Ancient God

As the metallic padding of his armor clanked! with each determined step, so did the ringing thought that if anything - absolutely anything - had happened to you, he would kill that damn Zenin boy. Prince or not. 

Treason or not. 

He didn’t climb and elbow and fight his way through the ranks of knights to become your very own personal guard for nothing. From the very moment he’d met you, his duty was to you. 

As was his heart.

Though, that last sentiment didn’t matter much - not when he was nothing but your lowly protector. 

Completely out of place in the decadent, dimly-lit chamber of your bedroom; it was sprawling, and the entire Keep where knights slept would take up about only half the size of your chamber. It was obvious that this place was readied for the newly-wed couple - a faint mist of flowery fragrance clouding the air, white sheets so sheer that they looked like phantoms fluttering in the moonlight, and you.

You, seated on the center of your plush mattress, still dolled-up in your gauzy ivory wedding dress. Looking as angelic as ever- though, when have you not?

To Toji, it was routine to snap his jade eyes away from whom he never could have. 

Throat slightly rusty with hoarseness as he whispers, “My princess?” Before shaking his head free of any more of those stupid notions of ‘his.’ “You alright, princess? Must I slay a haughty royal neck tonight?”

That, at the very least, seemed to get a watery chuckle out of you as he’d wickedly hoped. Then you’re finally turning-

And oh, Toji thinks he might do very well to fulfill his promise of bringing you the head of your so-called new husband.

Because right there - in the corner of your gorgeous face that he’d grown up admiring through every year, every emotion - was a singular, silvery tear track. Glittering in the rays of moon, Toji can’t stop himself from the way his body viscerally wrenches a step forward-

-before you hastily wipe away the evidence of your sorrow before he can. Fighting to keep your sweet voice even, “Oh, don’t bother, Toji. Naoya just seems to be having a…bad day?”

He narrows his eyes- you were unhurt, at the bare minimum. Though, that won’t stop him from bribing the kitchen staff into overloading that damn Naoya’s meals with a bucket of salt from now onwards.

“Tch, the worst date to have a ‘bad day’. Don’tcha think, princess?”

“You’re telling me.” Throwing your hands up in exasperation, the silky sleeves of your wedding dress ripple as you huff. And Toji takes a few guilty moments to memorize the vision, one he never thought he would see. 

It’s only with how long you two had known each other that you’re not bothering with any plastic court manners as you pull your knees to your chest. Groaning in quite an unlady-like way, “And all because I simply asked him to help me take these damn laces off-”

“The bastard ran out because of that?” Toji suddenly interrupts, jaw slightly sagging as he dares to take a peek at the mass of ribbons and strings knitting the back of your stuffy dress together. 

Honestly- years in the royal palace and he still didn’t understand what it was with you people and these damn layers. 

Your embarrassed silence was enough of an answer, and Toji’s bowing. “If I may-” Letting his gloves drop to the polished marble floor with a clunk! “No, I will if he won’t. Turn around.”

Slightly yelping, you’re letting yourself be tugged closer to the edge of the bed once Toji walks his way ‘round. Gruff, grouchy, and yet he was still making gentle work with your frilly back - unplucking you free, one by one. 

“He said this was a woman’s work.” You sigh over the whoosh–! of creamy white ribbons being loosened from your outer corset. Lips twitching, “And I asked him if he’d rather I spent my wedding night with a woman, then.”

“Ya think? Anyone would be better than that pig-headed, brutish, fucking-”

“Language, Sir Toji.”

“Tch.” 

As the last of your stringy restraints are untied, you have to bite back a moan at the roughened padding of Toji’s fingertips. Dexterous digits digging into where your muscles were tender from being cooped up like this all day, “You’re…surprisingly talented at this- practiced much, Toji?”

“Been watching you get dressed since I came to this palace, princess, don’t underestimate me.” He’s growling, and if the very tips of his ears burned at the thought of being the one undressing you - on your wedding night, of all things - then, well, he’s only glad the flickering chamber candles were too dim for you to tell. 

“O-oh shut up.” You’re scoffing at the way Toji leers. Eyes darting anywhere but his and falling on- ah, your bed.

Your very un-mussed, very un-desecrated bed. 

“Oh.”

Toji perks alert instantly, “Did I hurt-”

“No no–” Waving him off, “It’s just…the bed.” And as his face tilts in confusion, you feel a slight twinge of envy at the way he wasn’t aware of this particular royal custom. 

Sighing, you pinch the plain sheets between your fingers. “The sheets- tomorrow morning, the courts will check and see that the marriage hasn’t been consummated. Of course, they’ll blame me for not trying hard enough to secure an heir. And I don’t trust my lovely husband to be over with his tantrum by then, so…”

Oh.

Oh.

The realization strikes - as do those words slip- 

“I can help with that.”

Toji thinks he’s about to pass out- no, he thinks he’s already dead.

Because, surely, he was in heaven right now? 

Or as close to heaven as he possibly could be - because with only a nod of yours, within only a few minutes he’s between your legs, kneeled at the very foot of your bed. The circles of his nostrils flaring in sweet, sweet anticipation the nearer he’s dragging his straight nosebridge in a meandering line towards your hot core. 

Sniffing a deeeep few lungfuls of your body, your cunt’s saccharine aroma. Baritone so primally guttural n’ wet, “And yer sure? This isn’t just you talking out of- her?” 

You’re whimpering once the honed, gleaming edges of his canines punctuate that last word by sinking into your drenched panties, gnawin’ until he lets it fall back with a sharp snap! that makes your heated skin sting. 

You’re so wet that your inner thighs were gluing together with a thin sheen now, letting off the most sticky plap! of flesh-on-flesh as Toji throws one leg over his broad shoulder. The other pushed and pushed and pushed to spread apart with one of his rugged palms. 

Hips squirming restlessly on your ancient bedsprings, “I’m positive. H-how bad can it really be?”

“Oh, princess, it won’t be bad.” The edges of Toji’s lips stretch at the way he hasn’t even started, and yet, you were already stuttering oh-so-cutely. The thickened curve of his thumb thumps against the top of your cunt, dragging a sultry touch down, down, doooown your sopping slit.

His eyes widen at the way it makes that flimsy fabric of your undergarments drench with a lil’ puddle of slick. And Toji feels his mouth water, “But don’t you take me for some priggish, posh prince that won’t eat out such a pretty pussy.”

“H-how crass!”

“Heh- if you think that’s crass…” Your knight doesn’t finish his sentence, only hooking a roaming index underneath the hemline of your panties. 

Toji bores his half-lidded eyes straight into yours when he tugs- when he rips your starchy white underwear off. Absolutely nothing against his monstrous strength as your personal guard— “Skirts up.”

And you’re barely registering his grunted words fast enough to pull your numerous inner layers up to your heaving chest, barely on time before Toji jerks his head slightly back and spits. 

Straight onto his target of your pussy, it cakes such a warm layer of sap that trickles down n’ in between your puffy folds. 

“Messy giiirl–” He’s more than happy to spank the pad of his thumb down on your swollen entrance and smear the glossy mess. “Hidin’ this away under all those layers. How dare you.”

Prying the edge of your cunt open just enough so that he could sneak a teasing look at your sloppily soaked hole. 

Toji’s scorching hot breath hits your skin in gusts once he’s leaning closer, nibbling on your fleshy pussylips until you whine. “O-oh my- s’it always this rude when one does…this?”

“No.” Gurgling out those syllables right where you were the most sensitive, he’s toying with you. Playing. Driving you mad with the tickling sensation of his scarred lips latching nose-deep into your pussy, “Just me.”

You buck, you keen, you spray him in even more gooey wads of slick that slip n’ slide riiight down Toji’s throat. And he stays there, maw agape so that you could watch each slithering trailway he drinks up like a man parched. 

Like he was thirsting for water for years before coming across your leaking pussy, Toji spanks the underside of his palm against your cunt and makes you still. 

“Now now-” Non-dominant hand latching to your waist to help you hold still, your knight snarls. “Enough runnin’, tell me what you want, princess.”

You claw desperately at the shaggy black strands of his bangs, a shrilling noise escaping you that you’ve never made before. Pulling him- “Want it, Toji. For you to do the…thing.”

“Ah ah-” Oh, he was having sooo much fun making his pretty royal beg for him like this. “The what? Didn’t you take all those ngh- elocution lessons, hm?”

Pulling away, in response your breath hitches with what sounds like a strangled sob, and it’s enough to make his aching cock twitch. Mindlessly humping the bulging outline of his girth against the cool wood of your bed frame, “Like my mouth?” Rubbin’ the line of his scar up and down your cunt, “My scar?”

Nodding and nodding because that’s all you can do, he watches on with a hooded gaze at the way your legs twitch with need. 

Lengthy tongue flopping out even further, your mouth drops ever-so-slightly as you take in how long he was. And he was going to use that? Slathering the very edge of his temperate muscle over your folds, “Then uuuuuse- your-” Pokin’ his nubbed end just back in between your soppy lips to make you bawl- and right out again. “-words.‘

“P-please!”

“Hmm–?”

“Please-” Tears bubble up by the corners of your eyes, and your chin drops down to your chest as you wail out the rude, un-ladylike answer he’s been dying to hear these past few minutes. Past few years, really. “-e-eat me out?”

He was ruining you.

And did your command even have to be a question with the way that Toji was instantly diving his face between your trembling legs like his life depended on it.

Swirlin’ the textured buds of his tongue smack-dab on top of your swollen, sensitive folds to give you a goood, long lick. Once - just a taste before he pulls away with a short ‘fuck’, before surging back in. 

Twice, before- thrice, he was addicted. 

Smack after smack of his dewy wet lips that were simply drippin’ wet with all your juices, Toji’s gluing his maw against your core and sucking you all in. 

He’s fighting to keep his verdant irises from rolling all the way back, he couldn’t even bring himself to even breathe before smushing his handsome features between your legs.

Gulping, “So fuckin’ sweet, princess. Sweeter than any wedding cake.” Toji’s knees go weak at the syrupy wet taste of you splashing on his tongue. “N’ I haven’t eaten allll day.”

And it wasn’t anything innocent - nothing sweet about it - you’re feeling the slimy tip of his tongue ease out further from between his puckered lips and swipe the dewy droplets of slick back into your hole. 

Filling up your entrance with his fat girth until the only thing you were cutely clenching ‘round was his tongue. Your mouth shapes into a soft circle as he starts thrashing his dextrous tongue all the way back n’ forth. “Ngh- ngh, fuck, Toji. It f-feels so…”

Fuck- not even the gossip of the court ladies talked about it being this good. 

“Ohhh– what’s that? Using such expletives, where are your manners, hm?” 

You’re fisting the expensive coverings of your bed as the tender, velvety underside starts scraping along just where you were fountaining out beads of slick the most. Toji’s high cheekbones hollow out with a slurp as he pumps his tongue in furiously. “How can I have manners when- oh fuck!”

Surprising yourself with the sheer carnal need that was seeping into your voice, your hazed pupils travel in circles inside of your eyes in synchronized tempo with his swirlin’ tongue. Rough, rugged. 

“Tha’s it- that’s it.” Toji has the audacity to knock his pointed chin against the base of your cunt and snicker, spitting out yet another stringy wad of saliva that makes your pussy glisten damply. Splat! “Any louder and the entire hah! palace is gonna hear, princess.”

“And whose fault is that- oh!”

“Yours.” He answers, simply.

Already having located your swollen, perky clit and giving it a playful bite. Your spine arches back into the soft blankets as you see fucking stars, clawing through his sweaty scalp. “I-I should admonish you for cheek, Sir Toji.”

“Go on, then.” His gravelly tone was dangerous, sounding oh-so-vulgar from down below once Toji’s plastering his mouth in an open-mouthed smooch against your cunt and prying your pussy further open.

Breath hitching, his prolonged middle finger tugs on your swollen folds and slips just the plush pad in. Groaning at just how wet n’ ready you were for him, “Tell me to stop.” Stretch-stretch-stretching your snug entrance around his bullying digit, “Hmm– command me, princess.”

Sloppy and aching.

Eating you out like he was starved, you’re barely given the time to catch your breath.

Damn near crying out by the time he’s scouring your glossy folds with the curvature of his finger. So big that Toji’s reaching every geysering nook and cranny without even trying– “I-I– fuck! More-”

He gasps, “More?”

“M-more.” Your chin slaps stupidly against the treacly puddle of drool on your chest, one you didn’t even realize was there before. Hazily lidded eyes blinking down at him, “More, please?”

