satoru’s princess

you were about to retort, unamused, with something sassy, like how you weren’t so sure of your biological relation to her and how you hated when she called you that — but the taller, white haired woman hooked a long arm around your shoulders, effectively silencing any rebuttals.

she pulled you close into her personal space with no regard until your face was practically squished against her chest. your cheeks heated a little, your temper rising. your brows furrowed, nose scrunched as she peered down at you with a cheeky grin, blue eyes flashing behind her sunglasses.

she smelled like coconut.

“we’re gonna have lots of fun together.”

it took time to adjust to living with someone like satoru. you had heard a lot about her growing up. it was hard not to. after all, she was the strongest. but the stories you heard weren’t all… good.

some spoke about how terribly obnoxious she was. how disrespectful she acted towards the gojo clan and the elders. how she never listens. you had only met a handful of times in your life — and unfortunately, when she had taken you from the clan to stay with her, you also witnessed this egregious behavior first hand.

never had you met someone so absolutely insufferable. infuriating. annoying. in a way words can’t describe. though, as stubborn and furious as you are everyday due to having to deal with someone like her, you feel something strange possess you at times — and you don’t understand what it is.

you both fight all the time with you being the one instigating and yelling all because your concern comes off as hot and cold. one second you’ll manage to have a serious conversation with your older sister — but then she’ll do that thing she always does to everyone else where she brushes you off like your words don’t hold any weight.

and then, you’ll explode with rage and stay in your room the rest of the day before eventually coming out. satoru will tease you again for being a grump and pinch your cheek. you’ll snap at her. she’ll chuckle and you’ll have to look away when you realize you’re staring too long at the way she looks with her head thrown back, slender neck exposed.

it is truly a never ending cycle.

you just hate how she doesn’t take you seriously. how she ruffles your hair and gives you that easy smirk, looking down at you — because she’s insanely, stupidly tall — as if you’re still just a child that doesn’t understand anything. you also hate when her attention is elsewhere or when she’s out late doing god knows what. she texts you sporadically. she never keeps you updated until the last second while you’re mind is gnawing at you in worry, wondering the worst; she’s gotten better at it though because she can tell it bothers you.

but most of all, you hate when she’s nicer to other girls your age when she’s supposed to be your sister. not theirs.

and satoru is nice. so nice underneath it all that it pisses you off. because no matter what you say or do, how far you go — she always smiles at you. cares for you. gets you all the food and clothes you want.

at the end of the day, she’s completely unfazed by your behavior as if you’re all bark and no bite. if you acted this way back at the clan, it would’ve been swiftly corrected with a few beatings. but you know satoru would never raise a hand to you, would never hurt you.

because you’re her baby sis.

you thought it’d be like this forever. but there was one thing you never expected.

satoru dating.

well, not exactly dating. you’re a virgin who has never been in a relationship or kissed anyone, so you have no idea what to think of it.

and in all honesty, you’ve never even seen satoru date anyone or bring them over, let alone be interested in somebody — at least, not in front of you. she’s never introduced you to someone special. the thought comforts you for some reason — that satoru is too busy for all of that. that if it came down to it, she is choosing to prioritize you; something no one else has ever done.

in fact, you’ve never once seen her look twice at a guy.

of course, at the time, it didn’t even cross your mind that perhaps satoru wasn’t interested in men at all…

another day, another night where you’re curled up in bed, glaring at your phone, thumb hovering over satoru’s contact like you might cave and text her if she’s okay. but you don’t. you wouldn’t. not when she never bothers to tell you where she is or when she’ll be back. so, why should you care, right?

but nevertheless, your heart has been pounding for hours, fidgeting as if you were on edge, waiting up for your big sis — not that you’d ever admit it.

then, just as you were about to press the call button, you hear keys — distantly, with what you can pick up on from inside your room on the second floor — finally jingle in the lock. relief floods you like air filling your lungs, but only for half a second before it swiftly turns into fury.

it’s three in the morning.

you throw off your covers, practically launching yourself off of bed, storming out through your bedroom door and towards the stairs but not daring to stomp just in case it was a rough day for her.

you needed to gauge her mood first before deciding if you were going to make a scene or not — only to freeze mid-step when a low, breathless laugh — hers — rings from the living room.

