with those rude tastebuds of his. 

Straightened out so he can probe around your walls, the length of his cursed tongue was pumping n’ pumping.

You’d never felt anything like this before. And you swear you see the mouth on his belly chuckle darkly as he fucks you like he would with his cocks. Salivating. Sploshing your poor insides until you have him memorized. 

Sukuna’s tongue swerves along your walls until he brushes the very back of your cervix, softly mushing it in. Again. And again. And again—“Fuh-fuuuuck—” You’re gurgling out, wet wads of saliva dribbling down each side of your lips. “Who’s the one dumbified now?”

“Wh-what- ngh-” His eardrums were popped from the pure pressure, barely able to make out your words.

And through the constant rams of his tongue, you manage to string together- “I-I said, who’s the- oh, dumbified one n- oh!”

“You.” In that very moment, he has his bumpy tastebuds glued to your g-spot, his hips arching right off the tense bedsprings, core tensed. Sukuna slashes his cursed mouth into your favorite area and grooooans, “Still you.”

Mouth prattling nonsensically, “Th-that’s cheating-”

“Nuh uh.”

He squeezes your perked clit with the tips of his rude fingers, still with the ring on one of them. And the backs of your eyes explode with white-hot pleasure at the dual pleasure - his tongue fucking you ferally, his digits teasing your clit. “Yes it is- hngh, because it’s gonna make me…”

Cum.

You were so close, you could feel it in each swab of his tongue. Gaped open even wider for the most maximum movements, each thrash is angled just right against your g-spot.

Just right to stretch out your glistening walls until they’re taking the shape of him. And he hums, “Yeahhhhh— all over.” Your clingy slick is drenching his abs by now, like a waterfall that he’s scooping up with a fourth hand. 

One on your clit, two on your hips to move you pliably up n’ down his length, and his final one getting absolutely soaked. Sukuna brings them up to his primary mouth to suck off the layers of candied slick, smearing it all over his lips like some delicacy. “Yeah, allll over now, mama. Make a hah- mess of me.”

Your jaw unfastens as you watch him clean himself off, every single drop. “Oh my…hngh.”

“What? Mmm, jealous?” Ruder, harder. It was just so sloppy how his mouth rovered all over your cunt, slippin’ and slidin’ back and forth at a constant pace. “Maybe if you were, hah, patient, you could’ve gotten that.”

“As if I’d want that…” You’re huffing, stubborn.

“My wife, you’re just- about- to cum- on me.” The space between each word is slashed with a push of his rovering fat tip, and a thorough squeeze on your clit.

To which you’re shooting back- “And you were about to cum- ngh, untouched.”

And you think he’ll tease you back. You think he’ll bully you until you’re driven mad - but Ryomen Sukuna was moaning in agreement.

Speeding up the pace of his velvety tongue, he’s slithering it with a deep bash against your g-spot. Grunting, “Can you blame me?” Harder. Something at the back of his throat cracks. He begs, “Such a pretty, oh, fuckin’ wife like you and- and I’m expected to stay calm?”

Hiccuping, “I- I don’t- Kuna, I’m not gonna last-”

Faster. “M’expected not to get pussydrunk? Expected to not fucking- lose it. F-fuck-” Sloppier. 

And you don’t get to hear what the tail end of his sentence might have been. Because with a few more vulgar strokes, you’re breaking apart—cumming. 

Lids cracking with tears, lips wobbling out whines.

His name, over and over again. Your cute noises are so loud that he has half the mind to wonder whether those damn elders will hear, “Cum—ing-” You announce, belatedly. Body shaking with each peak of your high, “Feels so- so good, oh.”

“Does it, now?” He babbles away, drunk on your honeyed pussy. The sheer primal clench of your walls almost made it hard for him to fuck you through your wave of bliss. “Good- good, atta girl, cream all down my t-tongue now.”

The curvaceous tip of his tongue was constantly pricking your g-spot, and it only drags out your orgasm even further. Until you were nothing but a sobbing mess, “Am- oh, I am.”

“Mhmmm— go ahead.” Your thighs twitch, head dropping backwards as the last few dredges of your high are pounded away. “Go ahead- take it. Take it all out on me.” With a few twinges of electricity that zap down your spine, you can finally manage to crack open your eyes. 

But you notice that just as you’ve reached your high, Sukuna did, too. 

Or, at least, he was trying oh-so-desperately not to.

As your pace lazes, his two hands on your waist glide down to his plump, aching erections. Both sets of thumbs rover on top of his leaking orifices, squeezing just so he won’t leak out in cum. Stopping himself from cumming untouched. 

And that makes you huff, “Kuna…” Your newfound nickname for him makes him flush, and you instantly swat away his hands. “Want it now.”

“Cheh-” Those hazy, blood-red eyes of his narrow, and somewhere in the distance, you can hear the tight snap of his underwear being pulled. “What a spoiled lil’ wife…”

But that wouldn’t stop him from indulging you, of course.

Sukuna breathes in heavy puffs, and you barely even have the time to catch yours before he’s immediately clawing onto the right side of your ass cheek with one hand.

Usin’ that sinful leverage to manhandle you straight down onto one of his plush tips, the thick circumference of his shaft throbs against your hole and you moan. Head snapping down- “Fuck.”

Oh, fuck.

He was so…big.

And that was being humble- you’d come to learn that not only was Sukuna gifted with extra height and limbs, he was gifted with extra size too. 

Two fat, veiny lengths laid between two meaty thighs, they were colored the prettiest tan flush on their tips. Dribbling down heaps of precum that puddled between the two of you. By now, the curly pink hairs at the bottom of his bases were already drenched, and his ballsack was so tight with need. 

 Sukuna was so hard that every throb was visible. So big that it made your thighs squeeze together.

Mentally, you’re calculating just how it might be possible for him to fit inside you. Before his rough tone cuts off your thoughts, “Ah ah- we can count together, mama. Say it w’me now-” 

“Wha- one!” Almost laughable, he’s then bullying in just the thickened front of one cock. They were stacked vertically, and as you get pierced by the lower one, his upper one was rubbin’ primally on your front. 

Sukuna’s mean fingers draw an invisible line from up your treacly slit, measuring. “Mmm- s’more like two inches.”

“Two-” You blabber, “Then how much more-”

“Guess we’ll just have to find out, heh~”

And he meant it.

Before long, Sukuna was fucking up into you furiously. Ferally. Thrust after half-thrusts just to fit his incredible size inside, “Tha’s about four…mmm, more three.” He’s drunk on your pussy, counting away how many solid, sopping inches managed to be squeezed in each time. In a split-second, your poor pussy’s being spanked. “You too, baby.”

“It’s just so- ngh—” Your head throws back for the nth time tonight, singing in synchronization with the creaks of the bed. 

It’s like he was jackhammerin’ you, mazing your slick-filled insides with the globe of his cockhead. Sukuna was so long that it was easy to massage your every sweet spot- again and again. “Whaaaat? Can’t take it? Fuck, wee’re only about-” On your tummy, he measures out how far he’d slid inside by now. “S-six inches, still. About halfway?”

Your eyes bulge—halfway?

It’s a shock so large that the rest of your body loosens up, weakened. Just perfect for him to grab onto your hips, your thighs, one hand on your neck to jostle your cute body up n’ down his cock.

“S’it too much for my, mmm, good wife?” Mercilessly, he’s spitting between your ajar mouth. “Took my tongue but you can’t even take one of my cocks- aw, c’mon now, mama.”

“I-I-”

“I-I-I- whaaaat?” Octaves higher. Your husband leans in until his heated breath burns the shell of your ear, whispering, “Gonna hafta speak up, y’know? Unless ya want me to- fuck- it out- of you-”

And you always did surprise him. Because where the head of the Itadori clan expected to be met with a few sobs, a few pleas, you’re only straddling his toned hips tighter. 

