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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 9 months

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HOW DEEP IS YOUR DEVOTION? ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; you’re his knight, and he’s your prince. if only it were that simple.

word count; 6.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, royalty au (..but no effort put into making it historically accurate in any way oops), knight!reader x prince!toru!!, childhood friends, mutual pining, fluffy overall, some hurt/comfort too, vague allusions to abuse (reader is punished by one of the castle maids as a child but it’s only really hinted at), knight!reader is horrendously devoted but prince!gojo is arguably worse, he would burn the world down if u asked nicely <3

a/n; big big BIG thank you to @/teddybeartoji for having the biggest brain in the galaxy and infecting me with this concept <33 if u pay attention while reading you can tell the exact moment i started slowly spiraling into insanity

you are five years old when you meet the prince.

five years old, a mere child, and too young to be blinded by such brilliance. too young to be where you are; curled up in a dark alley, back against a grimy brick wall, covered in bruises. like a beaten dog — scrawny and afraid. waiting for a strike that never comes.

the boy in front of you is also five years old, but you don’t know that. something in him looks older, somehow, something in the way he carries himself. like he doesn’t have anything to be afraid of. like he’s never even felt fear. he parts his lips and speaks like he has the right to, like he’s comfortable in his own skin, a radiance so blinding you could mistake him for the sun. too much for you to bear.

”does it hurt?”

the words fall on deaf ears. but you flinch, your body reacts, a tremble down your tiny spine. you hear the sound but not the words. too mesmerized, too paralyzed, unable to look away from the blue of his eyes, painted with rich watercolour hues. seeping into the world around you like ink on paper, cobalt and aquamarine and something else, something you’ve never seen before —

a blue so jarring it makes you shiver.

the boy has an innocent face. almost girlish, plump cheeks and long lashes, clean clothes and smooth skin. a little too pretty to be out here, you think, in this part of town — too pure to be anywhere near someone like you. he’s above you, that much you can tell. a pretty, innocent face, untouched by dirt or ache; the face of royalty. an entirely different species.

there’s something keen in his eyes, a contrast to his childlike features. a sharp gaze, something that sees through you, something that won’t look away. something mildly frightening. enough to have you cowering in fear, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

but then he smiles. and it’s sincere. sweet, vibrant, all honey and milk and a world you cannot reach.

a smile so captivating you take his outstretched hand, and let him drag you away to god-knows-where.

(that's how it begins. the dynamic that’ll follow you into your adult lives; satoru takes the lead, and you follow. no matter where he’s going.)

satoru gojo, as you soon come to learn, is the prince of the nation you reside in. the only child of the royal family, born with talent and prestige, fame and fortune, set to become king. a different species, indeed.

but he brings you home with him, to a castle so grand you feel as if your very presence is an insult to the architects who designed it, and convinces his parents to let you stay. it’s surprising, but you don’t protest; following him like a puppy at his trail. and he’s stubborn, insistent, demanding that he get to keep said puppy.

the king and queen don’t care one way or another. they glance at you with apathy, and tell satoru to do what he wants — but convincing the scary and displeased castle maids takes some work.

satoru doesn’t waver, though. he holds your hand in his, and demands that you be treated with respect.

and he wins. he always wins.

that’s how you become the prince’s playmate. raised alongside him, allowed to stay close, eat from the same food. he won’t settle for anything less. defending your honour, always, before you even know what honour means. before you care.

time passes slowly. joyously. every day is a new adventure, as you attempt to get used to the miracle that is your new life — sweet and silky, apricot blossoms and fresh peaches, duvet pillows and a bubbly laughter you didn’t know you still had. he coaxes it out of you, with every secret midnight outing, every bout of mischief he drags you both into.

satoru has nice hands, uncalloused palms, fingers that grasp yours and don’t let go. he takes you outside, to see the stars, to catch fireflies in the dark of night on top of the hill that oversees the castle. to take a dip in the river just below it, gleaming a silver hue under the blue shade of the moon. you worry about getting in trouble, but he reassures you — the prince can do what he wants.

that might be true, but you are no prince. not even close. satoru may safeguard you, but all you’ll ever be in the eyes of the world is a stray he got to keep.

and one time, only one time, you do face the repercussions of your midnight outings. you, and you alone. a bad influence — seething words, buzzing in your ears. an angry castle maid, and a stinging pain in your cheek. blurry tears.

but that’s an incident no one in the castle dares to speak of.

(you’ll never forget that look in his eyes.)

satoru is an odd boy. he keeps you close, always, clinging to you like he needs you to breathe. you don’t understand why, but you’ve learned not to question him. the castle guards all know you as the prince’s best friend, and some part of you knows that’s all you’ll ever amount to. but you don’t mind.

because you love him. at five years old, six years old, seven and beyond, you love him. satoru gojo, the kindest boy in the stratosphere.

a boy who keeps finding you, no matter where you are, who tugs you along as naturally as the rise of the sun. who raids kitchen cabinets with you and always makes you laugh, little giggles and chuckles that have him beaming proudly. a boy who cleans your wounds with a serious expression, and tells you that he’ll protect you forever.

(you tell yourself the same. that you’ll protect him forever and ever, until you run out of air to breathe. a boy so sweet you’d die for him.)

a pledge is made. you make it before you know what a pledge is. pledging to protect him, to become his sword, because even as a child you understand that his life will be difficult. you see it in the dullness that sometimes comes over his eyes, the apathy of his so-called parents, the hours he spends locked up with nothing but a pile of dusty books to keep him company.

so you decide to become his knight. his, and his alone.

it’s challenging. but you push through; training with another aspiring knight, miles better than you, black hair tousled by the breeze as he knocks you off your feet for the thirtieth consecutive time. wincing as the girl who sometimes watches your sparring patches you up, soft hands cleaning your wounds so tenderly that you almost choke up.

and eventually, as the apricot blossoms of the castle orchard wilt and bloom over and over in a flurry of pure white, your dream comes true.

there’s something playful in satoru’s eyes, when he places his blade on the curve of your shoulder. something sweet and fond, and just a little bit ironic — as if you’re still seven years old, and playing house.

you want to tell him that it isn’t a joke. that you’re serious, about this, that you’d tear your stomach open to keep him safe. but you know he’d just laugh. so you let the words clog up your throat, honey-sweet devotion sticking to the walls of your esophagus. breathing in through your nose, as he speaks. as the words you’ve waited to hear flow from his glossy lips.

when all is said and done, satoru smiles. he calls you his little knight, and you can tell that he’s teasing you. indulging you, as if he’s in on some joke that you aren’t. but you’ll take what you can get.

you call him my prince, expecting him to laugh it off, but his smile begins to fall. and a pang of ache rushes through your soul, instantaneous, guilty, although you don’t understand why.

so you keep calling him satoru. even though it’s more than a little unprofessional, and you become painfully accustomed to receiving a few judgemental looks here and there. a knight and a prince shouldn’t be so very close, they think, and you don’t disagree. but there’s nothing they can do about it, anyhow.

the prince and his knight can do what they want.

not much changes. you’re his knight, but he treats you the same as before. he’s playful, a little goofy, and you indulge him. as always. attached at the hip, bickering and bantering, bouncing off each other effortlessly. and satoru never bothers to hide your history, the soft spot he has for you; it’s in every fleeting glance, soft tilt of his head, teasing call of ah, there’s my favorite knight.

