zahra's

These were intense times. 

The Michigan Wolverines were right in the midst of the NCAA College Football Playoffs, and it has been weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps for the team of 100-odd men–all in preparation for a chance at being the nation’s top seed. 

There was much on the line, especially seeing that Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, was aiming to secure his spot in the upcoming NFL draft. 

As such, his pre-game ritual (one that he has refined and perfected over the course of four years) was a strict routine backed by, and rooted down in, evidence-based science and partially unbiased statistical analyses. 

It all starts with his protein shake: two whole bananas, one cup of oats, a shit ton of peanut butter, one spoon of raw honey, four scoops of protein powder, and full-fat milk. 

Next, his attire. He needed his signature gray game-day sweats (unwashed for the past 10-games in a row), a muscle tank he’s owned and stretched out since high school, and his most industrial-grade, noise-cancelling headphones. 

As for schedule? He needed thirty minutes of privacy, unrestricted and uninterrupted access to high speed internet, and most importantly of all: he needed to watch at least two of “stargiirl_xx”’s videos prior to heading out onto the turf. 

Give him that, and he was bound to have a fuckin’ phenomenal performance on the field. 

His meaty hand was already squeezing his growing erection through his sweats, the thick outline of his cock visible against the backlight from stargiirl’s newest video loading up on his laptop screen, and his protein shake already half finished by his bedside table. 

He wasn’t just a fan. He was her #1 biggest financer. 

Though she never showed her face, he had come to memorize the curve of stargiirl’s thighs and the moles on her hips over the course of the years. He knew her room layout by heart, and diligently watched the animes that she kept posters of on her walls. 

She was the best of the best. Not showy, not performative, just purely indulging herself. 

And sure, if keeping her active meant donating a sizable portion of his D1 stipend to fund her… pursuits, well, then call him a patron of the arts. 

His dick shamelessly pulsed in his pants as the page finally stopped buffering and the title of the video loaded. 

“Lessons in Vibrations Pt I”. 

Part one?!

He knew almost immediately that tonight’s game would be a fantastic one. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The Wolverines won their first round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 41-20. 

And Toji Fushiguro? Well, he was the star of the show, of course. He completed more than 85% of his passes (with six of them leading to touchdowns) and led an 80-yard rush all in a single game. He was on fire: skin buzzing with adrenaline, cool sweat dripping down his face, and his large canines glinting under the fierce stadium lights as the deafening crowds roared his name. 

“To-ji! To-ji! To-ji!”

He felt indomitable, floating on a high all the way from the stadium, to the bus, to the afterparty. 

But in the lecture hall? Well… 

His grades were barely passing for the majority of his classes, and in fact they were quite below when it came to Applied Chemical Kinetics II. 

He was truly a lost cause. 

He had missed countless of Yaga’s lectures throughout the course of the semester, promising himself that he would catch up on the review notes (he didn’t) and trying to watch the recorded lectures on the bus rides to any of the away games (he never). 

So really, it came as no surprise to anyone when he absolutely tanked his midterms those six long weeks ago. 

At the time, he was desperate. Failing class meant getting booted off the team. He needed someone who could easily cover his sorry ass for the rest of the semester, and fast. 

Therefore, the obvious choices for a final project partner were between Ijichi and, well, you. 

And, seeing as Toji Fushiguro had a pair of functioning fuckin’ eyes and a brain that lived partly in his pants, he chose the latter. 

It wasn’t easy persuading you to take him on for the project, which was something he honestly didn’t quite expect (nor was he used to). You were stoic to his ill-attempted flattery and unaffected by his usual charm. Every smile he flashed at you seemed to wither upon arrival, and every playful remark was met with nothing more than an empty stare.

In the end, desperation drove him somewhere pride never would’ve allowed before: straight into his football stipend.

“Listen. I’ll give you $300 if you can help me pass this class.”

It was the Wednesday before the Thanksgiving break, and he remembered how his words rang loud and heavy in the dusty air of the old lecture hall. Everyone had left at this point, the class long-since over.

You had stood before him unmoved, your books hugged to your chest and your normally impassive gaze slowly piquing in interest.

He remembered how you looked up at him through your lashes, and the way you tilted your head almost cutely. “Make it $400,” you said it softly, yet with little hesitation.

He remembered how he felt himself gulp, not from the number, but at the way your eyes were scanning his face like it was the first time you even noticed him. 

His hand had gripped the strap of his backpack just a little tighter. 

Though, you didn’t seem to notice as you continued. “I’ll meet you on Mondays and Thursdays only, I work every other day. And I want half as security in advance.”

You pulled out your phone, swiftly punching in your password before holding it out to him, the contacts app already open on the screen. 

For the first time in all of his college experience, he was genuinely caught off guard.

What the fuck? 

He took your phone. 

“$400?” he repeated, huffing faintly under his breath (was he amused? Annoyed? Aroused? He couldn’t tell at the time, nor does he know now) as he typed in his number. His large hands looked almost comical holding your small device. “You rob everybody like this, or am I just that special?”

He handed your phone back, his calloused fingers gently grazing your warm ones. 

“You’re failing chem,” you replied flatly. “You are not special.”

He hated how his dick twitched at your words.

But most of all, he hated how he didn’t know what to say in response.

He was the star quarterback, captain of the football team, most popular guy on campus and an undeniable chick-magnet, for god’s sake! 

His silence surprised the both of you, and you took it as your queue to leave. “See you later,” you glanced down at your phone, looking at his contact. “Fushiguro.”

You didn’t even know his fuckin’ name?!

And with that, you gently breezed past him, only offering him a small nod as you walked out of the room. The scent of your shampoo faintly caught in his nose as he tried to will his boner to stop growing in his sweats.   

After that, the break passed uneventfully, and by the time campus filled back up again and the chill of early winter settled in, your project was impossible to ignore.

He kept to his word of paying you the $200 in advance.

You kept to yours by meeting him that following Monday. 

The two of you developed a routine during the second half of the semester, meeting in libraries and cafes to review material and project timelines for the final submission. 

And during those couple of hours on the Mondays and Thursdays that he had you, he came to the haunting realization that you were so… chill. 

He was blunt, but you were blunt back. You flicked him when his head got too large, and he flicked you whenever you were too stuck in yours. He shoved you out of your shell at times, while you pulled him back down to Earth. It was rare, and so fuckin’ odd, this kind of dynamic between the two of you, the kind that goes unnoticed until suddenly you realize it’s there.

Soon, he would find himself calling your name from across the quad, and you would nod with what looked like a smile at him when you passed his row in lecture. He gave you tickets to his games (which you would resell for 200% of its value), and put your name on the list for the Kappa parties despite you never showing up. You sent him stupid instagram posts, and brought him homemade coffees whenever the two of you met post-game days. 

And thankfully for Toji, today was one of those days. 

“How’d it go?” Your voice was like honey and wine, low and smooth, as you looked up at him from behind your computer. The light from your screen illuminated halos in your eyes, and the steam from his opened thermos curled languidly in the air between you both. 

You sat across from him in a quiet, off-campus cafe. 

He grinned, smug and wolfish and borderline sleazy, as if he’d been just waiting for you to ask. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his overwhelmingly large, muscular arms over his head. He made a point to subtly flex his biceps while under your scrutiny. His shirt lifted slightly above his abdomen, and you blinked your eyes to focus on the scar on his tanned face, rather than the dark happy trail that ran down, down, down to his…

“Perfect game. You’d know if you actually came ‘round ‘n watched.” He playfully winked, his deep chuckle echoing as you gave him a deadpan stare. 

“I’m quite alright, Fushiguro.” He pouted in mock defeat as you looked back down at your screen. The battery symbol on your laptop flashed red in warning: low power. 

You’d only been there for thirty minutes and you could’ve sworn you charged the damn thing last night. Sure, your outlets were kind of fucked, and sure this was a twelve year old laptop with a battery life the size of a peanut, but surely it wouldn’t give out on you this early in the day?!

You exhaled a long breath. The thought of putting money down for a new computer made your heart physically ache. 

The two of you (mainly you) had just started to make headway with the report (“flow state”, as Toji would call it), and you knew you wouldn’t have a chance to work on the project again until after your Wednesday shift. “You got a charger on you?” 

He scoffed, almost offendedly. “Wanna try askin’ that again sweetheart?” He tsked you lightly. 

You rolled your eyes, a heavy sigh tumbling out of your soft lips. 

“Forget it. I know you don’t,” there was something prickly beneath your uncaring tone, and he curiously paused to examine you. 

He could see the faint circles under your eyes that you tried to cover with concealer, the way your shoulders sagged slightly from the weight of your backpack as you lifted it from the seat beside you, and the brief glimpse of all the mini bookmarks sticking out of your planner as you dropped it inside the bag. 

“I guess we’ll have to call it here then. I’d need to go back to my apartment and grab my charger to do anything else.”

And, perhaps it was because the two of you had formed this unexpected bond over the past several weeks, something deep and quiet and far more important than Toji would ever willingly name, that the weight of being the weakest link finally made Toji Fushiguro feel the heavy hammer of guilt bury deep within his hardened chest. 

A moment passed before he cleared his throat, holding up his hand. 

“Or…” the words were slow to move out of his mouth, embarrassment thickening in his throat. “Why don’t we work there?” You stared at him, almost startled, as if he’d grown another head. His ears warmed under the intensity of your gaze as he continued. “I still got power, I can keep goin’ if you’re down.” 

His triceps flexed as he scratched the back of his neck, tan skin pulling taut as he looked away. 

“It’s a small place,” you warned. 

He shrugged, his voice catching in his throat at the way you were holding his gaze. “I don’t mind. I’d go any place you choose.”

He paused, his eyes widening slightly at the words that tumbled out of his mouth, as if he didn’t realize what he said until after he said them. 

You breathed, and a beat passed before a small, pretty smile pulled across your features – the first he’s ever gotten from you like this. And this time, your tired eyes warmed into something soft, something akin to appreciation, something new.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, then I’d like that.” You tilted your head slightly, and his heart thumped oddly loud in his muscular chest. “Thank you, Toji.”

For just the briefest of moments, you looked at him as if he had just offered the world. 

All he could do was swallow and nod. 

He didn’t even realize you called him by his first name until you were both out the door. 

The walk to your apartment was comfortably silent. Despite Toji’s taller stature and athletic build, he wordlessly matched your slower pace, walking between you and the road. 

Your apartment was situated right on the outskirts of campus; too close to drive, but too cumbersome to walk. He quietly marveled at your resolution to go in person to class every day, especially when he had difficulty hauling his ass to the lecture hall that was just a block over from frat row. 

The taller man was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even realize how close he was standing to you as you both paused at your front doorstep. His towering frame loomed over you, and he could feel the heat of your body as you dug through your bag, and he could see the goosebumps that rose on your neck when your arm accidentally grazed against his abdomen. 

Your keys softly clinked! together as you unlocked the front door.

And, there was something faintly intimate about being led up the creaky wooden steps to your 3rd floor apartment, your hips gently swaying in his face with each ascent up, and your soft hands lightly tracing the railing in your wake.

He intrusively thought about reaching out to touch your fingers, to run his hand along the curve of your waist–

He coughed lightly.

What was he thinking?

As you opened your apartment’s door, he was immediately hit with the light smell of lemon and jasmine. 

Your place was small but tidy; a one-bedroom attic apartment where the kitchen and living area blurred together, soaking in the same sunlit space. Despite its size, it carried your mark: two types of server aprons hung on the coat rack, a soft crocheted throw blanket you made draped over the worn couch, and a set of reading glasses laying beside a hand-painted mug on your round window table.

It was cute; homely. A small glimpse into your life outside of class.

“You can start getting set up in here, I’ll just grab my charger from my room.” You spoke quietly as you led him to the table. 

You silently turned before he could respond, padding across the old wooden floors to the door that was directly across from where he had set his bag down. 

He had only just started typing his password into his computer when he lazily looked up, his dark eyes catching the movement from your room. 

And, holy shit. 

No. 

There was genuinely no way in hell. 

He was scrambling up out of your wobbly kitchen chair before his mind could even register it. 

His body felt as if it were moving through water, and his brain felt like jam. Was that his own blood roaring past his ears or his soul escaping his body? 

Cool beads of sweat began to form on his neck, tickling at the ends of his dark, grungy hair. He had crossed the width of your apartment in three long strides, until suddenly he was at your doorframe, his large body leaning against it like it was a lifeline, and his scarred mouth parted into the dumbest looking “o”.

His wild eyes scanned your room fervently. The walls, the Cowboy Bebop poster by your bedframe, the pale linen sheets, the empty vase on your bedside table and the stack of yellowing paper backs in the corner of it. 

Everything looked familiar.

Scratch that. Everything looked the same. The same as–

“Can I help you?” 

You were on all fours. All fuckin’ fours. 

You tilted your head up to face him, taking a pause from wiggling the stubborn plug out of the ancient socket underneath your desk.

And… could you? Can you? He was at a genuine loss for words. 

All he could do was stare dumbly, his large fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, and his body emanating a heat that he prayed to god wasn’t visible from where you were.

“Uh. Y-you got a bathroom up here??” 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

He scoured through every single video and rewatched every single clip that night.

The furniture, the decor, the walls, the window placement: everything was the same.

And so, the verdict was in: you–his quiet, guarded, asocial, and steely chem partner–were none other than stargiirl herself. 

What. The. Fuck. 

It was confusing to wrap his head around, this whole stargiirl-chemgirl business. But would he go as far to say that it wasn’t attractive? That he didn’t pop a boner every time he thought about it? 

No. He couldn’t. He’d never.

Was this divine intervention or his own personal hell? 

He couldn’t tell.

What does this mean? How should he act?  What does he fucking do with this information now?

He rubbed his temples before running a tense hand through his hair. At the same time, a notification popped up on his computer. 

“Check out a new post from stargiirl_xx !”

He could feel the blood in his veins thumping against his skin. 

“Don’t do it. Please don’t fucking do it-” he mumbled. 

He tapped into the link despite himself. 

“Lessons In Vibration Pt II”

He wordlessly clicked the play button on the video. 

For a moment, he thought his screen was buffering. The camera was set up to look out onto your bed, though you were not in frame yet, presumably twiddling with the settings of your camera. 

But when you finally did walk into view, his heart nearly imploded. 

The frame only showed you from the mouth down, your identity mainly concealed. You were bottomless, bare legs walking across the floor as you situated yourself on your bed. The only piece of clothing you did have on was an overlarge sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, one that he, in his panicked daze to get out of your apartment earlier, forgot he had left behind. 

He didn’t dare breathe, nor could he move. His head was craned so close to his computer, as if he wanted to go through the screen itself just to get a better look. 

He noted how his hoodie fell past your ass, large and consuming and honestly? So fuckin’ perfect on you.

You were nearing the end of your normal introduction, and he realized you spoke differently on video, low and confident and sensual and hypnotic.

“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about my content throughout the years,” your hands started to draaag the bottom of his hoodie up, letting it bunch just slightly above the dip of your waist, enunciating your curves. “-And I’ve realized I’ve never had a partner during any of them.”

The comments on the side bar started to flood through, hundreds of viewers already volunteering themselves to be your +1. 

His jaw ticked, hard.

“I think,” you leaned forward like you were sharing a secret. Toji gripped onto his computer until a faint pop! could be heard of one of the inner screws coming loose. “I think I would like to change that in the future,” and then you smiled, really smiled, a full, playful grin wiping across your features in a way he had never been able to see in person before. 

His dick bobbed in his pants. 

This could not be happening to him right now. 

You continued, “but for now, welcome back to my Lessons in Vibrations series.”

He watched as you started introducing the toys you would be using today, before you slowly began to touch yourself, teasingly showing glimpses of the purple lace panties you had on underneath his hoodie. 

And he couldn’t help it, really. 

Because when you started rubbing your vibrator against your clit, your deft fingers plunging skillfully into your cunt, soft whimpers escaping your lips as your pussy started squelching out a fucking melody – all while wearing his fuckin’ sweatshirt – what the fuck else was he supposed to do?

His sweats were already halfway down his thighs, and his meaty hand greedily pumping his own cock in sync to you fucking yourself on your fingers. 

He watched hungrily as you pushed his sweatshirt up further along your body, exposing your stomach, teasing the view of your bare tits. He bit back a groan at the thought of your scent lingering in the fabric, and prayed to whatever deity above that you wouldn’t wash it out before he got it back. 

Below, your fingers languidly teased the head of your vibrator against your entrance. It was the insertable kind, with a slender tip and curved body, the type that had your hole trying to suck up the device with every rub against your dripping slit. 

He could feel the veins in his cock pulsing hotly in anticipation, pushing up thick pearls of precum out onto his flared tip. 

He wondered what it would be like to slip his shaft against your drenched pussy lips, to massage the underside of his cockhead against the tight ring of your entrance, to feel you squeezing around him, and to hear the sounds you would make just for him. 

He gulped, cool sweat starting to form on his brow. You were beginning to fuck the device into you, pumping the vibrator in and out and in and out. He could see your legs trembling, your juices starting to  uncontrollably splash outside of you, and your pussylips fluttering with every bzzz bzz bzzzzzt of the vibrator fucking and swirling and massaging into your g-spot. 

He was matching your pace, furiously pumping his dick, thinking about how you looked on all fours earlier, thinking about how you smiled when you called him his name, thinking about how you look when you concentrate and the mole above your brow, thinking about the coffee you made for him and the weird shitposts you sent and the way you could look at him like he was nothing, and everything, all at the same time.

And suddenly, he wasn’t climaxing to the stargiirl he had always seen on screen.

It was his tough, quiet, calm chem partner. 

And as he shot hot spurts of thick, ropey cum all the way from his dick to his chin (the most he’s ever released before), he realized only one thing. 

He just finished to the thought of you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Toji Fushiguro had a problem. 

No, scratch that. 

He had a fucking crisis. 

It was drill day, and his head was absolutely nowhere near the turf. He fumbled balls, missed targets, and was a full thirty-seconds under his usual sprint times. 

And that was only how one of his practices went this week. 

It had been five whole days since he last saw you. 

Five days of being dogshit at his sport. 

Five days of holing up in his frat, avoiding campus, avoiding class, avoiding your texts, avoiding you.

It’s not like he wanted to do this, but he didn’t know what to do, how to act, or what to even say. 

How could he talk to you casually while knowing he’s given probably a third of his checks to you? How could he be normal in your presence knowing that he’s watched every single one of your streams, and in turn has finished an embarrassing amount of times to each of them?

How could he trust himself when the thought of you alone had his heart pounding so hard his ears hurt? Or how his chest squeezed so tight he almost went to urgent care, just because you texted asking where he’s been and if he was okay? 

How could he face you, knowing that he somehow developed the largest, fattest, most egregious fuckin’ crush on you?!

And, for the record, Toji Fushiguro did not do crushes. He hadn’t necessarily “ran through” the entire roster of available chicks on campus, but he did have an occasional fling, nothing serious, nothing long, nothing that would distract him from football and his dreams.

He was known as the campus heartthrob and heartbreaker. He was Mr. Non-Chalant, Mr. Everybody-Wants-A-Piece-of-Him, and Mr. I-Don’t-Get-Attached all wrapped up in one 6’4, 230 lbs body. 

A crush? That was new, unexplored territory for him. 

He stared down at your last texts to him.

⭐️(Thursday, 12:03pm): i got us a nice spot!! im sitting on 2nd floor @ clark  ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Ba-dump!

⭐️(Thursday, 12:18pm): knock knock, is mr. toji theree 

Ba-dump! Ba-dump!

⭐️(Thursday, 12:56pm): hey, is everythin ok? r we still on for today?

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–

⭐️(Saturday, 10:01am): r u alive

It physically sickened him that he couldn’t get his cowardly fingers to just fucking write back. But every time he opened up your text chain, all he could do was stare. 

Which is exactly why he couldn’t see you yet. 

He needed time. 

He needed space. 

He needed to get this shit under control.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) for him, the Kappa Epsilon fraternity was throwing a rager tonight. With the group of men only one week out from the next bracket of playoffs, this would be the last night the football frat would get to drink together for a while if they were to make it to the finals. 

It would be the perfect distraction. 

About an hour or so into the party and he was buzzed. He absolutely demolished that shithead Ryomen in beer pong, crushed a pack of PBRs, and now was cooling off in the kitchen, his body feeling swimmy and light. 

He reached for his phone. Maybe, just maybe, if he looked at your messages again for the umpteenth time today, maybe he would know what to say, maybe he–

“Ah, so you can come out and party but ignore all of my texts?”

His heart did that stupid thing where it pounded so hard against his chest he wondered if his ribs bruised. 

Despite the booming of the bass coming from the room over, and the idle chatter of randoms idling in the kitchen, he could hear the dry, unimpressed, and entirely too familiar voice coming directly from behind him. 

He turned, his eyes lowering to find you, as if it was muscle memory, as if it was his second nature. 

You never showed up to these parties (and trust, he has invited you to them all). Yet here you were, your body leaned up against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over your chest, and your hair falling around your frame. 

He grinned, the buzz in his head making it easy for a stupidly cheeky and wide and boyish smile to plaster onto his face. (a/n: toji has a hung smile. Okay? Okay.). 

“Hey, party animal,” he said, almost dreamily. 

The top you wore clung to you like a second skin, accentuating the swells of your breasts and the dip of your waist: features that you usually hid underneath your normal, bulkier campus-attire. 

He was indecisive, his eyes bouncing between the unreadable look on your face to the sliver of exposed skin right above your miniskirt. 

You looked good, really fuckin’ good. 

Your eyes widened, before your cheeks blushed the prettiest shade of red, your manicured fingers tightening around the plastic solo cup you were holding

Did he say that outloud?!

You straightened, steeling yourself, willing the warmth in your cheeks to go away. “You’ve ignored me for five days, Fushiguro-” your voice was firm and cool, cutting sharply through the noise of the party.

Back to the last name basis. 

You looked away, before adding, “-and you ditched me on Thursday.” You spoke that last part softly, deliberately, a look of sadness flashing briefly in your pretty, doe-like eyes. 

A dull pang rippled through his chest. 

He knew the implications of your words – the two of you never missed a meetup since this whole “deal” started. 

And, like those days in the libraries or cafes where he found himself sitting before you, following your every word and direction, he now found himself moving towards you, a small pout forming on his scarred lips, as his strong arms caged you in until you were wedged between himself and the counter. 

And, you knew he was huge before. 

But now, up close, you realized just how large he was - his broad shoulders obscuring your view, his muscular chest rippling under the tight black shirt he wore, and his huge hands riddled with veins that climbed up, up, up his forearms. 

He was overwhelming and all-consuming, surrounding your senses with the kind of intensity only he alone could pull off. You breathed in, your chest rising, fighting against the cotton of your ill-fitting top. He smelled of fresh pine and warm leather, clean and raw and manly. 

You came here pissed, but now found your resolve completely fogged and muddled. 

He leaned forward, dipping his head low, until his shaggy fringe tickled softly against the shell of your ear. 

You knew he had been drinking, but the question was, did he know what he was doing right now? Was this purposeful? Was this real? You couldn’t quite tell, but the way his breath stuttered as his nose traced light patterns into your neck, the way he was breathing you in, and the way his hands periodically clenched onto the countertop as if to restrain himself, told you he was at least semi aware of what he was doing. 

Your heart was hammering in your chest. The two of you never stood this close before, let alone touched each other. 

You turned your head slightly, trying to put at least some ounce of space between your face and his.

But for him? That just would not do. 

He slowly pulled away from your neck, his nose lightly mapping a path from the base of your neck, across the soft expanse of your cheek, to the tip of your own. Noses brushing, breaths mingling, chests heaving, and hearts pounding as his scarred lips hovered your glossed ones. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” 

The air between you was warm and thick, charged with something tender and so deeply intimate. 

“Because you scare me,” he mumbled. 

“Oh, really?” Your mouth twitched. 

“Mm.” He nodded once, nose rubbing softly against yours in an eskimo kiss. You could see how his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, lips dangerously close to pressing against yours.

“‘Think ya cursed me.” His neck flushed red, his low voice was barely above a whisper. 

“I can go-”

“Don’t.”

And then his large hands were latching onto your waist, the heat of his skin searing through the thin material of your skirt. 

“Don’t. Don’tDon’tDon’t.” His brows scrunched together, his face becoming serious. “Don’t go. Don’t leave. Not when you’re here, with me, pretty girl.” 

You breathed, taking your time to steady your voice after hearing the pet name roll off his tongue. “Then what should I do?”

“Stay.”

It was as simple as that, really. 

And then his lips were on yours, warm and soft and commanding. He kissed you like you were sin, drinking you in, savoring you on his tongue, before inevitably, always inevitably, going back for more. He didn’t let you breathe; he wouldn’t. He was greedy and wrong and possessive, claiming your mouth like it was his alone to conquer. Your knees weakened as his tongue massaged against yours addictively, molding against you like you were made for him; like he was made for you. 

Your hands moved before you could think, before you could decide if you were angry with him or if you hungered for him. You found purchase on his broad shoulders, before making your way up, up, up to his neck, one hand running through his dark hair while the other held onto the underside of his strong jaw, thumb gently caressing the scar on the side of his mouth, pulling him in.

He pressed into you further, your ass hitting the lower counter. His body was flush against yours, his chest purposefully rubbing against your tits. 

He could feel your nipples hardening through the flimsy cotton of your top, and he couldn’t stop the sleazy grin that was forming on his face. 

Below, his grip on you was gentle but firm, bringing your body to press and grind against his in an unhurried, languid way, like he had all the time in the world, like all of this was fated from the start. 

And his fingers, oh his fingers, which spanned across your hip, slowly found their way to your ass, gripping and cupping and kneading into the soft, jiggly flesh. 

You could feel something move against your thigh, something sturdy and heavy and completely fucking monstruous. 

“Haah-” you shakily sighed out, breathy and dazed as you looked down to the outline of his bulge. Your eyes widened. 

“I like when you use that smart mouth, y’know,” he was talking against your lips, not able to find it in himself to pull away. His hand slid up the side of your waist, until he stopped right underneath your breast, his thumb rubbing against the underside of where it started to swell. 

His voice dropped an octave lower, whispering to you like it was a secret. “Talk to me. Break this curse. Tell me it’s not just me that feels like this.” 

Please.

His heart was racing. He was stone cold sober. This was it. This was his admission. 

ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–

You breathed. 

The party raged on in the background, muddled and distant, like his ears were submerged under water–

“It’s not just you, Toji.” 

Your voice was quiet, your cheeks tinted rouge, your pretty eyes looking up at him in earnest. 

And that was all he needed. 

He picked you up like you were nothing (his bench was 350 lbs, squat 600 lbs, and his hip thrusts? don’t even worry ‘bout it), a smug, victorious grin tugging at his scarred lips.

He carried you out of the kitchen, and a steady stream of wolf whistles and howls erupted from his frat brothers and party goers as the two of you made your way across the foyer, up the stairs, and towards a bedroom. His bedroom. 

He carried you inside, keeping the lights off, letting the warm glow of the streetlamp beside his window spill softly across the room. Without a word, he set you down on his large king-sized bed.

The air in his room was tender and still. You could hear the faint bass of the stereo downstairs, vibrating against his wooden floors like a heartbeat. The distant cheers of the crowd down below faded to quiet as he pressed his mouth to your own. 

He leisurely climbed over you, never breaking the kiss, his muscular arms holding his body above your own. 

It didn’t take long for the makeout to turn heated again, teeth clashing against teeth, bodies pressed against each other, rubbing and teasing in a way that had your head spinning.

You put your hands against his chest. 

“Toji-”

“Stay,” he breathed, whispering the words against your lips, like he could read your mind. “-Stay with me tonight,” he pressed his body closer into you, rutting his hips, “and lemme show you the things I’ve been wantin’ to say to you all week.”

You could feel his cock twitch ominously against your bare thigh as you swallowed. 

His lips were swollen and glistening from your mixed salivas, his eyes glazed over, jade irises almost completely black. His grip on your lower body was unrelenting, holding you in place. 

You lightly pushed your hand against his chest, a hesitant look crossing your features.

A beat passed. For a second, he didn’t even realize he stopped breathing. 

“You’ve been drinking,” You paused, your voice coming out small. “What if.. what if you don’t mean this in the morning?” 

And for all your expertise and genius, oh, how completely wrong you could be.

He let out a humorless chuckle, his sharp canines peaking through his lips in the process. 

“Did it sound like I was jokin’, sweetheart?” He shakily exhaled through his nose as he pressed his erection against your clothed cunt, holding himself there, letting you feel the pressure and full weight of what he was packing. “Does it feel like I’m jokin’ ‘bout this?” 

You bit your lip, pussy throbbing, a warm slickness starting to soak through your panties, before messily spreading between your clenched thighs. 

You shook your head. 

“What’d I say about usin’ your words?”

He pulsed his dick, the sensation making your pussy clench. 

Fuckin’ tease. 

“Nngh- no. No it doesn’t feel like you’re joking,” you almost gasp out. 

A satisfied smirk plastered onto his tanned face.

“Good girl.” 

And then he’s moving down the bed, his calloused hands spreading your legs as he pressed wet kisses against the hot skin of your thighs. He was methodical and slow, making his way up your inner thigh, savoring the small sounds that you tried to suppress as he reached the bottom hem of your skirt, his face mere inches away from your sopping pussy, and his breath puffing warm air against your dampened panties . 

“Ohhh jus’ look at ya,” you could tell he had the most shit-eating grin on his face right now, pride swelling in his voice as he carefully dipped a large, rough finger between the seam of the thin purple fabric you adorned. “This all f’me?”

And - Holy shit.

The videos of you didn’t even do this justice. 

Because low and behold, here you were, under his body, and you were so fuckin’ wet. His finger slid against your folds with little resistance, putting just enough pressure that you couldn’t help but moan his name as he rubbed circles against your clit.

And, Toji Fushiguro never claimed to be a patient man. So, it should’ve came as no surprise when he grabbed your hips and used his hulking strength to push your clothed pussy to his scarred lips, his face nuzzled to your cunt, nose pressed firmly to your clit, and his greedy tongue lapping you up through the soiled fabric. 

It was obscene and perverse and dirty and wrong. 

But oh, how he loved it. Loved the heady taste you left on your panties, and the sweet scent of your gushing pussy, and the excess slick on your thighs that made its way onto his rough cheeks. 

He groaned, a low, guttural sound against your skin that made your tummy squeeze into knots. 

“T-Toji, please,” you whined, pressing your greedy cunt into his face, “need your tongue. Need you. Need more.” You could hardly string a true sentence together, and he hadn’t even fucked you proper yet. 

His heart was thunderous against his chest. 

And his dick? 

Hardest it’s ever fuckin’ been in his fuckin’ life.

He was grinding his erection against the mattress as he obliged your wishes.

After all, how could he say no to you? 

He pushed your panties to the side. 

And oh. 

His balls tightened below him, the urge to cum almost threateningly near as he stared at your bare, swollen pussy. 

Holy. Shit.

Everything was soaked and glistening. 

He rubbed one thumb across your puffy skin, his coarse finger getting soaked in the process. 

He leaned in, gingerly licking fat stripes along your folds, lapping you up, drinking you in. He worked thoroughly, gathering you onto his tongue, until the lower part of his face was a mixture of your juices and his drool. 

It was only after he was satisfied with his work did he make his way to your clit, humming and sucking, the wet sounds of his mouth making out with your cunt filling the air of his room. 

The warm pleasure of it all was beginning to pool in your belly, your toes beginning to curl, legs beginning to shake – but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. 

“Toji, I might-” 

He plunged a rough, thick finger inside you, spearing your tight velvet walls apart, all the way up to his knuckle. 

You saw fuckin’ stars.

The sound you made was so erotic, so loud and depraved and raw, that his dick lurched in his pants, warm gooey pre-cum beginning to leak out from his throbbing tip and into his briefs. 

He wanted to hear you again, and again and again and again. 

He wanted videos, home movies, and spotify playlists of the way your pussy was talking to him. 

Emboldened, his tongue was unrelenting on your clit, as one finger became two, and then two became three. 

You mewled as he crooked them up, massaging against that soft, spongey bundle of nerves that had you panting his name out like it was prayer. 

Your ears were ringing, your eyes beginning to get wet with tears. 

Soon, he was fucking you on his fingers proper, setting a debilitating pace as he plunged his digits in and out and in and out. Filling you up, stretching you out, hitting your most sensitive areas. Again, and again, and again.

The pressure in your core was reaching its limits now, and the pleasure from the sheer fullness of your pussy and the sinful patterns of his tongue were beginning to send violent tremors down your legs. 

You were orgasming before you even realized it.

And yet, he was didn’t stop – didn’t even give you time to breathe as he’s diving into your pussy, slurping you up, his large nose rubbing against your over-sensitive clit as he’s fucking his thick tongue and his fingers past the tight ring of your entrance, fucking you, warm and wet, through each of your peaks. 

Your hands held onto his hair like a lifeline, your fleshy thighs locked around his head as if to keep him in place. 

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he moaned, his eyes glazed over, completely and utterly pussy drunk, as you looked down at him, his mouth still latched onto your cunt. 

You could see your slick dripping down his face, mixing with the light trails of perspiration that sprouted from his temples. 

Your heart squeezed in your chest. 

It was only after the last few waves of your orgasm subsided when you could finally respond. 

“I think,” you gently reached down to run your shaky hand through his scalp, tenderly pushing away the sweaty fringe by his eyes. “I think I can think of something that might taste better.” 

And then you’re pushing him until he’s moving to the top of the bed, his back resting against the headboard as he pulls his black shirt up and over his head, triceps flexing, exposing his muscular pecs, washboard abs, and the light tufts of hair that sprouted on his chest, and got increasingly darker the further down his abs it went. 

You could feel your pussy walls clamp down, warmth pooling in your core again as you reached out instinctively to run your hands along the length of his torso. 

You never thought, in all of your wildest dreams, that this would be happening. Nor could your dreams do justice to the perfect build of the man before you.

“Well look at you, Mr. Fushiguro.” Your soft hands slowly sliding up, up, up against his skin, all the way from where the dark tufts of thick hair started to disappear under his pants, and towards his pecs, feeling the way his traitorous heart stuttered as you called his name. “Aren’t you quite the heartbreaker.”

You held his gaze, the air around you charged with anticipation.

Who would move first?

His breathing was shallow as he stared at you, your cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. Your top was rumpled to hell, exposing the line of your cleavage in a way that had his pants tenting painfully, and your mini skirt was so far scrunched that it looked like a belt around your waist. 

“For others, sure…” He grabbed your hands, pressing them deeper into his skin as he slid them up to cup his face. “But for you?” he was whispering now, his ears growing steadily pinker by the second, “I’m afraid you have me beat.” 

Oh. 

And then you’re leaning in, tenderly pressing your lips to his own, mumbling his name over and over again to stop you from saying those other three little words, before sealing it with your tongue. 

And then he’s pulling you into his lap. 

You could taste yourself in his mouth and on his lips, your nipples tightening as his large hands grabbed handfuls of your ass, spreading your cheeks apart before making them clap together again. 

A muffled groan escaped from the depths of his chest, vibrating against your mouth, as he felt new gushes of your slick begin to dampen the front of his pants.

“Mmmnh- get comfortable, pretty girl.” He slurred out as he pulled at the waistband of your skirt, before letting go, allowing the material to slap against your skin with a light sting. 

“Hmm… only if daddy gets comfortable too.” your eyes were big as you stared at him through your lashes.  

And oh fuck.

Toji had to lean his head back, his skull hitting against the wall with a dull thud! 

The way the words left your mouth had him breathless, brain short-circuiting, and dick throbbing. He needed to recuperate. Calm down.

Breathe in. Exhale. Repeat. 

You smiled slyly, completely aware of how your words affected him, as you pulled your flimsy top off, followed by your bottomwear. Your tits were heavy and full as they were released from the cotton, nipples peaked and stiff. 

You were bare before him, your arms on either side of his hips, squeezing your tits together lightly as you bent low to whisper against his ear. 

“You like when I call you that?” Your voice was sweet as honey as your hands traced the large outline of his dick through his pants, gripping his shaft through the tight material, and feeling the monstrous size of his girth. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” his voice was a mixture of restraint and warning, “don’t start callin’ me that unless y’er tryna see it through.” His neck was visibly tense, and his hands clutched on to the meat of your hips as he stared at you. 

Pretty girl. 

He squeezed tighter.

His pretty girl. 

A moment of silence passed as you considered his words. “And what if I do wanna see it through…?” Your head tilted cutely while your mean hands found their way to his happy trail, running your nails down through the thick tufts of dark hair, dipping juuust below the waistband of his pants, before retreating back up again in slow, agonizing loops. “Show me your worst, daddy.”

And who was he to deny you? 

Before you knew it, he had his pants and briefs shoved down his legs, his massive cock heavily thudding against his washboard abs

Your mouth gaped open.

And ohhh how he relished the dumb look on your lil’ cute face.  

You didn’t even think anyone could be this large. 

Yet here he was, with a dick that looked like it belonged in a porno, pulsing fat and heavy and huge as he leaked pre-cum all over the angry mushroomed head. 

He smirked, cocky as ever, as you subconsciously licked your lips, eyes glazed over, cock drunk just off the look alone.

Your pussy gushed warm, new slick between your legs as you carefully leant down, your hands grabbing around his base, slowly bringing his dick closer to your face.

He could feel the warm puffs of air coming from ur plush lips, his dick twitching like crazy at how close you were to finally, finally getting your mouth on him. 

You pressed a gentle kiss to his leaking slit, before running your lips over the excess pre-cum, painting your lips with the milky substance.

He swallowed hard. His eyes were wild and his breathing ragged.

He groped your tits, rolling your stiff nipples in his calloused fingers, eliciting the sweetest moan from you that reverberated around his dick.

You gave him small kitten licks at first, teasing the idea, before gradually licking thick fat stripes up and down the length of his huge dick. You traced the pulsing veins that climbed up his hot shaft and licked around the sensitive underside of his throbbing cockhead. 

And it was only when his chest was heaving, his impatient hands gripping onto your skull, did you finally, finally begin to throat fuck the shit outta him. 

None of the videos he had watched of you before even came close to the sensation of seeing the bulge forming in your throat from where his cock was buried inside of you, or the way your nose tickled against the tufts of dark hair at the base of his cock. 

You moaned dreamily around him at the feeling of his heavy dick pounding against the back of your throat, filling your mouth and overwhelming your senses. You couldn’t help the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes as you bobbed him in your mouth, hands jerking off what you couldn’t reach, and your thighs rubbing together greedily, craving any ounce of friction against your throbbing pussy.

But before you knew it, he was lifting you off, a light string of saliva following en suit, connecting the two of you together. 

“What’s wrong?” You had a devilish grin on your pretty face. “Scared you're gonna cum too quick?”

A low, humorless chuckle rumbled through his body as one of his hands wrapped around your throat, while the other smacked your ass. 

“Nah,” his canines glinted in the lowlight, a predatorial grin etching into his features. “Just tryna make sure nothin’ gets wasted.” And then he's shifting you up, rubbing his thick cock against your gooey cunt, mixing his thick pre with your juices. 

Your heart fluttered.

His dick was so warm against your skin – so, so much better (and bigger) than the toys you regularly used to get yourself off. 

You’ve had enough. You’ve done your waiting. You needed him inside you. 

You lifted yourself up, your hands bracing themselves on either side of Toji’s broad shoulders. Your pussy was dripping down onto his angry dick as you slowly lowered yourself, hips circling, letting his throbbing head trace your sopping lips. 

He could have almost passed out from the sight alone.

Instead, he panted out a deep breath, his chest tightening as he tried to restrain himself from bucking up into your cunt. 

You paused your hips, lowering yourself again ever so slightly so that his leaking head was now smooching against your gummy entrance, the heat of his cock stirring something warm and familiar in your belly. 

