sathereal

[sathereal]

WITH OR WITHOUT YOU — S. GOJO

❝ sleight of hand and twist of fate ; on a bed of nails she makes me wait ❞

PAIRING — kingdom au ; peasant!gojo and princess!reader

SERIES SUMMARY — sneaking out was something y/n would never do, not in a million years. she followed the rules without question, always striving to embody the grace and dignity expected of her. raised to serve her kingdom with honor, she never imagined straying from the path laid out for her. that was before she met a charming peasant named satoru. now, y/n finds herself torn between duty and desire, between the life she was born into and the one her heart quietly longs for. to follow the rules would mean security and legacy. to follow satoru would mean freedom and love. for the first time in her life, y/n must choose.

SERIES CW — 18+ mdni, fem!reader, smut (eventual), forbidden romance, emotional repression, hurt/comfort, angst, trauma response, blood/injury, violence, class divide, protective gojo, slightly manipulative behavior, power imbalance, reader has a vagina, longing, identity concealment, arranged marriage themes, war references, emotional vulnerability, corruption, heavy tension. (may update)

chapter one

SUMMARY — the softness of an inexperienced princess and the ruggedness of a runaway warrior collide after y/n is rescued from the chaos of a starving, angry kingdom. in the quiet aftermath, something unfamiliar begins to stir—something that shakes the foundation of who she’s always been. as tension and connection grow between them, y/n finds herself questioning not only the expectations placed upon her, but the very nature of her devotion to them.

WC — 7.5k

authors note — thank you so much for considering reading!!! i haven't written fanfic, or been on tumblr, since 2021 so i apologize if the writing isn't enjoyable/is bad. i have no idea if it's a good idea for my first piece back on here to belong to a series but whatever. i truly hope you enjoy. the smut isn't going to be in this chapter, but it will eventually come up in the series!

masterlist (wip) ; series masterlist (wip)

y/n’s silk slippers, emerald green to match the adornments in her hair, brushed softly against the cool brick of the pathway leading into a garden of blooming morning glories and vibrant spring flowers. the rising sun cast a golden warmth over the garden, coaxing a small but deeply needed smile to her face. spring had finally arrived.

the long-awaited season broke through the cold grip of a bitter winter, a winter that had cloaked her kingdom in despair. the village beyond the castle walls had suffered greatly. death and disease had swept through the land, leaving behind sorrow that clung to every home, every heart. though warmth had always been at y/n’s fingertips, tucked safely away in the castle, her heart ached relentlessly for her people.

"your highness, the queen has requested a change of clothes for you." the faint yet familiar voice called out. y/n turned to see her lady-in-waiting approaching with careful steps. "she said what was picked out for you was too extravagant."

after offering a gentle smile, y/n looked down at her dress. a gown of cream silk, soft to the touch, that shimmered like morning light. layers of sheer fabric floated with the wind, and golden floral embroidery bloomed across the bodice and sleeves as if it had been kissed by the sun. tiny pearls adorned the neckline, and at her waist, a delicate belt of gold thread was fastened with polished emeralds, each one glinting like dewdrops in the early light.

"i dare say mother is right, kasumi," she said softly, fingers grazing the intricate stitching, "yet i am saddened. a bright dress for a bright day... spring is finally blossoming."

y/n stepped closer to her beloved companion, the scent of the garden curling gently between them.

kasumi’s expression shifted. "i wouldn’t quite say a bright day, considering the reasons for the village having an audience with the king."

y/n dropped her head slightly, knowing that kasumi was right. the troubles of last season had stirred deep unrest in the villagers, but she held faith that the king would make a just decision. he had always done right by his people, so why would he stop now?

but more than that, the queen wanted her daughter to be seen. to walk among the people, to smile through sorrow, to remind them that even after such a harsh winter, there was still gentleness, still light. the princess was to be that light, a promise that spring’s grace had returned to them.

the pressure of what y/n was about to endure—the thought of seeing the village’s suffering with her own eyes—wrapped tightly around her chest. the anticipation made her steps slower, heavier. she had seen sorrow from the castle windows, but to walk beside it... to meet the eyes of those who had endured such loss... that was something else entirely.

starting her way back into the castle, y/n gestured for kasumi to take her arm.

“thank you for all you do for me, kasumi,” she said softly, the corners of her mouth lifting with effort. “you’re truly my greatest friend.”

kasumi’s hand slipped into the crook of her arm with ease, her presence steady and grounding.

“and you are stronger than you know,” she replied. “whatever you face today, you won’t be alone.”

they continued their quiet walk, the morning light casting golden patterns across the stone floor, as if the sun itself wished to lend its warmth to the princess’s burden. the distant hum of the awakening castle just beginning to stir. petals danced in the breeze behind them, and for that brief walk, the weight of duty felt just a little lighter.

gojo had started his morning the way he always did. miserable. he hadn’t been in the kingdom long, having made his move there just last summer. the bitter, sorrowful winter that followed didn’t give him much hope for a future in the place, but it was all he had. running from the past didn’t leave many choices. so he kept his head down, swallowed whatever trouble came his way, and did his best to blend in, to survive. maybe one day, eventually, make something of himself here.

but every morning still felt like a weight. cold, uncertain, and heavy with the feeling that he didn’t quite belong. he pulled on his clothes for the day, his bland, poorly stitched linen that hung awkwardly on his frame. the fabric itched slightly at the collar, and the seams threatened to unravel at his elbows, but it did the job. no one in the village cared about appearance. not in times like these.

his job at the most popular tavern in town, kaisen, was modest but honest. he scrubbed dishes, swept floors, and occasionally helped serve customers. it wasn’t much, but it was quiet. safe. and for someone like gojo, quiet and safe was all he could ask for. at least, for now. 

on his way to work, gojo noticed something was off.

the town was louder than usual, buzzing with uneasy energy. it wasn’t the usual morning chatter or vendors setting up stalls. no, this was something different. even the weak and ill, who usually stayed tucked away in shadows or doorways, were out in the streets, their voices rising with urgency. it piqued his curiosity.

he slowed his pace, then veered off his path to work, deciding a detour wouldn’t hurt. weaving through the growing crowd, he tried to catch fragments of conversation, eyes scanning the restless faces around him. with every step, the tension thickened.

something wasn’t right.

people jostled for a better view of the road that led to the kingdom gates, and gojo’s gut twisted with unease. he didn’t like crowds, it had too many eyes, too much risk. whatever this was, it was big and maybe, just maybe, worth knowing.

gojo’s shoulders tensed as he pushed past a group of villagers, murmurs slipping through the rising noise like threads waiting to be pulled.

“they said the princess is coming” someone blurted from the crowd.

gojo narrowed his eyes. a princess? out here? it didn’t make sense. royals didn’t walk among commoners, especially not during times like these, when the kingdom was still hurt from winter’s chokehold.

he moved a little closer, staying quiet, blending into the worn faces and layered clothes around him. another voice spoke up, bitter and low.

“hope, they say. like hope is gonna feed our children or fix our homes.”

gojo’s gaze shifted toward the road. he didn’t believe in royals. not their smiles, not their charity. but if one really was coming out here, he wanted to see for himself.

that’s when he saw her.

she moved through the crowd with quiet grace, but what caught gojo off guard wasn’t her face, it was how plain she looked.

too plain for a royal.

she wore a fitted lilac gown, simple in design, nothing crafted to draw the eye or demand attention. a single silver belt cinched her waist, the only ornament on the entire ensemble. her hair was styled simply, too. no elaborate braids or jewels, just a thin silver band that matched the belt and the delicate silver threading of her slippers.

gojo blinked, trying to reconcile the image in front of him.

no guards announcing her presence, just following her every move. no fanfare. no lavish silk or golden embroidery. just a girl who looked more like a ghost of nobility than a princess, and yet, despite the simplicity, there was something about her. something still…untouchable. it brought confusion to gojo. a royal dressed like that, walking among them? he couldn’t make sense of it.

some of the villagers scoffed at the sight of her.

“who are they fooling?” a man muttered, arms crossed, eyes sharp with resentment. “they lived well while we starved and died.”

others nodded in agreement, their faces worn and hollow, unmoved by the softness in y/n’s eyes or the simplicity of her gown. to them, it wasn’t humility. it wasn’t hope. it was a mockery. a silk-wrapped gesture meant to feel human, but it stung instead, like rubbing salt into wounds that hadn’t healed. gojo stood silently among them, the voices rising around him like a tide of quiet anger. he didn’t speak, but he listened. they didn’t see a princess bringing spring. they saw a girl playing dress-up in sorrow she’d never tasted. and yet, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

gojo didn’t move, he just watched her, standing in the thick of the crowd, heart drumming a little faster for reasons he didn’t understand. his jaw tensed as the villagers’ words swirled around him. they were sharp, bitter, deserved. he couldn’t blame them. not after what they’d been through. not after what he had seen.

winter had torn through the village like a curse, ripping families apart, leaving more graves than full bellies. and while the people suffered, the castle remained warm. untouched. distant. he should’ve felt the same anger they did, in a way. so why now—looking at her in that plain lilac gown, with nothing but silence—did something twist in his chest?

maybe it was the way she looked at the crowd. not above them. not through them. she looked at them. not like a royal, but like someone who felt something, but feelings didn’t fix hunger and kindness didn’t bury the dead. gojo let out a slow breath, gaze narrowing.

she doesn’t know this life, he reminded himself. she doesn’t know what it costs to survive. and yet…something about her still made him hesitate.

before gojo could make sense of the feeling pulling at him, the sharp sound of trumpets cut through the air. the crowd stirred, voices dropped and heads turned. the announcement was unmistakable. it was the return of the army.

y/n’s brother, the crown prince, was coming home. and with him, the soldiers who had survived the war against ryomen sukuna, the ruthless leader of the opposing kingdom. the war that had drained the kingdom dry. gojo’s stomach twisted.

it all made sense now. the famine. the shortages. the silence from the palace while villagers buried their loved ones and rationed crusts of bread. everything had been fed to the war effort. every coin, every prayer, every promise, and now the victors were marching home.

the crowd began to shift, pressing toward the road. some craned their necks in search of familiar faces, others stood still, arms crossed, eyes filled with quiet rage. joy wasn’t the emotion that settled in the air, it was weariness, bitterness. gojo didn’t move, not yet. he glanced back at y/n. her posture was graceful, but her eyes, they weren’t celebrating either.

the rumble of hooves followed the trumpets, growing louder with each passing second. armored riders crested the hill in formation, the gleaming silver against the morning light. banners bearing the royal crest fluttered high above them, proud and pristine. but pride was not what filled the street.

gojo could feel it, like a low hum beneath his feet. the crowd wasn’t cheering. there were no songs, no applause. just shuffling feet, tightened jaws, and eyes that had seen too much to forget. he watched a mother clutch her child closer. an old man turned his back entirely. soldiers returned with medals and polished boots, but the people greeted them with silence. this wasn’t a homecoming. this was a reminder, a reminder of the price paid. of the sons and daughters who didn’t come back. of the money funneled into battle while the villagers burned their furniture to stay warm.

he saw y/n again, standing at the edge of the road, her expression unreadable. calm, maybe. or just practiced. she didn’t wave. she didn’t smile. and for a moment, gojo wondered if she felt it too, that tension that sat like a storm cloud between the people and their protectors. he wasn’t sure if it made her foolish or brave, standing out here like this, but she didn’t look away and neither did he.

as the army drew nearer, y/n stepped forward from the crowd, alone, save for a few soldiers who kept a respectful distance. her back straight, hands folded gracefully before her, she looked every bit the image of royal composure. gojo noticed the slight lift of her chin. the way her fingers tensed around the fabric of her gown. a trumpet blared again, louder this time.

“presenting crown prince megumi fushiguro, heir to the throne, commander of the king’s guard, and defender of the realm.”

the name rang through the crowd. megumi. 

gojo committed it to memory without thinking. he barely had time to consider it before the first screams pierced the air. not from joy, but grief.

a woman fell to her knees, her hands clutched over her mouth. beside her, a man stood frozen, eyes searching the procession for someone who never returned. gojo saw the realization spread across the crowd like frost: some would not be coming home. it was a quiet devastation, the kind gojo knew too well. the soldiers passed solemnly. faces were unreadable, eyes straight ahead, and then the prince appeared.

megumi rode at the front, sharp, poised, distant. he barely spared his sister a glance. gojo’s brows lowered slightly as he watched the prince ride past y/n, offering her no more than a flick of his gaze. no words. no warmth, just a silent dismissal, but she smiled anyway, just a small one. a respectful dip of her head, an offering of grace where none had been given. gojo couldn’t tell if it was for the people, for herself, or because she cared for her brother. then megumi addressed the crowd.

“to those who have lost family, i offer my deepest condolences,” he said, voice firm, carefully measured. “your loved ones fought bravely. they will be remembered.”

then he moved on. gojo stood still, arms crossed over his chest, something sharp curling in it. he said all the right words, gojo thought bitterly, but not one of them felt real. his eyes flicked back to y/n. she was still standing, still silent, the silver belt catching the light as the wind stirred her gown, and for the first time, he wondered what it cost to be her.

“that’s all you offer us?” the voice rang out, sharp and unafraid.

“after everything we sacrificed for this war?” the crowd rippled. heads turned. the man stepped forward, eyes burning. “your lack of empathy is appalling.”

a murmur grew into something louder, the frustration taking shape, grief turning to rage. more voices joined his, fueled by loss and hopelessness.

megumi didn’t flinch. he remained composed, expression unreadable, gaze fixed ahead as if the cries of the people weren’t meant for him, but the crowd didn’t fall silent. they turned to her.

“you’re well clothed, well fed, while we lay here in this state?”

“you’re all monsters.”