(you’re no stranger to jealous looks. sometimes a pout on the lips of a pretty girl, a crease between the brows of one of your fellow knights. and sometimes a glare, from his fiancée — a woman he was engaged to before he was old enough to speak.

but you don’t mind. you’ve never cared what anyone but satoru thinks of you.)

satoru never loses his smile, that effortless air of confidence. the charm that makes people want to follow him, a charisma you know well. one you fell victim to at five years of age. he’s still just a prince, far from being a king, but he receives the same respect.

and that keen, sharp glimmer in his eyes never quite goes away; the hardened shell around his heart unbroken. you see it in fleeting glances, during meetings, ones he allows you to attend despite your status. when he speaks to a room of people with more power than you can imagine, his voice unwavering. back straight. elegant, serious, the presence of royalty — enough to receive respect without even trying.

but he still shoots you a smile, easygoing, when your eyes meet. one only you can see.

as for you, the step into knighthood is a clumsy one. but you take your duties seriously, and adjust properly. a deep devotion runs through your veins, from your beating heart down to the tips of your fingers, where a sword lies clutched. you keep it close, always, ready to serve. to obey. to protect.

all of it for one person.

all you do is for him. duels in his honour, beasts slain for his peace of mind, and he’s always there to welcome you back. wiping the blood from your cheek, tenderly, smearing his untainted skin with red; all while he looks at you softly, a coo or word of praise waltzing on the tip of his tongue.

that’s only for when you remain unscathed, though, when the blood on your cheek isn’t your own. when you get hurt, it’s different — something begins to brew inside his eyes, and you can’t tell what it is. but he insists on bandaging you himself, paying no mind to your meek protests.

sometimes, you’re more reckless than usual. your injuries worse. sometimes he looks upset, angry with you, and doesn’t speak. you don’t, either.

a strange look comes over his eyes, every now and then. when you get down on one knee, to kiss his hand, the metal of the ring on his finger — and if you look up, you’ll see it. simmering inside those blue depths, something just as fond as it is sad. troubled, you think.

(something tells you he’d kneel, too, if only you’d let him.)

the bond between you remains intact. even as you begin to shoulder more responsibilities, more duties, even though you don’t have as much freedom as you used to. even though you seem to get less time to spend with each other every single day. but you stay together, even so; just like when you were children, running around and causing trouble, more than you could get away with now.

despite everything, satoru has grown up into a fine man. and you couldn't be prouder.

“do you think i look good in black? be honest.”

you throw him a glance. curious, somewhat perplexed, eyeing him up and down.

satoru is wearing a white blouse, puffy sleeves and a low neckline, showing off the skin of his bare chest. no black colours to be seen. you think back to that banquet he attended last month, forced into an expensively tailored black coat. a corset around his waist. and then you hum.

“sure you do.”

”suguru said it makes me look like a try-hard,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. tilting his head in your direction. ”do you think he’s jealous?”

”definitely.”

a moment passes.

satoru narrow his eyes, and gives you a dubious look. clicking his tongue. ”… something tells me you aren’t taking this seriously.”

”i am,” you assure him, a lazy smile at your lips. meeting his gaze, that displeased little pout. still smoothing a brush down the mane of your horse, the smell of hay soothing your muddled senses. ”just tired. you look good in anything. you know that.”

he hums. silent, the sound of a spring breeze filling in the gaps.

it’s late. outside the stables, the world is engulfed by a dark sky, almost too murky to see anything. hazy stars glimmer in the distance, and a sense of fatigue gnaws at your bones. it’s been a long day, and yet you’re here — doing even more work. just a little more.

and satoru’s right there with you. even though he’s just sitting there, on the floor, not lifting a finger to help. not that he has to. insistent on spending some quality time with you, keeping you company. just talking and munching on the food he snuck in, bread and cheese and an expensive bottle of wine, that he leaves completely untouched. he tries to leave some of everything else for you, though. keyword being tries.

a sense of peace simmers in the air. palpable, almost enough to taste, as midnight air streams in from the opened doors, chilly and pleasant on your skin. ruffling the thin fabric of your clothing.

and it’s nice, you think, just to have satoru there — talking about this and that, complaining about all the annoying people he had to meet yesterday, yawning every now and then. nostalgic. like this, it almost feels like you're still kids. back when you spent every single hour of the day by each other’s side.

it’s been a long time since you got the chance to speak like this. satoru’s been busy, and so have you. more so than usual.

”are they running you ragged?” he suddenly asks, and you don’t realize you’ve spent the last minute staring into space. resuming your brushing, with steady hands, but turning your head to meet his gaze.

”need me to…” he makes a slicing motion with his hand, right over his throat. a glint of mischief in his eyes. ”handle it?”

and you scoff. amused, but answering him seriously; unsure if his question is all-together humorous, if it doesn’t carry a hint of something genuine too. ”of course not.”

there’s a weariness in the way you blink. the way you pet the animal in front of you, having finished getting the dirt and blood clots out of her mane. she lays down in her stall, and you smile. turning around to rest your back against the wooden border between you, a respite for your aching bones.

it gets just a little bit tiring, sometimes. fighting, patrolling, helping townsfolk. protecting the castle, making sure everything is in order. killing whatever needs to be killed. cleaning the stained silver of your sword.

but…

”it’s my duty,” you answer, seriously, and it comes out sounding like a vow. because it is.

you avoid his gaze, but you can feel it, as you pick up the wine bottle by your feet and pop the cork. soft moonlight flits in from the windows, illuminating the green glass. a chartreuse glow that reminds you of fireflies, shimmering in your grasp, and for some reason it soothes your heart.

satoru only hums, far from approving. popping a piece of cheese into his mouth.

after a brief pause, he continues. ”you don’t have to be so serious all the time, you know.” his voice comes out a little raspy. it’s got a certain tilt to it, one that means he wants you to take him seriously. ”not around me.”

you take a sip of the wine. expensive, blood red. it’s too sweet for your taste, heavy on your tongue.

”… i’m less serious with you than i am with others.”

satoru sits up a little straighter.

”yeah?” he grins, a kind of satisfaction blooming in his eyes. cerulean and sweet. almost smug, you think, like the cat that got the cream. ”that’s good. you really should loosen up, though.”

a glance. fleeting, just to see him — but he isn’t looking at you. he’s looking outside, through the opened window, at the sway of the apricot trees. white petals flitting in, landing by his feet. in his hair.

when his eyes meet yours, they’re smoothed over by that something you can never put your finger on. a blend between longing and fondness. crinkled at the edges.

”you’ve got a pretty smile,” he exhales. ”be a shame not to show it off.”

when you look at him, really look at him, you see it. that fatigue. it slips out when he talks to you, a sincere way of speaking that never quite allows him to hide his emotions. you hear the hint of a yawn, can practically feel the weight on his shoulders. the weight of an entire nation. a weight he was always bound to carry.

(you could never bring yourself to be even remotely alright with it.)

“have you been doing okay?” you ask, and satoru blinks. there’s a soft look in your eyes, as they trail over the contours of his face, his lashes catching the light of the stars. an innocent, pretty face. but he looks tired. frail. like he hasn’t been sleeping properly.

something rotten bubbles up inside your throat.