Please, please, please, ple–

And then your pussy is swallowing his head whole. 

“Oh, fuuuck you’re tight mama,” his eyes squeezed shut, fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead as Toji gasped out at the sensation of his thiiick cockhead squeezing past the tight ring of muscles at your entrance. 

Your gummy walls sucked against him from all angles, squishing into his hardness and rubbing deliciously against the sensitive underside of his mushroomed tip. 

And this was just the tip.

He didn’t know if he would make it out of here alive. At least, without getting you pregnant. 

You whimpered, actually fuckin’ whimpered his name as you reached down, touching where he was spearing you apart, your lips drawn thin and tight to accommodate for the sheer size of him. 

“You’re so big Toji,” a tear rolled down your flushed cheek. “Look at how much more I gotta take.” And he did, he really did look. Because you began to let your finger slowly slide from where the two of you were connected, down, down, down to the tufts of hair at the base of his cock.

“Haah- Ya’ think it’ll fit, sweetheart?” He grunted, his lips involuntarily bucking as you pouted cutely at him. 

Something impassable flashed across your feature. “I’ll make it fuckin’ fit.”

And then you’re slamming down onto his dick, and it feels like the literal wind gets knocked out of both of your chests. 

He has never felt something so deliciously tight before.

You have never felt so goddamn filled up before.

You’re clenching around him, velvet walls fluttering and smooching around his raw cock as it pulses heavy and thick with animalistic need. 

It took you several moments to orient yourself, to gather your scrambled senses back together to remember what you were doing, what your goal was, why you were here. 

“I have a secret to tell you.” You stared down at him, an unreadable look passing over your features. 

“O-oh really?” you squeezed your walls around him, catching him off guard.

“I know you watch me touch myself,” you whispered it like it was a secret, sly and just a touch proud.

And of all the things you could’ve said, nothing would have prepared him for that.

His dick bobbed from inside of you. 

“Fushi-daddy420 isn’t the most subtlest of names, no?” you grinned meanly as you watched his jade eyes turn impossibly black as you began to slowly, teasingly, mercifully bounce on his cock. Up and down and up and down. 

“But-?”

He thought you would hate him if you knew. 

He agonized for days for this reaction?!!

“And after you ran out on me after seeing my place?” you were panting, riding him as you talked. “Yea, that kinda solidified it.”

And just when he thinks you’ve found your rhythm and set your pace, you slowly begin to circle your hips, hitting new angles deep inside your guts that have his throbbing tip pressing into the spongy part of your pussy. 

“You don’t -fuhh- don’t hate me?” his mind was swirling, how could he focus when you felt this good?

“Never.” Your hips rolled, and you pressed your tits together, giving him a show.  

And you were doing so well, and felt so good. He pressed a fat thumb against your clit, spelling out his name, as if to claim you, mark you, over and over and over again. 

T-O-J-I !

He throws his head back as he feels you creaming around his cock, while your eyes are rolling into the backs of your head as you feel his thick goopy pre frothing at your entrance, dripping down onto his balls. The pace is getting faster, the air getting hot, and thick beads of sweat are rolling down your back. The obscene sounds of sweaty skin slapping against skin filled the hot, sex-scented air. 

You lean down to kiss him, tongues messily entangling, drool spilling from the sides of your lips as you ride his cock like a fuckin’ animal, ass jiggling from the force of his hips rocking up to meet you, his heavy balls smacking against your pussy like a promise. 

In one swift motion, he’s flipping the two of you over, your back to the bed, his dick never leaving your pussy, as he continues to fuck into you. He has your legs spread wide, your knees to his sides as he buries himself deep within your warmth, the new angle allowing you to feel his fat tip smooching against your cervix.

He’s panting, breath shaky as he slows down, rutting shallowly, not allowing himself to be too far from your gummy insides. “T-tell me where you want it,” his voice came out strained, and you could see where his veins were protruding on his neck. 

Oh. His cum.

His balls were pressed against you, tightening with every passing second. You could feel his dick bobbing against your walls as he was direly trying to stop himself from cumming. 

You smiled, soft and sweet, as you pressed a hand against your lower tummy, feeling the bulge of where he was nestled inside you. 

“Oh, you already know,” and you were batting your pretty lashes up at him, making his heart stutter. “Isn’t that right, daddy?” 

And oh, how his broken mind snapped. 

The next thing you knew, he’s pressing your knees so far up they’re knocking against your tits, his hulking body leaning over and pressing down into you, chest against chest, until you could feel his warm lips sucking bruises by your ear. 

And then he’s draaagging his thick cock through your pussy until only the tip is inside you, before snapping his hips forward, forcing his cock the deepest it could go back inside you, spearing you apart, and setting an absolutely cruel, delicious, depraved pace that has his balls bruising your ass and his cock breeching your womb. 

It goes for what feels like seconds, minutes, hours.

Your legs began to shake at all the sensations, your pussy walls convulsing around him and your ears ringing as you started to see white. 

And he truly couldn’t keep it in any longer. 

Not when you sounded so hot, with your face scrunched up in the prettiest ‘o’ and your nails digging crescents into his back as you called his name, begging for his seed. 

And so he bucked up, his hips flush against yours, locking you into the meanest of mating presses, as his dick lurched, balls scrunching, as he pumped copious amounts of his thick, sticky cum straight into your womb.

And he’s still bucking his hips, through each of your peaks, fucking his cum deep inside you, until your belly was bloated and full of him.

“Thattaa girl,” he pressed a warm kiss to your mouth as he fucked you through the last few peaks of your orgasms, gingerly swiping his thumb across your cheek as if you were something precious. “My girl.”

And later on, as you softly drifted to sleep, with a belly full of his cum and his softening dick still inside you, you could feel his scarred lips pressing light kisses across your face, and the mumblings of something that sounded vaguely too close to “iloveyou” whispered into your warm skin.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Five weeks passed, and the Michigan Wolverines were in the midst of the NCAA College Football Championships.

After weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps, the team of 100-odd men were finally going up against their biggest competitor in the nation.

There was much on the line, but thankfully, Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, had quite the good luck charm on his side. 

Not only did he pass Kinetics (albeit by the skin of his teeth, thanks to you), but he now had a new, fool-proof pre-game regimen (with an even better success rate!).

He still kept his same protein shake recipe.

He still kept his same choice of attire.

But this time around, he needed at least one hour of your undivided attention, with the provision that his cock be buried so deep and raw inside your trembling cunt that you could feel him in your womb. 

And it was only after intense, depraved, animalistic fucking, with your pussy stuffed full of his gooey cum, and hickies in the shape of a ‘T’ on your neck, could the 6’4 230 lbs man say with absolute certainty, that this championship was in the god damn bag. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The Wolverines won their final round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 52-38. 

And the star quarterback of the show could not wait to celebrate with you, his pretty lil’ girlfriend. 

It happened on a sunny day, when, usually hidden in the depths of hell, the Lord of the Underworld decided to take a stroll. Around the spring meadows, with the air carrying the flowery scent of blooming nature. So strange and bizarre, never floating around the endless plains of his domain. 

He didn't show his face often up there, as God of the Dead was much, much busier than one could think! Humans were weak, reckless, dying like flies and flooding the Underworld with their restless souls. 

Heron crossed the Styx like a madman, and Cerberus couldn't close his eyes even for a second, as the hell was a mad and troubled place.

But then, that one day when the sunlight finally blessed his crimson eyes, Hades, or Sukuna as he much rather preferred, could finally pleasure himself in breathing the air not stained by a musty smell of death.

Each of his steps left the lush grass withered, and the air bent under the heaviness of his aura. Birds would fall silent whenever the God of the Dead passed through the trees they sat in, as if in fear of being taken by the Grim Reaper too soon. Fruits hanging off the branches would suddenly fall rotten, not allowing God to taste the sweetness of their pristine juices. 

As there was no sweetness or warmth in Sukuna's life and it had been a long time since he learned how to live with it. For why would anyone care about the wellness of the Lord of the Underworld himself?

And so the world withered and shattered around him, but God truly didn't mind. 

Until he saw you, the Goddess of Spring.

Beautiful, alive, with sun smooching your laughing cheeks and eyes curving under the golden rays. Little flowers were tucked in your hair sweetly, and single strands framed your face heartily. Sukuna enjoyed looking at blooming plants, although they quickly withered under his bloody gaze. 

But not you.

You quickly became his most dearest petal, with loose, light robes always in a riot of pastel hues and lovely laughter carried by spring winds through the vast meadows. Bare feet ran through the fields of flowers without any worries, and eyes always glanced somewhere over the horizon. Somewhere, towards the seas and trees and frolic nymphs playing near the rivers. Fingers weaved wreaths one by one, and a cooing voice helped the flowers grow and blossom beautifully. 

Your robes were always slightly dirty from the earth, warm cheeks marked by pollen, eyes bustling with warmth and kindness, that touched every plant, every animal that cuddled into your open arms.

He usually lurked among the trees. Tall, broody, with a massive body covered by dark robes and a grim aura clinging to his skin. Four arms crossed on a wide chest and two pairs of eyes fixated on a young Goddess frolicking with her friends.

Soon, he started coming more often. 

The usual workaholic, a gloomy God who liked nothing and no one, a brute, as some liked to call him, suddenly found something that started haunting his mind. His dreams and nightmares, as even there, you always seemed to smooch his cheeks like a soft petal.

There, you always seemed to be his.

 His lovely, dear wife. A Queen of the Underworld.

For all those days he watched you carefully, you've never noticed him.

Not even once, as if completely blinded to everything else outside the walls of your little world.

Until one day, you were left alone.

No friends chirping to your ear, no animals warming your legs – just you.

And, well, him. 

He didn't know when and how, but a warming tiredness fell on his eyes, and oh-so-mighty God of the Death slipped into a light slumber. With withered grass lulling his heavy body and birds ogling him from the thick branches. Wind whirred quietly, brushing his pink hair, slipping between the strands and massaging tired temples.

He could almost swear that he fell asleep on the grass. Hard ground moulding under his even harder body and green tuft giggling his cheeks. And yet, after turning and squirming like a restless child, he felt something softer under his head. 

Something plush, squishy, beaming with the sweetest, flowery fragrance he's ever smelled. The wind's murmur turned into a lovely hum. A melody that coiled his senses and flooded down his spine, filling his body like the sweetest wine.

He didn't dare to open his eyes. 

As he knew, the sight of the lovely Goddess brushing gently through his hair would lead to his death. For Sukuna was rather sure that the only thing in this world that could truly stop his heart was the graceful look of your eyes fixed on him.

Not on flowers, not nymphs, nor animals.

Him.

And thus he lay quietly, with your thighs dipping under his head and soft fingers playing with his hair. 

"The Lord of the Underworld in my spring domain," you hummed, swirling a pink strand around your finger. "What a bizarre sight, I must admit."

A chuckle slipped from between your lips when his brows furrowed. Slightly yet rather openly stating that the God of the Dead, with his colossal body bending your earth, has not, in fact, been sleeping. 

But there was no need to out his silly manner, and your fingers continued soft curls around his temples. As everyone, no matter their origin, was most welcome in your domain.

Something changed around him. The air, the melody, the structure of grass.

Your presence brought life back to the withered plants and silenced animals that feared him. The birds sitting high on the branches slowly flew down, huddling shyly on his chest. Decayed grass turned lush once again, smooching his skin with its plushness.

"There's no need for fear," you whispered warmly, seeing how wary the animals were of his presence. "He is a good creature too."

Forest animals started to come closer, and closer, and closer, with deer sniffing his body and frogs clumping on his shoulders. Their little, sticky toes left traces of gluey slime, but he didn't mind.

Because God of the Dead rarely felt a life embrace his body.

And thus he decided to cherish it and pray that this single, intimate moment would last forever. With your thighs beaming warmth under his head and animals cuddling to his limbs. Surrounding him in a tight circle with furs and feathers tickling his skin. 

He couldn't open his eyes, to not destroy the moment, although, heavens, he truly wished!

To see your hearty face up close. To brush the lower lip coloured with fresh berries and tuck a single strand of hair behind your ear. To see the way pastel robes clung to your skin like a mist, and eyes peeked down at him. But instead, he could only lie quietly and listen to the melody slipping past your lips, curling around his mind like a viper.

A moment has passed, and the deep slumber began to coo his senses. He tried to fight it, longing to stay in your embrace a little longer. To remember the melody of your voice and the pattern of fingertips massaging his temples. The flowery, honeyed fragrance clinging to your skin and filling every corner of his body, taking away his privilege to smell anything else for the next few days.

Before the darkness blanketed his mind and breath became shallower, he could hear the last whispers of your voice:

"Go to sleep, my God. Allow me to accompany you for a while."

When he woke up, you were no longer there. Just a withered grass bending under his body and the warmth of the setting sun bathing his hair in red hues. 

No sign of you or animals, and the God, once again, felt devastated. As if deprived of something he should hold onto with all his strength. He was a divine being, after all, and yet your misty figure slipped between his fingers like flowing water. 

But his mind recalled those few words. Allow me to accompany you.

And thus, Sukuna decided to take this wish too faithfully.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

"Stop going out there alone," your mother has sighed, looking at your figure swirling around the wooden hut. "It's dangerous, the Gods are unpredictable–"

Your head shook, lifting the little willow-wined basket used for gathering flowers. "I am a Goddess, mother," you chirped in with a giggle, before glancing at the woman's creased forehead. "And you are too. There's simply no need to fear anything. Besides, we're safe in the spring domain."

Liar.

You didn't tell her about the God of Death crossing the border between the Underworld and mortals much more often than he should. Than he used to. With his gloomy aura beaming off the woods, although he thought that you didn't notice it. Crimson eyes followed you every single day for the past few weeks, and whenever he appeared, one side of your domain suddenly went quiet. Withered, under his death-bringing feet and the silent atmosphere he spread around himself.

And as a Goddess of Spring, you knew of everything happening on your land. 

At the beginning, you thought it was rather funny. To see the animals and flowers frightened by his sole presence. You didn't give it much thought, as various Gods had strolled through the plains of your earth and chit-chatted whenever they spotted your figure hunched over the flowers.

But Lord of the Underworld wasn't the talkative type, nor did he engage in any closer relations. In fact, you didn't know much about him aside from what you'd managed to notice over the past weeks.

And you've noticed a lot. His body was built like a mountain, with a heaviness that couldn't be put into words. Two pairs of crimson eyes, lidded like sweet almonds and framed by rather long lashes. Pinkish hair reminding you of blushed peonies, and you wondered whether it would feel equally soft under your touch. Four muscular arms carried the little birdies up their trees when he thought you didn't see, and black stripes curled around his body – like deathly mist, tattooed all over his chest, back, and cheeks, as the God of the Dead didn't mind relaxing his beastly, naked body in the nearby rivers.

The water spilt over the grassy edge, and four arms rested on drenched earth. Crystal water looped his body shyly, smooching the sun-kissed skin with cold kisses. He couldn't see your hazy figure lurking in the bushes.

Your eyes glimmering like two fresh peaches and lips curling in a sly smile, upon seeing muscles upon muscles bending on the God's back. Slick and bulging, stripped of the heavy, dark robes he usually wore and enjoying the kisses of the Mediterranean sun.

Sometimes a nymph would notice him bathing at the river and coo shyly at the handsome but rather intimidating God. You've always observed those interactions from the tree, lurking curiously, with birds perched on your shoulders. All the encounters always ended in a rather pathetic failure, with the Lord of the Underworld ignoring the sweet chirps of little nymphs and their promises to warm his cold body. 

All of them flew quickly upon seeing a grave grimace twisting the God's face, and all four palms curling into fists. 

"Always so, so angry," you murmured to the red bird sitting on your finger, as it nodded its little head. 

And so you didn't tell your mother about these few encounters, for there was no need to worry her. She kept you away from the Olympian Gods as long as she could, yet couldn't stop you from becoming a Goddess too. Truly unfortunate, if she had to admit it, as she had tried for a whole life to keep you well hidden in the far, far corner of Mount Olympus, in your own little spring domain.

"Just be careful," your mother whispered, pushing back a few loose strands of your hair. A small basket hung on your back, and robes clung to your skin. "You know how Gods can be…"

You knew. For you heard of Apollo and Daphne. Of Medusa and a curse sent upon her for being a maiden far too beautiful. About Zeus and Callisto, and more, more Goddesses, who suffered a terrible fate from the hands of Gods themselves.

You understood your mother's worry. Why she tried to tie you up to this little hut hidden in the woods of Olympus. Why she was the Goddess of Agriculture and tried so, so hard to keep her dear spring flower hidden from the prying eyes.

And yet, the serpent flow of destiny was truly twisted and unpredictable. Bending under the Moirai's deathly whispers, with a thin thread slipping between their bony fingers like a river of silk. 

As many Goddesses before you, you too were soon to learn that playing with Gods – particularly those who seemed to take a special fondness for you – was a treacherous path. That approaching them cheekily, taking pleasure in keeping them in your arms and cooing like a wounded animal, was simply foolish. Mad, in every deep sense of the word, as out of the many Gods in this world, you particularly should not play like a fox with the Lord of the Underworld himself. 

So, on the same day, as golden rays dribbled down your figure hunched over flowers, hands picking the season's most beautiful blooms, the earth suddenly burst open. With a raw, brutal rumble, unleashing chaos across the peaceful meadow. Birds rose from the lush branches, and all the forest animals that were cuddling near your body ran off.   

The heavy dust had covered your eyes, smooching flimsy dress and delicate petals that bent under the heavy, little droplets of curled earth. 

The obsidian chariot harnessed with three black horses appeared right in front of your eyes. Tall and eerie, still carrying the coldness of the Underworld and a man whose crimson eyes stared down at your figure.

No words could slip past your lips as one muscular arm lifted you up and easily flipped you over the shoulder. Locking you in place with the sheer strength of one hand, until your head hung down the man's back.

"Wait!" Rolled in a scream as the world in front of your eyes started to spin. 

A voice you hadn't heard yet punched you like a bucket of cold water. "Don't be afraid, my Goddess," Sukuna said, before whistling to his horses. "You'll soon be able to run through the meadows of the Underworld."

It tasted raw, heavy, so, so low, licking your ears with flamed tongues. A voice truly worthy of the God of the Dead himself.

Before you knew it, the earth had swallowed the chariot once again. The rumbling tore through your spring domain, causing vast fields of flowers to vanish as if slowly devoured by the sky. The horses sped downward, pulling the chariot deeper into the earth, until only a faint glimpse of the familiar sun remained – a warmth you wouldn't see again for the next few months.

The darkness engulfed you, wrapping your skin with icy, deadly touches. It felt as though the three sisters had already severed your thread of fate, sending you to the Underworld sooner than anticipated and plunging you into the claws of the beast you inadvertently unleashed. 

"My God," you mumbled, trying to wriggle under his heavy arm. "Where are you taking me?"

Sukuna chuckled lowly, his whole body trembling with a laugh that made your spine tingle. "To home, my dearest Queen."

Deathly whispers curled around your body with curiosity, as if the air in the Underworld had tasted such a sweet life for the first time. Dark clouds filled the sky, and the chariot plunged even lower. Soon, a vast, grimy land spread beneath you, with a thick river curling around the dark soil.

You have never seen the Underworld and have never shown any interest in it. Yet, from that point, with the obsidian chariot soaring high in the sky, it looked mesmerising. Almost magical, with deep, dark forests and withered meadows stretching across the land, lit only by the pale blue light of the moon and little gleaming shadows wandering aimlessly across the plains.

It wasn't difficult to spot Hades's temple. Or maybe you should say a castle.

Sitting quietly on the cliff, with Styx's calm waters flowing beneath its heavy walls. It towered over the whole domain, glimmering in blue light under the moonlight's kisses, and something in your breath has hitched upon seeing an enormous garden filled with withered trees looming over the dead flowers. 

The air was biting cold, and yet the closer you were to the temple, the warmer it seemed to smooch your skin. It didn't carry the familiar flowery fragrance, but rather a heavy, woody scent, as if something alive still lingered in the bleak land filled with agony and doom. 

When the chariot came to a halt on the dark grass, Sukuna set you down gently. With one strong arm still stalling on your back, as if afraid the moment your feet touched the earth, you would try to escape. 

But there was no chance for it, as the Underworld was a trickery and a dangerous place.

"From now on, this is your home. My Queen," his crimson eyes never left your face, even when the hand showed towards the temple looming deathly.

You moved a step away, trying to slip from between the heavy fingers brushing your waist. "It is not my home, and I will not be your Queen. Now take me back to my domain."

Looking up was a mistake, for the gravity of his gaze almost pulled you down to earth. Four eyes stared down at your fuming face before one hand lifted and fingers traced the softness of your warm cheeks. "I cannot do it, my Goddess. That's what I decided, and that's what the Gods accepted."

"The Gods?"

His big thumb brushed your lower lip, and you smacked his hand away. A low chuckle slipped through before he pushed you towards the temple. "Zeus agreed, and that's all that matters. Neither you nor even your mother has any say in it."

You tried to move away again, but his strong arm only pulled you closer to his massive body. Twice your height, with four arms ready to manhandle you like a beast – you knew standing up to him would be foolish. And yet, you tried.

But he didn't mind, as you weighed less than a feather and lifting you was not a sweat for a God of his calibre. Your body once again rolled like a sack over his shoulder, but this time you tried to fight. With nails dragging down his back and teeth digging into the muscles bulging under his robes.

For you, it was a matter of life and death. 

For him? A flimsy, sweet teasing from his dearest Goddess, who was yet to accept her fate. 

Oh, his heart swelled with the purest joy at the sight of your misty figure wrapped in his arms after weeks of yearning. It didn't matter whether you wanted to stay here or not – Sukuna aimed to use every possible means to soothe your mind and pamper you like his precious wife.

"You ignorant brute, a beast, freak!" Rolled furiously, as you once again left the bloody, tooth marks on his back. "You cannot do it!"

Another throaty chuckle escaped from his side, with his arm cuddling around your waist with fondness. "I can, my Goddess. That's how love works."

"And what can you possibly know about love, my God?"

Sukuna didn't know much, but his greedy desire to always keep you in his sight and worship you as if you were the only Goddess in the pantheon must have been close to what love felt like. To get drunk on your laugh and the plush skin of your body every single evening, as if his whole world twisted around nothing but you. To hear your chipper run with stale wind through his decaying land and once again feel your fingers brush through his hair. 

The God of the Dead, the elder of the mightiest brothers, harbinger of death, wished for nothing but to taste the nectar of your love. 

But with a frown you looked at him, your teeth digging deeper into his skin – for now, it seemed rather fruitless.

He entered the temple and moved towards the massive stairway curling to the heavens themselves. Your furious shouts could be heard throughout the whole land, but it seemed that neither he nor the servant who suddenly appeared seemed to mind.

"Uraume, prepare a bath for the Queen," Sukuna said, glimpsing quickly towards the woman. Her white, short hair curled around her slim face, and deep eyes blinked in amusement at your sorry state.

"My Lord, I don't think the Queen likes this position," she muttered, sending you a pleading look.

Sukuna scoffed, correcting your body on his shoulder. "The Queen acts like a brat, so she will be treated like one"

Uraume nodded before going down the stairs and disappearing somewhere in the deep chambers of the temple.

Thus, it was the two of you again, and Sukuna moved slowly through the dark corridors, with blue flames licking your writhing body. He didn't mind the shouts, the nails scarring his back through the dusky robes till crimson droplets formed under the material and bites that your teeth have left on his shoulders.

In fact, the God of the Dead took a bizarre pleasure in feeling your flaming touch on his skin. Something in his chest swelled whenever your lips travelled to his neck, and it didn't really matter that they left the bloody bites and not the nectar kisses he yearned for.

At some point, you've finally entered the big chamber. The weird warmness crept through the tall windows, bending in heavy, marble arches. Vast plains of the Underworld rolled like waves on the horizon, and you stopped scratching Sukuna's back when the full land came in view.

Beautiful, endless, mesmerising, so different from what you grew up with. With only a pale, blue moon constantly shining upon the lost souls and deep, agonising cries coming from the Tartarus.

Sukuna finally put you down. "That's our chamber," rolled almost proudly, and you looked around the bedroom.

Dark, draped in misty veils, with a huge bed covered with crimson sheets and a baldachin moving together with gentle swooshes of wind. Warm flames have lit the place, with torches and long waxed candles glimmering shyly around the whole chamber.

Just behind the crimson curtain, you've heard the dripping of water and Uraume's hushed voice. So that must've been the bath.

"I will not be sleeping with you in one bed, my God," you barked, but Sukuna seemed not to care at all.

He pushed you towards the balcony, with a heavy hand placed on your lower back. "That's the garden. I made it for you," your chest squeezed. For you. "You can do anything you want with it, of course."

"It's impossible to grow life within your domain," slipped harshly, before your eyes looked up. Crimson moons stared down at you. All the time. "So you kidnapped me to grow you a garden?"

His sharp jaw tightened. "I did it for your own good," he muttered, hand lifting to brush away your hair. "For our good. I want you to be the Queen of the Underworld. My wife," fat thumb kissed you fuming cheek. "My Goddess."

And as much as you wished to stay angry, it felt impossible to hide the special fondness rising in your chest. A mix of hate and curiosity, as it was difficult to imagine why the Lord of the Underworld himself was such a desperate beast to lock you in his clutches.

Your eyes went back to the garden, taking in the withered earth and flowers bending in death.

But then you've noticed something – a tree. Dark, yet looking rather alive, blooming with red, round fruits that looked as if ready to burst.

Pomegranate.

And you, as the Goddess of Spring, knew why it seemed to be the only fruit growing deep within this deathly domain.

Sukuna followed your lidded eyes before a low hum filled the air. "You'll eat it at some point," seeing a sudden shock bathing your face and a slow shake of your head, he added. "Even if I have to force you."

Soon, you would discover that there were many, many other things the God of Death would force upon you, just to keep you within his touch.

And as surprising as it seemed, eating the pomegranate seeds to bind you eternally to the Underworld would be the last.

You didn't say anything, looking at the pomegranate tree with a grim expression ripping your lips. A Spring Goddess you were, and yet the single look of this rich fruit made you want to burn it right here and there.

"My Lord, my Queen, the bath was prepared," Uraume slipped in politely, before once again disappearing into the darkness.

Sukuna came inside, and you followed, passing under his heavy arm as he lifted the curtains between the chamber and bath.

Multiple candles licked dark walls, and the steam curled in the air. The big, marble pool filled with hot water called your name like a madman, and you were ready to tear your dress in half just to dip inside. The air in the Underworld was much, much colder than up in your domain, and after the eventful day, you truly wished for nothing but a simple bath.

And yet, even this was to be wrecked by Sukuna's four hands slipping the misty robes of your shoulders. Your trembling finger caught the dress in front of your chest before it could fall.

"My God, may I know what you are doing?" There was no trace of madness in your tone, only simple weariness and irritation.

His lips curled in a smirk, and if not for both hands gripping your dress, you would surely smack his cheek. You would try at least, as bending your head back to meet his gaze was already difficult enough.

His dark robes hit the floor before you've noticed it, exposing you to the view that – rather unfortunately – made your thighs clench. Massive thighs bulged under muscles, and it seemed clear that he could snap your neck with a single clamp.

But it wasn't the thighs that hit your cheeks with a maddened fever. No, rather two, fat cocks, with shafts so heavy they barely stood straight. Droplets of sticky pearls curled around two pulsing heads, sticking like a net to his pubes. The smooth, reddened skin glimmered under the dimmed flames, and your breath hitched while taking in the inhumane size.

And then your eyes followed up to his belly, mouth grinning mischievously, torso wide as mountains and four arms, just waiting to grab your flimsy body.

Sukuna was… terrifying. Alluring, feral, obscene, but oh so beautiful. With a body worthy of a God and an almost tyrannical aura that clung to him like a second skin. The mortals have feared him, Gods always tried to keep the relations as polite as possible, and yet you somehow found a wisp of fondness coiling in his gaze.

"I'm planning to bathe with my Queen, of course," Sukuna murmured, tilting his head with a cheeky grin. Four crimson eyes burned your skin, and you've never, ever felt as small and helpless as now. "Let me help you with it." Fingers tugged on your dress, trying to slip it down.

You took a step back, gripping the robe even tighter. "My God, I'm fine. But please enlighten me why we should take a bath together?"

He, however, was relentless, and it took a single, harsher tug to let your robes fall down the marble floor. A gasp slipped past your lips as you tried to cover yourself with pathetic moves.

Sukuna lifted your body with a single arm, and soon both of you sat on the little bench carved in a pool.

He took a deep, deep sigh, leaning against the edge. Two muscular arms kept you in place, with your back plastered to his chest and ass brushing against the massive cocks, while the other two started to soap you up.

A shiver ran down your spine, feeling big, yet soft hands smooching your skin in gentle circles. Slowly, tenderly, massaging your shoulders and back, going down, and down, to the swell of your wet breasts.

A quiet, shy moan escaped your feverish cheeks when his thumbs brushed the perked nipples. You wriggled under his touch, as if fighting against itself to give into the warmness beaming from his body and heavy fingers washing your tired skin.

Your hips jerked again when he pinched your nipples, sending a sudden, electrifying wave down your spine.

"My Queen, try to keep yourself in place," he said with a low voice, and only then did you notice that your ass had been bumping against his cocks for this whole time.

You didn't look back, as if in fear that even a single glance could pique Sukuna's curiosity and test the dangerous waters of your patience. "Is it necessary, my God? I can wash myself."

Two hands gripped your hips, quickly turning you towards him.

Your hands rested on his shoulders as he sat you right on his muscular thighs. The water spilt over the pool's marble edge, and crimson eyes stayed fixed on your face. On your slightly parted lips and hair sticking to your cheeks.

His upper arms slipped up to your waist, while the lower ones started to massage your thighs. In slow, gentle circles, dangerously close to the naked pussy that bounced against the fatness of his shafts.

He played a dangerous, oh so dangerous game, but took a maddened satisfaction in observing the changing looks on your face. Anger mixed with delight, as if you wanted to hit him and nuzzle into his touch at the same time.

"What's wrong, my Queen?" he muttered, soaping up your waist. "Why would you wash yourself alone if your husband is here?"

At this point, both of you knew that the bath was a mere, foolish excuse for the Lord of the Underworld to finally enjoy the sight of your naked body. To take a pleasure in feeling your naked skin against his and test his own patience, feeling the warmth of your cunt brushing against his cocks.

His moves were deprived of any sexual manner, and yet your insides burned with the most wicked flame. Your drenched fold were bumping against his cocks, yes, and the fat shaft brushed against your clit, maybe, but even then, he didn't try to push you.

To force himself on you, as if waiting for your consent.

As if he wished you craved him as much as he did you.

But even then, every few seconds, he would move closer. His fingers would brush your trembling nipples, hips move beneath yours, and he would always take in your muffled moans with a sly smile.

"You're not m-my husband," rolled embarrassingly weak, and Sukuna hummed, brushing your lower lip with his thumb.

"Not yet. I'll give you time to make yourself at home," thick digit slipped inside your mouth, and you quickly bite it. Hard, feeling his bones crack under your teeth, although he only smiled. Like a man possessed. "As I was saying, I'll give you a month–"

"And what then?" you mumbled, with lips still curled around his thumb. "What if you won't tame me after a month?"

Pink strands of hair stuck to his wet forehead, and you needed to dig your nails into his chest, not to lift the fingers and brush them away. Four crimson eyes – two big, lidded in slyness and two smaller, curved like a moon – drank in the sight of a sweet little Goddess squirming on his massive body.

"Then I'll force you to love me," spilled calmly, without hesitation. And maddening yearning in his eyes told you that he was ready to do it. That his understanding of love was far from the sweetness and kindness you've known of.

His fingers travelled up, through the breasts, collarbones, and neck, till the second hand joined your face. He cupped your cheeks gently yet lined with restrained violence.

Possessiveness, madness, that filled his flamed eyes.

"Don't test my patience, my Goddess," he murmured softly, pulling your face closer. His lips nearly brushed against yours, and a wave of warmth washed over your body. "Let me love you in my own way, and I promise to make you happy. Within my domain, you can be as free as you desire."

It was difficult not to have your heart flutter upon hearing those words.

He knew how crazy your mother was about you. That you spent most of your life chained to her leg, never leaving the spring domain, never feeling the winds of freedom.

That's why his promise sounded so exhilarating. Wild, absolutely insane, and yet letting you let out a deep sigh. Because finally, after so many years, you were alone.

Without your mother, without the prying eyes of Gods, without the same meadows caging around you like a prison.

Only with a much, much bigger, heavier, and mind-spilling problem, of a God of the Dead who seemed to take a special, wicked interest in you.

Your hands, still trembling on his chest, pushed yourself away. Hips slipped from his cocks, but not before giving two, feverish heads one last brush. As if you wanted to push him over the edge.

He groaned and squinted his eyes. "Where are you going, my Goddess? We're not done yet."

Four hands shoot towards you, fingers trying to catch your slippery body. It curled at the end of his fingertips, teasing him mischievously with full breasts dripping with crystal droplets and soft skin glimmering under the gentle flame of candles.

His cocks moved, eyes tried to take the wholeness of your divine beauty, and yet, after weeks of watching you every single day, he still couldn't believe that a woman of your sort truly walked this earth.

"I am done with you…" your eyes curved cheekily as you slowly moved back. "My God. I agree to a monthly trial–"

"It's not a trial, you'll be staying here forever."

Your back hit the pool's edge, but Sukuna didn't move. Instead, he observed you. Like a predator, preparing for a deadly attack.

"As I said, I do agree. But if you won't manage to persuade me to stay," slipped in a whisper, and you smiled even wider, seeing a furrow creasing his forehead. "I will simply kill myself. Just like Daphne did."

His heart nearly stopped, crimson eyes bloodshot. Before you could escape the pool, two arms yanked you back, pressing your chest against his. He lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Finger gently squeezed your face with a slight pinch, until salty fog blurred your sight.

"My God–" you barely muffled.

"Don't ever," he growled, gripping your cheeks harsher. "Ever say that in front of me again. I will break your legs if I have to. I will tie you up to bed if you force me to," something warm spilt from his belly, and just then, you remembered about his mouth. Heavy tongue took a long, fat drag of your wet cunt, and you cried within his brutal embrace. "You are mine. Every dream of yours, every part of your body, every single laugh, all of it belongs to me."

His grip on your cheeks was too strong to let you shake your head, but light enough to allow another moan to spill from your throat. In sweetness and pain, feeling the teeth of his belly mouth pinch your clit.

"My God–"

"Do you understand me?"

"I-I–ahh," a cry filled the foggy bath, feeling his tongue slurp on your wetness. It felt heavy, girthy, tasting you with a maddened pleasure as if feasting on the honeyed juices dripping down the water.

"Do you understand?" he gritted through his teeth, loosening up his grip on your cheeks. "I don't like to repeat myself."

With another sweet mewl, your head lulled to one side in a nod, and he finally released you from his clutches. You stood right in front of him – wet, trembling, with slippery thighs and cunt already missing the swirling of his tongue on your clit.

His thumb followed down to his belly, gathering traces of your cum. A second later, thick digit found its way to your lips, pushing the stickiness right onto your tongue.

It tasted sweet, almost milky-like, clinging to the muscle like a spider's web while his thumb smeared it all over your insides.

"Tastes delicious, hm? That's what you're keeping away from me," Sukuna groaned, drinking in the sight of your teary face. "I am not a patient man, my Goddess, but my heart belongs to you, and I wish to treat you the best I can," he lifted up your face, creaming your cheeks with the rest of the cum. "But I do warn you, dearest. When the month passes, I won't be holding myself anymore. So you'd better accept this fate and just let me love you."

You didn't nod, didn't even blink. Just observed his devilishly handsome face with teary, wrecked eyes beaming with fury.

You tried to snap back, but his thumb pushed harder on your tongue. "Uraume," he called, looking somewhere over your shoulder. "Take the Queen back to our chamber. I think she's a bit tired."

Light, white robes curled around your shoulder, before Uraume gently pulled you away from Sukuna's clutches. "My Queen, allow me to–"

You shook off her hand, wiping the rest of your cum from your cheek. "Thank you, I know how to tuck myself to sleep."

And so you left your future husband alone, with rage and ecstasy still mixing beneath your chest.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

The next few weeks passed with silence and tension binding the Goddess of Spring and the God of the Dead like a thin thread of fate. Only the three sisters were able to cut it swiftly and release you from the torment, and yet no one ever came to save the poor petal.

The first few days you spent mostly in the garden, lying under the pomegranate tree and observing the darkness blanketing the sky. The withered plains of the Underworld have never been touched by sunlight, and the lack of it started to bother you too.

There was no way to tell day from night, as the air was always slightly cold and the sky never turned any colour other than dark blue. Sometimes a sudden fog has risen over the horizon, curling above the parched trees.

The agonising screams from Tartarus could be heard over from your balcony, although after complaining to Sukuna about your lack of sleep, they somehow quieted down. You didn't pry into his methods, nor did you need to exactly know how he accomplished it.

It was difficult to grow anything in the garden, and after days of trying, you finally gave up. Well, not entirely, for you spent more and more days trying to think of a plant that would not need sun nor much water to bloom and if Sukuna could let you out even for a few days, surely you could find something.

He, however, was fully relentless at your begging as there was nothing binding you to the Underworld. Yet.

Fresh pomegranates whispered sweet sins to your ears as you looked at the round fruits bursting with crimson seeds. You wondered what they tasted like. How pristine their juices were.

Sometimes your finger would trace their hard skin with delicacy and quickly pull away, feeling Sukuna's heavy gaze drilling the hole in the back of your skull.

He seemed to always have you in his sight. It didn't really matter whether you strolled around the garden or went deeper into his domain – he was always there. Somewhere, lurking at your misty figure, the only colourful thing in his vast world, even if you didn't see him.

For the first few days, you didn't talk at all. And he was oh so angry with your nasty mood swings, even though it seemed he truly tried to be on his best behaviour.

For a while, you even refused to sleep in the same bed. He would wake up in the middle of the night only to find you cuddled into Cerberus's massive, soft body, snoring like a little baby and nuzzled under his heavy neck.

The beastly dog quickly became your favourite creature in the whole domain, and Sukuna couldn't count the times when you strolled with it through the dark plains and meadows, giggling sweetly whenever it rolled in withered grass.

It seemed the beast was particularly fond of and protective of you, so that even the God of Death himself could not approach you without the beast's shiny, sharp teeth growling his way. Crimson eyes observed him carefully, as if ready to rip his heart out if his lone finger brushed your silky skin.

And whenever Sukuna reminded you that Cerberus also had his role in the Underworld, the loveliest pout would twist your lips, and a dog's low growl would slash through the air.

And because Sukuna was softhearted only for you, he didn't have another choice but to allow you to adopt Cerberus as your own, exclusive pet.

But he absolutely couldn't stand waking up to the coldness wrapping around his body, and thus, for the first few days, in the middle of the night, he would travel all the way to Cerberus's cave only to take his Goddess back.

"Where is she?" the God would growl, with all four arms folded on his chest and eyes lidded with sleep. "Give her back, she'll come back to you in the morning anyway."

And the dog would usually ignore him, with three massive heads pretending to be plagued by a heavy slumber. Sukuna would sigh and slip a soft plea, trying to resonate with a beast he raised himself.

Three pairs of bloodshot eyes would glare at him deathly, but after a few quite embarrassing and yet desperate pleadings, the dog would lift his head up, only to reveal your peacefully slipping body. Curled against his fluffy neck, with fingers gripping the soft fur and shallow, peaceful breaths coming from your parted drooling lips.

Sukuna would lift you up with utmost care and bring you back to your chamber, wrapping himself around your body with all six limbs.