“you don’t deserve the crown. you deserve death, to be with the innocent people who were killed under your hand.”

gojo’s body stiffened. he could feel it, the way the energy shifted, sharp and dangerous, all of it aimed at her and she just stood there.

y/n didn’t cry. she didn’t shrink away. but her eyes, he saw it. the way they glossed, how her chest rose with a quiet, steadying breath. she wasn’t heartless, she wasn’t cold. she was enduring it. feeling it. the people couldn’t see it, blinded by the ache in their own hearts. all they could see was gold-stitched guilt and silver-threaded betrayal, but gojo saw her and for the first time in a long time, he felt something he thought he’d buried. the need to protect someone.

the crowd was moving now, not just yelling—inching closer and y/n, for all her composure, for all her quiet grace, now wore fear across her face like a veil. it was subtle, but unmistakable, her eyes wide, lips parted, body frozen in place. the guards reacted quickly, forming a barrier around her. swords drawn, stances firm but gojo could see the panic behind their discipline. there were too many people, too much grief turned into fire. 

megumi was gone. he had slipped into the castle, untouched, unmoved, whether out of ignorance or apathy, gojo didn’t know. maybe he hadn’t expected this. maybe he just didn’t care, but y/n was still here and suddenly, gojo couldn’t stay still anymore. the crowd surged, voices rising, hands reaching. and before he fully realized what he was doing, he was moving with them. not in anger, not in protest, but with purpose. a purpose to protect her.

he pushed past shoulders and outstretched arms. after ducking beneath someone, he reached her. y/n’s eyes locked on his for the briefest second, confused and terrified, but before she could speak, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

“don’t scream,” he muttered.

then he ran. the guards didn’t even have time to stop him. they were locked in with the crowd, trying to hold back the storm. gojo ducked down an alley, moving fast, y/n’s weight light against him as her slippers skidded across stone.

what had he just gotten himself into? his heart thundered in his chest. a runaway, a peasant, now probably facing a jail sentence. but he didn’t stop, not when she was shaking. not when he could still hear the cries of the mob behind them.

they were miles from the kingdom now, hidden deep within the forest, where the air smelled of damp moss and the only sound was the rustling of leaves and their breath still catching up to them. y/n’s body trembled. not from the run, not entirely. the fear still clung to her skin like cold water.

she had known the people were uneasy. she expected grief, sorrow, maybe even coldness. but this? the hatred in their eyes, the accusations spat like venom, she hadn’t been prepared for that and now, she was alone. no guards. no brother. no familiar walls to shield her, just him. the stranger who had pulled her from the crowd like a storm dragging her off course. she sat a few feet away from him now, still catching her breath, gaze flicking to his face—and his eyes.

blue.

not the soft kind, but sharp, almost unnatural. they watched her with an ease that made her wary and yet they drew her in. he grinned suddenly, catching her stare.

“beautiful, aren’t i?” he said with a smirk, not the least bit shy about her lingering gaze.

her cheeks flushed with heat. she turned her face away, biting back a response. not from offense but from something else. something dangerous. she wasn’t used to feeling this.

he was handsome, undeniably so. toned in a way that didn’t make sense for someone who supposedly spent winter starving. his white hair stood out against the forest green, wild but not aged. he looked young, maybe only a few years older than her but something was off. there was a looseness in his posture, a confidence that didn’t match the villagers she’d met. he wasn’t afraid, that made her nervous.

deciding she needed to breathe, y/n lowered herself into the forest floor, the moss cool beneath her palms. her chest rose and fell in heavy, trembling waves, her body still recovering from the sprint and the sheer panic of it all. she could feel his gaze linger, but not unkindly, it was curious and sharp, and she wasn’t sure if that unsettled her more than the crowd had.

“who are you?” she asked finally, not looking at him, but not afraid of the answer either. her voice was quiet but firm. the princess was still in there, somewhere beneath the fear. there was a pause, deliberate. then, from beside her, came a voice far too relaxed for the situation.

“wouldn’t it be more exciting if i kept that to myself?” he said. “names have weight. and i get the sense you don’t give yours freely.”

y/n turned her head just enough to look at him directly. he reclined in the grass like a man without consequence, his arms behind his head, legs crossed loosely at the ankles. everything about him suggested detachment, but his eyes were alert. assessing.

“you brought me into unfamiliar territory without escort or permission,” she said coolly. “i believe i’ve earned at least a name.”

he grinned. “fair enough. it’s satoru.”

she studied him. “is that your given name?”

“it is,” he said, gaze still on the trees above them. “and before you ask, i have no titles, no house. just satoru.”

y/n gave a small, reserved nod. “very well, satoru.”

he turned his head toward her at the way she said his name carefully, almost musically. then, with a smirk, he added, “but if you’d rather call me something sweeter, i won’t complain.”

“i’ll manage,” she replied, lips pressing into a line.

“if you intend to use this situation for leverage,” she added, her voice even, “i warn you that i will not be easily manipulated.”

satoru sat up slightly, leaning forward just enough to catch her gaze.

“what would i even do with a princess?” he asked, his tone quieter now, a little less teasing. “i’m not here to ransom you or threaten you.”

“then why are you here?” she asked, genuine curiosity seeping through her formality.

he shrugged.

“rescuing royalty,” he said, voice low, eyes narrowing with amusement. “it’s a new hobby of mine.”

y/n studied him for a long, quiet moment. he was charming but not careless, not entirely. there was something practiced in the way he deflected, how he kept just enough of himself hidden beneath easy smiles and sharp eyes.

“where are you really from, satoru?”

her tone was polite but expectant. not a demand, not yet. his grin didn’t falter, but his eyes flicked away, just briefly.

“somewhere that doesn’t matter anymore,” he said.

she didn’t believe that but before she could press further, he shifted, resting on one elbow and tilting his head toward her with a casual curiosity that barely masked his deflection.

“then let me ask you something, princess,” he said, voice low. “why were you at war?”

the question hung in the air. it was not a challenge, not quite, but loaded all the same.

she inhaled slowly, trying to quiet the ache in her chest. “to protect the kingdom,” she said carefully. “to stop sukuna from advancing further. we couldn’t afford to lose more than we already had.”

he nodded slightly. not agreeing, nor was he disagreeing.

“and still,” he said, glancing up through the trees, “the streets were lined with hunger. the faces in the crowd, they didn’t look like people who’d been defended.”

y/n’s gaze lowered. “after all the starvation, there weren’t many people left to defend.”

the silence that followed was heavier than before.

“war always takes more than it gives,” satoru murmured. “even when it’s necessary.”

his tone was softer now. not mocking, not cold, almost understanding. y/n turned toward him slightly, studying his profile, how his eyes didn’t quite meet hers now, how something behind his calm seemed distant.

“you’ve seen it, haven’t you?” she asked. “war.”

he didn’t answer and that, somehow, was answer enough.

y/n found herself far more intrigued by the stranger who called himself satoru than she cared to admit. there was something about him. his evasiveness, the casual charm laced with shadow, the way he said everything and nothing at once. she wanted to know more. needed to. there were so many unasked questions, so many possibilities lingering beneath that sly grin.

who was he, really? a mercenary? a runaway soldier? could he have even been a spy for sukuna? the thought sent a chill down her spine. before she could follow it any further, a sharp throb in her ankle pulled her back to the present. her breath hitched. the adrenaline had masked it until now, but the pain was rising steadily. she shifted her weight slightly and winced.

looking down, she noticed a tear near the hem of her gown, the delicate fabric stained with small streaks of crimson. she must have cut herself, perhaps on a branch or a jagged stone during the escape. the gash wasn’t deep, but it was raw and bleeding. her jaw tightened, more from frustration than pain. she hated showing weakness, especially in front of someone she barely knew but satoru was already glancing over, brows lifting with a flicker of concern.

“is everything alright?” satoru’s voice broke the silence, low but laced with concern, maybe. he inched closer, head tilting just slightly as he looked at her more carefully.

y/n immediately shifted, pulling her dress around her and covering the wound with her hand.

“yes,” she said quickly, too quickly. he didn’t believe her for a second.

with an exaggerated sigh, he rolled his eyes and closed the remaining distance between them, his movements unbothered, almost careless, especially for someone addressing royalty.

“you really think i haven’t seen worse?” he muttered, brushing her hand aside.

“excuse me—” she began, eyes narrowing.

“relax, i’m not trying to offend your royal pride,” he said, already kneeling to inspect the cut. “just making sure you’re not dying or anything.”

he scanned the wound with practiced ease. it wasn’t deep, just messy and scraped raw. he let out a silent breath of relief. the last thing he needed was for the princess of shibuya to bleed out in some forgotten part of the forest because of him. he was already in enough trouble for dragging her here without permission. if anyone saw this, it’d look bad. really bad.

"you’ll live,” he said, glancing up at her with a crooked smirk. “but don’t worry, i won’t take credit for the dramatic rescue and your injury. that would be greedy.”

“you left her in that chaos?” the king’s voice thundered through the private chamber, fury rising like a storm behind his eyes as he turned to megumi.

megumi stood rigid, jaw tight. he’d faced war. blood. death. but this—his father’s wrath—was something else entirely.

“i didn’t know it would turn that violent,” megumi said, voice even. “she had guards—”

“guards?” the king snapped, stepping forward. “you think a few swords would be enough to shield her from the rage of a starving kingdom?”

he laughed bitterly, but there was no humor in it—only disbelief. “you knew the state of the people. everyone in this part of the world does. and still, you walked away.”

megumi didn’t respond. he couldn’t.

“she’s never known violence,” the king continued, tone darkening. “never questioned her place, never defied an order. she’s lived her entire life tucked behind these walls, doing what was expected—what we asked of her.”

the king’s gaze bore into his son now, disappointment layered beneath the anger. “and you left her.”

he slammed his fist against the lacquered table, the crack of it echoing off the stone walls.

“this kingdom is barely holding on—once thriving, now on its knees before ryomen sukuna. and now? now we’re fielding marriage offers from lesser bloodlines just to salvage our standing.”

megumi’s fists clenched at his sides. he cursed himself, silently. for being careless. for underestimating the unrest. for leaving her alone, for being so unlike the king he was expected to become.

megumi had always been calculated and precise. it was what earned him command of the army, what made others trust him with strategy and lives. but now, standing under the heat of his father’s fury, he couldn’t help but wonder how hadn’t he seen this coming? or worse, maybe he had seen it and he just didn’t want to.

the truth clawed at the edges of his mind. over a year of bloodshed, march after march, watching comrades fall beside him, torn to pieces in battle. the screams, the silence that followed, the stench of death. it was all carved into him now. a permanent fixture, a sickness he’d stopped trying to cure. he didn’t want to read crowds anymore. didn’t want to anticipate the next riot or feel responsible for every life around him.

he just wanted to be home. in silence, in stillness, but even here, in the place he was raised, there was no comfort waiting for him.

only consequences.

as the tension in the chamber mounted, the doors burst open with a clang of steel. a guard rushed in, his face pale, chest heaving beneath his armor.

“your majesties,” he said, dropping to one knee. “i bring grave news.”

the king turned sharply. the queen, who had only just arrived at the threshold, froze mid-step.

the guard swallowed. “the princess…she’s missing.”

a silence fell so heavy it felt like the room had stopped breathing.

the queen’s expression crumbled, horror overtaking her features. “what?” she gasped, staggering forward. “no—no, that can’t be—how?” her voice broke as her hand flew to her mouth. “were you not with her? how could this have happened under your watch?”

the guard kept his eyes low. “there was unrest among the people. the crowd grew violent. we tried to hold them back, but in the chaos, she vanished. we’ve sent search parties beyond the gates.”

the queen turned to megumi then, her voice rising, desperate. “you were supposed to look after her. you left her out there.”

megumi’s fists clenched at his sides, jaw locked, eyes dark with something unspoken—but he said nothing.

the king didn’t speak either. he stood still, unnervingly so, but panic thundered behind his eyes. his daughter, his symbol of peace was gone. taken or lost, he didn’t know, but his heart sank with paralyzing thoughts of what could be happening to his only daughter.

“we’re making all possible efforts to locate her—” the guard began, voice tense.

“all of your efforts,” the king snarled, cutting him off, “had better bring her back.”

he turned sharply to megumi, his voice dropping into something colder. more final.

“as for you megumi, i want you out there with them. now. i don’t want to see your face in this palace again until your sister is found and returned alive.”

megumi opened his mouth, but the king didn’t wait for a response.

“we’ll be meeting with ryomen sukuna soon after,” he added, spitting the words out like venom before storming from the room, the doors slamming behind him.

the queen stood trembling, her hand pressed to her lips. her eyes shimmered with fear but she said nothing, only stared at the empty space where her husband had been.

megumi stood frozen, his thoughts racing.

why would father mention sukuna now? he wondered. why does y/n need to be here for that meeting?

then the realization hit him—sharp and sickening. a marriage proposal.

one of the offers the king had mentioned earlier. a political move to stabilize their faltering kingdom. a last resort, perhaps. or worse—something already in motion. megumi’s stomach twisted. he had seen what sukuna was capable of. he was more beast than man, a king built on cruelty, conquest, and power. and the thought of his sister standing beside that creature as a bride caused disgust to fill his body.

he clenched his jaw, the rage settling in his chest like fire. he would find her, and he would never let her be bound to a monster.

it had been hours since satoru had pulled her from the chaos. the forest around them had grown quieter, shadows stretching long between the trees, and with every passing moment, y/n’s anxiety deepened. the night would be approaching soon.

they were far from the castle, far from any path she recognized and no one had come for her. part of her was terrified to go back, to face the people, to feel their fury again. but she couldn’t stay out here forever, not in the woods, not as a fugitive from her own kingdom.

a soft rustle caught her attention. satoru had returned to the mossy clearing, his sleeves damp, hands slightly chilled from the spring water he’d used to clean the cut on her leg. he looked oddly thoughtful, gaze distant, as if turning something over in his mind.

maybe rescuing her hadn’t been a mistake. maybe this was the break he’d been waiting for. not a problem, but a chance. something good. maybe, just maybe, the king would reward him for his noble act. stranger things had happened.

her voice broke through his thoughts, soft and sincere.

“thank you, satoru.” she stretched her hand across the moss, fingers brushing the green, plush surface. “you’ve shown me nothing but kindness, even though we were strangers until today. i am truly grateful.”

he turned toward her slowly, catching her eyes. then his lips curled into that familiar, shameless grin.

“is this where i’m granted a soft kiss from the beautiful princess?” he teased, leaning back on his hands with exaggerated ease.

y/n let out a small breath of a laugh, shaking her head as she looked away, half amused, half flustered.

“i said grateful,” she said, voice cool, but her smile betrayed her.