”they’re running you ragged, too,” you say, hand settling on your hip. where your sword usually is. unconsciously, on instinct — or maybe just to make him laugh. ”need me to step in?”

satoru chuckles. husky, mellow. dripping with soft amusement.

”settle down, little knight.”

a moment passes. silent. his eyes flutter shut, for a second, and a breath slips from his lips. almost a sigh. in the distance, you hear the quiet coo of an owl.

”of course,” he eventually answers, opening his eyes. and you think he looks a little resigned. but smiling. self-deprecating, you think, although he’d like you to assume otherwise. ”all of it is just preparation, anyhow.”

a flimsy smile, as he looks into your knowing eyes. ”it’s what i was born for, wasn’t it?”

you purse your lips.

“… i don’t think so.”

another chuckle. a little delighted, this time.

“yeah,” he cranes his neck, emitting a low groan. “me neither.” something sweet blossoms in his eyes, sweet like the crunch of the apple he bites into, juice dribbling down his chin. ”but it is what it is.”

a beat. you part your lips, trying to find the right words. ”tell me if there's anything i can do,” you settle on. the same words you always choose. ”anything at all.”

satoru smiles. “right.” his voice carries a teasing tilt; almost a purr. ”there’s nothing you wouldn't do for me, hm?”

“— there isn’t.” you smile. “nothing at all.”

he blinks. a little dazed, for a second, and you watch as his ears redden. slight, enough for you to notice, but gone before you can bring it up. a contemplation smooths over his features. and a pleasant breeze flits in, ruffling his hair, apricot petals kissing up his skin. he looks at the apple in his hands.

then he sighs. placing his palms on his knees, and rising to his feet. his arms twitch, muscular beneath the flimsy blouse, and you gulp. although you aren’t sure why.

“alright, then.” his eyes flicker in the dim light, sharp and decisive. he crosses over to you with long strides. “there is something you can do.”

when he’s close enough, satoru reaches out his hand; opening his palm. a silent beckoning. you look at him, not saying a word. his expression is unreadable.

then you intertwine your fingers with his. unquestioningly, even in the midst of your confusion.

(it reminds you of that day. when he pulled you up to your feet, held your hand in his and refused to let go. leading you to the promise of something better.)

no matter where he goes, you follow.

and satoru grins. it’s sweet, just like back then, a smile so vibrant you wish you could tuck it into your sleeve and keep it there forever. he curls his fingers around yours, gentle, fondness bubbling up inside his eyes. for a second, you think you see the sun.

“come with me.”

at first, you truly aren’t sure where he’s going to take you. hand in hand, you begin to walk, feeling the midnight breeze nip at your skin. beyond the castle walls, away from the hustle and bustle of the nearby town. satoru holds your hand and smiles, tousled tufts of white hair swaying with the wind, leading you to a place you know well. a place where the air tastes like freedom.

it’s the river you used to play by as children.

gleaming a solemn silver under the evanescent moon, framed by bushes of lilacs, blooming indigo and violet and pure white. butterflies flutter about, almost glittering, blue wings settling down on the leaves. the scent of nectar hangs heavy in the air. on top of the hill just above you, you think you can spot tiny little glowing dots; green and yellow, buzzing around. dancing merrily, now that there aren’t any troublemaker children left to trap them.

satoru lets go of your hand, to roll up his sleeves. the hems of his pants. then he’s taking a step forward, dangerously close to the edge of the river, and you can tell what he’s thinking.

“ah — wait —“ you stumble forward, to grab hold of his arm. a worried crease forms between your brows. “that's dangerous, satoru. you could slip and fall.”

he turns to face you, a teasing mirth in his eyes. smirking lightly. “oh? is that so?” he hums, a slight tilt of his head. then he’s stepping closer, so close you feel his warm breath on your skin, but you will yourself not to step back. “wanna know what i think?”

he leans forward, just a little further, warm air brushing against the shell of your ear. flushing beneath it. his voice comes out low, a sleepy lilt, dangerously raspy. hand ghosting over your waist.

”i think you’re too scared to get in.”

you blink.

”… really?” you deadpan, stepping back a tad. satoru looks pleased with himself.

“really,” he purrs. “you were always like that. could barely dip your toes in without shivering.” he reaches out to pinch your cheek, a coo on the tip of his tongue. ”scaredy-cat.”

you raise an unimpressed brow. satoru steps back, inching closer to the river, until a quiet splash tells you that he’s standing in the water. lapping up his bare legs, not enough to even reach his knees — it felt a lot scarier when you were smaller. he’s still holding your hand, very loosely, fingertips ghosting your own.

“c’mon,” he coaxes. soft, encouraging, a playful glimmer in his eyes. teeth catching the light of the moon. “or is it too much for my brave knight to handle?”

satoru laughs, when that makes you furrow your brows, attempting to hide the flush of your cheeks. a warmth spreads through your chest at the term of endearment, and you bite your lip. melting a little.

his knight. his favourite knight.

“... fine,” you tangle your fingers in his own. sighing deeply, taking a tentative step forward. “just be careful, okay? i don't want to deal with your whining if you hit your head.”

“ah, but you’d kiss it better, no? if i asked?” he flashes you a honeyed grin, eyes rich with amusement. you hope the darkness of the night is enough to hide the red of your ears.

a grumble buzzes in your throat, locked behind your pursed lips. something in your jaw goes tight.

the man in front of you softens. parting his glossy lips. he says your name; slowly, thoughtfully, as if savouring every syllable. dragging them out, speaking with a lilt that tells you he’s being sincere.

“— loosen up. it’s just you and me.”

so you do.

and it’s odd. how easy it is to get lost in him, the watercolour of his eyes, the brightness of his grin. how pliantly you let him whisk you away. before you know it, you’re playing in the water — because satoru splashed you, laughing at the shock on your face and the shiver of your spine, and you had no choice but to retaliate.

the sound of his laughter fills the air, sweet and bubbly. deep and giddy. strands of hair stick to his wet skin, droplets running down his neck, but his grin never falters. bright and toothy, boyish. he looks younger than you ever remember him being. like there’s no weight on his shoulders, none at all, only soaked fabric weighing him down. a flimsy, see-through blouse.

you think it’s ridiculous. two grown adults, splashing each other like children. but his melodic giggles are contagious, and before you know it, you’re laughing too — and satoru looks at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. through dewy eyelashes, with cerulean eyes that melt into the pale blue of the moon and the silver of the river. filled with wonder.

a particularly ruthless splash knocks him off balance, and he has the instinct to reach for your arm; stumbling, slipping, dragging you down with him. you land on his chest, cheek against his neck, his pulse against your skin. erratic, joyous. fluttering happily. his chest is heaving, lifting you up and down, a little, rhythmic and comforting.

a sudden yelp slips past your lips, as you get snapped back into reality, into the realization that you basically just pushed your own prince into a river and used his unfairly soft chest as a cushion. a mumbled string of apologies escapes you, as you attempt to get up, scrambling to find footing.

but satoru wraps his arms around you. tucking you under his chin, keeping you flush against his chest. nice and still.

and then he sighs. a blissful little breath, fatigue seeping out of him. into the air.