Swervin’ your hips down in a dizzying figure-eight to help him stuff your cunt full of him. And even though it still wasn’t enough to bottom out completely, you look up at him through teary lashes. “I want both, Kuna.”

Sukuna’s pink lashes flutter, his breath catches. “Wh-what?” And he stutters. Oh, you’d made him stutter - just as nervous and awestruck as he was on your wedding night.

“Both.” You can only repeat the word.

Because at that very second– before your response has even graced his very ears, he’s rutting up into you like an animal. Like a dog in heat, Sukuna’s crushing your front to his abs and his cocks to your cunt.

Pap!

“Fuck…” He hisses at the sting of flesh slamming on flesh, “Eleven. What was that?”

And you’re being dumbified by the sheer stretch, not only had he started kissin’ your puckered pussylips with his second cock - he was starting to press inside. No hesitation, no waiting around for you to get used to the stretch. Sukuna was hungry. 

You somehow choke through wads of your own spit, “More- both- oh fuck!”

“What? S-say it again-” He’s like a broken record at this point, and so were his plunging cocks. Deeper n’ deeper. Your drivelling entrance was now stretched out so widely over the circumferences of his bases, sobbing just as much as you were. 

“Bo-”

“Twelve- again.”

It was a damn wonder that he could still spit out coherent words. Stammering. Heaving.

The hand of Sukuna’s that’d been caressing your front was now slithering down to cup both his shafts. Guiding them upwards to press in—“Gonna have ya take it a-all until here-” You snap your head down to see what he was talking about - only to catch a lil’ you’d missed in your observations of his size before. 

Those two ring tattoos at the base ends of his cocks.

The sight itself is so lecherous that it has you moaning- “Oh, yes- both.”

“Yeah? So sit pretty and take it, baby.” They were glistening with your sultry sap, nearly kissing your folds by now. “Allll the way until m’tattoos- got it, girl? Alllll the way until…” Stupidly, you’re nodding. And he can only breathe through clenched teeth, “Fuh-fuck! Thirteen.”

Thirteen.

Thirteen entire inches - each.

You’d finally reached the tattoos. And they were stuffed pretty n’ puffily inside you. Throb-throb-throbbing away against your every tiny orifice, Sukuna didn’t even have to try to mold your gooey cunt to him. 

As you open your mouth to demand him to move, he plunges in two of his thick fingers. Messily dragging himself towards the back of your throat, “Tch- such a dangerous fuckin’ mouth. M’gonna hafta fuck that outta ya.”

You’re whimpering, your jaw dangling agape perfectly for him to spit inside. And then his second mouth—targetting your pussy with a thick glue of spittle.

At least he was nice enough to give you an actual semi-warning this time.

Because before long, two hands are clawing at your sides. Pinning you down so that his two shafts can prick your cervix neatly, bottomed out and yet still trying to go deeper.

When he finds that futile, Sukuna bodily bounces you up n’ down his upright erections. “Oh my god- o-oh my god.” One of his angular shafts was bashing in your sponged cervix, and the other was just below n’ cutely rubbing on your g-spot. “Fuck it just feels so- good!”

“Aaaaatta girl, enjoy it.” With a hand on your throat, he bends you back into an arch. 

The pressure is almost too much - so much. You find your body naturally torn between running away and yearning for more, more, more. Though, luckily, the clan leader’s there to help you make that decision. “Nuh uh, no runnin’, baby. Put your back into it- taaaake it, you see how much she likes it?”

“Can- can hear-”

“Mhm—”

And truly, your overfilling pussy was so loud. Every splatter of precum inside you made the most primal squelches- and the volume? 

The sheer sploshes of his gooey translucent sap was enough to bloat your pussy. But now with two plump, vein-covered cocks of his probin’ your innards, he was fucking a tummy bulge into you. You gasp at the feeling, “I d-didn’t even know that was- hck! possible-”

“Heh, course it is—And y’know how to make that cute lil’ tummy bulge of yours even bigger?” Sukuna beckons you closer, like he’s about to tell you a secret.

Even though, really, he’s manhandling you like a ragdoll. Reeling you in until his scorched hot lips were grazing your own, murmuring. “I just…hafta…fuck a baby into you, my wife.”

Almost on cue - like a little preparation - both of his strawberry-red divots stream out a few beads of precum. Splattered against your walls, they drip n’ cream down the sides of your pussy and make you see stars. “I would like that- oh, I would- I would like that.”

“Mmm— and what about you?”

Evidently, your needy cunt’s in agreement, too. Because the wettest noises suddenly let off from between your legs- and only later do you realize that it wasn’t just because of how damp your pussy was. No, it was because of his second mouth.

Tonguing down the shimmery sheen of slick upon each of your thighs, he licks up every drop of juice you were leaking. Flicking the curly end of his tongue at your clit-

“Ah ah- focus on me.” Sukuna snaps you out of your high with a light spank on your slope, and a literal click of his fingers. 

“B-but how can I when it feels so goood—”

“So goooood, huh?” He drags it out purposefully, pressing his thumping veins against the roof of your channel. 

Sukuna knew the effect he had on you. He knew how to target your favorite spot in strikes so precise that it left your toes curling, vision flashing with white. “Tell me-” Right now, he had one hand smearing apart your folds to better let his tongue slip between them. Another two hands clung onto your waist to help you move, and the fourth and final was grabbing your face. Pushing your cheeks together pathetically, “Can’t focus? Awww, my poor wife. Are that- oh, useless at focusing on anything that isn’t my two c-cocks right now?”

“N-ngh, Kuna—” Cute. How cute. Your dilated pupils were swirlin’ in circles inside the whites of your eyes, comically pounded stupid after each stroke upon stroke.

“S’that the case, huh? Is that why my mouthy girl is so- oh, fuck- quiet now?” He’s almost snickering- it’s so ruthless. 

Heavy hips pressuring up into you. He was pounding you in rough thrusts, all the way from the mazing curve of his cockheads to those tickling tufts of pink at his very bottom. And Sukuna has the audacity to spit—“Fuck, mama. Do you even know your name right now?”

Your brain was too hazy, merely sparking with twitches of pleasure. You’re left blubbering nonsensically for a few seconds, until his tongue slaps your buttony clit. Startling you into answering, “I-I…”

“Heh, do you even know mine?”

“K-Kuna—” You might not remember your own name by now, but screaming Sukuna’s over n’ over had permanently branded his into your mind. 

And so you look up at your husband’s handsome, leering features for any recognition. Only to find him tutting, “Now now, how disa- oh, disappointing. I thought you’d most importantly know who I am, at least.”

“Then…clan leader?”

“Nuh uh.”

Pouting, “B-but ”

“B-b-b-but-” He’s mocking, buttery tongue now rubbin’ your nub raw. You felt overstimulated enough to press your chin between his puffy pecs, like cushions. Sheening out drool all over his skin- “Say my title before you cum, baby.” You listen with bated breath, “M’your husband. And m’always gonna be your husband.”

“M-my husband?” Your mouth drops - and you’re unsure whether it’s because of his words, or the sudden increase of his tempo. Hot and hard.

His twin, rock-hard crowns plummet all the way until you swear you can feel him poke your lungs. Throbbing at a thunderous staccato, he breathes—“Gonna be your husband that fucks you like th-thiiiis—” Punctuated by a few sloppy drags of his vein-decorated lengths, “Gonna be your husband that eats you out like m’starved.” A few hearts that he’s drawin’ on your clit with his extra prolonged tongue.