“gratitude comes in many forms,” he said with a wink. “i’m just listing my preferred one.”

y/n’s gaze lingered on his a moment too long.

there was something in his eyes. mischief, yes, but also something gentler beneath it. sincerity, maybe. or simply the ease of someone untouched by court expectations.

her eyes drifted, almost unconsciously, to his lips. they did look soft.

she caught herself and turned away sharply, shaking her head, embarrassed by her own thoughts. what am i doing? she scolded herself. this is not the time.

she was a princess who was hidden away in the woods, having narrowly escaped the fury of her own people. a nation on edge. a brother who’d abandoned her. a father likely enraged. he was a commoner. a stranger. a man who spoke in riddles and smiles, and yet somehow made her feel safer than the guards who’d sworn to protect her.

absurd, she thought. still, her heartbeat refused to steady.

gojo bit back a laugh.

he’d been a womanizer once, without apology. before shibuya, before the war, before he started running. charm was easy. flings even easier. women came and went like passing seasons. beautiful, forgettable.

but none of them had been like her.

no one had ever looked at him the way she just had. not with judgment or fear, but with curiosity. like she was trying to piece him together, even as she tried to convince herself to stay away.

and now she sat here, barefoot and bruised, more royal in rags than any crown had right to be. trembling yet dignified.

dangerous, he thought. because she could be the one thing i don’t walk away from.

“your brother, the prince,” gojo said, shifting his weight as he leaned back against a tree trunk. “what’s his deal?”

his tone was casual, but the question was deliberate. he needed to change the subject, to get his mind off the fact that he was sitting too close to a girl he had no business feeling anything for. especially not this girl.

y/n’s brow twitched ever so slightly. the phrasing alone, what’s his deal, felt irreverent. careless.

she turned her eyes toward him, cool and unimpressed. “how would you feel if you’d just returned from bloodshed?” she asked, her tone sharper than before. “months in the field. death in every direction. carrying home less than half of the men you left with.”

her expression soured as she spoke, but only for a moment. then, as her eyes met his again, she remembered.

he had seen war too. maybe not in royal armor, but she’d seen it in the hollowness behind his grin. in the way he didn’t flinch when danger rose. in the quiet that followed his charm.

gojo didn’t respond right away. he only watched her, the teasing in his face dimming slightly.

“yeah,” he murmured after a beat. “i’d probably shut the world out too.”

and that was exactly what gojo had done. he shut the world out because letting it in only made it harder to survive.

he wasn’t just some drifting villager, not really. he was a warrior, though few would guess it from his lazy grin and half-hearted jokes. he’d lived under another name, one spoken in whispers across bloodied fields.

the honored one.

his skills were unmatched. fast, ruthless, precise. a ghost in battle, a weapon disguised as a man. he didn’t belong to any one kingdom, he just moved from war to war, hired by crowns and councils that didn’t care who he was, only what he could do. he fought for coin, not cause. for survival, not loyalty.

none of those wars had ever been his. but that was what he signed up for, wasn’t it? to be needed, not known. to win, not belong.

now here he was, watching a princess run her fingers through moss and speak with a fire in her chest he hadn’t felt in years. and for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t thinking about the next job.

he was thinking about her and that scared him more than any battlefield ever had.

“i apologize,” the princess said gently, her voice quiet against the rustling trees. “i shouldn’t have said that. i have no idea what you might’ve gone through.”

her eyes held something vast. not just beauty, but depth. grace that hadn’t been trained into her, but born with her. it caught him off guard. how effortlessly kind she was. not just polite, not out of duty. why would a royal, the daughter of a king, apologize to someone like him? to a man she thought was a commoner, a nobody?

she didn’t know the truth. didn’t know the blood on his hands, the names he’d left buried in forgotten battlefields. didn’t know that the people who had once called him the honored one had also feared him and yet, here she was. offering him softness no one had ever spared him.

nothing about y/n was selfish. nothing about her matched the other royals he’d worked for. those who wore crowns but ruled with coldness. no, she was different and that, more than anything, made her dangerous. kindness like hers could make someone like him believe he was worth saving.

“i guess i can forgive you,” gojo said with a smirk, his voice curling into something playful. “even though i never got that kiss.”

his grin was easy, teasing, meant to lighten the mood, to sweep away the weight of everything they weren’t saying. he hated intensity, especially with women. it made things complicated. made him feel too much.

his smile showed a joke, nothing more than a light flight, but his eyes, his mind, wanted more. he felt drawn in. he wanted to feel her soft lips on his. his eyes betrayed him, part of him wasn’t joking. there was something about her that pulled him in. soft, steady, and dangerously quiet. the kind of draw he couldn’t joke his way out of.

he imagined what it might feel like. her lips against his. slow, uncertain, but real. not because of status or gratitude or timing, but because she wanted to be there in that moment.

he let the thought pass, barely, and leaned back again like it hadn’t crossed his mind at all.

y/n wasn’t experienced in romance, not truly.

she had yearned for it once, quietly, in the tender days of her youth—those fleeting moments between duty and obedience, where dreams whispered what it might be like to be seen beyond her title. she remembered a curious prince from years ago, her seventeenth birthday gala, his hand at her waist during a dance, his smile warm, his words flirtatious.

for a moment, she’d believed love might feel like that, but it had passed. and nothing had come of it. still, she remembered how her chest had fluttered. how her heart had ached when he left. and yet, even then, she hadn’t understood it. not the way she felt now.

gojo was nothing like that prince. his gaze didn’t feel practiced or polished—it felt sharp. real. there was a weight in the way he looked at her, like he saw more than a princess in fine slippers and political worth. like he saw a girl with bruised ankles and trembling hands and still thought she was something worth staring at.

y/n didn’t know what to do with that.

she had always done what she was told. silence came naturally. obedience even more so. her place in the world had always been defined for her. here now, sitting beside gojo, tangled in moss and uncertainty, she didn’t feel like a princess. she felt like herself, something she didn't even know existed and she didn’t know if that was terrifying or intoxicating.

the darkness began to settle around them, the sun barely threading its last golden rays through the trees. long shadows stretched across the mossy ground, and the once warm forest now felt a touch colder—more uncertain.

“i think we need to take the risk and go back,” y/n said softly, a hint of unease in her voice. her fingers curled slightly into her skirts.

she’d never been beyond the kingdom walls at night, the dark outside the castle was unknown. it wild, full of sounds she didn’t recognize and dangers she’d only heard in whispers.

gojo glanced at her, then stood, stretching casually before turning to scan the trees with a deliberate ease.

“oh don’t worry, gorgeous,” he said, flashing a grin. “you’ve got me.”

he meant it as a tease, but his eyes were serious as they swept the surrounding woods, alert for anything that moved. despite everything, he wasn’t about to let anything happen to her.

when he sat back down beside her, the air between them shifted again.

a soft floral scent rose from her skin. it was delicate, sweet, and entirely her. it slipped into his lungs and lingered there like a whisper.

a pretty scent and a prettier girl.

he drew in a slow, quiet breath, grounding himself.

he could control himself—he would, but it was getting harder. every moment spent beside her, every glance, every breathe had pulled at something raw inside him.

don’t be reckless, he told himself. not with her.

y/n felt warmth rising in her chest. it was not from fear, but from the man sitting beside her. the creaking of the trees, the rustle of leaves, even the cold night air. they all faded in comparison to the intensity of gojo’s presence. his arm brushed hers slightly, and it was as if the forest disappeared.

“you’re gorgeous yourself, you know,” she said quietly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.

immediately, her eyes widened.

what are you doing? heat rushed to her cheeks, and she turned her face away in quiet horror.

get it together, she scolded herself, you don’t say things like that. not to him, but next to her, gojo smirked with his gaze still fixed forward.

oh, he’d heard it and he definitely knew he still had it in him. even in simple rags, women adored him.

“oh, am i?” gojo teased, his voice low, the amusement curling at the edges. “then why can’t you look at me right now? it’s as if you’re scared of my face.”

y/n’s breath caught, her chest rising just a little too fast. slowly, almost hesitantly, she turned to face him. moonlight streamed through the trees, casting silver across his features—softening the sharp angles, lighting up the ocean of his eyes.

and god, they were beautiful.

“i don’t think anyone could be scared of your face,” she murmured, the words quiet but steady. “least of all me.”

their eyes locked in the stillness. her fear, his pride, the cold night, the warmth between them, it all hung in the air like something waiting to fall.

without much of a second thought, y/n leaned toward him, drawn in by the quiet intensity behind his eyes, they were hypnotic. glacial and burning all at once. the kind of gaze that made her forget titles, rules, the world entirely.

she wanted to feel his lips on hers. she wanted to lose herself in this handsome stranger who had risked everything for her and in that moment, it didn’t feel reckless, it felt necessary.

gojo knew it was coming, he knew it probably shouldn’t happen. something in him also knew he wasn’t going to stop it.

he moved in too, slow and steady, as if he could meet her halfway without shattering the delicate thread between impulse and restraint. their faces were just inches apart, breath to breath, heartbeat to heartbeat.

“y/n.”

the voice broke through the stillness, dull and distant, but unmistakable. flat, trying too hard to sound calm. as if someone had buried their panic beneath stone. her name hung between the trees, and everything stopped.

[sathereal]

gojo fucking your thighs as practice bc he’s too big… MDNI 18+

"fuck," gojo hisses, hips stuttering. "so warm... can't believe this isn't even-fuck, baby, it's not even inside."

it never is. not yet. it's why he started this in the first place— "practice," he'd called it, with that lilting cadence, teasing but half-serious, wrapping your thighs around him and murmuring that you needed to get used to how he felt first. he's too big for you. the first time he'd ground against you bare, the head of it barely kissing your entrance, you flinched. now he doesn't even try to hide his anticipation.

it starts the same every single time. you on your back, thighs drawn together, pressed tight around him while his cock—thick and leaking and absurd in scale-glides between them. the apex of your thighs is smeared with your arousal and his precum, making each shallow thrust sound obscene. you also can feel how badly he wants it—veins bulging along his length, tip flushed a rosy pink, leaving streaks of precum across your inner thighs each time he drags forward. he grinds up, excruciatingly slow, the engorged head catching against your folds with every stroke. you whimper when it brushes your clit. he shudders. your legs tense around his waist. he drinks in your face, the way your lips part, how your lashes flutter when the head of his cock catches at your clit, a slippery near-miss. you whimper-soft and high-pitched. "toru!"

"don't—fuck—don't say it like that." gojo croaks, almost angry with restraint. "gonna lose it." in contradiction to his words, his hips roll forward, nudging again against the tight ring of your entrance. he wants in. he's wanted in for weeks.

"baby," he nuzzles your jaw. there's a sweetness to it that is inherently deceptive, "lemme-just the tip. c'mon, jus' a little." you shake your head before you can stop yourself. he groans, wounded, forehead falling against your collarbone. stays there for a beat. then you feel it: a nudge. insistent, clumsy, the swollen head of his cock pressing into your entrance, starting to stretch you past what you thought possible. no thrust, not yet— just the threat of his size.

"please," you can't tell if he's begging you or himself. "wanna feel you. wanna be good, but you're killing me." and you believe him. the strongest sorcerer's voice is breaking, and you can feel how his whole body is rembling with restraint.

"fine.... just a bit," you concede. he doesn't wait for more than a nod. hands braced under your thighs, he pushes in.

[sathereal]

“Be my guest, be my guest— put your pu$$y to the test!”

pairing: incubus!sukuna x f!reader

synopsis: just your luck, you inherit a candelabra after your grandmother dies. everyone left specific instructions not to light it, but you do it anyways.

if only somebody had told you that lighting all three candles would release a hot, beefy incubus that hasn't fed on energy in hundreds of years.

cw: crack, smut, dubcon (she thought he was a ghost, but his natural aphrodisiacs got her 2x), piv, full-nelson, he's just really hungry that's all, idk anything about sex demons or lumiere

“What would she give me this for? She left cousin Andy a car, but i get an ugly ass candle from the fucking 1700s?!”

“Stop it! Your grandmother left you more than just that, don’t be ungrateful. And it’s called a candelabra, have some respect,” your mother continues to scold you. 

“Whatever,” you grumble back, not wanting to argue over a candle any longer than you actually have. 

Maybe if you were a child you would’ve liked it, but now? Absolutely not. It doesn’t even fit the aesthetic of your apartment! But your mother insists you keep it in memory of your grandmother. 

It’s never even been lit, what’s so special about this thing anyway? 

“Just keep it,” your mother says, throwing her purse over her shoulder, “it’ll be nice to have something to remind you of her here. And remember—”

“I know, I know— don’t light it,” you cut her off.

“Good,” she chirps, “alright, I’ll see you soon.”

—

You didn’t listen to her. 

But here’s the thing, why not? It’s meant to be lit! If you’re going to be forced to keep the thing, it might as well be useful. It’s spa night anyways, it’ll add to the ambiance. 

The candelabra just barely lights your bathroom as you soak in a warm bath. For a second you thought it wasn’t going to work, it took forever trying to light all three candles. After a few minutes of lighting, grumbling complaints about how useless the thing is, and relighting, you finally get the flames to stay— setting it on the bathroom counter before lowering yourself into the tub. 

You take a deep breath and let your body go completely limp in the warm water, eyelids growing heavy, mind becoming hazy. It’s a rare moment of peace. To think that you don’t do this more often is mind boggling, you’d probably be able to mitigate some stress in your life if you took some more time for yourself like this. 

It’s heaven, until—

“Ow– fuck!” you hiss, slapping a hand over the burning skin on your shoulder. The searing pain of candle wax hitting and dropping down your shoulder made your entire body jolt. 

Is a moment of stillness too much to ask for? Apparently. Stupid fucking candle, you just lit it— which brings you to another thing— it’s not that close to edge. Getting hit by hot wax was impossible. 

Water splashes against the sides of the tub as you abruptly get up and push the piece of shit antique further away from the edge, grumbling something under your breath about how your grandmother cursed you with the thing. Never in your life did you think you could have this much anger towards an inanimate object, yet here you are, holding a grudge against one.

You irritatedly sink back down into the tub, trying your best to ignore the lingering sting on your shoulder. Luckily it was just candle wax and nothing worse, couldn't be that harmful if people used it as a form of foreplay. The most it’d do is leave some redness for an hour or two. 

You slowly inhale as you lay your head back against the edge, attempting to relax for the second time in under five minutes. 

Deep breath in. 

Someone else takes a deep breath out.

Your eyes shoot open in horror and find something worse than a ghost— a man. 

It leaves you so startled that you don’t even notice the dim light completely going out. The only source of light you have now is from the moon, and it shines on him perfectly, showcasing his sharp features and sculpted body. 