“stay like this, for a bit,” he rasps. ”it’s okay.”

his heartbeat resounds in your ear. warm and rapid, like claps of thunder, coaxing you into closing your eyes. satoru has always felt so very safe. the water of the river is cold, seeping through the fabric of your clothing and sticking to your skin, but…

(he’s warm.)

silence. and then, a whisper; frail, slipping past his lips, gently slicing the silence in half. softer than you've ever heard him speak.

“i missed this.”

…

nuzzling into his neck, you breathe him in. he smells like sandalwood and dried roses, buzzing with warmth, heavy arms around your waist. solid. when did he get so big? you used to be taller.

then again — that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?

“… me too.”

“missed you,” he continues, his jaw on top of your head. it’s a sincere confession; childlike in its innocence. “missed hearing you laugh like that. feels like it’s been so long.”

you stay silent. unsure of what to say. satoru continues, and you let his husky voice carry you away, the tremor of his chest running through your entire body. soothing like a lullaby.

”we haven't had much time together, lately. i’ve been worried,” he admits, and something about it strikes you as rather sheepish. a little ashamed. ”it bothers me that i can't be there to watch over you. make sure you're treated with respect, you know.”

a sleepy chuckle. muffled into his shoulder, almost a scoff — slightly exasperated. little droplets cling to his skin, sticking to your lips.

”relax, your majesty,” you tease. ”i promise the other knights aren’t bullying me.”

satoru pouts. you can hear it, when he speaks. ”i’m serious,” he huffs, squeezing you lightly. ”and it’s not them i’m worried about. suguru’s there.”

another scoff threatens to escape your throat. you want to tell him the only knight that should be suspected of bullying you is suguru himself, but before you can even think to part your lips satoru’s beaten you to it.

”they all treat you so carelessly.” there’s something cold to his voice, an irritation tugging at his teeth. oddly seething. ”like you exist to serve them. like you’re disposable.”

a moment passes, heavy with a silence so thick you don’t dare break it. when he speaks again, it’s an order. a demand.

”i want you to tell me if they go too far.”

silence. again. you can do nothing but gnaw at the flesh of your bottom lip.

(he isn’t wrong. but that’s simply what it means to be a knight — half-human, half-weapon. an unattainable ideal, stuffed inside a suit of armor.

when a weapon breaks under the force of a slash, the only choice is to throw it away. that much you know.)

”it’s fine. i’m not that fragile,” you weakly protest, but it’s not enough. satoru huffs.

”you’re a human being,” he reminds you. strangely stern, for once. chastising. ”you deserve to be treated with respect. knight or not. fragile or not.”

a deep inhale. he breathes in, and the rise of his chest carries you with it. his voice buzzes with something, a slumbering kind of fury. one you haven’t heard in years.

“if anyone gives you trouble — if anyone hurts you… if anyone makes you feel unsafe,” he almost spits the words, like they’re venomous, sacrilegious. ”tell me. i’ll destroy them.”

silence. and then, a chuckle.

that’s all you can manage; that one meek little breath. resisting the urge to cower, at the love that clings to every word he speaks. angered affection. a promise, dangerously genuine, like a growing wildfire. ”i can take care of myself, satoru,” you remind him. hoping it’ll soothe him. ”you know that.”

but his grip around you only tightens. gentle, even still. as if you’re made of glass, a firefly cupped in his palms. he lets the silence linger, for a moment.

and then;

“i’d do it, you know.”

“… do what?” you ask, though some part of you already knows.

satoru’s reply is instantaneous. an arrow hitting its target, cold and concise, decisive. frighteningly honest. almost a growl, flattened, a hint of teeth behind his soft lips. ”destroy them. anyone.”

”i’d tear this nation apart if you asked me to.”

…

(ah. that look in his eyes — one you remember well. strung together with blurred memories, the sting of a palm on your cheek, a castle maid you never saw again.)

you search for the words. biting back a gulp, hesitant. “… i wouldn’t.”

“i know.” satoru yawns, breathing you in, voice shifting back into the softness you’re so used to. your shoulders relax. “but i would. if that’s what you wanted.”

and it’s a little scary, the depths of his devotion. but you’re almost certain you’d do the same for him. maybe you're both a little sick in the head, a little too eager to serve your hearts on a silver platter.

“it bothers me, you know.” satoru breaks you out of your thoughts. gentle, a soft lull of his tongue. ”when you get hurt. when you fight for me.”

“i know,” you murmur. you’ve seen it in his eyes, a worry he’s not as good at hiding as he thinks. ”i want to, though.”

“and i want you to be safe.” a chuckle bubbles up in his throat, just a little bit rueful. “you never listen, do you? so stubborn, i swear. always worrying me.”

you bite down on your lip. he sounds… a little sad.

“… sorry.”

a moment’s pause. then he shakes his head; cradling you close. “it’s fine. i’m here. always,” his palm runs down the small of your back. ”in case anything happens.”

he inhales. ”and when i become king —” a beat. he swallows thickly. ”you’ll never have to worry again. no one will be able to touch you.”

”satoru,” you crack a small smile. amused. raising a single eyebrow. ”i’m not worried. i can protect myself.”

”i know. but i’m saying you don’t have to.”

and then he’s pulling back. just a little bit, just enough to see you. cheek smushed against his chest, comfortable and soft, more unguarded than he’s seen you these past few months. it’s enough to get his heart racing. enough to have him reaching out, fingertips ghosting over your hand, tangling your fingers together. bringing it to his glossy lips. a chaste kiss, brimming with unspoken murmurs of love.

”— i’ll protect you forever,” he vows. ”remember?”

there’s devotion in his eyes. heavy, a vow he’ll never quite be able to voice in full. something that makes the blue of his eyes glow even brighter, cerulean, aquamarine, a blue so jarring it makes your heart beat faster than it should.

you blink. starstruck, caught in a daze, lost within that sea of blue. distracted by his warm breath on your cold skin, the soft whisper voiced against your knuckle. something shy blossoms in your chest, enough to have you averting your gaze.

“... you really don’t care about the dynamic here, do you?” is all you can reply. a meek scoff, a weak attempt at hiding how flustered you are. “i’m the knight. i’m your protector.”

“oh, i know.” a smile sticks to his lips, playful, the back of his hand caressing your cheek. a coo on his tongue. “my little hero. what would i ever do without you?”

a roll of your eyes. satoru chuckles. in the distance, you hear crickets chirping, a breeze rustling the lilac bushes all around you. he’s still cradling your cheek, smoothing over your wet skin, brushing a drop of water away with his thumb. clinging to your bottom eyelash.

“i don't get it, though.”

you blink. when you meet his eyes, satoru looks a little perplexed. muttering under his breath, absently rubbing circles over your cheekbone. you resist the urge to close your eyes again, biting back a blissful sigh.

”a prince shouldn’t care for his knight…” he repeats, like he’s heard the string of words a million times before. ”the idea of that. i don’t understand it. never have.”

the smile that blossoms on his lips is soft, indescribably so, as if he’s looking at the most precious thing in his life. rich and warm, like wine in your veins, nectar on your tongue, a chest pressed against your own. dripping with fondness.

satoru tilts his head, as if in confusion — but he’s smiling. “what’s so strange about wanting to protect the one dearest to my heart?”

