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ᝰ.ᐟStreet racer!AU ~ 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤

"𝐹𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑠, 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡—𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑."

ᯓ★ᯓ⚡︎

What you'll find -

Illegal street races, high-speed chases, and underground bets. Crews competing for control over the racing circuit. Rival racers with intense history—enemies-to-lovers or exes who still race against each other. "One last race" , but things take a dangerous turn. Betrayal within the crew—someone working with law enforcement or a rival team. if you can't beat em, join em. filthy rich racers and an even filthier amount of illegal activities

Will include -

Angst threesomes(+) smut drinking drugs illegal racing smoking dark-con non/dub-con guns violence

The racers -

Michael kaiser or DK (drift king.) Isagi yoichi or thrasher Rin itoshi or zero Sae itoshi or spades Reo mikage or lux Nagi seishiro or zenith Otoya eita or echo Bachira meguru or riot Shidou ryusei or mad dog Chigiri hyoma or redline karasu tabito or phantom

Disclaimer -

You can imagine the 'reader' as a different person for each story or the same, it doesn't really matter. But I'd say don't treat them as the same person THIS IS NOT A SERIES! None of the stories correlate unless specifically mentioned Warnings will be put before the start of each story 18+, explicit content, mdni

Taglist: @cyberheartrebel @vaelils @narcjsistx @arisaturn @cookiesandcreammy @x3nafix

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

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Ah can you do a Childe x Reader in which Childe and reader have agegap and Childe like manipulates the reader into sleeping with him lmao...

Thanks for your request sweetie 🥰 <3 I hope u don't mind but I kinda altered it..?

Rich creepy uncle Childe? Yesss. 😩

warnings: dark content, uhhhh incest, age gap (reader is 19, Childe is like 30), fem naive reader, sorta bratty/spoiled reader, mentions of incestuous marriage/pregnancy, possessive Childe, manipulation, handjob

Childe knows what he's doing. You used to be a good girl. You used to be sooo sweet.

Until he started spoiling you.

Then you became disobedient, always fighting and talking back to your dad.

And after those fights, you'd always run to Childe for solace. After all, he's the one who listens and gives you what you want.

New phone? Done.

New clothes? Sure.

Oh and there's something else. Although you became a spoiled pompous brat, you were still naive.

You didn't know a single thing about sex. god, Childe loves that the most about you.

You don't wear bras around him and you'll prance around in the tiniest fucking skirt that he bought.

This time you came over to his apartment after having a heated argument with your mother.

"what happened this time kitten?" Childe asks as you lay flat on your stomach across his lap while playing on your switch.

He's got a perfect view of your jiggly ass and he's content to watch as he glances every so often while scrolling on his phone.

You scoff while repeatedly pressing the buttons. "Mom said she doesn't want me coming over anymore. Said I'm too old to be doing that especially since you live alone."

But you didn't see what the big deal was. You didn't see the way Childe looked at you with lust and hunger.

Childe stops what he's doing and looks over at you. He already knew. Your parents practically despised him.

But it's not like he cares.

"really? Does that mean you're gonna stop hanging out with your cool uncle?" He asks with a pout while gently massaging the flesh of your thigh.

You immediately glance back worriedly. "Of course not uncle! I love you. I love you more than my family."

His heart flutters. He loves you too. In a sick and twisted way.

"c'mere cupcake." He gestures with a sly smile so you obey and drop the console to sit up on his lap.

"what is it uncle?" You ask sweetly while wrapping your arms around his neck and batting your lashes.

"your mom was right about one thing. Living alone gets pretty lonely." He sighs sadly so you cup his face.

"then I'll move in with you! I'll cook for you too if you want...anything to make you happy." You chirp with the brightest smile on your face. "I hate living with my parents anyway." You add with a frown.

Childe's breathing turns labored as his lips curl, his fingers slowly gripping your hips. "You'd do that for me?"

"yup!"

"then..." His lips brush against yours and it sends a shiver down your spine.

You two have never been...this close before.

He meets your eyes and it makes you flush. "Can you help me with something?"

You look down when he grabs your hand and places it on top of his bulge. "It really hurts for some reason." Childe explains with a faux pout.

Your mouth goes agape before you speak.

"y-your penis hurts?" You check with furrowed brows. There was nothing in your gaze except concern and maybe embarassment.

Childe has to hold back a giant grin. You're just too easy. But it's adorable.

"yes. Maybe if you just..rubbed it a little, the pain would go away." He whispers while resting his forehead against yours.

"oh. O-okay, let me see." You reply before unbuckling his pants.

Childe leans back on the couch and watches with lidded eyes when you free his painful erection.

Your eyes widen comically at the impressive length and you swallow before looking at Childe nervously. "I-it does look like it's in a lot of pain..."

"hurry angel." He rasps, his impatience running thin. He's waited too long for this.

"o-okay." You purse your lips before shakily wrapping your delicate fingers around it.

Childe swallows a groan when you start pumping your hand up and down.

"g-good sweetheart, just like that," he gasps while throwing his head back, his grip tightening on your flesh.

You blush from his words. He must be in a lot of pain right now. His face is flushed and his chest is heaving but for some reason the sight of his state was making your body tingle.

"u-uncle ajax, are you okay?" You ask softly while leaning over with a hand pressed on his chest.

"k-kiss me." He mutters while staring into your eyes.

Your entire face explodes red. "H-huh?"

"now." He growls, no longer waiting for approval before crashing his lips onto yours.

You squeak before shakily trying to kiss back as your hand continues to work his cock.

Childe's hand moves under your shirt and he starts groping your tender mounds, earning a yelp from you.

Tears sting your eyes as you try to comprehend everything that's happening. His tongue is hot and invading your mouth and your saliva is making a mess on your face.

"u-uncle," you whimper when he trails his kisses down to your neck and shoulder.

"keep going baby. You're making all my pain go away." He assures with a shit eating smile before forcefully grabbing your smaller hand and helping you wank him to an orgasm.

You gaze down and watch with heavy panting as his cock twitches before spurting out cum.

Childe moans, it's low and sexy before slowly releasing your hand.

You sit there, body trembling as you stare down at his softening cock with ingenuous eyes.

Childe swallows thickly, his hazy lust clearing and he's worried you might be scared now. "Kitten..?"

"uncle, what's this white stuff?" You ask curiously, your cheeks dusted red as you stare at him shyly.

He exhales before smiling. "I'll show you."

~

Loud unfiltered moans are resonating throughout childe's bedroom but it doesn't compare to the loud skin slapping against skin as Childe fucks you doggy style on his bed.

And although you were in absolute bliss from the way his cock dragged in and out of your walls, you still heard the familiar melody of your ringtone and reached over to pick up.

"h-hello -- ah!" You let out a cry when Childe leans over and circles your clit from underneath, a satisfied smirk gracing his gorgeous face.

"y/n? Where are you? Come home now! Do you have any idea how late it is?"

It's your father's voice. And he sounds angry.

A loopy smile appears on your face when childe flips you over so you can face him and he can watch those tits of yours bounce.

"s-sorry daddy, I'm living with uncle ajax now."

You can't even hear your father's reply when Childe sloppily kisses you and intertwines your hands together.

"tell your daddy the other thing." He whispers against your lips.

"a-and I, mm! I'm gonna marry him too, a-ah! And have his baby!" Drool runs down your chin as you smile up at Childe.

Your parents voices on the other end are ignored as childe hangs up before focusing on you. "Beautiful. My beautiful girl."

Your parents didn't matter anymore. Childe has the money and connections so he could easily get them out of the picture if they tried to interfere.

Now you're all his.

You whine while throwing your head back when he grinds against you and arch off of the bed. "O-oh Ajax! I'm cum-"

Your sentence isn't even finished before you gasp and cream around him. Childe groans before quickly following, his fertile seed flooding your womb.

You wrap your arms around him to hold him close as he lazily humps against you, tears decorating your lashes from overstimulation.

He kisses your wrist before grinning above you. "Now you're mine."

DAY 17 — VIRGINITY LOSS

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — neuvillette, heizou, wriothesley

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, first time, virgin! reader, taking your v card, soft & passionate, pussy drunk genshin men

𖧡 — NEUVILLETTE

neuvillette was always tender-hearted and caring with you— nonetheless, this specific night, he was burning up through his entire nervous system— only a minimal glance of your body was able to drag him into such brimming state with sweat spouting down his back while only inches away from feeling your skin on his hands— just the whisper of your soft words scurrying at the head of his sinful imaginations.

at the present moment in time, there were no thoughts other than doing this correctly, no focus other than the one centered on your angelic frame— a crucial need, as much as air and water, sewed up within the pain of anticipation simmering over his psyche.

you can feel how his fingers silently curve over the flesh of your thighs before he inches you closer to his bare body, "voice any discomfort to me—," he pauses before coughing out, barely breathing as his heart thuds hard against his chest from how tight your legs were wrapped around his hips, "—immediately."

you nod in compliance, and you rest your head against his broad shoulder before feeling neuvillette's complete weight shift, soon after caging you beneath him as he towers on top with a new perception prodding at your wet core, his cock gently resting between your silken pussy lips— it's unique to any other feeling you have ever experienced before and your thighs instantly clamp around his hips harder, your ragged breathing tottering over his neck and shoulder.

you try to relax yourself, letting your hips fall into the mattress before suddenly trembling at an increasing pressure on your cunt— you hear a whimper as neuvillette rests his forehead on yours, holding his gaze on your eyes, the force of the increasing press precise and cautious as your hole parts around the intrusion.

it seems to be everywhere, all at once trapping your body and you suddenly feel so hot inside, then cold, then hot again, the way it manifested so quickly in you like a spumming inferno that imprisoned your body before your mind floats in the air, above clouds— again, it's hot and cold, hot and cold, the pressure in your lower area penetrant and heavy, and you're becoming dizzy by just focusing on how his shaft was stretching you out as neuvillette fills your cunt to the hilt.

neuvillette notices an immediate reaction from his elevated senses, in the way a strong current of oversensitivity stung along his thick, sheathed shaft like a bee stinging their victims— nullifying his pace as his hips stutter before coming to a hold, reveling himself into the warm hug of a wet, gushing pussy enveloping him.

it's just too much right now, for the both of you— or how your body was beginning to smell just like him, your pussy shaping over his length and casted all around it— as if the both of you, had claimed each other entirely.

𖧡 — HEIZOU

"squeeze my hand if it's too much or uncomfortable,"

regardless of heizou's confident and soothing sentences towards you, before smirking down and giving you the feeling that he had it all figured out a long time ago— was in reality, a helpless attempt to hide his genuine panic deafening his inner spirit, and even though the detective believed he did a good job at concealing it from you, the way he'd awkwardly scrunch his brows together or stumble over his own words aired his self parading nervousness spotless for you to see.

despite that, it's a heavenly sight to have you splayed underneath him, bare and exposed— untouched, so hot that it has you clench around his waist as he first slips himself in, his cock immediately showering your warm walls with love. your heart was racing and so was his, yet it was impressive, his self control, slowly pushing in and out of your little hole and leaning his head down to plant a soft, tender kiss on your lips.

"you're so beautiful," heizou praises as you part your lips, "you're mine," and wait for heizou to slip his eager tongue deep into the warm cavern of your mouth, your mind lost in a swirl of senselessness by his gradually fastening thrusts and the mild pain accompanying them— yet such, didn't matter in this moment, because your thoughts travelled up the soul-deep river over emotions unlocking deep inside that bonded your bodies in a new sense of awareness.

𖧡 — WRIOTHESLEY

watching you smile filled wriothesley with a love he never thought he was capable of feeling— and it's warm, as he believed love should always be perceived as, with your bodies moving unitedly, ugh, archons, he was obsessed with this intoxicating feeling.

“f-fuck, fuck, princess, fuck," he stumbles over his wet trembles, his mouth parted and forehead bedding a film of sweat as wriothesley persistently grinds into your sensitivity, his voice raspier than usual and for once he wasn't cracking occasional jokes, instead he hold your gaze forevermore, groaning out a shaky heave as you mewl out from the deep-rooted press on your core— it's a little uncomfortable you won't lie, and wriothesley being above average wasn't aiding you in that particular battle.

despite that you welcome him completely, no matter the circumstances you keep your legs pressed around his thighs when he tirelessly embeds himself so far inside your cunt that you're nothing but a babbling mess, hardly capable to breathe nor voice your pleasure due to the lingering compression on your slit being penetrated for the first time by a large, thick length, so perfectly shaped and harboring a soft pink on the bulbous tip.

he didn't believe he'd ever become so devoted towards another human being and utterly revel inside pleasing you for the first time, through your body and your soul and ugh— that you wanted him to be your first and no one else, how such reason alone was growing the addiction inside of him, his hips grinding inside your warm hole as his lower abs constrict at the pleasure.

wriothesley licks into your mouth in desperation, and each moment he pulls his hips back only to slip inside again, it’s so much better and it seemed like there wasn't a chance for it to subside, the sensation was growing between both your bodies rubbing over each other, his hips twitching with the sudden thud of vibrations due to your creamy walls clamping down on him.

your soft frame squeezes underneath his rough one, hot walls and wet taste, your slit gripping him just the right way and swallowing him till overcrowded with his heavy length, stimulating the veins sloped over his shaft like you were made to do this with him and only him.

truly, there was no comparison to this, nothing would make him get bored of doing this with you.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

JUST ONE YESTERDAY— HANMA SHUJI

SYN: i know im bad news, i saved it all for you.

CW: dark content & nsfw. fake marriage. smoking. italics are past events. extreme violence (blood, bone breaking, weapons used, murder, etc.) if you can handle the anime you can handle this. smut. fingering. choking. unprotected sex (hate fucking, sloppy fucking, biting, hair pulling.) gun play. dacryphilia. pet names (babe. princess. little lady. sweetheart) MINORS DNI! AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI!

WC: 9.5k. unedited? beta read halfway by @tetsutits. barely proofread bc fuck it, we ride at dawn <3

assassin!fem!reader + assassin!hanma

NOTE: someone tell my brain to stop coming up with ideas, i simply cannot run away. heavily inspired by: this song. this took me two days to write due to me analyzing fight scenes and other nonsense. also i suck at trying to write smut and im slowly easing myself into those waters again, so please be nice! if i missed anything in the cw tags please let me know but don’t be an ass about it :D thank you guys!

MASTERLIST

Hanma pulls out another cigarette from his pack, placing the stick in between his lips, “Babe, have you seen my lighter?” he mutters distinctively, looking down at you.

You hum out tiredly, hand patting the cup holders, the sound of the lighter bouncing around in the empty holder fills your ears. Fingers wrapping around it, you sit up and away from his chest. Your thumb rolling against the friction roll in one practiced motion, the light from the igniting flame lights both of your faces.

Hanma leans closer to you, the cigarette dangling from his lips, his eyes never leaving yours— even as he leans forward, lighting the cigarette. You swallow dryly, the gaze he held on you made your skin crawl, even after working with him for years now, he still gets you riled up.

The smell of the cigarette lingers in the air, and you grimace at the potent smell. The smoke makes your lungs burn heavily as you lazily toss the lighter back into the cup holder. You snuggle back into his neck, humming softly to yourself. He lets out a grunt, looking down at you while taking a long drag, flicking the excess ash off to the side, making sure to not get you. He knew you already hated the way he smoked but it calmed his nerves and eased his mind.

Your fingers start to trace the outline of the suit he’s wearing, his chest heaving out slowly each time he takes a drag. With one hand on your waist, his long fingers played with the rim of the black dress you had on, feeling content with how you were sitting. The both of you ignoring the beeping coming from his watch, and the ringing from his phone.

You stir lazily, letting out a groan, already wishing for this mission to be over with. You lift yourself up off of him, throwing yourself in the passenger seat.

“Time already?” you mumble out in question, letting out a sigh. Hanma hands you the gun that he held onto, his eyes on his phone.

He hums, giving you an affirmative nod, flicking the ashes off into the cup holder, “Seems so,” he breathes out, giving you a wink.

You lean into the seat and fumble for the bag as Hanma drives to the club. It felt heavy in your lap, grabbing the things you both needed for the mission. You’ve already received the coordinates along with the target that had to be eliminated. Hanma watches you from the corner of his eye, a small smirk lingering on his lips, he places his hand on your thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

You don’t really remember when you started to work with Hanma, both of you coming from the same network. Freelancers took side missions that others couldn’t finish, you hated him, his stupid grin and the way he smokes like it’s nobody’s business. He was a well known man, an assassin that everyone feared and in return you were “legally” married to him for the sake of holding a story—a fake marriage that made everything look better. Many of your targets ate up the fact that the both of you played the role of being highschool sweethearts.

“Your wife?” the man says, exhaling smoke from his lungs, you watch as it wafts in the air, causing you to clear your throat.

Hanma grins, placing an arm around your shoulder, placing a kiss on your temple, “Wonderful, isn’t she?”

You gave the man a small smile, closing the gap between you and Hanma, placing a hand on his thigh. “Highschool sweethearts.” you chirp out to him, looking up at Hanma with adoration. He looks down at you, eyes glancing at the way your lips were parted and back up towards your eyes.

You are a temptress, it was your job to seduce and destroy— an irresistible urge Hanma had to mollycoddle with not caring if you couldn’t stand him. He wanted you more than anything and he slowly had you wrapped around his finger, just the way he liked.

The man rips a chilling laugh, placing the cigar on the tray. “Ah, yes, young love.” he sneers, hands quickly rummaging for the pistol he had underneath the table.

Hanma hums at the man, tipping his whiskey glass to him. “Don’t do anything stupid.” he warns, taking a sip of the rum while letting out a relaxed sigh. The man tilts his head, unsure by what Hanma meant as his hand glides over the pistol.

You smiled at Hanma, free hand grabbing the gun from your thigh holster, pointing it at the man. He yelps, a shadow of fear glistening over his face, trying to grab the pistol but you smile to yourself when you hear the weapon fall to the floor. Hanma pulls you closer with a single pull by the chin, kissing you roughly as you fire four shots at the target, ignoring the way his blood splatters around the table. Hanma slips a hand underneath your dress, rubbing your thigh causing you to drop the gun on the table.

“Security on the way! Guys!” your tech engineer yelled in both of your earpieces, you straddle his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers lacing with the strands of his hair. “GUYS!”

Hanma bites the bottom of your lip, giving you one last sloppy kiss before he pulls himself away from your touch. He looks over your shoulder, grinning widely, “Damn princess, overkill?” he whispers to you while pecking your cheek, you look over your shoulder, watching the man’s blood pool around him.

You give Hanma a shrug, sliding yourself off of him, “He kept staring at my tits.” you state in defense, getting up from the booth.

In your defense, Hanma was irresistible, a danger to you, but the way he held onto you after each mission told you otherwise. You were a trained assassin, but yet you couldn’t decipher him at all. A lost feather in the wind tumbling to the ground before being swept back off its feet, Hanma Shuji was the dancing feather in the wind and you were simply the one chasing.

A man full of mysteries, he always knew how to dodge the questions that kept you up at night, but he knew how to keep you on your toes. There has never been a dull moment with him, many called him the “Reaper” or even the “Man behind the mask.” Assassin’s were cautioned to avoid him, always taking him as someone who wants to work alone. You decided to test those waters years ago with the game of cat and mouse.

The smell of bacon and the sweet smell of syrup fill the small outdated diner, the bell above the door rang out in alarm. Causing the waiters to greet you, your heels softly clicking on the porcelain tile as you shrugged off the trench coat, folding it over your arm. You made your way down the aisle, glancing at the man that sat in the red booth that was sipping on a cup of coffee.

The hand tattoos distinctively make an appearance, your stomach flips in excitement, knowing that you had found the man that you wanted to work with. The black tailored suit made him stick out along with the obnoxious newspaper that you could see he was hardly reading. Already coming to terms with yourself on how you were going to get him strung in.

You stood in front of the booth, waiting for him to address you but nothing came out of him. Causing you to tap your heel impatiently, clearing your throat in order to get his attention fixated on you.

Hanma gives you a smug grin, slowly but surely giving you attention after waiting a long 5 minutes. He folds the newspaper in an even half, letting out a low grunt, “Well, are ya’ gonna sit?” he questions you with a smirk.

“Right,” you belittle, sliding in the booth across from him folding your hands together over the table. You started twiddling your thumbs, looking up at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

“You must be the little lady that took her time tracking me down?” he asks, taking a generous sip of his coffee. You swallow the lump in your throat, he figured you out even before you could. It made you backtrack your plan a few steps, wanting to bonk yourself in the head for being so careless. Your intentions were clear, you only needed him for your work and that’s it, already feeling the passion of loathing him had started to set.

“I am that little lady, yes,” you reply with a nod, your eyes never leaving his amber ones. Hanma adjusted his posture, leaning into the table, taking in the way you didn’t do your best to hide your nervousness.

“Heard that you wanted to give me a proposition, hm?” he chides, placing his head on top of his hands, tilting his head in a teasing manner. Hanma slowly wanted to get under your skin, making sure to never take his eyes off of you.

You snap out of the trance, brows going up in realization. “Correct, I actually wanted to ask you if-if you wanted to work side by side,” you calmly say out loud, it sounded so much better in your head but you didn’t care. You had been searching for him for a year and a half, you weren’t going to let him slip away from you now. “I have a lead I’ve been doing for almost two years now—“

He laughs, throwing you off your words, his finger sliding his round glasses back up his nose. “Your yakuza errand, two years?” he baffles out, giving you an uninterested frown. “Honestly, princess, I would have killed that man a long time ago. It’s not worth anyone’s time.” he shrugs off, causing you to blink at him with bewilderment.

You lick your lips, grabbing the butter knife that sat happily on the white napkin, the silver feeling cool against your skin. “I’m not like everyone else,” you grumble, gripping the knife, giving him a stoic glare.

The sound of his laugh ripples through the air, he didn’t know if you were just plain stupid or being serious, his laugh died down in his throat as his fist hit the table, “Don’t waste my time, cut to the fucking chase, little lady.”

You blink, mouth agape in shock, you clench your jaw, nodding your head in agreement. “It has taken me this long because I have to present myself as a married woman. I have gotten closer towards my target, but he wants to meet my fucking husband,” you explain angrily, sticking the butter knife in the air, you twirled it around your knuckles. “I don’t have a husband and that’s the only reason why I've been searching for you. I don’t want anyone else in the network to work with me.” you truthfully say, letting out the breath of air you held in.

“Deal.” he agrees, not even caring to hear more of your sob story. You let out a shocked huff, setting the knife down and looking over at him. You didn’t know if he was bluffing or just saying it to get your hopes up—it intrigued you.

Except Hanma didn’t want to admit, he was truly entranced with your beauty and your solitude, it showed him just enough. You work until your heart contents, no wonder he could see why you dragged out the mission. He knew you were capable of killing a man within 60 seconds and he wasn't going to find out how.

