[fellaramdane]

masterlist

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🪻 02 liner. more of a reader than a writer, so please forgive my slow ahh writing skill. feel free to share people's masterpieces, which i would be happy to read your recs 🪩

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[tonycries]

Puppy Princess - G.S.

Synopsis. A jester marrying a princess? Not even in the most terrible joke.  Gojo Satoru has loved you ever since the first time he made you laugh, he’s loved you since you appointed him as your personal jester—and he’s loved you even when your royal engagement was announced.  But if only a prince can marry a princess…maybe a jester can wreck it.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!princess!reader, jester!Gojo, royalty AU, forbídden Iove, yearning, PLOT, hurt, best friends to Iovers, betrothaIs (not to Gojo), he’s so siIIy, and so in Iove, sad backstorìes, vìoIence and bIood (not to or from Gojo), rhymes, pranks, Naoya’s awfuI, hidden schemes, makeovers, masquerade baIIs, masks, somewhat CindereIIa-Iike, oraI (fem rec.), tongue f, fìngering, he’s PÚSSYDRÚNK, p taIking, pínching, bíting, spítting, ínappropriate use of the jester hat, he’s FÉRAL, raw, matíng presses, first times (for both), he’s BlG, making it fit, talking you through it, pushing down, dirty taIk, rhymes whilst he’s INSIDE, creampíes, cúmpIay, royal weddings, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 16.8k

A/N. TO THE LOVELY BABYGIRLS THAT HAVE BEEN BEEEEGGING FOR THIS TROPE- and inspired by the very talented @/karolineprihodko on Tiktok <33

“A fool may sleep. A fool may sneer. A fool may ask why the princess is crying here?”

It’s so sudden that it stops your tears.

Crouched in a small passageway near the royal court. Between the gleaming armors upon display of Gakuganji the Great and Kashimo the Fierce. For a brief moment of madness; you think you must have imagined the lilting voice—almost melodic. Marvelous.

It’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever heard - even more so than the music wafting from the open doors of court, brought by the travelling circus that your palace was entertaining.

And then you’re hearing him again.

“Sob sob sob—for my princess is a crier. Dear Gojo here, shall set Yaga’s stache on fire—!”

That makes you finally lift your head out of your arms, with a laugh that is full-chested and unabashed. For the first time in a long…long time.

“What might your name be?” You ask the boy with the bright blue eyes, and an even brighter smile. 

And that was the story of how you met Gojo Satoru - when you were eight, and he’d been merely ten. Though he didn’t look ten—he might’ve looked even younger than you. 

White hair. Winks of dimples upon each cheek. His face was chalk-white from the make-up typical of jesters, even young ones, supposedly. 

He was drowning in a faded red and blue jester outfit that looked as if it’d been dragged through multiple shows a night. It looked far too big to have been his originally. Even through the patched-up collar, his collarbones showed, and from the too-wide sleeves; his pale, near-skeletal limbs stuck out oddly. 

His face was pretty, however, with eyes too large for his head. 

Gojo’s cheeks were sunken in, yet his smile wasn’t the slightest bit smaller. That, too, looked too large to be his. 

And you…

Crying outside the royal court, after your parents had declared you far too young to see the travelling circus. The acrobats. The sword-swallowers. And one little jester…that had gone missing during the processions. 

Though, in time, Gojo took delight in weaving in additional parts of fighting off dragons and two haunted knight armors—enraptured courts that clapped and laughed as he sang of a white-haired fool and his crying princess. He’d whisked you off your feet and made you swoon in ways a princess utterly shouldn’t - and then produced you before your horrified father, His Majesty, as the sole suitor that made you laugh. 

At least according to him.

Though one thing was true from that fairytale: Gojo had been the only person to make you laugh. The only one.

Previous jesters and palace acts wavered between confusing you with their overly long ballads, or enraging you - all because they assumed some little princess couldn’t handle humor. And maybe that was why - Gojo hadn’t underestimated you - that you’d gone right up to your father in the middle of a particularly splendid fire-breathing act, stood in the center of the lavish floor, and declared—

For Gojo to be released from the circus to become your personal jester.

As a royal jester he would be clothed, bathed, and tutored alongside you - so long as he kept you entertained with his rhymes (to which you had no doubt that he wouldn’t falter). 