Even when you were this gone, you still used your adorable manners. 

And that fact was enough for Toji to slip his free hand between his legs and massage the mountainous plane of his palm down on his throbbing length. Snaking a hand between his trousers, he silently thanked the wedding dress code for making it so that he didn’t need to wear his full metal armor today.

“My cute princess wants more. You- do you even know what you’re haaaa- asking for?” Toji pants - he heaves. Your cunt singing out a carnal squelch! as he’s crowning just the tip of his nimble index past your filthy hole. 

Nearly the entirety of his upper weight crushing your body to the bed, movements jittery with desperation. He’s suckling on your clit like his favorite gummy whilst stretchin’ out your glutinous insides as if he was trying to mold you to his each shape. 

Tracing your mushy channel in zig-zagged lines, the bed creaks each time you’re bucking to follow his lecherous movements. “D’you even know what I can do? How much I can streeeetch this tight pussy out?” Squeezing in another finger, he’s rawly opening up your cunt with crazed thrusts. “How much I’ve yearned-”

And more to shut himself up than anything, Toji stuffs his mouth full of your pretty lil’ clit. Craning his neck to let him drag his unfastened mouth over n’ over in slobbering drags. 

Letting your restless hips ride his features, “O-ohhh Toji– it feels so good.” You mewl, your entire body burning after each knocking thrash of his barreling fingers. 

He had three- three of them inside you. Slick, glissading, searching. 

“Promise to hah- scream my name, princess.” He pipes up, still salivating all down your slit with ribbony wires of spittle that start formulating a puddle beneath you. Sexily-placed scar rubbing a lecherous massage as the curling tip of his tongue draws a few hearts on your clit. Like he was strangely…distracting you. Before- 

“T-Toooji! There! There-”

He strikes your g-spot, mercilessly. 

Whack after whack he’s pushing until the knobbled bumps of his knuckles are rawly red, poking into your deepest depths. 

“Yeahhh- just like that, atta girl.” Toji utters on your tender, wet pussy and you see stars. Circling cartoonishly around and around your head while he keeps on probin’ your favorite spot. 

A place you’d only read about in those steamy romance novels your attendants smuggled, and now your knight was treating it like some cute glossy button he kept on squishing. The steady pushes of his digits bruising a few circumferences onto that spot, he was leaving your head feverishly empty.

And you can feel his smug smirk on your pussylips, faltering ever-so-slightly when he’s twitching in his hands. 

Oh, Toji could cum from just this. 

Forced to dab the heavy padding of his thumb over his weeping divot, he knits his dark brows and tries to make sure that this was real. That he really had you like this - all whimpering and drooling with both pairs of pretty lips, the crevice of your mouth opening with the loudest, most broken sob of- “Feels so strangeee–” Hips jutting, “I’m close.”

“F-fuck.” And if his voice broke on that last line, you were too far gone to recognize it. Like a madman, he’s twisting his mouth to now drink in all of you. 

Everywhere from the puffed-up nub of your clit, to where your sappy entrance was bulging with all of him. All his rummaging size that dug against your delicate sweet spots, Toji was kissin’ you everywhere and anywhere. 

Until his mouth burned, and your thighs quaked. “G-gonna…I’m gonna-” You’re croaking out, throat turning husky every time his tongue rolled over your clit, snaking up and down your folds. 

“Cum- cum on my tongue, princess.” Toji bores his dilated green gaze straight up at you as he grins. Lovingly. Pussydrunken. “That’s an order.”

And then you cum- and it’s right all over his mouth like he’d hoped. 

All down his tongue. Pooling at the back of his raping throat. Thick, splashing waves of sap that he’d love to drown himself in - to drown himself in your sweet, orgasming pussy. 

Toji’s riding you through each peak of your high on the dot, slashing his tongue in a slanted drag across your clit repeatedly. It’s such a primal back n’ forth that leaves your hips slamming back into his mouth. 

Voice wavering, it takes you a few seconds to blink away the blotches of pure white staining your vision. “Th-that feels so–” Still suffering from each ravaged shake that wrecks you, “Wait- are you…”

And as your vision finally clears just the slightest bit, you’re catching the sight of Toji’s beefy arm disappearing underneath your bed posts. Moving to and fro angrily– 

“Nothing to w-worry about, princess.” His smoky croon makes the line of your spine shiver, lavishing your cunt with another polish of his mouth. Allll the way up to your pulsing clit, he gives your g-spot another merciless thump. “Nothing to worry about at- fuck-”

He might be the strongest of all your knights, but he can’t handle this.

Can’t handle you looking so damn dazed on his tongue, twitching with even the tiniest graze over your sweet spots. Tearing out of your pretty pussy all for him - that he can’t help but reach his high.

And Toji wasn’t going to let it go to waste, no- in a quick split-second, he’s forcing himself from his kneeled position at the edge of the bed and hiking a meaty thigh beside your hips. Straddling you with all his bulky bodyweight, grabbing ahold of his reddened fat cock as he cums.

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck–” He’s nibbling down on his rosy lower lip and still can’t hold back the sheer amount of moans that escape him. 

Your eyes widen at the voluminous droplets of seed dribbling from that circular end of his shaft, throbbing and glittering with wiry strands of cum clinging to him. “Th-there’s so much, Toji.”

Head slouching forwards- “S’all for you, princess.” Toji’s orgasm hits him like a damn carriage, and it’s pure adoration to keep on creaming himself to the way you looked underneath him that he isn’t simply collapsing on top of you right now. 

Whimpering, your cunt starts throbbing needily once more at the splatters of syrupy ivory sap staining your sheets now. Making a mess. 

Husking, “S-s’all-” Still airy n’ half-lidded, Toji moves as if he’s in a dream when he creeps his cherry-red tip towards your plush lips. Inch by inch. Toned hips moving forward, toes curling as his angry cock cums even more– “-for you.”

“Oh- mmmm—” You’re looking up at him through your lashes once the last few pearly droplets of seed trickle down to your maw like a white gloss, mouth all full. Toji’s mushroom tip was as pink as a strawberry and just as massively thick, scraping your jaw with the puffy edges of his veins. 

Finally stealing a proper look at him, he just looked so attractive with your slick sparkling on his chin. Plastering a wet gleam all the way from the tips of his cheeks down his sharp jaw. 

Just dripping wet - he was wearing the mess he’d made of your pussy like a medal.

“Oh. Oh.” Toji’s dark pupils dilate, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d have said he had heart eyes. Shuffling further down to give your soaked mouth a looong, thorough kiss. His first, in fact, that he’s been saving for either you or no one. Not that he would tell you that. “Congratulations on the wedding.”

You’re whining, as if you’d just remembered what today was. “And what about the problem of an heir?” 

“O-one thing at a time, princess. Besides…”

Toji didn’t have to finish his sentence for you, too, to register what his keener ears had picked up. The distant thundering of footsteps- 

“They’re back.”

And just as soon as he’d arrived, he was gone. 

A fever dream that never happened- or, at least, Toji would never believe it happened if not for the cloying treacly taste of you still sticking to his lips. And if Ijichi arrived alone, with Naoya still in the throes of his tantrum, and sleeping over at some other ward of the palace - well, he may have just cracked a smile.

“What a great affair today- eh, Ijichi?”

“Y-yes, sir!”

.

.

.

Naoya accepted your explanation of using oils to trick the court into thinking the marriage was consummated, but what wasn’t accepted was the fact that weeks had passed and you still weren’t with child. 

With an heir. 

And right now the pressure from the court was crushing– 

“You must understand, my lady. You’re already at that age, and our majesties aren’t getting any younger!”

“Quite right quite right, an heir- if we can have an announcement before the upcoming ball-”

“It is imperative we have a newborn soon. Our enemies will see this as a weakness-”

“Right, and I believe Naoya will attend to that.” You’re throwing a bored glance at the way your husband lounged near the end of the council table. Stood tall, and aloof with power. And you didn’t mean just the matters with your kingdom’s enemies, Naoya hadn’t even tried to touch you since that night. 

To which you’ve been quite grateful, frankly. 

You cringe at the thought of what this arranged marriage may come to, and the fact that there was certainly no way Naoya could even hold a candle to how good Toji was-

No, subtly, you’re shaking your head. You couldn’t be thinking about these sorts of things during an official advisory meeting - especially not when your personal knight stood guard right beside your bejeweled chair. 

“-and his highness Naoya was so passionate on your wedding night.” Tuning back into the important conversation at hand, you’re almost regretting it. 

The elder that’d just spoken up sounded almost giddy with excitement, and you’re realizing - at his red-blotched cheeks - that he must have been part of the group to assess your bedsheets on the morning after your wedding night. 

Plowing on, almost conspiratorial, “I mean- the way those fine silks were torn- surely you must try harder, my lady, to replicate that night. Otherwise we might have to consider additional royal consorts.”

Beside you, you’re feeling Toji’s towering figure stiffen- recreating that night with Naoya was the last thing he wanted. And he’s growling out through his helmet before he can control himself, “We have no ongoing wars. We have no rebellions. I’d say we’re quite at peace without rushing the princess, minister.”

“And who gave you permission to speak, knight?” 

Oh, you don’t have to look up to know who seethed. 

The shards of vicious ice cutting through his voice was enough for you to already envision the glare that Naoya was sending Toji’s way. “And you’re one of the lower-born ones- a peasant, are you not? Aren’t you the one that had to get on your knees and beg to be able to take training?”

Toji grits his teeth so hard he tastes rusted metal, “I am.”

“So it is much above you to even breathe so loud during a meeting such as this- is it not?”

“It is.”

“Then why do you butt in like some- some lover when we talk of her duty-”

“Because my duty is to the princess you impotent lout.” Toji’s voice was thunderous, making the long wooden table tremble and the court advisors to hold onto their breath. You were quite sure you saw at least one faint. 

And Toji would let anyone mouth off against him - but one word against you and he would stand up to the king that knighted him himself. Nevermind some arrogant prince who couldn’t count the blessings he had. 

A prince who, he was sure, was on the verge of bursting right now. 

Face an unseemingly shade of red, veins popping, mouth spitting with what were surely punishments–

“I will remind you, husband-” Your voice speaks up, with all the regal authority that half this court wouldn’t be able to muster up. And every head snaps to you as if watching a particularly complex jousting competition. Your eyes narrow down at Naoya, “-that you are not king, yet.”

It didn’t even matter if he was - you would still not allow him to lay a hand on your steadfast knight. 

And there was nothing more to say.

Gingerly, the senior advisor, Gakuganji, is slamming down the tiny golden gavel to adjourn the court session. And every huffy elder nearly tumbles out of their seat to escape the stifling tension between you three. 

“You-” Naoya declares, as he stands up. With a jolt, you realize that he’s glaring venomously at none other than Toji. “I might not be king but I am next in line. And you shall do well to stay away from my wife-” 

Those razor-sharp eyes now falling on you, and even though Toji’s body moves- his heart can’t help but ache at the fact that he had no right to stop the future king - your husband - from daring to look at you with anything but love. Suspiciously, “-or else.”

In a flutter of velvety capes, Naoya is dragging his court entourage off - each one undoubtedly buzzing to gossip outside about the scandal of your knight as they slam the door behind them.

And then, you’re alone.

It’s tough to be alone with someone as princess - always in the presence of elders, guests, or subjects - and this is the first time the two of you have been together in a room, unsupervised, since…that night.

Toji’s mouth runs dry at his blatant disrespect- not only did he have to embarrass you, but he had made you fall within Naoya’s line of sight so vile. “My p- princess, I am sorr-”

“Touch me.”

Fuck.

It’s only once your face breaks out into a tentative smile that he’s realizing he might have just said that out loud. And you’re standing- walking, cornering him, “Well…if you really want to, Sir Toji.”

“But your husband…”

And he didn’t really care for that prince, he only cared for what they might say about you if anyone saw. If anyone knew- 

“Since when—” You’re drawling, eyes dipping lower. He really was oh-so-sculptured in his armor, all broad lines and chiseled curves. And it made the thin silk of your dress rub lewdly when you’re clenching your thighs, “-have we cared about him?”

Suddenly, you’re getting a demonstration on why exactly Toji Fushiguro was the fittest of all your knights - the one chosen specifically for you. 

Because your back hits the frigid coldness of the table before the recognition hits you- as soon as you blink, as soon as you can gasp, Toji’s lifting you clean off the ground and sprawling you out so prettily. 