“What’s your coordination?” Hanma says swiftly into the earpiece, drinking the tonic from the glass. His eyes scan the crowd, counting the guards that stood in front of the doors you needed to walk through.

You sigh, adjusting the strap of the dress, clutching the small handbag as you look around the club. Your eyes squint, trying to get used to the flickering lights that danced above you, looking off to your left, you spot Hanma sitting in a private booth.

“To your left, Shuju,” you grumble out awkwardly, letting the nickname slip from your mouth, watching as a dancer starts to straddle his lap as he takes a sip of his drink in the process. “That’s gross, hope you don’t kiss her.” you sneer, swallowing the bile that crawled up your throat.

Hanma takes a long glance over at where you stood, giving you a teasing smirk, “What happens if I do?”

You scoff, not wanting to play his little game, rolling your eyes at his rancid behavior. Smoothly turning on your heel, you made your way up to the second floor of the club. Rolling your shoulders out, and straightening out your posture. Your fingers pinching the sides of your dress down—preparing yourself to advance towards your target.

The goal was to walk through the double doors to the back of the club, eliminating everyone in the room by request of the client. It always got your blood pumping at the thought of revenge kills, something that you enjoy doing. Even if the idea of revenge never suited you, it brought in a hefty amount of cash. You put your life on the line to end fears that haunt people, something that you never thought you’d be doing either.

You didn’t have time to play coy, you had one night, and the only window was in this club. Hanma could tell you were antsy the moment he saw you make your way back down the staircase—you were not going to wait. He quickly pushes the girl off of his lap, muttering a small curse word as he stepped out of the booth.

You were too quick on your feet to be caught by Hanma’s grasp as you waltzed on over to the guards. A single finger twirling in your hair as you chewed on the inside of your cheeks, giving the two men a sultry smile. You ignore Hanma’s protests in your ear as you place a hand on one of the guard's beefy shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Steroids? Protein? What’s your secret?” you pester, dropping your hand from the man’s shoulder.

“Move along, the party is back there, not over here.” the other man rudely clarifies, pointing a thick finger over your shoulder. You blink in wonder, following where he pointed his finger, you pout.

“That’s no fun, I wanna go back there!” you plea, crossing your arms over your chest, making sure to bunch up your breasts at the same time. One of the men rolled his eyes, turning his gaze away from you but the other started to salivate at the sight before him.

“You walk in there on your own and I won’t be able to help you, babe.” Hanma says angrily through the earpiece. You smile up at the guard, picturing Hanma gritting his teeth and clenching his fists into frustrated balls of anger.

The guard lets you through the doors, his hand respectfully on your shoulder guiding you, “Go have your little bitch fit.” you whisper off to the side, hearing Hanma scoff.

The sound of girl’s moaning and panting filled the dark hallway, time to get this show on the road, the sooner it’s done, the sooner you could relax. The rooms in the back were the brothel’s sex rooms, it made you sneer out in disgust. The smell of sex started to stick to you skin, causing you to look over at the guard, but his eyes were trained at the way your breasts slowly bounced with each step you took.

Your hand quickly slipped the knife out from the thigh holster, it glistened underneath the neon lights. The guard furrows his thick brows, hand ghosting over the weapon he had on his hip. “What do ya think you're doing?” he asks you, pulling your shoulder back to display the scene unfolding before his eyes.

You grab the guard's hand, pulling his wrist back harshly, ignoring the way he hisses out in pain. Once you heard the bone crack, you sent the dagger straight into his arm, dragging it across the flesh. You sneer as you feel his blood come in contact with your face. You step away, dodging a blow to the side, leaning back with a wide eyed look, you jump in the air as you kick him across the face. Letting out a satisfied huff, you wipe the blood and sweat from your brow as you land in a staggering position. Lifting your hands up to protect your face as the dagger is protectively at an angle walking closer to him.

The guard lunges for you, dodging the blade as he grabs you by your hair, sending you to the floor as you feel blood dribble from your temple. You yelp out in pain, trying to shake it off. You wrap your legs around his bloodied forearm, making you groan out in disgust at the way his blood drips onto you. Using all the strength you had, you sent him to the ground, twisting him forward, the sound of his chin meeting the concrete flooring, gave you just enough leeway to crack his shoulder out of place easily. The sound of his pained scream filled the hall, causing many to stumble out of the rooms as you let the man go quickly. Panting heavily, you heard multiple shots in your earpiece—Hanma was definitely having his bitch fit.

You grab the gun that had landed on the floor, checking the clip with blurry eyes. You aimed the gun at a few people, shooting a girl in her back as she tried to make an escape for the door. Everyone that dared to try and escape now came to a halt, all of them cowered to the floor covering their heads.

You lean up, blinking away the tiredness, seeing the guard stagger up, holding his shoulder in place. You let out an angry breath of air. “You owe me,” you say softly, getting up, slipping out of the red bottoms, picking them up, “A new pair of these, you bitch.” you finish, throwing them at the man, aiming the gun at his knee caps.

“Hanma! You better get your ass in here now!” you yell out, kicking the guy down, firing one last round straight between his eyes.

You sneer at the sight, tossing the gun off of the side. You pull a few strands of hair away from your face, and wipe the blood from the side of your head. You hear nothing but static on your end of the earpiece, worry starts to build in the pit of your stomach.

You walk over to another door, knocking on it, jiggling the doorknob angrily. Looking over your shoulder, a few more guards rush in, guns in their hands and ready to fire. You felt the door jolt open, startling the girl that was in nothing but a g-string, shoving your way past her. You start to search the room for any weapon, throwing things off of the tables in a frantic manner. You heard the girl scream out, making you stop, she didn’t scream when you walked in so why was she screaming now?

Turning around you were faced with a man no shorter than you pointing a small glock in your direction. You laugh at the man’s stupidity, giving him a sadistic grin. You extended your hands out, tapping his shiny bald head with a low smirk on your lips, the man tilted his head at the actions. You continue to grin sheepishly, bringing your knee up at an 90 degree angle as your hands grip the back of his neck. The feeling of his nose hitting your bare knee makes you wince out as you block his hits. Your palms send the weapon up towards the roof, letting the man fire out the shots. You suck on your bottom lip in between your teeth, sending the man back a few steps, letting out an angry yell as you lunged towards him. Colliding into his body quickly sending it to the floor. You watch him land on the small step to the bathroom as the sound of his vertebra snapping sent shivers down your spine.

“Where are you?” Hanma rings in your ear, causing you to come to a halt, ignoring the girl that was off to the side yelling at you.

“Further down on your right—” you rush out, feeling the barrel of a weapon meet your side, you turn around softly. The girl stood behind you, shaking harshly as tears stream down her face, she started to mutter incoherent words. Blocking out the sound of Hanma’s voice, you swallow, raising your hands in the air, tossing your dagger off onto the floor.

“Put it down,” you coax, looking at her with pleading eyes, “I won’t kill you!” you say sweetly, giving her a reassuring smile.

“Oh, but I will.” Hanma bellows from behind you, causing you to lunge at the girl, subconsciously yanking the weapon from her. The sound of the gun popping makes you jump, watching her body drop to the floor, your hands fly to your side, wincing at the pain as your hands shook violently.

Spitting up a few drabbles of blood, you blink away the tears. “You shot me?” you ask, spitting out blood onto the floor.

“You got in the way.” he scoffs, stuffing his gun in the back of his pants, pacing over to you.

“I had it handled,” you wince, pulling your hands away from your side slowly, seeing blood on your hands. You look down at the girl, her blood pooling around her skull, he fired two shots. Feeling the world around you grow dizzy, you extend a bloodied hand out towards Hanma, choking on small wads of blood.

Hanma rolls his eyes, giving you a ‘are you serious’ glare, bringing you closer to him. He grabs hold of you, pulling your slumping body up by the top of your dress, you hiss out in pain. “Up you go,” he huffs out, picking you up easily as he slowly carries you out of the room.

You blink in and out of consciousness, seeing the neon lights shine bright above you to the sound of men yelling and gunfire fill your ears. You harshly grip the collar of Hanma’s suit, muttering small words out, trying to keep your breathing even.

“These requirements…are they meant to be taken seriously?” he asks you, lighting the cigarette that dangled from his mouth, blowing the smoke off to the side. You scrunch your nose at his habit, passing him the last document he had to sign.

“Yes, if anything happens to either of us, these documents will save our asses.” you embellish, pouring the syrup over your pancakes, Hanma raises a brow at you.

“You put syrup on your eggs too?” he queries, grimacing at the way the fork met the plate. You nodded your head at him, taking a bite of the food.

“Shut up and sign the paperwork, we’re getting weird stares.” you retort, poking the egg yolk. Hanma takes one long drag from the stick, quickly signing the document before sliding it back over to you.

The requirements that would justify the marriage, you were the humble wife and he was the loyal husband that came home after work on time. No evidence leading back to what both of your occupations were and you made sure it stayed that way.

“You just had to be in the way, huh?” he scolds, trudging up the stairs of the penthouse slowly. You flick his ear out of protest, having to hear him scold you all the way home was definitely what you needed. You moan out in pain, your hand flying to the wound. Forgetting that you were injured, you press on it lightly, seeing blood start to seep from it.

“Oh, don’t worry! It’s all over me and my car.” he exclaims sarcastically, sitting you down on the toilet. You blink up at him, smearing your fresh blood on his now stained suit. Hanma grunts at you, shrugging off the jacket and rolling up his sleeves. You watch him, noticing the blood that is splattered all over him, along with the huge stain from your own wound.

“I’ll buy you a new one, and for the record,” you say wincing as he turns his back to grab the medical kit, “That’s my car,” you mumble, sitting up slightly to take the dress off, letting out hisses of pain as the fabric let loose around your skin. “Here.” you grumble out as Hanma stuck a hand out to take the dress from you.

“Your car?” he questions, tossing the dress in the sink before placing the kit on the white counter, fishing for the things he needed. You hum in response, “Babe, I bought that car, just because you drive it. Don’t make it yours.” he blathers, pointing the scissors at you before washing his hands.

“Whatever you say, Shuju,” you utter, grabbing the hand mirror off the counter, and start examining the wound. Your hand reaches back behind to see if the blow went through. “Shit,” you gasp, tilting the mirror back over your wound, noticing the bullet that stuck out of your skin, “It wasn’t a clean blow.”

Hanma let out the breath of air he was holding in, unaware on how to approach this predicament. You were always the one patching him up, not the other way around. He didn’t mean to shoot you but he panicked.

He ruffles his hair, patting the top of your head, and leans over to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “On the counter,” he commands, making enough space for you, he doesn’t say another word as he exits the bathroom quickly.

You look at yourself in the mirror, noticing the blood that was caked on you, the dirt that had caked your legs and even your shoulders. You felt grimy and in desperate need of a shower. Fixing the bra strap that had slipped off your shoulder, you hopped onto the counter, breathing in and out as you watched more blood seep from the wound.

“You’re gonna need this,” he remarks, handing you the large bottle of vodka. “Oh and don't squirm because I have no fuckin’ idea how to do this.” he finishes with a smirk, wiggling his brows as he throws on some medical gloves.

You nodded quietly, twisting open the top to the bottle, taking a generous chug of the beverage. You hum at the way it crept back up your throat, causing you to cough up small specks of blood onto the counter. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, ignoring a wide eyed Hanma as he starts to mutter under his breath.

“Check the wound, disinfect, clean, suture, disinfect, and wrap,” you guide out to him, your hand rummaging through the medical box, finding the wrap he needed to use. “The bullet is still embedded in my skin so you have to use the prongs, er, maybe tweezers.” you add, leaning back a bit.

Hanma nods along, placing himself in between your legs, one hand firmly grips your thigh as the other leans you farther back. He needed to make sure the light hit the wound perfectly, he didn’t want to cause anymore pain or unwanted blood.

You let out a shaky breath, hands gripping the edges of the counter as you feel the cool metal at your skin. Hanma bit his bottom lip, moving his shoulder in front of his face, pushing the glasses back up his nose as he slowly started to work on the bullet. You bite back a yelp, your hand reaching out for the heavy bottle as you seeth out in pain.

“Deep breaths, princess.” he mutters to you, looking up at you through his lashes. You nod meekly, pouring some of the vodka onto the wound before bringing the bottle back over to your mouth. You hiss once the alcohol hits your skin, letting out a shaky breath.

Hanma presses lightly on the wound, letting the blood race down your skin, he maneuveres the tweezers over the biggest piece of bullet that had been sticking out of your skin. You felt the metal work its way into you, taking a sharp inhale of air as you felt the bullet being pulled out of your skin. You bit down your lip as your hands went over to cup your mouth, trying to hold back the scream. The tears started to slowly roll down your face as you felt the wave of pain course through your body.

“That’s one,” he mutters, placing the bullet in a bowl, he looks up at you, wiping away the stray tears that fell from your eyes. “One more, okay?” he reassures you, dabbing gauze over the bleeding wound.

You look at him with low lidded eyes, “Shooting me was not a part of the plan, Hanma.” you cough out, leaning your head back up against the wall. He looks at you, hands shaking slightly as he tries his best to get the smaller chunk.

“It was an accident, it’s not like you’d do that to me,” he admits, flicking his gaze up at you and back down at the bullet. You grew quiet, biting down your lip in thought. “Right?“ he asks as he pulls away from you.

It was exactly how he put it, you would shoot him. You would make sure to kill him if it was needed, your need for him was already completed. At this pace, you just enjoyed his company, his work ethic and the way he fucks you. Being caught up in a fantasy that didn’t seem real in the occupation you were in, Hanma wanted to retire. You wanted to go on trips and live in another country away from your past. These were two different dreams for two different people that had no connection outside of work.

“I wouldn’t,” you lie smoothly, giving him a tired smile. “You’re too pretty for me to even raise my gun at.” you let out, feeling the pit in your stomach churn with guilt.

He hums in satisfaction, swiftly taking the bullet out from your skin, “I can’t get the last one out.” he bellows, his hoarse voice fills your head.

“Yes, you can.” you encourage as you adjust the way you sat on the counter. You grab the bottle of vodka, taking another swig of the burning liquid.

“On three,” he tells you, looking at you as his hands pressed against your stomach. You nod out in pain, taking a deep breath, looking up at the blinding lights of the bathroom.

“One.”

You held back a whimper, clamping a hand over your mouth, hearing the way the sound of your flesh squirmed against the tool. “Two.” Feeling him tug harshly on your skin.

You yell out, tears streaming down your face as you kick Hanma off of you. “You said, on three!” you remark at him, wiping your tears away from your stained cheeks.

He shrugs, tossing the items in a bowl that was filled with alcohol. “I got impatient.” he states with a smirk. You groan out in pain, fighting back the urge to slap him.

You surely were going to regret your mission. It was bound to happen, you are an assassin, someone that doesn’t trust easily. Here you were, getting assigned to another job by your network to take out one of their own.

“I reckon you won’t get your personal feelings involved in this?” the board's director asks you through the phone.

You put the cigarette out up against the concrete wall, blowing out the smoke. Looking out at the pedestrians that were doing their daily commute, that could have been you chasing down a taxi but maybe in another lifetime. Maybe in another life you’ll be away from all the anger, the guilt, and the constant fear you lived in.

You quickly hum into the call, closing your thoughts, “Feeling is mutual.” you state harshly, holding back the next set of words you wanted to add. Why did it have to be you? Ending the call without another acknowledgment before walking back into the building.

“Eliminate Hanma Shuji at all costs, 200,000,000¥ will be deposited once the assignment is completed.”

He was too caught up in his own concentration as he sutured your wound shut. Throwing out curse words every given second, his fingers slipping against your spilled blood.

Not glancing up at you to see that you had slipped out of consciousness due to the pain. “Babe?” he repeats as he shakes you awake with panic forming in his eyes. He hears you hum out to him as he wipes his brow, feeling full of relief.

He tosses the gloves in the sink, trying his best to make sure the blood doesn’t get on the clean wrapping. Hanma leans over and kisses your cheek softly, “I’m sorry.” he whispers to you. Pulling away, frowning at the sight as he starts to bring the wrap around your abdomen.

“It’s okay.” you utter restlessly, giving him a small smile. You knew better than to keep adding fuel to the flame but the time was now. If you pushed this on even more, then both of you wouldn’t be able to move past it. Especially you.

“I thought I lost ya’,” he sighs out truthfully, throwing you a worried look. You hear the scissors snip the wrap and the way his hands pressed down carefully onto the now sealed wound.

He places both hands on his hips and looks at you, biting down his lip in thought. Admiring the work he had done on you, “I think I did well.” he comments with a wide grin.

Of course he did well, you were always the one patching him up if he got snagged. You gave him lessons on stuffed animals and on pillows. He just didn’t want to admit that an assassin like you sometimes got wounded. You were skilled, your tactics always came together and you’re a quick thinker. Something that threw his ass out of your league, you downplayed and he didn’t dare to step foot on your turf. Even if he knew that, you were going to be the death of him one day and he had a feeling that it would be sometime soon.

You shake your head in agreement, “I’m starving.” you croak, trying your best to hop off of the counter, wincing at the sharp pain.

Hanma quickly goes over to help you, helping you off of the counter, giving you a scolding glare. “I just patched you up. Stay still will ya?” he hooks a finger under your chin, “I’ll go grab ya something, okay?” he murmurs softly, bringing his lips to your forehead.

You stand there briefly, hearing the sound of his footsteps fade away, the feeling of the cold air coming from the air vent made you shiver. You rubbed your face, groaning out in agony. “Now or never.” you whisper to yourself, hitting the secret compartment that was hidden on the side of the counter.

You grabbed the clips, slamming one of them into the glock as you wobbly made your way to the closet. You calculated the time it would take for Hanma to travel back up the stairs from the kitchen. “Two minutes?” you ponder, yanking a black baggy nightshirt from the velvet hanger. “No, 60 seconds.” you murmur, slipping the shirt over your head, quickly rushing over to the back of the bathroom door.

The sound of his footsteps grew heavier, closing your eyes in thought, you started to contemplate on the next move. Either shoot him with no remorse or question him. You grew silent, hearing his voice before you.

“I got your fav—“

You swipe your tongue over your bottom lip, pressing the gun into his side, “On your knees,” you snarl out in demand, Hanma looks off to his side, dropping the food he had made for you. “Now!”

“Princess?” he exclaims, the sound of his voice wavers, full of disbelief. That gut feeling had come true, you were going to murder him in cold blood.

“For the violation of code, thirty two, you’ve been sentenced to be executed,” you sneer, kicking him in the knee, watching him stumble to the floor. “You remember the incident in Osaka?” you dryly ask, gripping the gun with both of your hands, this wasn’t the time to fall to his tricks.

He laughs, “So this is what it’s about?” he scowls, jaw clenched and fingers thrown into large shaking fists. You circle around him, keeping your eyes on him as you keep the gun at an angle.

“Tell me, did you kill them?” you ask, biting down your lip, the familiar taste of copper fills your mouth. You wanted to hear it from him and not from anyone else.

He grins sadistically, ruffling his hair with his tattooed hand, the word ‘sin’ flashing in your eyes. You swallowed the saliva that had started to build in the back of your throat, clenching your jaw as you stepped closer towards him. “Don’t tell me you knew them?” he taunts, slowly rising up from the ground.

“I-I don’t let my feelings get involved with my work,” you stutter, holding back the tears that started to well up. Stepping closer towards him, you pressed the gun up against his chest, letting out a shaky breath.

“You let your personal feelings get in the way of our work. Didn’t you, sweetheart?” he murmurs to you, one of his hands met the barrel of the weapon as his other hand found its way up your shirt.

No. It was him. He slithered himself in between you. Seemingly, you fell for his charm and you were so careless. So devoted to your work that you kept running back to him and you were carelessly in love with him. You had a mission to carry out and you knew better than to ever get your feelings involved with such need.

“Why did you do it?” you ask him, feeling his large hand start to knead your breast like his own personal stress ball. His fingers pinching your nipple in the process sent shivers down your spine.

He chuckles, prying your shaky fingers off of the gun, “Just following orders,” he coos, his hand yanking the weapon away from you. The sound of it going off, caused you to jump slightly. Looking up to see the hole in the ceilings of the penthouse. “Oops.” he tosses the gun onto the bed.

You watch as he starts to lower himself back towards the ground. You feel his lips start to kiss along the inside of your thigh. Mouth agape, you furrow your brows, “Orders? F-From— Fuck.” you breathe out when he nibbles on a piece of skin, you feel his tongue swipe over the spot.

“No. No. Continue,” he states, voice laced with sarcasm, an envious grin on his face. “It’s not like you tried to just kill me or anything.” he smarts off, swiftly shoving your body into the edge of the bed. You hiss out in pain, quickly closing your thighs in the process.

“I was assigned to kill you,” you muster, looking at him through half lidded eyes. He laughs out at your snide comment, hands unbuckling his belt. The click of the belt set alarms off in your head, looking at the gun that was laying on the opposite side of the bed. You lean up using your shoulders for support trying your best to scoot away from him as he crawls over you.

“Assigned, huh?” he chuckles, yanking your legs open, causing you to squirm in the process. An inaudible hiss of pain leaves your lips, fire to the fuel was now being burned slowly and you had no way to control it. That need grew for him more and tonight was going to be the last night.

“A game of cat and mouse,” he whispers in your ear, pressing himself against your soaked panties. You threw your head back at the sensation the friction was giving you, trying your best to hold back the pitiful moan. “You had me fooled but two can play that game,” he sneers as his lips ghost over yours. You grew quiet, not wanting to say a word as he hooked two fingers over the band of your underwear, sliding them down effortlessly.

Throwing your head back, a loud moan erupted from your lips as you felt two of his fingers slip through the folds of your cunt. He smirks down at you, letting out a soft, “May I?” admiring the way your lips parted in awe. You nod quickly, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pull him closer towards you.

You felt his lips brush against yours, impatiently kissing you as his hand started to roam your body. His digits started to circle the sensitive bud in slow motions, causing you to tug onto the bottom of his lip. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, your fingers entangle themselves with his hair as you part your legs wider, needing him to pick up the pace. His hand finds comfort at the dips of your hip, gripping at the skin harshly. You let out a needy whimper as you feel his fingers curl inside of you. The sound of your pussy squelching around his fingers in such a lewd manner made his cock twitch. He needs to be inside of you now before he lets his load go to waste.

“Please,” you whisper out. Taking in the way he looked above you, his amber eyes showed nothing but anger and lust. “Just this once.” you beg, moving strands of hair away from his face and tucking it back behind his ears.

He laughs out loud while pulling away from you, bringing the two fingers towards his mouth. You watch him suckle on them, eating up the way you tasted. “You dumb little lamb.” he avows coldly as he grabs the gun from the side. You swallow hard, your eyes grow wide at the way he sets the gun on your chest.