What makes it all worse is he looks way more relaxed than you are on the opposite side of the tub, big arms lazily draped over the sides, a blissed out expression on his face.

His eyes slowly open, looking right at you as if he hadn’t just intruded on your spa night. “Hope you don’t mind,” he purrs, voice deep and raspy. “Been ages since I’ve had a good soak.”

A blood curdling scream erupts from your chest as you pull your knees up to your chest. “OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters to himself, all while you continue to scream your heart out.

He doesn’t react in the way you’d like, which would be getting the fuck out. Instead he sticks a finger in his ear and twists it with an inconvenienced look on his face, acting as if you had just bursted his eardrums. 

“Are you done?” he grumbles, now glaring at you for ruining his peace. 

“NO! I– WHAT THE FUCK?” you continue to freak out. “WHO ARE YOU?? HOW DID YOU EVEN GET IN HERE?!”

“You humans are as annoying as ever I see,” he instead complains. “You lit all three candles, woman— and now I’m being subjected the mental torture.”

“You’re being subjected to mental torture?” you gasp. “What about me? There’s an intruder in my h— wait, what?!”

“You. Lit. The. Candles,” he spells it out like you're stupid, and quite frankly, you are— your mother told you not to light them, he heard it himself. “And now I am free.”

“I don’t— I don’t understand, what do you mean you’re free?” you asked, now panicking on what that’d entail. 

“Exactly that,” he says, a grin begins to slowly form, “you’ve broken the seal, opened the door— my soul was trapped and you, my dumb little lamb, have set me free.”

Nothing was more satisfying than watching your eyes widen in horror— the initial fear of the unknown wasn’t the most terrifying part of it all. It was the realization that yes, this is real, and no, you cannot escape this.

“But don’t worry, it’s not like I’ll be wreaking havoc on the world,” he says, in an attempt to stop you from spiraling mentally. “Unless you ask me to do so, of course, since I’m now bound to you and all.”

Your descent into hopelessness continues. 

“No,” you shake your head. “Bound to me? I don’t want that, no— can you just go back??”

He chuckles, “that’s not how it works. Doesn’t matter if you don't want it either, you still lit those candles— something you put a lot of effort into, might I add.”

“I didn’t know!” you argue.

“Neither did your grandmother,” he leans back with a shin eating grin, “yet she had some sense, enough to at least listen to her own grandmother. I can only imagine the disappointment those before you must be feeling right now.”

“Wait, you can talk to them?”

“Do I look like a fucking wizard to you?” he asks irritatedly.

“Not at all," you answer as calmly as you can, "what are you then?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves a hand, immediately shutting you down. “Not like it’d change anything.”

“Knowing would make me feel better though.”

“No it wouldn’t,” he shuts you down again, then smiles. “But lucky for you, I know just the thing that would instantly make you feel better.”

“What?”

—

Heavy doesn’t even begin to describe the air in your room— it’s different. It’s hot. Suffocating. It clings to you and something in you burns because of it, making you want to crawl out of your skin from how sensitive you are. 

You were too far gone to know what, or better yet, who had caused it. And unfortunately, he also happened to be the only thing that made you feel better. 

It’s been hours.

He’s folded you into more positions than you could count, made you cum more times than anyone else has, and it’ll never be enough for you. He has you stuck in a state where you will continue to want and beg for more. At least until he’s done feeding off your energy, which he’s loving right now by the way. 

It usually doesn’t take this long, but then again getting sealed away for hundreds of years isn’t a usual occurrence either. He’s starving— this’ll take as long as it needs to take. Lucky for you, he’s pushing out way more of his energy than he usually would, five times the regular amount to be exact. 

He’s practically flooding you with it, when really it should be a light mist. Explains why you’re burning up so much, but he figures it’s worth it with everything else you’re getting. Has to be with how soaked you are. Or with how happy you look when he shoves his cock back inside of you, because the 5 seconds without it to change positions is too long apparently. 

Teasing you is apparently a crime too, but he likes hearing you whine and beg for him. 

Especially right now— legs spread wide on his lap, leaned up against his chest. He runs his tip through your folds, rubs your clit, nudges at your hole. The entire time you’re a panting mess, clenching around absolutely nothing while he plays with you.

“What a sensitive little cunt you have,” he comments, continuing to spread your slick all over.

“Put it in already,” you murmur. “Please.”

“Wow, so you do know your manners?” he stifles a laugh, hooking his hands under your knees. “Put it in yourself then.”

“Wait– what?” 

“Or would you prefer to take it up your ass this time?” he asks irritatedly. 

“No!”

“Then don’t make me repeat myself,” he scolds you. “Put the fucking tip in before I put in something else.”

Without another word you grab the base and line his tip at your entrance. He’s pushing you down and you're already sighing from relief from the feeling you're more than comfortable with at this point. 

“Fuckin’ tight like this,” he groans, not that it’s a complaint. 

If anything he grows impatient and picks up the pace, your moans growing more strangled until you’re completely cut off but the sound of his hips snapping against you. He locks you in a full nelson and drills every single inch into you. 

You didn’t think he could get any deeper yet here he is, hitting all the right places while fucking you without a care in the world. It’s fucking intense, you want to close your legs but your knees are pinned to the sides of your chest. Your head’s locked in place and you can’t even look away. All you can do is cry and scream his name and he just laughs at you. 

He continues to snap his hips up, pumping his thick cock into you, fully dragging it out before shoving it back in.

“What’s the matter?” He mockingly asks. “You were just demanding I put it in, don’t tell me this is too much now.” 

“No, I— it’s— so big.” You whimper towards the end, he goes faster, harder.

“Tch— too much huh?” he grumbles, “the aphrodisiac must’ve worn off.”

He’s still fucking the shit out of you when the words leave his mouth. He didn’t even realize it until you started to freak out. 

“An aphrodisiac?!” you cry out, “I thought I was going to die! When did you even give me one?” 

He sighs and decides to tell the truth, “my body makes it, and as an incubus, I can control how much of it I can release.” 

“A SEX DEMON?!”

“IN-CU-BUS,” he corrects you, “and don’t you dare change your stance on me now, not when you were calling me ‘daddy’ just an hour ago.” 

You don’t respond to that right away, you're instead hit by a wave of shame as you remember that little detail— remembering how he played along, calling you ‘daddy’s stupid little whore’. You really are going to hell.

But then you remember something you learned in high school. 

“ARE YOU FUCKING FEEDING OFF OF ME?!” 

Because Sukuna has not fed off anyone in for-fucking-ever, he decides to just flood you with some more of his energy again. Not the most ethical response, but you like it when he fucks the neediness away.

The temperature of your body begins to quickly rise, immediately putting a guilty-needy look on your face before turning your head to look at him. 

“Would you like me to continue?” he asks, stifling a laugh. 

“Please?”

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[sathereal]

grumpy bf sukuna when you get needy for attention.

he'd been busy all day. focused on one thing after the other, yet none of those things seemed to be you. you'd tried the whole huffing loudly, hoping to get his attention.

didn't work.

you'd tried massaging his shoulders, kissing his neck, but he waved you off every single time.

but that evening, you're practically dying for any type of attention from him. a glance. a comment. anything! he stands up from his desk, rolling his shoulders back with a grunt. no wonder his back hurts- he's been sat there all day.

he glances at you, seeing the pout on your lips, the scowl on your face and your cross arms. he raised a brow.

"what's wrong?" he'd mutter. the cheek of him.

you say nothing, staring up at him with that same scowl / pout he adores so much.

"tch. speak up, woman. what do you want?" he says, turning to you fully and crossing his arms to mimic your stance.

"you've been sat there all day. i haven't even gotten a single glance!" you say, stern.

he'd smirk. "yeah? you can't survive one day without attention?"

"no! of course i can't!" you exclaim. hed just smirk again, titling his head as he looks down at you.

"tch. needy woman. come here then." he'd sigh, opening his arms. you leap into them, wrapping your arms around his neck and legs around his waist. he'd sigh, shaking his head with fake annoyance.

but it doesn't annoy him, not really. he does it on purpose to just see that cute pout on your lips. you tell him he's mean, that he shouldn't ignore you, but he'll do it again. just to see that little grumpy face scowl up at him.

he loves it.

[sathereal]

You swear Satoru pretends he’s not as strong when he’s around you. The man will let you shove him and then immediately collapse to the floor, whining that you’re just sooo mean to little ol’ him :(

So, of course, when he’s about to leave for the day, expecting his usual morning kiss, and you’re not exactly giving him what he wants (just those quick, annoying little pecks), he starts getting that look.

That stupid grin.

Big and dopey, blue eyes crinkling as his snowy lashes flutter, leaning in closer each time you try to pull away, chasing your mouth like a fool in love. “Nooo, come back. You know what I want.”

And obviously, you’ve had enough.

You grab him by the front of his jacket, spin him, and pin him up against the wall. One hand cupping his pec, because if you’re gonna do this, you’re gonna do it right, and the other curling around the sharp line of his jaw as you lean in and kiss him.

Sloppy. Messy. Tongue sliding into his mouth, breath warm and close, and you swear you hear a moan slip from the back of his throat.

You murmur against his lips, “This is where you're weak, right?”

And it’s like you hit a pressure point. His legs buckle slightly, spine curving like you knocked the air out of him. If you weren’t holding him up, he’d probably be sliding straight down the wall. His fingers twitch like he wants to grab you, anchor himself, but all he can do is giggle breathlessly against your mouth, brain clearly buffering.

When you finally pull back, he’s flushed. Blinking like you just smacked him. The tips of his ears are pink, his lashes fluttering as he stammers, “What the hell was that, baby, no, nuh uh, you come back here and finish what you started.”

And now he’s whining at the door like the poor, lovesick puppy he is, mumbling about how he’s gonna be thinking about that kiss all day.

You change his contact to 'Masochistic freak' after he finally leaves to go on some random mission.

[sathereal]

an imperial command a knight!choso fic

pairing ⸺ knight/warrior!choso x princess!reader

summary ⸺ you, the princess of the nation, and choso, the son of your father's most trusted general, have been inseperable since birth. but after many deem it inappropriate for him to be so close to you, the distance between you and him only deepens after he leaves for war. when he comes back older and a more handsome, bigger version of the choso of your childhood, you both grapple with love, duty, and test the bounds of propierty.

warnings ⸺ smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, reader has a vagina, classism? not really, reader may seem pushy at times, not edited, very sweet love confession, happy ending, fingering, breast worship, virgin reader, mutual loss of virginity, mentions of sexism and archaic beliefs about virginity, pathetic choso, soft dom choso, p i v sex, gentle choso :(, me being really horny about his HAPPY TRAIL

a/n it's something about a hot decorated warrior that crumbles at the thought of you...

general masterlist

You and Choso had been inseparable since birth.

As the princess of the realm and the son of the general—your father’s most trusted advisor and sworn brother—it seemed ordained by fate itself that you should become steadfast companions. And companions you were; as babes, you darted through the royal gardens, frolicked in the halls of the palace, and devised schemes to escape the ever-watchful eyes of your tutors. Only the constraints of your education would separate you. You were confined to lessons in the classical tongues, the harp, and courtly diplomacy, while Choso immersed himself in the arts of the sword, the strategies of war, and the unyielding discipline of a soldier.

“Choso!” you squealed, your laughter ringing through the royal gardens as you fled from an imagined dragon. You ran toward him, your skirts billowing behind you, and found him poised and ready. His knees were bent, his gaze unwavering, and his small wooden sword clutched tightly in his hands. He glared past you at the phantom threat with the solemnity of a true knight.

“I will save you, Your Highness!” he roared and lunged, hacking away at the demon passionately. You cheered him on, giggling at his act.

“You’ve done it!” you cheered, clapping your hands in delight. But then your eyes widened in feigned terror. “Look, another one approaches!”

Choso spun around at your warning, his attention diverted just as you had planned. Seizing the moment, you imagined the dreadful beast closing in on his unguarded back.

“Watch out!” you exclaimed, grabbing a fallen branch to defend him. With a bold leap, you placed yourself between Choso and the imagined peril, brandishing your twig as though it were a knight’s blade.

“I’ve got you!” you declared, laughing as you swung your newfound weapon, the pair of you lost in the unrestrained joy of childhood.

Of course, while the king, your father, appreciated you so closely acquainted with his general’s son, your mother did not seem to think it wise that you become estranged from the daughters of nobles; after all, you would need to forge relationships early on to strengthen your future court. This led to many a playdates being interrupted.

“You didn’t need to save me!” Choso whined, pouting while crossing his arms. 

However, you held out a pudgy hand, patting his hair as if to soothe him. “It’s okay, Choso. If you ever need saving, I’ll always be there—” “YOUR HIGHNESS!” You heard footsteps running towards where the both of you were sitting idly. When parrying the imaginary monster’s attacks, you had tumbled on top of Choso, your dress and limbs entangled with his and both of your hair unruly. Hearing your governess’ voice led you to pout, for you were sure to earn a scolding for fooling around with Choso rather than practicing the violin for the nth time. Alas, you couldn’t escape her—as well as Choso’s nannies, who had appeared—and you both looked sheepishly at their horrified faces.  

Frowning, Choso’s nanny stomped towards the both of you, untangling you both impatiently and, once you were both standing, giving Choso a light smack on his head while bowing towards you. “Your Highness, I apologize, but the both of you mustn’t do such things anymore. You both are far past the age that this is appropriate.”

“What?” You pouted, disappointed in having to back to your room, confined to practice your violin with those dreadful, boring tunes. “What isn’t appropriate about this? We’re just playing—”

“Your Highness,” your governess began, her strained smile barely masking her displeasure. “It is not fitting for a princess to engage in such… undignified behavior. You must remember your station. A young lady of your rank is expected to conduct herself with grace and decorum at all times.”

Choso’s nanny, now tidying his tousled hair with brisk, efficient motions, added in a sharper tone, “And you, young master, should remember your place. You are not her equal but her servant’s son. Such familiarity is unbecoming.”

At her words, Choso’s face turned pale, his gaze dropping to the ground. His hands clenched into small fists at his sides, but he said nothing, his lips pressed tightly together. You could see the effort it took him to remain still, his shoulders stiff with tension.

“Choso?” you called softly, tilting your head to catch his eye. 

However, he did not look up, though his voice came, quiet and steady. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I… I won’t do it again.”

Your brows furrowed, your chest tightening at the sight of his downcast expression. “What are you apologizing for?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended. “You’ve done nothing wrong! We were only playing.”