Right then and there in the middle of the meeting hall. 

The velvety fabric of your dress draping across half the chairs, legs flying up into the air in such an unroyal way until Toji’s grabbing ahold of your ankles. Stretchin’ them out to lock around the back of his neck with one big, beefy hand.

You ogle the way his plates of armor shift as his biceps flex from underneath, pushing apart your too-many layers and twisting your undergarments just to the side. “Toji wh-what are you…”

“Sayin’ those things and expecting me not to lose it.” Comes out the answer - rough, hoarse. Like every syllable was wrenched from the back of his smoky throat, sensual. “Maybe I’ve been too- nice- princess.”

You’re whimpering, hips bucking needily off of the flat surface when Toji punctuates the very end of his sentence by rovering the blunt, glinting hilt of his sword between your legs. 

Safe. He would always keep you safe. Letting that scalding coldness drag down, down, down between them–

“Oh- fuck!” Before pressing down so meanly on the slope of your throbbing pussy with his metal shaft, you’re seeing stars once he’s nudgin’ apart your puffy folds just enough to locate your clit and massage. 

“Seems like we’ve taught my lil’ princess some baaad manners, huh?” He’s snickering, ‘round and ‘round go the gyrations of decorated hilt. 

And you’re so wet that every swerve of his blade leaves the barren air ringing with a muffled squelch! Thighs twitching further apart, he takes the opportunity to clunk his muscular thigh up on the ledge and let it grind just teasingly against your cunt.

Watching in awe as a puddle of silvery sap starts polishing his knee-plate, “Why don’t you get yourself off, princess? Hah- use me.”

“S-so crude.” 

Latching onto the broad deltoids of his shoulders, Toji’s bending and bending you all the way in half like a parchment. Smooth fringes of his knee sinking in past the plush of your thighs and draggin’ up your slit. 

The metallic surface of his armor squeaks when you prod up into it sloppily, riding his knee. All the way up to his thigh-

“And this, princess–” He gruffs out from above you, scorching hot pants sending goosebumps down your neck. Your hamstrings buuurn when he pushes against you, mounted, almost like he was fucking you- just with clothes and armor unfortunately on. “-is called a mating press. Never taught that one in elocution classes before, huh?”

A mating press- oh, Toji had you in a mating press, and he was rutting down into you until your joints popped in protest. 

Wrangling the fronts of your knees until they hit your tits, he’s lavishing his tongue on the crook of your neck and biting. 

“Oh, what I would ngh- give to have you like this.” Scarred maw tickling your skin, he’s humping you like he’s in heat. “Would absolutely ruin you.”

“S-so why don’t you-” You’re whimpering once he’s gripping a good handful of your left ass cheek, usin’ the lewd leverage to motion you in a manhandled pace. You’re not just being angled, he’s lifting you almost into midair so that you could hit the most perfect spots on your pussy against his thigh.

Crushing the front of your perky clit against his muscles, he snarls when your riding becomes more erratic. His ears burning, “Don’t- haaaah- don’t tempt me, girl- m’already so-”

He doesn’t even have to finish his sentence for Toji’s mossy eyes to drop and for you to realize exactly what he’s talking about.

The firm, rock-hard outline of his cock that was peeking out through the gaps in his armor- you don’t even consider what you’re doing before you’re undoing one of his tight laces to let the metal drop and show you all of his bulge.

“Oh, shit-” Toji gasps, eyes sprinting to the back of his skull when you tug down his black trousers to palm his throbbing erection. “Oh shit oh shit-”

“I-I thought these were padding-”

He smirks, “Heh- not for me.”

And, truly, you hadn’t gotten a good enough look at Toji’s fat, veiny cock when you had the chance to on your wedding night. Because he was just so damn big that you’re finding trouble wrapping your hand around his entire girth, palm tingly where you could feel all his prominent veins pulsing across. 

Zig-zagged patterns that Toji hunches over and makes you feel- 

“M’not fuckin’ breeding ya.” He spits as soon as he lifts his dripping knee off with a sopping plap! Though, he still keeps his sheathed sword hilt positioned on top of your clit. “Just let me…just…”

Toji couldn’t even begin to explain how filthy it felt to be doing what he was doing.

Holding you all spread apart for him while he fucked you- all without putting it inside like he so badly wanted to. Just lazed, sensual draaaags of his lengthy shaft straightly across your slit. All the way from where his pointed mushroom tip poked your clit, to the innocent smooch of his balls against your cunt. 

Bass voice hitching with a crack, “I can’t- I-I can’t I can’t-” It sounded as if he was losing it- Toji’s given an inch and he takes a mile. Rearing the bulbous end of his cockhead to slip underneath your panties- “M’gonna go fucking crazy like this.”

“F-fuuuck- feels like you’re ngh- really fucking me, Toji–”

“Don’t say that- ohhh, don’t say that, princess.” Warning you from above, Toji’s free hand grabs a handful of your sopping soaked underwear so that he can wrap the useless fabric around his shaft whilst he grinds down on you. Faster. “S’fuckin’ dangerous, might just end up giving birth to a heh- Fushiguro.”

Mewling whines, “I-I don’t mind-”

The only thing you can get out before Toji crashes his mouth into yours and makes you shut up before you made him even more feral. Vulgar groans departed into your lips as he thrusts across your pussy, barely audible over the sluuuurp of your two juices mixin’. 

“Now whaaat have I said about talking out- of- her-” His sensitive pink slit scratches the nub of your clit along with his blade haft, and that makes you see white.

Again and again and again- so close. Toji was just so unintentionally sexy as he pushed you closer n’ closer, meaty thighs sticking against yours, beads of sweat splattering down onto your body, and it only made you even wetter to imagine how much better it would feel if he actually–

“Oh-” Your knight gruffs out, stern lips twitching into a smirk when he snaps his eyes down to your furiously fluttering pussy. “-you’re cumming, princess.”

You- Clenching your eyes as you throw your head back and mewl. You were. 

And you didn’t even realize it until Toji was pressing one particularly prominent vein between your bloated pussylips, letting the gleaming curve of it dig back n’ forth against your cunt and grind you through your high. 

White-hot bolts of fire sparking, spine arching into his armor. 

“O-oh please–” Such pretty noises of pleasure escape your lips, and right now you’re too far gone to wonder or even care if someone might hear from outside. Toes curling, “Toji Toji Toji- Toooji—!”

Chilling metal hilt scraping your pretty clit, “That’s it- thaaat’s it- might not get to stuff you like I want to, princess. But you-” Darkened green eyes stare into yours seriously, “But you’re cumming for me.”

Toji keeps on staring right into your eyes as he fucks himself against your pussylips- straight into his own high. Forcing himself to milk out every drop, to cream all over your puckered lips with a froth of sappy white. 

Hissing, it’s all he can do to stop himself from throwing his head back at his orgasm - not wanting to miss a single nanosecond of your expressions. 

You’re blubbering out stupidly, “Will it always ngh- feel this good, Toji?”

“I can’t always have you, princess.” With a saccharine-sweet squelch! he dabs the thick end of his thumb into the pool of white that’d collected near your entrance. Letting it drip a few speckles of cum on its way to plop! right between your pouty lips. Making you suck.

It’s all Toji can do to not keen as he responds, “And- and when you…” He gulps, and in all the years you’ve known him, you don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound so pained. Sage eyes narrowing, he gazes into yours as if he was trying to memorize each blink. Each twinkle. Each shade. “-when you have children, please- please don’t let them have…”

Your eyes, the ones he’d never forget. The ones he’ll see till his dying day. He could handle watching you grow your family, raising heirs while he stands by your sides as he always has. 

But if he has to look at them and be looked at through your eyes- ones that never knew him as you did, he doesn’t think even the strongest knight could bear it. 

It’s what he wanted to say. 

It’s what he would’ve never forgiven himself if he said- because who was he, really, to demand such a thing from you?

So it was only because the universe had finally taken pity on poor Toji Fushiguro and his hopeless love that they decided to spare him this. Because just before he could dare finish that sentence, there’s a soft gasp from the other end of the doorway. 

Your blood crystalizes into ice, and Toji’s immediately covering your body- shining blade honed in on the faint figure of Ijichi, who’d very obviously been handed the task of bringing you two back to court.

“S-sorry for interrupting!”

With a bow so low that his wiry glasses clatter briefly onto the marble floor, Ijichi shuts the door fast enough that your mind - still reeling from your recent orgasm - starts to wonder whether he might even have been a figment of your imagination. 

Until Toji breathes out a ragged sigh of almost relief, “I have a new recruit to teach about knocking, princess.” Before staring back at you - and that ivory puddle of cum between your legs, and he grins. “Keep that there.”

.

.

.

Toji Fushiguro knew you had a penchant for wandering off- it’s how he met you, after all. 

That starry-eyed lil’ girl, just a few years younger than he was, who was roaming around the bustling streets of the town market with absolutely no sense of danger or emergency. Seriously- why the hell were you entertaining that hawker trying to sell you glass as real pearls, when you were obviously wearing the real thing?

And even from a distance, it was obvious that you were out-of-place. So Toji, with all his wizened fourteen years as an actual townsfolk, was the one to help you.

“-from the greatest depths of the greatest sea, I tell you, little miss! And only for you I will give you the low, low price of-” 

“Absolutely nothing.” Toji had snarled, signature scowl on his face - he was the most feared of the neighborhood boys for a reason. “That’s what tha crap’s worth.”

Pawing a hand on the silken sleeve of your dress, it’s only after he’d tugged you away from the shop and by his side that he’s remembering something you nobles (even badly disguised ones) had called ah- etiquette. 

But no matter, it was too late for that now, and you weren’t complaining either. Only peering up at him with a questioning gaze as Toji pulled you closer to his dirtied undershirt with a hand on your shoulder, “Scam the rich not the kids, fuckin’ conman.”

That seemed to draw a reaction from you, “Oi- who’re you calling a kid-”

“And who’re you calling a conman.” Indignantly, the older man eyeballed the two of you menacingly, “Who even are you, little twerp- I can’t imagine you’re her boy-”

“Gods yeah, I’m her- boy.” 

The words made his ears hot with blood, Toji wasn’t popular with anyone in the neighborhood - all finding him too frightening and big - let alone with the daughter of some aristocracy like you. But you weren’t correcting him, either!

“S-so–” The hawker seemed to have believed him, at the way his tannish cheeks were boiling bright red more than anything. It was enough embarrassment for him, and Toji’s turning to tug you away, “-you better- stay away from my girl!”

Hell, that was worse than embarrassing. 

Toji’s noticing that damn near the entire market turns at his cracking voice and wishes the ground would swallow him whole. 

Even more so when he’s out of earshot of the marketplace and you speak up- “So, my…boy, huh?” Shit- he was still holding onto your hand. You giggle when Toji lets go as if you burned, finding the older boy hilarious. He turns to you and oh- oh, his breath catches at your smile. “Guess that makes you the future king- you seem quite a lot better than that Zenin boy, anyways.”

“Future…king?”

It’s only then that he hears it- the galloping of horses so powerful that they could only be part of the palace’s special forces. The call of ‘princess! There you are-’

Oh, shit.

Toji Fushiguro was fucked. 

Go-home-and-think-about-the-princess-you-accidentally-propositioned fucked.

Wreck-your-humble-abode-into-a-training-ground-so-you-can-beg-to-try-out-for-the-royal-knights fucked. 

Toji Fushiguro was very, very-

“-out of it.” Wafts Ijichi’s tremoring voice through his little reverie. Tone slightly raised over the humming orchestra, “Toji, sir- sir!”

Toji jolts as he’s brought back- right, here he was. Stationed guard inside the ballroom of one of the most important annual functions of your kingdom, to bless the first few months of the newly-married couple. 

He’d zoned out just as your father, the king, had introduced the two of you, and Naoya had led you by your hand for the honored first dance - nothing worse than seeing you in the arms of another. 

He’d rather live in his memories with you, than a real life without. 

And that brought him back to Ijichi- whispering, though Toji wasn’t sure if it could count as whispering if half the surrounding nobles could likely hear. “Is this because of the other week when I caught you and the princess-”

“You will shut your mouth, Ijichi.” He cuts him off, tightly. 

“Yes, sir!”

Bored eyes refocusing back on the middle of the dancefloor, it seems the first dance was finally, torturously over. And Toji’s licking his dry lips as his gaze instantly finds you, as they always can’t help but do. 