“Fuck- fuck I’m gonna—”

As your sobs break off, his roughened hand dips from your throat to the slick n’ precum dripping down your thighs. And you faintly notice the way he’s using the moisture to write out his own name—

Ryomen Sukuna. 

Signed off with a little heart on your skin, “And m’gonna be your husband that…” And a second heart right above where your womb was, where he was jackhammering into your womb like no other. Flooding it with copious knots of cum like he was practising for something else soon. 

Sukuna leans down sweetly so that his lips trace your earlobe, whispering. “-breeds this pretty pussy alllll full.” Tapping the front of your pussy, like he was just imagining it.

And that does it for you. That does it.

Before long your head falls into the crook of his neck with a dull thud, so utterly dumbified on your sudden orgasm that you can only blabber. “Kuna- Kuna—!” 

Your thighs were shaking, cunt fluttering with each spasm of pleasure.

And if Sukuna was going to fuck you through your high, he was going to fuck you through your high. Every probe of his rovering cocks increased your bliss tenfold, exact hits to your g-spot. 

Sobbing, “Please-” You can only hold onto his flexed, tattooed deltoids for dear life. Clawing down his skin due to the constant stimulation, you bow your spine backwards and meet his ferocious thrusts. Riding out the euphoria- spark after spark that made your toes curl.

Grunting, he just felt so used right now. And he loved it. “Yes yes yes- let this entire house know. Let that whole council ngh- hear how good of a husband I am to you.”

It lasts until you’re gurgling on your own whines, zaps of electricity still shooting from your cunt. “Let them-” And Sukuna dares to smush your tear-wettened cheeks together to coo, “Fuck, what’s that–? What’s that pretty mouth hafta- hngh, say t’me?”

And you somehow manage out, “I-inside.” A shaky hand of yours snakes down to part your pussylips wider, helping his roverin’ tongue. “My husband…”

Ryomen Sukuna’s eyes widen, his kiss-bitten lips part.

You could almost hear the deep, trembling gasp that he’s inhaling. Letting out only five words—“I l-love you, my wife.”

You aren’t granted the time to formulate a response- before his thick, battered cockheads start spilling out. Flooding your cunt in mere seconds, you’re just dripping down your thighs in thick clumps of his seed.

And his cursed mouth is more than happy to indulge in all the miry ribbons of sap, lickin’ all upwards until a thin, ivory gloss coats its lips. Sukuna looks down and groans, “Oh fuck- oh fuck fuck fuck fuck-”

His flush was scorching, face scrunched in pleasure. You’re purring, “You’re so pretty, baby—”

“Ah, m’so glad I married ya.” He can’t stop the lil’ confession that leaves his mouth. Heart too full- your cunt too full. And if you saw one of the strongest, most vicious clan leaders in existence smile through a fiery blush n’ his pussydrunk tears, then you mercifully don’t comment.

“M’glad I married you too, Kuna—” 

And you’d felt nothing like this before. Having his gluey cum splosh around inside of you, both of his lengths were shoved in so deeply that they were constantly coating your cervix in white. Your womb.

Your deepest orifices that leak out as Sukuna plants a hand on your tummy and presses, watching with bated breath as his seed gushes out of you like a waterfall. “Fuck- didn’t think it would be like th-this, ngh.” He was hypnotized, making an even bigger mess of you. “Didn’t think that it would be s-so…” Addictive.

He doesn’t finish his sentence. For now.

Red eyes teary, Adam’s apple gulping. You’d completely sucked him dry by the time that Sukuna was pulling out of you. The matching mushroom tips of his shafts twitching, reddened and sensitive. 

He hisses as they bob in the air for a few seconds, before-

“Kuna- oh, fuck.”

Before you were flipped over and pressed deep into the mattress. Your legs on his shoulders, your knees near your tits—and his mouth over your overstimulated cunt. 

Letting you cream all down his chin, Sukuna has to swat away his cursed mouth just to get a taste of you himself. And the moment his plush lips touch your glazed folds- you’re trying to run away. Failing. 

“Now now, my wife.” Being draaaaagged back down by all four of his big, beefy arms. Sukuna pecks exactly six open-mouthed kisses on your sloppy hole, his lengthy pinkish tongue coming out to sluuurp—“I remember something about…six heirs?”

Oh. 

.

.

.

“Y’know, there’s really nothing wrong with impotency.”

Wasuke grunts, a few elders nod. “Agreed.”

“But maybe he’s taken a vow of celibacy-”

“Maybe his dicks fell off.”

“Choso Kamo!” It was never too early in the morning for Itadori Jin to squawk at his sons, especially when they were in the middle of what was undoubtedly an exceptionally important subject of conversation - the two of you. 

He wags his butter knife like a weapon, “We do not say those words in front of Yuji, and especially not in front of our toast.” Before reality sets in and he drags a hand down his face, “But yes…that is possible…”

Wasuke deems it to be the perfect time to chime in, “Bah! I don’t care if they fell off or if they multiplied- I just want grandkids.”

“Father, might I remind you that it was you who decided to interrupt their little moment last night?” A vein pops out beside Jin’s temple, and in his periphery can see the other guilty elders shift in their seats. 

The old man does, too, but still in denial. “Slander! That is propaganda that I will not be falling for-”

“Father, we have multiple eye witnesses. I am an eye witness.”

“And what were you doing spying with us?”

“…”

As Itadori Wasuke rests his case, the winding table falls into perhaps the first quiet of the morning. Somewhat tense. Somewhat anticipating. That is, until an oblivious Yuji nearly upturns his bowl of cereal to chime in—“Exorcist-”

“What? Choso, did you let him watch your-” Jin starts- and then stops. Because then he’s seeing exactly what his youngest son was looking at - you and Sukuna.

Well, more like you in Sukuna’s arms. It seemed that you were having some trouble waddling down the Estate’s multiple flights of stairs, painstakingly taking it one at a time to enter the dining room. And he has half the mind to nearly ask what’s wrong, perhaps even get up and help you himself- until he sees it.

Oh, it was hard to miss.

He sees it, and so does everyone else within a five mile radius: the bite marks, the bruises, the slight weariness in both your eyes from lack of sleep. It almost looked as if you two had been thrown to the wolves.

And his younger brother often did forgo a shirt for breakfast, but now he’d haphazardly thrown on a yukata. One that showed off such feral scratches disappearing down his back, his neck, fuck- maybe even his thighs?

Jin drops his butter knife, Choso exits the table, and Wasuke…was he even breathing? Hell, Jin was sure that a few of the surrounding elders had honest-to-heavens fainted right then and there.

Nearly everyone knew what happened.

Except for a beaming Itadori who was the first to gain your dual attentions, squealing out a “G’morning–!” that you both reciprocate in hushed, hoarse voices. Fuck, he even swears he heard Sukuna’s gruff baritone crack.

No one comments, of course, for the dark glint in their clan leader’s eyes promised sure death if they did. Though, Jin does roll his eyes at a few of the whispering council members—

“What a glorious, wonderful day it is. I truly do believe in miracles-”

“My bets are on a girl- but a boy would also be-”

“Akon worked?”

He doesn’t think he can judge, though. Not when he’s immediately pulling out his phone to text Yuji’s teacher, Haibara, about the salacious new updates. Ah, can you blame him? You two would make the prettiest lil’ babies. 

Finally, you and Sukuna finally take your seats at the clan table. Grinning. And by the looks on your faces, Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t impotent. Not at all. 

Though, it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

The Itadori family sips their tea.

A/N. *Also sips tea* Hope you have a lovely week!

This was rather unexpected, you thought to yourself. He was different and that bothered you. Was he not satisfied to see the literal woman of his dreams come to life? The thought itself made you furrow your brows as you tagged along him and his pet.