“You move an inch and I won't hesitate, ” he scoffs, pinning your arms over your head. Your eyes dart down at the gun and back up at him, nodding quickly.

“Good. Now spread.” he demands, watching you slowly spread your legs for him. He bites his lip down, holding back the words that wanted to spill from his mouth. Humbling himself quickly as he reminds himself that you are still assigned to kill him.

Too worn out, too weak, to even fight him back, you grew limp at the way he pounded into you. From the way his fingers pulled at your scalp to the way his teeth dragged across your collarbone, everything he did was poison to you. Sending your body into another yelping orgasm, you cried out his name over and over again like a broken record. Tears started to form in your eyes as he bit down at the sensitive skin around your breasts.

“Sh-Shuji, please— Ah! Fuck!” you whimper, bucking your hips into his. He grunts out in response, a throaty groan left his lips as he felt your pussy clench around his cock.

Your moans fill the room as you feel his hand grip loosely around your neck as he thrusted into you. You turn your head away from him, feeling pathetic that he was fucking you with such hatred. “N-No, you're going to watch me.” he grunts out, pulling on your chin.

You let out a huff of air, completely forgetting the situation before he started to feel himself up against you. He was going to use this one night to fuck you, like he hated your guts. Knowing the task at hand still stood, but you needed him and he needed you.

He wipes the sweat from his brow, taking the gun into his hands, you lick your lips out in thought. Feeling worry start to build in the pit of your stomach, you had your mouth agape as a stifled moan left your lips. “Open wide.” he says, waving the gun around. You close your mouth shut, glancing up at him with hate in your eyes.

“I said, open up.” he seethes, pounding himself into you harder causing you to throw your head back in pleasure as you arch your back forward. Your mouth starts to open up slowly, trying to form words but nothing comes out.

He doesn't give you no time to think as he places the gun into your mouth. You furrow your brows, looking up at him through your lashes as you feel your drool drip down the barrel of the gun. You started to say something but the words became muffled as he started to move the weapon around in your mouth.

You didn't even know if he emptied out the rounds, his finger ghosting over the trigger as he stared at you with icy amber eyes. You moan out, your shaky fingers starts to press onto your clit, trying to add as much pressure to reach the desired need you wanted to feel. He continues to thrust himself deeper into you, his hands never leaving the gun that he had shoved into your mouth. Trying to say something to him once again but your drool bubbled in the small slits of the corners of your lips.

“I'm sorry? What was that?” he explicated, pulling the weapon from your mouth, watching you take a deep breath of air. Your chest heaving up and down viciously but he didn't care, he was too entranced by the way your breasts bounced to his own rhythm.

The sound of your moans started to fill his head, dragging the gun down your body as he let it hover over your patched up wound. He pinched the flesh of your ass roughly with his other hand, watching you jolt up at the contact. You cry out in pain feeling the heavy weapon lay on top of your wound, tears pricking your eyes but Hanma didn't stop. He felt himself reach his high to the sound of your cries, your begging and even your sweetened pitiful moans.

You tangle your hands within the sheets of the messy bedding, throwing your head into the body pillows, letting out a loud moan that could have been heard from outside of the penthouse— if you had left the windows open. You call out his name like a mantra needing to be spilled, wrapping your legs harder around his waist, letting him come undone inside of you.

“I-I'm—“ you stutter, rolling your eyes in the back of your head as you feel yourself starting to ride out your aching high with Hanma. His pants and low moans filled your ears as his thrusting grew sloppy as his lips attacked your skin. The sound of your name blabbering from his lips made you grow wide eyed as he breathed out heavily, wiping the sweat off of his brow.

Both of you lay there, his head meeting yours as you tried your best to control your breathing. He didn't even glance up at you, give you a reassuring kiss on the forehead or even offer to crack a joke. It was filled with labored breathing and growing tension.

You closed your eyes, breathing out harshly as your hands lightly toss the gun off of the bed. Hanma watches you with caution, pulling himself away from you as he gently pats your thighs. Climbing out of the bed, you watch him with tired eyes as you grab the robe off the night stand.

Back to reality starts to hit you, and now the tension grows heavy. Not wanting to finish out the mission and wanting him to ask you if this was a joke. You wanted to take it all away, you wanted to run away with him, but you were greedy. Brainwashed and manipulated into thinking this man killed the most important people in your life. You were blinded by rage. This was a lesson, a lesson that showed you to never spill your guts to the first man that taught you how to love. Teaching you how to love in the worst kind of way.

“If you're going to kill me,” he sighs, throwing on a pair of pants, “At least, do it when I'm asleep, okay?” he comments, walking past you with a frown as he pats your shoulder.

You shove his hand off of you, scoffing at his behavior, “I can't.” you reply hoarsely, hands wrapped around your waist in a protective manner. Hanma halts, turning back around slowly.

He tilts his head to the side mockingly, waving a finger inches from your face, “How pathetic.” he chuckles out, shaking his head at you. He takes two steps closer to you, hovering over you as he gets closer towards your ear. “Here I thought you'd be able to kill a man within 60 seconds,” he pauses, looking down at the way your face palls.

Almost finding comfort in the way your face showed nothing but waves of emotions even he couldn't convey, it made him think back to all of the years you two spent together. It almost felt like a fever dream. “What are ya waiting for?” he whispers as his teeth nip at the top of your earlobe.

He was right, you were pathetic. You couldn't even bring yourself to run towards the guns in your closet or even the knives you kept in your draws. You stood there frozen, eyes glistening with tears as you watched him walk into the bathroom that followed with a door slam.

His words run through your mind like a mosquito hovering over flesh waiting to take a swim in the enriching taste of blood. It left a sour taste in your mouth as the loaded gun lay on your lap as you watched the sun start to rise. The quick buzzing of your phone snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Confirm kill….payment is waiting.”

The phone grew heavy in your hands, looking over at Hanma, admiring the way his chest rose and fell. You let out a shaky breath as you wipe away the tears that have started to well up in your eyes. You pull the covers off your body, sliding off of the bed quietly, fingers straightening out the black top you wore as you shoved the phone in your back pocket.

The weapon grows heavy in your hands with each step you took towards his side of the bed he was laying on. You cup a hand over your mouth, stifling the sobs that started to fall from your mouth. Breathe hitching in the back of your throat as you raise the shaky gun over him.

“You're bad news,” he chucked out, shoving another piece of candy in his mouth, “I like it.”

“Careful, what you wish for Shuju.” you mumble, yanking your bag of candies from him, giving him a small weak glare.

His laughter rings in your head as he brings his large hands to the sides of your face, “My wish has already come true.” he whispers as he pecks your lips.

Bang!

“When I tell you, I can handle it! Means I can handle it!” you yell at him, tossing the paperwork off the table. He scoffs, tapping his shoe against the tile angrily, shaking his head at you.

“To hell with our requirements, then?” he seethes out, his voice never rising as he waltzed over to you. Yanking the yellow folder from your fingers, “You missed a whole ass paragraph and that proves to me that no. You can't handle it!” he retorts, slapping the folder against his open palm, giving you an eye roll before he storms off.

Bang!

“Once again, Hanma, you are letting me down.” you murmured into the phone, flipping through the magazines as you peered at the woman that walked in. The target you needed to eliminate.

“Look who's talking,” he snarks back, flicking the toothpick off onto the sidewalk, “Anyways, are you almost done? I got reservations for us in two hours.” he grins out widely, winking at you through the wide shop window before walking off.

Bang!

You turn away, throwing the gun at the window far across the room. Your choked sobs and screams filled the quiet room, as your knees buckled underneath you. The sound of his blood dripping off onto the floor made your skin crawl. Bringing your hands over your ears, you started to rock yourself, murmuring the two words you value the most, “I'm sorry.”

Your phone vibrated in the back of your pocket, grabbing your attention as you rubbed your eyes, wiping the blood that had splattered onto your face in the process. You look at the no caller ID, clenching your jaw in hatred. You answered it after the fourth ring, the line was quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You let out a shaky breath, “Target has been eliminated. I want my ransom and I'm out.” you harshly spew, your fingers pressing the red button as you fumble back up. Taking one last glance at the pool of blood but never at his face or his body.

You don't remember much of the night when you murdered him, you didn't bury him nor did you notify the authorities. Having already seen the network clean-up crew waiting outside of the penthouse doors tells you enough. But you didn't stay, no, you ran like a dog with its tail in between its hind legs. You cleared your name and went to another country that didn't have any data on you. You wanted to forget, and this was the only way too.

Except the nightmares still crept through your dreams, his smile, his voice, and even down to the way he used to hold you so close at night. It was all gone, you were the one, who had taken that away. You were never really taught how to grieve, but slowly you felt the lingering pain of heartbreak park its way right into your tainted soul.

Each morning, you sit on your large porch, watching the waves crash against each other, reminding you of him. Each night, you stayed up until two, whispering goodnights to yourself and wishing he was there with you. Everything you did was for him.

It was a year, maybe two when you finally grew out of that state of misery. Coming to terms that you were just meant to never accept anyone else or love anyone else. Your time as an assassin caught up with you, many of the townsfolk got word that a killer lived amongst them. Though, they would never suspect it was you, the sweet lady that gave the kids candy anytime they walked through the garden as a shortcut to the beach.

Your time as an assassin did bring in many freelancers to your doorstep begging you to train them, take them under your wing as a student. You did agree to one girl, she reminded you so much of him. It made you want to tell her about him but you refrain yourself from doing so.

“My old sensei, Hanma, has told me about you.” she says out loud, grabbing the walking stick and digging it into the ground.

You pause, dusting your hands off with the cloth that was draped over your shoulder, turning your gaze on the girl. “Excuse me?”

She laughs, “Did you really think you killed him?”

Your blood ran cold, dropping the gardening tool as you quickly got up from the sitting position. The girl panics, fumbling to grab her ringing phone from her pocket, the ringtone rumbles through the speakers.

“Answer it.” you demand with a clenched jaw. You watch as the girl answers the phone, whispering into it quickly and flickering her eyes at you and back towards the roses bushes. She quietly passes you the phone, stepping away from you but making sure to be within earshot.

“Hello?” you chime into the phone speaker, feeling your skin crawl at the line and its waves of static. You kept your expression stoic making sure to have your eyes trained on your student, if this was a joke you would surely have her do laps until she passed out.

After a few more seconds went by, you started to realize that this wasn't a joke. You heard someone's voice, a voice that you tried to distinctly make out but the connection of the call was static. Briefly making out the three words that made you shake in bewilderment.

“Miss me, Princess?”

OFFSIDE CRUSH | “IS SHAWTY OKAY???”

Masterlist, prev, next

yourinstagram

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yourinstagram …

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user707 ARE YOU OKAY BABES

yourinstagram I’m perfect babes

user505 Is anyone else noticing how she doesn’t interact with them like she used to?

user391 FR and you don’t even see the bllk boys commenting anymore…maybe she’s deleting the comments..

BlueLockOfficial

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user223 why does Nagi look like he hasn’t slept in 3 days…

BlueLockOfficial we refrain from talking about the players private lives

reoofficial cause he hasn’t 🧍🏻

megumonster 🥲 SICK AND TWISTED

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yourinstagram Ego said professionalism, so here I am. ALSO congratulations bllk for the win today!

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user023 nagi liked this 2 seconds after it went up.

user524 you ok girl?? blink twice if ego has you hostage…

user707 miss ma’am drop the act and go hug your man

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megumonster Ty we couldn’t have done it without you

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Not so fun, Fun Facts 😝:

1. The texts with her mom were originally going to be with Nagi, but you chose to have her go to her mom instead to show how isolated she’s starting to feel from the boys.

2. The group chat is unusually quiet this chapter not because they don’t care, but because they don’t know how to approach her after everything blew up. Even Bachira’s holding back.

3. Nagi has typed and deleted at least 5 messages to her, but hasn’t sent any. He’s trying to respect the distance, but it’s killing him too.

4. Ego didn’t yell at her during their meeting. Instead, his disappointment was calm, and that hurt more than anything.

5. Nagi still has the playlist on repeat (specifically Freudian by Daniel Caesar & Baptized In Fear by The Weeknd)

Taglist 🏷️: @amterasuu @inojinieeee @frootloopscos @irethepotato

office worker toji x puppy girl reader bonus tidbits

time to get this out of the drafts :3

office worker toji helps puppy girl reader with her first heat while with him !! nsfw / 18+ !(ෆ’∀’ෆ)!

it’s been a few months since toji’s taken you in. to toji's delight you've begun speaking a bit more - from greeting him when he comes back from work to asking about his day, or shyly asking him for help when you need it. you've also maintained your openness to his petting, making soft noises of delight each time.

recently though, toji’s notices you’ve been more reluctant in letting him go to work. at the door you nuzzle him affectionately, which is cute, but you whimper more sadly than usual when he pets you on the head and tells you to “be a good pup” while he’s working.

you’ve also started licking him before the two of you sleep, climbing on top of him and laying your front against his chest. you whine out his name and make soft noises of contentment too, pressing your face into the crook of his neck and leaving warm puppy drool all over his adam’s apple with your tongue. it’s not that toji minds the drool, but he often ends up getting up out of bed once you’ve fallen asleep to splash his face with cold water or take a cold shower.

when he comes back home to your without your regular greeting, he finds you squirming under the covers of your shared bed wrapped in clothes stolen from his hamper he decides to give shiu a call.

“it sounds like she’s nesting, probably going into her monthly heat,” shiu says with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“heat,” toji repeats back blankly.

“yeah, she’ll be real turned on for a couple of days, make sure to keep her hydrated. some owners like to take care of it themselves, or you can get some toys to help keep her occupied. i’ll send ya some information.”

“thanks,” toji replied, processing shiu’s words.

“it’s real nice though, fushiguro, they get real hot and bothered-"

toji hangs up.

most of the “information” shiu ended up sending were various models of toys to help you get through your heat, but he did include some more informative links. it was important to keep you hydrated, and experienced owners suggested keeping snacks around, too. skin-ship, the more the better, was also recommended to help soothe hybrid instincts - basically it was best if you weren’t left alone.

he does decide to get one of the less extreme toys. a simple vibrating dildo at a decent size. he sets you up with some water and sits down beside you, alternating between some soft petting and holding your hand while ordering one for express delivery.

the night remains mostly uneventful. he’s able to leave a few times to fetch water and brings you a convenience store onigiri he stocks in the fridge so that you’re not hungry while he’s at work. he hand feeds you with you seated on his lap, back against his chest. occasionally, you swipe your wet tongue against his fingertips and when you’re done with the rice ball you lick his fingers clean. content, you look up at him, exposing your collar. toji asks you if you know why “you’re being all soft and clingy” and you don’t seem to be able to explain it completely, mumbling out “puppy like toji.” it’s a different kind of cute, knowing that you can’t control your desire to be around him and it ignites something in toji’s chest. he adjusts your collar, and fiddles with the small engraved charm. “yer know what your ‘heat’ is, pup?”

“mm hot,” you reply, playing with his fingers. he chuckles, tapping your nose.

“not quite,” he says, and rubs the skin around your collar. “i’ll take care of you though, okay?” you nod along and smile up at him with your puppy-dog eyes. “quit bein’ so cute,” he grumbles, pinching your cheek gently. “let’s get you tucked into bed, hm?”

with you finally asleep beside him, toji spent a few hours researching more about puppy hybrid heats. he found that it was common for owners to provide assistance to their hybrids during this time or owners also kept multiple hybrids so that they might help each other through their heats. there were even articles talking about how hybrids only went in heat if there was a certain level of attraction or companionship with their partner - hybrid or human. though your openness and affection towards him was tempting, toji wanted his puppy to be sure of what she was doing before being so involved. he also discovered some common biological functions. puppy girls often produced lots of slick as a means of self lubrication, hence why it was important to keep them hydrated. increased blood flow during heats also meant that sensation to their ears, neck and erogenous zones were heightened, becoming spots of pleasure. he lazily stroked one of your ears as you slept, wondering if and how your reaction would differ. a few websites also explained your nesting behaviour - it was part of dog hybrid instincts to build a nest for potential pups, but the strong scent of their partner was comforting during this intense period. toji furrowed his brow at “potential pups”.

cringing a little on the inside, he typed “how do hybrids become pregnant” into the search engine. multiple search results concluded that it was impossible for humans to reproduce with hybrids. well, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about that. essentially, heats were just your instincts going into overdrive and the best way to help you would be to let you fulfil them as much as possible. the website continued to talk about heat suppressants, which should be used sparingly for approved medical reasons to prevent long term issues. eventually, toji fell asleep with different fragments of information floating around in his mind, one arm holding you close.

as usual, toji woke up before you. he gave you a once over, checking your temperature with the back of his hand. you seemed to be warming up. he decided to go on a quick supply run to make sure you’d be stocked up with food and water. he tucked you back in and got dressed to go downstairs.

toji returned half an hour later with a few plastic bags full of water, juice and rice balls from the convenience store. there was also a parcel left by the door, which must’ve been the toy he ordered for you. he brought everything inside, and went to check on you. you seemed to be just waking up, reacting sluggishly when he returned to the room. “tojiii,” you drawled sleepily. he placed everything by the bed. you wriggled out from under the blanket and clothes on your hands and knees.

“what’s wrong, puppy?” he asked, petting your head. you whimpered and wagged your tail lazily.

“hot”, you mumbled.

“yer heating up a bit aren’t ya,” he responds. you sit up on the bed and wrap your arms around his waist. you didn’t seem to be heat stricken just yet. “are you hungry puppy?” you shook your head.

“sleepy,” you replied.

“how about you sleep a little longer, and let me wash off,” he suggested. he watches you mull it over with a little pout, and you begrudgingly set him free before holing back into your nest. toji brought the parcel to the bathroom with him. his mind wandered as he brushed teeth. on one hand, he was a bit worried about how he might react to you, and on the other he wanted to make sure you were able to act upon your instincts. he spat out the toothpaste and gargled. it’d been a while since he’d been with a woman - work took up most of his time and when he was free, he was too exhausted to actively think about sex. his university days had been far more carefree. well, it was all in the past now. before he left, he washed off the toy and plugged it in to charge.

your condition had changed rapidly in the moment he was gone. you were no longer in your nest, instead turned on your side, clutching toji’s pillows in your arms. your legs squeezed together when you heard the door open, toji’s scent filling your head. toji listened to you let out a desperate whine. “t-tojiii,” you squeaked out, rubbing your thighs against each other. toji was hit with a shot of affection watching you sit up and pull your shirt up to reveal your soft tummy. he pet your head, careful to avoid giving too much attention to your ears.

“what’s wrong puppy? is it your tummy?” you whined, tail thumping against the mattress. the timbre of his voice made your stomach swirl. “you want me to rub your tummy?” you nodded. the two of you arranged yourselves on the bed, toji’s back against the headboard and you seated comfortably in his lap. one hand reached under the hem of your shirt, rubbing slow circles against your tummy whilst the other held your warm hand.

toji’s warm hand seemed to soothe the feeling temporarily, though the relief didn’t last long. the itch soon spread to your thighs, and you rubbed them together in an effort to catch his attention. toji seemed to catch on quick, bringing his palm over the tops of your thighs. the heat slowly began to cloud your mind, focused only on the sensation of toji’s hands, how your back was warm against his chest. your head filled with little muted fizzles of pleasure as your owner stroked your increasingly sensitive skin. you began to let out soft little pants of air, hips squirming as you adjusted yourself. toji would soothe you often by saying “i know puppy, it’s just your heat,” but the words seemed far away in your hazy mind.

as time went on, frustration began to build inside you. toji could see the signs of it; your breath quickened, your whines more insistent, more frequent. you made multiple attempts to rid yourself of your shirt, but toji had gently taken your hands away and placed them by your side. but most of all, you had begun to squirm impatiently against him. heat pooled inside you and a constant throb made it unable for you to stay still. “where do you want to be pet, hm?” he watched you spread your legs shakily, and tried not to lose himself when he could see the slight glisten of slick on the inside of your thighs. “can you show me where?” you whine as you lift your hips slightly, as if inviting him. fuck. toji dipped his hand between your thighs, gently pressing his fingertips into your panties. you whined excitedly, thighs locking his hand in place. now that you were slicking up, you had soaked through your cotton panties. the wetness made the fabric cling to your skin, and he could easily feel the small bump of your clit.

gently, toji hooked his other hand under your knee, palm against your thigh, and bent your leg towards your chest, spreading you once again. he began rubbing you gently through the wet fabric, not with any deliberate intention to bring you to climax, but rather flattening his fingers against the soaked gusset and letting you grind yourself against him or trailing his fingertips up and down and watching you chase his fingers. he didn’t think you were aware of the noises you had begun making, quiet breathy moans escaping past your lips, or cute pleading whines when he momentarily drew his hand away. eventually, perhaps being tired of his teasing you wrapped both hands around his forearm, trying to keep his fingers pressed against you. he chuckled at your newfound boldness - even if heat induced - and let you grind yourself against his fingers, hips lifting off the bed to press yourself harder against him. it was cute to see you finally satisfy yourself, mewling out “toji, toji,” as you chased the pleasure.

perhaps in a moment of indulgence, toji leaned down to smother gentle kisses against the base of your ear. the sensation seems to tip you over the edge, cute whiney moans slipping from your lips as your stomach melts with pleasure. “yer like that puppy? that feels good, yeah?” toji can’t help the teasing lilt which slips out in his voice. it isn’t until you finally still against him and let go of his hands he pets you gently over your almost translucent panties, chuckling when your thighs twitch.

it didn't take long for your desperation to rise again. seeing that you had made no attempt to touch yourself earlier, toji decides to teach you. he takes your hand and presses your fingers against your panties, the other hand steady against your inner thigh to keep your legs open. he lets you explore rubbing yourself for a short moment, gaze unfocused as you feel over the slicked fabric. when you let out a quick surprised moan and try to clamp your legs together, toji knows that you've found your clit. he gently lifts your hand away and let his fingertip glide over the sensitive bump through the fabric. “this is yer clit, puppy,” he said softly. he presses his finger down, eliciting another squeal from you. “you have to be gentle.” you nod, and he withdraws his hand. the two of you fall into a steady rhythm. you clumsily rub yourself, hips occasionally bucking when you overstimulate your clit, all the while toji rubs your sensitive ears with one hand, his other hand continuing to hold you open. it doesn’t take too long for you to finish again, and your heat slowly ramps up.

it takes a couple more self-induced climaxes with toji gently guiding you and a nap for you to wake up feeling like rubbing yourself isn’t enough. what you want most pools inside your tummy, becoming needier in every moment. toji returns from his cold shower to you propped up on your elbows and knees, whining in frustration. the position makes your shirt slide forward, revealing the dip of your waist. your tail is lifted instinctually as you arch your back. toji groans as he spies the outline of your hips through the slick fabric. you’re presenting - a term toji remembers from his research, and it renders his cold shower entirely useless. at this point in your heat you’re ready for penetration and your heat really ramps up. he knows you won’t be satisfied until you’re full.

toji retrieves the toy. “you’re ready for something more now, right puppy?” he says as he brings the toy to your eye line. your excitement is clear and you nod desperately, shaking your hips even more. he sits down on the bed and pulls you back towards him so that your ankles rest against his hip bones, your cute ass right in front of him. tentatively, he begins to peel back the white cotton and lets out a deep breath as you're fully exposed. your skin glistens with slick, small strings snapping as he draws the cotton down your thighs. you whine loudly, arching your back in earnest as the air cooled your exposed skin.

he now knew why some owners liked to personally help their hybrids through heat.