When the "morning" came, he was always the first one to slip from the bed. But not before getting himself untangled from your body. Lying serenely on his broad chest, with a drool pooling right above his heart and soft strands of your hair tickling his chin.

It was his most favourite sight during that month, and the only chance to see your face without a pout or crease forming on your lovely forehead. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't get close to you as much as he wished to.

But at least, after the few weeks of constantly going back and forth between your chamber and Cerberus's cave, you finally stopped escaping from his clutches and slept in his embrace for a whole night.

Moreover, during those weeks spent in each other's presence, you seemed to enjoy nothing more than pissing the God of the Dead off.

During one eventful night that both he and Uraume would recall in the future with a painful headache, you sat quietly at the long table. The wooden furniture bent under the heavy supper, with meats, fruits and vegetables prepared in feast portions.

Sukuna loved to see your cheeks stuffed full, and sometimes you would even joke that he tried to fatten you up only to eat you for dessert. He chuckled lowly, every time answering that if only you spread those thighs nicely, my Goddess, I would gladly eat you for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

An embarrassed, nasty slip from your lips, as you tried to ignore the warmth blooming in your lower belly.

One evening, however, Uraume interrupted your supper with a heavy panting and trembling gaze.

"My Lord, my Queen," she said, taking a few deep breaths. "Forgive me for the intrusion, but something deeply concerning has occurred."

"What is it?" Sukuna mumbled, not even looking her way. Instead, he poured you another cup of wine, while you tried to hide your flushed cheeks behind a curtain of hair.

Oh, you were so, so fucked.

"All the souls lingering on the river's banks have entered the Underworld."

Sukuna suddenly stopped and put the jug of wine back on the table with a loud thud. "What?!"

Both you and Uraume shrugged.

"Charon took them all," she said, glimpsing your way.

You, however, looked down at your plate, as if trying to completely erase yourself from this conversation.

"All of them were buried with a coin? How is it possible?" Sukuna growled.

Uraume took a deep sigh, with deep, sorry eyes still lingering on your hunched figure. "He said that…" She hesitated, biting down on her lower lip. "The Queen ordered to let them in."

Fuck.

The air suddenly stilled, and a moment passed before Sukuna's crimson, angry eyes looked your way. But it's not like you could see the rage blazing in his gaze, as you still carefully observed the fresh fig lying on your plate.

The fact that he somehow got delivered all your favourite, fresh fruits down to the Underworld was truly–

"Do you want to tell me something, my Queen?" he asked with utmost politeness, although you sensed the displeasure bubbling in his throat.

"No, not really," you murmured, playing with a juicy fruit.

He took a deep sigh, curling all four of his hands into fists. A soft vein popped on his forehead as he truly, really tried to keep himself calm.

"I will ask you again," slipped softly, before his two hands pulled your chair closer to him. Your thighs brushed against each other, and his fingers lifted your chin up. Till you were forced to meet his heavy, bloody gaze. "Is there anything you wish to tell me?

Oh, lying to him like that was much, much harder.

"Listen," you started, and he already sighed. "I don't see any problem with it. Why would you keep them there if Charon can just take them all to the Underworld? Isn't that the whole point of your domain?"

His fingers tightened on your chin because, dear-fucking-heavens, he really struggled to hold it together. Four bloodshot eyes looked down at your pouty lips and doe eyes, as if your pure loveliness could melt his anger.

Well, it usually could.

"They cannot enter Hades if they do not get buried with a coin. That's the rule all of them must obey," rolled harshly, and your pout became even sweeter. Fuck. "How did you even force Charon to do it? This old man is stubborn as hell."

You nestled into his palm, attempting to ease his heart with a gentle, pleading look. "It turns out most of the creatures here are quite afraid of Cerberus," you giggled, even though Sukuna was clearly unhappy. "Um, and they’re also afraid of you. The threat of reporting to the Lord of the Underworld himself tends to work quite effectively."

Sukuna pulled away with a heavy groan and started massaging his temples. One side of him was rather happy that, after weeks of fighting, you decided to use both your title and him to get what you wanted. But the other wanted to curl his fingers around your neck and snap it clean, for the mess you have caused with your need to piss him off.

He closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. "Why did you do it?"

"They looked sad."

His crimson gaze once again snapped to your face. "Sad? The souls?"

You nodded. "Well, all of them wanted to enter Hades so–"

"My Goddess, you can't do such a thing!" Uraume cried, looking out the tall window as if all those souls were travelling up Hades' temple.

"Why? I thought I was the Queen of the Underworld." A cheeky smile curved your lips, and Sukuna almost lost it. "I can do whatever I want. Your own words, my God."

Well, he did tell you that from now on, this domain was under both his and your control, but his mind ran far too short to predict that you, in fact, wouldn't know the most basic rules of this land.

And thus, he could only swallow his rage and look back at Uraume. "Catch them all and bring them back to the shore. Also, tell Charon that from now on he's forbidden from listening to the Queen's orders."

You scoffed, crossing arms on your chest. "I'm just going to set Cerberus on him."

"Right," Sukuna growled, sending you a short, angry look. "And also chain the dog to his cave. This beast has forgotten who his real master is."

You could forgive him mistreating the poor souls and Charon, but a line had to be drawn regarding your beloved dog.

Your fingers grabbed his forearm, eyes bulging in worry. "Wait! Leave Cerberus out of this," Sukuna looked at your nails digging into his skin and a jittery gaze. "I'm sorry, okay? Just…" There was a thread linking you both – dangerously thin, leading to an emotion your relationship hasn't yet discovered. Forgiveness. "Please don't hurt him. It's my fault. Cerberus listens to everything I say, he's just a silly dog. So let him be. If there's someone who should be punished, it's me."

Sukuna didn't say anything for a while, staring at your pleading eyes with a furrowed brow. A storm of feelings coiled in his head, and you noticed his gaze soften slightly. He often acted like a brute, of course, but you believed that somewhere, deep, deep beneath his chest, there was still a man who placed the little birds that had fallen from the trees back in their nests.

"Fine," he finally muttered and oh, how shocked he was when you chuckled and wrapped yourself around his neck. For a moment, he sat frozen in place, but soon all four arms curled around you, as he inhaled the sweetness coating your skin.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Uraume looked away to hide a little smile tugging on her lips, as it was a long, long time since she had seen the God of the Dead blushing like a virgin nymph.

Sukuna coughed, sending her a deadly gaze. "But I still believe that you and Cerberus could use some time away from each other. I'm tired of raising two brats at the same time," he mumbled, and you giggled into his neck.

"Well, my God, try to suggest it to him, and we'll see what happens," you pulled away, with hands still wrapped around his neck. "I'm afraid your beast found himself a new owner."

And so, since that evening, a little, hopeful grain started to bloom in Sukuna's heart.

As it seemed that his lovely Goddess had finally begun to warm to him. During the evening baths, you chirped into his ear like a fair birdie, sometimes even washing his muscular back and massaging his always-creased forehead.

At night, your body instinctively nuzzled into his. Legs wrapped around him tightly, hands curled around his arms, and a slightly wet cheek left a small puddle of saliva on his chest. He always beamed with warmth, and you, like a cat, used his body as a heater.

During the shared breakfast, you kept talking while he fed you the sweetest, juiciest fruits. What's more, your roles would shift, with your fingers occasionally placing a piece of orange onto his lips – sometimes upper, sometimes lower.

Whenever you stole a few apples for Cerberus, as he's tired of eating raw meat, he would only scoff and wave his hand. The beast has been living on meat and water for thousands of years, and yet, a few weeks after your appearance, he suddenly developed a lavish taste for fruits picked only by you.

On some afternoons, when Sukuna would nap under the pomegranate tree, you would creep to his side. Carefully place his head on your thighs and hum a lovely melody, just like you did back then in a forest. He would always try to stay as still as possible, just to prolong those precious moments – your fingers brushing through his hair and flowery fragrance coating his skin.

One special afternoon, your hum was interrupted by something else.

Something… alive.

The high trilling of crickets, soft chirping of birds and muffled croaks of the frogs, coming from the little pond Sukuna has built up for you.

Your fingers suddenly stopped in their tracks, and the God coughed quietly, wriggling under your touch. Like a dog, begging for more pats.

"How is it possible?" you asked, looking down at his "sleeping" face.

There was a minute of silence before he slowly, carefully opened his eyes and sighed heavily, meeting your solemn gaze. "The animals also need to enter Hades. Just on different rules," His eyes fell on something crawling up your hand. "Look there."

And to your surprise, you've noticed a grasshopper sitting serenely on your skin. It wasn't as lush and green as you remembered it to be, but misty, almost like a cloud, with only his foggy soul still crawling up your arm.

And then you've noticed birds sitting high up on the pomegranate tree, with their little wings looking like a shadow.

Something heavy formed in your throat and heart stirred with affection. "You brought them for me?"

Sukuna hummed, closing his eyes and gently placing your hand back on his head. "You can say that. Most of them were already here. I simply ordered to be bring them to our garden."

Your fingers started working through his hair again – scratching and massaging his head, till the beastly God stretched on your thighs like a cat and nuzzled into the softness of your belly.

You didn't push him away but rather giggled and whispered a sweet thank you. A little smile tugged on Sukuna's lips, and he purred softly my pleasure, Goddess.

And thus, for the first time in your life, you have felt free.

With Underworld's woeful air smooching your cheeks and shadowy animals following you around the withered plains.

You have never felt more alive than in the realm of the dead.

That's why when Sukuna called you into the main hall one day, your heart froze. With dread and fear, upon seeing your furious mother standing right next to him by the altar.

The altar, decorated with your small marble figures and fresh flowers, he ordered to be changed daily since no plant in the Underworld could survive longer than a day.

Your fingers curled in fists, lips fell in line, and somehow, even though you loved her dearly, you simply couldn't take a step closer.

Sukuna stood still, with four arms crossed on his chest and eyes looking carefully at your trembling body. As if he could read all the thoughts coiling beneath your furrowed brows.

"My darling, oh Gods," she sighed, crossing the distance between you two in a few steps. Before you knew it, she pulled you into a hug, although your arms hung loosely by your sides. "I thought I'd lost you forever. Can you believe that I needed to threaten Zeus himself to finally find you?"

She pulled away and grabbed your cheeks, only to meticulously ogle your face. "Oh my, you're so pale! This place did you no good, but at least you're fine. This brute…" she looked over her shoulder, glancing at Sukuna's stony face. "My heart almost stopped upon hearing that he was the one who kidnapped you. Did he touch you? Are you okay? Did he, you know, force you to–"

"Mom," you quickly interrupted her and wriggled yourself out of her embrace. "Why are you here?"

She looked dumbfounded – with warm eyes bulging in shock and lips slightly falling open. When you stepped back, her forehead creased.

"I came to take you back, of course."

A gentle sigh echoed through the vast temple hall as you glanced over her shoulder. Somewhere nearby, a man was attentively listening to you, with a heart pounding loudly in his throat. Filled with fear, anticipation, hope.

Sukuna rarely looked at you with that gaze – filled with love and dread, as if he understood that neither anyone else nor he himself was truly worthy of your heart. He scarcely ever seemed so weak and afraid, as if his mind, soul, heart were fully, completely wrapped around your finger.

And thus now, after so many of his threats, you could make a choice.

To stay here, with him, or go back to your mother.

"Let's go, darling, I'm getting nauseous just from being here," she tried to grab your hand, but, once again, you stepped away.

"I'm not going back," slipped in a whisper. "I can't go back."

She looked shocked, and her lips curved in a nervous smile. "What do you mean, you can't?"

"I'm bound to the Underworld."

Lie.

But oh, how good it felt in your heart, lifting the weight of all the mixed emotions you've buried over the past few days.

"Bound? What do you–" she started, and then, as if suddenly enlightened, gasped. A sharp cry escaped her throat, and her eyes looked back at Sukuna with a frightened, intense gaze. "You! You forced her to eat the seeds!"

Before she could step closer and smack his cheek with an open palm, you grabbed her. "No, mom. I did it myself."

She stopped, turning back your way. With disappointment filling her eyes and trembling lips. "You did what?"

"I love him."

And that, well, that was a confession no one expected. Not you, mother, and particularly not Sukuna. His breath hitched, eyes bulged, and he almost, almost took a step closer.

As his heart, mind, and soul were consumed by a desire to hold you and caress you yearningly until your lips swell from the sweetness of the kiss.

Your mother quickly interrupted, holding your cheeks. "You don't. Don't say it. You don't love him. He's a beast who manipulated your mind, love has no place here. Don't act foolishly, that's not how I raised you."

Your heart shuddered in wretchedness upon her words. As you knew how much she hated all the Gods. How hard she tried to keep this sweet, yet so foreign feeling away from you, as if the little seed growing in your heart was something shameful.

Crystal droplets trickled down your cheeks, wetting her pads. "But I do, mother. And I will stay here, with him. That's my home now."

There was no need to listen to her further. Sliding her trembling hands from your cheeks, you turned and quickly disappeared into the comforting darkness of a temple you used to hate that much.

Her low pleadings filled the main hall, but you could only ignore them. Seeing her again, after a whole month, brought dreadful memories of years spent in her golden cage.

You entered the chamber and sat down on a plush bed. Your hands still slightly wet from nervousness, eyes taking in the cosiness and warmth of the bedroom you shared with… him. Candles licked your skin sweetly, and moon lurked through misty curtains.

Even the usual shrieks coming from Tartarus were mild that evening, allowing you to enjoy the little crickets slipping from the garden.

Cerberus barked somewhere deep within your domain, and a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You were on your way to give him his daily dose of apples when your mother suddenly appeared.

You sat on a bed, hunched and frozen, not noticing a massive shadow that swooshed closer. Dark robes appeared in front of your feet, and soon a heavy, musky fragrance followed.

"My Queen," Sukuna started, not quite sure what to say. A silence has fallen – pleasant, warm, homey. He sighed and crouched to meet your gaze. "Are you okay?"

Only then did he notice crystal droplets still dripping down your cheeks. "My Goddess, why are you crying?"

"Don't allow her to take me," slipped in a crying whisper, before a muffled choke followed. His big hands gripped yours, trying to stop the trembling. "Please, let me stay here."

His fingers lifted to gently cup your face. "What are you talking about? Of course, I won't let you go," crimson eyes softened as a large thumb brushed your lower lip. "Have you forgotten my words? You're never leaving my side."

"Never?"

He shook his head. "Never. I will stand against all of Olympus if that's the price of loving you."

Another sharp cry rolled from your lips as you nuzzled into his hand.

He changed your positions, sitting on the bed and letting you climb onto his thighs, only to push your crying face into his neck. Four hands embraced you before he began to cradle you like a baby.

With soft whispers and kisses placed on your forehead.

When the first shock rolled away and the tears finally stopped, you pulled back. With swollen lips and puffy cheeks, that made Sukuna's heart swell with fondness.

His tongue lapped up the last salty droplets before big palms cupped your hips. "You'll stay here, with me," plush lips peppered your cheeks, nose, and the slightly trembling chin. "And you'll let me love and worship you as you deserve," his hands rolled your hips against his, drawing a moan from your throat. "No one will take you away from me. Not now, not ever."

Your arms wrapped around his neck, back bent in a delicate arch. You looked at him with a plea, taking in the divine beauty of his beastly face. "What if Zeus himself comes for me?"

His lips were barely brushing against yours, and a woody, heavy smell of his body tickled your heart. "I'll kill him. My Goddess, you truly underestimate me. I will move heaven and earth to keep you by my side."

And then, with a last longing gaze connecting your starving souls, your lips have finally crashed.

In a slow, gentle, yet raw kiss, with his teeth biting down on your lower lip and throat swallowing all your sugary moans.

All four hands quickly found their way around your body – caressing, holding, gripping the swell of your ass and moving your hips in harsher rolls.

Misty robe hanging on your shoulders slipped down with a gentle tug, and soon his two upper hands lifted to cup your breasts.

The softness of your skin made Sukuna's mind spin, and a craving to sink himself into your warm cunt felt almost maddening. His cocks, still clothed by a dark tunic, brushed against your folds and the sweetest, purest moan rolled right into his lips.

"Feed me, my God," you murmured, pulling away slightly. "Feed me the pomegranate seeds and tie me to the Underworld. To you."

Of course, you lied to your mother.

And Sukuna knew it too. He observed you for a whole day and night, never leaving your giggles out of his sight, and thus he was aware of your little, desperate lie.

What he hoped for, however, was that your confession was sincere.

Tasting the sweetness of your lips, he realised how truly doomed he was – completely entangled with the scent of your skin and the beauty of your eyes. His heart skipped a beat when your fingers pulled his pink hair, causing his hips to buck instinctively, seeking the intense pleasure.

You pushed his chest, forcing his massive body to lie down on the mattress. "Feed me, and I shall let you have a taste too."

Your lips met his cheeks, jaw, and dropped down through the bulging throat and collarbones, while fingers slipped from the dark robes. He wore nothing beneath the long tunic, and soon your lips curled around his nipple, biting it softly with a hum.

Two upper arms swiftly pulled you up to his face, while the lower ones still held your bare hips. "What will you let me taste, my Goddess?"

A cheeky smirk tugged on your lips as you placed your leaking cunt right over his open belly mouth. "Your favourite fruit, my God."

With a loud moan, you lowered down onto its tongue, feeling the heavy muscles giving you a long, nasty lick. A shudder washed over your spine, and Sukuna drank the next cry that escaped your throat.

"You taste even better than I remembered, my Goddess," he groaned, feeling the saccharine droplets coat his lower tongue. Sticking to his teeth and inner cheeks like the sweetest honey. "But I have a much better idea."

And with that, you quickly found yourself facing his massive cocks and hovering over his face. Your puffy, drenched folds hang right above his lips, and he looked at your dripping cunt with a low groan.

"Fuck, my Goddess," two fingers parted your folds, only for a small, sticky droplet to drip down his chin. "You smell so fucking good, lower yourself a bit."

He didn't wait for your answer as two big hands pulled your hips down with a single, strong move. A groan slipped past his lips and went straight to your cunt, sending a wave of trembling pleasure straight to your clit.

"That's right, my sweet fucking Goddess," he mumbled, lips curving under the weight of your hips. "Don't be shy, get yourself comfortable."

"I-I'm not shy," and if not for a heat that slapped your cheeks, he maybe would believe you.

But your body was too honest, too inexperienced to hide the way your hips rolled against his tongue. Another pitched moan filled the foggy air when his tongue slipped inside your tight cunt.

His lower hands landed on your back and slowly, slowly bent you down. Till your wet lips met with two, pulsing heads and breasts hang right over the belly mouth.

Oh, he was right, this position was absolutely killing… both of you.

Because the moment big, beastly lips curled around your nipple, your hips buckled, and a sweet moan tickled both leaking heads.

"Nghhh," bounced sweetly off his veiny shafts. "That's–mhmm, my God, feels so good."

Sukuna chuckled, slurping on your swollen clit and pushing another cry from your chest. "Give them a little lick, my Queen. They've been waiting for you whole fucking month."

With a hazy gaze, you glanced at two fat cocks smooching your cheeks. Wet and massive, with droplets of musky precum oozing down the pulsing skin and a strong fragrance making you even wetter. He smelled so heavy, manly, and the moment you gave the first cock a kitty lick, Sukuna groaned straight into your clit.

Your hand grabbed the other one and started pumping it in slow, gentle moves, with your thumb brushing the reddened head. Belly mouth sucked on your breasts as if waiting for something more creamy to release itself onto his ravaging tongue, and you cried even louder whenever the wet tongue travelled between both of your nipples.

"How is it possible, fuck," Sukuna groaned, scooping a hefty gush of your cum and drinking it straight from your fluttering hole. "That you're so sweet everywhere. My beautiful, divine Goddess. Come on, try to suffocate me with your cunt. Put your whole weight into it."

With your cheek stuffed full of his cock, you pulled away with a nasty pop and looked over your shoulder. "My God, please take a deep breath," you reminded, because Sukuna seemed to be absolutely lost between your drenched thighs.

With a single finger thrusting into your tight hole and an open mouth catching all the dripping sap. His teeth grazed your clit, before a warm tongue kissed the pain away. He slurped like a madman, whispering little obscenities straight into your pussy and kissing her with nasty squelches. Gluey cum stuck to his nose, lips and chin, connecting him with your parted folds.

"I can't, I don't have to, she needs me," he groaned, giving you another heavy lick. With tongue covering the entirety of your cunt and finger pushing through your pulsing walls. "So sweet, my Goddess, you're so fucking delicious."

Oh, there was truly no remedy for him!

And thus you went back to his pulsing, almost bursting shafts. Your puffy lips kissed two heads before sucking on one gently. Fingers squeezed his constricting balls, juggling them softly and giving them a shy lick.

Sukuna trembled under your body, so you did it again, and again, and again, kissing, licking and sucking on his balls, while rolling your hips against his tongue.

"My God, are you okay?" you slipped shyly, although a cheekiness shimmered in your haze.

Sukuna pulled away from your cunt, and took a deep breath. "Don't ask me stupid questions, my Goddess. My patience is already hanging by a thread, so unless you want me to fold in half and fuck that cunt raw, you better shut that pretty mouth of yours."

You giggled, biting gently down on his balls. "I'll take that as a ye–ah!" you moaned, when the second finger slipped into your tight cunt. "My G-God, that's too–"

Too much wanted to roll, but Sukuna soon added the third . "You're so tight, my Goddess. I'm afraid both of them won't fit in," he slurped, feeling the desperate squeezes of your walls and juices trickling down his fingers.

Both?

An unsettling, truly frightening thought has crossed your mind. He could tear you apart with one, and using two seemed to be a completely foolish idea!

When his pads pushed something, slightly swollen and plush, your whole body shuddered. Pleasure washed over your spine, dripping down to curled feet, and a sugary moan wrapped around his leaking cock.

"There it is," Sukuna growled, looking at your raw, soaked pussy trying to mould itself around his fingers. "My Queen, you're doing so well. Squeezing my fingers so tight, I can't wait to feel you wrapped around my cocks."

The weird warmth has been coiling in your belly since his lips landed on your clit. But now, with fingers pushing your walls and pads brushing against the plump spot, something warmer, wetter started to plash inside your pouch. Something dangerously pleasurable and ready to burst beneath Sukuna's tongue and his big, stomach mouth sucking sweetly on your tits.

"My G-God, I–" you moaned, when all of his three fingers bent against the sweet spot and lips slurped on your clit. "I'm going to, mhmm, allow me to cum on your cocks, p-please."

And a single teary look over your shoulder, with hair sticking to your wet cheeks and lips fallen open, was enough to make him lose his mind.

"Whatever you wish, my Queen," he said, quickly pulling you away from his mouth.

Your body turned again, and this time you found yourself back on top, with two massive cocks squirming beneath your drooling folds and his lower hands gripping your thighs.

"You want me to…?"

He nodded, gently pulling your hips up, to help his leaking heads kiss your fluttering hole. "Ride me, my Queen. I want to watch you take it up…" his fingers traced the softness of your belly, before pushing on a spot somewhere just beneath your button. "here. Both of them."

Your pussy was ready to burst any second, and you could already feel something else, other than your normal wetness, drip down his cocks. The fog in your mind grew thicker, sweat coolly lined your neck, as you pressed both hands against his chest and leaned on trembling, feeble arms.

Rough thumb from the upper arm slipped between your folds, rolling gently the puffy clit. "Slowly, my Queen, take a deep breath." You did just that, with eyes looking straight into his. Both heads started forcing their way through your tight walls, gathering the slippery juices on the way. "That's it, that's my good girl, deep breaths."

He talked you through it, with thumb rubbing the sweet button and lower hands slowly, slowly, pulling you down his shafts.

A sharp cry rolled past your lips when both heads slipped inside. Pushing into your contracting walls and ripping you open, till the metallic taste of blood pooled somewhere at the back of your throat.

The water plopping inside your belly was filling you full, together with Sukuna's cocks constantly trying to thrust inside. You could feel every vein, every detailed curve of his shafts lick your gummy insides, as he pushed, and pushed, and took in the maddening beauty of your face, utterly lost in pleasure.

Your pussy squelched around his monstrous cocks. Cried sweetly, with a clit slowly getting much harsher rubs, till the swollen button started to tremble.

"My God, w-wait, something's wrong," you cried, trying to pull yourself off.

But Sukuna's lower hands kept you in place, and his hips bucked up, trying to meet yours. "Everything's good, my Queen. Deep breaths, you're doing so well."

"No, you don't get it, I–"

The heat hit your cheeks, walls clamped down half-thrust, and the alarmingly plopping water, finally, finally, spilt.

You came.

Or maybe, gushed.

With his cocks barely inside, a hefty wave rolled through your spine, spraying Sukuna's hands, belly, and chest with your cum. Your body trembled in pleasure, and he used this short moment of distraction to thrust his cocks fully, till your hips finally met his.

It was brutal, mean, absolutely filthy, with his lower mouth drinking your squirt and crimson eyes glimmering with maddening yearning.

Something in his mind snapped when he noticed a big bulge right under your belly button, and within a second, your position changed once again.

And this time, you knew that it was over.

He folded you in half, till your ass peeled off the drenched bed, and pussy glistened under his fiery gaze. All four arms kept you tightly in place, with lower limbs spreading your soaked thighs and upper ones taking something from the bedside table.

Only then have you noticed a crimson, bursting pomegranate, licked by the candle's warm tongues and dripping down Sukuna's forearm. He ripped it in half with a single, gentle move, before drinking the seeds with eyes never leaving yours.

"Deep breath, my Goddess," he said again, before both of his cocks rammed into your needy, stretched hole and lips crushed against yours. "Swallow it," he muttered into your reddened teeth, pushing all the pomegranate seeds straight into your mouth. "My little slutty Queen. Coming on my cocks when I barely thrusted in."

The fruit tasted sweeter than honey itself and mixed with Sukuna's sweet spin. His tongue trailed against yours, before lips moved towards your cheeks, chin, jaw, leaving all over your face a sweet, bloody trace of the fruit.

The power that tied your body, heart and soul to the God who wished for nothing but to love you like a madman and worship every piece of your skin.

His thrusts became more erratic, brutal, with squelches filling the wet, foggy air and his heavy, massive body leaning on your folded legs. His hips met yours with each roll, and whenever he pulled away, a long, sticky strand stretched between his soaked shafts and your sensitive cunt.

"Open up, my Queen," he growled, digging his fingers into your jaw. "Show me how well you swallowed it all."

Your lips fell open, and a string of drool trickled down his fingers. Big thumb pushed on your reddened tongue, and you sucked it sweetly, with eyes crossing in pleasure.

The long, fat tongue of his lower mouth slid out and gave your clit a long, filthy lick, before its lips sucked on it raw. Irritating the sensitive button and slurping on the last droplets of your squirt. Sukuna groaned, feeling your walls clamping around his cocks and pushed harsher, as if trying to fight the merciless squeeze.

"Fuck, my Goddess, let me–ahh–let get to your womb," he groaned, giving you a single, brutal thrust. You cried around his thumb, but he simply shushed you sweetly. "Don't cry, it's alright. Ngh, squeezing me so fucking hard," he leaned over, licking off the salty droplets.

His hips moved with unbelievably violent motion, rocking your bed against the wall and drawing a loud cry from your throat. Two pulsing heads kissed your womb with squelches till it swelled like a juicy peach and bent under his heartless thrusts.

A familiar warmth once again started to pool in your belly. Your arms curled behind Sukuna's neck, pulling him into another, filthy kiss. "My God, I'm g-gonna… soon… mhmm so good, s-so–ahh!"

He chuckled against your lips, but couldn't ignore the lovely tenderness filling your teary eyes. His heart jumped, and lower hands folded you into an even meaner mating press. Till you could barely breathe under his massive body, squeezing you down.

"Say it," he whispered, letting his cocks rip you raw. "Say it again."

Two fat shafts slipped in and out, smooching every little corner of your tired, swollen cunt. The pleasure filled you from head to toe, overflowing your body in electrifying strokes.

You knew what he wanted to hear. But his thrusts made a mushy mess out of your mind and eyes rolled back each time his hand pushed the bulge forming under your belly. Not even pregnancy could get you that bloated.

When your head lulled to the side, his fingers dug into your cheeks again, forcing you to look into his eyes. "Say it, my Goddess," he said, licking the last red traces of pomegranate juice from the corner of your lips. "I beg you."

"I love you," slipped like a dream. "I–I, mhmm, I love you. My God, I–"

His lips joined yours in a yearning, maddened kiss. "Fuck, my sweet Goddess. I love you so much, so fucking–fuck."

The warmth in your belly spilt again, and watery cum flooded his abdomen. The belly mouth sucked itself onto your clit, drinking each and every bead of your sweet nectar.

A second later, his hips finally stilled. Pulsing heads nuzzled into your womb, filling it with heavy, gluey cum. He pumped you full, with maddened pleasure creasing his forehead and knees digging into the mattress. Everything, just to get as close to you as possible.

His hefty cum filled your belly before bursting outside and buttering your folds.

"My God, at this point, mhmm, you'll knock me up," a sweet, tired giggle slipped past your lips, feeling his seed overflowing your poor womb. "Although I truly wouldn't mind."

He sighed, nuzzling warmly into the crook of your neck. The plushiness of your skin still made his mind spin, and the flowery fragrance haunted him like a spirit. "My Goddess, don't play with fire."

Your fingers brushed through his hair, pulling a low hum from his massive chest. "I'm not afraid to get burned," you said with full seriousness.

But God didn't answer. Just cuddled closer to your body – plush breasts, soft neck, and hair tickling his nose. He reminded you of Cerberus whenever the beast tried to cuddle into your side.

And with the same love and fondness, you kissed his temple, whispering simple yet oh so important, I'm yours, forever.

Forever it truly was for you, as no other couple on Olympus would ever conquer the utter devotion and love of the Goddess of Spring and the Lord of the Underworld.

Such contrary characters and yet relishing themselves in the most maddening obsession the Olympus has ever seen.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

Oh god, I'm tired but so, so happy. I think it's pretty good, but please let me know your thoughts in the comments <3 Pray forgive me for any mistakes, the wizard was proofreading it at 11 p.m.

Collection taglist: @silverklaus @buttclencher28 @anothergojostan @sirensdairy @waterisntwetanymoreiam @somekindofcelebrity @prome911 @iridescentshine @venussdovess @classycreationlight @bokenessa @sashabearsstuff @gater-grabber96 @venetiandream @luvducks19 @koreluvsspring @moonlight-inthe-sea @hashahasha @mysicnote @sukunasl-ttywh0re @princesstiti14 @kissthegoatt @chosoismyeverthing @getospuresoul @ane5e

permanent taglist 1/3: @mellyrally @1cckedheart @ham-star @indom-itus @satorupied @msheds0519 @a-dizzle777 @man1cslut @naxinomi @getopilleds @shittypunkbarbeque @urgirl-jijiiii @mariaflor873 @wiishies @d34dg1rl101 @disaster-rose @levisotakugf @yailuxe @palanggaaa

You angle your head just right so that you can meet his gaze and he’s so clearly annoyed, maroon eyes all dark and low on you, his lips stretched downwards into this grumpy frown, and his brows knit together slightly. “I-I didn’t mean to, ‘Kuna,” You try to plead with him with that usual glassy-eyed look and pout combo you give him but you know damn well you’d said someone else’s name on purpose just to get a reaction out of your easily aggravated husband. 

He huffs. “Oh? Say that again.” And just as those words leave his hot mouth, his fat cock is nudging in between your sopping folds again with a slow push of his toned hips.

“I didn’t m-mean to,” Your voice practically dies in your throat as he slips into you in this new position—prone bone. You swear you can feel his cock stretching your walls further apart than before, his girth suddenly feeling ten times thicker and causing your lashes to flutter.

Sukuna grouses, “Word for word, slut.”

And he’s still pushing into you, his cock hot against your droopy cunt as you spaz around him. “I didn’t mean to, ‘Kuna,” With a heightened pitched that makes his heart flip in his chest, Sukuna smirks at the change in your tone.

“Mh.” He hums, easing his hips back slower than he’d been pushing them forward, “One more time.” This man is gonna be the death of you…

“I-I didn’t—hnngh..” Your sentence comes out short as he gives you one mean thrust, sharp pelvis sandwiching against the plump fat of your ass and his cock sloppily kissing the very hilt of your pussy. For a moment, you lay there with your jaw slack, fingers curling into the sheets, and another breathy excuse of a moan leaving your lips. “M-Mean to S’kuna,“ You choke out with a drop of your head into the sheets.

Your husband cracks a full smile at that and your overstimulated display. With a tip of his head, he snakes a hand under your limp body and his touch finds purchase right against his cock bulging against your skin. Then he leans down to your ear again, which applies this overwhelming pressure onto both your body and where his cock is nuzzled inside you. “What was that last part?” He whispers.

Drool leaks from the corner of your parted lips and you reply with a moan, “Sukuna…”

Still right against your ear, “Again, louder this time, woman.” He instructs, dragging his hips back again before fucking you nice and tortuously slow—making you feel every single throbbing inch of his cock as he stuffs you over and over.

“Oh fuck—Sukuna-, hahh…” You babble in between his movements. You can hardly think with how full of him you feel. Even with the slightest squeeze your cunt makes around him, it only gets worse for you. He’s everywhere with a hand on your lower stomach, making sure you feel how deep he’s getting, his lips against your ear, and his hips pressed right against your ass.

He’s hardly allowing you a moment to breathe or process.

“Mhmm, what’s my name? Say it again, lemme see.” He huffs, snaking his other hand to your chin just to tip your head back. 

As your eyes land on his expression, you notice how pissed he looks, despite the slight softness in his recent words. Drooling still, eyes all wide ‘n glossy, you let out a heavy puff of air in a pathetic attempt to catch your breath. “Sukunaa,” You whine, the syllables flowing from your mouth just as smoothly as your orgasm begins to gush out around his dick.

Your husband smiles, almost as if he were proud. “Uhuh, that’s it.” Then, his head tilts to the side a bit more and he leans down further just to lap up the slick mess trickling down your chin. Lips moving over your wet skin as he whispers deeply, “Who’s cock are you cumming all over right now?”

Sukuna takes things a step further and begins to flick two thick fingers over your clit to coax you through that abrupt orgasm of yours—adoring the desperate spasm and twitch of your body that follows his touch. 

Your jaw falls further open and your fingers claw at the bedsheet below, “Ohmygod… Y-Yours, Sukuna, yours.” You gasp, suppressing a filthy choke in your throat just before his hand shifts.

“That’s what the hell I thought. Now open that pretty mouth f’me,” Sukuna instructs, his fingertips prodding at your pouty lips. It’s slow but you part your lips open for him and even push your head forward just to take his digits into your mouth. “Uhuh, suck on ‘em juuust like that. Now you can’t say anymore stupid shit, just sit there and take this dick the way you’re supposed to.”

perm sukuna tags (1/2):

@cupidstrace @iiakithegoat @hellodeeyanna @navyllll @grignardsreagent @kingofpiratesiguess @aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa444 @etsuniiru @starsryi @not-a-glad-gladiator

@audiblez @2kool4skoolll @bbfawns @elliescumtubeslut @daxphoriax @gorouenjoyer @oookore @whore4hobie @blubearxy @wonderfullymickey

@iaintblockinnobody @anothergojostan @kitassecretgf @iam-souless @nanamitiddiechomper @ohreallyfriend @kunababy @withersworld @lilacsforveins @suguphile

@megottheswaskikacooooke @kvsqkiii @yourlocalcatscammer @lucy-lulu @sukubusss @sweetieelilii @lisabelhyhn @bellesiy @serenadesvt @simp4idk

This could not stand, you decided the moment you stepped through the door this afternoon. And you would show him that you weren’t happy at the slightest.

That night, Caleb went home slightly earlier than usual.

He was exhausted—his shoulders heavy, mind still buzzing—but there was a quiet sort of relief in knowing you would be waiting for him like always. At the table, perhaps half-pouting, half-smiling, insisting he eat before anything else.

But when he stepped inside, the house was… quiet.

The dining table was set, just as it always was—but you weren’t there. At least there was a neatly prepared meal left for him, covered and still warm. He was starving, so he sat down first, loosening his collar as he ate what you had prepared.

It was good, as always. Your home-cooked meals were comforting and tasted like happier days in your childhood.

When he finished, he washed his hands and made his way toward your shared bedroom, pushing the door open quietly.

There you are. Curled up on the bed, back propped against the headboard, eyes glued to your tablet. The dramatic soundtrack of some soap opera filled the room, exaggerated voices rising and falling—but you didn’t so much as glance his way.

Caleb leaned against the doorframe, watching you for a moment.

“Hey,” he called out with a broad smile. “I’m home.”

Strange, usually you would come up to him and smother him with kisses. But now you merely swiped your tablet’s screen to move to the next episode.

“Huh... You’re not even going to look at me?”

Caleb blinked, and wracked his mind as to guess why. Then he remembered his own words and many nights he had turned you away. He huffed a quiet laugh under his breath.

“Wow. That bad, huh?”

Still, you remained stubbornly silent, eyes fixed on the screen as if he was nonexistent at all.

Caleb tilted his head, studying you—and then, as if he had decided on the best course of action, he jumped onto the bed without ceremony, still fully dressed in his uniform.

When the mattress dipped, you finally turned to him, glaring daggers. “Get off!”

He blinked, still with a smile, feigning innocence. “What?”

“You’re dirty and stinky! Go take a bath first before you go near me.”

At last, you responded him. His smile only widened, hands lifting in surrender as he tilted his head, slipping off the bed without protest.

“Yes, ma’am.”

. . .

When he returned, his hair was damp— and he didn’t bother to put a shirt before walking back in.

Clad only in his boxer, he climbed back onto the bed and reached for you, pulling you into a warm, easy embrace. You stiffened at once, all too aware of the warmth of his toned body and the lingering scent of the bath soap you both used.

Caleb rested his chin against your shoulder, nuzzling you. “Still mad?”

Still silence. You squirmed in his hold though.

He nudged you slightly. “Come on, hm? Can’t I get my welcome home kiss, at least? Please?”

You finally spoke, voice flat and unimpressed. “I don’t recognize you, stranger.”

“What stranger? I’m your brother-husband.”

You sniffed in mock disgust, still refusing to look at him, eyes glued to your tablet as you muttered dramatically, half-reciting, half-accusing:

“He is busy, he is working— he doesn’t have time for me—”

Somehow the words sounded familiar in his head.

“He used to be literally obsessed with me… and now I’m suddenly the least sought after girl in the land—”

Caleb stilled for a second, and then burst out laughing.

“Seriously?” he said, incredulous, pulling back just enough to look at you. “Stop reciting that song. I’ve heard it in the radio far too often already.”

You only pouted harder, crossing your arms. “That’s because it fits,” you shot back.

He grinned, entertained despite himself, eyes softening as he watched you sulk.

“Does it now?” he pressed a kiss on your neck, tightening his hold on you. “I’m home now, you can have me all to yourself… and I want you all to myself too, so in what way it fits?”

“Everything,” you retorted, trying to keep your calm, despite how his hands were starting to wander at your body.

Caleb hummed against your neck as his treacherous hands slipped inside your nightwear. His cool fingers then cupped your left breast, and started playing with it, brushing and turning it— he could feel the tip gradually hardening.

“Oh!” you held back a gasp when he pinched your sensitive nipple, bothered and slightly hot, twisting from him with a glare. “You!”

“Okay, okay!” he burst into snickers again and patted your head. “Alright, I get it. You’re not happy… but at least look at this first.”

Caleb pulled out his phone and you begrudgingly looked at it. He tapped the icon of a travel agency app and a reservation page opened, complete with a scannable barcode.

It was for a newly opened hot spring resort—one that had been all over your social media feed lately. You turned to him, eyes bright with hope.

Caleb leaned in. “We’re going this weekend, sounds good?”