“Your Highness!” your governess interjected, her tone scandalized. “Such defiance is unbecoming. You must understand—”

“I understand perfectly,” you snapped, cutting her off. “I understand that I don’t care for these rules. Choso is my friend, and I decide what is and isn’t proper!”

Choso’s nanny inhaled sharply, but he quickly stepped forward, shaking his head fervently. “Please, Your Highness,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. “Don’t… don’t say such things for me. I’ll… I’ll do as I’m told. I promise.”

“Choso!” you exclaim, betrayed as the sting of his words settling in your chest. His gaze still refused to meet yours, fixed instead on the ground between you.

Your governess, sensing her victory, straightened. “Your Highness, you must return to your chambers immediately. Your music tutor is waiting. And as for you, Master Choso, your training will resume at once. I trust there will be no further disruptions.”

Neither of you spoke as the governess and the nanny ushered you away in opposite directions, their sharp voices ringing in your ears. Yet, as you glanced over your shoulder, you caught one last fleeting glimpse of Choso, his hesitant gaze finally meeting yours for the briefest of moments. It held a quiet resolve that only deepened your frustration.

“Wait and see,” you muttered under your breath as you were dragged back toward your chambers. “I’ll change this someday.”

That was the last time he ever spoke your name aloud; now, you were only Your Highness and The Royal Princess. It irritated you to no end; you were his friend, not his superior. But he insisted, falling deeper and deeper into the depths of social proprietary and hierarchy his nannies and parents were no doubt pressuring him into. You could only take what you had; if he was refusing your affection, he would at least not refuse royal commands of rendezvous.

Years had gracefully unfolded since that day, and now, as teenagers, your clandestine meetings in the royal gardens had blossomed into cherished rituals beneath the cloak of night. The gardens, adorned with that glowed under the moon's gentle gaze, became the sanctuary where you and Choso could momentarily escape the rigid expectations of courtly life.

As you approached the secluded alcove near the ancient marble fountain, your heart fluttered with a mixture of anticipation and nervous excitement. 

And there he was.

Choso waited beneath the willow tree, his dark eyes darting between the swaying branches and the dimly lit path beyond. The shadows stretched long in the garden, and the faint sound of patrolling guards put a furrow in his brow. He shifted on his feet, arms crossed tightly as though bracing himself for some reprimand.

When you finally appeared, dressed in your lighter night robes, he let out a small breath of relief. “Your Highness, you shouldn’t—”

“Can you stop that?” You whine, brushing him off and making a move to sit in the swing right by the tree. You lightly swing your feet, establishing a gentle rhythm while you grin mischievously at him, meeting your lighthearted eyes with his furrowed, slightly worried ones. “Don’t be such a spoilsport, Choso. No one’s going to catch us.”

He can only shake his head, for after years of friendship had led him to know one universal truth: if there was one thing, it was that your mind, once resolute, could not be changed. “I don’t know how you keep wanting to risk them discovering this.” Then, he sighs, lamenting weakly, “and why I have to dragged into this.”

You flash him an innocent smile, about to give a cocky response about how you’re the princess and it’s not like Choso doesn’t want this…right? but both of you pause, deadly still, when you hear the undeniable clinks of armor.

Patrolling guards.

Choso’s head snapped toward the sound, his body going rigid. It kind of dazes you, in a way, how his curriculum as a warrior leads him to be so alert. It’s also this moment that you realize how grown you both are becoming; it feels as if you’re stuck as a dainty princess, while he’s steadily growing taller and bigger, a smaller picture of his formidable father.

“Someone’s coming,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.

You froze, exchanging a wide-eyed glance with him before instinctively ducking behind the grand marble fountain. The cold stone pressed against your back as the guards’ footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the bobbing light of their lanterns.

“Who’s there?” one of them called out, his voice sharp and commanding.

Choso shifted beside you, his breath quick and shallow. Your hand brushed against his arm in reassurance, but it did little to ease the tension radiating off him. The guards’ lanterns swept methodically across the gardens, their shadows flickering on the trees.

“Stay still,” Choso mouthed, his dark eyes fixed on the approaching light.

The guards drew closer, their boots crunching against the gravel path. You could feel your pulse hammering in your ears, each second dragging on unbearably.

Then, a faint rustle to your left—a squirrel darting across the underbrush. The guards turned toward the noise, their lanterns swinging wide.

“Must’ve been an animal,” one muttered, though he sounded unconvinced.

“Keep looking,” the other replied gruffly. “The king’s orders were clear—no one’s to linger in the gardens after dark.”

The pair continued past, their voices fading as they moved toward the far side of the grounds.

You let out a shaky breath, but before you could fully relax, Choso grabbed your hand, pulling you to your feet. “We need to go deeper,” he said urgently, his voice low.

Without waiting for your agreement, he led you away from the fountain, weaving through the hedges and into the denser parts of the forest. The shadows thickened as the soft glow of the garden lanterns disappeared behind you. Branches brushed against your arms, and the earthy scent of moss and damp leaves filled the air as you ran.

“Choso!” you whispered breathlessly, struggling to keep up with his longer strides. “They’re gone!”

“Not far enough,” he replied, glancing back at you. “We can’t risk them doubling back.”

The forest grew darker the deeper you went, the canopy above blocking out most of the moonlight. Finally, when the sound of your own breathing seemed louder than anything else, Choso slowed to a halt beneath a towering oak.

“We should be safe here,” he murmured, releasing your hand.

You both sank to the ground, the soft carpet of moss cushioning your fall. For a moment, neither of you spoke, too winded to do anything but sit there, catching your breath. Then, a stifled giggle bubbled out of you, unable to contain the absurdity of the chase.

Choso shot you a warning look, but his resolve cracked when you pressed your hands over your mouth, failing to muffle your laughter. A small laugh escaped him in turn, and soon you were both doubled over, trying in vain to quiet yourselves.

“Shhh!” Choso whispered, though he was grinning. “You’ll get us caught.”

“You’re the loud one,” you whispered back, nudging him playfully.

Soon, the laughter slowly subsided, leaving only the sound of rustling leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. Choso leaned back against the tree, his expression softening as he glanced up at the canopy. His eyes caught on something above, and he pointed. “Look—fruit.”

Following his gaze, you spotted the cluster of small, round pomengrenates hanging from a low branch. Choso stood, brushing dirt from his trousers, and reached up to pluck one. He examined it briefly before biting into it, his movements unhurried and deliberate.

“Are you just going to eat that without offering me one?” you asked, crossing your arms.

He smirked, holding another pomengrenate aloft. “You want it?”

“Obviously.”

But instead of handing it over, Choso lifted it above his head, his smirk widening. “Come and get it.” You stood up, moving closer to him to make a motion to grab the fruit. Alas, the effort was not fruitful. 

“Choso!” you hissed, glaring at him as he kept the fruit just out of reach. You try many things: you grab his shoulder, tickle him on his stomach, and arms. However, it all is in vain.

“You’re the one who wants it,” he said, his head peering down at you in amusement.

You stood, determination written all over your face. “Fine. If you think I can’t—”

You leapt, swatting at his hand, but he easily moved the fruit higher, his height giving him the upper hand.

“You’re insufferable!” you said, laughing despite yourself as you tried again, this time jumping with more force. Still, you missed.

“Perhaps you should’ve been born taller,” he teased, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Or perhaps you should stop being such a—” Before you could finish, he lowered the fruit suddenly, pressing it into your hand.

“There,” he said, smirking. “Satisfied?”

You took a triumphant bite, your glare softening into a grin. “For now.”

Settling back down, you both shared the fruit in companionable silence, the earlier tension of the night dissipating in the quiet forest. Yet, as you sat side by side, something about the way his gaze lingered on you—or perhaps the warmth blooming in your chest—made you wonder if these late-night meetings were becoming something more.

And then, years later, he left for war. Choso left for the battlefield, summoned to serve alongside his father as the general’s son. 

The morning he departed was etched into your memory with painful clarity. The air was crisp, the kind that stung your lungs when you breathed too deeply, and the courtyard was alive with the sounds of preparation. Soldiers moved with purpose, their boots striking against the cobblestones in rhythmic determination. Horses snorted and pawed at the ground, their breaths rising like smoke in the cold air.

You stood at the edge of it all, your hands clasped tightly in front of you, trying to keep your expression composed. This was no place for a princess to display her feelings, no matter how tightly they knotted in her chest. Your father was nearby, speaking with the general in low, serious tones, his gaze sweeping over the troops with pride. Your mother was absent, as always, too preoccupied with courtly matters to concern herself with the departure of soldiers—even one who had once been your constant companion.

When Choso emerged from the crowd, his figure clad in the red, utilitarian uniform of a soldier, it was as though the rest of the scene blurred. The boy who had once darted through the gardens with you, his hair wild and his hands dirtied by mischief, now looked every inch the man his father had raised him to be. His hair was tied back, his face set in an unreadable mask of calm, and he carried himself with a solemnity that felt foreign.

He always did make you feel like a child. While you were still delaying acceptance of your fate as the princes—future queen—-he had grown into a man, fated to be a war general. 

He approached slowly, each step deliberate. When he stopped before you, he did not smile. Instead, he bowed low, his dark eyes briefly meeting yours. “Your Highness—”

But you had enough of that godforsaken title. “Why must you leave?” You cried, your voice breaking as Choso stood before you in the courtyard.

The image of the steeled soldier crumbled as his eyes softened in fondness and melancholy. “You know I must.”

You shook your head fervently, as if to vehemently deny what was undeniably the truth. “You know that’s not true.” And it wasn’t, for it would only take an imperial command of yours to bar him from ever entering the battlefield.

But it was his dream; you saw the way he looked at his father. To deny Choso the sword and the glory he was destined for was to chain him down, and you knew that. So instead, you shook off the idea, then blurted, “You’ll write to me, won’t you?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with expectation. He hesitated, a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps—crossing his face before it smoothed back into neutrality. “If time allows.”

That was all he offered. No promises. No reassurances. Just a vague, distant answer that left your heart sinking.

Outraged, and a bit petulant, you exclaimed. “What do you mean if time allows? Will you be so busy that you won’t have time? Are you not at least going to grant me some peace of mi—what is that?”

In the corner of your eye, you see something in his hand catch the sunlight, and glimmer. He hesitates, his hand clenching before inevitably opening his palm. A timid, “For you, Your Highness.”

An instinctual don’t call me that dies out in your throat as he shows you what he was hiding. In it he uncovers a small, delicate object—a pin shaped like a blooming flower, its petals carved with meticulous detail and painted in hues of white and gold.

You stared at it, your hands trembling as you took it from him. “What is this for?”

“It’s a symbol,” he explained, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Of where I’ll always be, even if I’m not here. Keep it with you, and you’ll know that... that I’ll do everything I can to return.”

“Oh, Choso.” Your bottom lip trembled as tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over. Your fingers closed around the pin, the intricate craftsmanship biting into your palm. Somehow, the weight of it felt heavier than it should’ve been. “I don’t want a pin, Choso,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I want you to stay.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, it seemed like he might reach out to you. But then he stilled, the rigidity in his posture a clear reminder of the boundaries he refused to cross.

Even so, you didn’t want to seem ungrateful. The gift, despite your pain, was beautiful, and its meaning wasn’t lost on you. You sniffled, brushing a tear from your cheek with a trembling hand. “But it is beautiful, regardless,” you murmured, holding it up to the light. The golden edges of the petals gleamed softly, like sunlight captured in metal. “Put it in my hair?”

Choso blinked, caught off guard by the request. His gaze flickered between you and the pin, uncertainty etched into his features. “Your Highness, I—”

“Please,” you interrupted gently, tilting your head slightly toward him. “Just this once.”

He hesitated for a long moment, his fingers flexing at his sides as though he were battling some internal conflict. Finally, with a barely audible sigh, he reached out and took the pin from your hand.

You held your breath as he stepped closer, his presence steady and grounding despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. His hand brushed against your hair and your neck as he carefully gathered a small section, his touch warm and deliberate. You could feel the calluses on his fingertips, earned from countless hours of swordsmanship, yet his movements were painstakingly gentle.

“There,” he said softly, stepping back to examine his work. His gaze lingered on you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, his formal mask cracked ever so slightly. There was something in his eyes—something raw and unspoken—that made your chest tighten.

You reached up instinctively, your fingers brushing against the cool metal of the pin now nestled securely in your hair. “How does it look?” you asked, trying to keep your voice light, though the lump in your throat made it difficult.

Choso’s lips parted, but no words came. He swallowed hard, his gaze darting away as if he couldn’t bear to look at you any longer. “It’s beautiful,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The horn sounded again, louder this time, breaking the fragile moment between you. Choso stepped back, the walls of propriety rising between you once more.

“Thank you,” you managed, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest.

He bowed deeply, avoiding your eyes. “Goodbye, Your Highness.”

And then he was gone, leaving you alone with the faint scent of earth and steel, the pin in your hair a bittersweet reminder of the distance that now separated you.

For weeks after, you found yourself restless, wandering the garden paths where you had once talked and laughed together. You scribbled letter after letter, pouring out questions and updates, recounting bits of palace gossip and even sending sketches of the places you’d been. But no reply ever came.

At first, you tried to excuse it—surely, he was too busy, too occupied with the rigors of war to respond. Still, you kept writing, sending your letters to the front lines with the faint hope that one day, you’d receive one in return.

“Any news of the general’s son?” you would ask your father over dinner, feigning casual interest.

“He’s doing well,” your father would reply, distractedly cutting into his meal. “His tactics in the northern campaign have earned him commendation. A fine young soldier.”

You pressed further, ignoring the disapproving look your mother shot you. “And... is he safe?”

Your father raised a brow but indulged you. “Of course. The reports say he’s advancing quickly through the ranks. A promotion to captain is already under consideration.”

Your chest swelled with pride at the thought, but it was quickly eclipsed by frustration. If he was receiving such accolades, surely he could find the time to write a simple letter?

“Why do you trouble your father with such questions?” your mother chided later, her tone clipped. “The general’s son is serving the nation. You should focus on more important matters, like preparing for your duties.”

But your concern for Choso only grew. Whenever news from the front lines arrived, you would listen intently, hoping to hear his name mentioned. When you did, it brought a fleeting sense of relief, but it never lasted long.