Not minister nor royal guest should lay a hand on him. He was to be treated as an equal member of the court, and should have titles bestowed upon him in due time—but for now, he will grow up as your best friend. Your only.

And whilst declaring this in about as much royal haughtiness as you could have managed, you looked over at Gojo. You don’t remember for what reason. You don’t remember what you were looking for.

All you remember is that Gojo’s eyes seemed brighter in that moment, like the night’s cloak of stars. There were tears in his eyes.

And he flashed you his crooked grin.

You grinned back.

His Majesty and the advisors didn’t take long to mull over the thought before asking the circus master to name his price for the boy. And Gojo had been small then - oh-so-small - a mere waif of a boy. He was clearly the youngest amongst these adults, and the circus master hadn’t even remembered he was part of the troupe.

He’d demanded two crowns and a bag of wheat.

To which The King had obliged with a simple wave of his hand—before freeing the other circus members, as well. He was merciful…most of the time.

And you’d been so overcome with joy that you ran to the jester and took his hands then and there.

Had it been in the little passageway where you’d met, then you might even have embraced him.

But perhaps you’d given the ministers enough conniptions for the day?

“Follow me.” You breathlessly whispered to the little jester that seemed far too shocked for words. “I shall summon the royal tailor whilst you take your bath- we have every fragrance in the land, and more than enough botanical springs.”

But the longer he stayed speechless and unmoving, the more self-conscious you grew.

Your fingers loosened around his, “That…that is if you wish to-”

“I do.” He stopped you from slipping away - he clasped your hands even tighter. Tight enough to nearly hurt—but you didn’t stop him. “I-I’d be honored, Your Highness.”

“You shan’t have to call me that.”

And though a few eavesdropping court ladies and gentlemen gasped at the destruction of long-held social etiquette, Gojo had merely smiled and nodded. And then you’d been the one to whisk him away. 

You.

Gojo shared little about his upbringing that first day in the palace, and even less over the years. You knew that he’d been born into an average family just a kingdom over - Gojo itself was a fairly used name - but tragedy struck and his parents both passed away—although you never asked how, and he never shared why. It almost…seemed as if he didn’t remember. A part of him that had scrubbed out most of those years, like a bloodstain.

And he’d lived in the same lifeless home as them for five days. Trying to wake them.

No one listened.

No one arrived.

No one helped.

No one helped.

No one helped.

Driven by hunger and loneliness, Gojo finally left the house after those five days. And just his fortune, he hadn’t walked long before encountering the travelling circus—so many jugglers and jesters and acrobats and fire-breathers. And one master leading them from the front. 

He’d been both enraptured and scared.

And hungry. So…so hungry.

Even the smell of the lion food was appetizing to him. 

One acrobat passing by had spotted the boy watching wide-eyed from the side of the road, and seeing how desperate he was, shared her lunch and invited him to join. It was the biggest act of kindness he’d felt in five days.

And so he taught himself to rhyme. To joke. To smile. 

And two years later was when you saved him- you told Gojo that it wasn’t so much as saving him than him saving you. But he denied. 

“Thank you.” Gojo had whispered to you, almost fearful, during his first night in the palace. The Princess’s jester had been granted quarters right across the hallway from your own chambers—and yet, the first night was always the scariest, wasn’t it? 

He’d given you quite the fright sneaking into your royal chamber after all the candles had been snuffed and your attendants had left. Soundless as a mouse—and looking just as unwelcome inside the gilded bedroom. But eventually, you welcomed him onto the lavish mattress far too large for even two.

Let alone two children.

Laid a fair distance apart, you faced each other. 

“I forbid you to say those words again, Gojo.” You smiled. “And just for the one night, I trust?” You meant the bed-sharing; should your attendants walk upon this in the morning, then Gojo would be thrown into the dungeons faster than he can rhyme. 

Gojo nodded, somewhat flushed. “Just for the one night.”

.

.

.

“Satoru-”

“Mmmm, puff pastries and wagashi.”

“Satoru.”

“Huh? Ohhh, sweet cheesecake.”

“Sato—” The exasperated call of his name doesn’t land before the kick does - square in the middle of Gojo Satoru’s broad back. 