Always looking at you.

Two parts of the same heart when they meet yours- and Toji feels a part of his break at the sad glimmer in your eyes when you’d wandered to the side of the polished floor, smearing one of those aching faux smiles he’s learned to distinguish. You wanted to leave.

How could you stand there like that?

So bothered and beautiful in your flowing gown, looking as if the rays of the chandeliers above were bouncing off of your sparkling dress - like they, too, knew they wouldn’t shine half as bright as you. And where was your husband- 

Oh.

Toji feels something ugly twist at the sight of Naoya talking with a court lady, a smizing smile on his lips. Too close. Too hurtful. And it’s a damn miracle he didn’t slay the heir right then and there. 

“Ijichi-” He hisses out, suddenly. Nodding as the other man yelps into rapt attention, “Hold my station- I have fuckin’ important business to attend to.”

The new recruit almost looks as if he was about to argue his superior orders, that is, until he follows Toji’s line of sight to meet you. 

“Understood, sir. Please take care of the princess.”

It takes Toji almost fifteen years to reach you, and only three steps. 

“Toji!” You gasp, seeing your lifelong friend bound up to your side, pointedly away from his station. “What are you doing here-”

“Do you want it to be him?”

Eyes boring into yours, hands itching for your own. He can apologize and grovel at your feet later for cutting the future queen off, but right now he just needs to know. And you already know, too. 

Your eyes darting to the middle of the dancefloor, where the string quartet had started up a new romantic melody, and Naoya was dragging a giggling noble lady into a dance. 

You could feel the eyes on you, and not just Toji’s. “Consorts. I told him I didn’t want- and then- about the heir- I think he just wanted consorts from the beginning. That’s why…but even though we’ve never consummated, our marriage is a contract so I can’t.”

“Do you want it to be him?” And Toji never repeats himself - not to eager new knights, generals, or those court elders - always listened to. 

But he would echo those very words to you as many times as you wanted until he was heard.

Your voice was almost a whisper- “No.”

There comes your answer, and there comes that familiar scarred grin of his. 

“Then come with me.”

.

.

.

“M-mm right there, Toji–” Your cries rip through the empty atmosphere of the knight’s quarters, right in unison with the rickety creak! given off by Toji’s shabby bed as you buck your hips in tandem.

The glossed walls of your cunt scouring for the touch of his roughened fingertips, scraping and stirrin’ right between your pussylips and hitting the bottom deeply. It’s driving you mad how easily he’s spotting your sultry g-spot, clawing at his ruthless wrist-

“Impatient giiirl.” He croons out cockily from above you, words huffed through clenched teeth. And Toji’s pressing his capped knee against your restless thigh to make you take it- “Unless you want my fat fuckin’ cock to hah- stretch the princess out then take it.”

You’re whimpering, spine arching off of the clammy blankets when his middle finger flicks your sweetest spot. “I-is it always that big that you have to stretch it out this much.”

“No.” Comes the answer - and Toji’s free hand toying with your left hand. Particularly the diamond ring on it, one he’s unapologetically plucking off of your finger and pushing onto his own - his thick pinky finger being where it would fit. 

Before slipping the banded digit past your dewy wet folds with a pryin’ squeeeelch, the noise is so loud and lewd that Toji groans as your greedy cunt swallows his fourth finger inside. “Jus’ me, princess.”

Just what- your brain can barely even compute past the stretch. The firm ridges of your knight’s lengthy fingerpads barreling straight past your elastic hole. 

Opening you up so much on his digits that it takes you a few breaths, a few seconds staring between Toji’s meaty thighs for you to understand what he meant- oh.

He was just that big. 

Whimpering, the chilling royal insignia creeps along your gummy walls and presses deep into your tender areas. Splotchy puddles of sap dribbling down Toji’s wrist, “Chatting to me from there too, huh? So loud- they’ll hear us at the ball, princess.”

They wouldn’t - the Keep too barren with every knight stationed, and the music of the orchestra too loud. You’re sure that the royal event was so bustling that no one’s even noticed you were gone, yet. 

But you mewl anyway, “Th-then- ngh! Then just wan’ you inside, Toji- please.”

Oh, the sound of your cute begging makes Toji’s ravaged, aching cock twitch. “Ohhh- I wanna fuck those manners outta you-” He groans, head slouching backwards once he’s assessing your driveling cunt. 

Faster, harder. 

Toji’s fingers carnally itch your pussy like he was crazed, pumping feverish in n’ out like he wasn’t even letting your slick, bulging folds get used to the stretch. Just watching with a leer as you struggle. 

Gruffing, “Open those pretty legs for me wider- yeahhh–” Toji’s sweaty, armorless body nuzzles the insides of your sheeny limbs. His bulky legs spread apart until his heavy erection throb-throb-throbs by the side of your inner thighs.

“Wh-what are you-”

“Shhh watch.” 

You can’t do anything but gawk once he’s rovering his free hand over your tummy- doughy thumb pressing down on the button of your clit, index streeeeetching upwards. 

He was measuring you. Measuring just how far his cock would go inside you. 

Once the curve of your knight’s index draws a horizontal line about halfway down your stomach, he grins. “There-” X marks the spot, and you yelp once the stern point of his finger taps right there. “-m’gonna fuck an ngh- heir into you there, princess.”

“Th-then do it, Sir Toji.” You huff, brows knitting with impatience.

“Well…” He drawls, and for a second you think that Toji’s about to pull away and leave you all high and dry. But, really, he’s just tugging on his snug white undershirt, dampened and clinging onto him with sweat in a way that made it look painted. 

Your mouth waters as you peek at the curly black happy trail which was lining the middle of his abs - so toned and tense that you could count exactly eight. Maybe more. 

A pearly droplet of sweat clings onto one of his shaggy bangs, and drips- slithering between Toji’s pectorals, his bumpy core, disappearing into where his heavy cock was fat n’ throbbing. 

In the dimmed lighting of Toji’s bedroom, you can already make out just how red and pretty his bulging tip was, curved just slightly right and weeping fat globules of frothy pre. It collects in a sleek mess over your pussylips, damn near ten inches of veiny shaft settled between your slit and waiting. 

He was weighty. 

“-if my queen asks.”

And Toji knows you. He waits just until your mouth opens to snark back- before kissin’ your glistening entrance with the edge of his mushroom tip and pushing—

“O-ohhh fuck–!” You’re letting off a shrill wailing whimper, hands reaching somewhere- anywhere for you to hold onto for dear life while Toji fit himself inside your tight pussy. 

Slurring, you grasp onto the rippling muscles of his deltoids and claw such red, red lines. “Shoooo big-”

Toji’s leaning himself closer, he’s slouching. He’s swabbing his plump, swollen tip deeper-

“A m-mating press.” Barking out a sudden laugh - octaves higher, wild like he was still in disbelief. Toji snakes his beefy arms underneath both your thighs and lifts you up until your ass cheeks are almost off the aged mattress. Folding and folding- he really was pushing you into a mating press. “I have you in a mating press- you. Like I’ve always dreamed.”

Before the words have even left his mouth, he reaches down to swab your bloated folds with the edge of his thumb. Straightly smoothing your pussylips and watching how you gulping down each solid, rummaging inch.

“And yer taking me-” Gasping, just the slightestshift closer leaves his pointed cockhead gliding off your walls and burying even deeper. Snagging his tender veins on your orifice and making him hiss, “-taking me allll up inside. O-oh, you’re so fucking- tight-”

It’s the first time you’ve ever been stretched out this much. Toji’s so damn big that it’s like your soppy walls were clinging to him like a second skin.

Not even thrusting properly, quick, rapid half-ruts that make him feel more like an animal. The curves of his spine bowing against where your syrupy pussy was being stretched out, “But will it even fit, then?”

“M’gonna make it fit.” He growls, slowing down the mindless cadence of his hips to a lazy tempo that makes you keen at the sensual lightning bolts of his veiny shaft. 

Feeling every twirling coil and pulse shoveling through your entrance. 

Possessively, Toji’s guiding one of your sweaty palms within his. Placing it right down on your tummy and pushing on the back to make you press- “Here- feel.” 

“Oh-oh!”

You’re seeing white- the walls of your pussy being sagged by his cock’s weight. 

Toji was making you massage where his pounding shaft was creating a lil’ bulging outline. Feeling every mazing bump where his slimy tip was snaking to your deepest depths. “Feel the way you’re sluuuurping me up s-so good. S’like you’re made for me.”

Crying out- you can’t keep yourself from planting your feet flat and leaning into his touch. “Don’t tease me and j-just put it all the way in, To- fuck!”

“Awww, but I’ve waited years, princess.” He snickers, kneading harder on the cylindrical ridge of your cute tummy bulge. And oh- Toji can feel that precise moment he’s bottoming out. 

When he’s bubbling out a fat wad of precum that smears against the very back of your cervix, the edge of his ballsack hitting your cunt. Finally. Finally. 

Panting- seething through his teeth at the gooey warmth, “Princess- princess princess- oh, princess, m’finally inside you.” 

Experimentally, Toji reels his hips all the way back - all the way until the cherry-red end of his cocktip was sticking to your hole like adhesive. Before slamming right back in- “And again.” Another. “And again. And again and- hngh- again.”

“Shit- shit shit shit y-you really are all the way inside.” 

You caress the mean bulging swab of his cocktip against the top of your tummy, confirming to your melted mind that he wasn’t actually thumping your damn lungs - even though it might feel like it. 

“Of course I am-” Toji doesn’t end his hoarse declaration with any punctuation. He’s finishing it with a quick splat! of saliva gluing your lips shut, “You’re mine.” 

With a hand on your tummy to balance himself, he leans just the barest inches backwards until he can do the same to your puckered pussy. Splatter! It’s so wet and gleaming with moisture that forms the most sinful pool, “All mine. And I’m yours.”

And now he’s fucking you like a madman, drilling the split-ended circle of his orifice against your mushy walls until you sob. 

The size of him was insane. It was stretching you out so good that all you can do is flap your mouth-watered tongue wetly inside and yeowl. “Ngh- feels so good- feels so full inside with you, Toji.” 

“Yer gonna feel ngh- even fuller when I fuck a baby into ya, girl.” 

He scoffs once an especially hard thrust leaves the base of his cock stinging, and you shoved up to the headboard. “And n-no running.” Before you know it, Toji’s maintaining a rude chokehold of your neck and using it to drag you after every recoil. “How m’I gonna fuck a nghhh- baby into ya if you run, hm?”

Fuck- Toji’s jackhammers were vulgar - almost vicious.

Every spank of his v-line let off aggressive paps! that made your eardrums pop. Your lips wobbling each n’ every time his bulging tip was stirrin’ around your insides to pinpoint every sensitive orifice. 

You feel the thin line running down his plummy tip scrape right along the bundle of your g-spot, dolloping out a stream of precum as hello. Grumbling, “Hmmm– how cute. Hope our heir’s just as cute as ngh- you.” 

“Gonna be j-just as rude as you.” You’re mumbling, and his absolute favorite moment was whenever your hips would be so stimulated that you’re perking away from his thrusts. 

All the better for him to tighten your airflow and bring you back down- humming at the erotic jiggle of your ass cheeks against his chiseled pelvis. “Heh- then I guess I’ll be the fun parent, meanwhile you…”

And fuck- fuck, he almost doesn’t finish his sentence with the way your tight, circular-shaped insides clench. 

A glittery gloss of slick dripping down the sides of your pussylips, Toji’s scarred lips curl once he drags your pliant body back to his again. Relishing in the harsh smack! against his abs, “You can sit there while I give you a pretty lil’ heir. Make my h-hah! pretty lil’ princess all round n’ glowing. All-”

He doesn’t know what not to do. He’s touching you everywhere - anywhere. 

From the underside of your thighs to the perky nub of your clit, Toji brandishes his thumb against your nub and watches you quake. 

“-all pumped- full- until you can’t take anymore. S’my damn duty. I’ll wash them- dress them, put them to sleep, feed them- don’t have to do a nghh- damnnn thing. Just- get- pregnant.” 

With the fringe of his muscular thigh lifting to keep you from running, you can only throw your head back and trill at the dual knocks of his cock against your g-spot, fingers against your clit. “I’m close- close- haaah not gonna last, Toji.”

“Already fuckin’ know.” He could feel the way your cute insides were clamping after every sweet ba-dump! of your racing heartbeat. The heavy curve of his balls begging him to milk himself on you, “Cum for me. Cum on my cock- fuck! The mama needs to cum if we’re gonna get you pregnant, princess.”