Upon reaching his study, the motif itself was very much like the monarchy and himself. Cabinets filled with scrolls and another separate cabinet that are yet to be filled with scrolls of whatever he is working on. His study was open and wide, the heart of his study was his huge table decorated with weighing scales and papers piled up and two papyrus papers were scattered open in the middle that somehow looked like a map that is yet to be filled up.

"Have a seat," Alhaitham spoke, instructing Jihad to sit down to which the feline responded with a chuff before settling himself down and yawning.

You stood there by the door that was just closed and watched him unfold in his usual setting. I guess Alhaitham would call this his own man cave. He gazed at you and heaved a sigh. "I meant you, of course. Have a seat, don't mind Jihad."

In return, you only replied with a small nod and found a seat just beside the cabinets. You decided not to sit and to stand and observe the scrolls piled up. Your eyes are busy with the tags and labels of each scroll. Alhaitham on the other hand kept sitting by his table and crossed his arms.

The probing has begun, he asked numerous questions to which you replied. He didn't ask where you came from, he was objective, thus only questioning matters regarding the further regions of the sands. From hidden mausoleums to locations to mark, he continued to seek the pursuit of knowledge for the expansion project. It was quite strange, here you thought that he would be asking you rather personal questions. It did bother you but of course, it would not let you falter.

"Your highness..." one of his servants came inside after knocking. "...it is dinner. The young lady is invited to eat as well, said your father."

Alhaitham replied with a nod before the servant left. He then gazed back at you before he stood up and spoke.

"You heard him."

Oh the knock of this guy. You thought.

Dinner was quite fine, the sorts of foods that would satisfy one's appetite. Alhaitham exchanged a few words with his father and his father to you. At some point, the question directed towards you was answered by Alhaitham.

"Please eat, I will answer my father's questions." He whispered to which you only replied with a slow nod as you took a spoonful of the desert.

The following days were the same, this time it was different. You were actually helping him out with the mapping. You could see how delicate and neat he works with the maps. Not only that, he was detail oriented as well. Asking you questions about what was within that small area or what notable features did it possess. He was indeed more than just a prince with a face, he possessed an aristocratic and wise quality.

It was because during mapping sessions, guards and scribes would randomly enter his study chambers and update him with the ongoing plans and treaties that he, of course, would indulge himself and the queries.

"If you'll excuse me, I will return in a short while." He left his markers and tools used for outlining the maps scattered at the table. You replied with a small nod and watched him leave the chambers whilst talking to one of the scribes.

This day, the mapping was almost finished but he was summoned by his father. Leaving you alone in his chamber. It was afternoon and the chamber was filled with rays of the sun that beamed, highlighting small spaces within his study. Come to think of it, no matter how busy this man is, his study was undeniably neat. Not a single scroll was misplaced nor scattered around the floor. You would expect that this man had no time to organize yet his room differs from your expectations.

His study was a wide room with an open space in the middle with a long and rectangle shaped table. Beside it was a red sofa filled with plush pillows on each end. You took the liking of comfortably sitting and observing the space he usually works on a daily basis. A whiff of the incense laced your nose, inhaling the comforting scent. A little while later, Jihad entered the study with a big yawn as he slowly walked towards the sofa.

He was a big feline but such a baby when his prince was near him, demanding for rubs. As you stayed in the palace for quite some time, Jihad has grown fond of you. He would greet you with his successions of chuff or nudge his head against your knees, a cue to pet him to which you spoil him. Surprisingly, Jihad took the big pillow he usually sleeps in by dragging it with his teeth and placing it near your feet and comfortably laying himself for a short nap.

"You know what, Jihad..." you spoke, stretching your arms and back before you took one of the pillows and patted each side. "...a nap doesn't sound bad after all."

And just like that, you lie down and slumber visits you. On the other hand, Alhaitham was discussing with his father. The usual one, expedition and mapping. Not until his father mentioned how you were.

"What do you mean?" Alhaitham asked, not looking at his father as his eyes were too fixated from the pieces of figures in his father's embossed maps.

"Do you even know her name?" The king paused from placing a few more pieces.

"That's rather a strange query, your grace." He took one of the pieces, a triangular shaped piece, and placed it near two smaller pieces with the identical shape.

Of course, he didn't know your name. It didn't cross his mind to know or ask what was your name. Not that it didn't curious him, he simply just didn't feel it. Now the thought of what your name was, he recalled addressing you as 'hey' or 'woman' a couple of days ago. Strange and certainly infuriating.

"Do you know her name then, father?"

"My, of course, son."

"Good for you."

The king only sighed at his rather indifferent attitude. Truth be told, he was genuinely curious about you. Everything about you was a mystery that is yet to be revealed. In an outward perspective, he did not care. To which you and probably the king, finds strange.

He was quite aware of how you and his woman of dreams looked alike and how similar your voices were. On top of that, the little fluid and elegant manners you had as you carried yourself in helping the young prince further expanded his curiosity. He found you rather strange but in his mind, you and that woman of dreams of his were different and he rejected the idea that it was you personified.

"She's quite a pretty woman herself, don't you think?"

"Hm, she is, I suppose?"

The talk about you went on for hours, only for Alhaitham to reply in such a stingy way.  After a few more talks, the prince decided to go back to his study to check the scrolls.

It was the same routine everyday, to the point that it seemed like a loop that never ended. At this point, your plan seemed like a written reminder that you somehow never did.

"The expedition begins in two days, I suggest you get your best sleep since we're heading to the sands." Alhaitham spoke, without looking at you, afterall, he was a busy man with a scroll on his right hand and a pen on his other hand.

"I'm coming?" You stopped petting the feline.

"I will accompany you with a few of my chosen travelers and men."

"Oh..."

"Your ladies have also prepared your tent and things, do you wish to bring anything else?"

"Uh...I-I suppose I'll be thinking about it."

"Hm, tell me what you'll be bringing so I will get them to prepare it. Understood?"

"Yes," you replied, looking at him as Jihad nudged his head gently against your cheeks and chuffled. "Thank you."

Come to think of it, your world revolved a bit of eating savory meals, having to experience luxurious baths almost everyday, a free stroll around the extravagant palace, watch people do stuff for you, dressed up with the finest silk offered by the palace, and of course, having a premium closeness to the prince by being his aid. Suitable just for a goddess like you. But alas, do they even try to know what you truly are? Does HE know or even try to know you? Shame that you will never know.

It was no doubt that the prince had a charming face and a mysterious personality that entices a few faces from different kingdoms. Princesses and high ranking courtesans seemingly throwing themselves to the young prince's feet, offering themselves to him as an act.of devotion. To which of course, he politely declines. These ministrations and how he reacts to it somehow made you curious over the past few days that you couldn't help but want to ask. However, you decided to ask a different and a more serious query.

"Alhai- I mean, your highness, is it okay if I ask something?"

The young prince stopped what he was doing and slowly turned and tilted his head, enough for you to see the side of his face.

"Call me 'Alhaitham', we're in my chambers." He spoke. "I'd like you to call me by my name, so refrain from addressing me formally."

"Why so?"

"Is that what you're initially asking then?"

"No."

"Hm, then I'll only answer you if you do as I say." A small smile formed on his lips.

Truth be told, Alhaitham wasn't fond of questions. It was like a meticulous task for him and it tired him out. However, there are such exemptions to these matters especially when it comes to you. Of course, he could only think of it as a way to return his favour because you had assisted him for almost a month on his ongoing expedition. Think of it as him being a gentleman.

You slowly nodded with his instructions and slowly said his name. It was new, you were so used to calling him with his honorary titles, but the prince himself granted you permissions to casually call him his name. Oh, what a beautiful name, you thought to yourself.