…

his hand slips from your skin, a warmth leaving your cheek. only to search for your hand, again, cradling it in his larger palm. placing it right over his chest, against the soaked material of his blouse. ”feel that?”

you do. a rhythmic rise and fall, a soft flutter from the depths of his ribcage. as if it’s itching to break out, out of the cage that binds it, the hardened shell around it. a heart too big for his body.

”it’s you,” satoru whispers. ”all for you.”

a moment passes.

silently, you lean forward; tucking yourself into his neck. into that comforting warmth, wet skin beginning to dry, the steady thrum of his heart right by your ear. you listen. not saying a word, afraid of what might leave the confines of your strangled throat. it feels as if your heart has begun to crawl upwards, sweet honey blocking your airways, and all you can do it feel it pulse.

all while satoru gazes at you, fondly. placing a big palm on the back of your head.

fireflies dance in the distance. butterflies flutter about. strings of lilacs bloom under the glow of the moon. and satoru’s heartbeat never changes, never falls out of tune, a sound you would recognize even if the sky were to shatter, if the world were to end. the sound that saved you, the boy who dragged you out of hell. into his light.

satoru gojo is everything. he’s the beat of your heart, the silver of your sword, the reason you believe in goodness. he’s your prince, your favorite person, and you’ll protect him until your very last breath. until the world runs out of oxygen.

a boy so sweet you’d die for him.

(a boy so sweet he wouldn’t want you to.)

a shiver runs down his spine — sudden, a shudder of his bones, and a quiet little sniffle. you feel it, hear it, and don’t attempt to bite back the fond smile that slips into the curve of your lips.

”c’mon,” you beckon, almost a coo, placing your palms on his chest to hoist yourself up. ”let’s go home.”

but satoru shakes his head. and then he traps you again, strong arms around your waist, pressing you against him. you could escape — you’re almost certain you’re stronger — but you don’t quite have the heart to. ”it’s fine,” he huffs. almost a whine. ”stay.”

”you’ll get sick.”

”i never get sick.”

a deep exhale. tumbling from your lips, just a little bit humorous. mostly exasperated. ”that can change,” you mumble, fingertips dancing along his exposed skin. absentmindedly.

a smile. one you can’t see, but you hear it clear as day. he sounds content, like he’s got everything he needs right in front of him. ”some things never change,” he informs you. pleased. ”just look at us.”

and he’s right. so you don’t say anything else.

but your heartbeat quickens, only for a beat or two, and you’re almost certain he feels it. if he does, he opts not to tease you for once, and you’re grateful. and so the silence lingers. as if time has begun to freeze, into an eternal dusk, a string of silent seconds. broken only by low melodic chirping from faraway fields, his soft breaths in your ear.

until satoru suddenly chuckles.

“hey,” he hums, shifting a little, the river swaying around you. pulling back to meet your gaze, eyes crinkled and voice raspy. “wanna know a secret?”

you raise your head. a dubious look on your face, one that has him breathing out an amused puff of air, like you’re getting ready to hear a bad joke. “... what is it?”

before the words have fully left your throat, he’s resting his forehead against yours — breath fanning over your lips. a pleasant shiver trails down your spine, at the close proximity, goosebumps spreading across your chilled skin. only exacerbated by the whisper that follows, so quiet you almost don’t know if you heard him correctly. childlike in its sincerity. a sunlaced smile woven in between the vowels.

“i think i was born to meet you.”

(a sentiment so sweet you barely even feel the warmth of his lips meeting yours.)

#u both catch a cold the next day <33 #anyway i am normal about the devotion of a loyal knight paired w the devotion of a man who’s only ever loved one single person in his life #shoutout to knight x royalty dynamics for inventing romance #i wanted to get a good balance on prince!gojo’s twisted side and soft side so i hope i did ok!! :’3 #hes a kind man at heart he rly is but i think being born at the peak of the class pyramid does smth to a person lmao #i didn't touch on it in the fic but he would have turned out a lotttt more twisted if he hadnt met reader as a child …#what if i was ur knight..;;; and u were my prince….;;;;; and we changed the trajectory of each other’s lives 😳😳 👉👈#mickey if u see this!!! tysm for letting me write abt this concept i had so much fun!!! this fic is for u <33 #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen

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blueberrybeomgyu · 26 days

Text

୨⎯ "insomnia" ⎯୧ (lcy)

+*:🍓:*﹤descrip. : you help anton after a rough, sleepless week

+*:💗:*﹤content : sub!anton x fem!reader/dom!reader (i think), smut, roommates/friends to lovers

+*:🫐:*﹤warnings : 18+, so mdni 🤞(there are some really bad words in here), unprotected sex bc i forgot to add any </3 (please use protection), edging, wet dreams, overstim kinda, palming over clothes, blowjob, light nipple touching, petname babyboy, anton calls reader noona, vaginal penetration, female anatomy for reader, clit rubbing

+*:🧺:*﹤word count: 5.0K

+*:🤎:*﹤author's note : pls lmk if i missed any tags i should add! this is my first ff so it's lacking, but i tried my best to fix up any obvious plotholes!! i'm a year older than anton so i just made y/n older as well <3 this story switches povs bc im unprofessional, lastly this was cross-posted on ao3!!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Anton can't sleep.

He tosses and turns just to wake up two hours later, hot, sweaty, and heaving. He writes it off as having nightmares, but that doesn’t explain the hard-ons he always has. He considers getting one off to help him relax, and that works for the first two nights. Then, in the days that follow, it's like no matter how long he goes at it, getting himself all whiny and desperate, he can't cum. That realization only makes it harder to stay asleep, lucky if he dozes off for forty minutes.

It's so aggravating. During lecture, he can barely keep his eyes open, but when his head hits the pillow, it's like he can't shut his mind up.

Tonight, he gives up around 1 AM after going in and out of sleep for an entire hour. He's restless but exhausted, and his mood is shot when you walk in the apartment. You had a long shift, so you can’t wait to snuggle in bed and watch a couple of comfort movies. You stop by the kitchen on your way to your room, unable to ignore your roommate's quiet grumbles.

“Anton?” You call out, but his back is turned toward you, and he's still mumbling to himself, fiddling with a container.

“Sweetheart, is everything alright?” You ask, placing an arm on his shoulder and gently turning him toward you.

“m fine, can't get this stupid box open.” He mumbles grumpily. In his hands, a box of hot cocoa packets is bent out of shape. You look at him in question (how did he bend the box like that? They aren't hard to open), but your attention is instead drawn to his features.

To put it short, he looks terrible. His eyes are puffy and red like he's been crying, his hair is tangled like he hasn't brushed it in days, and his oversized shirt is hanging off his shoulder, wrinkled and stretched out like he’s been pulling at it.

“Do you need help?” You reach for the box, but he moves out of your way, tucking the box to himself protectively as he continues struggling with it.

Anton knows he looks stupid, struggling to open this goddamn box, but ever since his problem of not getting off started, he hasn't been able to look you in the eyes. Every time you guys make eye contact, he feels ashamed.

What’s frustrating is that he doesn’t know why. You're beautiful, and he can't lie and say he's not attracted to you, but he's never thought about you in a sexual way, because he’s put in great effort to not do so.

So why is it hard to be around you all of a sudden? He can’t help but feel sad about the circumstances, as he was enjoying the friendship you two had been building for the past three months.