“Please- mm–”

“Deep breaths, deeeeep breaths.” With every heaving deep breath, his rams only grew deeper, too. Before ultimately Toji spreads his sweat-sheened thighs wider and groans— “Cum.”

It’s impossible not to listen - not when his fat, vein-decorated cock was splitting you open just so. Swervin’ your sticky walls apart and shoveling himself all the way near your throat whilst you reached your high. 

“It’s sooo- oh.” Your vision dazed with stars, and it took so much out of you to even grind your hips down and meet his sloppy tempo. Keening, “Cum…inside.”

Oh-so-dumbified that you didn’t even realize Toji was already finishing himself off on your dripping wet cunt until he’s guiding one of your hands to feel your driveling pussy. Letting that saccharine white sap slip allll the way between your digits and wad up. 

“Already- hah- already did. And fuck- girl, you’re loving this, huh?”

Nodding, your eyes just kept on criss-crossing after every knot of seed that bundled up near your cervix. Sloshing like waves against your womb-

“Oh look.” He’s manhandling your own hand to tease and sluuuurp down your overstuffed slit, pushin’ back in the knots of creamy white that leaked out. “Even she agrees- oh, aaaand you wanna know what else she’s sayin’?”

“Wh-what?”

Gruffly leaning in closer, Toji’s skin was so burning hot against yours that you feel your slam-impacted flesh break out in a fresh layer of perspiration. “She says it’s gonna be a girl.”

It was unsteady, animalistic the way that your knight- your lover was creaming out every ounce of cum on your pussy. Squishing it past your tight hole and letting his base slather in such a thick ivory ring, you whine. “O-oh, fuck, m’so sensitive, To- ah!”

But he wasn’t letting go of you that easily.

Fuck how electric skitters of your orgasm left your legs thrashing weakly, oh-so-overstimulated. 

Toji hisses at the springy recoil of his knobbled tip against the entrance to your womb, rugged fingers dragging you back-

“How about…” Pressing down, your pretty bulge wasn’t simply filled with his cock anymore. It was jiggling around with the inflation of his masses of cum. “-we make it twins?”

.

.

.

And it could have been Toji simply greedy for a second round, for a lucky third, a fourth- but the only thing you’re sure of was that his wooden bed was brokenly sagging on one side by the time early day had begun breaking through the shutters of his drafty windows. Lighting your eyes ablaze once you’re lolling your head forwards and slamming your grinding hips down onto Toji’s.

You don’t know who’s more ruined now - him or you. 

Whimpering at the slight scratch of his tufted happy trail, your thighs twitch weakly at the sensation. “H-haaa- just a little more- mmm a bit more, Toji.”

He sounds utterly fucking gone as he coos up at you, eyes half-closed. “You’ve been saying that for ngh- aaaages, greedy girl.” And yet, the cracked bedframe protests when he’s bucking his hips in tandem to puncture your battered g-spot with a spank. “G-gonna milk me d-ry–”

Toji’s voice was breaking, he was whimpering. 

You gasp, “Did you just-”

“Shut up.” His veiny shaft enters your hole mercilessly- and each time you thought you were used to the textured stretch of his sheer size, he always manages to surprise you. “Sh-shut up and-”

Toji can’t even tell you to take it because you were- over n’ over until his bulbous, weighty balls were all tender, and each time your hips swerved in that wiiide heart shape left him drooling. Hypnotized. 

A creamy circle of cum brands on his hilt and Toji gulps, “Get pregnant.”

“That’s what we’re doing.”

“Yes- yes, I want- no. I need it.” It wasn’t just enough to have you riding him, Toji’s rutting up in half-dazed ruts until he was seeing stars. “Need you to- get- pregnant.” One hand pawing at the bulging cumflation on your tummy, the other clinging onto your hips to make you bounce. “Get pregnant get pregnant- get- pregnant.”

He wasn’t just animalistic, he was feral. Filthily streaking your walls with a wisp of pre, every slight gush only makes his slip n’ slide probe deeper.

Blinking back fucking tears when your sopping wet walls clamp down - just the tiniest bit, but he was so damn fucked-out. He’s gasping, feverish, bucking-

Only to make the fleshy tip of his crown slip out of your sloppy entrance with a loud plop! 

“N-no-” Toji’s lips depart a murky pant, entire body shuddering when one of his hands clasp his ravaged n’ red cock. “No no no no- no- inside, need it i-inside.”

“O-ohhh fuck the stretchh–”

Maw dropping, voice hoarse with calling his name - if the ball hadn’t heard you before, then they sure as hell were now. 

Whining, you’re cumming on Toji’s cock for the nth time in the past few hours. Well, ‘cumming’ was an understatement - you’re downright drenching him in sparkly bucketloads of your squirt. 

Letting it drip down the sides of his ripped, flexible hips, showering him in a thin spray of your cloying wetness. You find it easy to use that sticky moistened texture as a way to glissade your front down his abs and ride him to insanity.

Milking Toji’s fat, bludgeoning cock until he was wrung dry.

Hitting and hitting the goopy spots inside you that clamped down on him the tightest, and yet, all his achingly hard tip could do was flinch. Jolting with a few sparks of pleasure once he’s hitting his wave of bliss. “Shit- shit, ya fucking milked me sucked me- hah- dry. Sucked me all dry.”

Cumming.

Cumming and cumming so hard that Toji half wonders whether he could cum again. The softened smooch of his ballsack makes his head feel numb, teeth grit as you just keep on riding him in slight motions repeatedly. As if you couldn’t stop anymore. 

“I-I love you.” Toji breathes, voice cracked. Holding you tight against him, “I’ve always- always loved you. I’ve loved you so long that I’d tear down any world where I don’t.”

“Toji- I love you, too.”

Toji feels the scouring end of his mushroomy tip skim deeply into your womb, letting it brand its spongy circumference and stay there while he babbles. Hopelessly pussydrunk. Hopelessly in love. “Run away with me…?”

Took him long enough.

.

.

.

“My princess, I told you not ta handle heavyduty tasks when you’re-”

“And I’ve already told you, my Sir Toji, that reading a book isn’t heavyduty.”

“Just let me read it to ya.” Toji rolls his shoulders from a long day out in the field. And you’re roaming your eyes over him appreciatively, all this extra manual labor had only made your husband more naturally swole. 

He trudges up to where you were sprawled out serenely across your cute cottage couch, tucked safely away in a kingdom where nobody would find you. None of your furious, heirless ex-husband, or those nosy elders. 

Well, almost nobody-

“Ijichi wrote to say he’ll be visiting this week.” You’re tittering over Toji’s dramatic groan, poking his beefy biceps whilst he lays across your lap, restful. “Oh, c’mon, our daughter loves him. Speaking of- you should get her from the garden, it’s getting dark.”

Waving an airy hand, though his heart swoops as it always did when he thought of you and his little daughter, his exact carbon copy - except for that one feature, of course. “Builds immunity.” 

His little family. 

Including- 

“I hope…” Gently, oh-so-gently as if this was a dream on the verge of shattering, Toji lays his palm across your swollen tummy. Awe striking through him at the slight movement beneath your thoroughly stretched-out stomach- and your daughter chose that exact moment to barge inside, sprinting to cuddle right on top of him. 

Looking at you, and you’re finally looking back. “-our son has your eyes, too.”

A/N. Daddy’s been listening to this song and going THROUGH it- Anyways, this was supposed to be PWP what HAPPENED?

You gave him a look, sharp and unimpressed, but the music leaking from your other earbud betrayed you—Soda Pop still spilling into the hallway. It was close to ending.

Baby heard it, of course he did. His grin widened, smug and unbearably fond all at once.

"You sang me." He murmured, voice dipping low like he was auditioning for the role of male lead, episode 7 confession scene. "You defeat me in cuteness, you know that?"

Your mouth opened, ready with a comeback, but he didn't give you the chance. His hand slipped down, catching yours with practiced ease. A tug, a spin, and suddenly your clipboard clattered against the floor as he twirled you into his orbit.

The world blurred, your back bumping into his chest as his arms slid behind you in one smooth motion, folding around your middle like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"We should sing sometime." His breath brushed your ear, his words warm, dangerous, teasing—yet softer than they had any right to be.

And as if the universe had a sick sense of humor, Soda Pop ended. In its place rose the slow swell of a love ballad. Strings, soft piano, the kind of music that begged for flower filters and sparkles.

You froze, blinking up at him like what the actual hell. But Baby was already moving, already humming along to the verse while he steered you into a lazy sway.

For once, he wasn't smirking like he'd just stolen candy out of a toddler's pocket. He looked annoyingly at peace, half-lidded eyes heavy with something you couldn't read, the hum vibrating against your back.

It was too much. Too close. Too… nice.

"We're at work." You blinked at him, deadpan. "No. Nu-uh. I'm trending, in case you forgot. Pretty sure slow dancing in a supply closet with you is exactly how scandals start."

"And yet, you're not exactly running." He murmured, lips curving slow, smug. He leaned in close enough that his breath ghosted your ear again, deliberate, calculated. "So it's fine if we're back at the apartment?"

Your jaw nearly unhinged. In a flash, your brain conjured the absolute nightmare: not just Baby, but all five Saja Boys demanding a turn at this ridiculous slow dance. You felt tired just imagining it.

You frowned. "Absolutely not. That's worse."

Baby's laugh rolled out low and warm, pleased, curling in your chest like smoke you couldn't quite cough out—sweet, cloying, and impossible to ignore.

With a flick of his wrist, he spun you half a step, turning the dingy little closet into a ballroom by sheer arrogance alone. Paper towels, mop buckets, a broken vacuum—none of it mattered when he moved like he'd conjured chandeliers out of dust and audacity.

"Scandal, romance…" His voice dragged, velvet and sly. "Depends on the headline."

"Or the lawsuit." Your tone was flat as your favorite frying pan.

His eyes glinted, dangerous and entertained all at once. "Mm. You sound jealous already."

You gave him nothing but a stare, dry as desert heat. "Yeah, this is straight out of a webtoon. Next panel I'm tripping, you're catching me, and then—boom—accidental kiss. Disgusting."

Baby grinned wider, far too pleased. His chin dropped against your shoulder, and his smirk pressed close enough for you to feel. "We can skip to the kiss if you want."

You groaned so loud it echoed against the shelves. "God. Just arrest me for trespassing in a romance manga. At least then I'd get out early for good behavior."

The sigh you pushed through your nose was supposed to be final, but your shoulders betrayed you, loosening under his hold.

His sway pulled yours in, the faint hum of music bleeding through the walls and coaxing your body into moving where it absolutely should not.

And Baby, of course, noticed. He always did. His smirk softened into something worse—fond, knowing, before he suddenly spun you with a quick twist of his wrist and drew you back flush against him.

So close your nose almost brushed his. So close you caught the curl of his grin first, before anything else.

The world tilted while your glare sharpened; his smile gleamed with victory.

He loved it. He lived for it.

"Worth every crime." His voice dipped, not low enough to be serious, but just enough to drag heat through your veins.

Your pulse stuttered at the mismatch of it: the grin was pure trouble, but his eyes were too soft, too knowing, far too honest for someone who should've been banned from speaking.

Your dry stare only earned him a laugh.

"There it is." He feigned delight, throwing his free hand up as if he'd just spotted a rare bird. "My favorite look. Y'know—the one that says, 'I'd rather lick the inside of a paint can than deal with you.' Don't worry, it's mutual." His grin crooked wider, playful. "Kind of."

You snorted, finally wriggling free enough to step back. "Perfect. Then suffer mutually somewhere else."

You spun on your heel, only to feel his fingers curl around your wrist again—quick, confident, like he’d anticipated the move before you even made it.

He lifted it toward his mouth with that stupid smirk intact, and then—warmth brushed over your skin, deliberate and fleeting. A kiss.

You froze, eyes widening, while he leaned back just enough to drink in your expression like it was his reward.

His grin curved sharper, but when he spoke, his voice betrayed him—low, husky, almost careful. "Now we're even."

For a heartbeat, it was quiet. Too quiet. No footsteps in the hall, no interruptions, no one barging in to save you from the mess of your own hammering pulse.

Then you finally tore your hand back, composure snapping into place with the speed of a whip.

"That was sloppy." You said flatly, like you were critiquing brushstrokes instead of a boy who'd just kissed you. "If you're trying to impress me, maybe stick to doodles and stay away from realism."