“Yay!” you immediately tackled him that he fell into the sheets, peppering his face with kisses, to his satisfaction, finally.

“Now, now… who is the least sought after girl in the land?” he pressed both hands to your waist, his purple eyes twinkling. “Not you, correct?”

Your eyes narrowed in slits. “I was for two weeks.”

“Uh-oh, you just have the patience of a sinner, that’s why.”

You grabbed his cheeks and squeezed them, and Caleb cackled again.

Weekend came at last, and both of you embarked on your romantic getaway.

The hot spring was just as enticing as you’d imagined—soft steam curling into the air, the quiet murmur of water, the kind of warmth that melted tension straight from your bones. After checking into your room, you both changed into your hot spring attire.

You slipped into the water first, waiting for Caleb. The warm water felt heavenly against your calves, and you craned your neck and stretched out your legs lazily beneath the surface, toes tracing gentle ripples as you let yourself relax.

“Hm, looks like my girl’s gotten nice and comfortable already.”

A moment later, you heard the faint splash behind you. Caleb stepped in, lowering himself into the spring until the water lapped just below his chest.

Your gaze flickered, drawn to him. The broad line of his shoulders, his toned arms, the defined abs of his torso...

Your man is delectable. And of course, he noticed your ravenous gaze.

A quiet, amused hum left him as he shifted closer, before leaning in and resting his head against your knees as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Comfy?” you asked, your hand had already found its way into his damp hair, fingers threading through it gently.

“Mhm.” Caleb pressed a kiss on your knee. “Get down with me, will you?”

He wasn’t really asking— with the way he tugged you down into the simmering water with him. A soft gasp slipped from you as you were pulled closer to be in his embrace, the warmth of the spring enveloping you.

“Now, this is comfy.”

He drew in a slow breath, his hands wandering along the familiar curves of your body—reverent, like he’d been deprived for far too long.

“Missed you,” he murmured softly in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You barely had time to respond before he tilted your chin up, and devoured your lips.

The kiss came warm and lingering— neither rushed or teasing. Just him, pouring everything he hadn’t said into the way his lips and tongue moved against yours. His hands steadied at your waist, pressing you against him, the heat of the water only served to make you clung to one another.

You exhaled softly against him, fingers curling into his damp hair as you kissed him back, deeply, like you’d been waiting just as long.

Caleb let out a low, contented hum, the sound vibrating between you. This was exactly where he wanted to be. His thumb brushed circles against your side, grounding, affectionate, while he savored in the kiss just a little longer.

A quiet, breathy sound slipped from him as he crashed you against him. Before you could fully gather your thoughts, he moved—smooth and effortless—lifting you so your legs settled on either side of him as the two of you sank together onto the hammock.

“Haah...” he let out a strained breath when he finally pulled away, his amethyst eyes completely darkening with lust. His fingers slid beneath your chin, tilting your face up toward him, his gaze drinking you in.

A faint blush had already crept across his features—whether from the heat of the spring, the kiss, or both. The way his thumb lingered near your jaw, the way his eyes softened just slightly despite the intensity… it made your breath catch all the same.

It wasn’t fair that you were the only one being flustered... so in a split second, you decided to turn the tables— by grabbing the visible bulge of his manhood.

“Ngh—” he sucked in a sharp breath, almost cursing, bracing himself on the railings so he wouldn’t slip. But you only smiled so sweetly at him, stroking his member through the thin barrier of damp fabric.

He was thick, long, hard... and gradually harder under your touch. The way your fingers brushing adeptly and sneakily squeezing him made Caleb lose all his wits.

“Y-You…” he groaned, his voice rough, pulled from depths of his chest. He was no beginner, but your touch was overwhelming in the best way—and you were mean for not giving him what he wanted so easily.

Just when your touch had him tensing and almost losing it, you slowed.

“Fuck.” He exhaled harshly, frustrated and feeling the loss. “I never taught you that. You’re... doing this on purpose—” he gritted out, voice tight with disbelief, his forehead briefly resting against yours.

You only hummed in response, feigning innocence, even as your pace remained agonizingly slow, knowing it was getting painful for him.

“Say the magic word first,” you countered, tone bewitching, “and maybe I’ll be nice and help.”

Caleb let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a snort, his eyes flickering with lust of no return.

“Don’t test me,” he warned, though the way his increasingly labored breaths said he was already losing that battle.

“Uh-oh, that’s not it.”

“Please—”

“Not that either~”

The way he grimaced to hold back the growl coming up in his throat gave you total satisfaction. To know and see that Caleb, usually so high and mighty in everything, turned into an utter mess just because you edged him was gratifying—

“You are so cruel.” He suddenly took a hold of your wrist that was stroking him. His expression twitched, tension evident as his cock throbbed, and he gave in to the frustration of being denied what he so clearly wanted.

“Ehh, that’s not—”

“I love you.”

The words came so suddenly it caught you off guard. You stilled, blinking at him, and for a brief, fragile second, his expression softened into something so earnestly disarming that it made your chest tighten.

In that one brief second, he was not the playful man he made himself to be—but the kind gege who had been with you since childhood, the one who stood between you and anything that dared to hurt you.

But then—

Caleb’s lips curved. The softness of his smile twisted into a cunning smirk.

“Got you.”

You realized too late that you had fallen into his trap. He took over the control as he yanked your panties, and you gasped when he suddenly breached you with two fingers at once. He steered with renewed confidence, no longer at your mercy.

“Ahh!”

Caleb only chuckled, clearly pleased with himself at the way you writhed beneath him, water splashing uselessly around you.

“I’m not spilling anywhere but inside you,” he taunted, watching you barely holding back your moans as he set the harsh pace. “So be good for me and just take it, hm?”

It didn’t take long to reach your climax, the pain and pleasure crashing over you so intensely it left you trembling. By the time he finally pulled his fingers away, your vision was blurred with tears, your breath uneven.

Caleb observed your the slickness between his fingers, satisfied, as he sucked it off.

“Now, time to tend to me.”

He had always had a penchant for being rough, but you could have sworn he was never this impatient before. Had you pushed him too far?

Your husband moved you to the slightly drier spot. He settled himself before you, and you could only watch as he parted your legs with practiced ease—

“Here we go.”

The stretch made your breath hitch, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes once more as you clung to him instinctively. “C-Caleb...!”

He growled, feeling how tight you were around him. He pushed himself deeper and made himself fit, savoring your strained screams.

You thought you were already on the brink of losing yourself when he found that sensitive spot—but the moment he began to move, you realized, helplessly, that there was something far more overwhelming waiting for you.

“Ah— Caleb!” you squealed, arching your back shamelessly, as his hips rolled and hit you in that one spot over and over. A shaky breath left you, your fingers clawing at the marbled floor, only able to receive him.

A wicked glint flickered in his eyes. “Shh… we’re in public, remember?”

Like hell you care. At this point, all you could do was hope the walls of this resort were soundproof.

His lips burned, sucking off your skin so harshly that you were certain your breasts and chest would be littered with hickeys when he was done. A tight, coiling tension deep within you wound tighter with every passing second, pulling you closer and closer to oblivion.

Caleb was the very picture of a man drunk on his woman, relishing in the total pleasure he brought both you and himself, as he kept pounding you like there was no tomorrow—

Your lewd moans. How deliciously tight you are. The very erotic sight of how his little wife aches, torn between wanting him and seemingly unable to take him because he is just that good— he was caught hook, line, and sinker.

The last thing you remembered was how he buried himself to the hilt as ropes after ropes of his cum filling your womb.

When you opened your eyes again, the first thing you saw was Caleb hovering over you, worry etched clearly across his face.

“You awake?” he asked, his cool palm resting against your forehead. His brows furrowed then. “You’re still warm…”

What happened? You only felt like you had fallen into a deep slumber.

Before you could fully respond, he reached for a water bottle on the nightstand. “Here, drink.”

He lifted the bottle to your lips as you slowly rose, tilting it just enough, patient as he made sure you had a few steady sips. When you were done, he patted you in the head and smiled. “Good girl.”

You blinked up at him, still a little dazed. “...Why?”

“You passed out. You kinda scared me, you know? I thought I have broken you.”

That got a small giggle out of you. Caleb had an apologetic smile on his face as he settled beside you on the bed. That was when you noticed that you were already changed into your pajamas—he must have cleaned and dressed you.

“Was I too rough with you?” he asked, searching your face. His fingers played with your hair in slow, soothing strokes. You shifted and sure enough, you winced from feeling a bit sore.

His brows knit tighter, noticing your expression. “Next time, tell me if you can’t take it anymore. I’ll stop, ’kay?”

“That’s just how you are. When have you ever been not rough?” you joked, but unexpectedly, his smile fell.

It was subtle but of course you knew. His hand stilled for a moment before resuming its slow strokes. He didn’t reply right away, a conflicted fog settling over his expression.

And you didn’t like that, because you knew him.

Nine times out of ten, when Caleb went quiet and started sinking into his own thoughts, it meant he was deciding something on his own again, convinced he was acting in your best interest.

“…Caleb,” you called, poking his chest.

“Hm?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pinching your brows like that. You’ll get early wrinkles.” You poked his chest again, frowning. “I’m fine, you see? If you’re pulling a sex ban on me next, I swear—”

“Pftt,” he burst into a chuckle despite himself. “Relax. I’m nowhere saintly enough to deny myself life’s greatest pleasures.”

Caleb engulfed you in bear hug next, breathing in your scent and patted you in the back. Meanwhile you clung into him, burying your face in his steady, warm chest.

In that moment, you felt so incredibly safe, completely sheltered in his hold.

“…Seriously,” his voice was muffled, “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

You felt a smile on your face. “You could never.”

There was one inherent instinct both of you shared—an unspoken pull to protect each other, no matter what. You knew he lived by it, because you had felt it yourself. Ever since he was a boy, he had always been your constant, someone who would willingly stand as your shield against rain and storms.

he had ridden into town a year earlier as the new sheriff, tall and broad-shouldered, his golden hair always neatly combed beneath his black stetson, his dark eyes carrying the quiet weight of a man who had seen too much of the frontier’s cruelty and still chose kindness.

kento had courted you the proper way: sunday walks after services, a basket of wild strawberries left on your father’s porch, handwritten letters sealed with wax that spoke of respect, protection, and a future built on solid ground. never once had he pressed for more than a chaste kiss on the cheek. never once had he looked at you with anything but worship.

now he is your husband.

the reception spills out into the street—barbecue smoke curling into the night sky and children chasing fireflies. but kento only has eyes for you. when the last toast is raised, he sweeps you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing at all as your laughter mingles with the crowd’s whoops.

“time to take my wife home, folks,” kento calls, voice carrying that measured timbre that can quiet a saloon or soothe a spooked horse. his strong arms cradle you against his chest, the dark wool of his frock coat warm from the day’s sun.

you tuck your face into the crook of his neck while breathing in cedar soap, gun oil and the faint sweetness of the cinnamon candy he’d chewed. your heart hammers so hard you are sure he can feel it through his vest.

kento carries you the few steps to the waiting buckboard, helps you onto the padded seat, then climbs up beside you. the horse tosses her head and starts forward at a gentle trot.

behind you, the town lights fade into the prairie darkness, the he stars thick as spilled sugar overhead. the night air is cool and scented with sage and distant rain. kento keeps one hand on the reins and the other laced with yours, thumb stroking slow circles over your knuckles.

“ye’re trembling, darling,” he murmurs after a mile of quiet road, “nervous?”

“a little,” you admit with a soft voice, “it’s all so… real now.”

kento lifts your hand and presses a kiss to the new ring. “i’ve waited six months to call ye mine. i’m not about to rush a single second of our first night together. y’ll tell me if anything feels wrong, won’t you? promise me that, honey.”

“i promise, kento.”

the cabin comes into view just beyond the creek bend. it’ms a snug, freshly built place with a wide porch and a stone chimney already smoking. kento had spent every spare hour these past weeks hammering boards and hauling furniture so you would have a proper home.

he reins the mare to a stop, jumps down, and lifts you again. he carries you straight over the threshold like the old tradition demands.

inside, the air smells of pine resin and fresh linens. a fire crackles low in the hearth, throwing dancing shadows across the room. on the rough-hewn table sits a bottle of sweet blackberry wine he’d traded two pelts for and a bouquet of late-blooming prairie roses he must have ridden out at dawn to pick.

the big four-poster bed in the corner was turned down; the quilt his mother had sent from back east folded neatly at the foot. an oil lamp glows on the nightstand.

kento sets you down gently on the edge of the bed. he then kneels to unlace your dusty boots with the same care he might show loading a rifle—slow, precise and reverent. when both boots are set aside, he rises and pours the wine, handing you a glass before taking his own.

“to my wife,” he says and clinks the rims, “to the life we’re going to build here. to keepin’ you safe, cherished, and happy every day the lord gives us.”

you sip and the blackberry sweetness blooms on your tongue, warmth spreading through your chest. kento watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes dark and steady. when the glasses are empty, he sets them aside and cups your face in both hands.

for a moment, you both just stare at each other. your eyes meet and the entire world seems like it’s stopped. your gaze, slowly trails down to his lips. kento notices and he takes his chance to hit it off.

“may i kiss you properly now, angel?” his voice has gone rough at the edges, but still so gentle it makes your stomach flutter.

you nod and your lips are already parting.

he bends his head down slowly, giving you every chance to change your mind. the first touch is feather-light. a brush of warmth. then his mouth settles fully on yours, and the kiss deepens—slow, thorough, tasting of wine and cinnamon and the promise of forever.

one of his hands slide to the small of your back to draw you closer. the other cradles the nape of your neck like you are something infinitely precious.

you sigh into him, fingers curling into the lapels of his coat and the world narrows to the heat of his tongue sliding against yours. the steady thump of his heart under your palm, the faint scrape of his stubble against your chin. . .

when kento finally pulls back, both of you are breathing harder. his forehead rests against yours.

“god above, ye’re beautiful,” he whispers. “i’ve thought so since the first time i saw you behind the counter at the mercantile, but seeing you walk down that aisle today… it nearly undid me, darling.”

his calloused fingers move to the row of tiny buttons at the back of your gown. each one slips free with patient care, the fabric whispering down your shoulders like a sigh. the dress pools at your feet in a silken puddle which leaves you in only your thin cotton chemise and drawers.

cool night air kisses your skin and you shiver. kento catches the shiver immediately, running warm palms down your arms and back up again.

“eaasy, honey. i’ve got you,” his eyes never leave your face, even as his hands work, “may i take the rest off? i want to see all of you—every beautiful inch my wife is trusting me with tonight.”

“of course,” you nod breathlessly.

kento smiles slightly before easing the chemise over your head. it joins the dress on the floor in a soft heap of white cotton. then he hooks his thumbs into the waist of your drawrs and gently tugs them down your legs with the same unhurried reverence.

you step free, standing bare before him for the first time in the golden lamplight. your cheeks are burning hot as prairie sun. instinctively your arms half-lift to cover yourself—old habit from a lifetime of modest upbringing—but kento catches your wrists gently before lowering them to your sides.

“no hidin’ from me, angel,” your husband whispers, voice low and rough with awe. his eyes trace over you slowly, drinking in every curve and shadow as if committing you to memory, “lord help me, ye’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever laid eyes on.”

kento sinks to his knees right there on the worn rag rug, large hands sliding up the backs of your thighs to steady you. his breath ghosts warm across your skin as he presses a lingering kiss just below your navel, then another higher between your breasts.

“look at these,” he murmurs while cupping the soft weight of them in his palms, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebble tight, “so pretty and sensitive already… made to fit my hands perfectly.”

kento leans in and takes one into his mouth, slow and warm, tongue circling with tender devotion while his other hand kneads the other breast. the wet heat of his mouth pulls a soft whimper from your throat.

“mnngh, ken—yes,” your fingers thread into his golden hair rto hold him close as sparks of pleasure dance down your spine.

he switches sides with the same patient worship, sucking gently, then harder when your knees tremble. “that’s it, honey,” kento praises against your skin, deep voice vibrating through you. “let me hear how good it feels. ye’re shaking for me already… my sweet, perfect wife.”

only when your breathing has turned ragged does he trail lower, kissing a slow path down your ribs, over the gentle curve of your belly, until his mouth hovers at the apex of your thighs. he glances up at you, gaze dark with hunger and something deeper. it’s reverence, love and the quiet realization that this is forever.

“lie back on the bed for me, darling,” kento murmurs, helping you settle against the cool quilt. “let me love ye the way you deserve. let me show you how much i’ve been achin’ to make you mine in every way.”

you sink into the mattress with your heart pounding as he settles between your parted thighs on his knees. his warm hands stroke up your calves, over your knees, gently spreading you wider with the lightest pressure.

he kisses the inside of one plush thigh, slow and open-mouthed, then the other, working higher until his breath fans hot over your cunt. you are already slick andaching, and the sight of him there—your handsome husband on his knees like a man at prayer—makes fresh heat bloom across your chest.

“so wet for me already,” kento breathes, voice thick with wonder, “all this sweetness just for yer husband.”

the first slow lick drags from your entrance to your clit and your hips jerk with a broken gasp. kento hums in approval, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure straight through you. he takes his time, lavishing you with long, deliberate strokes of his tongue. he circles your clit with the tip, then dips lower to taste you properly and savors every drop as if you were the finest wine.

two thick fingers join soon after, sliding in with careful, gentle pressure. they curl just right against that sweet spot inside you while his mouth never stops its worship.

“ah! wait—mmh. right therenngh,”you writhe beneath him and your fingers tighten in his hair, but his free hand presses lightly on your lower belly, holding you steady.

“easy, angel. stay right here with me. i’ve got you. feel how beautifully ye’re opening for me? so tight and warm… my good little wife, taking my fingers like you were made for this.”

kento adds a third finger after a while. he stretches you ever so slowly, scissoring his digits with tender patience while his wet tongue flicks faster over your swollen clit. the coil of pleasure winds tighter and tighter in your tummy, your thighs trembling around his broad shoulders.

“nnngh! k-ken—it’s happenin’—“ you breathe out, squeezing your eyes shut as your entire body tenses up.

when it finally snaps, you come with a soft cry of his name. your back arches off the bed and waves of ecstasy crash through you as he licks you through every pulsing aftershock.

he murmurs praises against your slick cunt—“that’s my girl. so perfect—coming so sweetly for me on our wedding night.”

only when you are limp and trembling does kento rise. his lips are shiny with your juices, eyes blazing with love and raw need. he stands at the edge of the bed and begins to undress for you, each movement slow so you can watch.

the dark frock coat slides from his shoulders and is folded neatly over the chair. his vest follows, then the crisp white shirt, revealing the broad, golden expanse of his chest. faint scars from old gunfights trace silver lines across his ribs and the hard planes of muscle shift in the lamplight.

his trousers come next, pushed down strong thighs until he stands bare before you. his cock is thick and heavy, flushed dark at the tip and already glistening with pre-cum.

you sit up slowly. your gaze is fixated on his crotch. you’ve never seen anything like it. like a cock.

you reach for him with trembling fingers, “kento… may i?”

your husband’s breath hitches, but he steps closer, letting you wrap your hand around his hardened dick. “only if you want to, honey. tonight is yours as much as mine.”

the skin is velvet-soft over steel, hot and pulsing in your palm. you stroke him experimentally—with slow and curious pulls—learning the weight of him, the way he twitches when your thumb sweeps over the sensitive head and spreads the bead of moisture.

kento groans low, head tipping back, one large hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

“just like that. slow and sweet, angel. ye’re gonna feel like heaven wrapped around me. i’ve dreamed of this every night since i first kissed you—making you my wife in every possible way.”

kento’s hips rock gently into your fist. he can’t help the praises falling from his lips in a steady murmur: “my beautiful wife, so soft and eager—look at how well you’re learning me already.”

you feel him throb and actually grow even harder under your touch. and the power of it—the way this strong gentlemanly man trembles for you—makes fresh desire pool low in your belly.

after long minutes of you making him twitch and moan, kento gently catches your wrist. he brings your hand to his mouth to kiss your palm. “enough, darling, or i won’t last. i need to be inside of ye now… need to make us one, yeah?”

he climbs onto the bed and settles between your thighs, bracing himself on his forearms so he cages you in warmth and safety without crushing you. his cock rests heavy and hot against your soaked folds, the blunt head nudging your entrance and grazing against your pretty slit. his eyes lock on yours, filled with so much love it steals your breath.

“look at me, honey,” kento whispers softly, his voice rough with restraint. “i need you to know something before we go any further. this first time, it may hurt a little. i’ll go as slow as you need. every inch at yer pace. if it’s too much, you tell me and we stop. y’r comfort, y’r pleasure, y’r trust… those matter more to me than anything in this world. you’re not just my wife tonight. you’re my heart. understand?”

you cup his face and your thumbs brush the sharp lines of his cheekbones, tears of overwhelming emotion pricking at your eyes. you love this man. you trust him so much.

“i trust you, kento. i want this. i want you—all of you. i’m falling in love with you all over again right now.”

his smile is soft and slightly crooked, the one he saves only for you. “then let me love ya the way a husband should.”

kento then kisses you deeply—soul-deep—before reaching down to notch his heavy cock at your entrance. the stretch is immediate and insistent as he gently bucks his hips forward. inch by careful inch he sinks in, gaze never leaving yours, whispering praises between kisses: “breathe for me, angel, that’s it. ye’re doing so well… so tight and perfect around me.”

when he realises you’re bleeding just a bit, a drop trickling down his veiny shaft, he pauses and brushes damp strands of hair from your face, forehead pressed to yours.

“almost there. i’ve got ya. i love you more than i ever thought a man could love.”

you exhale on a shaky breath. kento pushes the rest of the way through in one smooth, steady motion.

a sharp sting blooms deep inside you. it’s bright and fleeting, like a match struck in the dark. you gasp and your nails dig into his bare shoulders.

kento freezes instantly once he’s buried to the hilt, murmuring praise against your ear in that soothing voice: “good girl. . . such a good wife. . . takin’ all of me on our wedding night—i’m so proud of ye. the pain will pass, i promise. just breathe with me, honey. i’m right here.”

he stays perfectly still. he kisses your temple, your cheeks, your lips until the burn ebbs into a deep and full ache that feels strangely right. when your body finally softens beneath him, melting into the mattress, he begins to move. he starts off with slow rolls of his hips, drawing almost all the way out before sliding back in, letting you feel every thick inch.

“mmmh,” you bite your lip, eyes teary from the delicious stretch and the fact you’re so deeply connected with the one man you love.

each thrust of his hips drags his cock perfectly against that sweet spot inside you until pleasure overtakes everything else and turns the ache into liquid heat.

“feel that?” kento whispers, “that’s us becoming one, my love. my wife, my home… the mother of our children someday, if the lord blesses us.”

his pace stays measured and deep, every stroke being deliberate and worshipful. one of his hands slips between your bodies so his thumb can circle your still-sensitive clit in perfect time.

“going to fill ye up tonight. put a baby in this pretty belly while i keep you safe in our home. would you like that? carryin’ our future while i ride out each day knowing i get to come back to ye—my little housewife, round and glowing and loved beyond measure?”

“oh, lorddd. yes,” you breathe out in a whorish moan and your legs wrap tighter around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back. “yes! kento—pleaseee. i want everything with you. i want your baby… i want forever.”

kento groans, the sound raw and masculine, hips snapping a fraction harder as his control frays at the edges. the wet, rhythmic sound of your bodies meeting fills the quiet cabin and is mingled with your soft cries and his steady praises;

“so tight… so perfect… come for me again, darling. let me feel ye squeeze me like ye never want to let go.”

that’s all you needed to hear. the second orgasm crashes over you harder than the first. it’s white-hot and endless, your walls fluttering and clenching around him in pulsing waves.

“kento! mmmh!” you sob his name as your back arches off the bed, nails raking down the strong lines of his back, leaving red trails on his skin.

kento follows moments later with a guttural sound, hips stuttering as he spills inside you in warm, endless pulses that leave you both trembling. he stays buried deep inside your throbbing cunt, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard while the aftershocks ripple through you both.

after a long minute he eases out carefully, a soft sound of loss escaping you both. his cum mixes with yours as it trickles down your ass. kento quickly scoops what escaped up and pushes it back in your cunt with the tip of his softening cock.

once that’s done, he gently gathers you against his chest, pulling the quilt over your joined bodies. one large hand rests protectively over your lower belly as if already dreaming of the life you might have made tonight.

his fingers trace lazy, soothing patterns along your spine, and he presses kiss after kiss to your hair, your temple and the corner of your mouth.

“how do you feel, mrs. nanami?” kentk asks, tone soft with wonder and a touch of awe that makes your heart swell all over again.

you smile against his skin, pressing a kiss right over his steady heartbeat. you feel so connected to him. so in love. “happy. full. like i finally understand what home really means… and i’m falling in love with my husband all over again, right here in our bed.”

kento chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “you are my home now. my wife, my partner. i’m going to spend every day proving i’m worthy of that trust—keeping you safe, making ye laugh, filling our house with love and maybe a few little ones who look like you.”

he tilts your chin up and kisses you slow and sweet, no urgency left, only the deep, quiet certainty of forever.

outside, the prairie wind whispers through the tall grass and the creek murmurs its endless lullaby. inside the little cabin, the fire has burned down to glowing embers, but the warmth between you burns brighter than any flame.

kento pulls you closer while tucking your head beneath his chin. one arm wrasps securely around your waist as if he never plans to let go.

“sleep, my angel,” kento murmurs, lips brushing your hair. “tomorrow we start our real life together.”

“got outta the gym late. lost track of time,” he walks two steps to the kitchen pulling out two energy drinks, a protein drink, and a couple protein bars. “fuck,” he cups his crotch, palming himself through his low hanging sweats. he opens his shake. “accidentally swiped on that video ya’ sent me from the summer. I watched the whole thing between my sets.” his hand tips back, throat bopping as he chugs the shake, eyes closing as he sees the video play back in his mind, hand still on his bulge.

you’re leaning against the column between your smaller than small living room and kitchen, eyeing the way he’s shamelessly groping himself in front of you, men. you sigh, internally.

“hey,” he suddenly appears in front of you, towering. his musky scent fills your nose as he cups your neck, the other resting on your hip. he slowly lowers himself, tilting your chin up with a thumb as his lips connect with yours again. “haah,” he sighs, kissing your lips like it’s his saving grace, his sweats hang low on his hips as he presses himself against you. “remember that video?” he husks, “the one with ya’ spreading your legs out for the camera—“

you gently press a hand to his chest again, cheeks flushed, but stomach churning uncomfortably. “ryo—“

“wanna see this pussy,” he doesn’t even hesitate, he drops his head to your neck, kissing the exposed skin before dropping to a knee, hands on your hips. “wanna smell how good she is—“

“ryo,” you press a hand to his forehead, face aflame, as you push him back. your heart hammers as he frowns up at you, jaw tight and hands tightening around your waist. “I got my period yesterday.”

….

a silent beat passes.

then.

FUCK!

sukuna is horrible at controlling his face.

you immediately notice his dilated pupils dissipate, and the excitement die behind his eyes. your lips purse, making a my bad king type of face. but sukuna looks absolutely destroyed, his head drops forward, desperately trying to control his eye roll, but you catch it , along with the way he presses his face into your stomach, and groans. loud. uncontrolled.

“sorry…I forgot to text you, and you came all the way here,” you pat his shoulder apologetically, though you’re not super sympathetic since it’s not your fault.

“ya’ have cramps or some shit?” he grumbles against your sleep shirt.

“had crazy cramps this morning, but just like…not in the mood right now,” you cringe while saying it, but sukuna just sighs.

you bite your cheek as you watch him sit back on his heels. his black sweats straining against his thighs, his bulge shameless as it presses up against the material. your eyes flick over him again, wetting your lip as you reach for his hair. hesitant. but eventually…your manicured nails run through the slightly damp, salmon colored hair. you watch in silent awe as his lashes weigh down, and his jaw tightens like he’s holding himself back. your nails scratch his scalp, lightly, but enough to elect a raw groan from the back of his throat.

you bite your lip, eyeing the dark flush crawling up his neck, and dusting his cheeks a light pink. his large palm rests on your outer thigh and the other flexing as it grips his erection. how far will he—

“not cumming in my fucking sweats,” he suddenly barks, getting to his feet. your hand drops as he walks towards the bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head, he kicks the door shut behind him.

your lips purse again, biting your cheek as you hear the shower turn on. men.

that was how sukuna dealt with his fuck buddy being on her period. somehow always finding out last minute that you’re bleeding, and in no mood for action — except for those very rare occasions, well he can’t divulge too much now since you never want him to mention it again — and he’s forced to take care of his problem in your shower. his rough calloused palm — a contrast from your soft smaller ones — jerks his painfully hard throbbing cock to the images of you floating in his mind until he’s finally shooting his thick white load all over your shower wall. haze clearing up as he watches the cum slide down. and then he’ll step out of the bathroom, usually wearing a pair of sweats he’d forgotten here, along with a plain black tee, and crash on the couch as you do your homework. he’ll eye you a bit, but eventually shift his attention to the tv and knockout.

it would be difficult for those five to seven days, especially when you would be slightly more clipped with him, or just plain bitchy and short tempered (like him). but it’d get him all hot and bothered, especially since he can’t act on it.

that was sukuna’s perception of a woman’s cycle. before he never cared, now he cares just a little more because he can’t have sex with you when you’re on your period.

but as smart as sukuna is, it takes a little more brain power for him to realize what this is.

this being, how he’s wound up because he’s trying to get through this studying for an upcoming exam. he’s far from prepared for and the best way for him to study is to be around someone who takes it seriously— you. and yet…

and yet, you won’t stop moving!

at first you were sitting across from him in the library. then you shift to the seat at corner of the table, and then you move to sit directly beside him.

“you need help?” he suddenly cuts. you’re shifting beside him stops, brows pulled in confusion.

“was just uncomfortable, am i disturbing you?”

his brow twitches, but you were completely innocent. your brow pulled up, like he’s the crazy one, and not you, who’s moved around like ten times in the last hour!!

“just a little,” he mutters, putting his headphones back on and turning back to his work. luckily, you seem to have settled down, attention back on your own studies. engrossed in your review sheets and notes, as sukuna reviews for his own exam.

however, what the fratboy did notice was even when shoko stopped bye to chat, and utahime came to whisper some gossip to you between her class, you didn’t move once. his brow quirked briefly when utahime chatted across the table, and instead of getting up and going to the hallway to talk freely, you remain seated, right beside him, and right against him.

what’s going on?

“I swear I told the girl I didn’t even know who she was talking about it—but she didn’t even care. girl! I wasn’t talking to your ex,” utahime rambles in hushed whispers, similar to the whispered conversations at other tables.

your brows furrow in shock, “what the hell?? why the heck is she even confronting you in the middle of class though? that’s so weird.”

“that’s what I’m sayinggg!!!”

sukuna has every reason to snap at you both right now. to tell you two to shut the fuck up or go outside. seriously, it was distracting as fuck. but his mind was short circuiting and stumbling around all because of how fucking close you are to him.

his arms are leaning over the table, biceps bulging from his tshirt, scribbling practice equations and notes. and you’re leaning over in an identical position, but your side is fully pressed against his arm. your zip up hoodie resting around your hips after you’d shrugged it off, and your usual cold skin was searing hot against his. skin to skin. and it’s been like that for the past twenty minutes.

usually when your friends stop by to ramble you have the curiosity to step away so he can study. but not this time— well you did a similar thing a month ago too. sticking to him like glue. brushing your fingers over the veins of his forearm—

“okay, I’ll update you later, but thanks for letting me borrow your airpods!” utahime concludes her rant with finally returning your airpods and running off to her next class. sukuna lets out an air of relief, relaxing beside you.

finally, some peace and quiet in the library.

…shift…

well, it could only last so long.

his brows furrow as he glances over at you, your cheek is now resting on his arm, mindlessly reading your notes like this is normal. is it because he’s finally anxious about an exam after so long, that he’s noticing how touchy you’re being? or maybe you’re not in the mood to do your work and in the mood for something else—

tch, he doesn’t have time to find some room to fuck you in though. it’s the middle of the day and the library is packed. the last thing you’d want is for someone to see you both. however, he can’t even tell if you want any action right now. it just looks like you’re tired…and clingy…?

sukuna exhales, thumb pressing against his jaw in thought, while you shift again, oblivious to his internal turmoil, cheek smushed against his arm…

“you hungry?” he interrupts, desperate for his mind to quiet down.

“not really,” you mutter, focused on your homework.

his lips downturn, pen tapping the desk, “I’m gonna grab another celsius.” he suddenly stands, startling you for a moment, noticing the way your pretty lashes blink in surprise. you’re definitely just focused on school…but last month you were acting the same-ish…if he’s right, then when he comes back…you’ll…

he places a celsius in front of you, eyes flicking over you as he sips his drink. you hum in distracted appreciation, like you can’t even see him sliding back into his seat, legs spread, and arms coming up back to the table to grab his pen. but like glue, you’re sliding yourself right beside him, pressing your cheek to his shoulder, and taking a subtle inhale.

what the hell?!? it’s like he can predict you’re every move now?!

it didn’t stop there. the puzzle pieces are starting to come together slowly. especially when you subtly kept a grip on his arm muttering how he can finish studying at your place, without the distraction of the frat—which you rarely pressure him to do a night before an exam. except instead of going straight to the bathroom to shower, you followed him to your couch and sat beside him.

“do you mind if I turn on the tv?” you ask with such an unnerving amount of gentleness, glancing at him with your full undivided attention.

his brow quirks, why’re you looking at him like that? “it’s your place, woman.”

you hum, relaxing back, albeit pressed to his side and your knees tucked up, as he leans over on the coffee table (aka your only desk in your small ass apartment) reviewing more work. but just moments later he’s sliding to the floor for more comfortability—

“why’d you move?” your voice cuts through the quiet apartment.

“huh?”

sukuna glances back, brow quirked with confusion at the frown you’re wearing. “leaning over is fucking with my back,” he tsks, earning him an uncharacteristically quick attitude switch from you — your eyes roll, your entire body slumps further back on the couch that you’re basically laying across it, and your cute bottom lip juts out in an irritated, subtle pout. seriously? sukuna scoffs internally. you’re acting like such a brat??? for real this time.

your cheeks press against the cushion. your hypnotizing eyes flick between his, then eventually settle on his lips. they’re slightly chapped, pink…pretty…kissable…

“ya need something?” he snaps without any bite. you’re zoning out again. your eyes drift off, and your lips part lost in thought. “zoning out—“ are the words that you here before you feel an aggressive (light in his mind) flick to your forehead. “again!”

“ow!” you groan loud, face quickly turning and pressing into the cushion in annoyance. “what the hell!” your muffled yell barely comes out.

“what the hell me?” he tsks, rough hand landing on your head, and turning your face back for air. “I was talking and you did that shit again—“

“what thing?!” you scoff, brows pinched in anger as you stare into his eyes….his deep…dark…lidded…crimson eyes…..haah—

“that,” he exhales, hand softening on your temple, and irritation slipping away with your usual antics. “how do you even zone out that fast?”

your glossy lips part, manicured nail brushing your bottom lip, heat pooling between your legs, and eyes half lidded… “was thinking about your eyes.”

the softness of your tone was more shocking than the actual words that came out of your mouth. or it was the combination of both. or the bluntness of your gentle honey sweet voice that took sukuna by surprise…

but he blinked. once. twice—

“first it was your lips,” you whisper with a breathless sigh. your finger carefully reaching out and touching his lips. you mimic the way he parts his lips with your own. his thick brows creating a shadow over his lidded eyes. “then your eyes.” you explain with such clarity, it had sukuna short circuiting as he tries to rationalize why you’re acting this way—

“that’s why i zoned out,” you conclude, shifting closer to the edge of the couch, closer to him. your eyes dot up at him, brushing his bottom lip, pulling it down with a thumb. “you distract me sometimes.” you’re tired…it was a long day of classes and it was the middle of the week. that has to be the reason, sukuna thinks.

by now, he knows that look.

you wanna fuck.

“Mmm,” you whine the moment he presses his lips to yours. your tongue immediately finding his as your nails course through his hair. tugging. “make me cum, ryo.”

he snorts in your mouth, rough hand pushing your shirt up, thumbing your bra before hooking his thumb under and lifting up. “should’ve just told me ya want your pussy wet—“

“it’s already wet,” you cut, “been wet all day.”

shiit, he groans into your lips, pushing his hand down, past your waistband. “fucking slut.” a breathy gasp slips out as he cups your wet sticky pussy. “fucking drenched, dirty brat.” his teeth sink into your bottom lip as you whine louder, unaware how sukuna’s neck is unbelievably red. why do you taste sweeter?

“Mmm lift your hips up,” he husks. you don’t get the chance to react when he’s suddenly yanking your pants and drenched panties off. “spread ‘em.”

your tongue pokes your bottom lip, opening your legs for your fuck buddy. his huge palms press against your thighs, grabbing fistfuls and licking his bottom lip as your sticky pussy comes into view. his pupils dilate as he watches your hole twitch. and your scent immediately hits his nose. “you’re gonna taste so good today.” he mutters to himself, but your brow lifts.

“what’s different about today?”

he leans forward, eyes flicking up as he exhales. is he drunk? his eyes roll back, cock throbbing in his pants and he inhales again—fuuck, you smell so much sweeter, “nothin.” his tongue shuts you right up as he licks a long wet lewd strip up your folds. your back immediately arches off the couch, nails digging into his scalp as his beefy arms lock around your thighs, moaning. your sweet honey floods his taste buds…this pussy has always hypnotized him, aroma consuming him and taste intoxicating him…but now that he thinks about…this small little difference in taste and scent, a bit sweeter, happened last month—

“ryo—haah ah mmh ya like my pussy?” your eyes flutter as you keep them on sukuna’s flushed face.

his eyes roll back, completely falling apart between your thighs as he groans a deep husky, “fuck yeah.”

your stomach burns hot at his voice, and voice pitching higher as his tongue delves inside your hole. “haaaah—your mouth is so good, baby—ngh been wet all day,” you confess in your pleasure. “was staring at your hands all day, ryo—they’re so big…l-like your di—ahh—“ fuck you’re talking a lot, sukuna groans, annoyed how worked up your voice is getting him.

his tongue laps and sucks, his salvia creating an even bigger mess. he pulls away, cheeks dusted a deep red as he spits directly onto your puffy clit, pupils dilating as he spreads the mess all over your swollen clit. “these hands,” he runs his calloused palm over your lower stomach. your pupils grow black with lust. pupils blown as you stare at the way his hand encompasses the entire surface. his crimson irises dilate once he sees the lust all over your face. “want them inside ya?”

you nod, immediately.

he doesn’t wait.

two long, thick fingers push past the initial tightness, feeling the gummy walls of your pussy hug his digits with delight. your jaw falls slack, drool slipping as he leans down to plant wet kisses along your lower stomach, forearms and biceps flexing as he pistons his fingers in n out. the squelching fills his ears as you moan above him.

“ngh! fuh ryo, feels good, kiss—kiss me down there—“ you push his head down until his lips connect with your clit again, sucking. rough. mean. teeth sinking just hard enough to make your eyes water and a choked cry slip your lips. “ryo,” you mewl with such lewd sweetness that this huge 6’5 hunk is practically moaning in response. “ry—my pussy—ahh gun —mmm c-close—gun cum—“

but sukuna has already lost all sanity with how good your slick tastes. his eyes roll back pushing you over the edge. “mmm fuck!” you cry, lashes wet as they flutter from the pleasure coursing out of you. his throat bops swallowing and lapping your sweet slick like it’s a drug — which it might as well be with the way his cock is throbbing in his boxers just from eating his fuck buddy’s sweet pussy. “taste like fucking honey,” he groans, cleaning you up like a dog. he pants, catching his breath as he climbs up to your lips like a starved animal. he smashes his lips against you, kissing your spit slicked lips with a loud groan. how do your lips taste sweet too?