Sometime in the last few years, after he’d taken up training with General Yaga to keep himself fit for his dances, Gojo had started sleeping without his upper garments on. 

And you couldn’t deny that it was a sight for sore eyes; his sun-freckled sun, the dips and curves of his muscles shifting as he did. The roundness of his deltoids. The sensual curve of his spine. The patterns of his scapulae, and lash marks that he wouldn’t explain. They moved like waves of an ocean, and they peaked and fell just as much. Some mornings you dared to trace every single one—just with your eyes, of course. 

But of course, he was just your best friend - socially, your jester, at that.

Which is exactly why you’re kicking him off the bed the second you hear your morning attendants heading down the corridor. As soon as he’s out of sight, the double doors to your bedroom open—and they’re floating inside with steaming-hot trays of breakfast and new fragrances for your skin. 

One of the attendants sets the breakfast tray down on your bedside table, and you sneak him a few of the blueberry-spotted pancakes. Though have to slap Gojo’s hand away from swiping the syrup, too, before one of them sees.

“Such a beautiful day, isn’t it, Your Highness?” Your head attendant, Utahime, trills as she throws the curtains open to let soft morning sunlight flood inside. “The perfect morning.”

“It is.” You’re nodding. You slap Gojo’s hand away from the syrup again.

“And we have no more than an hour to get you ready, Your Highness. So I beg you to finish your tea quickly.” Another attendant hands you your morning tea - just how you liked it. It smelled of something floral that reminded you of the royal gardens, and something else so utterly appetizing that you could feel Gojo huffin’ and puffing about beneath you.

Served him right for sneaking in again, you think.

You slap Gojo’s hand away again. Utahime continues speaking onwards obliviously, “—prepare for the guest.”

“A guest?” That piques your interest. 

This time, Gojo steals the syrup. And it creates a loud clatter that draws the attention of all the attendants sweeping and scurrying about to pick out your gown for the day—you’re unceremoniously coughing to cover it up. You’re not sure it works.

Utahime crinkles her nose, “Nasty little ailment, isn’t it?” Her intelligent eyes dip down to the bed - though she keeps it discreet. Utahime, as well as being your head attendant, was one of your closest friends as well. 

Close to you in age, you’d hand-picked her to be what was essentially your right-hand woman. 

And she knew of the rather…close friendship that you and Gojo had; perhaps improper for court etiquette, but just right for the two of you. 

From underneath the bed, Gojo snickers. 

You bounce on the mattress, whilst Utahime kicks the bed post. 

“Ah…this ancient bed.” You’re commenting once the other attendants look at you with raised brows, “Honestly, sometimes I believe it to be haunted.”

“Wake up to a mysterious figure at your bedside, do you?” Utahime eyes you. You avert your gaze from hers. “Well, we should do well to rid your chambers of that before the Prince arrives, Your Highness.”

“The Prince?”

“Prince Zenin Naoya, of course.”

Gojo knocks his head on the bed frame. 

.

.

.

Prince Zenin Naoya possessed many titles; the latest one being the most unpleasant royal you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Which was saying rather a lot.

You’ve met many a-princess that were appalling to her attendants, and many princes that boasted their numerous wars. Your father himself fell into the latter group. And many, many more dukes and duchesses and marquis—and whatever other title had surfaced over the last few centuries and gotten latched-onto with rabid, golden-ringed claws. Had it not been for your duty to maintain a peaceful political climate, you would have forgone those social gatherings altogether.

Though your father was particularly careful not to repeat the border strife that had occurred not too long ago in your kingdom…some violence-seeped dispute over power. 

And so you lifted your head and plastered a smile.

You managed to clamor through even the most painful of social obligations.

But this one…this one might just force you to rewrite all the royal rules that had been drilled into you since you were younger. 

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” You nod in acknowledgement as the Prince bows. His coronet was made of pure gold; a simple band with a blood-red ruby in the middle. 

It flashed at you menacingly.

And so did his pearly-white smile. 

“The pleasure is all yours, Your Highness.” 

You’re taken aback at his choice of words. You meet Gojo’s eyes a little ways away from the court- and his read the same confusion. He shakes his head imperceptibly. Then Naoya turns to the King seated on the throne beside you instead. His smile leers, “My utmost gratitude for this invitation, Your Majesty. My parents send their regards.”