His laugh followed you as you took your earbud back, slipped from his hold, too fast for him to grab you again. But not too fast to miss the way he called after you, "Next time, I'll make sure it's real."

You didn't bother to turn around. "Next time, I'll file a restraining order."

Baby's grin curved wider, like he was sitting on the world's juiciest inside joke. "Mm. Don't sell yourself short. Some people think you look pretty good in realism."

You froze for half a beat, suspicion flickering in your narrowed eyes. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Nothing." He said smoothly, too smooth, his voice dipped in honey and lies. "Just… credit where it's due. Some artists actually know how to use their potential." His eyes glinted, and his smirk went from sly to downright infuriating. "The potential being, you know, drawing you and me."

Your stare could've bored holes through concrete. "Your brain's a crime scene."

"Then call me guilty." Baby leaned back like a cat who'd found cream, smug and unbothered. "Crime scenes never looked this good. Especially when they draw us. Mm. People usually say chef's kiss at a time like this. They put the most effort into your mouth."

His gaze darted away like he'd revealed too much, the tips of his ears betraying him with a sharp flush.

You tilted your head, tone mild. "Fascinating. You found a way to flirt through other people's talent. Revolutionary."

"Appreciating." He corrected, grinning wider. "Big difference."

You turned on your heel before his ego could get any louder. "Unlike you, I actually have work to do. Try practicing with your group, maybe? I know it's a radical concept."

"Sure you do." Baby called after you, laughter curling warm and smug in the air. "But hey—if the fans start predicting the future, I'm not complaining."

You didn't give him the satisfaction of reacting, but your final words carried over your shoulder, sharp as glass. "Dream on. You're not even good in the present."

His chuckle followed you down the hall, annoyingly pleased, like he'd already won something you refused to play.

Not even an hour into your first day of work and you were already cooked. Toast. A charred offering to the gods of bad life choices.

You should've been stapling wigs, balancing clipboards, or committing whatever other minimum-wage dignity crimes this job demanded.

Instead, you were still reeling from the supply-closet fiasco—Baby's laugh echoing in your skull like a cursed ringtone.

Your ancestors, if they were watching, were probably shaking their heads in collective disappointment. Maybe even lining up in the afterlife to take turns facepalming.

You could practically hear the muttering: Our descendant survived colonialism just to get twirled around by a boy in eyeliner?

And honestly? Fair point.

Because the real nightmare was the what if. What if someone had walked in? What if they'd seen Baby holding you like some bargain-bin ballroom partner, his arms wrapped around you, his hum in your ear—and you, you of all people, not immediately breaking free?

You would've died. Or worse, lived long enough to be a meme.

And for what? A smug grin? A handsome face and a kiss to the wrist? You felt like a sinner in a crack fic, the kind of woman old ladies in church gossip about: weak to pretty boys, bless her soul.

The cake earlier suddenly made sense. Bribe money. Advance payment for the migraines they were about to gift-wrap you. Because clearly, none of them gave a single damn about how scandals could sink a career. Baby wasn't careful. None of them were careful.

Which meant you had to be.

You shoved the memory back into the abyss of the storage room, locked it away, and threw away the key. Work. Focus. Anything else.

You were mid-task—eyeshadow palettes spread, brushes in hand, halfway through fixing a busted sponge applicator—when it happened.

A jumpscare.

"[Y/n]~"

You nearly threw the brush across the room. Romance appeared in the doorway like he'd been summoned by the smell of his own cologne, leaning lazily against the frame with one hand on his chest like he'd been mortally wounded.

"I need you." He declared, dramatic enough that thunderclouds should’ve rolled in behind him.

Your brush froze mid-swipe. "…Congratulations. So does everyone else on earth."

He gasped like you'd stabbed him, eyes widening with faux betrayal. "Cold! And here I thought I was your favorite."

"Delusional. Typical." You deadpanned, setting the brush down before you accidentally jammed it into your own eye.

Romance, of course, ignored the insult with the grace of a man who absolutely practiced ignoring insults in the mirror. He swooped closer, dripping charm with every step.

"My makeup. It's tragic. Disastrous. Catastrophic." He tapped his cheek, angling his head in that practiced model profile way. "Only your hands can save me."

You squinted at him. "You literally have a professional makeup team."

"Yes, but…" His lips curved into a slow, devastating smile. "None of them are you."

You blinked, unimpressed. "…Do you eat these lines for breakfast, or do they just spawn in your head unprovoked?"

He sighed like you'd wounded him deeper than words could heal, leaning down until your eyes met.

"Why resist destiny, hm? You're already holding the brush." His voice dropped, warm, just enough teasing weight to make it dangerous. "Wouldn't it be easier to admit you like touching my face?"

Your soul left your body. You wanted to scream. Instead, you shoved the sponge against his cheek harder than strictly necessary.

Romance winced, but his grin didn't falter. If anything, it brightened. Of course it did. "Perfect. Gentle. Tender." His tone softened, dripping with dangerous sincerity. "Just like I imagined."

You dragged the sponge harder. "Die."

His laugh came rich, smooth, infuriatingly pleased. "Not until you make me beautiful."

And from the corner of your eye, you spotted your coworkers. Whispering. Blushing. Clearly witnessing this scene like it was a live taping of a K-drama.

Meanwhile, you just wanted to dunk your entire head into a bucket of wig glue and never resurface.

Romance hadn't fooled anyone when he slipped out before rehearsal. He'd loudly declared it was a "makeup emergency," striding off like a martyr to beauty.

But the real show had started earlier. Baby had returned from the supply room practically glowing—sunlight strapped to his back like a trophy.

Everyone noticed. Everyone hated it. The dirty looks weren't subtle; they all knew he'd pulled some kind of stunt with you.

Romance, of course, wasn't about to be outshone. Five minutes later, his eyeliner was suddenly "smudged beyond repair."

Abby caught him doing it, arching a brow so unimpressed it could've killed. Mystery muttered something sharp under his breath.

Jinu, ever the smart one, didn't even bother hiding the way his eyes rolled back into next week. None of them said a word, though.

Baby, meanwhile, couldn't have cared less. He was sprawled on the couch, scrolling his phone with all the serenity of a man untouchable by judgment.

At least until his feed served him a cursed piece of fanart—one that unfortunately paired him with Zoey from Huntrix.

Baby gagged theatrically, clutching his chest like he’d been shot. "What the hell is this slander?"

Romance didn't linger long enough to endure the complaints, and the curses. He had more pressing concerns.

Which explained why he was now perched in a chair, lounging like a dethroned king while you leaned over him. Makeup brush steady, you focused on sharpening the edge of his eyeliner.

Romance didn't even blink. He stared at you like you were painting the Mona Lisa on his face—except he was convinced he was the real masterpiece.

"So, my pretty artist." He started again, tone too casual to be trusted. "What did Baby pull this time? He was grinning when he came back."

Without sparing him a glance, you muttered, "Insufferable as ever."

Romance tilted his chin, narrowing his eyes like he could tilt the truth right out of you. "That's not an answer. Which means there's something. Tell me."

You cut him off with surgical precision, voice as sharp as the eyeliner you were fixing. "Check your makeup."

He huffed a laugh, unconvinced but—for now—willing to let you get away with murder. He turned toward the mirror, studied the line, and the way his lips curved told you everything. He was pleased.

Then it came, low and satisfied, like he'd been saving it for maximum effect. "Good girl."

You didn't flinch. Not visibly, because god forbid you ever give him the satisfaction—but your brush hovered a beat too long. Subtle, almost imperceptible.

Unfortunately, he noticed. Of course he did. The Saja Boys always do. Romance's eyes lit up like he'd just discovered fire, his grin lazy and lethal.

His smile sharpened, lazy and lethal. He looked every inch the smug idol, basking in victory—when in reality he was just a man in eyeliner fishing for validation, a peacock fanning his feathers and hoping you'd finally swoon.

And you weren't. Again, you aren't gonna give him, or any of them that kind of satisfaction just to feed their egos.

"Mm?" His voice dipped, smooth and dangerous. His hands slid, casual as sin, to your waist, tugging you closer between his legs. A calculated move, like it was nothing—when he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Do you like being called a good girl?" He asked, eyes gleaming with smug certainty, like he'd already written your answer in stone.

You arched one brow, sharp as a guillotine. "Do you like hearing yourself talk, or is that just a hobby?"

He chuckled low, utterly unbothered, like your barbs only confirmed what he already believed: that you were playing his game.

"Careful." He drawled, tilting his head so you could see the line of his jaw. "Your sarcasm sounds a lot like flirting."

"Annoying." You corrected, tapping his chin with the brush in surgical dismissal.

He laughed—rich, unbothered, the sound of someone who always assumed he'd won no matter the score.

You couldn't help it; a laugh slipped out of you too, quick and light, traitorous in its honesty. His smirk deepened at once, sensing the crack in your armor.

"Still needs fixing." You snapped back into focus, nudging his jaw into place with brisk precision. "Now close your eyes before someone passes by and thinks I'm auditioning for your fanclub."

And yet… you lingered a moment too long in that space, caught in the dangerous warmth of his satisfaction.

Romance obeyed instantly, lashes lowering in a slow sweep, fanning prettily against his cheekbones like he’d been waiting his whole life for this exact command.

"Good boy." You murmured deliberately this time, lips twitching at the corners.

The effect was catastrophic.

His smirk cracked. His posture stiffened. His entire operating system visibly crashed and rebooted.

"Aww. Do you like being called that?" You almost broke a smile, the typical taunting villainess smile. "Being called a 'good boy'?"

Romance's mouth opened, closed, opened again. Nothing. The great Romance, thief of hearts, master of one-liners—sat there short-circuiting while you calmly dragged the brush across his lid like you hadn't just obliterated his ego with two syllables.

He scrambled for dignity, catching your wrist lightly, thumb brushing the back of it in a move so practiced it almost passed for instinct.

"Careful." He rasped low, voice roughened, "If you praise me like that, I'll have to assume you're smitten."

You gave him a flat look sharp enough to cut glass. "Assume all you want. Delusion's clearly your strong suit."

His grin returned, slow and lethal, wounded pride spun into fresh ammunition. "Delusion or foresight? Hard to tell when it comes to me."

"Mm." You angled his chin higher, unimpressed. "Feels more like concussion."

"Ah, but you lingered when you didn't have to." Romance chuckled, pulse betraying him at his throat. "Don't think I didn't notice, darling."

You dipped the brush again, deadpan. "I lingered because your eyeliner is a crime scene."

"Or," He countered smoothly, leaning into your touch like it was invitation, "because you enjoy having me this close."

Your brow arched, brush hovering by his eye. "Careful. One twitch and I'll draw you a black eye. Free of charge."

Romance's lashes fluttered, but his smirk curved wider. "Mmm. And still, I'd wear it better than anyone else. Go on, darling, make me your masterpiece."

You paused, brush in hand, the mental image snapping into place. Him, bruised and bloodied, smirking like some tragic action hero. Infuriatingly handsome even in chaos.

Your tongue clicked before you could stop it.

Romance's eyes cracked open, glinting with amusement. "Ah. You were picturing it. Don't deny me, princess, I heard that click."

"Please." You muttered, dabbing at his eyeliner with just a bit more force than necessary. "I was debating whether to draw the black eye now or later."

He chuckled low, tilting his face closer into your brush like it was affection instead of sabotage. "Either way, I'll wear it beautifully."

You instantly pulled a look that it might as well serve as a meme to the internet if captured. "Narcissist."

Romance laughed outright, head tipping back, and when his lashes fluttered shut again it wasn't obedience—it was indulgence.

The door creaked. Staff voices drifted past. You didn't twitch, steady and clinical, while Romance lounged back in the chair, feigning the serenity of a man not still internally combusting from one offhand "good boy."

At last, you set the brush down. "There. You're done."

Romance tilted his head, eyes still locked on you, voice like velvet dipped in smug. "And yet I feel unfinished. Must be the company."

You ignored the bait, already gathering and cleaning up the make up kit. "Good luck with practice."

And then you were gone, slipping out before he could land another word.

Romance sat there glowing in the wreckage, ruined and radiant, grinning like a man who'd just been robbed blind and loved every second of it.

—

Two hours later, you were beginning to regret ever showing back up to work.

Not because the props were heavy, or because someone had already broken three wigs and a prop sword before lunch (a new record, surely), but because everywhere you turned, a Saja Boy was waiting.