“gonna be a good brat and let me fuck this tight pussy?” He grunts, unbuckling his belt and pushing his jeans down along with his boxers, freeing his painfully erect cock.

your tongues collide, dumb whine coming from the back of your throat, and hands running up and locking around his neck. “f’course.”

fucking you rough and fast on the couch as you babbled like a dumb slut, drunk on his cock, had him seeing stars. he was desperately trying to figure out how you're handling him with how uncharacteristically rough he’s being, but you haven’t told him to stop.

"ry—aa-haah!"

shit. he'd flipped you onto your stomach, grabbing your hips , ass in the air as he slams his thick throbbing cock in from behind. his rough palm is pressed into your lower back keeping you in that deep arch he loves, and hand cracking the nth spank to your sore ass. "feel good?"

"so good ryo—wanna cum again -cum-ngh haah please please-"

unbelievable.

and it’s not until he’s panting on the couch, your limp body resting across it, completely and utterly spent, does he realize just how rough he was being. his jaw tenses, as the fog clears up.

“hey…” his voice treads lightly, cautious as he turns on the couch, glancing at your resting form. your shirt covers your breasts after he finally came and let you lay back on the couch. but his spend leaks out of your abused hole, and your ass is still burning from his mean spanks. “hey…” he leans over you, hand brushing your waist. grounding. “you okay?”

he watches carefully as you turn on your side, eyes heavy as you blink up at him. “yeah…you okay?”

“you okay with how we fucked?”

you don’t blink, “yeah.”

yeah, somethings up. he was rough, even he knows that much. and you took it well. more than well, you were begging for me.

all of those should’ve been signs. the closeness, the slight sweetness spike in your slick and saliva. how unbelievably heavenly you smell, all the time. how you didn’t mind how rough he was. but the cherry on top was the party friday.

the frat is lit up like a damn fever dream. neon strips line the railings, glow paint smeared across walls and skin, bass from the dj bleeding through the floors as the pool outside shimmers under colored lights. it’s packed, but not suffocating. invite-only for once. people actually have room to breathe, but it was mainly because they didn’t want any complaints so early in the semester.

sukuna is sat back on the patio couch, shirtless, skin still damp from the heat, a thin sheen of sweat catching the lights every time he moves, tattoos flexing over his well defined muscles. gojo was loud beside him, geto half-listening while scrolling on his phone, a couple other guys scattered around with some girls mingling between them. but sukuna isn’t paying attention to any of it.

he has a drink in his hand, untouched. his eyes keep drifting. back to you. somewhere near the edge of the pool, laughing at something utahime is saying, glowing under the neon like it was made for you. your bikini hugged your tits so well he’d pop a boner if he stares too hard. the droplets run down your soft skin, as he sees you fix your necklace as you say something to your friend.

he clicks his tongue, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “you ever notice they act different sometimes?” he mutters, low enough that it doesn’t carry past the music.

nanami, sitting beside him in swim shorts, thick legs spread open for all to eye and an open button up putting his defined abs on full display, along with the sneaky patch of blonde hair peaking out of his waistband, doesn’t even look up from his phone. “that’s a very broad statement.”

sukuna exhales through his nose. “nah, like—” he pauses, frowning slightly, like he’s trying to piece a puzzle together when he doesn’t have all the pieces yet. “it’s not random.”

nanami studies him for a second, then follows his line of sight, and finds you immediately. is he starting to realize his feelings for you?— “not random how?”

sukuna tilts his head, “just… different. clingier. or—” he gestures vaguely with his drink. “more into it.”

nanami raises a brow. “into what.”

sukuna gives him a look like don’t be fucking stupid.

nanami hums, finally catching on, taking a slow sip. “you’re asking if there’s a pattern to women’s behavior.”

“i’m saying there is one,” sukuna mutters aggressively. “i just don’t know what the hell it is.”

“you know,” nanami says calmly, “they have cycles.”

there’s a beat. then sukuna leans back, jaw ticking slightly, still watching you. “yeah I fucking know that,” he mutters. “It’s annoying.”

nanami glances at him again, lost. “what is.”

sukuna doesn’t answer right away. just takes another sip, eyes narrowing faintly. “the way it’s not consistent.”

nanami huffs quietly, amused now . “if you’re starting to notice now then it is consistent.”

sukuna side-eyes him. nanami is no better than gojo or geto, he’s just more subtle about his innuendos. “I’m not noticing shit—“

nanami shrugs, setting his glass down. unaware that gojo and geto have agreed on teams.

“okay! water volleyball!” gojo’s voice cuts clean through the bass, already halfway to the pool as he grins like he’s been waiting for this all night. a cheer ripples through the patio. of course it does. a house full of athletes, half-naked, girls in bikinis, a competition handed to them on a silver platter? yeah, they’re moving before the rules are even explained.

geto stretches his arms above his head as he stands, “hey! the love of god,” he mutters, loud enough for the frat president t to hear him, “try not to break anyone’s teeth this time.”

gojo laughs, already hopping to his side of the pool because obviously he’s one of the captains. “no promises.”

sukuna’s already up, taking the second captain title and just like that — whatever train of thought he was stuck on snaps clean in half. gone. replaced with something sharper, more familiar. his shoulders roll once, loose, eyes narrowing as he sizes up the space, the people already splitting into sides. his team or gojo’s team. they’re always on opposite teams. it makes it more fun.

“don’t get in my way,” he tosses to gojo as he steps around to his end of the pool, his hand brushing his stomach as he crack his neck.

“you wish,” gojo shoots back.

people start gathering, some hanging back to watch, others eager, slipping into the water, calling out sides, laughing as they pick teams. a younger pledge scrambles to the middle, already trying to take control after geto shoves him in to the play referee, whistle in hand like this is some official match.

and of course, even as chaos takes over the yard. your eyes find him. instinctive, like something in you locks in and refuses to look anywhere else.

sukuna stands at the edge, skin still glistening under the neon, muscles flexing lazily as he stretches his arm over his head. his back, his shoulders, the deep v- line that has your eyes following down to the tuft of light hair peaking out the same one you always find yourself caressing during foreplay— it’s too much. it’s always too much, but tonight it sits heavier in your chest, lower in your stomach, something warm and insistent that doesn’t let up between your legs.

your clit throbs.

“wait—” utahime grabs your wrist, staring at you like you’ve lost your mind. “you hate this stuff.”

you don’t even look at her. “it’ll be fun,” you murmur, already pulling away. and then you’re moving. slipping from your seat on the edge of the pool and jumping in.

the water hits cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat that’s been building under it. you swim to sukuna’s side, breath catching slightly as you orient yourself to the chaos around you, because normally, usually, a crowded sweaty pool was something you’d avoid, but—he’s already looking at you. your thighs press together.

his eyes are not casual, not passing, he’s looking. his gaze drops first. slow and deliberate, catching the faint mark on your neck, the one he left last night, barely visible under the colored lights. his jaw ticks. then lower, just for a second, the way your body shifts in the water, the ripple of movement as you steady yourself, the rise and fall of your breasts threatening to spill out. the water calmly rocks underneath them. then his gaze shifts back to your face, and you’re still staring at him. you’re not even trying to hide it.

something about that makes his brow twitch.

because you’re not looking away. not when he meets your eyes. not when the noise around you spikes, not when someone splashes too close. your focus stays locked, heavy, almost… expectant.

it lingers a second too long. then—

“teams set!” the pledge yells, blowing the whistle way too aggressively. “first to ten— no cheap shots—“ he glances around before catching geto lounged on the other side of the pool, some girl already pressed against his arm. “OH! no punches or choking!”

“shut up and start it,” gojo calls from the other side, already grinning, bouncing lightly in the water.

sukuna doesn’t take his eyes off you for another beat. then he exhales through his nose, turning slightly, shoulders squaring as the ball is tossed into play and he’s in the pool.

the game starts rough. the second the ball is tossed, two guys are already lunging for it. water splashing high, bodies colliding mid-air before someone spikes it hard across the pool. girls moved out of the way, squealing as huge men fight. a chorus of shouts erupts from the sidelines, music still blasting behind it, neon lights flickers over wet skin and moving bodies.

gojo, the ever responsible fraternity president, grins like a man possessed on the other side. sukuna, the very responsible vice president, is barking like a mad man.

and of course, the competitive idiots fall into rhythm with each other. fast, aggressive, locked in, and every hit gets harder, a slightly more violent. every return is sharper and people start gathering closer to the edge, phones out, recording, yelling their names like it’s a real match instead of a drunk frat game.

“c’mon, kuna!” someone shouts.

“gojo! spike that shit!”

water slaps against tile. everything is moving fast, bodies move out of the way so they’re not hit by the aggressive spikes from the frat hosts. but they still refuse to leave the pool because it’s fun, messy, loud, and heated.

and then the ball comes your way. your eyes widen, barely able to think, so you just react. your hands come up, fingers pushing against it just right, and somehow, you’re sending it up in a clean arc, right to him.

sukuna moves instantly….he jumps, sculpted body cutting through the air, arm pulling back before he slams the ball down with violent force, sending it crashing into gojo’s side of the pool.

a winning point. a cheer explodes. and when he lands, water dripping down his shoulders, he glances at you, canines on display, as his deep voice cuts through the chaos to say, “good girl.” it’s low, automatic, and it slips out without thought, just like how he’d praise you when you’re alone, and his voice is raspy as he whispers it in your ear, cock usually deep in your guts as he gives you another mean thrust that you take with pride, pussy clamping when he bottoms.

something fast, hot, and dizzying rushes through you. your chest tightens, skin buzzing as your breath stutters for a second. your thighs press together instinctively under the water, pulse kicking up in a way that feels almost overwhelming. and from that moment on, you stick to him. you try to chase the ball for him, pushing it back into his reach every chance you get, doing your best to avoid the large men playing the game. but your focus narrows, locked in on your hot fuck buddy like nothing else exists. every movement feels sharper, more urgent, your body reacting before your brain can catch up.

on the sidelines, people notice. how can they not? most of the girls “playing” cling to the perimeter. and then there’s you, being an idiot, but a very hot one, throwing yourself in the middle. your bikini clings tight from the water, fabric hugging every curve, shifting every time you jump or twist. a few guys on the edge of the pool don’t even bother pretending they’re watching the game anymore. their eyes track you instead, murmurs passing between them. someone whistles when you jump to set the ball, breasts bouncing freely in the flimsy bikini top, your nipples hard underneath as water cascades like some playboy ad.

but sukuna, is too locked into the game to notice.

the first round ends with his team winning, and the second starts almost immediately, louder than before. people are picking sides now, chanting, recording, some still dancing on the grass behind them, focused on the dj, drinks sloshing as the party refuses to slow down around the chaos of the pool’s game.

you’re still right there again when it starts. you doubt you’re even playing anymore, but you wanted to see him, watch him jump high and spike the ball. watch the ink on his back ripple with his muscles. the same defined lines that you caress at night, and hug—

your attention is so narrowed, that you don’t even notice the guy at first. bodies are moving like a blur that you don’t focus on another moving behind you. until it’s too near, too familiar for someone you don’t know. then, a hand brushes your bare side under the water, lingering just a second too long making your blood run cold.

your eyes snap wide. “what the fuck!” you twist instantly, shoving him off hard, water splashing between you as your stomach turns. only a few people notice, the rest too consumed by the game until you’re moving straight towards a certain captain.

“THAT’S A FUCKING FOUL GOJO—what the—“

your arms wrap around him from behind without hesitation, pressing into him, chest flush against his back as you cling to one familiar form. tight, and instinctive.

it catches him off guard, just for a second. his body tenses slightly under your grip. his muscular arms lift, head turning halfway to see, “who the fuck—“ grabbed him in the middle of game! but then he sees you. and his eyes glance down at your familiar hands holding his chest. your name slips out of his lips, confused what you’re doing, but then the ball’s already back in play. and somehow he keeps going.

even with you wrapped around him, weight clinging to his back, he still moves, still blocks, still lands a hit that sends the ball flying back over the net. it’s messy now, uneven, but he’s too competitive to stop, jaw tight, focus split but still sharp. water splashes everywhere. people are yelling. gojo laughs from the other side. “what the hell is that— you got a handicap now?”

sukuna clicks his tongue, annoyed, shifting slightly to keep his balance with you still latched onto him. you don’t let go. not once. “you drunk?” he tries to talk to you mid-game.

“yeah,” you mutter over the music. but as more people fill the pool, and the third round feels much more chaotic, sukuna begins to notice. your grip tightens every time someone gets too close, every time someone accidentally touches you, every time your head spins just a little from the alcohol and the heat and everything. your cheek presses against his back, breath uneven, body still buzzing in a way you don’t fully understand, other than the fact that you can feel how hot it is between your legs. he smells so good…

the game drags on— until finally— gojo’s team takes the last point. a loud cheer erupts from his side, people splashing into the pool, celebrating, phones still up capturing everything.“told you,” gojo grins, pushing his wet snowy hair back, muscles flexing for the cameras as he sticks his tongue out.

sukuna exhales sharply through his nose, annoyed, shoulders tense— he doesn’t shake you off. but unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance.

you’re suddenly ripped away.

“wha—! what the fuck!” you yelp as a pair of hands grab you from underneath, a drunk junior dunking under the water before popping up with you lifted high onto his shoulders. just for the crowd to erupt.

“OH SHIT— chicken fight!”

“LET’S GO!”

“get her, get her!” other guys in the pool dunk under and lift a few laughing girls up. but you’re not one of them. your thighs clamp instinctively around the stranger’s head just to keep from slipping, heart racing, balance completely shot as water drips down your legs and chest. your hands fly to his hair, trying to steady yourself, panic flashing across your face. you didn’t agree to this. your eyes lock with sukuna immediately. wide. confused. he’s not your boyfriend— but he’s still…

something in him snaps. he straightens, fast. too fast. the playful edge from seconds ago gone completely, replaced with something sharp and violent, jaw tightening as his eyes drag over the way the guy’s hands are gripping your thighs— and the whistles from the crowd don’t help, especially when your hand reaches to adjust the way your bikini top had shifted.

“damn!”

sukuna’s fist curls. “get your fucking hands off her,” he bites out, already moving forward through the water, splashing hard as he closes the distance.

the guy just laughs, drunk, clueless and not listening. “relax, man, it’s just a chicken fight. ever heard of those?”

he doesn’t get to finish. sukuna’s already pulling his arm back, when you squeak.

“wait—!” you gasp, trying to shift your weight, panic spiking as the situation spirals way too fast—but before anything can land another pair of bodies crash into you. a second drunk chicken fight slams into your side, bodies colliding, completely losing balance. and then everything goes under. water rushes over your head in a blur of limbs and noise, the guy beneath you losing his footing as you both go down. you barely have time to register it before a hand grabs you. hard.

sukuna’s arm wraps tight around your waist, yanking you up and out of the water in one sharp motion. you cough, sputtering slightly, fingers clutching onto him as he steadies you against his side. he doesn’t even look at you at first. he’s glaring past you.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?!” he snaps, voice low and dangerous, water dripping from his hair as he stares down the guy who just broke the surface, coughing. “you fucking grab girls without permission and I’m fucking snapping your arm in half!”

the junior lifts his hands, half-laughing, half-defensive. “yo, chill— it’s just a game—”

“i said don’t touch her,” sukuna cuts in, sharper this time, stepping forward like he’s ready to swing anyway.

the energy shifts instantly. people nearby start stepping in, hands coming up.

“aye, chill, chill—” one tries to come between them. sukuna doesn’t even notice that you’d managed to slip from his grip, still coughing as you swim to the steps of the pool, heart pounding as utahime, having seen the entire interaction helps you out.

“you okay?” she sits in front of you on the edge handing you water.

you nod, chugging half the bottle, before breathing again, “swallowed like…” you gag, “a disgusting amount of that pool water.” utahime cringes as she glances at the pool. the interaction growing even more heated, as a crowd watches sukuna curse out the junior.

“anyone else fucking grab a girl without her permission is getting fucking banned from this frat permanently!” sukuna shouts. murmurs break out across the crowd, a few glance towards you, as utahime notices, but you’re too busy washing your mouth out to care.

gojo’s aloof attitude steps in after coming back with a sweet juice in hand. “okay, okay, we’re clear on consent aren’t we guys?”

people hum, cheering for the games to continue. but then…

“didn’t know she was your girlfriend.”

it lands this time, cutting through the noise and sticking just long enough for a few whistles and low laughs to ripple through the crowd. the kind of comment meant to poke, to stir, to see what the hot headed vp will do with it. but what’s worse is that a majority of the crowd has no clue what your relationship is with sukuna. aside from the frat members.

sukuna doesn’t even look at him, and he doesn’t correct it. it’s not because he wants to claim you. not because it’s true. but because it’s annoying—because explaining it, denying it, entertaining it at all feels like more effort than it’s worth. he’s your fuck buddy, he knows that, you know that, and thats all. his jaw tightens once, eyes already elsewhere, done with the conversation before it can grow legs because then he’ll really break his fucking arm.

the party moves on like it always does. music swells back up, as gojo and geto thank the heavens that sukuna was in a good mood before the argument that he wasn’t tempered to continue the fight. luckily the drinks are raised again. gojo’s already laughing, pulling attention away, and just like that the moment dissolves into noise.

sukuna’s focus shifts and lands on you.

you’re still on the edge of the pool, legs dangling in the water, skin slick and glowing under the neon lights. your bikini clings tighter now, nipples pebbled under your soaked top, every curve on display, highlighted by the shadows of the lights above. it makes it impossible not to look. droplets trail down your thighs, catching the light as you tilt your head back slightly, still rinsing your mouth out, brows furrowed in clear disgust.

utahime sits in front of you, just as eye-catching to the hungry men around, her own bikini hugging her frame, water beading along her collarbones as she watches you with a mix of concern and amusement.

and people are staring. not subtle glances—staring like you’re something to watch. something to linger on. like the game earlier just shifted into something else entirely and now you’re part of it without agreeing. no wonder you hate these parties.

it irritates him, fast.

sukuna clicks his tongue under his breath and pushes forward through the water, tall enough that even standing in the pool, he closes the height between you easily. the neon catches on his skin too. his broad shoulders still damp, muscles flexing as he moves, water sliding down his torso in slow lines. he’s not unaware of the way people look at him either—girls nearby pausing mid-conversation, eyes dragging over him openly—but he doesn’t care. not right now. not when he reaches you.

his hand comes up without hesitation, settling on your exposed thigh where it hangs over the edge of the pool. his palm is warm even against your wet skin, fingers spreading slightly, firm enough to ground, possessive. the contact is immediate. deliberate.

the shift is noticeable. a couple of those lingering stares drop off instantly. only then does he look at you. his gaze flicks over your face, still a little flushed, still catching your breath, before settling. his gaze is steady, assessing the way your glossy lips part with an exhale after chugging an entire bottle of watet.

“you good?” he asks, voice lower now, rougher around the edges from the leftover tension. his thumb moves slightly against your skin without thinking, a small, absent motion that doesn’t match the sharpness in his expression.

utahime has to hold back an eye roll, especially when his gaze flicks over your face, then your lips. unbelievable. what’s with him? what’s stopping him from asking you out if he gets so hot headed and possessive—ughhh…utahime holds back her anger, because she was pissed when someone suddenly grabbed you and then had you dunked in the water. why does sukuna have to be so fucking weird though?! she internally curses out sukuan for being the person that always protects her best friend, but acts like a complete jerk another second.

“how much sweat did you drink?” sukuna asks, tone laced with amusement .

your eyes snap, face grimacing, “shut the fuck—up,” you gag again, hand coming up to your mouth just for utahime to snort and sukuna to bark with laughter.

“did i tell ya why we had to drain the pool last year—“ sukuna starts, utahime’s eyes widen.

“oh my god I remember!”

your face pales, nails digging into sukuna’s shoulder while the other still covers your mouth. “don’t you dare tell me.”

sukuna grimaces with an amused expression remembering what happened at last years pool party. but distracting you has somehow managed to isolate everything else around him and have his sole focus on the way you wipe your mouth with a napkin utahime — and now nanami and geto at her side — comes back with, and the way your fingers shift from his shoulder to his forearm resting across your damp lap. and the conversation flows afterwards.

gojo was still on the dance floor, completely in his own world, some girl is pressed to his side as neon lights strobe over him laughing, loud, untouchable in the way he always is. meanwhile, the edge of the pool has settled into something more intimate and funny. the conversations around overlap as you all joke loudly and throwing around slight bickering, cooling off from the chaos, but still very much alive.

and with all that, you hadn’t left. even after everything, you’re still sitting where you are, leg still dipped in the water, skin dewy under the lights, bikini keeping your pretty tits in view for a certain salmon haired man. your hair is slightly damp, pushed back from your face, exposing the curve of your neck—the faint mark sukuna left the night before still visible if someone looks close enough. and you smell heavenly. fuck if you’re alone, he’d bury his nose closer to your breasts to smell the sweat clinging.

but people are looking. they always are now.

they just don’t linger as long anymore. not with him there. sukuna leans into the edge of the pool, upper body braced beside you, his arm draped behind your back like it naturally falls there. his other hand rests lazily against your thigh, fingers tapping absently against your skin as he takes a sip from his beer. his shoulders are broad, still slick with water, veins visible along his arms as they flex with every small movement.

he looks just as much of a problem as ever. and the attention doesn’t stop, girls nearby still steal glances, whispers, watching the way he’s positioned so close to you, the way his hand hasn’t moved from your leg once. but what’s more interesting, is that you don’t move either.

you don’t push him off, don’t shift away. if anything, you lean just slightly into his space, your fingers absentmindedly tracing along his forearm where it rests across your lap, like it’s second nature. you like it there.

and sukuna notices. of course he does, with how touchy and clingy you’ve been these past few days. yes, he’s shocked you haven’t left, or haven’t asked him to go upstairs with you. instead you’re being so uncharacteristically attached.

his gaze flicks down for a second, watching the way your fingers move against his skin, something unreadable passing through his expression before he looks away again, taking another sip like it didn’t just register. his stomach churns when you lean forward slapping nanami’s stretched out hand after he said something funny.

“why the fuck are you guys sitting here?” gojo’s voice cuts in suddenly, dripping with disbelief as he approaches, hair damp, grin lazy. he looks down at your little group, then at the pool like it personally offended him. “this is embarrassing.”

utahime snorts. “she almost drowned, idiot.”

“she’s alive,” gojo shrugs immediately, already grabbing a drink from someone nearby. “get in the hot tub. it’s waaaay better!”

a couple girls attached to him nod eagerly, already following his lead as he starts heading that way without waiting for an answer. utahime glances at you. “you wanna stay out or…?”

you don’t even hesitate as you hum, soft. “yeah, why not.”

sukuna catches it.

the group starts moving, the energy shifting with them as they make their way toward the hot tub. somewhere along the path, nanami and utahime get pulled into another conversation, stopping off to the side, leaving you and sukuna to keep going without them. your skin burns as sukuna keeps a subtle hand in your lower back, biting his lip when you reach the hot tub and you step in front of him. his gaze drops to the movement of your ass, your bikini was so skimpy it’s definitely clinging on to your pussy lips too. fuck,

by the time you step into the hot tub, the heat hits instantly. you sigh without meaning to, tension melting from your shoulders as the warmth wraps around you, soaking into your skin. your body relaxes almost immediately, the contrast from the cooler pool making everything feel heavier, slower.

sukuna steps in right after you. and immediately shoves two guys aside with a sharp nudge of his shoulder. “move.”

they do quickly without argument, clearly frat members. he settles in beside you, close again, like earlier, like he didn’t just create that space for you.

gojo drops in for half a second, splashing water everywhere before grimacing. “it’s too hot,” he complains, already climbing back out. “i need another drink.”

and just like that, he’s gone again. leaving you, sukuna, and the rest of the group laughing, talking. the conversation easy as the night keeps rolling around you. especially when geto comes back with some girls and red solo cups for beer pong.

“don’t spill any in the hot tub!” sukuna barks as the girls organize the cups in place on the edge. geto slides into the pool with the ping pong balls.

“shh shh i know,” he zips his friend up as he takes aim. and as the party is brought back to the hot tub, you’re all swept up again. and your eyes are following every movement of your friend beside you. the way he’s shouting and laughing with his frat brothers, the conversations turning to fog when sukuna flexes his large bicep, the ink that wraps around it highlights how big they are. you can’t even recall the context of this sudden flex off, but you’re not complaining.

you watch his throat bop as he throws back another cup of beer, standing beside geto. your eyes trail over his sculpted chest. you suck in your bottom lip as sukuna falls back beside you. his arm draped behind you along the edge of the hot tub, barking another laugh at some crap geto is spewing, completely distracted.

“I swear TO GOD, you told me to go for that dive!” geto throws his hands up, flabbergasted.

“nah nah nah—“ sukuna shouts over, shaking his head with an amused expression, “I told you—“

“nah—satoru!!” geto looks over his shoulder, waving down the president. “SATORU!”

gojo’s head whips around. however, the debate is the furthest thing from your mind, honestly you can’t even understand what these idiots are talking about. but— there’s one idiot that smells heavenly.

sukuna distracted, doesn’t notice how much closer you’re pressed to him, how your lashes flutter at the mix of cologne and chlorine flooding your nose, and dizzying your mind. he’s so—uh..when men— your brain is short circuiting. literally. mind so consumed by how big and strong this man beside is, that all you can think about is how he protected you. he pulled you out of the water. snapped at that guy…for you.

you’re not normally this moved. but it was the series of events that unfolded, all in the last few hours, that has you doing what you do next.

“please! you know i did not agree to that!” geto tsks, pointing his finger at gojo who’s laughing, sitting at the edge of the hot tub, legs in. and the two — along with the rest of the group involved in the debate — are distracted, and unaware of the fact that the pretty girl that sukuna almost started a fight over, is slipping her pretty hand inside his swim shorts.

sukuna tenses. breath hitching.

his eyes snap to you, stomach clenching. “what’re you—“ he chokes when you squeeze his thick base without warning. your cheek casually presses against his shoulder, wetting your bottom lip. your leg is tucked against his side, as the other swings over his knee, pretty tits squished against his arm. your wrist rolls, stroking his flaccid cock alive.

“ryo…” you speak low enough so that only sukuna can hear. “was jus’ thinking about you.” his jaw tenses, hand clenching at the edge of the tub, leaning his head down.

“you’re the one that doesn’t like this shit,” he husks, throat bopping as you bat your lashes up at him, bitting your lip as you give his cock another squeeze, pushing your wet tits against his arm. “there’s people—“

“then be normal, ryo,” you say, all while nuzzling him like a clingy g— “just wanted to feel how big you are.”

his heads tips back, what’re you even saying?

you keep your cheek pressed against his shoulder, lip tucked between your teeth as you stroke the vp’s fat throbbing cock in the middle of a party and in a hot tub full of his close frat friends.

it wasn’t difficult for his dick to fully harden within seconds of your hand making contact. you let out a soft exhale, pressing your practically naked body against him like you could get any closer than you already are. but to make matters worse, he was so unbelievably turned on that you were touching him in public! fuuck, his stomach flexes, biting back a groan when your thumb swipes his bulbous tip, the water made it difficult for you to keep a fast pace stroke, but his skin was still prickling with heat.

“ryo, is this okay?” you softly pant in his ear, a hum like moan escapes your lips just by the way he exhales through his nose, turning his head to you, aroma engulfing you.

to anyone else it just looked like you were having a private conversation with each other. the hot tub and pool, a few feet away, booming with chaos, no one was paying attention to you guys. but even with all that information, sukuna — who spreads his legs further apart in the water, biting his lip when you kiss his neck now, sucking a light bruise on his flushed skin — knows that you’d never do this. you get touchy when you’re drunk, whispering dirty shit in his ear. but you’ve only had a couple drinks to make you tipsy enough to enjoy the party and remember, not black out drunk to jerk him off in public.

“yeah—it’s okay,” his head drops forward, hot red flush crawling up his neck and stinging his cheeks as he nudges your head with his.

“yeah?” you repeat with a coo.

he bites back a pathetic groan, arm sliding to your waist under the water, gripping your flesh like his life depends on it. you’re intoxicating.

“yeah baby.”

a flush of heat runs between your legs at his deep bedroom voice. sukuna is so hot, he’s so hot, so pretty, so sexy! you squeal internally, leaning closer to press your lips against his sharp jaw, whining just low enough for him to hear. your wrist twists down his cock. you hadn’t even full realized that you’d taken him out of his swim trucks, to possessed to care as his fingers dig into your waist, while the other balls into a fist against the tube’s edge.

“are you close, ryo? is your big cock gonna cum?”

unbelievable.

sukuna’s jaw tenses, abs tightening just by your voice. you’ve been hanging up on how big he is. how big his hands are. how big his dick is — scratch that, you’re using the word cock now. yeah he’s gonna fuckin’ cum soon if you keep talkin’ like that.

“there’s so many people around ry,” you shy quietly, “you don’t think they know I’m playing with you?” your slightly tipsy eyes bat up at him, pupils completely dilated. his eyes briefly sweep around him, the alarms flashing in his mind don’t seem to phase him as he drops his lips down to brush yours.

“what if they are aware?” he husks, lidded eyes boring into yours. “does that make y’r pussy wet?” he wets his lip, thighs flexing when you give his cock a squeeze as he speaks. “ya like knowing that there’s eyes everywhere…watching your slutty self jerk me off.”

your brain short circuits. face burning hot.

“I’m not a slut,” you whisper, just as you’re practically straddling his thigh now, with the way you’re inching closer to him every second. his hand slides from your waist to your ass, gripping the flesh as he pulls it apart letting you feel the warm tube water touch your heated pussy.

“you’re gettin on top of me—“

“to protect your dignity,” you attempt a frown, but your eyes keep flicking to his lips, brushing your lips against them again, just for him to pull back, again.

“didn’t take you as someone so generous,” he quips, hips angling up, subtly telling you to keep stroking him, even if it’s starting to feel like edging. “but,” he bites back another groan, “but to me, ya just look like another slut that wants to get her little pussy stuffed.”

you blink. once.

sukuna can see the lust burst behind your eyes. your thighs clamp around his beefy thigh, your hand squeezing his tip, and your lips parting. “is that so bad?”

ah fuck.

“you can’t say those words to a man,” sukuna’s rasps.

you pout, pressing your wet breasts against his chest, trapping his cock between your bodies. your hot breath fans against his face, scent invading his mind, and your lips brush against his, this time licking his bottom lip. once. twice. your tongue strokes his bottom lip, waiting for him to invite you in, whining a little louder when he refuses. “ryo.”

his large palms grip your ass. your flimsy bikini could easily be pulled to the side, exposing you just like him. your cheeks flush, arching even more, your arms are tossed around his broad shoulder, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape, desperate. needy. “I’ve been holding myself back ryo,” you quietly speak, unaware how much like déjà vu this feels. memories of last month flashing in his mind about those exact words coming from your lips as you climbed into his lap in the middle of a party. “you have to take care of it.”

“i have too?” he quips with a sharp edge in his tone.

your flush with embarrassment, lips parting as your lashes flutter shut, “please…please can you take care of it.”

unbelievable.

his cock twitches violently against your stomach. his muscular thigh flexes under your pussy making your lips part.

as you and sukuna speak in hushed whispers. a good group of people have take notice of the awkward shifting in the hot tub and the unrecognizable look on sukuna’s face. but specifically the girl that the sukuna let attach herself to him during a violently competitive water volleyball match and almost pick a fight with. he’s smirking as she whispers in his ear, her lips even pressing his lobe, making the intimidating vice president blush?!

“her tits are all over him,” one whispers, taking a sip as they watch from a distance, both sitting at the pools edge watching the events unfold a few feet’s away in the hot tub. it’s not obvious unless you’re staring as hard as these guys, or if you’re a certain man laughing as you stand up at the edge of the tub, face dropping for a millisecond when you catch your vice president getting off by a hot girl.

fucking animals, geto shakes his head, eyes flicking to gojo, easily communicating with him about you know.

gojo’s brows pinch glancing over from his seat at the edge of the tub, to— “oh shit!”

geto elbows him. “idiot!”

gojo’s hands fly to his mouth, laughing hysterically as he stares at the way his short tempered friend is blushing like crazy, and making it obvious to anyone that he’s getting his dick touched right now. “do they know what they’re doing?” gojo speaks in hushed whispers.

“obviously,” geto sits beside gojo, the tub water doesn’t seem to be appealing anymore. and yet there’s still a few people on the sides laughing, too drunk to notice.

“fucking pervs,” gojo snickers.

a beat passes.

then gojo turns, eyes wide when he sees geto staring blankly at him. “what?”

“you’re worse!” geto slaps him upside the head. gojo gasps in shock. “I can’t even remember how many times you fucked someone in here and in the pool—“

“hey,” gojo frowns, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. “that was…b-because they were hot.”

geto scoffs, “you weren’t even subtle about them, everybody knew you were fucking them. YOU’RE the biggest perv.”

gojo nods, “yeah…”

your whine flows directly into sukuna’s ear, lips coming back to his. “why won’t you kiss me?” you quietly demand.

his dimples press into his cheeks as he bites back a smirk. “we’re jus’ talking,” he says your name, but in that deep way he does when he’s stuffing you with his cock…which he’s not.

you sit up closer, sliding higher up his thigh, knee rubbing harshly against his cock — “ah!” you squeal suddenly straddling his lap instead of his thigh. his red irises sink into yours, watching the way your glossy lips part glancing at the surface of the hot tub trying to make out how close his cock is to where you need him. “you’re hard ryo.”

“and?”

your eyes flick up to him, pretty brows pressing together, “and we’re not jus’ talking—“

“y’know—“ he suddenly chokes.

you’ve moved your bikini to the side, and pushed his cock down, fully sitting on his cock and sliding across it, hips shaking, stimulating your needy clit.

your name cuts through the air, his grip moves to grab your hips, trying to keep you still, but his body betrays him as he bucks against you. “fuck, woman.”

your lips press against sukuna, whining like a desperate slut when he finally kisses you back. and this was why he didn’t want to entertain you this quickly. the sweet taste of your lips immediately sends a rush of heat down to his cock, his arm wraps around your back, holding the back of your head as the other grips your ass, groaning as your lips smack in wet hungry kisses. your tongues collide, spit collecting in your mouth as he groans in response.

sukuna has to be responsible. he has too. but you’re such a fucking slut— touching his cock, stroking him in public, rubbing your body (his biggest weakness) against him like you’re alone together. and now you’re humping his cock like you can feel something with the water’s friction.

all of it was a factor, and for some unexplainable reason, all the dots seemed to have connected at this exact moment—like a huge light bulb going off in his head.

“shit.”

you hum at the way his deep voice sends a warm heat blooming in your stomach. “are you turned on, ryo?” your lips purse, kissing his, unaware of the sudden realization he’s come too. “keep kissing me.”

your fingers thread through his short locks, gripping him as you keep his lips moving yours.

but sukuna’s palm splays across your spine, groaning at the way you don’t stop to catch your breath. then his grip tightens. his mouth drags slower this time, more deliberate. he’s testing something, and the way you react—how quick you melt back into him, how your nails press into his shoulders like you’re holding on and the pitched whine that leaves your lips when he tries to pull away.

“how bad d’you need me?” he murmurs, voice low, rough, right against your pretty lips.

you don’t hesitate. “so bad,” you breathe, almost frustrated, because it’s obvious.

his eyes flick over your face, searching, calculating—then narrowing slightly. “yeah?” he hums, thumb pressing into your waist, grounding you as you shift again, his cock snug between your folds. “why,” he asks, tone not soft or gentle, but testing.

you shake your head slightly, breath catching, fingers tightening on him. “because— i just—” you exhale sharply, frustrated, needy, “i just want you to touch me.”

that’s all he needs. a quiet, almost amused exhale leaves him, something darker settling behind his eyes now. nanami’s little comment about “noticing now” makes his stomach churn uncomfortably. it doesn’t mean anything that you’ve had this friend with benefits deal long enough for him to start noticing a pattern every month. especially when this part of the cycle comes around and you’re practically begging him to just touch you. he highly doubts that you even notice it.

“been like this all night,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, but his grip doesn’t loosen. if anything, it gets firmer. “can’t keep your hands off me, huh?”

you don’t even deny it. you just pull him back in. and this time he lets you. let’s you kiss him like it’s your last time, let’s you tug his hair like he belongs to you. let’s you pull away… you’re panting at him through glossy, lidded eyes.

and then sukuna notices.

the shift.

your breathing breaks. shallow and uneven. you can’t quite catch it as your lips part, soft, glossy, letting out these higher, breathier sounds that you’re not even trying to hold back anymore. it’s quieter than the music, but he hears it. feels it.

his grip tightens instinctively.

your hips are moving without any rhythm now. they’re slow, needy, desperate. your body chasing something it can’t reach fast enough. your fingers press into his lower stomach, clutching there like you need something solid to hold onto, your head tipping forward, lashes fluttering like a fucking angel. and your mouth falls open. a soft, pitched sound slips out of you—one you don’t even seem aware of—and it’s enough to make something dark flicker across his expression.

“…fuck,” he mutters under his breath, eyes locked on your face now, watching every little change his cock twitching uncontrollably.

your brows pinch, then your body tenses, then softens, like a wave hitting and pulling back all at once. your grip on him tightens, thighs pressing in, grounding yourself on his cock without even thinking about it.

and he doesn’t move. doesn’t interrupt it. he just watches. because now he knows. and all he can think is how unbelievably hot you look in his eyes—like something wired wrong in his brain just flipped on. women that are ovulating mean they’re more likely to get pregnant. fuck. why is his brain latching onto that part? you’re his fuck buddy. this is simple. it is simple. it’s perfectly reasonable—completely normal, even—for him to get turned on thinking about how much you cling to him, how much you crave him, how much you need him, how your body reacts to him like this. that doesn’t mean he wants to get you—

absolutely the fuck not.

but still…fucking women. you’re insane. his brain is short circuiting while you’re coming undone on his lap, in a hot tub, in the middle of a packed party.

and the way you’re panting, your breasts pushed together as you keep a hand on his lower abs, pussy spasming as your orgasm rocks through you, has something low and satisfied settling in your fuck buddy’s chest. his hand slides up your back again, slower this time, more deliberate.

“yeah…” he murmurs, almost to himself, thumb pressing lightly into your side as your breathing tries to steady. “that’s what i thought.”

his lips ghost over you.

then he feels it…the eyes.

his dark gaze flicks up. meeting the dilated blue and black ones, along with the others in the crowd. they all saw, didn’t they. witnessed something that had his jaw tightening and his pupils returning to their size.

“fuck me,” you pant quietly, arms lazily coming back to his shoulders coming down from your climax. you kiss him deeply, unaware of the mess you’re causing inside his brain. “I’ve heard people say hot tub’s make you orgasm better,” you lick his tongue, “because of the hot water.”

his grip tightens around you, eyes open and staring past you at the people eyeing the arch in your back as you make out with him like you didn’t just hump yourself to an orgasm in public.

“do you wanna cum too ryo?” your mischievous smile would’ve made any man buckle, but sukuna wasn’t any man. and he sure as shit isn’t a fucking cuck.

“no.”

his sudden tone shift had you pulling back, wet hand touching his damp cheek. sukuna’s thick brows were pulled tightly, clearly angry, at what? you’re not sure. but you’re too lax to think much of it as you squish his cheeks between your fingers. his tatted arm possessively hugged you, eyes briefly leaving the not so subtle audience behind you, to meet your glass eyes.

“you mad I came before you?” you tease, head tilting in mockery. cute. “it’s okay, I’ll make ya cum,” you whisper, smile gracing those sinful lips of yours. “I’ll let you choose too…”

fuck, you’re insane.