“Good people, good people.” Your father nods, “Their assistance during…those times of trouble shall forever remain in my memory.”

“Who are we if not united against the face of the radicals, Your Majesty?” Naoya graciously bows once more. 

“Well said.” And then the King makes a sweeping gesture in your direction. “And in the future, it seems we shall be united once more.”

Naoya throws his gaze at you again, and the way he looks at you…it makes you hug your arms to yourself.

You’re unsure why your gaze had been upon Gojo at that very moment - they always did seem to find him - but you watch as his expression darkens. Darkens. Darkens. In a way you’ve never seen before, and then it’s hitting you—

“Father?”

But he ignores you, “Satoru—!” In the years that you’ve brought Gojo to court, your father had become rather fond of his rhymes and riddles as much as you were. So it wasn’t exactly surprising that he had been called upon, and Gojo’s expression switches instantly into one of foolish mirth. “Why don’t you share one of your amusing rhymes with our guest?”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” He bows deeply. As he makes his way to the middle of the court, where Naoya and his entourage were gathered, the bells upon his blue-and-white garments jingle. 

And before you know it, Gojo clasps onto Naoya’s shoulders and ensnares him with his words. “Naoya o’ Naoya, with your great riches and gait.” The corners of his lips twitch - something sharp. Gojo covers his mouth in a faux-whisper, though his words reach every single corner of the vast chamber. “Every lady here knows you take potions to compensate~”

Naoya’s face turns green then red. A furious red.

As if fearing the Prince would swing, Gojo jumps back- just in time for the hay-blond man to whirl around. “But oh, no potion shall make Prince Naoya’s rooster big—the most you ladies get will be the size of a fig~”

The jester laughs maniacally, and so does much of the court; you yourself can’t stop from letting out a startled laugh or two. 

Your best friend never did hold back - perhaps because he was the only one allowed to do so without fearing the threat of the dungeons. 

And Gojo watches as a giggle slips past the hand you’d brought up to cover your mouth- and his grin widens as he takes it as a challenge. Dancing around Naoya, he continues—

“Naoya is hated by the ladies of the court. Naoya is hated in his medical reports~” He trills gleefully, darting a hand out and knocking Naoya’s coronet off. “And all the ladies and all the healers, have never seen a cock this short~”

Red face now turning almost…a sickly yellow, Naoya attempts to fist-fight the jester. Though Gojo was far more agile than he looked, and he was dodging each hit with ease.

“Oh—have I offended you, Your Highness? Perhaps a change of pace…” Gojo crows. “For all Naoya hates women, he might as well court men-”

“You- you—”

“Easy, son.” Your father chuckles to himself as well, “You should do good to familiarize yourself with the Princess’s jester if you are to marry her.”

Gojo stutters- and his rhyme pauses. His eyes widen.

You feel the red, red carpet give out beneath you. 

.

.

.

“I simply must…apologize for Sato- my jester, Your Highness.” 

The clinking of silverware fortunately masked the waver in your tone. It was insincere and unapologetic.

Naoya maintains an expression as if he’d just smelled something unpleasant, perhaps as if it was on his very plate. The Prince cuts into his bird with far too much force than necessary, “Apology accepted.” Rather short.

Though you yourself didn’t care—you shoot a look at the ministers that were currently attempting to meld into the royal portraits on the wall. 

With nervous smiles, they urge you to continue.

It was a poor imitation of a romantic dinner - as romantic as a political marriage could get. 

The royal dining room had a table that sprawled nearly from one end-to-end. Polished mahogany. Intricately-carved legs. So thick that they didn’t buckle under the hundreds of dishes piled on top: soups to puddings to heart-shaped wagashi to those you couldn’t even name. Woven in-between were flickering candles and vases of red, red roses—sprouting confessions of love. 

Some of those petals were even scattered across the floor.

Though the dining room could seat about four-hundred guests, right now it only seated him and you. You and your future husband.

Your future husband.

Your future husband.

Your future husband.

It still hadn’t sunk in, and you didn’t want it to.

Zenin Naoya takes a bite of his roasted bird and spits it back out. From his entourage, one of the Zenin ministers darts out with a dish to collect it.