The silence from him felt heavier with each passing month. You couldn’t understand it—how could someone who had once been your closest companion, who had sworn to always protect you, sever that bond so easily?

And yet, you never stopped writing. Each letter was folded with care, sealed with your personal wax stamp, and sent off with the same unwavering hope. Even if he didn’t reply, even if you didn’t understand why, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

The city was alive with celebration, a symphony of cheers, music, and the occasional crackle of fireworks that lit up the night sky. The soldiers had finally come home after a long winded war, and you just couldn’t miss out on the excitement. After Choso’s departure, you had grown. Before you were a gangly teenager, but now you were a young woman. With this came you forming your own opinion, independent of our parents, and had developed a habit of frequently sneaking out of the palace.

You couldn’t bear to stay confined to the palace, not when the air was thick with excitement and the news of the army’s triumphant return had set the entire city alight. The soldiers, clad in polished armor that gleamed even in the dim light, strode through the streets in small groups while the people cheered on the sidelines. They carried themselves with the confidence of men who had seen battle and emerged victorious.

Young ladies lingered at the edges of the crowd, their eyes alight with hope as they watched the soldiers pass. Some called out to them, their voices playful and lilting, while others merely smiled shyly, clutching kerchiefs or flowers they clearly longed to offer. The soldiers, for the most part, maintained a stoic demeanor, though a few exchanged grins or nodded in acknowledgment, their faces betraying a mix of pride and exhaustion.

Children darted between legs, waving tiny flags and shouting in delight, while their parents looked on with a mix of relief and gratitude. The scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced wine wafted through the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of the soldiers’ armor. It was a night of unity, of celebration, where the lines between commoner and noble blurred in the shared joy of victory.

Draped in a simple cloak to conceal your identity, you slipped past the guards at the palace gates, your heart pounding with both exhilaration and trepidation. The anonymity of the cloak felt liberating as you merged with the crowd, the world suddenly vast and unguarded in a way it never was within the palace walls.

Laughter surrounded you, the contagious energy of the revelry lifting your spirits as you wandered farther from the familiar confines of royal life. You paused to admire a street performer juggling flaming torches, your cloak billowing slightly in the breeze. But before you could move on, a sudden gust snatched the handkerchief tucked into your cloak.

You gasped, your fingers grasping for it, but the delicate fabric was already airborne, dancing above the heads of the crowd. You watched helplessly as it soared higher, carried by the playful wind. Instinctively, you gave chase, weaving through the throng of revelers as your heart raced with the thrill of pursuit.

The handkerchief drifted out of sight, disappearing beyond the swell of people. Your steps faltered, and you stood on tiptoe, scanning the crowd in vain. It was only then that a firm hand shot up above the sea of heads, catching the fluttering fabric mid-air. The sight of your handkerchief, caught in a strong, gloved grip, sent a jolt through you.

Your gaze traveled upward, and there he stood—a figure that was at once familiar and startlingly different. His broad shoulders and proud stance were unmistakable even before he turned, his dark eyes locking with yours.

“Your Highness?” His voice was deep, steady, and entirely too familiar. Then, his eyes went to your hair—you, still wearing the hairpin he gave you that day—and they filled with a conflicted, longing sort of expression.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you froze. He looked so much…bigger. He always had muscles due to his frequent physical lessons, but he was so much taller now, his face a lot more sculpted. Before you could interpret what the lurching in your heart meant, he took a step towards you. But before he could take another step toward you, you turned and ran instinctively, the sound of his voice chasing you as surely as his footsteps.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK! If Choso knew you had sneaked out, he would send you right back, citing useless things about duty and protecting you. While your traitorous heart started beating faster as soon as you saw him—different, but still undeniably Choso—you knew your liberty was at an end if he sent you home and informed your parents of what you did.

You bolted as fast as you could, your cloak billowing behind you as you darted into a narrow alley. Footsteps echoed against the cobblestones, heavy and deliberate, chasing you down. You reached the end of the alley and stopped, your chest heaving, unsure whether to keep running or face him.

“Your Highness,” the voice came again, closer this time.

You spun around, and there he was. Choso. But he wasn’t the boy you remembered—he was a man now. Broad shoulders filled out his uniform, the insignia of his rank glinting on his chest. His hair was tied back, revealing a face hardened by battle and time. Yet his eyes, dark and intense, still held the same quiet depth you’d known as children.

He dropped to one knee, his hand over his heart. “Your Highness.”

You gaped at his display. Since when did he start kneeling? “What are you doing?”

His voice came out, devoid of the warmth you had once known. “It’s protocol, Your Highness.” His head remained bowed, his knee pressed to the uneven cobblestones, the hand holding your handkerchief resting against his heart.

But you were in denial, scrambling to pull him up by his arms. It was futile; he was way stronger than you, and at your touch, he jumped back, as if stung. Wounded, you urged him. “Get up,” you stepped closer, “Choso, it’s me. You don’t need to—”

“I must, Your Highness.” His tone was calm but resolute, his gaze fixed on the ground. “Unless you are issuing an imperial command, I have no choice but to honor the rules set forth by your station.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. “An imperial command?” The words tasted bitter on your tongue. You didn’t want commands; you wanted familiarity, the easy camaraderie you once shared.

“Yes, Your Highness.” He finally lifted his gaze to meet yours, his dark eyes steady and unreadable. “If you do not wish me to kneel, then say it as such. Otherwise…” He lowered his head again. “This is my place.”

“Your place?” You felt a flicker of anger rise in your chest. “Choso, your place is by my side, as it always has been! Don’t—don’t treat me like some distant monarch.”

His shoulders tensed, and you thought you caught a flash of something—guilt, perhaps?—in the way his fingers tightened around the handkerchief. But still, he didn’t move.

Frustrated, you stepped even closer, your voice rising despite your efforts to remain calm. “Get up,” you said, reaching out and tugging at his arm. “I said, get up!”

“I cannot,” he said softly, the words cutting through your frustration like a blade. “Not unless you order it as my superior.”

You stared at him, a mix of hurt and disbelief swirling in your chest. “Fine,” you said, your voice trembling. “If that’s what it takes, then I command you—get up, Choso. I command you to stand!”

For a moment, the tension lingered in the air, thick and suffocating. Slowly, reluctantly, he rose to his feet, towering over you with a presence that felt both familiar and foreign.

But as you looked up at him, your frustration only grew. “This isn’t you,” you said, your voice softer now, tinged with sadness. “You’re treating me like I’m just your princess, like I’m someone you barely know. Do you even know how much it hurt when you never wrote back to me? I kept sending letter after letter, but it was like you didn’t care. Like you forgot about me.”

Choso’s jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “It wasn’t my place to respond, Your Highness.”

It was that damn phrase. “Your place?” you echoed, now even more bitterly. “You were my friend, Choso. My closest friend. Now you stand here, calling me Your Highness like I’m a stranger, like we never ran through the gardens or talked under the stars. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

For a moment, his expression softened, but it was fleeting. He straightened, his demeanor distant once more. “It’s dangerous for you to be here,” he said quietly. “I need to call for a carriage to take you back to the palace.”

Your heart sunk to your derriere. If Choso did indeed send you back, your parents would undeniably discover that you’ve been sneaking out. “No!” you snapped, stepping forward. “You can’t. If my parents find out I was here, they’ll—”

“They’ll ensure your safety,” he interrupted, his voice steady but firm. “And that’s what matters.”

You stared at him, now anger bubbling in your chest. “So you’ll just hand me over like I’m some burden to be dealt with? What about you?” Then, in a strong fit, you bursted out. “Are you going to stay here and fool around with girls while I’m locked away in the palace?”

His eyes widened briefly at your accusation, a flicker of surprise breaking through his stoic mask. But then his expression hardened, and he took a step back. “That’s not fair,” he said quietly.

“Fair?” you shot back, your voice trembling. “What’s fair about any of this, Choso? You’re not even trying to fight for us—for the friendship we used to have.”

He hesitated, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then make it simple!” you demanded, your heart aching with every word. “Stop pushing me away. Stop acting like I don’t matter to you anymore.”

For a moment, you thought he might say something—something real, something that would bridge the growing chasm between you. But instead, he turned away, his voice steady and distant as he said, “Wait here. I’ll call for the carriage.”

You watched him walk away, the ache in your chest spreading until it felt like it would consume you entirely. The handkerchief in your hand trembled as you clenched your fingers around it, your anger and sadness swirling into a storm of emotion.

And yet, even as he disappeared into the bustling streets, a part of you refused to believe this was the end. You couldn’t let it be.

Ever since his return to the palace, Choso has been ignoring you.

It’s not that you were spending every hour and every minute with him before, when he was just your childhood friend. However, you would meet everyday, whether it to be sneak off into the gardens at night, or meet for lunch or dinner. Even a request of yours could’ve secured a visit to town, the both of you going to town to eat pastries and street food while accompanied by a chaperone. Of course, that was due to your incessant pleas to your disapproving mother, but you could score an occasional playdate outside the palace every month or so.

But it feels…different. And he feels different.

You oft find yourself daydreaming about him, older and a decorated soldier. And before you can catch yourself, you find your cheeks heated and your heart set aflutter. It’s a bit mind-boggling, really. Ever since Choso left, none of the future dukes and lords had ever caught your attention, even at balls. Their gentle, weak disposition didn’t compare to your Choso, you always thought. Back then, you had always thought of it as pride for your best friend, but now…..

Musing aside, you’re tired of this distance Choso has created between you. So you choose to seek him out.

The castle courtyard was alive with the sharp clang of swords and the rhythmic stomp of boots on hard-packed dirt. You leaned over the balustrade of the upper terrace, concealed behind a stone pillar, watching the soldiers below. It wasn’t the sparring or the strategy that captivated you—it was Choso.

The sun bore down on him as he moved with precision and power, his blade a silver blur as he sparred with one of the veteran knights. His whole torso is bare; damp with sweat, the sun shines against the cords and cords of muscle that then lead to a string of hair that trails into his trousers. The muscles in his arms ripple with every swing and parry. You bite your lip, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks that you stubbornly attributed to the summer heat.

He had changed so much. Gone was the boy who had laughed with you under the willow tree and run with you through the gardens. In his place was a man who carried the weight of war on his broad shoulders, his every movement deliberate, his expression unreadable. And yet, despite the distance he put between you, you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

When the sparring session ended, Choso handed his sword to a squire and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. You straightened as he turned, half-expecting him to glance up and spot you. But he didn’t. Instead, he spoke briefly to the knight, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. You couldn’t keep hiding and watching from afar. You had to speak to him, to demand answers for why he had been avoiding you since the day in the alley.

Quickly, you made your way down to the courtyard, your pulse racing as you rehearsed what you would say. But when you reached the training grounds, Choso was already heading toward the barracks.

“Choso!” you called out, your voice echoing across the courtyard.

He froze mid-step, his shoulders tensing before he turned slowly to face you. His expression was neutral, guarded, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something he quickly masked.

“Your Highness,” he said, bowing his head. “What brings you here?”

You frowned, frustrated by the formality in his tone. “I wanted to speak with you,” you said, stepping closer. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

He shook his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes. “I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been busy with training and my duties.”

“That’s a lie,” you said, crossing your arms. “You always find a reason to leave whenever I try to approach you. You didn’t even look at me after the alley—”

“Your Highness,” he interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not proper for you to be seen in the training grounds.”

“Proper?” you repeated, anger flaring in your chest. “Since when do you care about what’s proper? You didn’t care when we were sneaking out or when we were running through the gardens—”

“That was different,” he said, his tone softer now. “We were children. Things aren’t the same anymore.”

“Why not?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “Why are you pushing me away?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the soldiers milling about in the distance. “I’m not pushing you away,” he said finally. “I’m doing what’s best for you.”

“What’s best for me?” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “How can ignoring me and avoiding me be what’s best for me?”

Choso didn’t answer. Instead, he bowed his head again, his hands clenched at his sides. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I need to return to my duties.”

And before you could stop him, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the courtyard, your heart aching with every step he took.

You paced the length of your chambers, clutching the skirts of your dress. It’s been two times that Choso dismissed since his arrival. Did he abhor you so?

It was as if an invisible wall had been erected between you, the builder of it Choso for some mysterious reason. Proprietary aside, it would be okay for the occasional chat, would it not? After all, he was still a noble in his own regard, and a conversation or two wouldn’t be frowned upon. So why was he ignoring you entirely?

You couldn’t take it anymore. If he wouldn’t come to you, then you would ensure he had no choice but to stay by your side. If he truly detests it, you will let him go, no matter how painful it would be and how ardently you would mourn your friendship. But you needed to know.

Resolved, you marched to your parents’ audience chamber, where they were seated in quiet discussion. Your father looked up first, his brows furrowing slightly at your abrupt entrance. “What is it, my dear? You seem troubled.”

Your mother glanced at you as well, seated right next to the king, her sharp gaze assessing. “Has something happened?”

You straightened your shoulders, facing them both, willing your voice to remain steady. “Father, Mother, I have a request.”

Your father tilted his head, curious. “Go on.”

You hesitated for only a moment before speaking. “I would like Choso to be assigned as my personal guard.”

The queen blinked, her lips pressing into a thin line, and questioned, “Choso?”

“Yes,” you said quickly to prevent your mother from getting a word in. “He’s proven himself in battle, hasn’t he? He’s been promoted several times for his skill and loyalty. Who better to protect me?”

Your father leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “It’s true he’s risen quickly through the ranks. He’s a fine soldier.”

“And he’s someone I trust,” you added, stepping closer. “He’s been by my side since we were children. I feel safer with him than with anyone else. With me growing into adulthood, there would be no one better to be by my side.”

Your mother’s gaze sharpened. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with his recent return to the palace, would it?”

You met her eyes, refusing to back down. “It has everything to do with the fact that I need someone I can rely on. Someone who knows me.”

Your father exchanged a look with your mother, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. I will speak to the general about the arrangement.” Then, a little wryly, he adds, “Although, I did hear that it was him that reported you when you were sneaking out in public. Perhaps it would be a fine match.” At that, your mother visibly bristled at the memory of hearing that you were out, unguarded.

At the king’s words, relief washed over you, but it was quickly tempered by your mother’s stern voice. “This is highly unusual, you know. A princess requesting a specific guard. People will talk.”

Inwardly, you rolled your eyes, but showing sass to your mother would mean that she would argue further.  Instead, you went and showed her your pride. “Let them,” you said, lifting your chin. “I don’t care what they say.”