“…my hands…my lips….or my tight, pretty pussy….”

sukuna snorts, eyes meeting yours. “unbiased much.”

you shrug biting your lip, batting your pretty lashes at him. “you always call it that. I’m just using your vocabulary, mister suh…ku…nuh.”

that was his final straw, because in a blink of an eye, sukuna’s tucking himself and pushing off the tub’s seat, standing up. water cascades down the sharp planes of his abs, his swim trunks clinging low on his hips—leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

and people notice.

of course they do.

your jaw drops for half a second, eyes going wide before heat floods your face so fast it burns. you shoot up right after him, fist clenching at your side, brows pinching tight. “what’re you doing?”

“we’re going upstairs,” he says simply, like there aren’t a million eyes on him, more specifically on his thick bulge. girls are openly staring now, not even trying to hide it as their gazes drag over him, over the obvious outline pressing against his trunks.

your stomach twists. uncomfortable. sharp. ugly. you don’t name it. you won’t name it because it’s stupid. you have no claim, no say, no right to feel any type of way about who looks at him or how they look at it. but still, your jaw tightens because the way they’re staring is making your blood boil and it’s like they’re in on something they’re not supposed to be. they’re looking at something that has nothing to do with them and everything to do with you. just you.

your eyes flick back to him, to the way the water trails down his body, down the dark wet hairs of his happy trail. the way he stands there like he doesn’t give a single fuck about the attention. and it only makes it worse. he looks like he’s been carved out of stone. something untouchable. and everyone’s fucking touching him with their eyes.

your lips press into a thin line, pulse uneven, heat sitting low in your stomach now for an entirely different reason as you step closer to him without even realizing it, hand settling on his stomach blocking the view from the onlookers. your fingers twitch. and you hate…hate how much it bothers you.

“you’re hard,” you huff, pushing him to step out of the tub, heart beating uncontrollably.

sukuna snorts, leaning down, “yeah no shit.”

“people are staring,” you grit.

your pulse stops. the air shifting around you, then you feel it. sukuna’s eyes bore into you, as his palm cups the side of your neck. your lips part in confusion when his gruff voice cuts.

“they’ve been staring.” the muscles on his jaw flex, pupils moving over your face as his gaze drops to your body. “they all…” his words trail off. he can’t say it…he can’t tell you they all fucking saw you cum, or the way your entire form looked like something straight out of every guys wet fantasy. all because of that unspoken tug that twists in his chest as you look up at him.

his head tips back in defeat.

unaware of the turmoil, you continue pushing him back, glancing briefly over your shoulder to see a few eyes not on the party but staring at sukuna.

“can you walk faster,” you mutter.

sukuna suddenly grabs your wrist after another push backwards, almost making him trip. his grip is firm and fast, yanking you back toward him before you can take another step, your body colliding lightly into his chest. water still drips from both of you, heat clashing with the cool night air as he steadies himself, jaw tightening for a second.

“watch it,” he mutters, low, though there’s no real bite to it. if anything, there’s something else there. his hand doesn’t leave your wrist. instead, it slides up, fingers curling tighter as he pulls you closer. closer. until there’s barely any space left between you. you barely get a word out before he leans down and kisses you.

hard.

it’s sudden. messy. all teeth and heat, like he’s cutting off whatever rush of thoughts were building in your head. your hands come up instinctively, gripping into his shoulders as he angles you just right, one hand now firm at your waist to keep you there. your lips part, immediately tasting his skilled tongue.

and around you, the party doesn’t stop. it never does when it’s grown this chaotic. but there are pockets, small ones, where people notice. gojo, still leaning back against the hot tub’s edge, lets out a low laugh. “zero awareness,” he mutters, clearly entertained. geto just shakes his head, amused, watching the scene unfold like it’s expected. neither of them have the energy tonight to call their friend out, but they’ll be sure to give him shit tomorrow.

but off to the side, a couple girls lean into each other, whispering behind their solo cups, eyes flicking between sukuna and the very obvious situation he’s not bothering to hide. further back, a few of the same guys from earlier in the pool linger, their stares a little too heavy, a little too interested, but sukuna doesn’t register it.

he’s too focused on you. too focused on the way you kiss him back just as hard. how you’re still letting out those fucking whines and moans into his hot mouth. too focused on how quickly you fold into him like he’s the oxygen keeping you alive. to him, this urgency and impatience, just reads as one thing. you want him so bad.

he pulls back just enough to breathe, lips still brushing yours, his gaze dropping to your face, slightly dazed, flushed, and lips parted from the kiss.

“…yeah,” he exhales, almost amused, thumb pressing into your waist like he’s grounding himself. “you taste so good.”

your fingers tighten around his bicep, the other around his shoulder, breath uneven as you blink up at him, still catching up.

“can we—” you swallow, then try again, quieter but more urgent, “can we go upstairs now?”

there’s a beat. then his hand slides down to yours again, grip tightening as he turns, already moving toward the house without another word—pulling you with him. he pushes straight through the noise that follows inside, the lights, the bodies still dancing in the kitchen like nothing. all the way up to his room, and immediately kicking the door shut.

and within a blink of an eye, your tongue is lolling out as sukuna sits behind you, fingers digging into your ass and face buried from behind.

“fuh—fuck yeah,” you drawl, lips wet at the feel of sukuna’s tongue dragging inside your pussy, lapping up and toying with your rim before going back to suck your slick juices. “c’mon ry, haah…” you’re pushing his head back, so you can sit up. you move to tug his wet trunks off, crawling onto his lap once he discards them. unbothered by the tick in his jaw at your stubbornness, because in seconds, your head is tossed back, and your back is arching as you sink down on the nine thick fat inches. “a….ah—“

your lashes flutter, eyes rolling back at the unbelievable stretch. your pussy swallowing every inch like the slut he loves.

“there ya go,” he praises, fingers digging into your ass as you stare at his lips. his sharp teeth sink into his bottom lip as your slick lubricates his cock. your pussy a generous fountain as you roll your hips, letting his cock stuff deep inside you. “take this fuckin’ cock like a good bitch.”

“ry…haah…” you’re moaning in choked gasps, drool peaking at the corner of your lips as you finally sit back on his thighs.

the man’s pupils dilate as you stroke your lower stomach, feeling the bulge as you bat your lashes up at him. “you’re inside me now, ryo.”

fuck you. seriously.

his brain short circuits in seconds. and now all he sees is you.

his body reacts like a dog with his master. obeying your needs like he’s wired to do that. and he’s not complaining. his hand falls on your ass, beefy thighs spreading, as he meets your bounces with rough snaps of his hips. your ass claps against his thighs with each bounce, gasps piercing the air as he fucks up into you with full force. and you let him.

“look like a fuckin’ porn star on top of me,” he grunts, swallowing a moan when you clamp around him, finger tugging on the knot around your neck letting your bikini finally fall off, freeing your gorgeous tits. “fucking brat—“

his tongue falls out, licking your tit that bounces in his face, lips wrapping around your nipple and sucking desperately. and he’s not nice about it. because now he knows. he knows you’ll let him. knows when you’re ovulating you’ll let him be a little harder, meaner, because it feels good. it feels good to feel his teeth bite down on your nipple possessively. it feels good when he spanks your ass for the nth time until your eyes are rimmed red and flooding with tears.

it feels good to have him obsessed with you, because all you’re begging for is…

“cu—uh—cum.”

an electric current runs down his spine, jaw clenching and head tipping back, flooding your tight pussy with his thick load.

“shit—nghhh fuuuck—fuck baby,” he’s gripping your hips as you press against his stomach, rocking on his cock. he doesn’t fully realize his back is laying against the bed. not when you’re milking his cock like he’s some fucking cow…and yet… “shit keep goin, baby—yeah ya want m-Mmm shit.”

“feel so good ryo.” you shake your ass, feeling his cock twitch inside you when his arm wraps around you, tugging you down to his chest.

“you can keep going?”

you smile, hand touching his cheek, as your tongue strokes his bottom lip. “yeah.” you sigh, whining so softly he would’ve missed it. and you continue like that, kissing him over and over, sighing and calling his name as he pulls out, his fingers push inside your pussy from behind.

“y’r killing me with this tight pretty pussy,” he coos, sending a wave of heat through your veins.

you mewl against his lips, earning a mean spank to your ass, just for his middle and ring finger to slip back inside you. and he does that for god knows how long, until you finally spasm around his digits. he’s then flipping you over, easily getting on top.

“keep em open cmon.” his low voice has your pussy pulsing, pushing his previous load out right in front of his eyes. he must know his voice’s affects on you.

you hold your legs open, bottom lip between your teeth as you watch sukuna stroke his member over you. the room smells of chlorine, you, and him. “theere we go,” he groans, palm pressing against your knee as he kneels closer to your open legs, dilated pupils staring at the mess between your legs as he slaps his hard cock on your puffy pussy. “what a dirty fuckin’ girl,” he drags his cock between your slippery folds, exhaling through his nose when his engorged tip catches your sore clit.

“ryoomen,” you call softly, like you haven’t been all over him these last two days.

he snorts, “what happened to mister sukuna? don’t tell me you’ forgot how you humped yourself to an orgasm in the pool—“

“hot tub.”

“my bad,” he remarks sarcastically, tip pushing inside then pulling out again, teasing. “still rubbed this pussy raw, look,” he slaps his cock again, thumb rubbing your little bundle of nerves making you let go of your legs— “ah—keep em open.” he spanks the inside of your thigh. “dirty girls need to be taught a lesson.”

“please,” you scoff, sitting up on your elbows, “you were literally slapping everyone around with your hard dick.”

sukuna barks out a laugh. “my dick’s that big?”

you glance down at him, then back up. “I wasn’t being dirty. you were dirty too.”

“me?” he’s baffled, you’ve been throwing yourself at him all night!

you raise a brow at him, relaxing back on the pillows pressed against the headboard, eyeing him. “you never took your hands off me.”

sukuna scoffs, “as if, you latched onto me on the pool.”

“then i went to hime to wash my mouth out, and you—“ you point at him with emphasis, “came swimming to me, touching me, stroking my thigh, my back.” your brow quirks again, and sukuna goes mute. his jaw ticks, glancing over your face as your calf subtly hooks over his thigh, stroking up as your hands lay on your stomach, waiting.

“you…” he licks the back of his teeth, sharp eyes threatening, but… “so what if I had my hands on you?” oh, he admits it. your cheeks sting, wetting your lip as you shrug.

“well,” you tilt your head again, slightly embarrassed now, glancing down at his inked chest. “like…you can’t blame me for getting turned on then.”

“because I’m touching you?”

you nod.

“like this,” his palm trails from your knee, slowly up your thigh. the warmth of his skin feels burns a trail up your body.

you nod.

his hand reaches your waist, eyes boring into yours. his cock throbbing at this point, he can feel the slick of your arousal costing his cock as it rests against your pussy.

turning to some light foreplay after just fucking you was messing with his head…because….it feels so good.

“what about when I’m touching your waist,” his thumb strokes the soft skin. “it’s not your ass.”

your breath is uneven. your heart beats against your rib cage. “still,” you exhale.

“still turns you on?” he clarifies, catching the way your lips part, breathless just by the way he’s flirting with you. his cock twitches…you’re gorgeous.

you nod.

his free hand caresses your hips, moving it up your body in feather-like-caresses. his other arm is pressed beside you, keeping himself up as he watches your arms lay bent on the bed. his hand lightly brushes the side of your breast before trailing over your collarbone. “still?”

you nod, wetting your bottom lip, blown pupils maintaining eye contact.

his thumb caresses your collarbone, eyes flicking between your eyes and the way your chest is rising and falling in uneven breaths. “how about now?” his palm glides over your bicep, then down your arm, before threading his fingers with yours.

you squeeze his hand, eyes unable to tear away from his, cheeks hot. his face inches closer to yours, exhaling against your lips. “I think you’ve jus’ proved how horny you’ve been these past few days.”

your breath stutters, angling your chin up, “obviously,” you mutter against his lips. “I’m pretty sure I’m ovulating.”

something dark and electric flashes through his eyes. a low exhale leaves him, almost a laugh, but there’s no humor in it, just heat, thick and immediate. his grip on your hand tightens to the point it almost borders on rough.

“yeah?” he murmurs, voice dropping, rougher now, like it’s scraping out of his throat. his forehead nudges against yours for a second, grounding himself, but it doesn’t work. if anything, it makes it worse. “tell me you want me to stuff you then.”

“I want you to stuff me, ryo,” you repeat, breathless as his jaw slacks finally rocking his hips into yours, slick cock massaging your folds. “with your cock…your cum….”

“keep going,” he husks.

your free hand trails up his bicep, the other still holding his hand like an anchor. “I want you to fuck me. hard. use me. cum in me.”

“ah fuck—“ he slips his hand between your bodies, pushing his cock down and snapping his hips into yours, sheathing his entire length inside. your jaw drops, broken cry slipping out. “y’ really know how to make a man fucking hard.”

your lips are glossed with spit as he presses his lips against yours. he swallows your moans, snapping his hips with a mean hard thrust, picking up a brutal pace without warning.

and you love it.

the base downstairs shakes the bedroom walls, the laughing and chatter outside is nothing compared to the way you’re panting and crying in his ear. the lights flickering from the pools strobe lights, only serve to illuminate your flushed face as you cum.

“fuck, you still want more,” he’s already kissing you again, and again. spit mixing together against your tongues as he pulls away. he pants over your face, his cheeks flushed pink and his cock rubbed raw. “fuck gunna cum…ngh yeah fuck fuck—“ he pistons his cock inside your poor cunt, dilated pupils zeroing on the mess that’s gushing from you. his chuckle is broken with his groan as he fucks you through it all. “keep squirting baby, it won’t make me stop.”

and he doesn’t. his thrusts are rough. engorged tip bruising your cervix with every snap of his sharp fit hips. he’s harder than usual, and even as you’re gasping, back of your hand raised to your mouth, pussy spasming as sukuna slams his body weight into each thrust — you don’t push him away.

“gunna cum…shiit, shit it’s coming—“ his voice breaks, and it feels like a damn crashing. his cock pulses inside you, squirting buckets inside your poor cunt. “haah fuh—“ his abs flex, body weight dropping on top of you, hugging you tight as he rocks his hips into lazy harsh humps, burying himself deep inside you, you’re sliding against the mattress. the rasp in his throat has you holding onto him tight, unbothered by how unbelievably heavy he is on top of your smaller body.

and sukuna stays like that. face buried in your neck, arms clutching onto you, and brain fried.

“you also smell sweeter,” he mutters. “when you’re ovulating.”

“I don’t. you’re just a freak.”

he buries his nose deeper in your neck, inhaling sharply. “haah fuck, nah you definitely smell good.”

your brain short circuits, cheeks flooding hot as you wiggle underneath him. “you can’t—“

“you humped me in the hot tub.”

your brows scrunch together. “so?”

he licks your neck, “then you can’t blame me for still being turned on by you.” he licks a strip up to your ear, a tingle runs down to your pussy, squeezing around him.

he smirks.

of course he does. and why wouldn’t he? you’re already nudging him to your lips, kissing him again, like you aren’t stuffed with loads of his cum.

“you’re cute,” he mutters between kisses, and even if that makes your stomach flip, your face burn, and your heart skip a beat…you don’t comment on it. you don’t address it. and you sure as shit don’t think about it.

and the simple answer is, he’s kissing you right now and that’s all you want to think about it.

more frat!kuna here

a/n: I’m blaming the grammar errors on you guys for the rush (I also hate proof reading). but I hope u guys enjoyed it. believe me when I say, I was not expecting it to be that freaking long, I just really wanted to write sukuna and reader kinda skinny dipping, without losing their dynamic or doing something super uncharacteristic, so I dragged out the plot. but still I hope u guys liked it!

Gojo Satoru.

The infamous ruler of the Kingdom of Hybrids.

The shadow looming over your kingdom.

The last snow leopard hybrid alive.

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

Except for one.

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

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

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

The opposing kingdom always seemed colder, always seemed crueler.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s been a long and cruel battle.

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

There never flourished a fruit sweet from blood and gore.

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

Why had it even started? One could only guess.

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

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

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

It had happened last week—the letter.

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

The resurgence of the people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To the future Queen.

A carriage had been called immediately to the royal palace.

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

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

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

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

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

“To my dearest future Queen,

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

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

My apologies, it has happened again.

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

I know you know.

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

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

Marry me.

Marry me. Marry me. Marry me.

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

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

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

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

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

I await your response impatiently, the my future Queen.

Yours truly,

Gojo Satoru.”

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

One moon.

One night.

One night with the cruel King Gojo Satoru.

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

There was nothing more to be said about Gojo Satoru.

Everyone had a story about him.

Everyone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To Gojo Satoru,

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

Regards,

The future Queen.”

The date was set. You were to be married.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you simply must understand that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve heard he’s grotesque-”

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

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

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

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

BANG—!

When a sharp gale causes the windows to slam shut. 

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

That had just come out of nowhere…

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

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

They had a wedding to prepare you for.

And the groom was already here.

.

.

.

Music was pouring out of the gilded venue.

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

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

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

“Do you see him- move-”

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

“I thought he had…”

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

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

What did Gojo Satoru look like?

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

You had an image of Gojo Satoru in your head.

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

Something as mythical as they made him sound.

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

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

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

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

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

It really was cold inside the venue.

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

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

Your own hands, it catches up to you.

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

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

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

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

And a soft, smooth tone follows- his. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your voice falters.

His hands grow a little tighter on yours.

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

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

United as one.

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

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

And oh.

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

He looked utterly human.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something deep, deep, deep—

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

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

Burned.

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

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

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

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

Gojo.

Gojo. Gojo. Gojo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you’re both disappearing into thin air.

Leaving behind only the rose bouquet.

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It trembles just a little as he swallows.

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

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

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

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

“You know not a thing about me-”

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

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

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

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

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

You balk, “What?”

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

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

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

As he walks away, he calls.

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

You feel yourself sliding down the stone wall.

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

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

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

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

“You may even leave.”

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

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

Your panting breaths. Your widened gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All down that column. Lymph nodes.

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

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

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

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

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

“Pardon?” She cocks her head.

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

Or whatever it was that hybrids had equivalent. 

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

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

And that scared you more than any legend.

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

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

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

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

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

You gulped, “And the King-”

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

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

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

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

And you did not know how to answer her.

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

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

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

Piled higher than your head.

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

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

Just how long had he been planning this?

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

All your favorites.

How did they…

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

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

You?

You’re stopping short, “King Gojo—”

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

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

Not the one at the head of the table.

The one beside it.

Lower-tiered.

“His Majesty’s request.”

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

Slightly trembling, you’re taking your seat nonetheless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart jumps to your throat.

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

You don’t know why you’re disappointed. 

.

.

.

You admit that the dinner passed by in a blur - delicious, and yet still a blur. 

Perhaps if you don’t miss anything of this excursion, then you’ll at least think back on those delicacies fondly.

Although, you admit that Utahime - and even the ever-anxious Ijichi - had certainly grown on you. They kept you company throughout the rest of the dinner, and once you were finished the red panda hybrid escorted you to your royal quarters.

It was a vast chamber located not too far from Gojo’s study.

Even though most of the palace found itself composed of cold, hard stone—this room was special. It had the most delicate layers of paint spread across it, something you hadn’t seen before even during your tour - baby blue in color, with faint patterns of snowflakes etched into every corner. Gilded decorations on every piece of furniture. A fireplace against one wall. More books than you could ever read in your entire life - let alone single moon here. 

There was a balcony overlooking a befogged land that you could not discern, and a drop from it would have been fatal. 

What drew you in the most, however, was the painting.

Most chambers in the North Palace were decked with precious paintings - hand-crafted oils of color in silver frames, those that looked more valuable than a room full of treasure and perhaps just as ancient - for it seemed that King Gojo was a lover of the arts. Interestingly enough.

You wouldn’t have expected that of him.

But this one…this painting was the largest of them all.

It took up the space of one entire wall, which - according to your mental calculations - would have been thirty-two feet tall and eighty-eight feet wide. One side of your bedroom that was donning robes of oil paint—featuring the most picturesque vision of…your kingdom.

Your palace. Your people. Your dream as a monarch: seeing the people of your kingdom as happy as they should be.

The humans in this painting were hand-in-hand in the town square, dancing around a roaring bonfire. Around them were heaving tables laden with food, and behind- oh. Your eyes widened as you take in the painting even further - it wasn’t just the humans that were dancing with one another. There were hybrids, too.

Your bed was a sprawling four-poster, and you huddled in amongst the silk-covered pillows.

This was your one night with King Gojo Satoru.

The first and the last.

Your one and only.

But there must have been a reason for this marriage, for his condition- there must have been. A full moon circled high in the sky, and peace couldn’t have been so easy.

You kept your dagger underneath your pillow that night.

And so you slept—not as fitfully as one might have expected. 

When you wake up- it’s still nighttime.

You’re sitting up on the bed and attempting to blink your vision back. It must have been an hour, perhaps two, since you’d gone to sleep- and you hate to admit it, but that must have been the best hours of sleep you’d gotten in years.

You might not even have woken up at all had it not been for the thunderous sound of footsteps outside. 

Someone was running- no. Multiple people were running.

Heart battering against your chest, you’re grabbing the dagger out from underneath your pillow and getting onto your feet. You were wearing a thin layer of silk Utahime had bestowed upon you as a nightgown, but there was no time to consider propriety now - something was happening inside the North Palace. 

Quickly unlocking the latch upon those double doors, it’s dark enough in the corridors that you’re slipping past the personal guards stationed outside your chamber. And crowded enough that you could slot into the chaos unnoticed.

Attendants. Advisors. Knights.

Hybrids of all different types and varying degrees of urgency - from urgent to being nearly in tears - were trampling like a herd in the same direction down the corridor. 

You’re keeping your head down low as you fit into a sparse gap of space and let yourself be led to wherever it was they needed to be. Forwards. Down a hallway. Forwards. Forwards. 

Ultimately, you’re not travelling too far before heading down a high-ceiling hallway—the pathway leading up to a private chamber. And by the sheer luxury of this wing - and the constantly incremental paintings of the Gojo family - you’re guessing that this must be where the Hybrid King slept.

Something stirs at the pit of your stomach- did something happen to…?

No, you couldn’t let yourself think that.

Shaking your head free from such thoughts, you’re managing to squeeze past attendants and staff that stuffed every nook and alcove here like sardines. Everyone was fervid to get inside, and even more desperate to get out before too long—

Then…the slightest crack in the door.

Breath catching in your chest, you shoot your arm out to catch it before it closes. Warm light filters from inside, and even warmer air follows it - fighting against whatever hybrid attendant was attempting to close it, you’re managing to wrench it open far enough to push yourself within. 

Just as you’re thrust inside, you turn around and catch Utahime’s gaze- also pressed against one wall of the corridor. 

Her eyes widen as she realizes just who it is—and her mouth shouts out a silent ‘no-’ 

Those double doors slam! shut.

It’s a royal bedroom just as large as yours.

And you could go on describing all the polished pieces of furniture, and the draped blue curtains, and the chandeliers, and the books. One of the walls in his bedroom was covered in a painting, just as the wall in your room had been - though you’re not too focused on it right now. A carpet spread from underneath the king-sized bed and nearly to every corner of the room—it was a stone-cold white, stitched intricately in the Gojo family emblem. But that was exactly what caught your eye.

Not the carpet, no- the bed.

Not exactly the bed itself, but rather the heavy metal chains on either side of it. Like dungeon chains.

There were six rings - thick and composed of rusting iron, one being half the length of your body - fastened to both walls sandwiching the bed. Falling from them were chain-links, each one the size of your head and twice as hefty—snaking like boa constrictors along the chamber floor, the foot of the bed, on top of the mattress.

Each one was shackled to the hands and feet of Gojo Satoru.

Panting. Flushed.

Feverish.

Surrounded by some guards, Shoko, and the rest of her healers who kept pressing cold cloths to his forehead, wiping him down furiously. 

Bucking into the air with a husky groan- it makes the dungeon chains rattle as they’re tugged on. Hard enough to make the metal creeeeeak—!

You don’t know what more to gape at - the fact that he was strong enough to fight against six of those massive chains and nearly win, or the fact that Gojo was underneath a thin cover and…naked.

Something stirs between your legs.

And instantly-

Instantly, Gojo stills.

The healers take a startled step back, cold cloths suspended in their hands as they assess their silent King. 

But Gojo doesn’t mind them.

He’s sitting up properly on the mattress, eyes widened and locked on- oh.

Locked on you.

It makes you jolt.

For there was a harrowed look in his gaze - as though he’d just stumbled across a carnage site, might perhaps be tempted into creating one. And Gojo’s pupils were the size of pinpricks, the sea of blue around them somewhat glowing—were you going mad? Were they really glowing?

His beautiful face was expressionless and primal.

His head raises into the air and sniffs it-

And suddenly those pearly white teeth display in an animalistic growl.

One by one, the healers follow their monarch’s line of sight - and their lips part as they take you in. His human bride.

Shoko’s the first to take a step forwards, “Your Majest-”

“Out.”

A strange thrill runs through your body.

It’s not that Gojo’s voice was particularly loud, nor was it particularly threatening—but it makes every single hybrid inside the room bow. 

Falling to their knees. 

They’re nodding once.

And in the blink of an eye, the healers - and most of the guards - are jerking onto their feet and running out - barely even throwing you a glance. Those double doors crack open once more, and you’re realizing that the commotion outside had calmed—you get the strange feeling that if you were to turn around, you would see that every other hybrid there was kneeling, as well. 

You don’t know how you’re so sure - but you know he isn’t speaking to you. 

In mere moments, it’s only Shoko and Higuruma that remain at Gojo’s bedside. They look at you in concern, and then each other- opening their mouths to say something when—

“Out.”

Gojo’s sole command is followed by gales of wind that clatter the windows open and send the two hybrids toppling. They’re collapsing to the ground from the sheer force - ultimately being pushed up until the tips of your feet.

Their King needn’t say a word more for them to stumble onto their feet and make a break for it.

The doors close thunderously, though not nearly as loud as your racing heart.

The wind dies down as they’re leaving you alone with Gojo, and you’re wondering whether he even realized. Not a single waft of the gales had touched you somehow. 

You swallow.

It’s just you and him now.

Him and you.

And you’re not understanding where it came from, but you’re overwhelmed by the sudden feeling to walk over to him-

As soon as the thought manifests in your chest, you blink—

And Gojo Satoru’s standing right in front of you.

Towering figure. Heated pants.

Your dagger falls to the floor.

He was flushed as though burning from the inside out. 

You swear that he’s even larger than you remember him—and you do remember him being large in the first place. But Gojo’s size right now was nearly inhuman - he stood about a foot taller than before; and the tips of his fingers had elongated with predator-like claws, the canines of his teeth had grown even sharper. 

His fluffy patterned tail swishes agitatedly from side-to-side.

Nostrils flared as he drinks in your air.

Envelopes in it.

You’re hesitating before raising your eyes up to meet his- and a gasp catches in your chest at his contracted pupils. Like a snow leopard on the hunt.

He stares you down like his most delicious prey. 

And it should make you run- it should. But your body takes a stuttered step closer, until you could feel the heat radiating off of his body in feverish waves. 

You’re keeping your gaze confined to the area of his face n’ his sculptured chest, words picked carefully. “Satoru…”

“Leave.” But whatever was on the tip of your tongue washes away with his breathless tone- voice sibilant as though a prayer. “I need you to—fuck, I wish for you to-”

“I refuse.” And your response bewilders the both of you, “You’ve exhausted your requests of me. Are we not fulfilling the marriage contract?”

“We will- we have—” His blue eyes clench shut, as though he was holding himself back. Fists clenched firmly at his sides, they shake- “Fuck, this was not the planned course for our first meeting. Know that you are free to leave if you so wish - leave the chamber, leave the palace, leave the kingdom-”

“I will not breach the conditions-”

“I rescind the conditions.” 

Shock pumps through your body, “Pardon?”

“I wished to romance you, I wished to write to you- I wished to show you the beauty of my kingdom tonight but…those gloves- you made me…” He shakes his head, “War shall not prevail—we shall commence the peace negotiations without a moon spent together.” He’s slicking back his dampened white hair, “O-on the terms of an unforeseen illness, you may leave-”

“What sickness?” You demand.

“Rut.”

Oh.

Oh.

It was one of the preliminary lessons in your hybrid history classes: the rut. A period of intense pheromonal and sexual desire; during which the hybrid grapples with the physical, emotional, and pheromonal desire to mate. It was always a concept that intrigued you. For a hybrid, these ruts are best exhausted when spent with a partner, though unmated hybrids may choose to weather through the week independently. 

The mating period ends once the hybrid bites into the scent gland of their partner. 

Between hybrids.

So why were you feeling so feverish, as well?

You’re unsteady on your feet- and Gojo’s hands shoot out, but then surge back to his sides as though he thought better than to touch you when he was in this state. “Please-”

“I would like to spend the moon with you.” You’re blurting out before you can stop yourself, drunk on the heady scent of winter pine in the room—was it growing stronger? You look at him squarely, “As newly-weds do.”

His breath catches, “You are not aware what you ask of me-” Though his tail wraps around your ankle.

“I am.”

“You are not aware what you ask of yourself.”

“I am.” Insisting. 

Something deep inside you. Something deep inside you. Something deep inside you.

Fingers reaching up to the tie of your nightgown- before getting stopped instantly by Gojo’s hand. He pulls back with a hiss as though you burned—the pine fragrance grows even stronger inside the chamber. 

His voice cracks as he looks at you, “You…” Eyes blowing out ferally, “You humans are not built to handle a hybrid in rut. I shall easily ruin you-”

“Then so be it.” Your cunt twitches.

And Gojo sniffs the air as though he could smell it.

He moans.

And in a split-second you’re being tackled to the ground- pounced upon. As though you really were nothing but a pretty prey beneath his fingertips, Gojo spreads your back flatly against the carpeted ground—too far gone right now to even start thinking of the bed.

Hands caging either side of your head. Hot breaths wafting your features like a furnace.

He slots his toned, naked hips between your bent legs and ruts-

“Fuck.”

Before letting out the most erotic sound you’ve ever heard in your life - his spit-slicked lips fall open with it and stay open as he keeps pushin’ his trembling hips into yours. Glazed eyes clenching shut. Perspired head falling behind him. 

Again and again.

You’re feeling his thickened, throbbing erection press against your pussy through your thin nightgown. Openin’ up the crevice of your folds and massaging all along your outer cunt - because of how closely he was collapsed on top of you, you couldn’t make out just what his cock looked like. But you could feel the heat, you could feel the pulsing of his prominent veins that glissaded down the damp patch of your entrance and made you squeal—

“Y-Your Majesty-” You buck.

And he’s fucking pinning you down with his capped knees upon your legs. His bodyweight leaning on you. “Satoru.” He whispers breathlessly, eyes wide and somewhat dazed still. 

“Pardon?”

The hybrid reaches his hand across your body, “My mate shall call me Satoru.”

Mate…?

The fingers on his dominant hand snake down your front and grab a fistful of that satin nightgown you were wearing- before his claws extract and he’s teeeeearing straight through it. Ripping it into nothing but shreds that he’s throwing blindly over his shoulder. 

Soon enough, you’re left in nothing but the scraps of what had once been a decadent robe. And the coating of lust across your body.

The evidence was undeniable - even in the yolky yellow fireplace lighting up the bedroom, there was a lecherous glisten between your legs. Naked. Pulsing. 

A pretty gloss that makes Gojo take just one wide-eyed look- and gulp.

You think you can audibly hear the effect merely seeing your dampened cunt has on him, and it sends a thrill up your spine. The bed chambers only seem to be spiking in temperature.

A bead of glitterin’ slick drops from your tight hole, making you shiver as it falls vertically between your pussylips- only to be stopped by a single chaste kiss of Gojo’s swollen cockhead. He grasps his base using his right hand, motioning that plump, puckered tip to point around the orifice of your cunt.

He’s probing the reddened top of his shaft against your hole and letting it stretch just a lil’ bit- “Fuck.” You think that it should be you spewing out the profanities - but it’s Gojo instead. He growls. His blue peripherals roll to the back of his skull as he feels you clench around nothing. “Fuh-fuuuuck.”

“Shit—”

He dots at the pearly bead of slick.

He swirls it around your entrance.

He uses it to lacquer his already-glistening cock before reeling his hips back and pushing in-

You’re gasping, hands coming up to dig your nails into his broad back. “Sa-Satoru-”

And his jaw practically unhinges at the hot, heavenly feeling. “Oh heavens…” Muttering something primal at the back of his throat—“O-oh heavens.” He’s feeling the first few centimeters of his throbbing cock get suctioned in, before there’s a sudden tightness of resistance that makes jerk his hips back and push once more- “Oh my Queen—”

“Satoru…” Just about the only thing that you can say, like a frenzied mantra. Eyes shuttering, “Shit, I think you must know-”

The knobbly edge of his thumb veers between your pussylips, stretchin’ them apart and taking a good look in-between. He pumps even harder - “My Queen—please take it.”

Mewling.

He’s tugging those dampened lips even further apart, “Please fit in.” Only growing more and more desperate the longer your cunt refuses to gobble him up whole, “Please- please fit in–”

“Satoru- fuck.”

Fingertips trembling where they were glued to the side of your pussy, stretching your entrance. Thwack after thwack. “Please take- me-”

“You must-” And he was now hammerin’ his hips into you in short, rapid semi-thrusts just to see himself swallowed up. So tight that it felt nearly impossible. So tight that a single drop of crimson escapes you, “-know that-”

“My Queen-”

“-this is my first time.”

There’s a ragged exhale that gusts across your features, making your eyes fall shut at just how scalding hot it was feeling - molten inside. Every bit of his skin in contact with yours felt as though he was burning up—“Oh.” That pretty, spit-glossed mouth of his falls - he ruts once more. “Oh.”

Your toes curl at the swabbin’ intrusion - Gojo was just so big that it was hard for you to take him. Bigger than any normal human.

And you’re feeling it even more once he’s pulling out.

With the most lecherous squelch! his erection plops out of your geysering orifice and ends up laid between your shivering thighs. 

“I see…” Gojo hoarsely mutters, eyes entrenched in a staring competition with your pussy. “Mine, too.”

“Pardon?” You lean up onto your elbows instantly.

“I believe I said—” He trails off, “Mine, too.”

A thousand and one questions are whirling through your mind - everything from why Gojo hadn’t partaken in a mating period prior to this, to why he’d chosen you—

And then you’re blinking.

And suddenly you’re finding yourself sprawled out across his king-sized bed.

Head laid gently against the numerous luxurious pillows, your legs spread apart as though you’d never moved from the floor. You’re faced with the slight inertia of the entire room shifting so suddenly- and it takes you longer than it should’ve to realize that he’d just teleported the two of you once more.

You’re clamoring up to rest upon your elbows, and staring down at the hybrid that’d slotted between your legs now.

His soft strands tickle your body. Gojo’s already shifted until his face was level with your navel - his hot breath wafting across your skin. It sends goosebumps skittering across your middle n’ all the way down to your cunt—

Something that he’s leaning in and sniffing.

Breathing in. 

And then Gojo trundles out a low, animalistic growl.

You feel your hips bucking up in response and you’re not quite sure as to why-

But you don’t have the time to ponder upon it for too long before Gojo dips the tip of his looooong, luscious tongue between your pussy’s slit. 

He’s sticking just the very edge of his tastebuds fitting between your folds and slide-slide-sliiiiiding down that dampened crevice. Up and down. Slipping between the two and slurping away the dewy droplets of sap that cling onto your cunt-

Gojo halts as the first taste of your pussy trickles into his mouth.

And then he’s gasping his parched lips open- already sounding as though he’s run a fucking field. “So this-” Letting those deep vibrations of his voice scatter right between where you were most sensitive, “-this is what my mate tastes like.”

There it was again—mate. 

Your body thrums, taking a strange pleasure in being titled that by the hybrid. 

“Wh-what do you mean by m—oh.” Moan turning into a yelp as his fluffy rosette-decorated tail - one you hadn’t even realized was snaking ever-closer to your body - wraps around your right thigh and wrenches you closer to his hungry body. You stare into his eyes- starving.

Plastering his lips against your other ones as though he was fucking famished- Gojo’s nose digs between the wet slit of your core. Delving in-between. “My mate.” The only thing he can manage to utter. The pointed tip pushes on the nub of your clit as though a button, grindin’ away deftly as he’s making out. “My mate, my mate, my mate—”

“Satoru—” You’re crying out, “I-I’ve never done this before…is it supposed to feel this good?”

“Hmmm…” He’s clearly leering against your sensitive parts- and you can feel it. The hardness of his pearly whites tracin’ all over your entrance - “I haven’t partaken in such activities either, is this kitty supposed to taste this sweet?”

You gasp. “You can’t just utter such obscenities-”

To which he pays no attention before rubbin’ his flushed cheek along the inner parts of your thighs—Gojo leans in takes a gooooood whiff of where your pheromones were most saturated. Eyes falling shut as he indulges himself in it, and once he’s opening them back up you swear those pupils of his have transformed into hearts. “Is this kitty supposed to smell this sweet?”

You’re simply bucking in shock at that.

Elongated claws tapping warningly against where he’s holding the right side of your waist, “Settle, my mate.”

And he can smell it- the way your cunt grows even more aroused, even sweeter, at being given this command. Paired up perfectly with your pet name.

That’s when he decides that he’s had enough of lappin’ away at the numerous layers of slick that polished your cunt - he’s had enough.

He wasn’t some little kitty.

Gojo Satoru was a big cat, and that meant he has a big tongue.

Big enough to drown himself completely n’ utterly silly in the sweetened juices leaking out of you. In a mere few moments, he’s licked you completely dry. And he’s spreadin’ away the inside of your rim, scouring his tongue inside for more, more, more—

Long, thorough slashes inside your cunt.

“Sh-shit—” You’re babbling away stupidly, back arching off of the mattress. Ending up draggin’ your pussy even further against Gojo’s mouth - knocking against his nose and making him take your restless body on happily. “Shit, your tongue-” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, “-it’s sho big—”

“All the better to taste you, dear.” It’s a wonder that Gojo could detach himself from your pussy even for those brief seconds to answer.

Thrusting right between those swollen pussylips of yours- right into that quivering hole. He swirls his thickened muscle around a few times, “And y-you’re so…” You could feel the texture of his uniform, ridged tastebuds molding to the sides of your walls. “-fuck, your tastebuds are so pointed.”

“All the better to feel you, dear.” But of course, if you were in any better state of mind then perhaps you would’ve remembered that snow leopards in particular possessed tongues with specialized tastebuds. Longer. Sharper.

Yet right now, the only thing you’re thinking of is just how good it feels to have Gojo Satoru fuck you with said tongue.

He was just so looooooong and thick. He stuffs you to the brim already.

Spreading and stretchin’ his tongue against your walls- as far inside as it could possibly go. Quite audibly, you swear you can hear the sounds of his wet muscle expanding against that snug channel. “A-and, Satoru…” To him, your mewls sound like the prettiest song he’s ever heard. “-you’re so ravenous.”

He chuckles out something feral - something octaves higher than his usual baritone - against the front of your pussy. Pulling away from it with a wet smack! “All the better to…” And you know the strangely predatory tone of his voice shan’t bode well for you. And you know the way he fucking purrs—yes, purrs as he nears your pussy once more shan’t bode well for you. “-eat you, my dear.”

And then Gojo’s slamming every inch of his tongue back inside you - every fucking inch.

Except, this time…there’s a clear motivation tinglin’ at the honed tip of muscle. You could practically taste it in the soft sizzling wads of spittle that kept on leaking out of you. 