You wrinkle your nose in distaste.

Two courts were watching this fallacy of courtship. 

From your side, it was the entirety of your court save for some of the outer ladies-in-waiting and some gents, and your parents. From his side, it was Naoya’s entire entourage at his every beck, call, and swallow. Just waiting for the opportunity that their beloved Prince didn’t like anything.

Which seemed to be…everything.

You yourself can only pick at the delicacies on your plate - they’d done well to include favorites of both you and His Highness. And yet…

And yet, in the past eighteen years you’ve never sat through a dinner without Gojo at your side. 

Always at your right-hand seat. Always chomping through his dinner with overexaggerated noises that made you laugh, and the ministers grimace.

How could you feel so alone surrounded by so many people, and yet lacking one?

You’re biting back a sigh.

“Pssst.”

Confused, you look up at Naoya- but he seems just as morbidly indulgent in his food as he was before. He was spitting out even more. 

And so you look around—but none of the ministers nor advisors catch your eye, either.

“Psssssst.”

There it was again. Somewhat irritated and feeling your confusion growing - this dinner certainly hadn’t put you in a good mood - you’re about to excuse yourself from this social hostage-situation. Someone must be attempting to make a fool out of you. You’re resting your hands on the polished table and about to push off—

When you feel something…touch your wrist.

You’re about to scream-

“Tamper your screaming, please.” 

Oh, well if they asked so nicely…

Wait-

Who?

Without making too much of a spectacle, you slide your fork off the edge of the table. 

Naoya grumbles at the metallic ringing—and muttering a dainty apology, you’re leaning down to pick it up. Or so it seems. 

Instead, you’re crouching yourself down and lifting the tablecloth ever-so-slightly. It’s a purple velvet, one of the finest in the land, and it opens up to reveal one of the greatest treasures this palace held. At least, in your opinion.

Gojo Satoru brings a finger up to his lips and winks. His make-up crinkling handsomely as he did so, “Do you frequent these parts?”

“I should ask the same from you.” You hiss, glancing around to make sure that no one was looking. “Satoru, what do you think you’re doing-”

“Exercising my culinary skills, my princess.” And he raises up a little velvet packet in one hand, shaking it around tantalizingly. He answers your question before you can voice it, “Just a little horseshoe, just a little wool from Yaga’s sweater, and perhaps the Prince that swallows this shall be a little sweeter~”

Your jaw drops. “You cannot be serious-”

“Never in my life have I been more serious.” Gojo replies solemnly, then with an innocent flutter of his lashes- “Forgive me for not sharing, my princess. But perhaps you would favor it as well?”

“It shan’t suit my palate.” You answer firmly.

“It’s far more palatable than what I did to the wine, trust me.” Gojo smirks.

“You rouge.”

He opens his mouth as if to say something more, but Naoya’s tone grates through the little bubble of mirth you’d formed—in less than a minute, no less. “Wife- wife.”

You and Gojo stare at one another in shock.

Wife?

One of your ministers coughs pointedly, and with a final glance at Gojo, you’re straightening in your chair. “Were you perhaps addressing…me, Your Highness?” And any smart man would have quickly backtracked at this opportunity to change their answer. 

But you never claimed that Zenin Naoya was particularly smart. “My eyes don’t perceive any other woman here?” He scoffs, taking a bite of a chicken leg and then immediately spitting it out—“As for the engagement plans- eugh.”

You’re biting back a laugh as he drags out a string - seemingly from a wool…sweater…of Yaga’s - from his mouth and looks at his ministers in bewilderment. 

“Th-the chef must have been in a state of pioneering.” You cough out.

Another bite he takes.

And another wad of wool he spits out. 

You bring a hand up to your lips, “Perhaps you should wash it down with the wine, Your Highness? It had been brewed specifically for this occasion.”

And so he does - eyeing you all the while.

Naoya takes a big swig of his goblet and—shrieks as he finds half of a shoe inside. 

One of Gojo’s very own.

That shriek is loud enough to make the walls of the dining chamber rattle; and Gojo shoots out from the side of the dining table, unable to keep his laughter in control, and dances away. “Twiddle dee, twiddle doo—Naoya coughed up a shoe~” Those double doors are still swinging as it sinks in what just happened- and your ministers and guards take a menacing step towards where the colorful intruder had disappeared. 