Some things just never changed.

The storage room was your first mistake. You'd slipped inside to staple a wig back to life and nearly impaled yourself when you spotted Mystery—arms crossed, lurking against the shelves like he’d been assigned to guard duty at 6 a.m.

You weren't even surprised. The man had done this before—lurking, silent, unsettlingly patient.

"Seriously, Mystery." You spoke, dry as the bread you once regretted buying from a cafe. "Make some sound. Wear bells. Something."

He didn't answer. He just moved closer, gaze unreadable, until you arched a brow at him like: Really? Standing this close is your new hobby?

And then, wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around you.

You stiffened. His arms were heavy and deliberate, a wolf staking a claim. And worse, he dropped his forehead onto your shoulder like some tragic poet.

"…Tired." He muttered.

"Tired?" You echoed flatly. "Or pouting because I didn't hold your hand earlier?"

There was the tiniest pause. You felt it in the way his grip tightened—not enough to confirm, not enough to deny. Just silent, infuriating wolf pride.

You sighed, gave his back a few reluctant pats. "Mystery, I am not your emotional weighted blanket."

For some reason, you could feel the smile he wasn't showing—soft, smug, victorious. Like he'd just checkmated you in a game you didn't even agree to play.

This is what happens when you have soft spots.

—

After that came delivery duty. Clipboard in hand, you rounded a corner only to find Abby sliding into step beside you like a vulture in designer sneakers.

"Let me help you with that." He purred, already reaching for your clipboard like it was some divine relic that obviously belonged in his museum.

You yanked it back so fast the paper snapped. "Touch it and I'll erase your abs again."

That stopped him mid-stride. Abby's smirk cracked, just for a heartbeat, but you caught it.

The memory of the sketch still haunted him like an exorcism gone wrong. He tried to patch the wound with a scoff, chin tilting high enough to touch the ceiling tiles.

"You wouldn't dare." His voice dripped fake bravado, but tellingly, his hand stayed where it was. Survival instincts: not entirely dead.

Instead, he leaned down, too close, that golden-boy grin weaponized. "Besides… you draw me obsessively anyway. Admit it."

You deadpanned. "Yeah, as a stress exercise."

Abby gasped, staggering like you'd just stabbed him in the ego. "You wound me." His hand even pressed to his chest, the performance Oscar-worthy. Then, because he could never stand losing, he added: "But understandable. My face is therapeutic."

"More like migraine-inducing." You shoved the clipboard into his chest, hoping to use it as a cattle prod, but he just matched your stride, shoulder brushing yours like it was his victory lap.

Every few steps, he peeked at you again, smirk tugging like he knew exactly how much you hated the attention. The worst part? He looked genuinely entertained. Like this was fetch. And you were the ball.

"You know…" Abby dropped his voice into something meant to be sultry, but really sounded like a perfume ad. "You're trending with me. Do you know what that makes us?"

You didn't even look at him. "Unfortunately bound by mutual suffering?"

His grin widened, shameless. "Power couple."

You nearly rolled your eyes. "You're trending with Mira."

That landed. His jaw fell open, scandalized, like you'd just accused him of using filters on his gym selfies. "Excuse me?"

You shrugged, casual as tap water. "You, Romance, Mira. It's all over my feed."

Abby stopped walking, stricken. "So let me get this straight—you know about that, but not about us?"

"'Us'?" You let the word curdle. "There is no us."

Naturally, that was when a staff member walked past, catching the worst possible snippet. Abby's voice rang just loud enough to sound incriminating, and now you had an audience squinting like they'd tuned into a soap opera halfway through.

You snatched the clipboard back only to jab him in the ribs with it, muttering, "Keep talking like that and someone's gonna get the wrong idea."

Abby didn't even flinch. If anything, his eyes lit up brighter, like a dog who'd just discovered how to open doors. He leaned closer, deliberately loud enough for the bystander's ears.

"Wrong idea?" His smirk curved slow, playful, dangerous. "Or the right one?"

Your glare could have filed tax returns by itself. "I will erase your abs twice."

The problem was Abby knew exactly what he was doing. Stupidly handsome, unfairly confident, the kind of man who could turn threats into flirting just by existing.

"Cruel as ever, my princess." His hum rolled warm, the smile curling into his eyes. He was enjoying this. He always did.

And again, all you could do was speed up, glaring daggers over your shoulder.

Unfortunately for you… Abby's legs were longer. He caught up like it was nothing, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor as he matched your pace with a lazy, practiced ease.

"So cold." He sighed, brushing a hand dramatically over his heart. "I was only going to offer my assistance. You're clearly overworked. Surely I could lighten your load."

You narrowed your eyes. "Help with what? Raising my blood pressure?"

He gasped, wounded like a puppy that was kicked, then tilted his grin back into place. "I'm serious. I can carry things. Run errands. Keep you company while you suffer. And I'd only ask for the smallest payment in return…" He turned, cheek presented like a prized jewel. "Kisses. Just here. One per service rendered. Think of it as… a loyalty program."

Your brain short-circuited just long enough for your face to betray you. You swatted at him with the clipboard like he was a mosquito. "How about this—you go rehearse or harass your manager, and I'll pretend you actually helped."

He clutched his chest again, stumbling like your words had physically struck him. "Rehearse? Harass? You wound me. This is me being generous, princess. This is me—"

"Getting in my way?" You cut him off, voice tilting between sweetness and sarcasm.

Abby's grin sharpened instantly, like he'd been waiting for you to throw him that bone. "If that's what you want to call it, princess. Personally, I'd say I'm improving the view."

He winked like it was a closing statement in court, then leaned just close enough for his shoulder to brush yours again.

You exhaled through your nose, about to fire back, when his hand slid, light but deliberate against the small of your back. A touch to steer you forward, casual as breathing, yet steady in a way that left your heart flipping traitorously.

"Careful, sweetheart." He murmured, close enough for his words to graze your ear. "Keep looking at me like that and people will think you like me."

You unconsciously pulled a face, like you'd bitten into something sour. "Please go back to the studio."

Abby's laugh was low and pleased while you blew out a breath, shaking your head as you walked on, already plotting petty revenge.

Maybe another "free art gallery" back at home—portraits of them taped around the house. Maybe even slip some under their doors. It serves as perfect jumpscares.

Yet despite yourself, your lips twitched into a smile. Because as much as they annoyed you, they were… weirdly good company. Good references. Good story inspirations. A bunch of dorks, really.

Still smiling faintly, you pushed open the fire exit door, deciding you needed a quick breath of air before the next round of errands. The rooftop was only a flight up—quiet, away from the noise.

Except you didn't even make it halfway.

"Going somewhere, sunshine?"

You stood there, processing this type of bullshit. You've called yourself crazy many times in your life, but—did Abby knew or what?

Honestly, this seems rehearsed.

You frowned while Baby leaned against the railing like he'd been waiting all along with a lollipop spinning between his fingers like a coin in a gambler's hand.

"Thought I'd keep you company." His grin curved slow, lazy as while his eyes caught the dim light, sharp and knowing, and before you could even summon a word, he moved.

Closer. Much too close. The Saja Boys really had no concept of personal space. The smirk on his lips deepened as he pressed the lollipop between yours.

Your brain flatlined.

"Sweet." He drawled, low and shameless, the word grazing your skin like smoke. "You looked tired, noona. Thought you needed sugar."

The title hit harder than the stolen candy. Baby never called you that at home. Not once, not even when you tripped over his shoes and threatened to strangle him with his own hoodie. Which meant, of course, he saved it for now. Alone. Just to watch your expression implode.

And implode it did. Your eye twitched. Just once. But his grin caught it.

You blinked once, twice, forcing steel into your spine. Slowly, you slid the candy free, let it twirl once between your fingers, then pushed it back between his teeth without breaking your gaze.

"Next time, bring me an unopened one." Your voice didn't crack. Your face didn't burn. But your pulse was a traitor, slamming against your throat.

And with that, you turned on your heel—no, sneakers, just your work shoes—and left with your phone already in hand as you typed the moment into your notes app under the label story material.

Not because your heart was still hammering or because cherry lingered like a crime on your tongue. But because you needed to focus. You had work. Errands. Tasks.

...And the boys were already too much. Their tactics were too much.

Behind the stairwell door, Baby leaned back against the wall, biting down on the stick of the lollipop you returned to him. A grin split across his face, wide, irrepressible, reckless.

He'd meant to toy with you, to provoke that little twitch in your jaw, the roll of your eyes, the dry retort he lived for. And he got it. But he also got more.

The ghost of your touch lingered on the candy. The echo of your gaze burned behind his eyelids.

For a moment, the world narrowed to cherry sweetness and the echo of your footsteps fading away.

And Baby—cunning, sly, untouchable Baby—realized too late that he wasn't winning anything at all.

—

Somehow, you'd expected it—the way Jinu leaned casually against the props table like he'd been waiting all along, like he already knew you'd end up here.

The room was quiet, foot traffic nonexistent, and that was no accident. He had strategy. Always did.

"Break time." He said smoothly, as if declaring it on your behalf. His phone was already in hand, thumb poised. "Derpy pics?"

That got you.

You sighed, but still perched on the edge of the table, shamelessly accepting the cold water bottle he pressed into your hand. He didn't gloat, just unlocked his phone and scrolled until a familiar round-eyed menace filled the screen.

Derpy. With its enormous eyes and permanently confused expression, sitting like a human in sunglasses.

You choked on a laugh. "That's criminal. Why does it look like my boss after a night shift?"

"Excuse you."Jinu gasped, clutching his chest with mock offense. "Derpy is a model. A superstar. As an artist yourself, I just know you'd appreciate his range."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. He caught it, of course. Jinu always caught things he wasn't supposed to.

Another swipe, another photo. Derpy sprawled belly-up on Jinu's bed like it owned the place. This time, you laughed outright, sound spilling into the still room before you could stop it.

And that's when you didn't notice: his shoulder brushed yours. His fingers, featherlight, tucked a stray strand of hair away from your face.

Or maybe you did—but didn't bother to stop, or swat him away like a typical annoying fly lingering too close for your liking.

Because as much as you hate to admit out loud, they're truly growing on you. It's why you couldn't be as harsh, or cold to them as you once were.

And also because Derpy was the only thing that mattered at the moment.

Jinu just watched you coo at his cat like the creature was right there in the room, his grin softening into something quieter, dangerously close to tender.

"Finally," You say between chuckles, still scrolling, "one of you actually managed something that doesn't make my blood pressure skyrocket. Congratulations, Jinu."

He froze, just for a second, but it was enough. Your offhand praise settled into his chest like a brand. He was already down bad, but this?This was lethal.

"I knew it." He murmured, more to himself than to you, "No one can resist him."

You looked up, squinting suspiciously. "You're using your cat to bribe me, aren't you?"

He smirked, leaning back just enough to meet your gaze, a playful tilt to his head. "If it works, it works."

You scoffed, pushing his phone back into his hand. "Sly."

"And yet," He said lightly, tucking it away, "you're still here."

You only hummed in response, pleased, and not feeling on using sarcasm for once.

—

Romance, of course, waited until you were cornered by the vending machine.

You'd just bent down to fish out your drink when his reflection slid into the glass—smile practiced, lethal, posture loose like the hallway had been designed as his runway.

"Stealing breaks without me?" His voice carried that silken lilt he used on fans, the kind meant to curl behind your ear and stay there.

You straightened, unimpressed. "You boys are like mold. Can't go anywhere without finding you clinging to something."

He didn't so much as flinch. If anything, the insult seemed to amuse him. He stepped closer, not touching, but close enough that the air tightened like a pulled string.

"And yet," He said, voice smooth as polished glass, "you keep surviving us."

Your stare could've cool a volcano. "More like developing immunity."

Romance's lips curved, lashes lowering, the whole performance of a man about to say something devastating. "Strong enough to endure me, then. That's all I need."

You gave him a long, flat look. "That line would've worked in 2005."

For half a heartbeat, his smile faltered—then he laughed, delighted. Exactly the reaction you hadn't wanted.

You shoved your bottle into his hands. "Here. Since you're so desperate for attention, make yourself useful. Hold this. Or better yet, drink it and choke."

He accepted it reverently, like you'd just bestowed a holy relic. "Ah. Finally, she gives me something personal." He cradled the bottle to his chest, grin radiant. "I'll cherish it forever."

You rolled your eyes so hard you saw your own brain. "Congratulations. You've officially out-cornied yourself."