“settle down puppy, have to stretch you out first,” he huffs out. holding you still with one hand against the top of your hips, he used the other to gently pat your sopping cunny, inhaling sharply as you bucked back. “yeah puppy, yer ready aren’t you.” you could hardly contain your sounds of anticipation. gradually, he sank his index finger into your tight heat. he bit his lip, trying not to imagine sliding something else into your slicked hole. heat made your puppy-cunt soft and inviting, and it didn’t long for toji to be slowly working three of his fingers in and out of you. slick clung to his fingers, dripping down to his knuckles as you squeezed against him, whining. when he could tell you were getting antsy, he withdrew his hand (to your temporary dismay) and began to rub the tip of the toy against your hips instead. your excitement was evident, eager to push back onto it as he lubricated the toy with your slick. it was cute watching you squirm for the toy with desperate huffs and toji couldn’t help but run the length of the toy along your folds, gently bumping the tip along your clit. he rubbed the head of the toy against your cunny, finding delight in your twitching and bucking. for a brief moment, he felt a minuscule of guilt for teasing you at this stage and supposed his habits in bed hadn’t really changed all that much. to your delight, he finally slipped the head of the toy into you.

toji swallowed dryly as he slowly worked each inch into you, savouring your mewls of satisfaction. it wasn’t hard for you to take the whole toy and you pressed back on it as if craving more. toji longed to give it you, but he had no choice but to wait. once you had taken the toy down to the handle, toji began moving it. he started by slowly dragging the toy away from you, letting just the head stretch the entrance of your twitching cunny before sliding it back in. when you seemed to crave more he gave you harder, more consistent thrusts of the toy, angling the tip along the sensitive areas which made your stomach coil with heat.

it didn't take long for toji, who was now perhaps lost in the haze of it all, to begin rambling mindlessly to you, fucking the toy into you as if it was himself.

“yer cute puppy-cunt’s all drooly, making a mess all over my hands.”

“is that yer g-spot puppy? feels good doesn’t it - i can when see yer squeezing.”

“good, good puppy, take it all.”

your throbbing cunny soaked up all the attention, clinging tightly to the silicone as toji fucked it into you. heat burned throughout you, and you lost focus on everything besides the feeling of toji’s palm against your hip and the toy he was using to pleasure you. your moans slipped out in rhythm with the toy bumping into the spot which made you clench your toes, and it built up bright bursts of pleasure throughout your tummy. you squealed and whined, pressing yourself into his palm and arching further as the feeling grew.

seeing your reaction, toji fucked the toy into you with a greater intensity, trying not to lose his grip on the soaked handle as he mimicked a partner getting close to filling you up. the sudden pace made you squeal loudly, jolting forwards in surprise. your hands reached forward, fisting themselves into the sheets as your body prickled with pleasure. toji wrapped his arm against the front of your thighs, reeling you back towards the toy before you could successfully pull yourself off.

"where're you going puppy? i thought you liked it, c'mon, take all of it."

a couple more strokes has you collapsing forwards in a loud cry of satisfaction. toji chases your wriggling hips with the toy, finishing you off with long, deep thrusts. he notices how his fingertips are coated in slick. you lie still against the bed, panting. toji watches slick dribble around the base of the toy onto the sheets, and when he gently lifts the fat of your cute ass he can see your hole twitching weakly around the toy. as you lie flat on your tummy to catch your breath, toji notices how your hands are still fisted tightly in the sheets as you come down from your high. he can’t help but climb on top you, straddling your thighs and pressing himself against your ass as if he might be the one inside you instead. he reaches forwards and tilts your chin up to look at him. your eyes are a little unfocussed when you look up at him, but you give him a little smile as drool slips out from the corner of your mouth. you can see the scar on his lip lift before he wipes it clean with his thumb and presses a gentle kiss against your forehead. “good puppy,” he says, before stroking your hair as you doze off.

toji waits until you’re asleep before gently pulling the toy out of you. it’s covered in your slick, and he’ll rinse it off when he takes his next cold shower. instead he leaves it on the sink and brings a warm cloth to gently wipe away the slick from your thighs, carefully swiping over your sensitive puppy-cunt so he doesn’t disturb your rest. he thinks he’ll spend the time you’re sleeping to cool off - he can’t risk losing his composure while you’re in heat. when you wake up, he’ll make sure you get some food and water, then maybe show you the toy’s vibration feature.

END

office worker toji is going to need a lot of cold showers for the next few days~ hopefully before the next heat he can talk puppy about helping her out personally ^_^

it's my first time writing something like this, so i'm a bit nervous about sharing ᵉʰᵉʰᵉ(*/∇＼⭒) hopefully you guys enjoyed it and that there are no glaring mistakes u_u

and also when i said "its been a couple of months" with toji, i just want to clarify that the puppy girl isn't underage or anything (since i feel like most hybrid writers treat heats similar to periods) when she meets toji. i just think it's kinda cute if you only get heats once you have a companion you like, and i feel like it would take a couple of months to warm up to someone enough to desire them that much.

okay thank you luvs for reading <3

when atsumu comes home late from practice one night, lethargic and clumsy as he kicks off his shoes, he stumbles over to where you’re laid along the sofa and whines when you try to sit up. immediately he presses you back into the cushions, slots himself between your thighs, shoves his head under the material of your hoodie with the late evening chill still clinging to his skin, and falls asleep with your boob in his mouth

the spider’s sense! a spidercaleb series.

♥︎ spider-man!caleb 𝑥 fem!reader

synopsis. ┆ caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.

tags/warnings. ┆ college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies, mdni

a/n. ┆ fanart art is by 长白山小葱头 on weibo. this is my first series on this app to celebrate hitting 1K! if you want to join the taglist, comment on this post or send me an ask.

main masterlist. ┆ talk to me!

chapter one ── pest control.

caleb's worst fear comes true when the two of you are assigned as lab partners, especially after your first experiment together goes horribly wrong in more ways than one. (4.6k)

chapter two ── too easy, this game. (soon)

after you’re forced to check up on caleb, you realize that your methods of revenge can be sweeter and much more interesting than you had originally anticipated.

Animals - G.S.

Synopsis. Yes, your best friend is secretly an alpha. Yes, he acts like a fúcking anímal when he rúts. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alíve.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! oméga! reader, alpha! Gojo, rúts, best-friends-to-lóvers, creampíes, bréeding, GOJO’S POWERS, knots, MARATHON SÉX, overstím, knots, MATÍNG BÍTES, cúmplay, OMÉGAVERSE AU, pússy-spánking, héats tríggered, semi-public, matíng press, oraI (fem), slight bondagé, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 7.0k (uh-oh)

A/N. Nanami always gets the short end of the stick LMAO, anyway hope y’all have the loveliest week <3

“Satoru, you’re being strange.”

Granted, Gojo Satoru acting weird wasn’t anything new. 

Especially not when he’s two hours deep into the most droning meeting you’d bribed him into attending as of late - knee bouncing, fingers tapping, head turned towards that firmly shut door like he just wanted to escape. Needed to. 

Then again, even you found your attention waning. Finding whispering with your best friend much more interesting than whatever latest mission statistic Yaga had to present. 

“M’doing just peachy, sweetheart.” Gojo smiles - but it looks stilted, pained. And even through his blindfold, you already knew his snowy brows were furrowed. “Who’s the one not listening to ol’ man Yaga now?”

You scoff, narrowing your eyes down at his figure beside you - draped over the cool mahogany table as if he owned the place. “Well- you better not be faking sick to get out of this meeting. Again.”

He only hums, “Don’t worry your pretty lil’ h-head about it, m’kay?”

With a final, tired rub at your temples, you’re turning back to Nanami to ask for all the world where Yaga was on his fifty-page report now-

And then, it hits you.

Suddenly.

Something smells sweet.

Like candy - particularly that sugary, strawberry-flavored kind you’ve had to tell Gojo off on more than one occasion for eating too many of. Tilting your head just a bit, you think you could also catch hints of honey and pine, such a strange, hypnotic combination.

“S-Satoru…” your words come out in a syrupy gush, feeling your head whirl.

“Hm?”

And despite yourself, you’re taking in deep, heavy inhales of the air surrounding you. Hungry. Mouth salivating as that heady, perfumed whiff clouds up all your senses. “Do you- hah- what is- do you smell-”

“Ngh- no?” he’s cutting you off with a barely-audible groan, one you probably wouldn’t have even caught if your abilities weren’t so sharpened right now. Gojo’s movements seem sluggish, languid as if he was moving through molasses when he raises up one hand to massage the back of his neck.

You can only watch as his head droops down onto the long table with a wince. 

Strange. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have almost thought- 

No, there was no time to be entertaining wild conspiracies. Because at this very moment you’re too caught up flitting through the dates of all your previous heats in your mind. Urgently. 

Three weeks.

Your next heat wasn’t due for another three weeks. So, sure, you didn’t take your suppressants just yet but, that really didn’t matter, did it?

It wasn’t normal for jujutsu sorcerers to be anything other than a beta - and as an omega, you knew firsthand just how difficult it was to fight tooth and nail just to be able to sit at this table. 

Historically, any other faction of society would rather be caught dead than outed, and have their second gender be taken advantage of by the very curses you were supposed to exorcize. Forced to face the stigma of alphas and omegas being too “unstable” or “vulnerable” to be trusted with missions.

This was the very thing you’d been trying to avoid ever since you argued your way into studying at Jujutsu Tech - losing control. 

Especially now.

But god, you were burning up. It smelled so sexy.

And, taking a sweeping glance around the table of betas - at your fellow sorcerers, those grim elders, and your disheveled best friend - that left only you to explain the scent.

You were only thankful that their noses weren’t as powerful as yours. Clinging onto this as a saving grace, with a shaky gulp, you gently nudge Nanami on his side. “Hey- Ken?”

“Yes?” And maybe it was the heat - whatever this was - but Nanami’s deep baritone sends shivers down your spine, and you find yourself leaning in traitorously closer to his heated body. His jaw ticks, “Is something wrong? You look…”

“Satoru’s also-”

“So what?”

Without warning, one of his hands comes to splay out across your forehead. Just a mere touch has him sucking in a sharp gasp, “You feel warm, I think you have a fever. You can’t continue the meeting like this.” 

You shake your bleary head in protest. 

“I won’t let you.” Nanami’s voice hardens with a tone of finality, and yet, you still find yourself trying to whirl around to look at Gojo. Maybe for help, maybe for a distraction to escape when your colleague speaks again - this time directed at Yaga. “Principal Yaga, it seems my dear friend here is sick.” Circling an arm around your shoulders to pull you up from your seat and onto weak legs. “If you’ll please excuse us, I will escort-”

Nanami stills - everything stills. 

Everyone stills when his voice tapers off with a ragged grunt, and you feel his chest heave in unsteady breaths. So close now that you can mark the exact moment Nanami’s eyes widen, “Are you…”

Shit. 

Shit shit shit-

“Wait.” Yaga’s voice bellows reproachfully. “Is this- That smell-” But even he can’t find the words, slumping back down into his seat.

Truly, the scent was so saturated now, so primal that even the most stubborn of unmated betas were sneaking peeks at you. You bite your lips raw at another glossy gush from your already-heated cunt. It was so embarrassing - your heats have never acted like this before, let alone come three weeks early.

Sure, perhaps that one time on your very first day at Jujutsu Tech itself - which was embarrassing by itself. And, yet, your mind had never been clearer than it was right now. 

Eyes sliding over to a familiar, trembling mop of white hair - never been needier. 

Fuck, what was your delirious self thinking-

As if drawn by an invisible string, Nanami’s inching impossibly into your hot proximity, hazel eyes falling half-lidded when he takes in a deep whiff. Grumbling, “My love-” Another. And another. Nose almost grazing your pulse now, “-you’re in-”

Slam!

“Out.”

It’s a threat.

That was the first thought that slammed into you, and then the voice continues, slow, snarling like a predator on the edge of ripping something to shreds. “I won’t repeat myself.”

Before you finally understand, it’s a command.

There’s one strong hand around your front, pinning you against a sculpted chest. Something about it has your pulse booming in your ears, fingers clawing at that pale wrist at your shoulder. Yet, he doesn’t even flinch.

Nanami, however, reluctantly detaches his hands from your body, and you finally have enough strength to look towards the origin of the words. Only for your glassy gaze to meet with a towering Gojo Satoru standing at his full height - when did he even get up? 

Jaw clench, sharp canines bared, blindfold dangling haphazardly around his neck - ah, he looked like a man that crawled from hell and back simply to take you all along with him. 

With you at lucky number one. 

First in his line of sight. Close enough that you can finally smell him. 

Oh.

Oh. 

And you swear you saw his eyes tint with the faintest blue lightning when your own scent perks up. Boring into you for just a millisecond before narrowing his gaze down at a stupefied Nanami, cracking the kinks in his neck. “Unless ya wanna watch.” He bares the rest of the room with his flooring glare, “Unless all of you want to watch.”

It’s chaos. 

They understood - perhaps long before even you did. 

Chairs clatter, the desk trembles, and that safe haven of the door is swung open. That weezing council of elders are first to stumble over one another into the hallway, Yaga following shortly with a wordless sigh. 

Until the only ones left are you and him - and Nanami.

Blond brows raising, his eyes flit frantically between you and a possessive Gojo. Sputtering out, each word jagged, and dry as if they’re being wrenched from his chest. “What is the meaning of this- We- I thought you were a- a beta.” 

Everyone did, and Nanami was speaking what your mind couldn’t right now. 

Gojo Satoru always presented himself as a beta - never affected by your heats, never disappearing once every few months for his ruts as you remember Suguru did. He always seemed so normal - perhaps the one thing about him that was. Unaffected by the stupid little trials and tribulations of alphas and omegas in sorcery. 

But it was undeniable, he was an alpha. 

And taking a deep inhale of his saccharine sweet perfume - so overpowering - he might just be the strongest you’ve ever encountered. How fitting.

“You thought.” Gojo’s voice was clipped, rumbling with a low growl that sent electrifying shivers down to your very cunt. And his tone just makes Nanami jolt. “And I can’t right now so I- fuck-”

Gojo’s body wracks with a violent shudder, making him hunch over - with you in tow. His hot breath puffs out in feverish pants near your ear, abs clenching as another velvety wave of pheromones emit from him. 

You mewl when your body is jostled in his toned arms, nudging the very curve of your ass - tight uniform skirt hiking up just enough - so that you push in a slow drag against something rock-hard. Massive. Weeping out in a sticky damp spot that seeps into your skin. 

“Hah-” you’re gasping, face swirling to nose up the crook of his neck - where the candied scent was most prominent. “Toru–”

There’s a gasp - and it’s not from you this time. 

Both you and Gojo are snapping your dazed heads upwards at a frozen Nanami, his hand shooting to cover his nose. Eyes wild- “I-”

Before thinking better of it, it seems like Nanami opted to keep some part of his sanity as he abruptly turns on his heels without a second glance backwards. Marching robotically, the only moment he stops is once he’s at the doorway. One hand tugging on his suddenly too-tight pants, the other on the doorknob. Eyes still trained forwards when he calls out gruffly, “Don’t break the table, insurance doesn’t cover it.”

SLAM!

Finally alone.

Your vision swims - is the door even locked? Is this- God, you feel hot. So hot - too hot.

And Gojo’s burning up, arms wrapping around you so tight that you could feel the way his skin flushed with a thin sheen of sweat. He breathes out into your ear, “My pretty girl…”

“Oh sh-shit–” you’re whimpering, big fat tears welling up behind your eyes. And without wasting a second, as soon as it splatters hotly on your best friend’s skin, he licks a long, lazy stripe to lap at the hazy saltiness. Babbling away, “Feel so dizzy hngh- and you- you’re an alpha?”

Honestly, part of you still didn’t want to believe it.

But as soon as he husks out a gravelly moan, as soon as his tongue dips down a wet pathway to the scent gland on your neck - you already know you won’t be making it out of this alive. “Why did you hide it from me?”

“Mhm- fuck! m’sorry.” he grunts into your skin, slightly muffled. Nipping ever-so-slightly, “M’sorry m’sorry- had to- my sudden rut made my- hah, made my pretty omega go into heat, didn’t it?”

His soft palms glide down your trembly body, greedily kneading every dip and curve that comes his way. He’s lost. So, so lost. 

Plastering his lips down every inch of skin he could reach, that sweet scent sticking to you like a sloppy second skin. And you can barely even think when you feel his swollen dick just twitch behind you, a fresh wave of swelteringly hot precum sloshing right through your silken skirt.

You whimper when you’re rutting messily back and forth, and he drags a thick thumb to pry your spit-glossed lips open. “Aww, poor baby. Tell me- fuck tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

And all you can really give him right now is a circular swivel of your hips, which evidently wasn’t enough. 

Because Gojo’s furious tip only hardens, and he hisses with a slight tug up your skirt. Cold fingers dancing ravenously up the edge of your drenched panties, gliding the very rounded tip of his index slowly across your sopping slit. 

“Tha’s not enough.” he snickers, and suddenly you’re hit with another wave of emanating pheromones. Enough to make you just slobber a glistening coating all down his long digits. “Use your ah- w-words like a big girl now. Because when I start…” His teeth find your earlobe, and his fingers find themselves planting a dripping wet slap! across your puffed-up clit. Unwavering. Unapologetic. “I won’t be able to stop.”

“Please, Toru.” That cute little nickname makes him jump, makes him throw his head back with a low moan. Brows scrunching together as if pained. “Don’t want you to stop-”

Maybe you were going to say more - maybe you would’ve called him that nickname and driven him even crazier. 

But Gojo doesn’t wait to find out. 

In one, fluid motion he’s picking up your body into the easiest princess carry you two would’ve laughed at if this was one of those romcoms you watched together. Just splaying you out on your back across the cool table, he situates himself in the perfect position between your legs. 

Oh, how he loved this view. How he’s spent so many ruts just like this imagining this view.

“F-fuck- You have no idea how- how crazy it drove me.” rasping groans drag out from his throat, strained with every slow drag of his cock down the front of your now-see-through panties. “How wild-” You’re nearly screaming when his canines dig in to that soft spot underneath your ear. “-to pretend I didn’t know you smelled so hah- so fucking delicious.”

And then you feel him still - alert, ready.

Chest heaving, an almost chilling tone dipping into his words when he spits, “Except when you smell like him.”

Your jaw falls slack when the temperature in the room heats up another few heady degrees, and the sheer power of your two scents mixing together is almost maddening. 

“He- he? Toru, what do you-” you’re gasping out in tiny huffs, while he busies himself with biting and licking down your exposed neck. Enough to leave you smeared all over with marks. “Who- Kento?”

“Oh, sayin’ another man’s name when you’re with- fuck- me?” Gojo’s bucking powerfully into you, his body was pinning you down. Scorching, now. “Such a naughty omega- I should kill him for how he touched you.”

Truly, his alpha was fucking clawing at him to trek out of this room right now and finish off the job - but, no, you were too hypnotic. And Gojo Satoru, the strongest, was no match for you.

The wet thwack of his fingers once more kisses in a rude smack against your clit, making you squeal. Ringing across your thundering ears, he swears at that broken, blissful noise from you. “Fuckin’ oh, would ya let him see you like this, too? Let him touch you like th-this?”

And Gojo looked so starved, velvety blindfold tickling your chin when he leans in close. Lips ghosting your own - but not quite. You’re suddenly brought back to the very first thought you had - that this is about to be a bloodbath. 

“I wouldn’t–” you bite back in your honeyed tone, and you can feel your omega just purr in satisfaction. “N’ it’s not my fault that someone-”

Smack! Harder, sprinkled with tiny bolts of electricity.

“Correct.” 

It’s breathed out into your mouth - a quick, hedonistic peck. Gojo just taunting your sanity before he’s pulling away with a gruff string of profanity, like it hurt him just as much as it did to you. 

You feel your slick dribble down into a saturated puddle below you. And the mere sight of it makes Gojo just reel his hips deliriously forwards, grinding his massive bulge across your dripping cunt until you could see it soil a fountainy dark patch on his pants. 

“F-fuckin’-” his eyes roll to the back of his head at how hot you were. How pouring wet. Wrangling your quivering legs painfully stretched open, “-woman of my dreams.”

With two, thick fingers hooked over the hem of your skirt, it’s being torn off in an easy pull. Falling somewhere in a pile of impractical tatters onto the meeting room floor, along with your shirt.

And as soon as it’s off, Gojo’s only growing more feral. More hungry. 

He’s drooling from one corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t even notice at this point. Honestly, barely even realizing the burning pain when he falls to the floor on his knees. Clattering haphazardly, insatiably nosing up your jittery inner thighs. 

“Oh sweetheart- oh my pretty girl. My pretty, pretty girl–” he’s breathing out, head lolling drunkenly against your legs. And Gojo gulps when he spreads your panties away with a wet glide of his thumb, just enough to see your messy hole winking up at him eagerly. All soaked and needy. “M’gonna have so much fun being yours.”

He kisses wetly through your panties - without warning, without even breathing. Just surging his pretty face into the heated crevice between your thighs, taste buds on his pinkish tongue grazing up the soaked fabric.

Like he was addicted.

“Oh- oh my god-” you’re mewling out, lower lip wobbly at every sultry swirl of Gojo’s tongue over your pussy lips, painting your messy hole in every mesh of slick and spit he could conjure up. “It feels too- hah–”

You were always so sensitive during your heats, every single one of your senses heightened to the max. So it made your mind all overwhelmingly melty inside to have his steaming hot mouth on your equally ravenous cunt. Hungry.

Yeah, he was addicted.

Dragging a few fingers in-between your glistening folds, scissoring them shamefully open to spit. Once. Twice. 

Some of it splatters strayly onto the start of your thighs, which Gojo glady licks up all over again to stream out a thick wad back onto your silt. Until your cunt was drooling translucent dredges of everything he has to give, he smears his messy thumb in easy rotations around your clit. Filthy. 