Your father chuckled softly, knowing you would say something of the sort. “Spoken like a true princess.”

“Thank you,” you said, bowing your head. “Both of you, Father and Mother.”

As you left the chamber, your heart raced with a mix of excitement and nervousness. This was your chance—your chance to bring Choso back into your life. Whatever walls he had built between you, you were determined to tear them down.

The water was warm, steam curling gently around you as you leaned back in the large marble tub. The golden light of the setting sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting vibrant patterns across the tiled floor. It was one of the few moments you had to yourself, free from the watchful eyes of attendants and the endless constraints of royal duty. You closed your eyes, sinking deeper into the water, allowing yourself to relax—until the door to your bathing chamber slammed open.

“Your Highness, why did you—” At first, Choso raised his voice slightly, storming in. Then, he stopped right in his tracks as he noticed you, and your face, your neck and then the rest of your body engorged in soapy, steamy water. Blushing furiously, he turned, scrambling for the door. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to—”

He was rigid as he stormed toward the exit, and you couldn’t help but stifle a giggle at the sight. “Choso, wait,” you called, your voice laced with amusement. He stopped abruptly, halting awkwardly in his tracks. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm for your new title,” you teased, “I’d prefer if you didn’t barge into the bathing chamber. Let us count ourselves lucky that you had not seen… more.”

It was nearly impossible not to laugh now. Even the back of his neck was flushed a deep crimson, and it struck you as absurdly endearing. The aloof and stoic soldier who had spent weeks ignoring you had crumbled into a shy boy at the mere sight of you in a tub. You supposed it made sense—he’d likely not had much interaction with women, what with his rigid dedication to the army. Still, his reaction felt... exaggerated.

Choso let out a shaky exhale, his voice strained when he finally spoke. “I apologize,” he said, his tone clipped as though to mask his discomfort. “But I must ask—why did you instate me as your guard?”

The answer was simple, and you played absentmindedly with a soap bubble as you replied, “Because there is no one I trust more than you.”

For a moment, the room was silent save for the faint dripping of water. Then, Choso spoke, his voice low and almost pained. “Why must you do this to me? Why must you torment me so?”

What?

His words pierced through the lighthearted atmosphere, leaving you stunned. A pang of hurt welled in your chest at the sharpness of his tone. “Does it torment you to be in my company?” you asked, laughing scornfully to hide the sting.

When he didn’t answer, the silence was louder than any words could have been.

“If it torments you,” you continued bitterly, “then so be it. You have already had my one liberty stripped away. Mother and Father have doubled the surveillance on me, all thanks to you.” The memory of your recent restrictions only added fuel to the fire of your frustration. “Is this not fair? An eye for an eye, then. Perhaps your torment will teach you to stop pretending you know what’s best for me.”

Still brimming with anger, you lifted your chin and gestured to the door. “You may leave now.”

For a moment, he stood there, the weight of his presence filling the room. Then, with a stiff nod, he turned to the door. “Your Highness,” he murmured, his voice cold and formal.

And then, he was gone.

You really do abhor dinner parties.

There’s much wrong with them, and if you had to, you could do a systematic rundown of every single grievance. The first and foremost was the absurd inability to properly enjoy the food. The chefs’ hard work deserved to be indulged in, not nibbled delicately with those ridiculous little spoons. And then there was the matter of breathing, which you could barely manage with your waist cinched so tightly and your bodice forcing your chest up like some cruel display. Sitting down practically demanded you forgo the simple luxury of air.

But the worst part? Having to entertain men.

“And I have acquired double the profits of Lord Gojo,” Lord Naoya declared, puffing his chest like a rooster preening in the henhouse. His voice boomed with self-importance, his words spilling out in a showy, rehearsed cadence.

You couldn’t help yourself—you smiled. And while it appeared to him as admiration, it was born of pure amusement. The man clearly thought you were too dim to know better, but you were well-versed in state finances. Lord Naoya’s exaggerated claims were as transparent as glass.

On your right, Choso sat silently, his role as your personal guard justifying his unusually close position. He had been quiet all evening, his eyes scanning the room more than his plate.

“And surely, a woman as lovely as yourself would agree that business acumen is the truest mark of a man’s value,” Naoya continued, leaning closer to you with a smirk you found utterly punchable.

You giggled, not at his words, but at the sheer absurdity of them. You bit your lip to stifle a laugh, but your amusement couldn’t be fully hidden.

When you finally turned to glance at Choso, however, your mirth faltered. He wasn’t looking at Naoya anymore—his dark eyes were locked on you, his brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

He looked very upset.

You blinked, confused, before glancing back at Naoya, who was still prattling on, utterly oblivious. Was Choso… angry at you?

It didn’t make sense. After you had initiated him as your guard, he’d been resigned after that confrontation in your bathing chambers. Ever since, you’d seen him stoic, protective, and even exasperated, but this—this was different. The weight of his gaze lingered on you like a reprimand, and it unsettled you in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

“Your Highness, I trust you’d agree,” Naoya pressed, oblivious to the charged air.

“Agree?” you echoed, snapping back to attention. You hadn’t been listening, too distracted by Choso’s silent brooding. “Oh, of course,” you said vaguely, waving your hand with a polite smile. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Naoya looked pleased with himself, but you barely noticed. Your focus shifted back to Choso, who had turned his head forward, his jaw tight. You leaned closer to him, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “Is something the matter?”

He didn’t look at you, his tone curt. “Nothing, Your Highness.”

Your stomach twisted at the formality. The night had already been exhausting enough, and now Choso was acting like you’d personally offended him.

“Choso,” you pressed, your voice softer now, “if I’ve done something to upset you—”

“It’s not my place to say,” he interrupted, finally looking at you. His gaze was sharp, cutting through your defenses. “But if I may offer counsel, I’d suggest not wasting your smiles on men like him.”

You blinked, taken aback. His words weren’t loud, but they struck with the force of a hammer.

“What does that mean?” you whispered, your amusement long gone, replaced by confusion—and something else you couldn’t quite name.

“It means,” Choso said, his voice low, “that he’s not worth it.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with implication.

Before you could respond, the clinking of glasses drew everyone’s attention, and you were forced to look away as a toast was made. But even as the room filled with polite applause and laughter, your thoughts were consumed by Choso’s quiet but pointed remarks.

When you glanced back at him, his focus was elsewhere, his expression carefully neutral. Yet something about the tension in his shoulders told you that the conversation wasn’t over—not really.

And for the rest of the evening, Naoya’s words became nothing more than background noise, drowned out by the quiet storm brewing in Choso’s eyes.

The air in your chambers was warm, the faint crackle of the fireplace soothing you as your maid finished tugging the laces of your nightgown into place. The fabric was delicate, thin enough to feel the cool evening breeze against your skin despite the room's warmth. With a bow, the maid excused herself, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Ever since that dinner party with Naoya, Choso had been more distant than ever. Before, it had seemed that he had warmed up to the task of being your guard; whenever you walked through the garden, you eventually warmed him enough that the both of you could converse during the stroll. Of course, it hadn’t returned to what it was like before, but it was still progress. However, now it seemed that all he had to offer was curt responses and avoidant stares. 

The change grated on you, more than you cared to admit. You weren’t naïve; you knew something had shifted that night. The way he had looked at you, the way his words had cut—it all lingered, a splinter in your chest that you couldn’t pull free.

Still, tonight was meant to be routine, a brief reprieve from the emotional turmoil. You always ended your evenings with a massage, a small luxury that helped soothe the tension from the day. Summoning Choso to your chambers, you intended for him to call for the maid who usually performed the task.

When he arrived, his expression was as stony as ever. “You called for me, Your Highness?”

“Yes, Choso,” you said, smoothing your hands over the hem of your nightgown. You lazed back on your chaise lounge, head against pillow as you looked at him. “I need the maid for my massage. Could you fetch her?”

He hesitated. “The maids have retired for the night. Shall I summon someone from the servants’ quarters?”

You frowned. The thought of disturbing anyone at this hour felt excessive. Then, your gaze drifted to Choso, his broad shoulders rigid, his hands clasped behind his back in his usual formal stance. An idea struck you, and you spoke before fully thinking it through.

“Then you’ll do it.”

His dark eyes snapped to yours, wide with disbelief. “Your Highness, I—”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence but unable to fully hide the mischief in your smile. “Oh, come now, Choso. You’re stronger than any maid. Surely, your hands would be better suited for the task.”

For a moment, he simply stared at you as though you’d just declared the sky was green. His lips parted, but no words came out, his gaze darting nervously around the room before settling back on you. “I don’t think that’s… appropriate,” he said carefully, his voice low and strained.

You leaned back slightly, arching a brow. “And why not? It’s just a massage. Surely, as my personal guard, it’s your duty to ensure my comfort, no?”

“Your Highness—”

“Choso,” you interrupted, your tone softening as you leaned forward slightly, letting your hair cascade over one shoulder. “You’ve sworn an oath to protect me. Are you really going to deny me such a simple request? Besides,” you added with a teasing smile, “I trust you. Who better to take care of me?”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, his shoulders visibly tensing. It was rare to see him so uncharacteristically flustered, and you found it almost endearing. Still, you could see the war waging behind his eyes—the struggle between his rigid sense of propriety and his inability to deny you.

“Choso,” you said again, gentler this time, “it’s just us here. No one else needs to know. Please?”

The word seemed to undo him. After a long, weighted pause, he exhaled sharply, his hands clenching at his sides before he gave a stiff nod. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

You smiled in satisfaction and shifted, lying down on the chaise lounge with your head resting on your folded arms. The thin fabric of your nightgown clung to your back and shoulders, leaving little to the imagination, but you paid it no mind. Choso, however, hesitated, his gaze flickering over you before he finally moved to kneel beside you, his movements almost painfully hesitant.

You settled onto the chaise lounge, lying on your stomach and pulling your hair over one shoulder to expose the curve of your neck. The thin fabric of your nightgown clung to your body, leaving little to the imagination, but you paid no mind to it. Choso, however, lingered for a moment longer than necessary, his dark eyes flickering over the exposed skin before quickly darting away.

The tension in the room was palpable, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel his hesitation. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward, until finally, he knelt beside you, his movements stiff and deliberate. His hands hovered just above your shoulders for a moment, as if he were debating whether to go through with it, before he finally made contact.

The first press of his palms was firm, his calloused hands warm against your skin. He worked in silence, but his touch was tentative, almost reluctant, as though every movement was a battle against himself. His fingers found the knots in your shoulders, but his grip tightened slightly as you let out a soft sigh of relief.

“You’re good at this,” you murmured, your voice languid. “I should’ve asked you sooner.”

Choso didn’t respond, but his hands stilled for the briefest moment, his jaw tightening. He resumed a beat later, his touch growing more confident as his fingers moved lower, kneading along the length of your spine. Yet, there was something almost possessive in the way he worked, his hands lingering at the curve of your back, brushing the edges of your nightgown with an intimacy that felt deliberate, even if unspoken.

Heat pooled in your belly, but the mood shifted when Choso spoke, his voice low and edged with something that made your breath catch.

“Do you let all your guards do this to you?”

Your eyes snapped open, the sharpness of his tone cutting through the haze. You turned your head to look at him, frowning. “What?”

He straightened, pulling his hands away, anger visible on his face. “Do you let all your guards touch you like this, or am I just the special fool?”

The accusation in his voice stung. You sat up on the chaise lounge, clutching the fabric of your nightgown to your chest. “What are you implying?”

“I’m implying,” he said, his eyes dark and filled with something unnameable, “that you smiled at Naoya like he was the only man in the room. That you entertained his nonsense—his lies—like you actually enjoyed it.”

A sharp laugh escaped you, incredulous and hurt. “You think I was flirting with Naoya? That I would ever entertain a fool like him?”

“You did tonight,” Choso shot back, his jaw clenched tightly. “You smiled and laughed at him, as if he deserved it. As if you weren’t above him. The you I knew wouldn’t have entertained someone like Naoya for a second. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

That cut deeper than it should have. Your breath hitched, and frustration welled in your chest, bursting free before you could stop it.

“You don’t know me anymore?” you echoed, your voice trembling with emotion. “Well, Choso, I don’t know you either! You’re the one who left me without a word. You’re the one who never answered my letters, who pushed me away for no reason. You didn’t answer them for years, Choso. For years! How can you stand there and talk about me changing when you’ve done everything you could to shut me out?”

He flinched, as if your words struck a nerve. His gaze fell to the floor, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I didn’t answer because I thought it was better that way,” he said quietly. “Because I knew… whatever this was—whatever we were—it couldn’t last. I didn’t want to make it harder for you.”

Your heart cracked at his words, tears threatening to spill over. “You didn’t want to make it harder for me?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You made it unbearable, Choso! You didn’t just leave me, you abandoned me. Without explanation, without closure. You were my friend, my closest ally, and you just… disappeared!”

“I was avoiding the inevitable,” he said, his tone low and bitter. “I was saving us both from something that could never be.”

“And why not?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Why couldn’t we have stayed friends? Why couldn’t you have stayed as someone I trusted, someone I could rely on?”

Choso let out a harsh, incredulous laugh, his head bowing as his hands rose to rub at his temples. When he looked back at you, his eyes burned with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You think I just want to be your ally?” Choso’s voice cracked, his tone harsh and trembling, a storm barely contained within him. He stepped closer, his shadow stretching toward you in the dim light. His dark eyes blazed, raw and unguarded, piercing straight through you.

“Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life standing at your side, pretending it doesn’t destroy me every time you smile at another man?” he continued, his voice rising with emotion. “Do you think I want to be some nameless figure in your life, someone who exists only to bow, to nod, to follow orders while the rest of the world gets to bask in your warmth?”

Your breath hitched as he took another step, the space between you shrinking.

“I don’t want to be your ally, your friend, or some loyal servant,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I want you. I have always wanted you.”

His confession struck you like lightning, setting every nerve ablaze. You could see the anguish etched into his features, the way his hands shook as if he was struggling to hold himself back.

“I want to touch you without wondering if it’s inappropriate,” he went on, his words tumbling out, unrestrained. “I want to kiss you without the weight of the crown between us. I want to wake up beside you every morning, knowing you’re mine—truly mine—and not just some unattainable dream I’ve been foolish enough to carry.”