You raise your hand to signal them to halt.

“This insolent—” Naoya was spitting with fury- unable to even formulate words. His mouth is a downturned slash, and he shoves the plate off the table. It shatters vociferously.

You notice that he’s turned a little green in the way he only seemed to do when Gojo was nearby. “My first order as King shall be to rid this incompetent kitchen-” He spits. “-and that godforsaken jester-”

Your fork clatters to the floor once again. “What’s wrong with Satoru?” You didn’t care if you sounded rather too offended by such a question. “Is it the practical jokes? I shall request that he ceases such-”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Naoya cackles to himself. “Woman, what is there not wrong about that goddamn fool? He’s- he’s—a fool.”

“For that is his duty, is it not?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“I suppose.” Naoya leans back in his chair, “But his duty is to the crown, and when I am King-”

“His duty is to me.” Before you know it, you’re standing. You’re breathing hard. You’re ignoring the ministers that attempt to hold you back. “He’s my best fri—jester.”

And you repeat…though you don’t know whether it’s more for yourself, Naoya, or the boy with the blue eyes that was once underneath the table.

“He’s mine.”

Those words fall like the blade of a guillotine. 

Naoya’s eyes were spitting fire. “He’s…yours, is it?” He throws his cape back and stands, “Your Highness…I fail to understand why you entangle yourself with a mere jester?” Though the sentence itself wasn’t one particularly barbed, his distaste bled through every syllable. 

“He- he is my best friend-”

“He is a jester.” Naoya says with a tone of finality. He pushes back, letting the chair clutter behind him- the brings up a palm to stop his ministers from righting it. “And a jester can never be anything to a princess. Never.”

Those footsteps of his resound louder than your heartbeat. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

On the way to making his exit, he stops before the entrance and speaks. “We are to be engaged in six moons, and when you are my wife, I expect you to act like one.” Naoya’s gaze is deadly as he grips the door open, “My family earned our titles bringing down entire households- a mere jester is nothing to me.”

Another guillotine: this time, it’s the closing of the dining room doors.

“Your Highness-”

But you’re following Naoya out, and tears burn behind your eyes.

Just as luck - or perhaps fate - would have it, who else had been standing behind the doors listening to every word? None other than Gojo Satoru. 

Though his face is downturned, and you can’t make out his expression, your heart soars at the sight of him. He’s pressed against one of the walls closest to the doors, and he clenches his fists at his sides. And you’re just about to reach out- to tell him that Naoya’s words didn’t matter- to tell him that Naoya didn’t matter—

But before you could, Gojo sharply turns to you and bows. Those bells atop his hat jingle as he does so, and he stays bowed as he asks, “This fool begs to be dismissed, Your Highness?”

Your Highness? “You…you may…” Your brows furrow, fingers trembling towards him. “But Satoru-”

And yet, he’s gone.

And you didn’t get a single look at his expression.

You wondered what you would see. You wondered what you would be hoping to see.

But no matter what it was, you knew that all you wanted to see - whether anger or mirth or irritation - was Gojo himself. 

Your engagement was in six moons.

.

.

.

To your dismay, Gojo Satoru was avoiding you.

You should have realized that something was off that moment after the disastrous dinner—or perhaps when he didn’t join you to sleep, or perhaps when he hadn’t joined court in the following days. According to one of the palace staff, the jester was ill, but every attempt at a visit to his quarters ended up with you being rebuffed or diverted.

And how many opportunities for diversion there were.

The palace was a-flush with florists, and bakers, and candle-makers, and mask-designers—and orchestras upon orchestras practising for your engagement waltz. 

One of those times you’d been dragged away to floral-picking for the grand engagement ball - the one that would announce your union to the entire kingdom. Another time it had been to pose for a portrait with Naoya (a particularly taxing endeavour). And another time it was to pick out the colors for your mask- this was to be an extravagant masquerade ball after all. And another time it had been to get fitted for the ballgown you’d be wearing for the night—like exactly right now.

This time, you’d gotten just past the guards stationed upon either side of Gojo’s chambers (both on his word, and to prevent the Princess from getting into any…scandalous affairs before the engagement).