"Alhaitham."

"Hm? What is it?" He slowly shifted his body, dropped his pen and scroll to his table, and faced his body to you. Now he was welcomed with this... rather innocent view of yours. You were sitting by his carpet while his dear feline rested its big head on your lap. Your sincere eyes meeting his hawk-like gaze, plump lips, and such beauty.

Alhaitham wouldn't deny it but your beauty would be considered as the realm's delight. Such beauty you behold, he wonders what kind of alchemy create such ethereal beauty like you. And then he realized something, your beauty alone had a choke hold on him and he realized it late.

"I have come to notice that you have suitors, women coming from different regions." You started slow but with an obvious topic to which you already prepared the rejection of answering your curious query. "Why do you not entertain them?"

You asked, seemingly patting the head of Jihad yet you never really looked at him.

Alhaitham paused for a moment, and pondered, what the real answer is to that question. Was it an academic curiosity that urged him to convince his father to explore the desert that genuinely kept the young prince  in a hectic place? Perhaps the idea that marriage was far from his perspective as of the moment, considering he never was in a position to rush matters that revolved around tying bonds with anyone? Does he even see himself falling for someone? Of course, but when will he start to do so? Was there really a remarkable person that could persuade the heir to the throne?

He only stared at your petting to his Jihad as he sighed, he wasn't really sure what to tell you. Although this question wasn't new to him considering the king has nagged him about it ever since he was of age, he somehow had a peculiar feeling. He silently commended you on how you questioned him about serious matters, but as an outsider to his personal life, you really had the guts to ask him.

Maybe answering you wasn't much of a hassle, after all he had the time in the world to either reject your query or keep your growing curiosity company.

"I suppose if I tell you, then you will keep it a secret?"

The answer he gave you made you look up to him, never in beat would you think Alhaitham would set aside his usual work for a question that can be answered with a word or two. You slowly gave him a small nod, signaling that you had your senses focused on him. Alhaitham picked up your nod and took his chair, gently dragged it, and placed it just in front of you. He sat and slowly lowered his upper torso to level your face. The proximity between you and him now closer, finding yourself having a close up view of him and the very details of his astonishing beauty.

"How about this," he whispered, he was serious but there was a hint of playfulness in it. You couldn't tell if he was either serious or not, he was, after all, unpredictable. Something he had naturally. "I'll give you three statements, two of which are lies and one is the right answer."

"...and?"

"Of course, you have to guess the right one. In return, you will be doing the same." He crossed his arms and rested against the comfortable seat of the chair. Laid back and composed as ever. "If either of us had the wrong guess, a dare will compensate for it."

"I never expected the young prince to be playful, might as well amuse me by playing truth or dare?" you let out a low chuckle and caressed the feline's cheek with your thumb. Alhaitham replied with a soft scuff, since when did you start to get that kind of sarcasm?

"I'm keeping your curiosity company, might as well leave you and Jihad alone so I can work peacefully."

Never in a millennium had a man genuinely amuse you in such humor. Come to think of it, he was always serious and never replied much nor replied. You have to conclude that he was like a living machine, so to witness him in such proximity in this situation was never on your plate.

"Alright, young prince," you cleared your throat and now looking at him, your attention undivided. "Entertain me, if you please." a soft reply, you spoke.

Upon your response, Alhaitham let out a ghostly smile before he shifted his position. Alhaitham started, positioning himself by leveling you. He leaned once more, whilst he rested both his  arms at each thigh, arms supporting his weight and legs partly spread.

"The kingdom of Sumeru is vast and yet to be discovered. Despite our lineage being at the throne for years, some parts itself is yet to be uncovered." he started off. Each word leaving his mouth made you gently nod, absorbing the words he said.

He continued his story coming from his past royal lineage being unsuccessful of searching through the vast sands due to the lack of equipment and knowledge of what lies ahead. Among the few of his ancestors have passed because of unexpected circumstances of their expedition during their reign. Fortunately, through the sacrifices of his kin, the present throne is able to push through the expedition and further survey of the area.

"The sands fascinated my curiosity since I was a young scholar." he crossed his arm yet he kept his gaze focused at you, never breaking it. As if he really had no intention of keeping his eyes off you, not that you'll escape. "I have no intention of taking the crown to begin with, I intend to spend my time as a man who seeks knowledge and the grain of wonders of the dunes of Sumeru."

You replied with a hum, that somehow adds to your hypothesis regarding him finding you and how this curiosity and ongoing questions somehow simply align themselves to give you answers. You weren't in a rush nor had the realization you had initial questions about how he was determined to expand his knowledge and the past aspirations of his kin to broaden their expansion.

"That leads me to saying that I do not wish to marry." Alhaitham's tone was relaxed and monotone, leaning by the soft backrest of the chair he sat.

Shifting, he rested his right hand by the arm rest and his left hand supporting his head as he paused. He looked at you, observing your curious face as he took a pause. Surprisingly, he somehow found himself pleased with this view. Not that he felt that he was superior looking down on you, it was more of how you looked. How effortlessly you made him look at you in awe with your beauty. Those curious and innocent looking eyes you had, spoke for you. It felt like you didn't even have to utter a word for him to digest what you're thinking. Perhaps it is true what they say: the eyes never lie.

"Why?" you gazed at him.

"I am not in a rush nor has it ever crossed my mind," he replied.

"I doubt."

"Who are you to doubt me?"

You let out a soft chuckle with his question.

"I don't doubt you, my prince." you replied. "I doubt how it never crossed your mind."

Alhaitham, interested with your answer, slowly let his curiosity tiptoe. Perhaps it was the perfect time to open your subject to him. The reason why you are here, the reason why you're infront of him, and why he even has the opportunity to speak to you. Of course, you didn't want to surprise him with everything. You had other plans, after all, who doesn't like the chase?

"Perhaps not marriage."

"Then?"

"Perhaps you had someone in mind." you lowered your voice but sure enough that Alhaitham heard of it, he never recalled anyone being so pesky in his mind. He was after all a busy man, he was.

"How can you confirm this suspicion then?"

"I think that leads us to me answering your little game, your highness."

Delightful but terribly annoying on how you seem to know or even assume he gave out the wrong statement but alas, he would never know your true potential if he did not give you the chance to speak. He never belittles anyone's academic and intellectual capability, it was just that he never truly had to try hard to prove anything. But here you are, it seems like someone like you knows how to bite.

"Go on."

"Based on the structure of your statements, I concluded that you were telling the truth regarding the matters of your family's lineage dating back and your history with the dunes." you started, confident but sure. You sat upright but never forgot to pet the asleep feline by your thighs.

"This also leads me to sum up that you do not have plans nor initial plans with the crown, I can recall a certain interaction with the king. He mentioned, nonverbatim, that 'the prince truly amuses me for he is the only heir of this dying lineage of kings, yet he spares no time to reckon keeping up this dynasty of honorable kings.'" With a smile, you looked at Alhaitham.

Perhaps the young prince looked down on such a peculiar woman like you. He often had the perception that you were just an odd woman looking for trouble near the site. He wasn't new to women performing such an act just to get his attention. That in case he was presumably correct, he paid no attention at all. Truly, you were more than just a delight to his study chambers, you intrigue the young prince.

Your assertion kept the young prince amused. In a way he could never comprehend with simple words. Something ignited inside him that his chest felt heavy, in a sense that it also wanted to break free. He could hear the hitch of his inhale and heavy yet silent exhale. 

There was something about you that kept Alhaitham's feelings exalted at the present. For such an ethereal looking woman with a peculiar habit of surprising anyone, you did so much aside stir up feelings from him that he could not comprehend what it was. It was warm yet a chill would run his spine. 