“Choso…” you whispered, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

“I want to tear apart every damned rule, every line drawn between us,” he continued, his voice thick with frustration and desire. “I want the world to see that you’re mine—not Naoya’s, not some prince’s, not anyone else’s. Mine.”

He let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair, his composure unraveling further. “But that’s not what the world allows, is it?” he said, his tone laced with venom. “Because I’m not a prince or a duke or anyone worthy of you. I’m just a man—a soldier. And the world says I can’t have you.”

His chest heaved with the force of his confession, and his eyes—God, his eyes—burned with a pain so deep it was almost unbearable to witness.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as his words sank in. “You could have had me,” you said, your voice trembling, tears stinging your eyes. “If you’d just stayed, if you’d let me in instead of shutting me out. We could have figured this out together, Choso. I would have fought for you.”

His expression faltered, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his anger. “And what would you have me do?” he asked hoarsely. “Stand beside you while everyone whispers that I’m unworthy? Watch as suitors line up for your hand, knowing I can’t stop them because it’s my duty to protect you, not love you?”

“I don’t care what the world says!” you burst out, stepping closer, your voice rising with desperation. “I don’t care about duty or station or rules. All I ever wanted was you, Choso. You, as my friend, my ally, my—”

“Your what?” he interrupted, his voice low and rough. “Say it. Say what I’ve been longing to hear and dreading all at once.”

Your breath hitched, tears streaming down your face as you met his gaze. “My everything,” you whispered.

For a moment, the tension between you hung thick and electric, the weight of years of unspoken words pressing down on you both. Then Choso stepped back, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight.

“That’s why I stayed away,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “Because I knew if I didn’t, I’d lose myself in you completely. And I wouldn’t be able to let you go. This is why I must stay away.” 

For a moment, he lingered there, his hand flexing at his side as if fighting some invisible force. His gaze dropped, and when he finally turned away, it was slow, deliberate, each step a struggle. He didn’t look back as he crossed the threshold, the heavy sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the silence.

The silence in your room was suffocating. Curtains drawn tightly, the dim flicker of a single candle cast wavering shadows on the stone walls. Plates of untouched food sat on a tray near the door, abandoned by the maids you had dismissed hours ago. The only sound was the faint rustle of your gown as you shifted on the edge of your bed, your arms wrapped around yourself as if trying to hold your broken pieces together.

A soft knock broke the stillness, tentative and almost hesitant. You didn’t answer. You didn’t want to see anyone, let alone speak. Whoever it was would surely leave if you didn’t respond.

But the door creaked open.

Your heart twisted. “I told you all to leave me be,” you said hoarsely, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

“I’m not one of your maids,” came a quiet reply from a voice that was all-too-familiar.

Your head snapped up, breath catching in your throat as Choso stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. His dark eyes, always so steady and unreadable, now held an uncharacteristic uncertainty.

“Get out,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended, though the hurt behind it was impossible to mask. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“I know,” he murmured, taking a hesitant step forward. He held something in his hands—a small stack of parchment, edges worn and yellowed. “But I have something to say to you.”

You frowned, your gaze darting to the papers he carried. “What is that?”

“Letters,” Choso said, his voice thick with emotion. He swallowed hard before continuing, “The ones I wrote to you but never sent.”

You stiffened, your heart lurching painfully in your chest. “Why are you showing me this now?”

“Because I should have given them to you a long time ago,” he said simply. “And because I need you to know… what I couldn’t say before. But what I feel I must say now, for I am done with pretending I am not a selfish, selfish man.”

He stepped closer, setting the letters on the bed beside you. For a moment, he hesitated, then knelt before you, his hands resting on his thighs as he looked up at you with a mixture of guilt and determination, as if he had made a decision. And you fight desperately to not yourself believe that, perhaps, he has changed his mind, that he will finally take you in the way you desire.

But you steel your heart as you cautiously look at him. 

“Read them,” he said quietly. “Please.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the stack, the paper cool and rough beneath your touch. The first letter was dated years ago, the ink slightly smudged, as if his hand had lingered too long on the words.

My dearest friend,

I’ve written and torn up this letter a dozen times. How do I explain the ache I feel every night I march under foreign stars? How do I explain that even on the battlefield, amidst the chaos, my mind drifts to you? I think of our secret meetings in the garden, the way you’d laugh as you dared me to meet you in the willow tree every night. Do you remember that night we barely escaped the guards? Your laughter, your gown splayed across the forest floor. I dream of those nights—of you leaning close to steal the fruit in my palm, staring up at me, the world disappearing, and wishing I could ask for more. For you close to me not under the pretense of stealing the pomegranate in my hand, but for something more.

Your voice broke as you read, tears pooling in your eyes. Choso remained silent, his head bowed, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.

You moved to the next letter.

The scent of jasmine haunted me on the journey here. Every step of the way, I remembered you crouched beneath the trellis, daring me to pluck the flowers despite the gardener’s wrath. When I handed you the bouquet, your smile made me feel invincible, as though I could conquer kingdoms just to see it again. I wished then that I could have told you the truth—that every reckless moment we shared was a reprieve from the weight of duty. I wanted to kiss you in the moonlight, to tell you that you were more than a dream to me. I tried to, in part, with the hairpin I gave you, one that amplified your gentle beauty even more than I thought possible. But how could I ruin what little time we had?

“Choso,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Why didn’t you send these?”

“I was a coward,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I thought… I thought it was kinder to stay away. To bury how I felt. But it wasn’t kinder, was it?”

You shook your head, unable to speak as you continued reading, each letter peeling away the walls you’d built to protect yourself from the pain of his absence.

When you reached the last letter, your breath hitched.

If I were braver, I’d tell you this to your face: I love you. I’ve loved you since the first time we ran barefoot through the gardens, laughing until we couldn’t breathe. I’ve loved you since you bandaged my hand after my sparring lessons, scolding me and treating me gently as if I weren’t a warrior, as if my rough, damaged hands were worth your care. I love you with a desperation that terrifies me, that kept me awake in camp as I replayed your smile over and over. If I lose you now, it will be my own doing. But still, I love you.

Your tears fell freely now, soaking the parchment. Choso rose slowly, his hands lifting as if to touch you but stopping just shy of your skin.

“Say something,” he pleaded, his voice raw.

Instead, you surged forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to meet you. Your lips found his in a kiss that was fierce and unrestrained, pouring every ounce of longing, anger, and love into the connection.

Choso froze for a heartbeat before melting into you. The kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that matched your own.

His hands moved to grasp your waist, as if afraid you might vanish. Before they could touch you, he paused as if doubting his ability to be able to touch you. To your frustration, the heat of his almost-contact pulled away. “Your Highness—”

“Choso,” you pleaded, grasping his hands in yours and placing them on their rightful place: your body. You dragged his hands down your torso, helping him explore your curves sensually, intimately as he squeezed his brows together, eyes shut, conveying his inner turmoil. His resolve almost cracked as you begged him, “Take me. Please.”

With agitation, he withdrew his hands from your grasp, painfully clenching them by his sides as he groaned. “Your Highness, you’re playing with fire. I mustn’t. Your body is of a thousand gold, and I would never dare to touch you with my hands—”

But you interrupted him by snorting. “If it is of a thousand gold, or whatever archaic term the royal legends have invented, then you are a thousand gold richer.” You gently took his face in your arms, kissing his forehead. “I am yours, and if you believe that anyone will have my heart after you, then you are most grievously mistaken.” 

He still looked at you, both kneeling on your bed, with a conflicted expression. You gave him a reassuring look before pressing another gentle kiss to his lips. Then, you teased him softly. “Will you not fight for my hand? Will you truly let me be promised to another man after this?”

His eyes darkened in a possessive manner, as he joined his lips against yourself furiously. “I would never,” he punctuated his interruptions with a searing kiss. “let anyone have you after this.”

With tender hands that heavily contrasted his desperation, he slipped the shoulder of your dress, dragging the hem down and down until your breasts were bare to the air. “So, so beautiful,” he whispered before enclosing your nubs in his mouth, kissing them both tenderly.

You could only but gasp, victim to his ministrations as he sneaked another hand up your legs, gently caressing your thighs until he met your core. He groaned, louder than ever, when he was met with the bare heat, wet with your desire and arousal all for him. With painstaking gentleness, he eased a finger in, drinking in your moans and sounds of pleasure. 

He couldn’t help but smile at the small scream that escaped you when he curled his fingers up. It seemed he had found the place that pleasured you most, one that you had stayed unbeknownst to. And he definitely couldn’t stop himself from torturing and repeatedly hitting against it with the way squeals of his name left your mouth whenever he did so.

Before you knew it, an unknown feeling washed over you as Choso kept continuing his touches, one that seemed like worship with how he was looking for your reactions, for your pleasure. A gush of slick escaped you, and Choso kissed your breasts one final time before drawing out his finger.

You peered down at him, flushed, as his eyes stayed trained on you while he slowly drew his finger inside his mouth, seeming to savor your taste. At last, he pulled it away from his mouth and asked, voice hoarse, “how are you feeling?”

You laugh bashfully and look away, blushing. “You know you don’t need to ask that. But,” and you pause, looking at him through your lashes, “you know I want more.”

The flush that was only apparent on his cheeks spread to his entire face and neck and he whines as he buries his face in your breasts once more, now to evade eye contact. “Don’t say things like that. It makes holding back even more arduous.”

You stroke his hair, smiling softly. “Would you have any qualms about taking my…maidenhood if you were my husband.”

His answer is immediate. “Absolutely not.”

“So you want to…make love with me?” You heat up at your own words, nervously looking at him in fear of his rejection.

He pauses, but then slowly nods. “Well, yes, but—”

“Then we shall put archaic traditions aside. Choso,” and you look at him mischievously as he squints at you, “I command you to make love to me.”

The reaction is immediate. As if animated again, he pins you down against your mattress, eyes feral as he takes your lips with his once more. With both hands, a riiiip echoes across the room as he entirely tears your shift in his bare hands. Mind you, it was not weak material, and you lay dumbfounded as he strips his shirt off.

You don’t even have time to admire his bare torso, muscled as you knew it would be. Your eyes automatically trail down to the string of hair that leads down to his v-line as he rids himself of his trousers. 

What gets uncovered makes you pray for your life, and you gasp, eyes wide. “How is that even supposed to go inside—”

He says your name, reassuringly, as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “I will take the utmost care of you. I promise.” He lines his length with your entrance, and, with another kiss, he pushes in gently.

When his member first breaches you, you gasp, dizzied by the fullness. Then, as he slowly bottoms out, you whine while impaled on his cock. “More.”

Basking in the euphoria of your clenching heat around him, at your request, he curses. He pulls out his length—slowly, gently—and then slams back in, and you squeal, whispering a breathless utter of his name once more. 

He continues making love to you, the sounds of his devotion echoing across the room. When you both climax, it is down with a prayer of the other’s name, as a promise. That you are both each other’s, and no qualms about proprietary and status could any longer apprehend either of you.

When the both of you settle down, him having gently cleaned you with a cloth, he collapses next to you in bed, bare arms engulfing you and pulling you closer. As you both lie there, skin to skin, you giggle at your own thoughts.

At the sound, Choso perks up, looking at you in soft amusement. “What’s the matter, my love?”

Ignoring the way your heart fluttered at the nickname, you replied, “I daresay you will be the strongest prince consort in the history of our kingdom.”

The mention of the weak nobles that had ascended the throne in centuries past makes him snicker smugly. “I would agree,” he muses, amused like you. “They would not have been as tall as me, or as strong, or as good in bed—-”

“Choso!” you squealed, grabbing a pillow and smacking him with it.

Grinning like a devil, he dodged with ease, catching your wrist and pulling you down onto the bed. Before you could protest, he wrestled himself on top of you, pinning your arms above your head and smothering you in kisses.

After his barrage was over, he turned solemn once more. “I’m serious,” he murmured, his tone softer, more sincere. His dark eyes searched yours, and his voice dropped to a near whisper. “I’ll protect you, stand beside you, love you until my last breath. You’re my queen in every way that matters. And no matter what, I’ll never leave your side again.”

Your breath hitched, his words settling deep in your chest. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you smiled, warmth flooding your heart. “And I’ll hold you to that, my love.”

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was equal parts promise and devotion. It wasn’t hurried or frenzied, but slow, a tangible declaration of everything you both had endured to reach this moment. Here, in the quiet of your chamber, with his weight grounding you and his lips marking you as his, you found the only place you wanted to be—by his side, now and always.

general masterlist

a/n AHH HI POOKIES!! I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED MY FIRST CHOSO FIC?? let me know if i do him justice this was written with my pussy and me having a specific hyperfixation :3 anyways i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you guys did too :')

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots ;3

[sathereal]

mhm

[sathereal]

you make me warm

[sathereal]

Being a girl is: wanting to go to bed early but deciding to just get on tumblr/wattpad/Ao3 for a little bit and then end up finding a fic series that you really like and read until well past your usual bedtime then keeping on because it’s already past your bedtime. Then being mad when you wake up in the morning because you overslept your timer.

[sathereal]

casual

[sathereal]

warm hug

[sathereal]

ohhh my............. ⁉️

gojos to soften the blows from the jjk ending

[sathereal]

"baby..."

a few seconds of silence.

"baby," you whisper again, poking satoru's side softly. he groans and opens his arms wide making you giggle and snuggle into him. bare skin meets and he lets out a soft sigh.

“toru, I’m hungry,” you whine softly, head butting his chest.

“sweetheart,” he rasps out, “you just sucked the life out of me. i'm practically lobotomized right now.”

you giggle and run your fingers up and down his toned stomach. he lifts his head up to look at you and then flops it back down with yet another groan.

“how are you so energetic right now? we both came like five times.”

you purse your lips and shrug,

“dunno, you just give me life i guess.”

“yeah, you forcefully steal it through that tight pussy-“

“satoru!” you squeak, slapping your hand over his mouth, “what is wrong with you?”

he licks a large strip up your hand and you squeal again and yank your hand away but reach up and pinch his nipple.

“ow what the fuck-“

satoru grabs your wrist with surprising speed for someone who could hardly move just seconds ago.

“thought you were lobotomized,” you grumble.

“that shit fixed me,” he smirks as he lets go of your hand and rests it on your hip, rubbing circles into your skin. you huff and and snuggle closer to him.

“… so now that your brain is back… McDonalds?”

“five more minutes of naked cuddling then fine,” satoru says as he tucks his face into your neck and tugs you closer.

“mmm, deal.”