“I got it.” He mutters again, tone sharp and stern. You watch him for a couple seconds and conclude that he doesn't in fact have it.

“Are you sure, Toni? I can-”

“I said I've got it.” He snaps, voices suddenly raised and face scrunched up in annoyance. You slightly flinch at his outburst, a wave of your own irritation washing over you.

“Excuse me?” You ask, offended by his tone. His face falls and he turns away from you again. Seconds later, his shoulders begin to shake with his sobs.

He wishes you would leave him alone, because having your eyes on him makes him feel things he can’t explain. He just wants to have some hot cocoa, get off, then go the fuck to sleep.

“Oh, Toni.” You coo, mood softening as you begin rubbing his back. “What's the matter?”

You and Anton aren’t extremely close, and not by lack of trying. You’re so attracted to him, but love being his friend and don’t want to mess it up by asking him out. Despite that, you've never seen him in this state before. His usually cheerful, even charismatic personality is completely gone, turned into something snappy and miserable.

“I'm so tired.” He says, his voice shaky and so quiet you almost don’t hear him. The palms of his hands come to rub his eyes aggressively. “Can't sleep, no matter what I do.”

You wonder how long he had to be in this state to be acting like this, feeling a bit guilty that you hadn't noticed the signs earlier. You think for a second about how to help.

“I was going to go watch some movies in bed.” You offer after a few moments of silence. “Do you want to join me? It might be nice to have some company for a little bit.”

He lowers his hands from his eyes and thinks about your offer. You guys have huddled in bed for movies before, so it isn’t a wild suggestion, and your bed is always so warm, multiple blankets and plushies adding extra cushion. He turns around, ignoring the heavy feeling he gets from looking at you.

“Here, I'll even make this for you.” You gently remove the box from his hands, ripping its cardboard flap and opening it with ease. He looks at you in surprise for a second, then nods.

“Okay, why don't you go get settled and I'll be there in a minute?”

He pads softly to your room, shoulders slumped and feet dragging.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Anton is buried underneath your duvet and blankets, only his eyes up to his forehead visible when you walk into your bedroom.

“Comfy, are we?” You ask with a light chuckle, reaching out to hand him his cocoa. He sits up in bed and takes the mug. After changing into pajamas in the bathroom, you settle into your own space and pull up a selection of movies on your phone.

“How's The Cat Returns?” You ask, watching as he downs the drink and snuggles back into the sheets.

“Fine.” He mumbles, eyes droopy. You feel bad for him again, hoping he'll be able to get some sleep tonight.

You get through that and a third of Coraline when you hear Anton huff loudly. You glance down to see that he's snuggled up by your chest, eyes shut and breath even. He’s never slept in your bed before, but you don’t want to wake him up from some much needed rest. You take a moment to appreciate his beauty. In the glow from your bedside lamp, you can see his rosy cheeks and furrowed eyebrows, and your heart swells with fondness. Maybe this will make you guys even closer. You smile in triumph and continue the movie.

Ten minutes later, you hear it. You ignore it the first time, but it happens again soon after. Anton lets out a faint whimper. For a second, you think he's talking to you, but he doesn't respond when you call out his name. Instead, he full-on moans.

“N-noona.” He mumbles. The blankets have fallen from his chest and pooled around his pelvis, and you see his hips twitch slightly. “Please…”

Was he…having a wet dream?

Surely not, you tell yourself. The circumstances of this happening are quite unlikely.

“Y/N…need you.” He whines quietly, and your eyes jump to the size of saucers.

He was having a wet dream about you?!

Your cheeks heat up, feeling flattered but scandalized. He doesn't say anything else, but his breath picks up rapidly, becoming more choked off as it progresses. Seconds later, he jerks awake, gasping and panting, his fingers tangled into the blankets. You watch as he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to slow down his breath. Then, he opens them again and looks up from your chest.

“Oh, Noona, did I wake you? I'm sorry.” He asks, voice thick and words slurred.

You ignore the way hearing him call you that now makes you hot all over, arousal manifesting in your panties. He sits up with messy hair and puffy cheeks. Is he just going to pretend like he wasn't dreaming about you?

“What?” You scoff, a smile tugging at your lips. You can't help but laugh at how weird this situation was.

“Sorry for disturbing you, I'll head back to my room now.” You watch in disbelief as he sluggishly stands up from the bed and not-so subtly covers his boner with his large shirt.

The truth is, Anton can't wait to get out of your vicinity. Your scent is stuck to his clothes, and he doesn't know why he likes it so much. That shameful feeling is back, and he wants it off his skin.

“Wait, Anton.” You call out, dropping your phone on the sheets and just barely catching his wrist.

Shit. He turns back to you, eyes falling to your mouth, and he could've sworn you were almost…smirking?

“Did you get to sleep?” You ask, but your eyes lack genuine curiosity.

“Oh, yeah, I guess I did.” He answers awkwardly, looking everywhere but your eyes. He’s so cute, and his nervousness makes you feel empowered.

“What did you dream about?”

“What?” He looks at you finally with a look of confusion.

“Dreams? Did you have any?” You slowly lead him to sit back down. He follows easily, pulled back onto your soft, comfortable blankets.

“Uhm, no, not that I remember.”

“You can't remember what you dreamt about?” You ask, incredulous. He looks away for a second, thinking, then turns back to you and shakes his head.

“I think I've been having nightmares a lot recently. I keep waking up on the verge of a panic attack.” He explains. You hum in contemplation. You can’t help but wonder if any more of these “nightmares” have actually been wet dreams, and if so, how many of them have been about you.

Slowly, your hand trailed along his thigh, and you delight in the sound of his breath hitching. His body is tense, eyes looking at you in question. “But that's alright, I guess I don't w-want to if they were that scary.” He stutters as your hand trails higher and higher. You’re giving him a sultry look, and he wonders if this is going where he thinks it’s going, and is surprised to realize maybe he wants it to go there, despite it being so sudden.

“That's interesting, because I think I know what you dreamt about, and why you can't get to sleep.” You say, circling your finger around a spot right on his hip. They twitch under your touch, and you almost coo again watching him try to restrain himself.

You’re not sure where you suddenly got the nerve to act like this, but you say to hell with it. You’ve been harboring a crush on him ever since you became his roommate, and he obviously shares the same desire, if his subconscious is anything to go off of. His shy demeanor only makes you more confident. You move on from his hip and slide a hand up his loose shirt.

Anton’s almost relieved by your statement—he wants almost nothing more than to have a full night's rest—but he finds it hard to focus on your words as your nails lightly scrape his skin. His eyelids flutter prettily.

“When was the last time you came?” You ask abruptly, causing Anton’s eyes to snap open.

“I’m sorry?”

“You likely can't go to sleep because you're so tense. When you do, you can't stay asleep because you keep having wet dreams about me that eventually wake you back up.” You’re not sure if the last part is true, but that’s your working theory. You watch as he struggles to comprehend your statement as you graze a couple of fingers over his nipple, voice catching in a gasp.

“What are you talking about? I'm not even having inappropriate thoughts about you.” He defends, because he tries so hard to not have inappropriate thoughts about you. He doesn’t want to be a pervert and take advantage of the friendship you guys have, so he pushes away any sexual thoughts that creep up in his mind. Sometimes it’s so hard, but he values your company so much, and doesn’t want to upset you.