“Perhaps you can say that marriage itself has never been in the status as convenient to you but to say that you had no person to think of intrigues me a lot, sir.”

“You're doubting me?

“I distress your majesty, perhaps let us put it in this way…” you sat up and fixed your posture. Surely, this would sound ridiculous but oh well, better have said it then regret it afterwards. 

“You’re assuming then?” Alhaitham argued, keeping up his neutral expression while internally being entertained with her little show. 

“No-” you said. 

“Suggesting?” 

“Your highness-”

“Are you a matchmaker then?”

With his rapid interruption, you heaved a heavy sigh, admitting defeat as his interruption unfortunately got through your nerves. You didn’t wish to be annoyed at the young prince, it was pretty much obvious that he was doing it on purpose. Alhaitham somehow finds it rather…amusing. 

“Your highness, I think we should call it a night.” you closed your eyes, trying to compose yourself. “You have errands tomorrow.” 

Alhaitham let out a low chuckle, seemingly enjoying his small victory of trying to get into your nerves. 

“Ah, and they say escape is defeat.” Alhaitham shifted his seat and made himself comfortable by leaning onto the back cushion of the seat. His eyes gazing at your defeated look, eyes looking away and your plump lips pouting. He was never the type to exasperate anyone just because he wanted to lest he never experience the annoyance from someone who does it randomly. 

But here you are, looking incredibly annoyed yet delicately beautiful without any effort. He must admit that he never came across any woman with such sharpness and wit, still blessed with her beauty and grace. 

“Apologies, I must have you at wits end.” He spoke as he stood up from his seat.

He walked towards the center of his chambers. At the center of his chamber lies a square pool filled with varieties of fresh flowers and lotuses that float the pristine water. He took one nilotpala lotus and a single zaytun peach and sat back at his chair just near you. 

You watched him closely come back to his seat. He placed the zaytun peach just at his table for he kept both of his palms busy with the lotus. 

“I do not think this is an appropriate gift for making amends with you but…” he looked at the damp and freshly bloomed lotus in his palm before he gazed at you. “...allow me to offer this lotus to you, they say it only blooms at night to reveal its beauty.”

He gently took the flower and handed it over to you. Taking the flower, you placed it and carefully cupped the delicate lotus. You never had the opportunity to see it bloom, thus this was a sight to see to you. 

Unbeknownst to you, Alhaitham came to know that you had taken a liking to these delicate lotuses. He observed you sit by the pool of the garden, looking at your reflection and the lotuses that are yet to bloom. He knew you would sit hours just for it to bloom but to no avail, you eventually wasted your afternoon just for it to bloom. 

“This is a nilotpala lotus.” you spoke, observing the intricate parts of the flower up close. You had a waft of its floral and sweet scent. “I’ve always wanted to see them bloom but I do not get the opportunity to see them fully bloom.” You looked up to him with bliss and with a smile.

“Is that so?” He knew, of course. He wouldn’t say it. Perhaps this would be his reward and somehow, he felt a sense of contentment seeing you in such bliss. He took the peach, effortlessly tore it in half, and gazed at you

“Truth is, your answers are all correct.” he admitted defeat with a sigh, he slowly took a bite from the other half of the peach, his eyes never leaving you. Upon hearing him, a little smile formed your lips. 

“So, you have someone on your mind?”

He then propped himself by sitting at the red carpet, just in front of you

“Indeed,” he answered.

You were surprised by the prince’s offering. He was acting unusual in a way that intrigued you. He was the busiest person inside the kingdom and never did he spare time for such trivial matters that would slow him down. And now, he’s eating a peach in front of you. You could only watch him savour the sweet peach, another bite and the juice of the fruit ran down to his chin. 

Instinctively, you wiped the juice from his chin with your thumb. He caught your wrist, guided it near his lips, and pressed your thumb gently to his lips. Upon your thumb making contact with his lips, he briefly closed his eyes before he bore and gazed back at you. Alhaitham’s eyes were half lidded and seemingly focused on you, never did it cross his mind to let your thumb break from his lips.

You were dumbfounded by the sudden action, as much as you wanted to break free from the contact, you found yourself unable to do so. As if you turned into a statue, unable to react nor say a word. For a few moments, the both of you stayed still as if trying to savor every second of the moment. 

He took the opportunity to study your face. There was no doubt that you looked exactly just like the woman in his dreams. There was no flaw, no inadequacy, no spot for him to point out and convince himself that you are not her. You are her, he’s starting to believe. For days, he never had any particular dreams about that woman again. Could it be that the dreams were no longer needed because you are here? The mysterious woman in his dreams was in front of him, thus the dreams were no longer active, he theorized. 

“My prince,” a soft and hushed voice called his attention back and it was you, flustered and heart racing from such sudden intimacy the prince showed. 

He only let out a small chuckle, pressing a small kiss by your thumb before he looked at you. “Who are you, really?” 

He gazed at you with such curious and longing eyes, as if trying to decipher and unravel the hidden divinity of you. He then kissed the knuckles of your hand, to the back of your palm, his lips touching and leaving kisses through your arms, now reaching to your shoulders and leaving a small peck to your shoulder. He then drew his lips closer to your ear, inhaling, before he spoke. 

“Tell me, please.” he rested his forehead to your shoulder, his ministrations leaving you breathless and speechless. Your body started to heat up from the proximity between you and Alhaitham. He left a single kiss by your neck before he cupped your cheek and gazed at you with such intensity. 

He gazed at you, expecting that your eyes might at least give him answers he is looking for.  You could only return the gaze with your doe like eyes scanning his face with visible frustration etched in his face. There was so much intensity between the proximity between the two of you. No words uttered from thereon, only deep breaths and fervent exchange of gaze. 

Your faces were inches away, almost like the space between the two of you was edging the both of you. Alhaitham was the kind of man who knows what he wants, he had no business with being indecisive nor mingling with people being indecisive even at the most little matters. But at this very moment, this proximity had him questioning his ability to recognize and decide. Seems like his logic and to rationalize was slowly slipping away from his mind.

“Won’t you?” he whispered, his cheek against your cheek. This was completely different from the dreams he had with you. This was the closest thing for a dream to come true. You could feel your cheeks and nape heat up. Goosebumps running through your skin, his delicate touch seemingly adding more fuel to the fire. 

And when he couldn’t resist you anymore, Alhaitham left a soft and long kiss against your plush lips. This was beyond comprehension, everything was happening all at once. A while ago you were anticipating a plausible argument and now, the esteemed and sought after prince of Sumeru is at your level and kissed a goddess who hindered herself from the growing world. 

Just before Alhaitham could deepen his kiss, a presence of two women entered his huge chambers. Just by the hallway, stood two ladies-in-waiting. They didn’t dare to interrupt nor get closer to the rather peculiar situation between the prince and you. They couldn’t comprehend what it was since Alhaitham’s back was facing them, and the kiss was angled in a rather hidden manner. As curious as they may seem, they dare not to probe their majesty.

“Your highness, we apologize for interrupting,” one of the ladies spoke, her head hung low.

Alhaitham slowly broke the kiss, his eyes half lidded. You couldn’t deny it; this man was attractive– no, he is a beautiful man. To say that he is simply attractive is an understatement, what more when the prince himself yearns more kisses from you. Upon hearing one of your ladies-in-waiting speak, you quickly hid your face by his side, as if wanting to disintegrate yourself from the embarrassment. 

“Hm,” Alhaitham hushed. “What is it?”

“We came here to escort our lady back to her chambers. It is late and she was supposed to sleep an hour ago.” she spoke, softly. 