“So gorgeous- so good f’me.” Gojo titters, biting down teasingly on the very edge of your panties. And he can’t hide that fucked-out little groan when pulls it back, back, back to just snap! it meanly right on your cunt. “Fuck- you taste as s-sweet as you smell, mmm–”

You’re yelping when his long tongue draws a slow circle around the edge of that first ring of muscle, just barely pushing back against how your gummy walls are trying to hug him. To milk him for everything he has.

“S-such a tease-” you whine, fingers tangling into his cloudy white hair. Soft - the silken tresses smoothed over your palm, slotting between your digits when you pull his mouth roughly onto your pussy. “Jus’ want you on me- ngh!”

“Ohh ya can still t-talk easy, huh?” Gojo raises an amused brow from in-between your legs, that won’t be possible soon with how he’s going to have you. “Well then, don’t you dare beg me to go easy on you, girl.”

And he keeps the panties on - fuck, he keeps the panties on when mashing those ragged, rosy lips of his in a steamy make-out with your cunt. It’s as if he was breathing you in, so close that you could feel every clench of Gojo’s jaw, every grind of his chin into the very base of your pussy. 

“Sh-shitttt-” he spits, stray wisps of white covering his eyesight. Dragging you on his tongue through pure instinct. “Shit wait- ah you’re so fuckin’ so-”

Unable to even finish his sentences with that usually-sharp tongue of his. No, that tongue right now was too occupied with the steady, repetitive drag along your snug channel. Bullying into your sodden sensitive spots, thrusting back and forth back and forth back and-

And his fingers, oh those infamous fingers were straying back onto the sensitive nub of your clit. Drawing tight, tempestuous circles that have you keening at the dual stimulation, thighs stuttering to an embarrassed close. 

“Open.”

It’s just like before - and Gojo’s using that annoyingly baritone tone of his that hits you at your very core, that makes your omega snap open your legs for him.

Even you’re surprised at how pliant your body acts before your mind right now - and so is Gojo. though, his expression doesn’t show it, every bit of that feral animal that scared everyone out of this room not too long ago. 

“That’s it- that’s it–” he can’t hold back, hands glued to the globes of your ass to pin you still against his mouth. “Ha- so fuckin’ different when ya listen to me, so fucking sweet.” Breathing in deeply, “Were ya giving off this scent so Nanami could do this, too?” 

Thwack!

Another mocking slap against your clit - not enough to make you cry, but with just enough buzzing jujutsu to make your batting lashes teary - forces you to find your words. 

And fuck, Gojo swears there’s no sweeter music than the sound of your voice - especially when you’re moaning like that. 

Voice breaking into a whine, accompanied by a few raw clenches of your pussy around his furious tongue. “N-no fuck- don’t know-” your hips arch into the most perfect curve he’s ever seen. One that makes his mouth water, cock straining against his pants. “Toru- jus’ want you, wanna cum- wanna- want you so bad.”

Fuck - and who was he to not go along with each and every one of your pretty whims?

Pussydrunken already. He’d read about this - but he really had no clue how potent an omega in heat was, never having spent a rut with one. That little special occasion was always saved for you but, ah, that was a story for another time.

“M’gonna cum- hah- so- close-” 

Right now, he couldn’t think of anything other than how gorgeous you would look when you cum. How delicious - your sweetened scent raising up by a few notches, taking over his sentences. 

He feels his cock just throb at the mere thought.

Which is why Gojo’s pulling away with one final, sodden kiss on your pussy. You feel the curvaceous curl of his smirk against your cunt, and a deep, filthy inhale. 

“Nah.” he smiles a glistening smile up at you - grin glossed all over with a sheen of your sweet, sweet juices. And the rest of his face was almost-obscured with a curtain of his white bangs, but you still think you could peek the glow of his inhuman eyes through them. Powerful. “Don’ think you’re c-cumming anywhere other than on my knot first, pretty girl.”

And he’s so tall that Gojo’s blocking out the dim meeting room lights when he stands up - slow, smug, making you spend each passing second in such anticipation. 

Face expressionless - almost hypnotized - when he shrugs his shirt off. Lips parted into a soft oh! eyes half-lidded, heaving he slides his belt off almost lazily. 

It clatters! to the ground, and he’s sliding down his drenchingly wet boxers with it - leaving a gleaming trail of precum down the front of his toned pelvis. Letting his achy cock finally spring free, he hisses when it hits the too-cool air. 

And you do, too - though, for much different reasons. 

Because Gojo’s so unfairly big - fitting, for an alpha of his stature. Blushed the prettiest pink at his rotund head that matched his cheeks right now, gradiating down into creamy tufts of white at his thick base. Showing the starting of his knot swelling. It made you wonder whether he tasted as sweet as he smelled. So hard it looked painful, curving into a long, solid shaft that glides a wet smear across his washboard abs. It makes your omega just preen, rabid to have him inside you right now now now-

“Heh, impatient lil’ thing, aren’t ya, sweetheart?” Gojo huffs out in a heady bout of laughter. “Can practically feel yer omega ngh- calling out to me, is this what you want?”

You claw ferally at the milky display of his back, branding him in your own way. “Yes- please-” 

A sudden rip! makes you realize you still had your panties on - up until a few seconds ago, at least. Jostling him ever-so-slightly closer, you mewl when the rounded tip of his angry cock nudges against your pussy lips. Melding into a slight kiss that already makes him stream steaming hot ropes of precum.

And if you were in any better state of mind maybe you’d have noticed the way the light above flicker, fizzing with electricity just as much as you were right now. 

“Heheh- oh y-you made me like this, ya realize?” he chuckles out - but his voice didn’t show even a hint of humor. It’s like he was out of control, out of rationality with each languid drag in-between your folds. Babbling, “You threw me into- fuck fuck fuck this is all- your-”

Honestly, Gojo’s so utterly shocked he managed to grit even half that sentence out. 

Because every sloppy second has him grinding upwards in the tiniest of ruts into your sung cunt, tiny, mindless grinds that make a low ah! ah! ah! rip from his throat. 

“Open that mouth f’me, sweetness-”

As soon as you do, you’re feeling a thick, glossy stream of saliva slosh onto your lolling tongue. Mouth wrenched shut until you swallow - and you do. Happily. Filthily. 

That’s enough to make Gojo lose it. 

And he’s plunging headfirst into your toasty insides, shoving back that tiny bit of resistance before your elastic walls are milking him so well. Greedily swallowing up every one of his generous inches, and it only seemed like more was to come.

“Oh shit- ohhh sh-shit-” His eyes are rolling to the very back of his head, mouth hanging open, that tiny trickle of drool splatters onto your skin. 

“T-Toruu—” your cunt was addictive, and so were those moans of yours. Craning your neck upwards, “Kiss me, please.”

For a second, he’s leaning in - making it seem like he was about to smear that firmly placed gloss all over his lips onto yours. But Gojo only sneaks a peck at the corner of your mouth, then the other - and then one on the tip of your nose. 

“I will I will-” he’s musing, giggles bursting from his lips. “Once we’ve mated, can’t get too greedy at once now? Can I?”

But oh how his actions spoke otherwise, because Gojo’s powerful hips absolutely refused to stop until he was well and fully buried into the hot depths of your cunt. Sheathing himself in all your soppingly wet walls, the sheer tightness was enough for him to throw his head back, heavy balls squeezing. In and out in and out. 

“Ohhh fuck-” Two hands of his roughly attach themselves to your hips, pitching up your needy whines when he drools down your pussy even more thoroughly. “You sure do make it f-fuckin’ hard though-”

You whine when your ass hits against something bulging and hot, whirling those dazed eyes of yours down at the intrusion. 

“Shit-” you’re gasping, eyes widening. And the sheer awe in your eyes is enough to make him grow, blood pumping to every thick inch of his cock until he was expanding even girthier, molding your pliant walls to his size. “That’s your knot- I-I-”

“I-I-I-” Gojo mocks, in a voice octaves higher than usual. Fucking the rest of that sentence with a harsh roll of his hips, knocking bruisingly at your cervix. “C’mon now ah- tell me- you can t-tell me anything.” Kissing softly at your ear lobe, zaps of jujutsu making you jump. “M’your best friend, right?”

How ironic.

All you can gift him in response is a few soft whimpers that only make him wilder.

“Fuck!” you’re keening when another one of his slams leave you gasping for air, feeling like he was clashing into your very womb. Glissading a deep, wet glide of his fat, curved tip across your spongy cervix, his breath hitches at the slight recoil. “I want it-” 

Your words make him almost falter with his ruthless pace, and you take it upon yourself to just drag him down by his muscled shoulders. Until he was hunching over you, abs flexing against your front, “I want your hah- knot in m-”

And you can’t even finish the sentence - you don’t know if you want to.

Because just that syrupy jumble of words is enough to make Gojo Satoru snap. 

To cut you off with a rough growl, teeth bared at you, in a split-second he has you limp legs thrown over his shoulder. Biceps flexing in such a mouth-watering way when he makes them lock at the ankle, bending down, down, down into the meanest little mating press your joints would allow. 

The change in angle has you scrambling - has him scrambling to crash his leaky head into your swollen g-spot. Hitting that bulging bullseye with no regrets - over. And over. And over and over and-

“Oh, marry me sweetheart.” he’s panting into your mouth. His pulsing girth rummaging your insides so good, dragging every ridge and thumping vein on his shaft against your sweet spots. He was so big that you felt like your syrupy cunt had already forgotten what it felt like without him pounding into you. Suckling wetly at the corner of your lips, “Marry me marry me- oh, fuck- gonna give you m-my knot. Don’ think I could go on hah- l-living without ya, pretty.”

He was feral - eyes glowing a blazing blue, sparks of lightning bolting down his milky skin. And you swear with each speeding cadence of his, the lights flickered on and off. 

Every slippery smack of his tight, cum-filled balls has you seeing stars, yearning for the additional burning stretch of being plugged by his knot. 

You’re throwing your arms over his neck, reeling him in like he was your prey, though his hips were devouring you. “W-we’re not even dating and you want me t-to be your hngh-”

“-wife!” He kisses every inch of your face, down your neck, over that soft scent gland of yours - now so overstimulating his senses with your sweet scent that he’s almost forgotten what his own smelled like. Buzzes of electricity skimming down your skin with each touch. He’s groaning, “Be my wife- please- fuck, I need you to be my wife.” Planting an almost-french kiss on that one sweet spot. Once. twice. “M-my mate- sh-shit-”

And you already knew Gojo was close with the way his pretty eyes are almost fluttering shut, the way his hefty balls clamp. Twitching in desperation, his thickened base pumps in even deeper - harder. As if he was trying to rut every single inch into your clingy depths. 

Every single inch.

“Mhm–” you moan, feeling the staggering stretch of his even hotter cock shape your walls. “I wanna- wanna be your-”

You don’t even bother finishing your sentence - and neither does Gojo let you.

Because it only takes a few more sloppy jackhammers before he’s finally sinking his taut knot into you. The stretch is so insane you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head, being plugged so suddenly full. 

And then you’re hurtling headfirst into your high - toes curling, white-hot pleasure flashing behind your eyes, your spine bowing so sluttily into his. And Gojo-

Oh, Gojo had his mouth sagging open the moment he felt his massive knot intrude against your silken sweet walls, stretching that snug channel around all of him. And he wishes he had the willpower to look down at the heavenly sight, he wishes he could do anything but sink his teeth down hard into your precious scent gland as he cums and cums and cums. 

The lights burst, shards deflecting off the limitless he’d coated over the both of you. 

Teeth breaking skin, metal tasting on his tongue, scents tangling together into one now.

You do your best to bite him back on his heady neck, breaking through Gojo’s milky skin to reveal a set of pretty pink indents.

Finally yours. Finally his. 

“O-oh, pretty girl–” he hiccups, voice cracking. Hips not moving even the tiniest second of momentum while he stuffs your tight pussy full of his potent seed. “My wife- my mate.”

And Gojo almost bawls when the tight lock of his knot prevents him from plunging into you as deeply and thoroughly as he wanted to right now. Sobbing down big fat tears that splatter! against your lips while he kisses your mind dizzy.

You could feel the syrupy slosh of his cum inside you with each one of his dragged-out grinds, milking your orgasm for as long as possible. Unmoving. Unapologetic in how he was spitting out such voluminous loads of milky white seed that overfilled you. 

“Shit- so much-” you’re whining, still clinging to him. And you don’t think he even hears you right now, mind blanking. “I feel so full, Toru-”

But you didn’t have to babble out those words for him to know, somehow, he just knew. Knew every single thing about you, but couldn’t dredge up the words to respond.

Too pussydrunken to do anything but bite you on your scent gland all over, he kisses a wet trail up to your lips, “Now you- really hafta m-marry me heh.”

Bang! 

Gojo’s fist comes crashing down on the rickety table - it’s too much for him.

Those ringing squelches and the way you were sucking out every single drop of his cum makes his sensitive shaft twitch. Tears blimping up into his eyes again, more and more velvety ribbons ooze out. “My wife- my wife my wife my wife- my mate-”

It’s just about all he can say - like a mantra. Over and over against your lips, until the peaks of your pleasure turn into mere tingles, until Gojo’s own knot is softening down. Slightly.

Just enough that he can pull out-

“Toru, what-”

“Shhh, pretty girl-” He’s kissing your puffed-up clit with another spank from his trembly fingers, and then an actual kiss. Mouth slotting over the mess he’s made below. Grazing all over like a creamy gloss. Filthy. “Rut’s just started.”

His ravenous tongue drags out your overstimulated high, and you’re clinging onto a lock of his snowy hair for dear life. 

“Please-” you beg, voice shot. You don’t even know what you were begging for, but god was Gojo Satoru happy to let himself be used. “Please please please, Toru-”

Oh, his fingers tighten on your thighs - imprinting neat patterns of crescents. Animalistic, in how Gojo just drags your twitchy body forwards.

His eyes were drooping shut, gaze crazed - frantic where he looked you right in the eyes from down below. Head craning to ram his stretchy tongue even deeper, quirking up deftly like he’s wanting to bruise his taste buds along your walls. 

Slurping at and collecting the creamy mess on his tongue - only to spit it back into your sloppy hole. Messy. 

Even with the dark, lightless room - with only those stray sparks of power to accompany you two - such loud squelches echo across his own ears. And just by the noise Gojo could tell how wet you were - as if you weren’t drooling over the lower half of his face, up to his cheekbones, already. 

Sticking to your inner thighs in an obscene drip! drip! drip!

It’s so shameful and you love it. 

And you love that you’re so cockdrunken that you aren’t even sure when you’re cumming - if you’re cumming. Whether those sudden crashes of pleasure were because of your nth orgasm tonight, or because of the way Gojo kisses you with another thwack!

Adrenaline and electricity coursing through your veins, ears thundering with your rapid pulse. Oh god, you never knew a heat could feel this good - this maddening. 

You moan, and he’s eagerly lapping up every sweet bead of slick you have to offer, like a man that hasn’t had an ounce of water in weeks. Brows furrowed, jaw sagging open-

“Shit shit shit-” he’s rasping out, and the very slide of his fingers across your skin sends waves of powerful jujutsu - somehow bunching at your clit just right. “M’cumming- m- m’still cumming fuck- won’t- stop-”

Just as soon as your orgasm is ending, Gojo’s is just starting. Like he’d been holding back on this from the moment he’d started eating out your overspilling pussy - happily. 

And exactly on time, too, because you barely even have the time to catch your breath before Gojo’s standing on his two unsteady feet. Just splitting you open on all of his red, raw inches - uncaring for your little mewls and those tears. 

Because you were sucking him up madly. 

Spearheading his swollen cock into you like he was trying to fuck another orgasm out of you. His strokes are long, harsh, showing off all the years of strength he built up boasting the title of the strongest. 

And this hastily put-together mating press has his cum just overspilling out of you by now, dribbling down in wet globs that made you wonder how much more he could fill you up. It seeps in a white circle underneath your ass, slicking you back and forth along the wood at each harsh ram. 

Again. And again. And again and again and-

“Made me this- hngh- this way, y’know?” he spits into your mouth - followed by a slurred string of swears. Every time his heftily smacking balls clench, you could feel the table creak under pressure. “Sat next to me with that fucking skirt- smelling so fucking- ngh- good- do you even know how delicious ya are?”

You can’t answer - because he’s back to squeezing in his staggering knot into you. Sparks exploding out from the corner of his scrunched-up eyes, forehead knocking into yours.

Gojo kisses you like he couldn’t get enough, letting you taste all the sin from just before. 

“Three weeks away, huh?” That accusatory little inflection in his words isn’t lost on you, only growing stronger and stronger as his staccato grows sloppier. “Have your- hah- heat in three weeks and fuck- I could just- smell it on you-”

It’s incredible. Sliding your frenzied bodies across on another, stinging with skin-on-skin and how your gooey walls constricted around him.

“Showing off in that scent and that skirt-” His eyes are almost bulging out of his head now, hips stuttering like just the very thought of that pile of fabric at the corner of the room drove him mad. “-fuck that skirt- always fuckin’ hated it. Hated how Nanami loves hngh- it. Made me lose fucking control a-and you know what?”

One of his hands curls around your throat now, the other taking hold of your left - kissing your ring finger pointedly. “I’ll do it all over again if it means I’d get to have ya like this, my mate.”

And just then he’s coating your melty insides in a creamy sheen, that overworked divot right at the end of his dick was firmly pressed up against your g-spot. Plugging you with his knot, and you swear you could see a little inflation forming where he was filling you to your limits. 

Cumming and cumming so hard it’s like he couldn’t stop - didn’t want to stop until his body practically forced him.

Gojo’s biting down hard exactly over those deep indents on your scent glands when his gushing spurts of seed turn into almost-painful blanks. 

Over and over, he’s cumming nothing. 

“L-love you, Toru-” you’re babbling out, reeling him in to peck the corners of his smirking mouth. 

Utterly fucked out of your mind enough that you don’t even register the loud boom! from somewhere in the distant grounds of Jujutsu Tech. Barely even care that the overpriced meeting table is now sagging on one side, just about in splinters. 

“Aww, m-my c-cockdrunk baby–” he titters shakily into your glossed-pout. “Love you, too, always have always- will-”  Patting the bulge on your stomach, before kissing you gently, “Ever since I th-threw ya into heat the ngh- first time ya met me.”

Oh. 

And later, you’ll learn that that almost-deafening boom was the generator for Jujutsu Tech, mysteriously bursting after a sudden spike in atomic pressure in the surrounding area. You’ll find out that every piece of furniture in the surrounding buildings had moved about six inches in your direction, and that the now-ruined table was an irreplaceable heirloom.

But for now, all you register is soft. 

Warm. 

With a gasp you realize you’re in a bedroom - Gojo’s bedroom.

“Did- did you teleport-”

“Mhm-” he pants, and in the dim lighting you could spot his leering grin. Satisfied. Pussydrunken. And you could feel his knot swell up hotly, halfway through to its previous size. 

You sputter, trying so desperately to find the words. Difficult, when Gojo still had you wrapped around his thick cock, all the way up to his fat, drenched base. Swiveling his cock in slow, sultry grinds for how much he couldn’t ram exactly how he wanted to right now. “Wh-why didn’t you do this before–?”

“Because-” he licks over his mating mark on you. “-wanted to show off what animals we were.” His grin grows wider, as does his tired cock. And that dangling blindfold around his neck ends up around your wrists, tying you up pliantly for him. “What animals we will be.”

---

Right now, all Nanami can think about is you you you- Yet,he doesn’t expect to see you for about the next week. Or, at least, that’s the hopeful side of him - knowing Gojo, and the state he’d left the meeting room in, he won’t see you again for a month. 

Possibly not walking.

Perhaps, that’s for the best. Looking down at his swollen, throbbing cock - one fist wrapped around its thick base, the other around his shaky phone, he clicks on that familiar app. 

Shit, his rut is near. Now, actually. 

Nanami sighs, it’s hard pretending not to be animals.

A/N. Was soooo giggling writing about how the table was some heirloom.

Plagiarism not authorized.

a song of past romance a royal / greek au gojo fic

pairing ⸺ suitor/king!gojo x princess!reader

summary ⸺ king gojo satoru of ithaca travels to sparta, seeking to win over who they say is the most beautiful mortal woman's heart. so when he sees you upon his arrival weaving under an olive tree, looking goddess-sent, he immediately loses the plot and concludes that it must be you that the tales and legends must talk about. it is not, but gojo has chosen who his queen will be. as gojo continues to break down your walls with his endless devotion and silver tongue, you must decide: will you let duty and your loved ones's expectations decide your fate, or will you choose the man who would defy even the heavens to claim you as his queen ?

warnings ⸺ smut, p i v sex, oral f recieving, whimpering gojo agenda <3, fluff, a big of angst if you squint, some insecurity, pining, banterTM, gojo is really whipped for reader, odypen inspired (this one's for my epic/pjo baddies), extensive greek mythology knowledge not needed, athena is tired of gojo lol, jealousy, helen is a sassy diva, not totally accurate to the lore of the illiad bc i just use the premise, mentions of children/pregnancy at the end if you squint, semi edited, art by @/yunonoaii

a/n my hyperfixation made me write this lol. you dont need to know anything about greek mythology to read this fic it's more of a period piece / royal au :3

general masterlist

You had registered the young man’s presence for quite some time now.

Ever since your beloved cousin Helen—the most beautiful woman in the world, the kallikomos, kalliparēios Helen—had come of age, your palace had been plagued by an unceasing tide of suitors. Even a respite alone in the garden, in peace, was not guaranteed to you; just as the ivory haired suitor (who thought himself furitive) that had been sneaking and skirting around you for a while now, there were countless of men on the palace grounds desperate to even get a glimpse of what the countless legends and tales about Helen had described. 

Though, you weren’t jealous of your lovely cousin—you loved her to death. But it was getting on your nerves, because you had hoped for a quiet evening relaxing under the olive tree you were sitting in. This mn, however, was different.

For some time now, the ivory-haired suitor had been skirting the edges of your sanctuary, moving as though he thought himself invisible. You could feel his gaze, sharp and intent, as you alternated between weaving and reading. His persistence should have irritated you. And yet, there was something amusing about his poor attempt at stealth.

The telltale rustle of grass betrayed him once again. You sighed, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear before reaching up to gather it all, baring the curve of your neck to the evening breeze.

The stalker suitor tripped with a loud thud.

You blinked. Then, sighing once more, you set down your spindle and turned. "I know you’re there," you called, unimpressed.

Silence, then a low chuckle.

When he finally stepped into the open, your disinterested gaze lifted—and promptly widened.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. The build of a warrior, yet the face of a prince. A mischievous, almost boyish charm softened the sharp lines of his features, but his striking blue eyes gleamed with something untamed.

Helen would have a field day with him. Like that one thing she said about how she looovedd versatile men, the ones that could manhandle you but also whimper. Or whatever. 