Romance only tilted his head, lashes lowering, grin sharp as a hook. "You've told me that before, you know."

You froze for a fraction of a second, already regretting ever speaking to him in this lifetime.

And of course, he leaned closer, voice dipping like he was about to confess a crime. "So tell me..." His smile curled wickedly. "Do you want to see me choke…or do you want to choke me?"

Your reply was instant, sugar-coated venom. "Since day one."

You turned to leave, smug in your exit—only for him to murmur after you, soft as a vow, "Don't worry, darling. I'll choke beautifully, just for you."

You didn't even glance back. Just raised your middle finger.

Romance chuckled, unbothered, waving lazily like you'd just promised him eternity. He looked down at the bottle in his hand, eyes gleaming, and pressed a tender kiss to the cap.

—

The rest of the day blurred into a carousel of shenanigans that had no business existing in a packed schedule. You were knee-deep in tasks, juggling clipboards, schedules, and last-minute crises that multiplied like rabbits on caffeine.

Your sketchbook sat abandoned somewhere in your bag, collecting dust and broken dreams. Breaks? You vaguely remembered those.

Once upon a time, you even read manga between them. A fairytale era.

Meanwhile, the boys—idols, mind you, with their own suffocating agendas—were everywhere. Like cockroaches, except prettier and far more expensive.

You kept waiting for some manager to drag them off, but apparently, their faces doubled as golden hall passes.

A cup of coffee suddenly appeared in your hand with zero explanation.

"Fuel for your tragic little soul." Romance crooned before strutting away like he'd saved your life.

He did.

Baby appeared five minutes later with a granola bar, wagging it like a bribe. "What would you do without me, hm?" He teased, smug as always.

"Eat in peace." You shot back, tearing the wrapper anyway after a silent look of gratitude.

He smiled when he saw you eat.

Jinu passed by during his own break, pausing long enough to hand over a bottle of water and an annoyingly tender, "Don't forget to drink."

Which, of course, had your coworkers side-eyeing like they were watching the finale of a drama.

Mystery, as always, didn't announce himself, didn't even bother with a shadow of warning—just a hand on your sleeve, tugging you out of the noisy hallway and into an empty practice room.

You opened your mouth to say a sandpaper remark, only for him to cut it off with a single motion: he sat against the wall, tugged you down, and before you could process, your head had found its way onto his lap.

You tried to process what was happening. "Mystery—"

He only hushed you with a faint hum, long fingers absently combing through your hair like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then he started singing. Not words, not even a full melody—just a soft, low hum that slipped through his chest and into the crown of your head.

God, his voice. You'd heard it during debut, been floored then, but up this close? It was…warm. Rich. Almost unfair. And maybe you hated yourself a little for not fighting harder to get up.

By the time he stilled, you'd nearly forgotten your exhaustion. Almost.

And Abby? He never simply appeared.

No, he entered like a Broadway lead—swinging open the staff lounge door with a bag of pastries raised like treasure.

"[Y/n]." He called, voice loud enough to make three people jump. "The misery written across your face is inexcusable. Therefore—" He plunked the bag down on the nearest table with a flourish.

"Your savior has arrived."

Half the staff exchanged looks between amusement and exasperation.

You didn't even hesitate—just ripped a pastry out of the bag and took a vicious bite. "Please, shut up."

"Ah, gratitude tastes sweet." Abby crooned, utterly unbothered.

You ignored him, but the smirk he wore said he'd already won.

Annoying as they were—lurking in doorways, dropping pens, shoving snacks into your hands like you'd collapse without them—you had to admit the truth.

If it weren't for their charity, their ridiculous moral support, and their beautiful, irritating faces, you would've long keeled over like a possum on the floor.

By the time the clock crawled toward the end of shift, you were running on caffeine, sarcasm, and sheer spite. Survival, nothing more.

So the moment freedom rang, you didn't hesitate. You clocked out with the precision of a soldier escaping the battlefield, pulling out your phone only to fire a quick text in the group chat:

[Y/n]: Heading home first! 🖕

And before any of them could reply, you shoved the phone back into your pocket and bolted for the exit like the building was about to collapse.

The thought of the floor—glorious, welcoming floor—was enough to make the day worth it. Room could wait. Consciousness could wait. All that mattered was surviving until tomorrow.

Earbuds in, world tuned out. At least until your phone buzzed again—different tone this time, not the chaos ringtone reserved for the boys’ chat.

One was from your boss-slash-editor, asking if you were finally ready to release another chapter. Apparently, readers had been frothing at the mouth over your disappearance. Great. Nothing like being guilt-tripped by strangers on the internet.

The second, however, made your steps falter.

It was from your old apartment complex. The one that went up in flames because of your idiot neighbor upstairs who thought "responsible stove use" was a suggestion.

They wanted to know if you planned to renew, technically since your contract had never been properly terminated after the fire.

You stopped just outside the building, staring at the message as the weight of it sank in. You could actually afford it now—between commissions, savings, and the boys picking up half your expenses without even blinking, moving back out was… possible.

As if on cue, a shadow slid into your peripheral.

"You weren't really planning to leave us, were you?"

Jinu, hands in his pockets, grin lopsided. He looked like he'd been waiting for the perfect dramatic entrance. Typical.

You groaned, tugging out an earbud. "Seriously? Do you guys have a GPS on me or something? Or are you just allergic to the concept of privacy?"

"Both." Jinu said smoothly, not missing a beat. Then he tilted his head, mock wounded, eyes glinting like he was in on some joke only he found funny. "But really… how could you ever leave without us?"

You froze for half a second, giving him the boombastic side-eye he absolutely deserved. Jinu, with his old-ahh ways, probably didn't even know what a GPS was.

And the fact that he answered so fast only made it worse.

Still, that didn't stop the uncomfortable squeeze in your chest at the thought of a morning without their racket in the kitchen. No evenings full of bickering spilling down the hallway. Just dinner alone. Silence pressing in.

No chaos, no noise, no… them.

"Please." You forced a scoff, brushing past him like none of it mattered. "You're all too noisy. Maybe I should move out, if only to save what's left of my sanity."

But the idea of actually doing it—of signing that contract and walking away...felt a lot like pressing your face against a window, watching a life you weren't ready to lose just yet.

The words came out sharper than you intended, carrying more weight than you wanted them to. For half a second, the thought pressed close—moving out, walking away, closing a chapter you weren't sure you were done with.

You caught the way Jinu tilted his head at you, sharp in a way that always made you feel seen. For half a second, you thought he'd ask.

But instead, you laughed under you breath and shook your head like it was nothing. Maybe you really were being dramatic. Friends didn't just vanish because someone changed addresses. Right?

You phone dimmed in your hand. You let it, slipping it back into your pocket without a reply. Out of sight, out of mind.

"I'll really go ahead this time." You said as you started forward, raising your hand in a lazy little wave. "I'm dying to collapse and see a cutie."

That earned you a suspicious squint, or maybe something more, until his face softened with the realization. Derpy. Of course.

Jinu stood there, watching you retreat with that small, secret smile only you ever seemed to pull out of him. And when your footsteps had faded, the glow in his eyes flickered—a dangerous, molten gold that cut through the night.

Move out. The phrase settled wrong in his chest, heavy and sour, like smoke clinging to fabric. He didn't say anything, but the silence stretched as if he'd already decided it: no.

He would burn that idea out before it ever rooted itself.

You were only staying temporarily, he'd told himself that from the start. He'd have to clarify things soon.

Then he followed. Not beside you, not close enough for you to notice—just a steady shadow a few paces behind. Watching. Waiting. Guarding.

Because if demons were out there stealing souls, they wouldn't be taking yours.

Not while he—while they existed in your life. That was why they pressed in close, why they crowded your silence, why they refused to let you slip away.

To guard.

JINU 💋

• Jinu doesn’t rush. He’s deliberate, steady, and every kiss feels weighted with meaning. He starts by taking your hand carefully, like it’s fragile. His lips brush your knuckles once, twice — lingering just long enough to make your pulse quicken

• His kisses move slowly up your arm, and between each one, he pauses, almost studying you, as if making sure you’re okay with this intimacy

• When he reaches your shoulder, his mouth lingers there, breathing in softly before continuing to your neck

• The kisses there are slower, deeper, almost reverent. He knows the effect it has on you, and his faint smirk says he enjoys your reaction

• Moving to your cheeks, he softens again, giving small, feather-light kisses, almost shy. Your forehead gets the same treatment — a steady press, grounding and safe

• Finally, his lips hover over yours for a moment, eyes searching yours, silently asking for permission before kissing you. The kiss is deep but calm, not rushed — like he wants you to know you’re his and that he’ll never let you doubt it

ABBY 💋

• Abby turns this into a performance, playful and dramatic, but still sweet enough to melt you. He grabs your hand suddenly, gasping: “My queen! Allow me!” before dramatically kissing your knuckles like some prince in a fairytale

• But then his theatrics melt into genuine affection. He kisses further up your arm, slowing down with each press of his lips, his voice quiet now

• At your shoulder, he pauses, grinning. “Perfect. Even here.” Then he continues to your neck — teasing at first, but his kisses linger there, voice dropping as he murmurs how soft your skin is

• On your cheeks, he peppers rapid kisses that make you laugh, saying he wants to “make sure every inch of your smile is loved.” A kiss to your forehead makes him sigh dramatically again, “Ugh, how can you be this perfect?”

• By the time he finally kisses your lips, it’s playful at first — but then he deepens it, pulling you closer, his grin softening into something much more real. “See?” he murmurs when he pulls back, “No one could ever top me. You’re stuck with the best.”

MYSTERY 💋

• Mystery doesn’t say much during it — but his silence speaks volumes. He takes your hand almost tentatively, lowering his head to kiss your knuckles with the softest brush. His lips linger, and he closes his eyes like he’s savoring it

• Moving up your arm, his kisses are slow, almost hesitant — like he doesn’t do this often, but he means every single one

• At your shoulder, he pauses, his lips pressing longer there, and you feel his breath against your skin. It makes your chest tighten in the best way

• His trail to your neck is unhurried. Each kiss is tender, reverent, as though he’s mapping out how important you are to him without needing words. When he kisses your cheeks, he’s gentle, almost shy. He presses one to your forehead too, soft and grounding, like a silent promise

• When he finally kisses your lips, it’s not rushed or forceful — it’s careful, lingering, and so full of emotion that it leaves you breathless. When he pulls back, he whispers so quietly you almost miss it: “I don’t know how to say it… but you’re everything.”

ROMANCE 💋

• Romance makes this feel like a ritual — every kiss layered with drama and devotion. He takes your hand in his, bowing slightly as he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your knuckles. “Perfection,” he whispers against your skin

• His lips trail slowly up your arm, his eyes never leaving yours as though he’s reciting vows with each kiss. At your shoulder, he pauses to murmur, “You’re divine everywhere.” The kiss he leaves there is deep, almost like he’s sealing a promise

• Your neck? That’s where he lingers. He kisses slowly, deliberately, making you shiver. He smirks against your skin, whispering, “I could spend eternity here.”

• On your cheeks, he kisses with exaggerated tenderness, one on each side like he’s framing your face with affection. Your forehead gets a longer, grounding kiss — one that makes you feel utterly cherished

• When he reaches your lips, it’s as though he’s waited centuries. The kiss is deep, passionate, like a confession all on its own. He pulls back only to whisper, “You are my heart, my muse, my everything.” Then he kisses you again, even deeper

BABY 💋

• Baby makes this chaotic, adorable, and unexpectedly tender. He grabs your hand out of nowhere, loudly kissing your knuckles with an exaggerated “Mwah!” then grinning up at you mischievously

• “Hehe, gotcha!” he teases, but then he continues up your arm, surprisingly soft this time. Each kiss is slower than the last, his grin fading into something more serious

• At your shoulder, he playfully nips before kissing it gently. “Even your shoulder’s cute,” he giggles. He’s dramatic at your neck — tickling you with little kisses, making you laugh, then suddenly getting quiet and pressing one lingering kiss that leaves your heart stumbling

• Your cheeks get ambushed. He peppers so many kisses there that you’re laughing and swatting at him. “Stop!!” But he just goes, “Nope, you’re mine,” and keeps going

• On your forehead, he plants a big exaggerated kiss and goes, “BONK. There, now you’re protected forever.” Finally, he kisses your lips. At first, it’s playful and teasing, but then he cups your face with both hands and deepens it in a way that surprises you