Hearing this, Alhaitham let out a ghostly smile. “Yes, your lady here has fallen asleep on my carpet.” 

Your brows furrowed from his answer but you knew it was a better reason than telling them what had actually happened.

Alhaitham looked at the ladies, instructing them with his usual tone as if nothing happened. “Prepare her bed, I will be carrying her to her room.” 

To which they nodded and left his study chambers

And just like that, Alhaitham picked up a soft white linen from his bed and carefully covered your body so that it would not be exposed by the cold breeze of the evening. He carried you in a bridal style and still you never spoke nor looked at him again. Everything was fresh and surreal, you kept thinking about it and you never noticed that you were already being laid by him at your bed. 

You quickly hid your face upon reaching the bed and covering yourself with the blanket. 

Alhaitham only looked at you, but deep inside, he knew what you felt. He could’ve done so much if he wasn’t interrupted but he also knew it was better that things do not escalate as he wanted to know more about you and what you truly are. 

One of the ladies escorted him out of your room when he spoke.

“Be sure to fill her vase with fresh padisarah flowers by the morning.” he stopped his track as he reached outside her room. “See to it that you get a big jar and place nilotpala lotuses to it, let her tend to it once it arrives.” 

The lady nodded in response. 

“Dress her tomorrow, we will be having a stroll by the royal garden and city.” 

"My Lord, the scrolls have arrived." One of the scribes of the King arrived, offer him a handful of nicely kept scrolls.

For the past three months, Alhaitham has kept himself confined by the study. The setting filled with scrolls of knowledges, as if he tried to absorb every detail he was trying to comprehend. He only replied with a nod and took the scrolls and placed it by the table.

Alhaitham was the only son in line to the throne and he was no ordinary prince. With his knowledge and skill, the other neighbouring nations spoke of him warmly, although setting aside his stoic and rather cold demeanour upon interacting.

The past three months, a mysterious woman had appeared in his dreams in successions. Seemingly telling an ode to him but he couldn't remember what it was, only her beautiful face could he remember. Drapped in white linen and surrounded by padisarah flowers, she would comfort him in his serene dreams to only wake up with scrolls beside him and a cold cup of tea.

It haunted him, every move he made and every thought he had, it followed and haunted him. At times he could not sleep and tried his best to decipher what was it about. He would find himself drawing pictures of this mysterious woman to only ruin it, frustrated and convinced himself that it didn't look like her nor it was not her. Questioning his ability for artistic work he had learned.

At first, he was rather indifferent. It didn't bother him about this mysterious yet ethereal looking woman to appear in his dreams once in a while but as it went on oftenly, this somehow awakened something in him. His curiousity has took over him, trying to look for answers. He was not a man of spirituality but as the dreams went on, he had to summon a spiritual leader to interpret his dreams which he rather finds ridiculous. He was afterall, programmed with knowledge, rational, and logical thinking and approach.

But it did not help him at all, his curiosity grew and grew for this woman in his dreams. At some point, he would forcefully make himself fall asleep to see her again and promised to ever probe her, but her could not dream of her. Thus, he concluded that she would only appear in his dreams when it's: 1) it's night, and 2) when he doesn't force himself to fall asleep.

He wasn't a believer of such. In fact, as the dreams came in successions, he was concluding that he was either sick in the head or he lacked sleep. Given in his work focused nature, he deduct the idea that we was just lacking sleep but somehow, it made him rather stuck in a same routine where he longed for this mysterious woman in his dreams. Who was this woman? What did she mean? Was she real? What is she even?

Of course you were real, in fact, appearing in his dreams was not coincidence. You were indeed a living being, but not an ordinary one. Hindered from the advancement of Sumeru, lies your monastery filled with padisarahs and gold entombed monuments you refuse to leave for it is a sanctuary you have cultivated. It is true to what they say, the Sumeru has still secrets to be revealed, and you were one of the secrets yet to be come upon.

The dreams the prince set genesis when he stumbled upon an old scroll he found during the expedition a month prior his dreams. It was a shabby ancient scroll he found in a mausoleum to expand their territories in the vast lands of the sands. This way, they could keep a hold of the expanding group of eremites and their illegal trading and activities, as per the orders of the king himself to his only successor to the throne.

At first, he didn't pay much attention to the scroll as according to Alhaitham, it wasn't something he nor scribes comprehend. Although a shaman suggested this could be an ancient text telling a story of a goddess who secluded herself from the world. To his prior knowledge, Alhaitham considered the idea rather off. He digressed the notion of a goddess secluding herself from the world. Why would this goddess even seclude herself?

"Are you certain of this?" he asked the shaman, as if questioning the capabilities of the elder.

"That is for you to find out, your highness." the shaman replied.

Ridiculous. Alhaitham thought. He has never heard the tales of this mysterious divine being, nor was taught to him.

Unbeknownst to him, this would eventually trigger a response from you. You could hear his curiosity from a radius away and found it rather amusing. It didn't bother you that nobody prayed for you nor called out for refuge in your arms but this man has had you delighted. Is this an acknowledgment from a being the gods were referring to?

His growing curiosity was getting louder that you had to appear in his dreams. It was mere simple dreams, you appearing and observing him from a far, to showing him your small abode, to entertaining him by playing an instrument as he watched from a close distant.

And it got to the point that you teased the poor scribe by planting a small kiss on his lips. Upon breaking the kiss, he could only stare at you with feverish desire. His colorful eyes looking answers as you cupped his cheeks and feel his strong jaws clenching, urging himself to stop. He returned the favor by brushing his thumb to your luscious and plump lips, grazing his nose bridge by your supple cheeks and leaving kisses and hushed breaths. His palms making its way to your waist, as if trying to remember every detail he could remember. You let him, of course. Everything was new to you, the feeling of intimacy and the warmth of his touch would surge an unexplainable excitement to you. Something you lacked for years and something you, unexpectedly, found a need.

"Please, tell me who you really are and I would search for you in every nation." he begged, his head resting by your shoulder, seeking for both solace and answers as he left kisses over your exposed collar and neck.

You could only reply with a soft chuckle and cup his cheek and pecked a kiss on his cheek. It's a never ending question left unanswered. It was a cue to stop the dream and awaken him from his slumber. A kiss that would blur his vision and awaken him from his dream.

Even if it was only a dream in his point of view, he was still in your domain. Everything was real and it was beyond scientific explanation to prove that every time he was dreaming, everything was happening was happening in your domain. But could he really comprehend and figure out it was the goddess he denied of existence?

"Your grace, your father has called for you." a scribe entered his study, to find Alhaitham lazily looking by the painted ceiling. Seemingly awoken by the morning breeze of the open space of his chambers. The smell of incense from last night was freshly burnt out and the hues of the sunlight passing through the long curtains.

He tilted his head and responded with a nod. Few moments has passed, the prince presented himself to the king. Surprisingly, the king thought it would have been another day to nag the prince to get out of his chambers but there he was, walking towards the king in his seat.

"Father," he greeted.

"Ah yes, son." he spoke, delighted with the presence. Alongside the king was their pet, a Rishbolan tiger, Jihan, to which Alhaitham smiled as the big feline nudged its head to his legs before positioning itself beside Alhaitham.

"How was your night?"

Alhaitham could only remember your face and your soft chuckle. It took a moment before he could respond in his usual laidback demeanor.

"Nothing special." he replied. "You called?"

The king wasn't new to his straightforwardness and thus explained to him. A mysterious woman was spotted near the Vissudha expansion. The king explained to him that the guards spotted the woman just a few meters away from the construction the king has started two years ago. The woman was reported to be rather composed, explaining as to why she freely roamed the ungoing site. The site itself was dangerous, filled with wild beasts and noxious florals thus the only personnel allowed within the Vissudha expansion were architects and members of the royal committee.