“Oh, yeah? So when you moaned, ‘Y/N noona, I need you’ in your sleep, you weren't having inappropriate thoughts about me?” You ask, over-exaggerating the way he moaned. His eyes squeeze shut at the feeling of you tugging on his nipple, then you trail your hand back down to lightly trace his bulge. His hips lift towards your hand, and you pull it away.

Even in his aroused, half-asleep mind, your words make sense. Why he feels shame looking at you, why he’s always rock solid when he wakes up. It’s not a far fetch to think he’s been having sexual dreams, nor is it to wonder if those dreams are about you, since you’re the only person he’s been attracted to lately.

You wrap your hand around his member through his pants, snatching him out of his thoughts.

“F-fuck.” He gasps quietly, surprised at your actions. “What are you doing?”

“Did you think you could get off on the thought of me and I wouldn't take up the opportunity to finally fuck you?”

Questions swim around in his head. Have you been wanting to have sex with him? You’ve been thinking about him inappropriately this whole time? The mere idea of you finding him attractive gets him even more hot and bothered, but he has no time to dwell on these thoughts once you start palming him roughly through his sweatpants.

“Oh, g-god.” He whimpers out after a few minutes, hips finally bucking into your touch. “Please, ‘m close.” His breath quickens again, uneven and harsh like it was in his sleep. His cheeks are dusted with baby pink, embarrassed about how close he’s gotten so quick, but he can’t help it. You’re so beautiful and you’re touching him and he’s realizing maybe his feelings are bigger than he previously thought.

“You're gonna cum from humping my hand?” You ask, unimpressed. “We haven’t even started yet.”

Your words make him feel like he’s being boiled alive. Part of him can’t believe this is happening, but he’s so desperate to please you. Anton gasps, pushing his hips back onto the blankets to get away from the stimulation.

“Please, stop. Wanna last.” He begs. He’s so cute, all weak and compliant, and you want to tease him more, see how long he holds out, but you can tell how much he wants to last, so you relent. He mumbles weak “thank you”s as he comes from the edge, and once his breathing returns to normal, you straddle him. He opens his eyes and looks at you in question, audibly gulping when he sees your dark, hungry gaze. He starts a sentence, but you cut him off as you grind your cunt against his member.

“God, Y/N.” He groans, throwing his head back into the pillows.

“Sorry, you were saying?” You ask, giggling meanly. You keep the movement up, building a rhythm while watching him struggle to string words together.

“I can’t– ahh– can’t believe t-this is happening.” He manages, interrupted by a particularly rough grind. For a second, his head catches on the opening of your cunt, and even through two layers of clothing, the feeling has him reeling.

“Hm.” You sigh into the feeling and accept the fact that you were gonna have to throw these underwear away. “Why’s that?”

“You’re so pretty a-and nice and– Fuck, fuck, need you, please.” He whimpers out, echoing the words he spoke while asleep. You take in the sight of him, and he just looks so beautiful, brown hair fanning out beneath him. His lips are red from him biting them, and you can’t resist the temptation to lean down and kiss him. He tastes a little like the cocoa he had earlier.

It starts out slow, Anton taking a couple of seconds to comprehend the situation, overcome his shock, and actually kiss you back. Then it becomes more of him panting against your mouth, hips jerking erratically under your weight.

You still don’t want him to finish just yet, so you lift off of him and ignore the displeased whine he lets out. You pull his sweatpants off slowly while lightly scratching the skin of his thighs, reveling in the sharp gasp he takes. He’s so responsive, so fun to play with.

“Oh,” You whisper, shocked to realize he’s not wearing underwear. “So what’s this? Were you expecting to come in here and get your dick wet?” You ask in disbelief, eyeing his cock. It’s about average, but thick, and just thinking about having that in you has your pussy throbbing. You’re just teasing, but your words break Anton into a cold sweat.

“N-no! No– these are m-my pajamas.” He explains desperately, words clipping off into a whine as you lift his hard cock with two fingers then let it flop back down. You can’t help but be mesmerized by it. It was a deep shade of pink, almost red, and a white bead of precum was forming at the tip. You unconsciously lick your lips at the sight. You professionally move on from the fact that Anton doesn’t sleep with underwear on in favor of running your tongue across the slit of Anton’s dick.

He let out a choked sound and his hips jerk violently, but you’re able to back up before his penis collides with your nose.

“Toni, if you want me to touch you here, you have to be still.” You warn, one hand coming to rest on his hip.

“Sorry, sorry, I can do that. I can-” His rambling is cut off by you taking his entire head into your mouth. “Shit, shit, I– ‘m.” His hands come to tangle into your hair, but you pull off of his dick and place his arms back by his side. You don’t say anything, but you’re sure he gets the command.

“Gonna cum already, baby boy?” You ask teasingly, rubbing his wrists gently. His breath hitches at the pet name, and you make a mental note to revisit that later.

“No,” he mumbles defensively. Your eyebrow lifts in suspicion, but you take his word for it.

“If you get close, let me know, okay?” You hold eye contact while saying it, and he responds with a nod. “No, baby. Answer with your words. Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll let you know, promise.” He says, nodding quickly, so desperate to get your mouth back on his dick. You’re not sure how much you believe him, but you oblige, slowly taking his member into your mouth inch by inch. Since he’s on the shorter side, it doesn’t take long for you to bottom out, his tip barely even reaching the back of your throat, but he’s hot and heavy on your tongue.

You wait and adjust for a second then begin a pace. Under you, Anton doesn’t say anything, the only communication being his gasps and grunts. You can tell he’s close by the way his hips stutter, desperate to buck up into the wet heat, but still, he doesn’t say anything. You pull off his dick to instead suck at the head, tongue sliding across and dipping into the slit. Almost immediately, Anton verbally explodes.

“Stop! Stop, please– too much, ahh–” He rambles, stuttering around portions of a sentence. He’s so embarrassed, but it’s not his fault you’re playing his body like a fiddle.

You love the sound of him begging, so you keep up the ministrations a bit longer until his whines are so loud that he’s practically screaming, squirming on your blankets. You pull off again and rub up and down his thighs slowly. He gasps and pants as he comes down, so tense, and his cock is even more red, twitching as a steady stream of precum leaks out of the tip. It’s so vulgar that it almost drives you insane, and you’re starting to think you’re gonna lose it if you don’t sit on his cock in the next few minutes, but you push through it.

“Aw, that looks like it hurts. Want me to help you, or should I just leave you like this?” You ask, rubbing lightly at the head. In Anton’s sleep-deprived, sexually frustrated mind, he can’t see how much you want him, how you’re just as desperate as he is, and thinks you’re serious.

“No, please, please, don’t leave me, it hurts so bad.” His hips jump lightly, drawing your attention to his member in an effort to prove his point. “I can’t–can’t get off alone, need you.” He can’t even fathom the thought of you leaving him like this, tender and submissive and so, so hard.

You can’t help but coo at that. You slip your pajamas and underwear, as well as his shirt, off, then straddle him again. You grind your cunt against his member again, this time without the barrier of clothing. Before he can beg, you crash your lips into his, swallowing any small sounds that try to escape.