Gojo was tonguing at your pussy like a maddened man- letting his nose crush against your clit, letting his canines nip slightly on your bloated folds. He plasters your cunt against his chin, head angled juuuuuust the exact number of degrees it’d take for him to propel his tongue forwards and hit a particular spot inside you.

Your feet anchor onto the luxurious mattress. Your back forms the perfect curvature against the bed.

You’re letting your moans pour out of you twofold as you throw your head back n’ forcefully wrench your hips forward. “There—” Registering, it takes a second for your mind to catch up to the fact that Gojo’s lengthy hybrid tongue has just rammed into your g-spot - with just his tastebuds. “Y-you hit my…I didn’t know that was even—oh, Toru.”

“My Queen.” Hoarse. Hissing. His tone was completely fucked as he uses his powerful tail to tug you even further against his slackened mouth, “My mate.”

“Toru, that feels too-”

“Let this kitty cream on my mouth.” Even his high cheekbones burn a faint crimson at the declaration, though he doesn’t deny nor retract it. “Let this, kitty—” Come to think of it…the snow leopard hybrid was purring as he’s makin’ out between your legs. “-let this kitty cum…”

“Gonna—” Your voice starts hatching at the back of your throat, “G-gonna cum-”

Spurred on by your affirmations, those slashes at your g-spot grow even faster. More frequent.

Deeper.

There’s a tingly buzz coating your outer pussy at the rapid movements of his tastebuds- back n’ forth, back n’ forth, back n’ forth. And you’re feeling your pleasure start to ember even more powerfully as he keeps on planting constant hits and thrashes.

Tugs and pushes.

Hit after hiiiiiiit upon your poor g-spot.

Soon enough, your vision starts to overload with sultry white stars of bliss. And Gojo smells the cloying pheromones on you before you even register it- but you’re cumming.

All over his tongue.

It’s a wave of euphoria that starts from the tips of your toes and explodes where his tongue was diggin’ between your pussylips- before ultimately shooting through every valve, blood vessel, and capillary within you. Taking over you.

Toes curling. Tears shooting up to your eyes.

This might just have been even better than those long, lonely nights beneath your royal covers - when you’d slip in a finger or two and fervently hope that your attendants didn’t need you for anything.

You’re letting out the prettiest few echoes of his name- and you don’t even care who hears you right about now. Because the one person that commanded them all - this entire land - had his head between your legs and his tongue lappin’ away hungrily.

As though he hasn’t had a proper meal in months—you’re suddenly remembering with a jolt that he’d missed dinner tonight.

Gojo manages to probe your most sensitive spot during peak after peak.

Rush upon rush of dopamine flooding your body- he was sure to drag his textured tastebuds along your most precious caverns when those times came. And perhaps if your mind was any less muddled, he’d be able to tell you that he’s timing them perfectly using the spikes of your heady pheromones whenever you felt too good - but he was happy to merely listen to your babble right now. To fuck you stupid with his mouth.

He was tugging aside your pussylips and scraping every inch of your walls as though he wanted his entire nation to hear you—“Mine.” The pointed tip of his tongue tickles your g-spot, “My mate-”

Those mere few droplets of slick you were letting out wasn’t enough for Gojo, and he’s using the unyielding restraint he had on your ankle to keep on gyrating your hips. Manhandling your hips. Grinding your wet pussy against his mouth.

His maw slurpin’ every orifice-

Spreading aside your velvety walls as though he wished to go even deeper. And he’s reaching up his right hand to push aside those swollen lips of yours and—

“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re just barely surfacing from your last orgasm when you feel something cold n’ clammy sliding down your swollen pussylips. 

Claws retracted. The knobbly tips of Gojo’s fingers spread you open—and you’re just starting to wonder which set of hands this is…when you feel the frigidness of his fucking wedding ring probe inwards. It was a band of pure silver far colder than even his own hands- contrasting thoroughly against the heat of your pussy.

You’re whining as though you’re wounded (though it was the complete opposite of feeling as such) as the ice-cold sensation of it circles your sensitive hole a few times.

Gojo teases your entrance before he’s properly sinking in. Taking his time—not at all.

Did you really think that a hybrid in heat took his time? Did you really think that a hybrid in heat didn’t have the patience to merely take his ready mate?

And that was exactly what the King was doing with his perfectly prolonged digits - already having stretched out your cunt enough that he doesn’t have to hesitate before plunging in two fingers into your wet cavern. “Wait- you’re still not done?”

His long lashes flutter, “Would you like me to be, Your Majesty?”

“N-not exactly, it’s just…” And you almost feel shy admitting this to him - even though you’ve already come…so far, there were still some etiquette lessons drilled into you. “-I thought I’d be getting Your Majesty’s cock by now.”

And that makes him stall.

That makes his doughy fingertips lurch up and hit the roof of your cunt—accidentally locating your g-spot with just a bit of swerving.

“Oh.” Gojo’s jaw drops a bit- and those dimples make an appearance once more. “Worry not, my Queen.”

There’s the most long, lecherous sluuuuuurp! as he then pulls his fingers out.

“A beautiful creature such as yourself shan’t be fucked like any other lowly human.” The hybrid leers up at you with a half-lidded gaze, and those fingers of his twitch excitedly at your entrance. He murmurs thickly, “I’m going to breed you.” 

Slam! 

And that’s all it takes for his fingers to stuff you in every nook n’ cranny. 

Those mountainous knuckles of his start up like a battering ram between your legs, and no matter how much you’re squirming at the overstimulation- you can bet on Gojo’s tail to hold you in place. Stronger than it looked with its unassuming demeanor. 

Every time you’re being lurched backwards by the sheer force of his fervid thrusts, the King drags you back down using his appendage.

Leaving you not an ounce of mercy as he’s swabbin’ his rounded fingertips into your g-spot—so long that he’d be able to tease that particular bundle and then glide down to swat your cervix. 

Your eyes bulge at the feeling of his intrusion, back arching. “O-oh my god—” 

“Satoru, you mean.”

“Sato—pardon?” Tears layering over your peripherals, your vision’s starting to become hazy nonetheless. And a shiver runs down your spine as you’re watching his handsome face lean closer to your dripping wet core once more.

All the excitement of Gojo hookin’ his fingers in n’ ruining you from the inside meant that your slick was overflowing. Excess that he leans down to lap his tongue over as though the sweetest nectar- and maybe it really was.

Gojo’s flattened tongue starts rolling the most lewd kitty licks over your throbbing clit—holding eye contact with you all the while. “My mate.”

“Satoru-” You yelp.

“My mate—” The constant rhythmic slamming against your g-spot was starting to make your g-spot feel tender. Perhaps it has even started bruising - perhaps you were hurtling into your second orgasm faster than you might’ve thought. 

And it’s with his upper half bowed over your pussy - with his canines gnawin’ away on your clit - that Gojo pushes you into cumming. Again.

He makes yet another zap of euphoria take over your body- so lightheaded now that it felt as though you could keel over at the softest breeze. Your thighs tremble. Your legs fight to wrap around his head.

And Gojo’s taking such utter pleasure in stopping your squirming hips from moving- from smoochin’ and smoochin’ the slender tips of his fingers against your sweetest spots.

“Hafta make my- ngh, mate feel good.” He’s whispering, almost to himself. Gojo runs the plumpness of his fingertips aaaaaaall across your insides, quirking them perfectly when he has to run you through a peak of your high. “Hafta-”

“Cumming—” Too late, you’re bellowing out. “I’m c-cumming, Toru.”

“I know.” He responds simply. “This kitty told me.”

And you swear that’s enough to push you straight over another edge - another high. Sparks of friction breaking out across your skin. As Gojo stimulated your clit n’ your deepest innards to elongate this current one, and past that into another one, and another one, and another-

“Cum—fucking cum, kitty kitty.” He hums. 

Four- yes, four of his fingers pushing aside your slick-glazed walls now. 

By the time you’re letting the waves of pleasure wash over you, you’re completely and utterly spent. Exhausted. Unable to do anything but lay yourself spread-eagle on the duvet, you’re raising your head weakly to look down at Gojo.

He pulls off of your clit with a lecherous pop! 

A few thin strings of spittle still connect you to his mouth, “Brace yourself, my mate.”

“Brace…?” And as he straightens from his position at your feet - from his position worshipping your pussy at your feet - you’re letting your jaw drop. “Oh.”

Because it was justified for him to ask you to brace yourself.

Hell, you might just not make it out alive if you didn’t brace yourself. 

You’d already known that Gojo was considerably big from his time ruttin’ against you on the carpeted floor like some animal. But what you didn’t know was just what he looked like exactly. 

Large.

Lavished in veins.

It was expected that Gojo would be bigger than a human man - or, at least, what you’d assumed a human man would average based upon your sparse knowledge from anatomy books - but it’s just how much bigger than made your jaw drop. For he was comfortably around eight inches, perhaps even veering into nine.

Seeing the sheer girth of his base was enough to make your thighs squeeze together- squelch! You’d underestimated just how wet you’d gotten.

Plump tip furiously swollen n’ agitated - the merest breeze was enough to make him dollop out a generous serving of his precum. It was flushed a shade of pink that matched the blush upon Gojo’s cheeks as he took in your staring.

Vermicular veins. Throbbing circumference. 

And then there were his pretty balls - so full. Decorated along his v-line with a spattering of snow-white hair.

And you found yourself admitting that Gojo Satoru was strangely—pretty. 

All the way down to his cock.

You swallow, “S-so?”

“Pardon? And so?” The King cocks his head in cute confusion.

His ancient bedframe then creeeeeaks as you’re lifting your hips up, “Aren’t you going to breed me like you promised, Your Majesty?”

He flinches as though he’s just been struck.

Oh…hasn’t anyone ever taught you not to poke the bear? Or in this case, the snow leopard? Nevermind that now, however, because it was far too late for it - given you’d found yourself married to one. 

To the beast that bears his teeth carnally upon your provocation.

To the monster that slots his hips between your thoroughly jittery legs and gives your cunt a gooooood spankin’ with his ruddied tip.

To Gojo Satoru who runs his twitching tip down the forefront of your pussy a few times before he’s spreading apart your pussylips and push-push-puuuuushing. Sinking in his teeth into his lower lip as he sinks his cock into you—and immediately, tears spurt to his eyes.

Gojo’s barely easing an inch between your swollen folds before he’s fucking sobbing-

“It- it feels—” He’s clawing out a few wretched moans from the back of his throat. “It feels s-so—”

“So—?” You’re attempting to coax out of him. This was his first time just as much as yours, and although you might not know much about hybrid mating rituals, one thing was for sure - Gojo was extra, extra sensitive tonight.

“So g—ngh.” Choking those words straight back into his throat- he’s just barely managing to fit his plump, reddish tip in. It was throbbing against your walls and slippin’ inside with the help of your slick. “How can it feel so good?” He hisses.

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, “Pardon? Y-you’re asking me- hck! how?”

“How.” As though no other explanation was needed. Gojo’s fucking into you in shallow, short thrusts—almost nothing. Barely squeeze-squeeze-squeezing the first thickened segment of his shaft inside before he’s met with the resistance of your tight channel- and then he’s pulling back with a pained groan as if it killed him to detach himself from the glutinous embrace of your pussy.

And the more n’ more he’s feeling you—the more he’s utterly breaking upon entering your warmth. “Is there magic that you use? I-is there a spell you’ve put me under?” His grip on your waist trembles.

“No…” You whimper, “And for what reason…”

“For i-it should not be possible for a kitty to feel so…” He groans. Gojo’s eyes are fluttering shut once you give his throbbing girth a little clench, and when he opens them back up again you’re finding those sky-blue peripherals to have been covered with a few layers of tears. “-so delicious.”

“You make it sound as though you wish to- ngh, feast upon me.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

The hybrid edges his perspired head closer to yours, letting the tips of his white bangs tickle your skin. “For what else must newly-weds do on the night of their wedding?”

That silver wedding ring glints on his left hand - both due to the quality of the metal, and due to the fact that it was still covered in the remnants of your sweet juices. 

Gojo notices this, too.

And without a single warning, he’s reaching his hand up and sucking off the glaze of slick. Looking you straight into your dilated pupils as he does so.

It sends a carnal throb down to your cunt that he sniffs in the air-

And then everything’s happening at once.

Gojo’s jolting, Gojo’s grasping both of your pretty legs and throwing them over his shoulders. Hands upon either side of your limbs n’ wrangling them easily as he bends his upper half down looooow—kissing his sweaty forehead to yours.

The sudden change in positions makes you keen. “A-and you’re completely sure you’re inexperienced, Toru?”

“Promise, my mate.” He exhales into your mouth. “I’d never take another but you.”

And though the gesture had started off sweet…the further his mazin’ tip scoured in, the sharper his canines grew against your poor wobbly lips. The stronger his body seemed to grow in response to pinning your needy hips down and shoooooooving rude cock inside-

“Take it.” Gojo snarls into the crook of your neck, “Take it.”

“Please—” Being pushed constantly up towards the mahogany headboard.

“Take- oh.” Absent-mindedly, he wraps his powerful tail around your left thigh once more. Stopping you from being jostled back and forth because of the sheer force of his rovering hips- hips that were just hungry to feel his mate warped around his entire, rock-hard cock.

And you wonder whether he even realized.

Because if you thought it was far-fetched to assume that Gojo Satoru was breaking on your pussy just from the ruined state of his voice, then you’d be sorely mistaken.

The longer he’s tunneling between your sodden pussylips, the more n’ more he’s less the composed gentleman you’d been married to at the altar. “Take it-” To be quite honest, you’d be comfortable stating that he was becoming more hybrid than human the longer he was in lecherous contact with the wet cavern of your cunt. “Take it, take it, take it—please.”

Tears falling down his pretty cheeks.

The longer his thrusts became, the more hidden crevices inside you that he was opening up. You’d been completely right to ogle Gojo’s massive cock- because right now it felt like he was splitting you in half. 

In the best way.

“You need to take it, sweetheart—” Gojo damn near whimpers, “You n-need to take your mate’s cock…”

He was straightening out the smallest crevices at your innards, he was digging his claws deeeeep against the sides of your thighs. Pulling you back after every thrust.

And it’s not long before Gojo finds himself completely bottoming out.

Letting his divot baaawl out a few ribbons of pre that slick towards your womb. Letting his bulbous, blushin’ tip thud! away at the very back of your cervix. 

The silken bedsheets are bunching up where Gojo’s knees were scrambling to get even closer to the bottom of your pussy. Attempting to push his probin’ cockhead even deeper inside your sponge-covered depths, Gojo’s practically falling over himself to bend you in half.

To bend and to bend.

To thrust and to thrust-

The bed creaks in a cacophony that accurately represents just how he’s fucking you like he’s furious. Body burnished in heat. Hissing and snarling between his clenched fangs.

Those unfairly attractive hips of his were affected, too, because they’re starting to stutter forwards as though he’s just found heaven inside of you. Reeling his hips aaaaaall the way back in reverse - until his rounded, reddened tip was the only thing holding your entrance open. 

And then Gojo wastes no time before pounding himself inside all the way till the hilt.

The very hilt. 

You’re squirming at the patch of his white, white hair that scratches your pretty clit. “A-and about the breeding thing…”

“Hmmmm?”

“Are you really going to fuck me- ngh, pregnant, Toru?”

Awwwww—how cute. Those glowing azure eyes of his widen in amusement- or perhaps something else entirely that you weren’t able to pinpoint. He leans in with a simpering smile, “Fuck you pregnant? How crass.”

“N-ngh—” Your head throws back at the feeling of his globular cockhead lining down your g-spot. He ends up rubbin’ over that particular bundle of nerves for a few seconds, before glissading a hit straight to your womb-

“I’m going to make you my mate, my Queen.”

“Oh-”

“Officially.”

You’re unsure what exactly such an arrangement between hybrids would entail—but all you know is that you want it. Badly. 

A primal desire deep-rooted into your very being, one that you couldn’t explain even if you tried - it was from the depths of your soul, pouring outward in every ribbony wire of slick that you were letting out. All for Gojo Satoru. Clinging onto Gojo Satoru.

It’s coating his thickened cock in numerous layers that glisten underneath the pale lighting of a royal chamber, splatterin’ between your two bodies as his frenzied pace only accelerates. “Sa-Satoru—”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

It always sent such a shocking thrill across your body to realize that he was the one referring to you like that - perhaps your most formidable foe yet. 

And the massive bedframe creaks as you’re raising your hips up to meet his- the constant smack-smack-smacking of skin on relentless skin growing in pitch and volume. “I need it.” Looking at him through your tear-drenched lashes, “I need it s-so badly—”

“What is it?” He breathes out in an almost desperate tone. Gojo presses his lips to yours and kisses you in a way that was so fucking filthy—he’s flickering his tongue in and out, fishing out the sweet wads of your saliva. Before leaning his head back a bit and spitting between your wobbling lips - claiming every spot inside you that he wanted to. “What is it that you wish for, my Queen?”

Before anything else, his right hand then snakes between your two sweaty bodies.

Familiarly locating your cute clit and giving a few niiiiice rolls between his index and his thumb.

“Tell me—” He responds. He begs. “Tell me what it is your heart desires-” His sentences and syllables being punctuated by a solid slam against the back of your pussy every time. “Tell me, and I shall move mountains and heaven for you, my mate.”

And after such a declaration, a part of you almost feels embarrassed about the next words out of your mouth—“I want you to…cum inside me, Toru.”

He jolts. “Sweetheart, are you aware-”

“Not that.” Gojo answers - and the sudden leer that follows is something that makes your lips part. Something that was certainly not going to bode well for you or your poor pussy…“Sweetheart, are you aware that-”

And before he’s finishing that particular sentence, Gojo reaches down and gently clasps your dominant hand in his own.

He tugs it down between his legs-

To where you’re feeling the smooth gliiiide down his erect shaft—down every single curve, crevice, and vein. He was just so long that this made you squirm. Ultimately, you’re ending up with your fingertips pressed against the very start of Gojo’s hilt, where the carpet of his white hair was just ending.

And you’re wondering just what it is he was trying to oh-so-lecherously make you feel when…

When your palm pushes up against something so very thick and swollen at the base of Gojo’s cock. And you’re just gasping-

“A-are you aware of the effect you have on me, Your Majesty?” Gojo’s ragged tone permeates your hearing, punctuated by the constant thrashes n’ bucks of his hungry cock. Inside, inside, inside. “Are you aware that this is how you make me feel?”

He crushes your hand even further against that extra swollen portion of his erection, “And h-how exactly…”

He falters, “Pardon?”

“How exactly is…this, Toru?”

“How exactly?” He’s hissing through his teeth, tone wavering unsteadily. He sounds ruined, he sounds shattered—he sounds gone. There’s almost a sense of amusement in his tone as though you were pulling on his leg - he bores deeeeply into your eyes whilst he fucks you. “How exactly—?” 

“Y-ye—oh.”

Slam!

At that very moment, he’s rammin’ his hips into yours so hard that the skin around his pelvis reddens. Stings. 

And Gojo himself can’t help but let his head fall backwards with a guttural hiss, those pretty white brows of his knotting—“Fuh-fuck.” Before starting to rut down in even sloppier pushes of his firmed-up cock.

Hard.

Fast.

Your ass cheeks were practically refusing to have contact with the bedspread below. Just bent that far. 

The question he’d asked you earlier had been a rhetorical one - though that doesn’t stop Gojo himself from pistoning into you as though he was attempting to fuck the answer out of you. As though he was hoping the globular edge of his shaft would reach your pretty brain, n’ swerve around a bit to ultimately activate whatever part of you there was that’d understand. 

To flick a switch on - something carnal. 

Once you’ve been pounded utterly stupid- Gojo presses down with his mazing cockhead until you’re filled up to the very hilt. And you can feel the swollen ring at his base start to relax against the front of your puckered pussylips, “What you need to know is…this is a knot, sweetheart.”

“A knot?” Babbling through your tears.

“A knot.” Gojo affirms, “And do you know what hybrids do to their mates using their knots?”

Shaking your head.

“First, we claim our mates.” He’s draggin’ his roughened thumb down between your sultry pussylips and rolling over your clit. If you were in any clearer a state of mind right now, perhaps you’d have noticed that he was spelling out his first fucking name on top of that swollen nub. “First, we fuck them until they can’t speak—can’t move—can’t do anything but beg for more.”

You’re bucking upwards greedily, and in response he’s letting out a growl. “Y-yes, and?”

“Then we let them cum a few cute times—” He’s giggling at the way your mouth drops in realization - he was doing the exact same thing to you.

Was technically, still doing the exact same thing to you with the way he’s stimulating every fibre of your being. “And then-”

“Then we get them in a cute- hah, mating press.” His fluffy tail swooshes around before looping around your left thigh and tightening, veering dangerously close to the in-betweens of your legs. As if he was sharing his most precious secret in the world with you, Gojo leans dooooown until his lips were at your ear- “Then we cum so much inside them that they can’t even breathe without feelin’ me all inside your pretty kitty.”

Sobbing, “Th-then—?”

“Then…” The King’s reeling his powerful hips backwards, all the way until he’s nearly pulled out. Only the better to fuck you with…“Then m’fucking you with my fat knot until you can’t even think about letting my cum go to waste, my mate.”

“Oh—”

And with one hand braced upon the right side of your head - the other furiously toying with your perked clit - Gojo’s striking your pussylips in constant thwacks! Thwack! after thwack!

Trying to get his knot to fit inside.

Gojo’s vein-covered cock massaging your walls in such a frenzy just feels so good- “O-oh my god…” You’re babbling out, “Toru, m’gonna cum again.”

“Good.”

“Toru, m’gonna cum now—”

“Good.”

Those half-lidded blue eyes of his were locked on every expression you were making - even the tiniest shifts and twitches. His nostrils flare once you’re feeling your stomach give into the surges of pleasure shooting up from your cunt—and the hybrid seems to know before even you do when you’re crash-landing straight into your nth high of the night.

You’ve seriously lost count.

“C-cumming…” You mewl out weakly- hands coming up to clasp onto his sweaty head. Pressing your lips against his as he fucks you through every zap of pleasure. “Feels so good- ngh, feels so good—”

“Is that so?” He harkens, “Is that so, Your Majesty?”

“Never felt anything better-”

Eventually, your high rises and falls faster than it has before - solely due to the sheer number of times tonight. It’s nothing but the splash of dopamine that engulfs your body and leaves it sizzling with pleasure moments afterwards.

Even the slightest rub-a-dub of Gojo’s veiny patterns leaves you gaping. Those aftershocks were so strong that it makes your eyes tear up—“I need it.” 

Before long, Gojo feels you grab onto a handful of his perspired hair and haul him even closer. And he can’t deny the way that makes his swollen tip twitch just a little harder inside you-

“I need you to c-cum inside me…” You’re pleading up at him, “Need you to- ngh, mate me, Toru.”

“Oh…” After a few more sloppy strikes, he’s letting his tail drift up from your legs to your abdomen. Just where your spine ended, you’re feeling that powerful appendage of his push up on your body and arch your hips up a bit further. “Then brace yourself, my mate.”

And it takes only a single, slammin’ thrust for him to empty out his wads of cum.

Bucketload upon bucketload that he’d been waiting to pour into you for soooooo fucking long now. Thick. Treacly. Those constant ribbons of cum web your insides like a flood, splashin’ around and helping him reach your womb in no time.

It’s just so hot and wet.

It’s just bloating up those poor pussylips of yours- before the man himself eases down his pace to better end up pushin’ those wettened wads inside.

You could physically feel the flared ridge of his mushroom tip—spreading apart those gluey walls of yours and fucking his cum even deeper. Deeper. “Fuck.” Clinging onto every nook n’ hidden cranny inside you as you’re getting utterly stuffed—straight to the brim. It’s already starting to froth outwards, “Fuck-”

“Settle, my mate.” Gojo’s dragging you in with his fluffy white tail, ears flattened in pleasure. It takes a single tug for him to jerk you down- “Shhhhhhh shhh shh, settle.”

“I’m- I’m trying—”

“We’re not even halfway done yet.”

“Pardon?”

It’s the last thing you’re hearing before Gojo jerks his hips forward and fucks his knot past that first ring of your entrance - only about halfway through.

The Hybrid King has to use his hand upon your clit to stretch your pussylips apart- to ease your elastic hole to the side just a bit before he’s siiiiiiiinking his thickened base inside. It takes a few tries - a few animalistic bucks - for him to finally fit his knot between your legs with the loudest slurp. “Got it—”

Gojo’s hissing breath cascades down the front of your body, and his clammy head drops into the crook of your neck.

“G-got you.”

Before you know it, you’re feeling the sharp punctures of his canines against your swollen scent glands. Those sensitive bumps against the side of your neck - you’d noticed them growing more and more inflamed throughout the course of the night, and they’re just so volatile as Gojo sinks his leopard-like fangs in.

You feel something deep inside you pop!

Your scent gland. Or whatever it was that humans had similar…

And he holds you there like this - like a predator with his teeth dug into the throat of his prey - until both your waves of bliss have completed. Until he’s emptied his swollen balls inside of you, and he’s completely n’ utterly sucked dry by the wettened warmth of your pussy.

You’re squirming at the feeling of his heaping puddles of ivory deep inside you—“T-Toru.”

Gojo finally pulls off with a heated pwah! and stuffs his face into the crook of your neck. “Yes, my mate?”

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Now you were officially his mate. 

His knot was pulsing deep inside you, softening ever-so-slightly as the moments pass.

You’re running your hands through his perspired air, “I just wanted to know…” Wording your sentence carefully, your sentiments hidden. “Why m-”

“Who else would it be but you?” He’s interrupting you instantly. Immediately, Gojo pulls away and peers at you with his widened eyes—“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but in this life and every other…” He grasps your hand and presses his pinkish lips to the back of it, “-this lowly hybrid has always been fated to be yours.”

“Every other?” You ask with bated breath.

“Every other.” He affirms. “In every life, we were meant to find one another…” And he looked almost shy admitting such a thing—“We hybrids…we can feel it. Though for you humans, it may not be so strong.”

“Oh.” Your mouth drops softly.

“But even if we weren’t…” Gojo finally tears his eyes off of you- as though it pained him to not have you before his gaze for even a mere moment. “—I would have found you if it tore down the Earth.”

And then you’re turning with him.

Following his line of sight.

Right to the wall of his bedroom that you’d noticed had been painted before- but never noticed exactly with what upon it—

It was a painting of you.

More specifically, of a landscape from what you’d assumed to be this very bedroom: the sprawling valleys and fields that led up to your kingdom. The thorn barrier that separated him from you. Though no barrier could ever possibly hide the spiral of your wing, the blinking light that you’d put out every night - hoping, just hoping that someone would see it and answer.

How had you not noticed this before?

Perhaps, in your own way, you’d been searching for him, too.

“I would like to stay, Satoru.” You breathe, as if a secret. “I would like to stay- and I would also like for you to love my kingdom just as much as I shall love yours.”

“Then it shall be done.” He presses his forehead to yours, “Revenge has never been my strong suit.‘

Unbeknownst to yourself, you’ve teared up- and Gojo reaches down to gently wipe those hot tears away. He murmurs deeply, “My mate…”

“Yes, my husband?”

“We’re going to rule the world.”

You’re learning two more things about hybrids in the succeeding hour. 

The first being that they really did have a particular talent for the arts - Gojo especially, considering that he’d been the one to paint most of the artworks in the palace. Including this one.

The second being that ruts last for a week.

A/N. HYBRIDS AND ROYALTY AUS MY TWO FAV THINGS-

And just like that, your mundane Tuesday you’d resigned yourself to had transformed into that feeling you got when you first him: breathless, with your heart fluttering in anticipation.

Glancing at the calendar, you’d frowned. You hadn’t marked today’s anniversary, because it didn’t really make that much of a difference. On your fifth anniversary, Zayne was suddenly called for an international function that he couldn’t miss. He’d brought you along, wined and dined you with the most expensive liquor on the flight there, but it didn’t hit quite the same. The entire time, Zayne kept glancing at his phone for important messages. Reading patients’ charts, and constantly smiling at you in apology. He’d done his best, and you couldn’t blame him. His job kept him away most of the time.

When your sixth anniversary rolled around, he’d stumbled home, weary and ill around four in the morning. You’d woken up with a kiss on the forehead. Sorry, honey, he’d murmured as he wrapped his arms around you, didn’t mean to take so long.

You brushed it off, and to make up for it, he spent the day off after. He’d tried to take you out despite his exhaustion, but you weren’t heartless. After multiple attempts of convincing him, you’d spent your anniversary the entire time in bed.

Before he went away for work again.

Today, though… today felt different.

You spent the entire afternoon meticulously preparing, your nerves practically making you jump off the walls. You chose the dress you knew Zayne loved – one that showed off your back, so he could place his warm hands in a silent declaration of his possessiveness. You’d worn the earrings he’d bought on your third anniversary, dangling like tiny snowflakes and shimmering like diamonds. By 6:30, you were all dolled up. Your eyes shone bright, your lips curled into the happiest smile you’d worn since – since he was around.

Needless to say, you felt beautiful. Loved. Zayne’s gifts adorned your body, and you drove to the cozy Italian place with your fingers drumming against the wheel. You hummed under your breath, sang along to the songs playing on the radio. You felt unstoppable.

The restaurant was the same one you and Zayne had your first date, a place where you had countless celebrations since. When he was promoted to Head Surgeon, when he got an award recognizing him for his dedication, when he said I love you for the first time, and when you’d finally kissed him, your knees growing weak at the taste of him and red wine.

It felt like coming home.

The hostess greeted you warmly, a knowing smile on her face. “Table for two?” she asked, even though she already knew the reservation would be under Dr. Li. Nodding, you let yourself be led into a quiet booth in the corner – a perfect spot to people watch, and to hold Zayne’s hand under the table.

For the first twenty minutes, you were the image of patience. You sipped the sparkling water and looked around, letting yourself be lost in quiet joy. You loved the familiar scent of garlic and fresh bread, the low murmurs of conversation, the clinking of silverware.

This place hadn’t changed since the last time you’d been here.

Pulling out your phone, you texted Zayne that you’d arrived. You could imagine him reading it in the dark of his office, a small, weary smile crossing his handsome face.

Thirty minutes came and went.

You checked your phone again. The message was sent, but remained unread. Not delivered yet. Concern flickered at the back of your mind – if he’d eaten yet, was he drinking enough water, or was his meeting still going on? Whatever it was, he must’ve just been busy.

And an hour passed…

The waiter, as gently as he could, offered to take your order. You declined, your smile feeling just a little bit more forced. The single gray checkmark flickering on your phone was a silent accusation – Zayne couldn’t even read your text. It was a detail so small, yet it felt like a whole bus had just come down crashing on you.

Excusing yourself, you walked to the back of the restaurant, your hand shaking slightly as you pulled up his assistant’s contact. He answered on the first ring. “Mrs. Li,” he said, a light groan to his voice (as if he knew you’d call, and he’d have to be the one to deliver the news.) “I’m so sorry, Dr. Zayne had an emergency patient come in about two hours ago. It’s cardiac trauma. I’m so sorry again, he was looking forward to tonight.”

“Oh.” You bit back your tongue, resisting the urge to ask – can he still try? I had something important to show him.

The words were all too familiar already. Sorry, Mrs. Li, he can’t make it. A meeting, an emergency operation, a sudden summon from the higher-ups, it slipped his mind – you’d heard it all before. Really, it shouldn’t sting this much.

But you could picture him in the sterile white glare of the operating room, his hands steady and sure, his mind focused and filled with purpose. You didn’t doubt he was saving lives. You never questioned how important he was. You knew – no, you’d known long before – that your heart, this anniversary, had been more your companion than your husband ever was. That this aching might never really go away.

When you returned to the table, your hand that clutched your phone hanging limply by your side, you didn’t feel angry. You just felt a deep, profound sadness that lingered.

This wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. The first Christmas. Your first birthday after getting married. The third anniversary – the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, the seventh. Each event he missed cut a deep scar on your marriage. The understanding you once felt so easily had hardened into resigned acceptance. You didn’t want to keep sitting there, drowning in your own pity, hopelessly waiting for someone who had you second on their priority list. So you hid your tears behind a menu, and beckoned a waiter over.

“I’ll order just for one, thank you,” you mumbled, ordering the comfort dish Zayne always got. Because for some masochistic reason, it was the closest to him you could be right now.

You ate slowly, each bite tasting like a bitter lie.

The seat across you remained empty for the next hour, a harsh reminder he wouldn’t be showing up anytime soon. The entire time, you watched other couples – holding hands across the table, leaning in close to whisper a joke, laughing. You felt like a stranger looking in from the outside, separated from the world of lovers by this invisible, impenetrable wall.

Your eyes fell on the wrapped gift beside you, a flash of blue and silver wrapping paper peeking out. You pulled out the small, carefully wrapped box. It was a new watch, an upgrade to the old one you knew he still wore. With this watch, he could see his upcoming appointments and operations. He could send messages to you, too. If he had time, anyway.

Now, the gift felt like a relic from a different time, from a marriage that was once full of shared laughter and stolen, yearning glances.

You ran your thumb over the smooth surface of the box. You thought of the early days, when your lives were so much simpler. When your nights were spent with long conversations, cuddled at your couch, sharing reckless promises of spending forever together.

You remembered him calling just to hear your voice, when he would surprise you with flowers for no reason, and made you feel like the center of his world. And now, he was saving a different person’s life, and you were sitting alone in the same corner he’d pulled out a ring to ask you to marry him.

The love was still there… you knew that. You didn’t think you could ever stop loving him.

It was the connection that was fraying, worn thin by the long nights, the missed calls, the ‘emergency cases.’ It made your heart sink with a heavy question – when did your marriage turn out like this? When did you stop being each other’s entire world, and just become… a part of each other’s lives?

Running a hand down your stomach, you glanced wordlessly at the rock sitting on your finger.

Zayne placed the final suture with a precise, practiced movement. The team began to stir around him, the tense air finally dissipating of that into victory. Glancing at the monitor, he let out a sigh of relief at the steady, rhythmic beat of the heart he’d just saved. It was a beautiful, terrifying thing – to have such a fragile life at his hands. Until now, he still struggled to wrap his head around the fact people actually trusted him to care for them, to save them.

It was an honor that almost always dulled the exhaustion – almost.

He was still in a blur of fatigue as he peeled off his surgical gloves, the sticky latex peeling away from his skin with a small snap. The patient’s wife, a young woman stained with tears, waited outside. Walking out to her, he straightened his aching shoulders into that of composure. “He’s going to be okay,” he told the weeping woman, “He’s stable. The next few hours are the most critical, but your husband’s a fighter, and the surgery was a success. I promise he’ll get through this.”

The woman’s relief was a physical thing. She collapsed against the wall, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “Thank you,” she cried out, clutching her chest. “You saved his life. You saved our family.”

Her words hit him like a physical blow, reminding him of what he was missing.

A memory surfaced – your face, lit by the gentle glow of a single candle, on the night you’d made him the happiest man by saying you’d be his wife. The gratitude in the stranger’s eyes mirrored the look of joy he hadn’t seen in his wife’s for far too long – the look of pure, unburdened hope. He’d saved a life, but at what cost to his own?

Zayne didn’t think twice. He nodded curtly at the woman, his mind already running a mile per minute. Running a hand through his hair still damp from the surgical cap, he turned on his heel. He didn’t bother changing out of his scrubs. He just pulled his coat on over them, grabbed his keys from the locker, and headed for the parking. Suddenly, the sterile, cold hallways of the hospital he was too familiar with felt like a prison.

He needed to get out now. He needed to get to you.

The drive was a blur. He slammed on the gas, breaking every speed limit he knew, the tires a silent scream against the asphalt. He drove with a frantic, single-minded focus. He pictured your sweet face, the soft twist of your mouth when you laughed, the worried furrow between your brows when you thought he wasn’t looking. He was a surgeon who lived and breathed by the clock, but tonight, he was utterly oblivious to it. He just drove, and drove, and drove.

By the time he pulled up to the restaurant, his heart was a wild thing. He looked up, scanning the nearly-empty crowd for any signs of you. But the windows were dark. The neon sign was turned off. A small, written sign was flipped at the door: CLOSED. THANK YOU.

Zayne’s stomach dropped. Glancing at the clock on his dashboard, it read 11:47PM. He missed his date with you. Again. He fumbled for his phone, wincing as the screen lit up with two missed calls and unread messages. He’d been so immersed in the operating room that he’d forgotten today was your anniversary – even though he’d just booked a reservation before he left for work.

He cursed under his breath, and immediately headed straight home.

The streets were empty now, the world practically asleep, and the silence was a loud, mocking sound. When he got into the garage and pulled into his spot, he just sat there for a long time. All kinds of thoughts played in his head. How long you must’ve waited, how many times he’s done this now – how afraid he was of losing you.

Just the thought of it made him scramble out his car, tripping all the way upstairs. The front door was unlocked, and stepped right in, unsurprised that all the lights were off.

He flicked the light on, took off his shoes and coat, and headed straight to your bedroom.

Please be there, he chanted to himself, please don’t get tired of me yet.

As he walked past the kitchen counter, his eyes fell on a small, wrapped box. He instantly knew what it was. Walking over, he picked it up with shaking hands. Taped to the top was a small envelope. He peeled it open, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and was greeted by your handwriting.

Happy 7th Anniversary, Zayne! I can’t believe it’s been 7 years since you asked me to be your wife, and I can’t wait to spend more years with you. To think that we were once too shy to ask each other out, and now we’re here – living together, building dreams together, sharing a future and a forever. These seven years have been the happiest of my life, and I couldn’t thank you enough for being the best husband anyone could ask for. I truly am so lucky to have such an intelligent and hardworking – and devastatingly handsome – man to call my own. Even though I know your work often keeps you away, I know your heart is in the right place. You make me so proud knowing you’re out here saving lives.

Zayne swears he could hear your voice when his eyes fell on the final line.

It just makes me miss you sometimes. The house gets lonely and cold when you’re not here. But I’ll wait for you. I always will.

Love, your dearest wife.

A single, hot tear traced a path down his cheek. Zayne didn’t know how long he spent standing there in the kitchen, using his palm to stop himself from crying. There, he wasn’t a surgeon anymore. He was just a husband, standing in the middle of a dark, empty house that was once filled with the sound of your laughter.

Zayne had to see you. Hold you. To apologize for a betrayal he knew was unintentional but no less painful. He moved through the house, his feet padding against the cold hardwood floor, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. He went to your bedroom first, the one place he was always certain he’d find you in after a long day. You’d be curled up under the thick comforter, an arm outstretched to where he would be asleep. Pushing the door open, he peeked his head inside, his voice nothing but a shaky whisper. “Honey…?”

The bed was empty. The comforter was pulled back, neat and untouched. The sight of it made cold, nauseating panic seize him. Flinging the doors open to the guest room, the home office, your studio – the only thing he could hear was the pounding in his ears. He called your name again and again, his voice cracking and becoming hoarse.

Where were you? Why weren’t you at home?

A sudden, terrifying lurch of dread washed over him. His mind jumped to the worst possible scenarios – that you were gone. You’d given up. You’d left.

He ran back to your bedroom and into the bath, slightly – but not completely – relieved that all your things were still there. Your floral shampoo, your favorite perfume – all sitting next to his things. You hadn’t left any rings behind. As he scanned the small space, a glint of white and something crumpled caught his eye. Walking over, he reached into the bin, his hands trembling as he pulled out the discarded box.

The logo on the side sent a jolt of static through his brain.

A pregnancy test.

The noise in his mind went completely blank, his hands numb as his eyes flickered to the small stick inside, and his heart stopped. A cruel, brilliant blue. Positive.

Zayne felt his world tilt on its axis. The heartbreak, the guilt, the exhaustion – it all evaporated, replaced by an unstoppable force of pure, unadulterated terror. He – he had to find you. Now.