"Oh." Alhaitham nodded to his father's story.

"The guards and the look outs commented on her knowledge with the terrains around Sumeru." the king replied. "So they brought her here."

"She's rather adventurous for exploring the area." Alhaitham circled the study table of his father before he comfortably sat by the sofa.

"Dare I must say, but her extensive knowledge with the sands is quite admirable."

"Oh?"

"Yes, in fact, I had spoken a few words with the young woman." The king chuckled, amused. "She's quite brilliant, suggesting a further expansion by the sands. Especially the mausoleums!"

Alhaitham could only respond with a hum. Seems like the women in Sumeru are rather peculiar for roaming carelessly, he thought.

"If I can guess, she's at your age or probably younger. Must have come from a noble family, and archons, her beauty is otherwordly!"

At his age, Alhaitham isn't new to his father's suggestion of him marrying. He was at the age, it is just that his son didn't pay attention and put the importance of it at this moment. He knows it so well that his father would insist upon meeting this woman and thus readied himself by rejecting his father's notion.

"You should meet her."

"No," he replied. "I have scrolls to keep and manage, father." he stood up, Jihad yawned from his action, causing for the feline to stand up and flex its body before nudging and circled the prince. "Jihad…"

The feline responded with succession of chuffs.

"No, no, guards please escort the young lady." the king hurriedly instructed, halting the young prince from walking away. The young prince heaved a sigh, and sat back by the wide sofa once again. This time, Jihad had placed himself by his lap and offed himself to his usual sleep.

The king himself was delighted to see the prince not walking away thus, became slowly impatient to introduce this lady and a few moments has passed, the guards themselves arrived by the king's chambers. Accompanying this said lady to meet the prince.

Each tick of the time, Alhaitham grew impatient with the little meet and greet. He angled his face to towards the curtains, he rubbed his forehead using his middle finger and his index finger whilst his thumb rested on the temple of his forehead. His other hand rested by the felines body to which Jihad appreciated by chuffing.

This was a waste of time, according to Alhaitham. He wasn't aware his father was a matchmaker, so eager to get his only son to be wed. The thought of being married has Alhaitham furrowing his brows.

"Ah, Alhaitham, come meet the young lady." The king softly spoke. Alhaitham could hear his positive remarks to this young lady to which she replied in small and shy chuckles. If he was to judge her, he would find her peculiar and mindless for roaming the area alone. Who on earth would walk alone confidently in an area yet to be finished with construction and still to be tamed?

"Father, I do not have time for this discussion you are initiating--"

"It is an honor, to finally meet the prince." the young lady spoke.

He took a peek from his fingers to have a view of the lady just a few meters away from him. And there she stood, wearing a simple white clothing and a scarf that was loosely wrapped around her hair, a few loose strands of her hair swayed by the wind.

Eyes matching the gaze of the royal prince, a small smile forming in your lips. Upon having a clear view of you, Alhaitham realized what was in front of him. Dumbfounded and speechless, he slowly stood up and awoken the tiger that comfortably laid himself by his lap. Jihad yawned and chuffed, excusing himself by jumping just below the luxurious sofa.

All he could do was to stand there and thought to himself this must be an illusion, or one of his dreams. Silence enveloped the study of the king as he observed you gaze at him with those beautiful yet studious eyes. It's like he couldn't decipher if it was truly you in his dreams or a different person.

There you were, standing in your corporeal form but nothing changed, only the clothing of choice. Ever so radiant, ever so ethereal. The prince couldn't utter any words as he was dumbfounded by the person in front of him. Was his head playing tricks with him? Probably the light? With every inhale an exhale you did, it was proof of life that you were indeed real. After nights of longing for you, you were finally here. In his reality.

Truth be told, this wasn't a scheme you would normally do. Why would a goddess, who voluntarily secluded herself from the world to live in her curated domain, leave her sanctuary? But oh, maybe it was his effect on you? Something finally ignited your curiosity from the outside world. A prince, a brilliant and handsome one.

The king was rather amused with the reaction of his son as he slowly approached you but then halted, as if doubting your existence again.

"Ah, seems like the prince is astonished by your beauty, my dear lady."

The warmth of the king only made you smile as you gazed at Alhaitham. He on the other hand somehow doubted every inch of life in you thus his brows furrowed. The king was indeed right, Alhaitham couldn't deny the beauty in you. You radiated of something out of this world, a beauty that could make a man lose his mind. Lethal, he would call it.

"They were right, your highness." you spoke. "He was indeed a beautiful prince."

Alhaitham stood there, ready to speak.

"Where did you come from?"

That was rather an unexpected question, you thought.

"I was just roaming around the area because I heard there was a constructio--"

"I am asking where are you from." His tone was stern but calm, probing the situation more.

You wouldn't tell him of your sanctuary. It would be ridiculous and of course, it was a secret.

"I came from the desert."

"Which part of the desert exactly?"

"Hadramaveth."

"Ridiculous, that area is out of the reach of the palace nor the council."

"Well I suppose you should widen your expansion within the desert." you replied with a monotone. "After all, the king mentioned you have an ongoing expedition, why not discover it yourself."

He could only stare at your answers, his hawk-like gaze observing you as if he was to judge you of your being. You actually forgot to distinguish whether this was his usual attitude compared to his demeanor during his dreams.

"That area of the desert is out of reach because of its harsh desert." he crossed his arms. "It is an untamed land filled with sandworms and consecrated beasts."

The probing session awakened Jihad whom approached his prince, slowly circling him.

"Well indeed, your grace." you replied. "But there is an area where humans can live, just the passage between Hadramaveth and the Tanit camps."

"To which the eremites occupy." he rebuked. "So, you are an eremite then?"

"No, of course not." the question made you furrow your brows.

"Then answer my question, where are you from?"

The king felt the tension between the two of you. You initially thought that he was going to be delighted to see you in your human form instead of his dreams. But here he is, questioning you. A human, questioning you.

"Now, now, Alhaitham." the king awkwardly chuckled, stepping in. "I think you are scaring the young lady. She offered help to navigate the sands."

"I already sent my men, no need for navigation." Alhaitham looked at his father.

"Your men are headed the wrong direction," you replied. "They're still at the mausoleums."

"And how do you know this? Are you certain they're my men? What mausoleum are you referring to?"

Well, shoot. Of course you couldn't tell him that you can just see everything in a snap. That would ruin your plan. Think. Think. Think.

Now you were certain this was a bad idea, you should've just shut yourself inside that sanctuary of your comfort instead of feeding this man of his wants. What is he up to anyway? You scolded yourself.

"Your highness--"

"That's enough. Guards, please escort this young lady to her quarters." the king sighed.

"No, father. She will be accompanying me in my study." Alhaitham turned his back, walking away and his tiger following along. "She'll have to map the desert out."

You stood there, dumbfounded. This was different man, a different man in his dreams. Where was the man who would look at you with those longing eyes despite being close together? Where was that man who would listen to you play the harp and smile as your grazed your fingers through the strings? Where was the man who would ask for your touch and comfort? Where was he?

You couldn't move from the unexpected reaction from him. Was he not content of seeing you? The silence enveloped and only the heave of the king snapped you back from the heavy thought. Alhaitham stopped as he noticed you were not tagging along.

"Come," he looked back with those stoic eyes.

What an unexpected turn of events.

A/N: FOLLOWING, REBLOGGING, INTERACTIONS, AND FEEDBACKS ARE APPRECIATED! Make sure to follow the first hashtag #Circeworks୨୧ to be updated with my future works! Happy reading faes!