And you’d cracked open the door - ever-so-slightly - only to find that what was inside…made you halt.

Gojo’s room was completely and utterly empty.

Not just of himself, but of his literature books, his shoes, his bells, his flower vases. Anything and everything that made the chamber so utterly Gojo’s, was gone. Even the braid of friendship you wove for him when you were twelve - that he kept at the very top of his jewelry box - and the flower crowns you made for him that he dried and hung from his windows—you made them rather often, before…Naoya. 

He had intruded upon your idle dance between love and friendship - and you were still feeling bitter and confused as Utahime fitted you. As she wound up the hip springs of your corset- and tightened, and tightened—

“I just fail- hah, fail to understand.” You’re muttering, slightly out-of-breath.

Utahime looks up from the knots of your corset, “Your Highness?”

The royal tailor had just stepped out to aid in bringing the imported silk and cloth of gold up to your bed chambers, and in the meantime your attendants were helping tighten your numerous layers underneath. Your ballgown - engagement dress, more precisely - would be fitted on top of the base linen undergarments and the crinolines. 

Tonight, you will be engaged.

And to a man that has never made you laugh once-

“Your Highness?” Utahime repeats, snapping you out of your little reverie.

“Oh- forgive me.” You nod at her in acknowledgment. “What I meant to say was, I just fail to understand what he’s thinking.”

She nods back - you didn’t have to specify who. “It is precisely as I have told you, Your Highness.” Utahime tightens a few more knots- knocks a few more breaths out of you. “That ol’ nuisance has not a single thought in his mind. You must not worry yourself too much about him.”

“Oh, but Utahime…how can I not?” You’re sure the flurry of other attendants surrounding you were listening in - smoothing down your layers, preparing your jewelry. But you didn’t care at the moment, if you did say so yourself. 

“I believe it is just a little ailment, Your Highness. I fear I am not blessed enough for such a thing to prove fatal to that jester-”

You gulp. “I believe Satoru may be avoiding me.”

At that, even Utahime’s brows furrow. “Pardon?”

“His chambers have been emptied of even the flower crowns, and I haven’t even the faintest glimpse of him these past few days.” Speaking these words aloud seems to make them too real. “I believe I told you of how he overheard the conversation between Naoya and I?”

Utahime nods.

“Naoya had uttered some things- balderdash, if you ask me—” Your fists threaten to clench, but two attendants were working on your nails. Another was double-checking the measurements for your mask. Mask. “Yet I fear Satoru may have misconstrued some things…and I haven’t laid eyes on him ever since.”

There’s a silence.

Her fingers finish their final knot.

And then Utahime stands to look you squarely in the eyes. “This is Gojo Satoru we speak of, is it not?”

Slowly, unsure of where this was going, you nod.

“Then you have naught to worry about, Your Highness.” She flashes you such a beautiful smile, looking over your corset for imperfections - of course, there were none. “It is most likely that he’s skulking about these palace walls, looking for a minister to scare or a prince to embarrass.”

You’re letting out a soft huff of laughter.

“Or even…a princess to adore.”

Your eyes widen- and you’re snapping your gaze to hers. There’s a knowing expression that Utahime wears - one she often gets whenever she notices Gojo hiding in your room, or watches the two of you sneak out during royal balls. 

This one, in particular, was about to be the most crowded and convoluted yet. 

And you’re meeting her smile, eventually. “I thank you, Utahime…” You then look down as you hear the doors of the dressing room fly open, “But adoration cannot stop a royal engagement.”

Three sharp claps sound as the tailor gets the attention of your attendants. 

“That will be all, ladies. Thank you.” And his own attendants and apprentices flood the room to take over the fitting stage—Utahime squeezes your shoulder as she leaves.

Though she doesn’t reach her bed chambers for a much-needed rest, as she might have wanted to. Instead, she’s halting right outside the entrance-

“You.”

And making sure you were occupied by the tailoring, Gojo bows dramatically. Holding his little bells so they don’t jingle- “At your service, Madam Sour-face.”

“Cease it.”

“No, I said Sour-face-”

“Forget it.” Utahime could feel a migraine coming on already at the mere sight of his impish grin. 