He stumbled out of the bathroom, pulling his phone from his pocket as he dialed your number. The phone rang, and rang, and rang. No answer. His stomach twisted again, this time with a kind of fear he’d never known. Not even when he thought he was about to lose a patient.

Zayne couldn’t wait any longer.

He ran out of the house, leaving the front door hanging open as the cold night air slapped his face. He sped through the street, his legs running faster than he thought he could. None of it made sense now. He needed to find you, needed to tell you he loved you. He had to know if it was real. And he ran for what felt like miles until his lungs burned. The city lights blurring into nothing but melancholic blue skies and white snowflakes. He ran until he found you – able to pick up your silhouette even from afar – his arms crushing you into his chest, his face buried in your hair.

“Oh my God, let go of me!” you cried out, struggling around his hold when his scent enveloped you. You deflated around him then, squeezing his arms that wouldn’t let go. “Zayne? Baby, what are you–”

Zayne didn’t let you finish. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, honey,” He was a mess of tears, his face growing wet against your face. He felt your hands come up and push against his chest, twisting into his hold. He pulled back just enough to look at you – his eyes red and glistening with tears. “I went to the restaurant, and I missed you,” his voice cracked, “Y-you weren’t there, and when I came home, I saw your letter. I-It broke my heart, and you weren’t in the room, and I thought–”

“Thought what?” you whispered, cradling his face in your hands. “That I was going to leave you?”

Zayne broke down again. He didn’t know what to say – just held you, pulling you against his body as thought you were the only thing that kept him from falling apart.  And when you wrapped your arms around him, he felt it – the way you pieced him back together, kissed all his hurt away. “I’m not a good husband,” he found himself saying, leaning into the warmth of your touch. “I’m never here. I’m always too late. I always miss our most important days–”

“Baby, don’t,” you wiped his tears away with the pad of your thumb, looking up at him with a broken expression. “Don’t say that. You’re not a bad husband.”

“But I am,” he insisted, “It’s the truth. But I’m going to be better. I’ll take a month off – or two months. However long you want me. I don’t care about the hospital. I’ll plan a trip somewhere, warm. I’ll spoil you. I’ll give you anything. Just… don’t leave me. Please.”

Your eyes softened. “I was never going to.”

“But… you left your gift at home, and you weren’t there when I arrived–”

“I was torn, I’ll admit,” you confessed with a sniffle, “I didn’t think you were coming home soon, and I needed fresh air. I thought a walk wouldn’t hurt.”

The confession made him ache. How bad of a husband had he been, to make you think he wouldn’t come around? That you’d been so used to his absence, it made your home feel like something you had to escape from? Just how many of his promises had he broken to you?

“I missed you,” you choked out, your thumb now slipping to trace the softness of his lips. “I missed you so much. There isn’t anything that I want but to spend more time with you.”

“And we will. I promise,” pulling back, his eyes filled with awe. “The trash can. In the bathroom.  I saw… I saw a box.”

You looked up at him, a small, nervous smile playing on your lips. “You were snooping,” you teased, “I purposefully hid it under some napkins so you wouldn’t see.”

Zayne frowned. “You didn’t want me to know?”

“I wanted to tell you over dinner,” you mumbled, resting your head on his chest, letting yourself be soothed by the sound of his heart. “Thought it was gonna be a good gift… to tell you you’re going to be a daddy.”

Zayne couldn’t stop the tears from coming then. “And here I thought you couldn’t make me happier.”

Some days, it was too easy to forget you were pregnant.

Your bladder, a persistent little alarm clock in your body, was full, and your head constantly felt foggy. Blinking a few times, a sleepy yawn escaped your lips. The spot beside you was cold, as it often was. Zayne had probably already left for work. The thought no longer saddened you, however. After that failed anniversary date, Zayne kept true to his word. He took you on dates every other weekend, and on the nights he caught you still awake, waiting up for him to come home, he made sure to show you he’d been thinking of you all day. Safe to say, things had taken a turn for the better – if the growing bump on your stomach wasn’t enough.

When you finished relieving yourself, you stepped out into the hallway. A scent hit you then, the delicious, mouthwatering aroma of bacon. Your nose, now a sensitive and demanding organ, led you into the kitchen, where confusion settled in.

The sun was streaming through the windows, casting long, golden shadows on the floor. It had to be past eight, which meant Zayne was already gone, but the usual quiet was now broken by the sound of a spatula clinking against a pan. Was Zayne… still here? Mentally, you checked his schedule. He didn’t have another day off until the weekend.

And yet, there he was.

He stood at the stove, his back turned to you. He wore an old gray T-shirt that hugged his form deliciously, his pajama pants wrinkled, and his dark hair that was usually neatly styled back was now falling on his forehead. He was humming a quiet tune to himself, moving around the kitchen with just a little hesitance. Now you felt bad for the poor man – he’d spent more time outside his place that he could barely find what he was looking for. But he looked so at ease, so peaceful, so present.

You couldn’t help but just stand there for a moment, letting the sight of him – bathed in the morning light, soft from his sleep, and utterly kissable with his lean form moving around in your kitchen – fill you with awe. Countless times, you were reminded just how lucky you were.

Tiptoeing over, a small smile played on your lips. You wrapped your arms around his waist, your face buried in the curve of his back, and pressed a soft kiss to the skin of his neck. Warm, like you thought. Soft and hard all at the same time, smelling like an absolute dream come true.  Zayne stiffened for a second, not expecting you to be awake, before slowly, wonderfully, he melted. Leaning back against you, you let his head rest on top of yours, his muscles relaxing in your arms.

“Good morning,” he rumbled, his voice deep and thick with sleep.

“Good morning,” you replied, your voice muffled against his back. You pulled away just enough to look at him, your lips tilting into a confused frown. “Why are you still here? You’re going to be late.”

A hint of a smile played along his lips. “I took the day off,” he said, moving one hand to squeeze around yours. “In fact, I’m gonna take a lot of days off. We have a little one to look after now,” Spinning in your grasp, he promptly turned off the stove, and pressed a kiss at the top of your head. “And I have to look after you, too”

You couldn’t help it – you melted like putty in his arms. Here was why you fell for him in the first place. This was the Zayne who’d stolen your heart. The one who liked to hold you, the one who often dozed off on your chest when he was utterly exhausted – the one who cooked you breakfast and spoiled you, gently scolding you if you even try as to lift a finger. To prove his point, he made you both a plate, ushering and fussing over you like the overthinker he was.

“Babe,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m pregnant, you know, not sick.”

“Just sit still,” he shook his head, “If you want anything, I’ll get it for you. What do you want? Tea, coffee – anything?”

Your smile wavered. I have all that I want, here, with me, you wanted to say. But you decided to entertain him, and demanded a list of meals that sounded ridiculous – but of course, was not enough to deter Zayne. With a grumbling stomach, you ate breakfast together. Eggs and bacon never tasted this good before, but because Zayne prepared it, and you were sharing it with him, it was easily the best meal you’d ever had.

After breakfast, he insisted on doing the dishes. You were left with nothing to do but to look at him from across the table, admiring the way his back flexed with each movement. Now… Zayne had always looked too handsome, but was he always this handsome? Even after so many sleepless nights, he looked effortlessly dashing.

One glance down at your growing belly, and stained tank top, did not make you feel better.

“I feel so gross,” you suddenly blurted out, unable to help it. “I’m already bloated, and I feel like an ugly, pregnant whale. I can’t imagine you’d still wanna sleep next to me knowing I look like this.”

His face, so full of love and softness a moment ago, turned serious. Zayne reached across the table and took your hands in his, his grip firm. “You are not bloated. You are growing our family, and you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” his thumb gently rubbed the back of your hand, and just like that, your pout grew deeper. “Don’t ever, for a single second, think you’re anything but. I love you, and nothing’s going to change that.”

“Bloated and all?”

He nodded, “Bloated and all.”

“But… You just said I wasn’t bloated. Are you lying to make me feel better?”

The flash of panic across his face was enough to send you howling into laughter. Zayne, abashed, scratched the back of his neck. “Baby, I was just joking,” you poked his cheek, leaning forward to press a kiss over his day-old stubble. “I know you love me. I love you too. So much.”

it's spoken with such finality that not even gojo can think of a retort back, pulling a sour face before sliding off the mahogany desk and into the velvet chair across from nanami instead. the taller man just blinks, lets out a frustrated sigh, then resumes his fervent typing on the computer. it only hits gojo now how unnaturally dark the office is, every curtain pulled shut with only peeks of sunlight shining through the miniscule blinds of the office window.

gojo takes the silence as an opportunity to get a proper look at his friend - nanami's face looks more sunken in then usual. his skin color a bit pale, perhaps from the lack of sunlight, the frown on his lips permanent as he re-highlights something on a case bundle. his blazer has been messily disregarded on a sofa nearby alongside his briefcase, where a bento box sits untouched. the cuffs of nanami's white shirt have been rolled up to around his elbows, his tie loosely hanging from his neck (and gojo watches as every few seconds nanami scowls and readjusts his tie, mumbling that the fabric is itchy). his usually perfectly styled blonde curls are sticking out in odd directions, and the office trash can sitting nearby has an array of gum wrappers and take out coffee cups piling up.

gojo lets out a slow breath - yikes. this is worse than i thought.

"you sure about the coffee?" he gestures, pointing vaguely to the steaming flat white still next to nanami. the blonde doesn't even flinch.

"yes. i only drink green tea after 3pm, christ's sake." nanami grumbles, testing even gojo's patience.

"well how the fuck was i supposed to know that?" gojo asks sarcastically, crossing one leg over another. something momentarily shifts in nanami's eyes, before his eyebrows furrow in focus on the document in front of him.

"(y/n) would know."

it's mumbled like a whisper, like a petulant admission of a toddler being denied time to play. gojo thinks back to the voice memo you sent him this morning, promising to bring him back pastries from new york on your way back.

it all clicks for gojo.

a part of him wants to laugh at his friend for how immature nanami's being, for allowing a momentary absence of you to color his decision making and personality at work. but another part of gojo finds it... deeply amusing.

especially when he thinks back to how much he had to nag nanami to finally cave in and ask you out all those years ago, instead of always spending 30 minutes more than necessary at the gym to try and catch a glimpse of you before work.

"i see... all this attitude at work because your wife is halfway across the world for a month?"

that catches nanami's attention, the man's hands dropping down onto his lap as a deep scarlet flush spreads through his cheeks.

"it's not that simple."

the smirk on gojo's face only gets wider.

"mmmm, i think it is just that simple. you were completely fine before she had to fly off-" gojo makes it a point to flex his wrist to stare at his rolex watch. "five hours ago. and you're already withering, loverboy. slowly declining in physical and mental health."

"i'm a fully grown adult. i'm fine." nanami says through gritted teeth, but it has no effect on gojo who is thoroughly enjoying (a) getting to be right and (b) teasing his best friend for being a hopeless romantic. to dig it in, gojo raises his eyebrows and puts on a pouty expression.

"are you sure, pookie? you don't want me to call her right now and tell her it's an emergency, that she needs to fly back to tokyo this instant?" gojo flashes his phone screen, where your contact is open under 'the better nanami'.

nanami practically lunges across the desk to try and get the phone out of gojo's hands, which gojo manages to dodge at the last second by jumping out of his seat. gojo's laughing so hard he doubles over, chest folded to his knees, and nanami's scowl only deepens.

"haha." nanami laughs along drily, clearly not amused. "anyways, it's a really important trip for her, so i don't want to be a bother. now get out, i have a meeting in 5 minutes."

it was going to be a long month without you.

DAY 4

the tension in the office is palpable, given what's at stake.

geto's been working backbreaking hours for the past month straight to pull the proposal together: an ambitious joint venture to combine the legal banking practice of nanami enterprises with the financial expertise of Japan's second biggest bank. everything had to be perfect. audits were rechecked, investment proposals rewritten, every piece of competition law finely tuned and picked over by the entire banking law team.

and nanami's fumbling during the investor pitch meeting.

it starts out small - like mispronouncing the head of the bank's name, which geto subtly corrects (by shaking the man's hand right after and saying it out loud correctly). losing track of where the specific sections of the agreement are. forgetting to bring a pen to the meeting, with shoko having to slide nanami one under the table and shooting geto a worried look.

'is he okay?' her glance seemed to read, to which geto shrugs in response.

truth be told, geto has no idea what's going on with his boss slash friend. he's worked for nanami for three years, and has never seen the blonde be anything less than textbook professional. every detail perfected, suit immaculately pressed, posture straight and elegant.

and now, the man in front of him still has the 'look' of a professional lawyer... but none of the attitude. instead, nanami looks uncomfortable in his expensive suit, adjusting his posture every few minutes and staring off into the vague distance during pitch decks. geto has to call nanami's name three times before the blonde realizes it's his turn to speak to the investors, and it takes every bone in geto's body to suppress a sigh.

"and so if we proceed as planned, i believe we could acquire the high street banks in this area for 4.7 million-"

"sorry for interrupting, but we were told that the valuation was 47 million. not 4.7." one of the investors cuts nanami off, a deepening frown on his face.

nanami's head whipped around to shoko, who nervously adjusts her blazer and adds that the correct figure should be 47 million as well. geto wordlessly slides open the bundle of documents to double check the accounts, then at nanami's pitch deck, and realizes that nanami has somehow managed to delete a zero.

fuck.

maintaining a poker face as nanami lets out a polite apology to the board, geto thumbs through the rest of the presentation whilst cross referencing with the financial accounts. all the figures are off by one zero in nanami's proposal, as if he didn't catch onto some malfunctioning code in his excel sheet.

the fear that runs up geto's spine is like nothing he ever felt before, and geto has to send a discreet text to gojo about the situation.

geto: "nanami somehow messed up all the figures for today's meeting with the investors. all figures are off by one zero."

gojo: "holy shit!"

gojo: "what do we do?"

geto looks at the blinking white screen, then at nanami's flushed face and the investors' clearly unamused expressions, before making a decision for the team.

geto: "idk, fire alarm?"

he's half joking but also half relieved when the fire alarm rings out across the building, and geto smoothly apologises to the investors for the sudden interruption and promises a prompt rescheduling of the meeting.

and the moment they're both outside, geto pulls nanami aware from the crowd of employees gathering outside the building and into a back alleyway that smells that smoke and grilled meat.

"jesus christ, nanami. what happened?" geto swears out loud, heart still pounding with adrenaline and anger.

nanami fists his hair in response, anxious legs pacing back and forth, before he stops and stares at gojo with the sorriest expression he can muster.

"god, i'm so sorry. i know you've been working on this merger for weeks now."

geto's jaw clenches, but it's hard to stay angry when he sees the pained look on nanami's face. the blonde stops pacing and sits down on a nearby bench, head in his hands, and geto feels his anger dissipate into thin air.

"what's going on, kento?" geto's voice drops into a concerned hum, sitting down carefully next to nanami. nanami's fingers brush through his now messy hair, wedding band catching the glint of the sunlight every few seconds, an anxious habit of his.

"i... i just can't seem to concentrate. o-on anything, lately." he admits, sighing. geto raises his eyebrows.

"any particular reason? this isn't like you, and i'm worried."

he places a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder, squeezing in appreciation to make his support known. he watches as nanami's eyes flicker up to geto's very cautiously, as if debating with himself on whether to say something.

"i miss my wife."

the admission is soft, tender in the way its spoken but firm in the way nanami's face pulls together in tight pain and desperate longing. geto's worry melts away into something more fond, and nanami lets out an empty laugh.

"it's pathetic, i know. she's only been gone for a few days. but damn it, i-i can't sleep, i can't eat properly, i keep misplacing everything in my office-"

"why don't you call her?" geto gently suggests and nanami retracts.

"i don't want to bother her."

geto rolls his eyes playfully, nudging the blonde's shoulder.

"she's your wife. she signed up to being bothered by you for a lifetime."

"it's also a 13 hour time difference between tokyo and new york." nanami weakly reasons, but geto just whips out his phone and presses your number. "hey, what're yo-"

"geto?" your groggy voice rings out from the other side, and a flush of warmth spreads through nanami's body. your voice. he'd almost forgotten what your voice sounded like (he definitely hadn't, but it sure as hell felt like it) - gentle, warm, sweet like daisies in the summer rain. "is everything alright?"

"just peachy. oh, actually, i forgot something- nanami, you don't mind taking over for me do you?" geto expertly lies, passing off the phone to nanami too quickly for any attempts of escape.

"ken?" you mutter from the other side, slightly more awake. nanami cringes internally - knowing that it's 1am there - but can't help his shoulders from melting at the sound of your voice.

"my love. sorry, did we wake you?"

"it's alright. still having trouble adjusting to the timezone here anyways." you yawn on the other side, and he can practically envision your sleepy expression and the glow of your phone illuminating your face. better than any artwork, he believes. "how are you, babe?"

"tired - today was the day of the investor meeting for the merger."

"oh shit, really? how'd it go?"

nanami opens his mouth to answer, as suddenly the crowd of employees are directed to re-enter the building by a grinning gojo and a smug geto who winks at him from afar, forcing nanami to reconsider his answer on the spot.

"had to reschedule. fire alarm went off."

"the fire alarm?"

he can hear the panic in your voice and kicks himself for making you worry.

"false alarm, love. gojo's telling everyone right now that it's safe to re-enter the building."

"oh, that's good. i'm relieved, i don't want anyone to get hurt."

"i know, darling. promise everyone's fine and taken care of."

you hum on the other side, and he can hear you shifting in bed.

"even yourself?"

"hm?"

you giggle on the other side of the line, and nanami wishes he could record that sound to relive it during the day.

"yourself, ken. are you taking care of yourself?"

he straightens up at your question, embarrassed.

"of course i am. w-why wouldn't i be?"

"a little birdie told me my husband was missing me a bit too much."

"damn it, gojo." nanami covers the phone and swears, cursing his friend for ratting him out.

"and i told the birdie that there was no such thing as missing one's wife too much." you add fondly and nanami sighs into the receiver, before pulling away from the phone and noticing geto's phone is at 5%.

"geto's phone is at 5%, so i think i'll have to get going." nanami pauses, wanting to savour your voice one last time. "i miss you a lot, darling. but i'm so proud of you and all you're doing in new york right now. love you."

"love you so much, kenny. good night."

it physically pains nanami to have to end the call and give back the phone to geto, but he's glad he's managed to speak to you (even for a few minutes). geto smiles up at him, smug and satisfied.

"so? was i right or was i right?"

nanami sheepishly shrugs.

"...thank you, geto. i needed that."

"don't worry bout it. and hey, leave the pitch decks to me - go home early and sleep it off, alright? you still got 25 days to go till she's back."

the number sits heavy in nanami's heart - 25 days - as he tries to muster up a brave smile.

DAY 7

it's a sunday.

it would usually be his favorite day, a day reserved for just him and you: his beautiful wife who rises with the sunlight and smells like cinnamon and vanilla by the time he's brewing coffee in the kitchen. but today, when he reluctantly opens his eyes in bed, the spot next to him is empty. and the pillows don't smell like your shampoo anymore.

worst of all, when he pads out to the kitchen, there's no one to hum pop songs and flip pancakes with.

nanami barely registers the bitter black coffee on his tongue as he flicks over the morning newspaper, the information flying by his eyes with no real comprehension. he can feel a slight headache coming on from staring at his phone too late until 3am last night, rewatching videos of you on the honeymoon until exhaustion won over him.

god, is this how people who have military husbands feel like, he wonders? he just feels... beyond awful. like his whole soul has been sucked dry, the dull ache in his heart only worsening when he'd go to the bathroom and see your perfumes lining the counter, or open the fridge to see your favorite jam sitting untouched on the top shelf. the room is quiet save for the humming of the fridge and his breathing, and suddenly the space feeels far too empty.

the silence doesn't last very long when someone then knocks in rapid succession on the front door, followed by an obnoxious voice.

"NANAMIIIIIIIIIIIII IT IS ME, YOUR LOVERRRRRR-"

"shut the fuck up, gojo, it's 9am on a sunday." geto growls from next to him, as shoko chuckles.

"we brought food from the diner you like." shoko offers from the other side of the door, not knowing whether nanami will actually invite them in. a few awkward seconds pass before the door opens, and nanami's unimpressed face greets the three of them.

"we know you've been really down in the dumps for missing (y/n)-" gojo starts, and nanami's cheeks redden in embarrassment.

"i have not-" he starts, but shoko and geto roll their eyes in perfect sync.

"yes you have." all three of them respond simultaneously.

"i think it's cute." shoko offers, and gojo snickers from next to her.

"well, whatever it is, we're NOT letting you mope around in your apartment on such a nice sunday. so we've-"

"you have." shoko corrects, shaking her head sideways. "it was gojo's idea."

"excuse me, it's a team effort because you two eventually caved. anyways, we've planned out a whole fun day to help you distract yourself from your wife's absence!"

"i don't have a choice, do i?" nanami lamely responds as gojo barrels into the apartment past him, not even asking for permission to enter. geto nods in amusement and follows suit, and shoko offers him a half shrug and a small smile.

nanami pinches the gap between his eyebrows with his left hand, massaging the headache starting to form, but can't deny that it's nice to hear laughter and something other than his own thoughts in his apartment.

"fine. just- GOJO DON'T EAT ON THE COUCH!"

true to gojo fashion, nanami learns, the day is packed with an array of activities that stands in stark contrast to the usual slow and domestic day he'd have with you.

after a lavish breakfast (with gojo having ungodly amounts of sugar), gojo insisted on renting two seater bikes and looping around the park. then it was lunch at a soba place, a few hours at an arcade, browsing a bookstore, and then dinner with a movie at gojo's place.

"are you having fun?" shoko had asked quietly at the arcade, as geto and gojo argued over who had the higher score. "don't worry, i won't tell gojo."

nanami had let out a small sigh, shoving his hands in his pockets but couldn't help but hide his smile. it was the most relaxed he'd felt the whole week, and he hadn't felt the need to obsessively check his phone for any updates from you.

"yeah. i think... i really needed this. thank you."

shoko winked.

"you're welcome. we're always here for you, you know that right?"

now it's nearing 11pm and gojo excitedly presses stop play on geto's pick for the night - pulp fiction. geto complains, throwing up his hands, only for gojo to wave his protests off.

"hey, you won the rock paper scissors and picked the first movie! now that we sat through that, we have to sit through my favorite movie."

"god, not 'frozen' again." shoko groans into her hands, and gojo gasps in mock horror.

"it's not! we're actually going to watch 'love actually'."

nanami sits up straighter at the mention of the film. no one noticed the way nanami's face morphs momentarily into one of pain and fondness, geto being too busy arguing with gojo about the semantics of choosing the next film and shoko inspecting the popcorn bucket in her hands. but nanami's heart continues to throb with pain.

"back me up, nanami. it's a good movie, right? you've seen it before?" gojo shouts from across the room, flicking the lights off again. nanami wills himself to stay rock solid, forcing his head to nod in agreement.

"y-yeah. i've seen it. it's good."

it was more than good, in truth.

it was the film that he'd taken you to see as the first date. a local cinema, a shared bucket of popcorn, the sudden rain he had to shield you from with his coat.

alcohol.

nanami needs alcohol to get through this movie.

"gojo, do you have any alcohol in your fridge?"

gojo smirks.

"oh shit, is it a drinking night today? yeah, i got a bit of everything- let me know what you want."

and that is how nanami ends up squished between a bored geto and a mildly amused shoko, nursing his third bottle of beer for the night. the movie sounds muted, as if the actors are speaking under the water, as the memories of the date come rushing at him in full force.

"did you like it?" you'd carefully asked, blinking your eyes in the cinema foyer in an attempt to readjust to the bright lighting. the nearly empty popcorn bucket was hugged hazardously under your right arm, and nanami carefully removed it from your arm before binning it. he wanted to slide his own arm in between the gap, but wanted to respect your space, instead settling with walking side by side with you to the exit.

"of course, it's a classic."

you'd laughed, and it warmed his entire body: melodic, loud, just the right amount of you.

"what is it?" he'd asked, bumping his shoulder with yours. you'd shaken your head sideways, muffling your giggles with your hand.

"nothing, nothing. just the thought of nanami kento, heir and ceo of nanami enterprises, the biggest law firm in Japan.... being a secret rom com lover is a bit funny." you'd smiled at him so blindly, his heart skipped a beat. "guess there's a lot more to learn about you, kenny."

he'd smiled back just as bright.

"i guess there is."

as if on cue, thunder had roared and rain started pelting from the black inky sky. people dodged into nearby stores, dog walkers cursed under their breath, and cars started flipping on their windshield wipers.

"fuck, it didn't say it was going to rain today. did you bring an umbrella?" you'd asked as you opened the door, shielding yourself from the rain by standing under the cinema's roof. nanami's warm body had joined yours a few seconds later, his left hand hovering a few inches from yours.

"no. guessing you got here by train?"

"that's correct. but the station's a ten minute walk from here." you'd sighed, shrugging off your jacket when nanami's calloused hand gently stopped you.

"what're you doing?"

"taking off my jacket so i can shield myself from the rain?" you'd blinked up at him, so adorable and clueless. it was a slightly chilly april day, but he wasted no time in shrugging off his own coat and gently draping it over your head.

"your jacket's too pretty to get wet, sweetheart. use mine instead."

you looked so shy, so unsure of yourself, when your smaller fingers curled themselves around his coat. he'd let you have his coat forever, he decided, if you were to ask.

"but... but then your coat will get wet."

"better that then you."

and he meant it.

and he held your hand whilst the two of you ran through the empty streets, the wet cement illuminated by the yellow glow of the streetlamps and the occasional headlights of the cars passing by. both of you were soaking wet by the time you and nanami were standing on the steps of the station, heart pounding and big smiles on your face.

"that was-"

"crazy." he'd finished for you.

"actually, i was gonna say the best day i've ever had." you'd said softly, and his heart thundered louder than the thunderstorm up ahead.

and he'd kissed you then and there.

"nanami, what'd you- oh my god are you okay?"

shoko's concerned voice shakes him out of the memory, and the feeling of something wet sliding down his face registers. the movie's suddenly been paused, and geto kicks gojo under the table for "making nanami cry."

was he really crying? nanami's hand comes up to brush against his cold cheeks, and it confirms to himself that he is crying.

a lot.

"god, i miss her so much." is all nanami can say, the effects of his fifth bottle of beer mixing with his dangerously suppressed emotions of missing you. shoko frowns and geto lightly pats nanami's shoulder, whilst gojo begins to panic.

"shit, i'm sorry, i shouldn't have picked a rom com. uhhh what do you wanna watch instead? howl's moving castle? mission impossible? shrek-"

"not. helping." geto dryly gets out, throwing the white haired man a deadly glare. nanami crumbles like a piece of paper, crying into his hands as he folds over himself, and shoko's hands start rubbing warm soothing circles on his back. she shifts her eyes to the side at geto, gesturing at him to get gojo out of the way, as she attempts to reign in nanami's tears.

"hey, it's gonna be okay. she'll be back in no time."

"no she's not. she's gone for another 3 weeks." nanami complains into his hands, drunk and crying. shoko suppresses a sigh, gently tapping his shoulder.

"i think you're feeling a little off because of all the alcohol and the lack of sleep, yeah? you'll feel much better when you wake up, okay? let's get you to bed."

it's a struggle to get the blonde to fall asleep, given that he refuses to go back to his house - saying it reminds him too much of you - but also as nanami is far taller and heavier than shoko. she struggles to prop him upright as gojo directs them to the guest room, and it takes both geto and gojo's help to gently lay the blonde giant onto the mattress and under the covers.

the moment the door closes behind them, shoko presses herself against the door and slides down onto the floor, exhausted.

"jesus. that man is whipped."

DAY 10

nanami absolutely cannot do this.

the lingering pain of missing your warm body next to him in bed, of seeing your shadows in the corner of his eye every time he walks into the office and passes the sofa where you like to lounge whilst reading files, of obsessively re-organising everything in his office to suppress the memory of you laughing every morning... has bled into a full blown illness.

hence why he's currently locked himself in his office, the blinds drawn completely tight to coat him in darkness, his blazer draped over his shoulders as a makeshift blanket whilst he stares blankly at the computer screen. his head's swimming with equations and dates that don't make any sense, and when his assistant came in half an hour ago to ask for his signature on a set of documents, he'd just grunted in response and honestly, isn't even sure if he'd signed the correct blank spaces before dismissing her.

his limbs feel like heavy weights and his head aches. there's no point to anything, he mopes. no point in answering to emails when you're not there to remind him to fix his posture mid-type. no point in heating up his lunch when it's not one of your meticulously cooked bento boxes, the rice shaped into a heart. no point in dressing properly with cufflinks and a tie and a blazer if you're not there to kiss his forehead, mumbling about how nice the color of his tie looks-

"sir, there's someone here to see you." his assistant's voice rings out from the other side of the door, and it sounds... smug, oddly.

nanami can't bring it in himself to care, dropping his head onto the wooden oak desk and staring at the floor. maybe if he doesn't respond, they'll go away, a childish part of him reasons. but as if sensing his immature response, his assistant just chuckles from the other side.

"i know you're in there, sir. i was just in there thirty minutes ago."

"i don't feel too well, irene. please ask them to come back another time." he mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut. god, he just wanted to be in your embrace.

a second of silence passes before he hears the door being swung open, illuminating the room with light from the hallway.

"i'm hurt, ken."

no fucking way.

nanami stands up so quickly that his chair tips over, his wild eyes scanning the dark room before landing on your amused smile. you - the actual you, his darling wife - is standing in his office. in a checkered blazer and dress pants accentuating every dip and curve, smelling like roses and sunshine.

he stares, slack jawed, convinced he's gone insane. you aren't supposed to be back in tokyo for another 20 or so days.

he slowly rounds the corner of his desk, walking towards you carefully as your smile only widens.

"thought you'd be excited to see m-"

the rest of your sentence is swallowed by nanami's lips on yours, his hands immediately finding their place on the small of your back to pull you in closer. he kisses you with so much force and fervor that you're practically pushed against the nearest object - his desk - and the mahogany edge bites into your skin as he pushes you further against it, breaking the kiss only for a second to regain his breath before he's gripping you tightly and kissing you all over again. you taste like your cherry chapstick and nanami can't get enough of it, left hand traveling down to squeeze your waist-

"jesus fucking christ, nanami." geto grumbles from the entryway, as gojo covers geto's eyes with a spare folder. it's only then that nanami pulls away from you, cheeks bright red as he attempts to hide himself by tucking his head under the crook of your shoulder.

it also allows him to smell your perfume much better, and enjoy how your chest rumbles with laughter at geto's horrified expression.

"should get you two charged for public indecency." gojo teases, and nanami looks back up at your smiling figure, the confusion now settling in properly.

"wait, how'd you- why- when-"

"gojo called me." you grab nanami's left hand, tracing circles onto his skin and toying with his wedding band. "said you missed me so much it was driving everyone crazy."

nanami blinks at that comment.

"what?"

"apparently someone's been missing me so much they've been snappy at work, mixing up important numbers, and drunkenly crying over 'love actually'."

the murderous look nanami sends at gojo and geto is enough for the men to avert their eyes elsewhere, pretending to stare at a non existent spot on the floor, as your laughter only grows louder.

"it's alright, nami. i thought it was... sweet."

"disgustingly sweet, might i add." shoko pops her head into the office then, waving at you in greeting. "never seen a man deteriorate so fast from his wife being gone for just a week."

"don't you three have work to do? a lot of work, might i add?" nanami weakly adds, practically pleading with his eyes to be left alone with you. his three friends just laugh, before agreeing to give you two space: geto chuckles under his breath, shoko shakes her head sideways in amusement, and gojo winks and obnoxiously yells out that you owe him at least 3 kg worth of pastries from new york.

then the door is slammed shut, leaving him and his wife in silence once more.

"i can't believe you're here." he admits in the dark, not wanting to let go of you yet. his large arms come to wrap around your shoulder as he sits down onto a nearby chair, pulling you onto his lap. when you complain about the lack of lighting he flicks on a button that makes the curtains pull open automatically, and nanami swears there is no more beautiful sight in the world than the way your face is illuminated when the sunlight hits it. "what about your work?"

you sigh contently in his lap, letting your head roll onto his shoulder. you'd be lying if you said you hadn't missed nanami's touch, his scent, his everything as well.

"said it was a family emergency and i was needed back in tokyo urgently. i'm sure the associates are equipped enough to handle the case whilst i'm gone." you sit up slightly and caress his jaw. "i'm sorry i couldn't come earlier, ken."

he quiets your comments with a light kiss on the corner of your mouth.

"doesn't matter. you're here now."

"that i am, you soft baby." you joke, poking him in the chest. but all he does is nuzzle into your touch.

"soft for you, darling. thought i was going crazy without you here. i'm not letting you go again, ever." he pouts like a child, and you laugh.

"ever?"

he shakes his head sideways.

"ever."

you raise your eyebrows.

"you know i'll be called overseas more than once, right?"

"doesn't matter. i'm coming with you then." he says it with such simplicity and finality.

"what? you can't do that, you- you're basically the boss of this place." you chuckle, patting his head lovingly.

"then i'll let gojo be interim CEO whilst i'm gone. or sell the company. or fake my own death and come with you to wherever you need to go."

he's joking, of course. but the tenderness in his gaze is real and it squeezes your heart with so much love you can't help but kiss the man silly all over again.

"i love you so much, you know that?"

"impossible." his eyes crinkle when he smiles, unabashed and unrestrained. "i love you more."

you're finally home.

and so is he.

a/n: ahhhhh i got this idea randomly whilst procrastinating on my japanese hw and it came out in like 3 hours! not sure if i'm happy with how it turned out but i love the idea too much not to post,,, sorry for the slight hiatus in posting, my entire life has been consumed by the fbi section chief/hotch!coded nanami fic i've been talking about on my blog for the past 2 weeks (did someone say multi part series??!!!) anyways. hope this came out somewhat okay and was fun to read! i especially love writing the dialogue for this fic because it's very chaotic and funny. alright love you all ty for reading this far if you did ~\(≧▽≦)/~

so when you ask for yet another break, for a little bit of distance to give both of you a chance to breathe, he gives you what you want. that’s what he’s always done, always what he will do to show you how good he can be and how far his obedience for you runs.

you don’t understand that you are the breath that gives his lungs a reason to function. but soon enough you’ll see that he’s also the same exact thing for you.

stalkerboyfriend!caleb follows you everywhere without your knowledge despite his “promise” to keep to himself until you were ready for him again.

this wasn’t the first time he’s done it and he knows for a fact that it won’t be the last if you were going to continue to carry his baggage as if it were your own and lie to yourself like it was some burden you didn’t want. he could see through that little savior’s complex of yours. you two were one in the same.

you’d threaten to break up with him again in time when it got a little too much, demand that he leave you alone until it wasn’t what you wanted anymore. and he’d play into the excessive bits because through it all, caleb clearly sees how much you still ache for him no matter the crazy things you say to hit a nerve inside of him.

he can see it in the way your thumbs hesitate and hover over his contact as you wait for your bus, smell it in the lingering aroma of his favorite café that was out of your way just so you could indulge in his usual, and even hear it in your quiet hums of a song he sent you not too long ago as he stood behind you in line.

your unawareness to his presence and overall surroundings frustrated him. he’s warned you about people like him before. but he can forgive that when he knew he’d always be there to protect you.

it was okay if it let him get close even when you naively assumed him to be anywhere but near.

it was okay because it was you, and there was no wrong you were capable of doing in his eyes. not if he benefited.

stalkerboyfriend!caleb never fails to find his way back into your apartment while you’re gone, using a spare key that he had to copy on his own since you still hadn’t given him one.

he likes to tidy up the small things you won’t immediately notice to make your decompression easier and finding more new hobbies of interest that you may have been up to without him.

his discoveries are never anything extraordinary. like when he found that new book on your nightstand a few days ago and snapped a picture so that he could read the same one and keep up when you eventually tell him all about it. or when he looks in your fridge to see what recipe of his you planned on trying your hand at for dinner.

it’s the little things like that that bring him comfort in his invasive trek through your familiar and homey space. he uses that time to think of all the ways he’s going to get you to forgive the things you swear not to like about him, too.

taking you shopping, licking your sweet pussy until he’s on the verge of collapsing, getting on his knees and promising to be the man you need him to be—he had a lot of things on the table that he had to fulfill if he was going to keep you complacent.

stalkerboyfriend!caleb would already be outside your building when you finally get over yourself and text him to come over. he has to be patient though, doesn’t want you to know that he’s already been waiting in his car for the last two hours just because it was close enough to where you are. so he waits for exactly 24 dragging minutes before he’s in the elevator and on his way up to your floor.

he’s effortless at making you feel bad for “neglecting” him the moment you open your door, letting tears form and threaten to spill over his waterline and his lip twitch just the slightest like he’s trying to hold back tears. between the glossy violet eyes and exaggerated slump in his shoulders, he knew you were bound to feel just awful.

as expected, you’re so easy. you believe in the faux tremble in his voice so much that when he wraps his arms around you and silently weeps into the crook of your neck, you tell him over and over that you’re so, so sorry, that you won’t ever do this to either of you again.

you’re convinced he’s genuinely distraught, not seeming to find anything wrong with his growing erection pressing against your belly or care when he starts tugging on the waistband of your sweats. your body has always been his favorite way to heal.

“please,” he mumbles past a rehearsed sniffle. “missed you. w-wanna feel you, pips. been so long…”

stalkerboyfriend!caleb loves watching you pathetically lose yourself on his cock. he stares lustfully at your bare and greedy pussy humping him through his gray boxers as you press him deeper into the mattress, slick darkening the once lighter material as the spot grows bigger the more aroused you become.

“you p-promised me,” he grunts through gritted teeth, looking up into your drunken eyes and jumping tits after each hurried grind of your hips. “said you loved me, said you wanted to be with me forever, right? but you keep tryin’ to take it from me… why, huh? y’scared? scared that you like who i am? that you fuckin’ live for it?”

your hands rest on his hard chest, mouth hanging agape to let the soft moans answer what you have no plausible response to. he doesn’t have to force you look at him when you can’t pull yourself from his intense gaze, whining each time you angle yourself just right so that his thick cock nudges against your swollen clit.

“pretty pussy tells on you every time. doesn’t she, baby? she’s always so good t’me, even when you’re not. even when you’re always lyin’. even when you don’t deserve to feel good.”

his leaking precum only causes your mess to grow even sloppier, seeping through his underwear and making your cunt stickier that what it already was.

“i… i d-don’t lie,” you choke, yelping sharply after he reaches up to land a slap to one of your tits before pinching the nipple between his fingertips. “y-you’re so fucking mean, ‘leb!”

“i’m mean—did i tell you to stop?” your boyfriend’s not going easy on you this time, pushing up into you until you feel his dick nestle in between your pussy lips again. the sting from his strike still thrums in your clit and you keep moving regardless of the overstimulation turning you into a puddle, wanting to do everything he says if it’ll get you stuffed.

“i’m mean?” he continues, satisfied only once you do as your told. “‘m not the one ignorin’ you, acting like you’re some burden. i’m not the one being stupid…”

you shake your head frantically, heat rushing to your gut when he grips your ass hard enough to almost hurt. “i love you, caleb. i said i w-wouldn’t do it again…”

“you’d say anything to get some dick, wouldn’t you?”

he’s trying to antagonize you further, but it didn’t matter how hard he attempts to keep up the façade you could almost see right through. caleb’s equally deprived at this point, and he shows you when he finally releases himself and slips into your tightness without warning for the first time in almost a week.

“said you love me?”

you clench around him, leaning down to kiss the corner of his lips with a lazy nod. “i do…”

“then prove it.”

a/n: not proofread.. and if you don’t like this, PLEASE DON’T TELL ME!!! okay, luv you, mwah! 💋

creds to @/ferretmilkshakezzz for the dividers!! —click here for them—