You kiss him until your lips hurt, making up for all the time you spent silently pining after him, not knowing he wanted you just as bad. When you pull away, he’s struggling to catch his breath and looking at you like you hung the stars.

“You’re s-so stunning, I c-can’t believe you l-like me.” He mumbles through stuttered breaths. His hands lay awkwardly by his sides, and you lift them up to rest on your hips. His thumbs rub circles into them shyly, which causes your heart to swell up.

“How could I not like you, sweet boy? You’re so handsome and smart, so caring.” You run your hand through his tangled hair, gently undoing a couple of knots as you remember the traits and quirks that made you like him from the beginning. He practically melts into your touch and praise, but you’re not done with him just yet. You raise your hips and lean into his ear.

“You’ve been such a good boy, do you want me to fuck you now?” You barely get the question out before he’s nodding again, all eager at the idea of finally feeling your walls against his cock.

Anton watches with slow, bated breath as you line your opening up with his length, but then you actually take it in, bottoming out with no hesitation, and his eyes roll into his head. He screams, but the sound is muffled due to his teeth trapping his bottom lip. You sigh in pleasure while letting yourself adjust to the feeling, then study his features as you clench around his dick.

His eyebrows furrow, and he lets out another high-pitched keen, and you’re mesmerized by his beauty. Anton’s grip on your hips tightens as you lift up and slide back down, but you feel a bit annoyed that his eyes remain closed.

“Look at me, Toni.” You request, hands resting on his chest to support your weight. His eyes barely open, fluttering like it’s a struggle, and you can't help but think again that he’s just so cute. You want to destroy him.

“Good job.” You praise and graze his nipples with your fingers. His hips jerk at the sensation, pushing himself deeper into you, and you squeeze your eyes shut momentarily as a wave of pleasure washes over you. You breathe through it in an attempt to hold on to some sanity. On the next inhale, you pick up the pace, sliding his length in and out of you rapidly.

“Oh, oh god- fuck, th-that’s so good, you’re so good.” Anton rambles, his voice strained and high-pitched in a way you’ve never heard before. You’re instantly obsessed with the sound and make a tsk-ing noise when he bites his bottom lip. You lift your hand off of his chest and squish his cheeks. His bottom lip juts out in a forced pout.

“None of that, baby boy. I wanna hear you.”

“-t’s embarrassing.” He mumbles weakly, which tapers off into another moan as you sink down fully and roll your hips. You throw your head back, feeling his thick size touch you in places you’ve never reached. You pick up a rhythm of sliding him in and out of you a couple of times then bottoming out and rolling your hips.

“Damn, Anton. You f-feel amazing.” You moan, stuttering when his hips buck into your own. You look back at him and his eyes are still open, and he’s giving you that look again, the one that makes you want to shy away under all of that adoration. Before you can, he throws his head back, baring his pretty, flushed neck as another high-pitched noise rips its way out of his throat.

“F-fuck, -m so-sorry, can’t look– gonna cum, I’m–”

You still on his lap and ignore the frustrated noise he lets out. Next to his ear, you whisper, “Not yet, Toni. Don’t you want to make me feel good too?”

He nods dumbly, unaware of how good he’s already making you feel. His eyes are empty and glossed over as you guide his hand to your clit. He rubs it experimentally, and your pleased sigh has him speeding up a bit, pressing a little harder to hear more of those sounds from you.

His entire body is tense and burning hot, so close to the release he’s been chasing for a week, and watching your beautiful body react to his touch only makes it worse. He wants to get you there first, but when you roll your hips down again, he doesn’t think he can do it.

“P-please don’t move, please, please.” He begs, words slurring and eyes shining with desperation. He’s so deeply submitted to you that it’s almost unbearable, and you have the sudden need to please him, make him cum so hard he forgets his name, then kiss him to sleep. You support your weight with your shaky arms and lift your hips up.

“Fuck me, baby. Don’t you wanna cum?” You ask, putting on your sweetest voice for him.

“Fuck yeah, yes, need it.” Anton grunts out. He wraps your arms around his neck and grips your hips tightly before roughly thrusting into your cunt.

“Oh, fuck, Toni–” You gasp out with your face burried in his neck. His desperation shows through his lack of rhythm, his strokes uneven and harsh. He’s hitting your sweet spot so aggressively it feels like you might lose your mind, then his hand comes to rub your clit again, the grip on your waist strong enough to hold you up with one hand.

“Oh, god. Cum, please cum, I-I can’t hold it.” He begs, words interlaced with keens and gasps. Despite your previous permission, he’s still so desperate to please you, even with wet cheeks and eyebrows furrowed in agony. The sight, the feeling of him pounding into your sweet spot, and the harsh, uneven rubbing on your clit sends you into overdrive. You cum so hard your hearing almost goes out, but you can faintly make out his muffled screams, and you feel him cream in you, hot fluids spilling back over his cock as he works himself through it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Eventually, the air stills, and for the first time in hours, Anton’s tense body fully relaxes, his bones melding into your pillows. You lift off of him to let him fully catch his breath, and slip into the bathroom. His eyes are closed when you return, and flutter open when he feels something warm and wet touch his skin.

You’re clean now, having wiped yourself down in the bathroom, and he’s silent as you clean him up as well. His blinks are slow like his eyelids are heavy, and you’re overwhelmed with the desire to leave kisses all over his puffy cheeks.

You put discarded clothing as well as any dirty blankets in your laundry basket, then climb under the duvet with him. He’s warm and cozy when you pull him to lay on your chest again.

It’s silent for a few minutes, but you know he’s not asleep, because his breath is irregular.

“...Noona?” He calls out so quietly you’re surprised you hear it, alert to make sure he’s got everything he needs, so you hum in response.

“Did you mean it? That you think I’m…handsome, and stuff?” He mumbles. His voice is so soft and sweet that you just wanna eat him up, but you don’t wanna disturb his comfort.

“I meant every word, Anton. I’ve adored you since we met.” You confess while running your fingers through his fluffy, tangled hair.

Moments of silence pass.

“I think I’ve been denying my crush on you for the past four weeks.” He whispers again, almost uncertain. His words have your heartbeat picking up, the idea of him reciprocating your romantic feelings makes you so happy you could jump on the bed, because you don’t know how you would’ve gone back to being just friends after tonight.

Similar thoughts run through Anton’s mind. He can’t believe he didn’t see his feelings for you sooner. It feels like after a full week, he’s finally able to relax into his skin again. You’re so comforting, and remembering how you took care of him gives him butterflies. Curiously, he looks up at you, and your eyes are staring back at him, as soft and sparkly as they’ve always been. He can’t believe how deep his feelings for you actually run.

Your lips curl into a big smile, then you're suddenly cupping his cheeks and pressing warm, wet kisses all over his face.

“So cute. You’re so, so cute. I can’t resist any longer.” You say through smooches. He grunts in feigned annoyance, pretending that his heart isn’t threatening to jump out of his chest. You lay him back down, but he still has one question on his mind.

“Noona, w-will you…be my girlfriend?” His uncertain tone is back, despite everything.

“I better be.” You say lightly, half-joking. You continue running your fingers through his hair, and Anton’s eyelids become so heavy that he can’t keep them open despite wanting to stay here in this moment with you.

You want to be sure before you drift off yourself, so you wait for a few more minutes, and then his breath evens out, and Anton falls asleep.

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