Then, to your utter shock, he dropped to one knee, extending his hand toward you in a bold gesture of devotion. His demeanor was confident, but you saw him sporting a hue of pink on his cheeks. It was rather cute, but any feelings of fondness disappeared at his next words.

"O’ Helen—" the suitor began, his voice rich with reverence, "fairest of all women, whose beauty outshines even the dawn—"

You exhaled sharply through your nose. Of course.

"—permit me but a moment to bask in your radiance, for no mortal man could gaze upon you and remain unchanged—"

Your fingers curled tightly around the threads of your spindle.

"—grant me the honor of—"

"Try again," you cut in, your voice deceptively sweet.

The suitor paused mid-sentence, blinking up at you.

"Pardon?"

You raised an unimpressed brow, tilting your head. "If you’re going to wax poetic, you might at least direct it toward the right woman."

His lips parted, then pressed into a puzzled frown. He tilted his head, sharp blue eyes scanning your face as if trying to decipher a riddle. "But… you are Helen," he said slowly, as if testing the words.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "Afraid not."

A pause.

His gaze flickered over you again, as if he could will you into being Helen just by staring hard enough. "Are you sure?"

You gave him a look. "I would hope I know my own name."

His brows drew together, clearly struggling to process this revelation. "But you’re—you’re sitting under an olive tree, looking vaguely divine. Your hair caught the light just now in a way that seemed very… goddess-sent. You have the whole tragic air of someone who is probably devastatingly beautiful and sought after by hundreds."

You blinked, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck. You shouldn’t be affected by his bromides, for his words must be a ploy to gain back his image after offending you. "Is that supposed to be an apology?"

He squinted. "More like a logical assessment of my mistake."

You sighed. "Well, your 'logical assessment' is incorrect."

He sat back on his heels, regarding you with blatant skepticism. "I don’t know," he said slowly. "I came here for Helen. You’re here. And you're lovely. Seems like a very Helen thing to do."

You gave him a flat stare in return. "What, exist?"

"Exactly."

You rolled your eyes. "I see why they make you fight instead of think."

At that, the suitor huffed a short laugh, his earlier embarrassment giving way to something more amused, more interested. "Alright," he conceded, crossing his arms over his knee. "If you aren’t Helen, then who are you?"

You leaned back against the tree, allowing yourself a small, satisfied smirk. "The woman you just proposed to by accident."

He blinked. Then groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "The gods are laughing at me."

"As they should," you replied smoothly.

To your surprise, he grinned. "That makes two of us, then," he mused, tilting his head at you. "I get the feeling you enjoy seeing men suffer."

A non committal hum from you. “Maybe, maybe not.” With that, you began weaving once more, giving him the signal that his presence and platitudes were no longer needed.  

Yet, he remained.

You could feel his gaze lingering, heavy with an amusement that refused to wane. He had the look of someone thoroughly entertained, and that irritated you more than anything. Having conversed with him, you knew he was sharper than the average suitor—quick-witted, quicker still to recover from his blunders. Though he had not done anything to overtly suggest it, there was something about him that set him apart. It was a feeling—an air around him, something god-graced.

You paid it no mind.

He had not meant for you to be the one on the receiving end of his affection, and it would do you no good to cling to a man who had come here seeking another. He was meant to lose his mind over Helen, not take interest in you.

"Tell me your name," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You didn't pause in your weaving. "Why?"

A short huff of laughter. "I figure if I’m already embarrassing myself in front of a woman, I should at least know which one."

You shot him a sidelong glance, unimpressed. "Bold of you to assume you’ll be staying long enough for it to matter."

His grin deepened. "Well, now I have to stay, just to prove you wrong."

You sighed, shaking your head. "You’re insufferable."

"I’ve been told worse," he admitted. Then, leaning forward just slightly, he added, "Though never by a woman whose name I don’t know."

You lifted a brow at him, unimpressed. "And do you have a name, then, mysterious suitor?"

His expression shifted, something proud yet teasing gleaming in those striking blue eyes.

"Gojo Satoru," he declared, as if it should mean something to you. "Of Ithaca."

You hummed, as if considering. "Never heard of it."

He blinked, then scoffed. "Never heard of Ithaca?" He placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. "A land of brilliant minds, fierce warriors, and some say the most handsome men to ever walk the earth—"

"Ah," you interjected, dry. "That explains it."

He smirked. "Explains what?"

"Why I’ve never heard of it."

A beat of silence. Then, to your dismay, he laughed—fully, unabashedly, as if you’d just handed him the greatest gift in the world.

You huffed, returning your attention to your weaving. "Now that you have a name to be proud of, surely you can be on your way."

"Not yet," he said, far too easily.

You didn’t look up. "Why?"

"Because you haven’t given me yours."

You didn’t miss the way his voice dipped, taking on something smoother, something more coaxing. He was trying to charm it out of you, as if your name was a prize worth winning.

"Perhaps I simply don’t wish to give it," you mused, feigning disinterest.

"Perhaps you’re afraid," he countered.

You did look up at that, leveling him with an unimpressed stare. "Afraid?"

He shrugged, utterly unbothered. "That if I know your name, I’ll never forget it." His gaze flickered to your hands, to the weaving that had slowed ever so slightly. "And maybe… neither will you."

You forced yourself to resume your work, your fingers steady despite the odd flutter in your chest. "You think too highly of yourself, Gojo Satoru of Ithaca."

"I’m told it’s my greatest flaw," he admitted, smirking. "Well—one of many."

You ignored him, the rhythmic motion of your weaving serving as a convenient distraction.

Gojo exhaled, as if relenting—though something told you he was nowhere near finished with you. He rocked back on his heels, eyeing you with unconcealed interest. "Alright, mystery woman," he drawled. "If you won’t give me your name, I suppose I’ll have to keep guessing."

You didn't dignify that with a response.

But somehow, you knew—this would not be the last time Gojo Satoru of Ithaca sought you out.

He had yet to claim your name.

No matter how cunningly he pried, no matter how sweetly he coaxed, you remained steadfast, denying him that small but significant victory.

Satoru had undoubtedly set sail for Sparta in search of a worthy challenge and a faithful bride—but he had not expected to find both in one woman. You were a puzzle, divine and elusive, a riddle spun by the Fates themselves. And for a man who relished the thrill of unraveling mysteries, you were the most captivating enigma he had ever encountered.

Not since the day he bested the enchanted boar—a feat that had drawn Athena’s keen eye and earned him her favor—had he felt such a rush.

He’d dare say you were the first one he’s felt an affinity for, despite the countless of women and candidates he had faced ever since becoming the king of Ithaca.

But before he could ponder more on the thought, he sensed a presence, tensing immediately. Heavy-set footsteps, trying to be quiet in the hallway they were both in.

Satoru crossed his arms, halted where he was. “I know you’re there.”

A laugh barked out in a deep voice. “Perceptive like they say, Gojo Satoru of Ithaca.” 

Satoru watched as Toji Fushiguro sauntered toward him, his movements unhurried, yet carrying the unmistakable confidence of a seasoned warrior. The man was broad-shouldered, his presence commanding, the kind of brute who could cleave a man in half with a single swing of his blade. Yet his grin—sharp, knowing—held more calculation than recklessness.

Toji came to a stop before him, arms crossed, weight shifted onto one foot like he had all the time in the world, smirking. "No wonder Athena’s got her eye on you."

Satoru tilted his head, feigning nonchalance. "I do have a way of impressing gods and mortals alike," he mused. "Though I imagine you didn’t come all this way just to admire me."

“Just assessing the competition,” Toji hums in response, eyes still assessing Satoru. He was trying to plan three steps ahead; unfortunately for him, Satoru was ten steps ahead. 

“There is no competition,” comes Satoru’s cool response. 

Toji studied Satoru for a moment, his sharp green eyes narrowing slightly. Then, with an amused scoff, he asked, "You’re not here to fight for Helen’s hand? Are you crazy?”

Satoru let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if the very thought was amusing. "Helen?" he echoed, letting the name roll from his tongue with deliberate care. He lifted a hand, absently brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. "No, I’m afraid I have no interest in her."

Toji studied him, eyes narrowing. "She’s the most beautiful woman in the world."

Satoru did not deny it. "So they say."

"And yet," Toji pressed, his tone skeptical, "you aren’t here for her?"

Satoru finally looked at him properly, his head tilting, his gaze alight with something teasing, something unreadable. "Not in the way you are." He let the words settle between them before continuing, his tone almost indulgent. "You’re welcome to her."

Toji’s mouth pressed into a thin line. His instincts told him Satoru was not lying, yet something about the Ithacan’s expression, the way he carried himself, the glint in those striking blue eyes—it all made him wary. He had met many warriors in his time, but this was no brute with a sword, no hotheaded prince desperate to claim a prize.

Satoru Gojo was something else entirely.

"So what is it, then?" Toji asked, crossing his arms tighter, his voice edged with suspicion. "You sailed all this way, and for what? A festival?"

Satoru’s smirk deepened, his expression inscrutable. "Let’s just say Sparta has given me a rather interesting puzzle."

Toji scoffed but let it drop, running a hand through his dark hair. "Whatever," he muttered. "If you're really not here for Helen, then maybe you can help me."

Satoru hummed in vague interest. "Oh?"

"I intend to win her," Toji stated plainly. "But I could use an extra hand in ensuring things go my way."

Satoru did not answer immediately. Instead, he turned his gaze upward, as though admiring the vaulted ceilings of the hall, as though considering some grander design that only he could see. Then, with the ease of a man wholly unbothered by the concerns of others, he exhaled through his nose, the beginnings of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Don't worry about it," he said at last, his voice rich with something almost too smooth, too assured. "Everything is already falling into place."

Toji stiffened slightly at the words, his war-honed instincts bristling at their implication. He did not like things he could not predict, and Gojo Satoru of Ithaca was proving to be as unreadable as the gods themselves.

His brows lowered. "And what the hell does that mean?"

But Satoru only laughed, turning on his heel, the faintest shimmer of torchlight catching in his silver-white hair.

"Guess you’ll just have to wait and see."

And with that, he strode off, his footsteps unhurried, leaving Toji standing in the flickering shadows, frowning after him.

The great hall of Sparta was alive with the clash of bronze and the roars of men. The suitors, assembled from all corners of Greece, fought with a desperation that could only belong to those who sought glory and the hand of Helen. Blades flashed, spears thrust, and the resounding clamor of shields meeting shields filled the air like the din of battle.

Satoru Gojo of Ithaca stood at the edge of the fray, watching with a detached amusement. He had not drawn his blade, nor did he so much as feign interest in the chaos unfolding before him. Instead, his arms were loosely crossed, his posture relaxed, his sharp blue gaze studying each warrior as though they were mere pieces on a game board.

Meanwhile, you and Helen watched from the shade of a marble colonnade, seated atop a cushioned bench where servants had arranged fruits and wine for the both of you. But neither of you reached for the offerings; your gazes remained transfixed on the chaos below.

You shook your head at the ridiculous display. "It must be nice to be fought for by so many men," you murmured, resting your chin in your palm.

Helen sighed daintily—in a way that was so typically Helen it made you smile fondly—her hair catching the afternoon light like threads spun from the sun itself. “I will admit that it has its advantages.”

You cast her a dry look before gesturing at the men below. “Helen,” you shook your head, sighing exasperatedly, “they’re savages. They’re beating each other senselessly. Does this not disgust you?” Instead, your cousin’s beautiful lips curled up in a knowing smile, teasing you, “Jealous, my dear cousin?”

“No.” But the answer came a little too quickly, a little too defensively. The yells and violence was a display of brutishness—but you would not be truthful to yourself if you didn’t admit that you were a bit envious of the attention your cousin was getting. 

However, one would be a fool to confuse your sentiments for bitterness—as a princess yourself, there were no shortage of men who would be here to get you as a prize, if they did not get Helen. No shortage of men wondering who is he? Who is the man who’ll have the princess as his wife?

But unfortunately, it seemed that your father, the Spartan king Icarius, had other plans, for he would not let any man be your husband so easily. In fact, he did not wish you to marry and be taken away from him.

It was safe to say that not much male attention was on you due to this obstacle.

Helen showed no reaction to your response, but only hummed. “This fighting—sooner or later, you’re going to be in my shoes. You’re going to have to choose at one point, too, my dear.” 

“Says who?” You scoffed, turning your eyes back to the courtyard. “Do not forget Helen, these men want power. Power so they can tower above each other, place themselves above all others.”

Helen shrugged. “So what?”

You shook your head. “Silly Helen. Wouldn’t you prefer some intellectual prowess over some…savage?”  

Before Helen could reply, a shift in the air drew both of your attention back to the courtyard.

The chaos had stilled, if only for a moment. A singular figure stood at the center of it all, his ivory hair catching the wind, his stance languid yet poised.

That suitor.

The gathered nobles whispered among themselves, exchanging glances as Satoru approached the high table where the King of Sparta, Tyndareus, sat watching. The aged king stroked his beard, his expression unreadable as the Ithacan prince stopped before him, offering a bow that barely concealed the glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Your Majesty," Satoru began smoothly, "it seems we have our victor. But before we move forward, I believe there is an agreement that must be made."

The murmurs in the hall grew louder. Tyndareus narrowed his eyes slightly. "Speak, Gojo of Ithaca."

Satoru straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. "These men have come from every kingdom in Greece, each seeking the honor of marrying your daughter. Such a prize, however, comes with its dangers. Whoever wins Helen’s hand will earn not just her love but the envy and ire of the rest." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the hall. "If left unchecked, this jealousy could lead to war."

Tyndareus’s jaw tightened. It was a concern he himself had harbored, though few had dared to speak it outright.

Satoru’s lips curled at the edges, his voice turning smooth, persuasive. "I propose an oath. Let every suitor here, whether victorious or defeated, swear allegiance to Helen’s chosen husband. Let them vow, upon the gods, to uphold this union and defend it should any outside force seek to undo it. In doing so, Sparta ensures peace among the great kingdoms, rather than sows the seeds of discord."

Silence fell over the hall. The assembled nobles exchanged glances, the weight of the proposal heavy in the air. Even Toji, ever the warrior, raised a brow in consideration.

Tyndareus studied Satoru for a long moment, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his throne. Then, slowly, he nodded. "You are wise beyond your years, Gojo of Ithaca. Your proposal is sound. Let it be done."

A herald stepped forward, calling for the gathered suitors to kneel. One by one, they bent the knee, placing their hands over their hearts, swearing their loyalty to Helen’s future husband, binding themselves to an oath that would shape the course of history.

As the final echoes of the vow rang through the hall, Satoru turned his gaze to Toji, his smirk deepening ever so slightly. The pieces were falling into place, just as he had foreseen.

Meanwhile, in your place—where you and Helen were spectating the whole event away from common sight—Helen nudged you slightly, voice hushed in interest you hadn’t seen her display for any suitor yet. “Did you see that—the way he sweet talked my father?” Her gentle eyes widened in a way that could kill a man. “Who is he?”

You had no answer. Because, truthfully, you were wondering the same thing.

The palace gardens were quiet at this hour, bathed in the golden glow of the late afternoon sun. The scent of myrrh and olive trees lingered in the air, mixing with the faint salt of the distant sea. You sat with Helen beneath the shade of a vine-laden pergola, her back pressed against your legs as you wove your fingers through her silken strands, carefully braiding them into an intricate plait.

Helen, ever the restless one, sighed dramatically. “Do you suppose I should be flattered or terrified?”

You didn’t have to ask what she meant. The courtyard had been in an uproar for hours after the suitors’ oath had been sworn. Servants gossiped in hushed tones, and noblewomen tittered behind their veils. The future queen of Sparta had just gained the loyalty of every warrior present—whether she wanted it or not.

“Why not both?” you mused, separating another section of her hair.

Helen laughed, tossing her head slightly. “It is one thing to be the object of admiration. It is quite another to be the cause of bloodshed.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, though your fingers stilled when she spoke again, voice full of mischief.

“Did you see him?”

You resumed braiding. “Who?”

Helen turned just enough to throw you an incredulous look. “Who?” she repeated, mockingly. “As if you do not know exactly who I speak of. Gojo Satoru of Ithaca.”

You clicked your tongue. “Oh, him.”

“Oh, him?” Helen scoffed. “Do not play coy, cousin. He commanded that entire courtyard without lifting a blade.”

You smiled, but she could not see you. “That only proves he is cunning,” you pointed out, keeping your voice neutral.

“That proves he is powerful,” Helen countered, shifting as you tugged lightly at her braid. “He held those men in the palm of his hand.”

Barking out a laugh, you continued your work. “Or perhaps he simply enjoys hearing himself speak.”

Helen laughed, tilting her head back against your lap. “You wound me with your dullness. Do you not see? There was something about him. He has the air of a man accustomed to winning.”

You tried not to scowl. Of course he did.

And if Helen had her eye on him, there was no chance for you.

The thought settled in your chest like a stone.

It was not as though you had entertained any hopes—but you were not blind. The way he had looked at you in the hallways, the way he had tried to coax your name from you, the way he had seemed amused by your defiance. It had sparked something treacherous inside of you, something unspoken and foolish.

Because no man, no matter how powerful or wise, would ever choose you over Helen.

You forced your thoughts aside and tightened the braid. “And what of Toji Fushiguro?” you asked lightly, forcing the subject to change. “I noticed you watching him as well.”

Helen hummed, pleased with the shift in conversation. “A brute, but a striking one. I imagine he fights as well as he looks.”

You snorted. “I imagine he thinks with his fists.”

“All the better,” Helen teased. “I should not mind a warrior who throws me over his shoulder and carries me off.”

You rolled your eyes, but you giggled regardless. “You are insufferable.”

Helen twisted, kneeling so that you were now face to face. She reached for your hair, her fingers beginning to weave it into a braid of your own.

“You say I am insufferable, but you have yet to deny that Gojo Satoru is worth admiring,” she murmured.

You sighed exasperatedly, looking anywhere except for your cousin’s eyes. “Must we discuss this?”

Helen’s fingers worked deftly, her expression smug. “It is only natural to discuss the most intriguing men.”

“And yet I am sure you are doing it to torment me.”

“Perhaps a little.” Helen’s grin softened as she studied you. “You would not be so opposed to him if you did not find him interesting.”

You swallowed, looking away. “That is not—”

“You braid my hair with such care,” she interrupted, looping another section of yours. “And yet, you guard your own thoughts as if I am the enemy.”

You closed your eyes briefly, inhaling the scent of lavender and sun-warmed stone. Helen had always been perceptive when she wished to be.

“There is nothing to guard,” you murmured.

Helen merely smiled, finishing your braid with a satisfied tug.

But the knowing look in her eyes unsettled you more than any battle in the courtyard ever could.

Despite coming for Helen, Satoru continuously seeks your presence.

Your presence is intoxicating, even the smallest of glimpses of you enough to induce a feeling, one he’d liken to eating the gods’ ambrosia or drinking the finest nectar. Every time he saw you, it was passing moments in the hallways of the palace or sneaked glances while you were in the garden—your chin up, posture proud. Your eyes downcast as if you had no interest in the countless of men among you. The light only returned when you were weaving, or discussing with your cousin.

But Satoru had not been able to see you more than just those miniscule, fleeting moments—it was your accursed father that kept an eye on you during dinners, his withered glare threatening all suitors, as if to remind them: You’re here for Helen, and keep my daughter out of this, for she is not a prize you can easily win.

Little did he know Satoru loved challenges.

So he thanks the gods that an annual Spartan festival is thoroughly celebrated in the palace today.

The hall is the spitting image of revelry. Men adorn their finest tunics while women have braids of flowers and cloths, wine, fresh fruits, and meat are plentiful on all tables. There’s singing, there’s dancing, and, best of all, there’s you.

Satoru’s been observing you for quite some time now. It wouldn’t be fair to call it something akin to a predator stalking his prey; no, you far from being bested by Satoru. More like a bird waiting for all the weaker mates to filter themselves out.

They were like peacocks, the men that came up to you, with the way they flared their artificial grandeur. Each time a young man sat next to you, you remained aloof, giving them nothing but a bunch of polite glances and nods. But it was clear that what ever your responses or questions were, they were nonplussed. Satoru almost felt bad for the fools if it weren’t for how they were encroaching on his time to finally talk to you.

It was the opening that a particularly witless and brutish man had given him—the guy basically leaves the seat next to you, almost in tears from whatever you had said to him, but you only blinked as Satoru approached.

Satoru slid into the recently vacated seat beside you with the grace of a man who had never been denied anything in his life. He draped an arm over the back of his chair, all effortless ease, as if he had been waiting for this moment all night.

"Whatever you said to him, I’d like to hear it," he mused, his lips quirking in amusement. "Though I do hope you go a little easier on me—I’m rather sensitive, you see."

Your gaze flickered to him, unimpressed, though there was something almost imperceptible in your eyes—mild intrigue, perhaps.

"If you are so easily wounded, Your Majesty, then I fear you are not prepared for a Spartan woman’s words."

His grin widened. "Oh, but I live for danger."

You hummed, noncommittal, before returning your attention to the food before you. Satoru, however, found himself transfixed by the way you reached for a slice of fruit, your fingers delicate yet decisive as you brought it to your lips. You took a slow, deliberate bite, and for the first time in his life, Satoru forgot how to speak.

It was absurd, really. He had seen beautiful women eat before—Helen herself had a practiced elegance to it—but there was something about you. Something about the unthinking ease with which you did it, how your lips parted just slightly before closing around the fruit, how you chewed with quiet, effortless grace, unbothered by the weight of hungry gazes that lingered on you.

For a man who had always been surrounded by beauty, who had spent his life sated and indulged, it was utterly unfair that something so simple could leave him spellbound.

Perhaps the gods were toying with him.

"You’ve been staring for quite some time," you remarked, snapping him out of his reverie.

Satoru exhaled a laugh, recovering with impressive speed. "Can you blame me? I’m simply trying to unravel the mystery of how you managed to make that poor soul flee in tears. I’d rather not suffer the same fate."

"Then I suggest you leave now, Your Majesty."

"Not a chance."

You sighed, though there was the ghost of amusement at the corner of your lips. "Persistent, aren’t you?"

Satoru grinned. "And yet, here you are, still talking to me."

He watched as you reached for another piece of fruit, this time slower, as if testing him, watching to see if he would stare again. He nearly laughed—because, of course, he did.

"You truly are hopeless," you muttered, shaking your head.

"Ah, but at least I am entertaining," he countered. "And I do believe I’ve managed what those other poor fools could not—I’ve kept your attention."

You opened your mouth to retort, but he was faster. "Go on, you can admit it," he teased. "I make for much better company than them, don’t I?"

For a moment, you merely regarded him, expression unreadable. Then, to his absolute delight, a soft laugh escaped your lips.

It was small, barely more than an exhale, but it was real.

And gods, it was beautiful.