“shhh…” you hear satoru’s low but amused voice follow.

your stomach sinks.

she’s not alone?

for a moment, your brows furrow just a tad, though you don’t know as to why. as you finally find the courage within you to take another step, you hear satoru’s soft chuckle followed by a delicate gasp — feminine and breathy.

it’s a woman. and it’s not satoru.

you’d know.

creeping down the stairs ever so slowly, your pulse pounds like a jackhammer in your throat. your ears strain as the sounds grow clearer the more you draw close. there are hushed whispers, the shifting and rustling of fabric, and then a choked noise.

for some reason, the fact that she’s in the company of someone else, trying to be quiet and secretive, sucks the air right out of you once more, taking the relief and replacing it with dread. it makes you slink even quieter down the steps as if you have a reason to hide in your own home like an intruder, padding your bare feet down the wood as you peer into the hall downstairs.

you should turn back.

you shouldn’t look.

you know you shouldn’t because you think you have an idea of what’s happening yet your brain tries to deny it all the same in confusion and denial. but curiosity makes your feet move forward, closer and closer.

you press yourself against the walls, peeking around the corner into the dimly lit living room once you reach the doorway.

your breath hitches.

satoru’s back is to you at an angle, her hair messy, shoulders taut with movement.

there’s a woman beneath her on the couch by the window, back arched like a bow, dress shoved up her thighs, one high heel dangling from her toes and her panties from the ankle. her manicured fingers are tangled in satoru’s pristine white hair, brows scrunched and eyes clamped shut in ecstasy, painted lips parted in silent pleasure—

and satoru—

god.

her beautiful face is buried between the stranger’s legs, the obscene wet noises an obvious testament to what was happening.

pink lips glistening with stringy slick, long tongue dragging slow and deliberate like she’s savoring every second. the woman whimpers, hips jerking into your older sister’s mouth — and satoru growls against her appreciatively, the sound vibrating through the woman’s cunt enough to make her squeal.

it’s borderline animalistic. and your legs go weak at the sound.

you don’t think you’ve ever seen satoru so hungry.

you don’t think you’ve ever seen your big sister like food as much as she seems to enjoy lapping at that woman’s cunt like a starved dog.

you’re so distracted by the scene in front of you that you almost miss how satoru’s head tilts ever so slightly.

and glowing blue eyes lock onto yours.

a shiver runs down your spine.

you expect her to do something. to have her eyes widen, to startle, to fluster, to stumble, to tell you to get out. but your sister doesn’t stop. she just holds your gaze, shameless and unbothered as ever, pupils blown wide like she’s drunk.

your pulse spikes.

her head angles more, those cerulean eyes sharp like a cat’s even as she drags her tongue almost lazily up the woman’s cunt just to watch you flinch. the unknown woman continues to moan, utterly oblivious to your presence and in bliss, fingers tightening in satoru’s hair which makes her wince a little.

your hands clench into fists at your sides, knuckles white.

satoru doesn’t falter once as her lips press and suck against the puffy, engorged clit. the flicking of her tongue never breaking pace. even more gasps and moans permeate the air with each delivery of the wet muscle.

but satoru doesn’t pay her much mind any longer.

instead, she peers at you almost blankly, eyelids heavy and smoldering, the wet sounds between her and the stranger so inappropriate yet she’s acting as though it isn’t at all, completely unembarrassed.

look away.

you should look away, you tell yourself.

but you can’t.

satoru’s pink tongue drags a torturously slow, obscene stripe up the woman’s folds — like she’s showing you — and the woman keens, practically mewls, thighs trembling. in response, satoru’s lips curve, just slightly, against the dripping pussy.

smirking.

she’s smirking at you.

your stomach lurches, face pale and hot all at once. heat floods your cheeks like a wave, words caught in your throat.

somewhere along the line, a sound escapes you. a whimper or a gasp, you’re not even too sure because you’re so dizzy.

at that, satoru practically stiffens like a bloodhound catching a scent — an almost feral look in her eye — and her pupils dilate further until you can barely see the blue in them.

you quickly whirl around, nearly tripping over your own feet as you bolt upstairs. you reach your bedroom before the door slams right behind you. you press your palms to your cheeks. they’re burning. and your heart is pounding wildly.

the image of what you had seen downstairs is seared into your retinas.