Satoru leaned in slightly, drinking in the sight of you as if committing it to memory.

"See?" he murmured, triumphant. "I told you I’m quite good at this."

Your amusement lingered, but you shook your head as if in exasperation. "If you say so."

He did not say so. He knew so.

Because despite all the reasons he had come to Sparta, despite all the men who had gathered to win Helen’s hand, Satoru had found himself drawn to you instead.

And he had no intention of stopping now.

But before he could get another word in, a horn sounds, and you nod to him, somewhat apologetically. “That is my call.”

Before he can ask, you head, skirts fluttering behind you as you move to join a growing group of young ladies in the middle. It’s clear the gathering has captured the interest of most of the men that were previously dining. 

You make your way down to the middle, where you arrive at your position—it’s the one you’ve occupied every year. This dance is a show of grace and lineage, a chance for the noblemen to watch and admire, to see which girl carries herself with the most poise, the most elegance, the most effortless charm.

In Gojo’s eyes, it’s easy to determine who that is.

You take your place among your cousins, hands joining as the musicians begin their melody. It is a lighthearted dance, nothing too intricate, nothing that demands much more than the ability to move in time with the others. Your skirts flutter with each step, the long strands of your braid swaying as you turn.

It’s a girlish, lighthearted dance you’ve done since you were little. You and your younger cousins giggle as you go through the motions, reveling in the attentions of the spectators that witness the lovely display with amusement and pure, wholesome adoration.

That is, until you register a special set of eyes on you.

In a specific turn along to the strum of the lyre, you turn gracefully—a move that orients you towards Gojo’s direction. When you finally see his face and notice his presence, it’s like you’re kicked in the chest in a spar with Helen, with the way your breath leaves you.

His eyes are dark, enraptured on you, and only you. Heat creeps up your neck as you move your hands as you’re oddly flustered. His gaze is admiring and is respectful, but the intensity of it—like longing that is toeing the line between lust and pure yearning—makes your heart quicken in a way that you rue your accursed organ, for it to beat so traitorously. When he notices that you’re staring back at him, his jaw—which was clenched—loosens in a smile, but the smile isn’t innocent. It spells out a promise—one unspoken, one that curls at the edges of his lips like a secret meant for you alone. It is the kind of smile that men wear when they know something you don’t, when they have already decided on something long before you’ve even had the chance to argue.

It is sharp. Focused.

It traces the curve of your waist, the sway of your hips, the way your arms extend with each graceful movement.

It darkens.

Heat spreads up your neck before you can help it. The flickering torches of the hall must be to blame, or perhaps the wine in your belly, but you feel warm, too warm, and it is absurd.

Why should you care where Gojo of Ithaca’s eyes linger?

His smirk grows, and it is cocky. Infuriating, even. You snap your head away before he can see how your face burns, resuming your dance with the others, willing yourself to shake off the foolishness that has settled in your bones.

But even as you turn, even as the skirts of your dress flare and the room around you continues its celebration, you feel it—

His eyes.

Still watching.

“Athena, I swear to you that I need her. She is my future wife!” Gojo insists, stomping his feet as he trails the goddess as if he were a child. It reminded the goddess of wisdom of when she first met him—when he had taken down the magic boar she had let loose, showing him of having intellect worthy of being mentored by her. 

But Athena had meant to be a mentor to a warrior of the mind—not this lovesick, pathetic fool in front of her, like a dog whining for food. Athena sighed exasperatedly as another animal she was hunting runs away from Gojo’s sheer loudness. “Enough!” she snaps, but not unkindly. “Who is this princess you speak of, and what kind of spell has she cast on you to become this much of a fool?”

Gojo ignores any insults directed towards him, and instead adorns a bright smile at the mention of you. “She is the cousin of Helen of Sparta, and the daughter of Icarius—”

Gojo is interrupted by a snort. “The same one that swore to never marry his daughter off?”

This gives Gojo a reason to pause. He had not known this fact. “So, how do you propose I—”

Much to his chagrin, the w goddess is already a few steps ahead. “To waste my time on strategy to secure a woman, Gojo, is quite preposterous.

But if you must insist on my counsel, then you shall earn it," Athena declares, turning on her heel to face him fully. Her gaze, sharp as a well-honed blade, sweeps over him, as if assessing whether he is truly worth the effort. "Icarius is a man of reason before all else. He values intellect, discipline, and above all, loyalty. If you wish to stand a chance, you must prove to me two things: one, that she is a wise woman worth of being sought after, and, two, you must prove that you are not merely another suitor blinded by beauty."

Gojo grins, clearly pushing his luck. "So you will help me?"

Athena exhales, the very picture of divine suffering. "I will not gift you the answer, but I will grant you the means to find it yourself."

"Which is just a long-winded way of saying you will help me." He nods sagely, as if he has unraveled the mysteries of Olympus itself.

Athena rubs her temple. "I should have let the boar trample you."

Gojo only laughs, stepping in line beside her as they weave through the woods. His mind is already turning, piecing together what little he knows of Icarius, of you, and of what he must do to win. Because one thing is certain—he will win.

Icarius may have sworn never to wed you off, but Gojo Satoru has never been one to abide by the rules.

You do not want to be here.

All you simply wanted was time in your sanctuary, your olive tree. It remained hidden in the royal gardens, so it’s a wonder that Gojo of Ithaca had found you. Of course, you would have to be a fool to not admit that these suitors’ wit paled in comparison to that white-haired young king. Such as this one, for example.

“My lady, I could not help but notice your fair disposition when I looked upon you,” the suitor grins, his teeth bared like a dog catching scent of a meal. It is not a pleasant expression. You do not react, save for clutching your weaving tighter to your chest. He steps closer, and you take measured care not to recoil, though the instinct is strong. “May you grant me your name—”

“I would have to apologize,” you cut him, already turning away. “My father does not—”

You’re stopped by a harsh grip on your wrist, and you wrench your gaze back to the suitor in shock. 

"You wound me, my lady," the man says, still smiling as if this was amusing. As if he had power over you. Physical power, you suppose, but clearly this man was lacking in intellect, to not have noticed his presence. "You have been so cold to me, and I—"

He does not notice the shadow behind him.

“Ah,” a voice interjects, smooth, easy. “That’s no way to hold a lady’s hand, is it?”

The grip on your wrist slackens, but another takes its place—light, barely a touch.

Gojo.

The suitor’s face twists in confusion, but it quickly shifts to pain as Gojo applies the smallest pressure to his wrist.

“You—”

“She said no,” Gojo interrupts breezily. “And I’d hate to make a scene, so do us all a favor and leave before I decide to break something, yeah?”

With an effortless flick of his hand, the suitor stumbles back, shaking out his wrist as if burned.

Gojo does not spare him another glance. His attention is on you.

“Are you alright?” His voice is softer now, no teasing lilt, no easy arrogance.

You hesitate, unsettled.

“I was handling it,” you say, though it does not come out as firm as you would like.

Gojo only hums, something that sounds like, I know you could, but you’re distracted by his eyes drifting down to your wrist, where a faint mark has already begun to bloom.

His gaze darkens, but you hurry to assure him. “I’ll bandage this, it’s not a big wound—”

He interrupts you. “No need,” gently holds your shoulder, as if imploring you to follow him into the direction he’s started to walk, “I’ll do it myself.”

“That’s not—”

“Look.” He shoots you a look, but it is not unkind nor patronizing. You realize belatedly that it has set your heart aflutter. “I trust that you know how to bandage your wound. But I have had countless like it, so you are with a skilled master in healing. And who knows which suitors may find you on your journey to the physician?

You purse your lips, biting back a retort but failing. “And aren’t you one of the said suitors?”

His lips pull back in an amused smile, and you notice his hand is still resting lightly on your shoulder. “I think we both know I’m different.” You bite back a smile.

“Oh, really?” you remark dryly, but the look in your eyes is anything but. “And how did Your Majesty acquire the title of being different?”

His thumb brushes, just barely, against the fabric of your sleeve before he withdraws his hand entirely, as if sensing that he’s lingered too long. But his smirk remains, insufferable as ever.

“For one, I don’t make a habit of forcing myself upon unwilling women,” Gojo remarks, a pointed edge to his otherwise careless tone. “And for another…” He tilts his head, considering you. “I daresay I might be infatuated in a way they—or you—couldn’t comprehend.”

Your breath catches, but you recover quickly, huffing as you turn away. “All these sweet nothings. Helen will love you.”

Gojo chuckles, stepping ahead of you as he leads the way. “Yet she is not the one I am after.”

You pause. Soak in his words. Outwardly, you roll your eyes and follow him for you were at a lack of words, but inside Poseidon’s storm rages inside you at his words, creating a ferocious whirlpool of conflicting feelings.

His strides are long and easy, as if he belongs wherever he walks, and yet, he slows his pace just enough for you to keep up. The gesture is not lost on you.

The physician’s chamber is quiet when you arrive, save for the distant chatter of servants outside. Gojo does not call for assistance. He merely gestures for you to sit, pulling out a small cloth and a bowl of water, his movements easy and practiced.

“You’ve done this before,” you murmur as he kneels before you, pressing the damp cloth against your wrist.

His smile is unreadable. “I am a warrior, am I not?”

The cold seeps into your skin, making you shiver. Gojo notices. His touch, for all his bravado, is unbearably gentle. You do not know what to make of it.

“You’ll bruise,” he says softly, fingers skimming over the faint marks. “Does it hurt?”

You swallow. “No.”

A lie.

Gojo’s gaze flickers up to yours, and for the first time, there is no teasing in his expression—only something quiet and knowing, something that makes your heart betray you in its weakness.

For a moment, you both fall into a silence, and, to avoid his gaze, you go back to clutching at your hand and staring at it, as if there’s something really intriguing about it. Then, he speaks up. “Want to play?”

You bring your gaze back to him, caught off guard. “What?”

He cocks his head in a direction to which you face, and there you see it: a game board. One to play petteia. 

You turn back at him, blinking. “You play petteia?”

Gojo grins, stretching out with a lazy ease that only makes you more suspicious. As if he has ulterior motives to this. “What, surprised? Strategy games are a warrior’s pastime.”

You squint him. That line of reasoning was rather true, you suppose. Something told you—something being the way he convinced Helen’s father so easily, how he always seemed three, no, six steps ahead—that he was no normal warrior, no normal brute. Huffing, you remark offhandedly, “I suppose a true warrior does sharpen his mind as well as his sword. It’s a pity that you’ll be losing today. To me.”

His smile deepens, and it makes you notice small indents in his cheeks as a result, and the way there’s a rosy pink hue on his cheeks, as if he’s excited to see what you can do.  “Then by all means, put me to shame.”

You settle onto the floor, determined, as he arranges the pieces between you. The rules are simple enough—capture your opponent’s pieces by flanking them on either side—but the way Gojo moves is anything but. He plays with an insufferable sort of confidence, shifting his pieces with flicks of his fingers, as if the game is already his to win.

Until it isn’t, obviously.

He frowns when the click of stone dropped onto the board sounds. You’ve cut off his advancing soldier, trapping it neatly between two of your own.

“Huh,” he muses, tapping his chin. He stares at the board, mind no doubt going at a speed unfathomable to most. His eyes flick rapidly, as if assessing the position of all the stone and calculating all the possible moves and permutations that can salvage him out of the situation you’ve created for him. You maintain your poker face, but inside, you want to smile. You had calculated those said combinations a few steps ago, and it’d be really hard to get out of this. Then, comes out a “That was… unexpected.”

You smile sweetly. “What’s wrong? Did the great King of Ithaca not anticipate that?”

Gojo exhales, dragging a hand through his hair while huffing out a laught. “You’re quite ruthless, aren’t you?”

“I’m practical,” you correct, claiming another of his pieces. “And good at this game.”

Gojo squints at the board, as if trying to decipher where exactly he went wrong. “You do know you’re supposed to let me win, right? My pride is fragile.”

“I wasn’t aware kings had fragile pride.”

“You wound me, my lady.” He presses a hand to his chest, but his movements are distracted as he moves another piece—only for you to immediately trap it.

His head snaps up. “Wait—”

You make your final move, effortlessly cornering his last few soldiers.

Silence.

Gojo blinks at the board.

You clear your throat. “Do you need a moment to process this?”

Slowly, he leans back, shaking his head with something close to awe. “You know, I was planning to go easy on you, but I don’t think that would have helped.”

You grin, triumphant. “I’ll take that as an admission of defeat.”

Gojo exhales through his nose, then tilts his head at you, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes.

“You’re dangerous,” he says, and you’re not quite sure if it’s a compliment or a warning.

“Maybe to an overconfident king who underestimates his opponent.”

That urges out a laugh from him, and he shakes his head. “Trust me, I was not underestimating you. It seemed that I had overestimated myself.”

Before you can respond, Gojo leans forward, propping his chin on his hand as he watches you with something unsettlingly thoughtful.

You don’t trust that look.

“What?” you ask warily.

He hums. “Just thinking.”

“That’s a dangerous pastime for you.”

Gojo presses a hand over his chest, as if wounded. “Cruel. After I iced your wrist and let you absolutely demolish me at petteia, this is the thanks I get?”

“You act as if I owe you something.”

His smirk returns, slow and smug. “Well, since you mention it…”

You narrow your eyes. “No.”

“You didn’t even hear me out.”

“I know you well enough to predict whatever absurd request you’re about to make.”

Gojo lets out a dramatic sigh, tilting his head back. “And here I was, about to propose something completely reasonable. A fair exchange.”

You arch a brow. “Fair?”

He nods, all feigned seriousness. “See, I let you win.”

“You most certainly did not.”

“And I helped with your wrist.”

Your lips press into a line. “Which you did of your own volition.”

Gojo ignores this. “So, as a completely justified request, I think you should let me meet you in the royal gardens.”

You blink. His words hang in the air between you, a casual proposition that somehow carries more weight than it should.

“The gardens?”

He nods. “By the olive tree at sunset. The one where we met.”

“Why?”

Groaning, he lounges back, pushing his feet out while doing the motion. It makes his long legs come closer to where yours are opposite from him, so much that you can feel their heat. Not direct contact, but there. “Have I not made my advances clear by now?” He moves to a sitting position, a more serious look in his eyes as he earnestly looks at you, but you find it hard—despite your usual dry disposition towards suitors—to maintain eye contact, so you opt to look at your hands instead as his next words strike blows to your treacherous heart.

 “Your Highness, I am here for you. You are far wittier than me—I have things to learn from you. You have bewitched me, for I did not know it was possible for a lady to consume my every waking thoughts in such a violent way as you have. You may think me a stranger, and you may think me one of the many foolish suitors here for Miss Helen’s hand, but I will make you fall in love with me. I will show you that despite my pride, I will be a kind and gentle husband.” He exhales, as if steadying himself, but his eyes remain fixed on you. There is no jest in them, no trace of the arrogance he so often wears like armor. Only something raw.

“And I will absolutely not leave this city until you come back to me in my kingdom as the Queen of Ithaca. It may require god-like skill to convince your father to marry me—but I am nothing if not persistent.”

Before you can even begin to form a response—before you can push past the breath lodged in your throat, the furious pounding in your chest—there’s a voice.

"There you are!"

Helen.

You turn just as she strides toward you, golden as ever, a vision of effortless beauty. She doesn’t seem to have heard a word of what was just spoken, too preoccupied with her own delight at having found you.

"I’ve been looking everywhere," she sighs, linking her arm through yours before glancing at Gojo, who, for once, remains uncharacteristically silent. Her eyes flick between the two of you, and then she hums. "I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything?"

Gojo recovers faster than you do. "Not at all, Your Highness," he says smoothly, a practiced smile slipping into place. "I was simply getting to know your cousin better."

Helen gives him a flirtatious smile, but nevertheless turns to you, frowning. “And why are you at the physician’s?”

You feel Gojo’s eyes follow your movements as you shake your head and rise, walking towards Helen. “An unruly suitor. It was a light bruise, it is not a great matter–”

“A bruise?!”

“Come with me,” you hissed, waving her along so she did not question further. It seemed that the room was very warm, for you felt a heat creep up your neck the longer Gojo’s eyes unequivocally stayed on you. 

Helen blinked, at a loss for words, no doubt pondering why you both were leaving Gojo’s presence so readily. “But His Majesty—”

“Cousin,” you snapped, “did you not have a reason to be looking for me?”

Helen blinks, momentarily distracted. Then, as if something suddenly occurs to her, she brightens.

“Oh! Yes, Father wanted to see you.”

You exhale, relieved—only for it to be short-lived, because she doesn’t move.

She remains rooted in place, glancing back at Gojo with a look that is far too amused for your liking. The flirtatious smile returns, softer now, more intrigued.

“But surely,” she muses, tilting her head, “you wouldn’t mind if I stayed a moment longer? It’s not often one meets a man as charming as His Majesty of Ithaca.”

You narrow your eyes. “Helen.”

“What?” she says, all innocence. “We’re simply talking.”

You glance at Gojo, expecting him to look insufferably pleased, but instead, he’s watching you. Not Helen. You tear your gaze away.

It’s only once the two of you are walking through the halls, out of earshot, that Helen sighs, linking your arms again.

“He’s quite something, isn’t he?” she murmurs.

You keep your eyes ahead. “Perhaps. A bit arrogant, though.”

“He’s clever,” she corrects, then gives you a knowing look. “And you like him.”

You scoff, though the heat on your skin betrays you. “I do not.”

Helen only laughs, shaking her head. “Dearest cousin,” she sighs, “I have seen you endure the most persistent suitors with all the warmth of an ice-cold river. And yet, here you are, playing petteia with him, letting him tend to your wounds.”

You do not have an answer to that.

And Helen does not press further. She only smiles wistfully to herself, as if she already knows how this story will end.

…

The halls are silent at this hour, save for the whisper of your steps against the cool stone. You keep to the shadows, careful, quiet. If anyone were to see you like this—wrapped in a cloak, a weaver in hand, slipping through the corridors like a thief in the night—there would be whispers by morning.

But then again, what whispers have ever concerned you?

The thought does not comfort you as much as it should.

Your grip tightens around the weaver, its familiar weight grounding. You brought it with you on the off chance that Gojo, like most men, proves unreliable. You have no reason to believe he will come; his feelings for you could be temporary lust, a second option in case his primary one—Helen—fails. No reason to have entertained his invitation at all. And yet, you go.

You cannot say why.

A foolish impulse, perhaps. Or simple curiosity. Or maybe—

You push the thought away, focusing instead on the memory that surfaces unbidden.

A conversation with your father, just today while you dined.

You had spoken of Helen’s upcoming wedding of the foreign princes and warriors who sought her hand, of the future that awaited her.

Your father had frowned, the lines of his face deepening. “It is dangerous,” he had said, quiet but firm. “To entrust my daughter to a man who cannot ensure her well-being.”

You had smiled then, easy and unbothered, as if his words did not touch something in you. “It is not you he must convince.”

He had looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his gaze, but ended up remarking offhandedly, as if reminding you. “I do not want you to go far from me.”

And you, still smiling, had said nothing at all.

Now, in the solitude of the night, you are no longer smiling.

You know your father’s concern is not unfounded. It is not simply Helen’s future that weighs on him—it is yours.

But it is a strange thing, the way his words linger, how they press against you, heavy and quiet. Not as a warning. Not as a burden. But as something else. Something you cannot yet name.

You reach the courtyard, the olive tree standing tall against the night sky behind a series of trees. You exhale, slow and steady, before walking to reach it, weaver in hand.

If he comes, he comes.

And if not—

Well. You were never the kind to wait idly for a man.

But before you could go on your endless mental tirade of how despicable the male species were, you heard a voice. Gojo’s voice in particular.

Walking closer and closer—to where your olive tree was but not where you were visible, trees providing coverage—you noticed him talking to someone in a hushed, yet excited tone. You use the window of sight allowed by the gap between the trees’ leaves to see him, standing with an owl on his forearm. It’s turned to him, as if paying attention, although exasperatedly, to him while he stands tall as ever, his foot tapping impatiently against the grass.

You hesitate, watching as the owl blinks at him, as if listening, considering his words.

And then it notices you. Its, well, owlish eyes are wide as they lock in on your figure.

With a quiet rustle of feathers, it takes flight, disappearing into the night.

Gojo turns, following its path before his gaze lands on you.

“You scared my friend away,” he says, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

You blink at him. “You were talking to an owl.”

He shrugs, as if this too is perfectly reasonable. “She’s a good listener. A little judgmental, though.”

You give him a look, unimpressed. “I see you’ve finally found an audience that suits you.”

His lips curve into a slow smile. “And yet, here you are.”

You huff, settling onto one of the smooth stones beneath the tree. “I didn’t come for your company.” You hold up the weaver in your hands, as if that alone is proof of your intentions. “I came to pass the time.”

“Ah,” he drawls, stepping closer, hands slipping into the folds of his cloak. “And yet, you’re talking to me instead.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but he only grins, triumphant.

“Tell me,” he muses, dropping down beside you. “Were you hoping—or predicting, with that fast mind of yours—I wouldn’t come?”

You don’t answer right away, fingers idly threading the weaver. The night air is cool, the scent of olives and earth thick around you.

“Would it have mattered?” you ask at last, voice light, careless.

Gojo watches you, and for a moment, he does not answer either.

Then, quietly, as if confessing something neither of you are ready to name, he says, “Yes.”

You inhale slowly, fingers stilling on the weaver as his answer settles between you.

Yes.

It wasn’t spoken in jest, nor with the easy arrogance he so often wielded. Instead, it was quieter, more certain—like an unshakable truth, unburdened by expectation.

You don’t know what to make of it.

You cast him a glance from the corner of your eye. He’s sitting close but not too close, his long legs stretched out before him, arms resting lazily over his knees. His usual grin is absent, replaced by something unreadable, something you cannot name.

The weight of his gaze is different now. Not teasing, not searching for amusement—but waiting.

You look away first.

Your fingers resume their slow, practiced work, weaving delicate patterns into the fabric, though your thoughts are anything but orderly.

“Why are you here?” you ask, voice softer than you intend.

A beat passes before he answers.

“Because you are.”

You swallow.

He leans back onto his hands, tilting his head toward the night sky, moonlight catching in the pale strands of his hair. It makes him look otherworldly, like a figure carved from myth—too beautiful, too untouchable.

“I’m not Helen,” you say after a moment, unsure why the words leave your lips. “You have nothing to gain from this.”

Gojo exhales, a quiet sound, but when he looks at you again, there is something almost amused in his expression—touched with something softer, something more patient.

“Do you think I speak to owls for political gain?”

You huff, trying to ignore the warmth threatening to creep up your neck. “I think you do most things for your own amusement.”

He hums, as if considering that. “You wound me.”

“I doubt that,” you mutter, eyes fixed on your work.

And yet—his fingers twitch where they rest against the stone. It’s small, barely noticeable, but your eyes catch it, and you wonder.

Does he want to reach for you?

The thought unsettles you more than it should.

He exhales again, then shifts, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees, expression thoughtful. “You know,” he muses, “I had a whole speech planned.”

You raise a brow. “Oh?”

“Something about how I was drawn to you the way sailors are drawn to sirens. That you, unlike any other, have made me question things I thought I knew.” He looks down at his knees, lips pulling in a mischievous smile. “But with you, I doubt a night of spilling sweet nothings or perhaps…other things would have swayed you.”

Your fingers still.

“But I think I’ve changed my mind,” he continues, tilting his head. “I think I’d rather just talk to you.”

You stare at him, caught somewhere between wariness and something dangerously close to wonder.

And then, before you can stop yourself, you ask, “What would you have said next?”

His lips twitch, and for the first time tonight, there is mischief in his gaze again. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You roll your eyes, but the moment has shifted, lighter now, though something unnamed still lingers beneath it.

“Keep your secrets, then,” you mutter, returning to your weaving.

“You wound me,” Gojo says again, pressing a hand to his chest as if truly affronted. “Here I am, spilling my heart, and you deny me even a scrap of sentiment.”

You let out a quiet scoff, keeping your focus on your weaving. “Perhaps if your words weren’t so dramatic, I’d be inclined to believe them.”

Gojo gasps. “Dramatic?” He leans closer, an almost boyish grin tugging at his lips. “My lady, I am nothing if not a man of sincerity.”

“Oh? So that speech about sirens wasn’t an embellishment?”

“Not at all.” He sighs, as if suffering under some great burden. “I wake in the morning thinking of you, I lay my head at night wondering if you’ve thought of me at all. It’s agony, truly.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips betray you, twitching into something dangerously close to a smile. “That sounds more like a malady than love.”

“Ah, but love is a sickness, is it not?” He exhales dramatically. “And you, my lady, have made a very ill man of me.”

Despite yourself, a laugh escapes—light, unguarded, like something slipping past your defenses before you can catch it.

And then—silence.

You glance at him, and find him already watching you.

His usual mischief is gone, replaced by something softer, something wholly unprepared. His breath is caught somewhere between his ribs, his lips slightly parted as if the sight of your laughter has stolen the air from him.

And then—

A blush, unmistakable even in the moonlight.

Your heart stutters.

Oh.

For the first time, you allow yourself to study him properly. The sharp angles of his jaw, the elegant bridge of his nose, the vivid eyes that hold yours so intently.

He is very handsome.

The thought settles somewhere unexpected, like an admission you’ve been avoiding.

Before you can dwell on it, something light catches against your shoulder—a drifting leaf, caught in the folds of your garment.

Gojo moves before you can react.

His fingers brush against the fabric near your collarbone, and then linger, featherlight and warm, as he pulls the leaf free. The moment stretches—longer than it should, charged with something unspeakable.

You feel his breath before you see him move, close enough now that the space between you is barely a whisper.

His hand, now free of its task, hesitates—before it trails downward, catching yours in his grasp.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to fill the moment with jest. His thumb traces the back of your hand, slow and absentminded, as if memorizing the shape of you.

Your own breath falters.

His breath is warm in the cool night air, his proximity setting something taut beneath your ribs. You are no stranger to flirtation, nor to men who think they can win you with pretty words, but Gojo—Gojo is different.

Perhaps it’s the way he looks at you now, his usual mischief tempered by something quieter. Or perhaps it’s the fact that, despite his arrogance, despite his clever tongue and tireless persistence, he does not presume to take.

He waits.

A dangerous thing, because it gives you time to notice the way his fingers twitch slightly against the fabric of your sleeve, the way his lips part as if tasting the words before speaking them.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, tilting his head.

You arch a brow, feigning indifference despite the heat pooling low in your stomach. “Am I?”

His lips curve. “Should I be flattered?”

You hum, as if considering it. “I’m only making observations.”

“Oh?” He steps just a fraction closer, his voice dipping. “And what have you observed, my lady?”

“That you blush quite easily,” you say smoothly, pleased when the faint flush creeps further up his neck. “That despite your grand declarations, you are, in fact, a little shy.”

Gojo lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Shy? My lady, you wound me.”

“Do I?” You tilt your chin up slightly, your voice softer now, your hand still in his.

His gaze flickers to your lips.

Your breath catches, just for a moment.

And then—

His hand moves, fingers brushing along the curve of your jaw before settling at the nape of your neck, his touch deliberate, careful. A question, waiting for an answer.

You don’t grant him words—only the tilt of your head, the briefest lean forward.

It is all the invitation he needs.

He kisses you like a secret, like something to be savored—slow at first, testing, before he grows bolder. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and warmth floods through you, seeping into your bones.

The world is silent save for the soft hitch of breath, the faint rustle of fabric as he deepens the kiss, as you allow yourself to press into him, fingers curling into the front of his tunic.

For a man who never stops talking, he is utterly wordless now. 

When you wake up next in the morning, it is grumpy and tired. Not only were you up late into the night, talking to and…kissing Gojo of Ithaca, or rather, Satoru (while you were drunk on each other, he had convinced you to call him Satoru), but the sound of Helen’s squealing made your head ring, putting an unbearable pressure onto them.

“Helen!” you scold her, throwing a spare pillow at her. She easily dodges while you sit up in the bed, half-heartedly rubbing your eyes to wipe the sleep from them. As she throws herself onto the foot of the bed, you notice and hear the pitter patter of rain, casting a somber gray light in your bedroom that is occasionally interrupted by Zeus’s thunder, as if the god was angered or sharing a premonition. 

Shaking off the thought, you scowl at your cousin, who’s excitedly prattling about things you still have yet to comprehend. “Slow down! Tell me, without spewing all your words at once.”

“Father gave me permission to marry!” she squealed, jumping on you and hugging you closely. She seemed happy, and you loved your cousin very much, even if you did not show it much. Pure affection permeates your countenance, as she continues. “You know I’ve always wanted to marry him, with his big arms and all. He could totally manhandle me, but you knoooww I love the ones that can whimper—”

“Oh my god,” you groan, covering your ears as if scandalized (you’ve said much worse to her), but you grin regardless. “Who is the man that you have chosen?”

“Well,” she laughs, flipping her hair off her shoulder, “Gojo of Ithaca is to be my husband, of course.”

Your heart drops to your stomach.

What she says next seems to blur together, not registering because you are shocked, your world almost tilted.

Gojo of Ithaca is to be my husband, of course.

It is then you realize belatedly that Helen seems to be calling out to you, and what you notice the most out of anything on her face is the soft smile she has on her face. One that shows that she is fond of Satoru Gojo, that she has affection for him. And who are you—the girl whose father doesn’t wish for her to marry, one that isn’t to be promised—take that away from Helen, from him?

Gojo has made it clear that he is not here for Helen—but wouldn’t it be better for him and his kingdom (which you discovered last night that he cares so dearly for) for him to marry Helen? A beautiful queen and a wise king. 

What a match.

You swallow, throat suddenly dry, but you manage a smile—strained, weak, but a smile nonetheless.

“Helen,” you begin, voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you, “are you certain?”

“Of course!” she beams, oblivious to the way your fingers tighten in the fabric of your bedding. “Father said Gojo has yet to ask officially, but he will, I know it. And why wouldn’t he? A match like this—it’s fate.”

Fate.

What cruel irony.

You remember last night—Gojo’s hands warm against your skin, his laughter pressed against your lips, the way he had murmured your name like a vow.

And yet—

You look at Helen, golden and radiant even in the gray morning light, her eyes alight with genuine happiness. You love her, truly, and have since childhood. She has always had her pick of men, but there was something softer in the way she spoke of Satoru just now.

The soft smile, the dreamy lilt to her voice.

She wants this.

And what of you?

Your chest aches, but you laugh, the sound lighter than it should be. “You sound quite taken with him.”

“I am,” she beams, watching you. “He’s gorgeous! Charming, too. He told me last night that he thinks my eyes are like the sea at sunrise.”

Your stomach twists and it seems that the panic overwhelms you because all you can manage to do is swallow and nod. “Well,” you look at her with a tight smile, “I congratulate you. Let us discuss this matter further over breakfast.” She smiles and squeezes your upper arm in a goodbye, and the touch of it burns.

You don’t ever make it to breakfast that day.

It continues raining that day, and it’s quite appropriate for how you’re feeling. The feeling of melancholy permeates the air around you as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Usually, you occupy your time by reading or, more likely, weaving, but you couldn’t muster the energy to find interest in that either.

Over a man. What a shame.

You were not one to lie idle—you were constantly praised as a princess wise beyond her years, and it would be wise, in this situation, to move on. Because the man you had grown feelings for is now engaged to your cousin, or, at least, your cousin intends to be engaged with him. And it would be wiser to let it happen, for Helen’s happiness was your happiness.

Sighing, you stuff your face into your pillow and groan, muffled by the linen fabric of your seats. You then decide grudgingly that if you’re not going to leave your room at all, it may be best to shed yourself of your clothing and lay comfortably in your loincloth and mamillare.

But right as you put your hand on your clothing to strip yourself, you hear a noise. 

The sound comes again—a sharp, rhythmic tap-tap-tap, just barely audible over the rain. You freeze, fingers still curled around the fabric of your chiton, half-peeled from your shoulder. At first, you think it might be a stray branch scraping against the stone, wind-tossed by the storm. But then it happens again—more deliberate this time, insistent.

Then, looking at the new objects strewn across your balcony, you realize it’s not branches—it’s pebbles.

You scowl, tying your garments hastily before moving toward the balcony. The rain is gentler now, more mist than storm, clinging to the stone and silvering the world beyond. You grip the railing and peer down—

And there he is.

Satoru.

Drenched from head to toe, hair plastered to his forehead, a frown curving his lips as he concentrates on where he’s going to throw his pebble next. His stance seems urgent, but you’re so caught up on the fact that he’s here, as if he isn’t supposed to be engaged to Helen or be subjected to whatever congratulatory round of alcohol men bestowed upon each other after securing the most beautiful woman alive.

Your heart stutters.

You pull back immediately, breath catching in your throat. You shouldn’t have come to the balcony. You shouldn’t be looking at him, shouldn’t be thinking about this morning when Helen’s voice still lingers in your ears—Gojo of Ithaca is to be my husband, of course.

The pebble strikes the stone beside you.

“I know you’re up there,” Gojo calls, tone indecipherable. “Are you really going to ignore me? After all we’ve been through?”

You swallow and your voice trembles when you say, “Go away.”

His resulting laughter sounds betrayed, hurt. “You don’t mean that.”

“Satoru,” and you don’t know if it’s a plea or a warning. His head tilts, an anguished look on his face as he closes his eyes and sighs.

“You wound me,” he huffs out a pained laugh, “After all, I run the risk of sickness just to see you and tell you that you believe wrong.”

Something is created in you, then. Something dangerous like hope. “What?”

But instead of answering, Gojo crouches, then, in one smooth motion, leaps up, catching the edge of the balcony with ease. You barely have time to react before he’s pulling himself over the railing, stepping onto solid ground with practiced grace.

You stumble back, eyes wide. “I told you not to come up.”

“And when have I ever listened?”

There’s something in the way he looks at you then—an intensity you aren’t prepared for. The air between you is charged, thick with something unspoken, something far too dangerous to name.

He takes a step forward. “I thought you were smarter than this.”

You blink, startled. “Excuse me?”

Gojo exhales, running a hand through his damp hair. “Why would you ever think it would be Helen?”

Your stomach lurches. “She said—”

“She assumed,” he corrects, cutting you off. “But I did not accept her. And you let her do that.” His voice drops lower, softer, a stark contrast to the teasing lilt he so often wields. “Do you truly think so little of me?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because if you do, it will come spilling out—the hope you tried to bury, the ache that settled in your chest the moment Helen uttered those words.

He moves closer, and you don’t stop him.

“Princess,” you can see his ivory lashes with how close he is, his face covered in raindrops, “for how wise you are, you seem to not have caught on. What animal is the emblem of Athena?”

Blinking, you’re taken aback by the sudden quizzing. “Owl, what about it—”

Oh.

He sees the realization dawn over your face, and now his tense expression melts into a bittersweet smile. “The goddess of wisdom has been my companion ever since I was a child, helping me attain whatever I needed the most. Whether it be to gain the knowledge one must have to be worthy of being king, or,” he inhales sharply, vibrant eyes scanning over your face vulnerably, “to gain the power to be able to make the wisest, wittiest, funniest, and most beautiful girl I’ve ever known my queen.

“After all, I have my wit—add a little of godlike power, and even I could defeat your father. Respectfully,” he adds quickly. He looks anxious you realize, as if he is about to make a risky move, a big ask. Something he’s been anxious to ask, but scared to. His eyes are still scanning you and his hands twitch at his side as he says, “I hesitate to make this decision, to ask you still after knowing the true nature of my desire for you—”

“Ask me what?”

His eyes are fixed on you, and you think that both of your hearts are beating very, very fast at the moment. “What do you think, princess?”

The silence that falls is loaded, heavy, and laden with hesitation. It’s as if a vice has caged its way through your heart, squeezing and squeezing until all the things you’ve left unsaid threaten to spill out. Things like I don’t want you to marry my cousin. Or yet, even worse, I want you to marry me. “I would not want to throw out my guesses, Satoru,” you instead opt to say, voice soft. “Things like this must be said directly, to not leave any confusion or misunderstandings.”

His jaw tightens, his breath coming harder as he stares at you, something raw and dangerous flickering in his eyes. “I agree. These things should never be left unsaid.” His voice is low, almost seething, but not with anger—no, this is something else entirely, something desperate. “I love you.” The words are unshakable, like a vow. “And I refuse to sit here and pretend my thoughts of you are anything less than ruinous. I dream of you in ways no other man is allowed to, ways that would send me to Hades with a smile on my lips. You have bewitched my soul, stolen the breath from my body, and most dangerously—you have claimed my mind.” His voice drops, softer now, but no less intense. “I do not know how to make you believe me, only that I would sooner challenge the gods themselves than let you slip through my fingers. The world could promise me tens of Helen, but there is only one woman I would ever choose.” His hand finds yours, fingers tightening, as his next words fall like an oath.

“You.”

Your breath stutters, throat tightening as his fingers tighten over yours. His touch is searing, as if the gods themselves have set him aflame, and yet you cannot pull away—you do not want to pull away.

“Satoru—” His name slips from your lips like a prayer, and he swears under his breath, his free hand coming up to cradle your jaw, thumb pressing just below your lips, as if he is fighting the urge to kiss you.

“I would tear down Olympus itself if it meant keeping you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your cheek. “I would make war with the gods, call upon Athena to guide my spear, and spill the blood of any man foolish enough to think they could take you from me.” His voice is rough, almost a growl, and you swear your knees would give way if not for the way he holds you now, as though letting go would be his ruin.

It is reckless, to let yourself lean into him, to let your fingers curl into the fabric of his damp chiton as though you could anchor yourself to him. But he is an anchor—pulling you into something deep, something dangerous, something you know you will not escape from unscathed.

His nose brushes yours, his lips so close that you feel his every breath, his every hesitation. But you see the war in his eyes, the battle between restraint and desire, and for once, you decide to let yourself be selfish.

So you whisper, “Then prove it.”

And that is all it  takes for him to break.

His lips crash against yours, urgent and claiming, as if to kiss you any softer would be to deny himself the air he breathes. He groans as your hands tangle in his hair, your body pressing flush against his, his own hands no longer gentle but gripping, desperate, possessive. His teeth graze your bottom lip before he deepens the kiss, one hand trailing lower, pressing against the curve of your waist, then lower still—

Thunder crackles, as you gasp out his name. He pulls you both apart, looking anguished as if he’s fighting the urge to keep touching you, to make you moan out his name. Realizing this, you grab his hands and put them on yourself. “My love,” you say, tenderly, and you see how his pupils dilate in response, “you may touch me—”

“Are you sure? For if you say that, I may not be able to stop myself from indulging. Because I will take and take, until you can give me no more.” The way he says it, uncharacteristically serious and brows furrowed, makes you heat up even more, dizzy with lust and your pent up longing for the man.

But your response stays the same, paired with a firm nod. “I am sur—mmmph.”

He smothers you with his lips before you can finish, cupping your jaw until his hands start to move downwards. They move, tracing the planes of your body, and they are relentless in their exploration—they grab you possessively, pushing you closer and closer to him until his hands are below your thighs. Satoru maneuvers you until your legs are straddling his waist so that he can pick you up and carry you to your bed.

After he throws you down like carrying you poses to him as much of a challenge as carrying a light potato sack, he admires you—-thighs clenched, hair splayed around your head like a halo. The skirt of your clothes has inched its way up, exposing your thighs. “Gods, you don’t know what you do to me.”

But instead of playing the innocent maiden, you look at him through your lashes, laughing. “Satoru, time is of the essence. Flattery will get you nowhere—you must show it through your actions.”

You didn’t know what saying his name—and prompting him like that—does to him. He meets your lips in a furious kiss once again, this time hand sneaking up your skirt. He meets the fabric of your loincloth, hooking at its sides and pulling them downwards and downwards, until it is hooked off your ankle (not before Satoru leaves it a trailing kiss there, of course. It is only until Satoru’s eyes hone in what’s in the middle of legs that you realize that you are bare to him. “Satoru, I—”

“I must do something,” he instead responds, and you look at him in confusion. He’s moving down your body as you ask him what he means and if something’s wrong.

You’re interrupted by your gasp as his mouth descends on you, leaving hot, openmouthed kisses directly on your core. His tongue delves inside your lower lips, pleasing the nerves and leaving them singing. He undoes you, leaving your legs feeling like jelly, and the fervor he does it with is nauseating—as if your nectar is ambrosia itself. 

Soon enough, with his reverent worship—and a finger or two added to stretch you out and make you emit embarrassing noises that only encourage him further—you come with a cry of his name. As you roll your hips, riding out your climax, his mouth and head follow and trail your hips, unrelenting in pleasuring you even though you’re overstimulated and left quivering. 

“I—” you blurted, trying to fill the silence after he had just made you taste colors. “I hate you.”

Satoru faux pouts, biting back a grin. “Rude thing to say when I just made you—”

“Don’t finish that!” you shriek, swatting his head lightly as he laughs, kissing his way back up your body. In a tone more shy than you’d like, you say in a small voice, “But I hope we’re not done yet?”

Satoru’s made his way up to your clothed breasts, kissing them tenderly. However, when he hears the question, he stills, looks at you with wide eyes, and he groans, as if surprised by your forwardness. “Princess, the things you do to me.”

He kneads your ass while he stands up, orienting himself into a position to do—that. A voice in the back of your head reminds you that you’re not supposed to be doing this before you get married, but your lust is too strong. And, after all, you trust that there’s no way Satoru wouldn’t marry you.

You feel a slight pressure in your nether regions, and you realize that it is Satoru’s cock. His eyes are on you, blown out with lust, as he continues to stroke the length of it while observing your every reaction. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.”

With your confirmation, his eyes next left your face as he pushed in, moving slowly and gently. He gauged your features for any signs of discomfort or pain as he moved in shallow thrusts, gradually increasing their length. You gasped, his murmurs and sweet nothings coaxing out your whimpers and whines as he bumped a spot inside of you. As he did, fireworks erupted in the back of your mind, leaving you boneless as he got you closer and closer to your climax once again.

For someone who didn’t experience carnal desires often, you wonder how you’ve gone without this kind of pleasure for so long. Satoru made you feel worshipped, tracing kisses with a love that was almost pious. It doesn’t take you long after that to come once more, thrashing in his grip.

Your climax sheathed on his cock unlocks something in him, for he begins to thrust harder and faster, becoming sloppier and sloppier. His voice is by your ear, whining your name continuously. When he finally feels himself climb over and finally orgasm, he breathes out an “Ah,” and thrusts himself to completely bottom out while his come fills you up, pooling inside of you.

You both stay interlocked for gods know how long. Until Satoru pipes up, voice still unstable and panting, “By the way, it went unsaid, but I’m going to marry you. And you can’t say no.”

Your resulting giggle makes him break out in a big smile before he hugs you, wrestling you both to lie side by side in bed.

It goes without saying, but it all goes smoothly according to plan.

When Satoru had played with petteia with you, he had aimed to show Athena your wit. It is no small claim to defeat him, a king associated with Athena, in the game. The following events further made Athena approve of you and give her blessing. 

So Gojo was already ten steps ahead when he asked your father for your blessing. Your father was furious, of course—he did not want to let you go. After much cajoling and agreement to beat your father, a champion runner, in a race to attain your hand, Satoru wiped his brow. The way your father loved you would be scary to him if he didn’t love you as intensely as he did now. 

And of course Satoru won. Athena got her fellow Olympian, Hermes, to rent out his infamous speed. When he wins, Sparta is in an uproar, including your cousin.

“So, how is he?” Helen asks mischievously. You later found out that day that Helen’s words of marrying Gojo had a purpose—to push you both towards each other, once and for all. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you turn away, with a hmph. Crossing your arms, you pretend to roll your eyes at the knowing look she had.

“I don’t know, cousin,” she giggles, “I heard a couple of voices in your room when I tried to visit you a few nights back. Tell me, does he whimper—-”

“Helen!” 

The day you marry, donning beautiful and regal clothes, Gojo sneaks you away multiple times to kiss you under your veil when no one is looking.

His wedding gift is built by him—on the voyage back to Ithaca, he not only takes you away from Sparta, but the olive tree that you both had met at. He builds the shared marital bed out of the olive tree for his queen with his blood and sweat. It is a symbol of your love, everlasting, and you would daresay that it is the most precious gift anyone has ever given you.

What you give him in return is one fat and giggly baby. Your father grumbles that the child looks too much like his father, but the way he holds the babe—so carefully, so gently—betrays his affection. Helen coos at her little nephew, amused at how utterly soft Satoru has become, how the once-cocky king now spends his days doting on both you and your child, as if he has won the world itself.

And perhaps he has.

After all, Satoru has always been a man of ambition. A man who would scheme, fight, and even defy the gods for what he desires. And yet, as he holds your child in one arm and you in the other, murmuring teasing words against your ear before stealing another kiss, you realize something—

He had never needed Athena’s wisdom, Hermes’ speed, or any other divine favor to win you.

Because you had already been his, just as he had always been yours.

general masterlist

a/n thank u to my very supportive bestie @purplegemadventures i love all ur ideas ml <3 anyways like always all my beta readers are the goats thank you for reading my incomprehensible ideas. it's 5am and there's a mosquito that's hovering near me and im not totally happy w how this turned out but it was fun writing it kjenkjne. i may write more greek mythology aus but i need to lock in on my series....

ppl who asked to be tagged: @heh123321 @melotter

thank you for reading! reblog and comment to let me know ur thots <3