“Sour-face Utahime with her pressure so high, one more joke and she’ll make me cry~”

Why - oh why - couldn’t the universe take as kindly to her and forbid her from seeing this man, too? She continues, “First, enlighten me as to why you’ve been giving Her Highness the cut?”

A too-innocent expression crosses his face. “Pardon? I fear I have no recollection of ever-”

“I will kill you with my bare hands and feel no ounce of guilt.”

Gojo clicks his jaw shut.

“I…” And it’s under the pressure of her unwavering glare that he finally cracks- letting out a deep sigh and dropping his head. “I plan to leave the palace.”

“Pardon?” Even she sounds utterly shocked. “When-”

“Tonight.” Gojo has never sounded more serious to her. “I have spent the past few days gathering my possessions, everything…she gifted me. As the ball starts tonight, I shall take my leave.”

“But your duties-”

“I have informed His Majesty of my decision. It seems though he shall miss the rhymes, he is keen for an amicable marriage between Her Highness and Prince Naoya. A jester can be replaced, trust in a marriage cannot—especially not one of political nature.” Utahime is almost shocked at this simple foresight, but then again- everyone always did underestimate the fool.

She watches his reaction, “And…the Princess?”

Which seems to make him flinch - as though struck. Perhaps a part of him was. “…I shall leave her a letter before I depart. Her Highness does not deserve to see such cowardice-”

“And yet you still remain.” Utahime’s words make his blue eyes snap to hers. She crosses her arms in front of her, and lets a smug smile take over her lips. “For what reason were you spying outside Her Highness’s fitting, if not to see her?”

“I—” He takes a desperate step closer. “It was simply in passing-”

“For what reason did you empty your bedroom of the flower crowns Her Highness made especially for you? Surely they shan’t prove themselves too useful on the road?”

Gojo’s eyes widened. “I…the memories-”

“For what reason have you waited until the last minute to leave? Until the last minute she shall not be yours, and yours only?”

He snarls, “She was never mine.”

“Because you believe the Princess does not deserve to base herself- being the lover of a fool yes?” When Gojo does not answer, she continues. “The fool seems to believe he knows what the Princess deserves. But does the fool know what he deserves?”

There’s a prolonged silence—of which is only punctured by the awed gasps from inside the dressing room, as the tailor and his apprentices comment on your beauty.

Gojo has the sudden, mad thought to open those doors just a little wider and see you for himself. Just one last time.

One last time.

What was he thinking?

He laughs to himself bitterly, “A jester can never be anything to a princess. Never.” 

“But a princess can be everything to a jester, yes?” Utahime asks. “More importantly- who are we to dictate what a person is to another person?”

The answer was as obvious as it was painful.

Gojo Satoru loved you. 

Loves you.

Something of it must show on his face, because Utahime throws him a pitiful look she’s never shared before—“You may leave if you please, I shan’t stop you.” And then she reaches out and presses a hand against the doors- they part, unlocked. “But if you wish to stay and stop acting a-fool…then follow me.”

She brushes past him.

Meanwhile Gojo looks inside and catches a glimpse of you - and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. 

He runs after Utahime, bells jingling.

.

.

.

“You look…”

“How odd.”

“How startling.”

“What a change!”

Utahime crinkles her nose, “The only thing this proves is that your face is more tolerable when it is covered.” She turns to the brown-haired woman next to her, “And that my Shoko is a goddess when it comes to handiwork.”

Shoko smiles sweetly, “I have much practice making death masks.”

“I’ll say.”

As the other few attendants pendulate between laughing to themselves, and admiring Shoko’s quick work - she’d been requested just a few hours before to make a mask befitting a royal ball, and she’d finished it just in time - Gojo leans closer to the mirror. 

He reaches his trembling fingers up to touch his face, “This is surely…me?”

“Unfortunately.” Utahime sighs, and she gets elbowed by Miwa.

Utahime had gathered the most trust-worthy attendants she led: Miwa, Momo, and Kugisaki from tailoring. Along with the impeccable royal healer, Shoko, who she knew would be the only one that would be able to create a mask for the ball with her expert hands. And they’d gotten to work fixing up perhaps their most difficult case yet—none other than Gojo Satoru.

The royal jester was rather fussy at first- insisting that the powder puffs and cloth wipes tickled. 

Before Utahime put her foot down and announced that they weren’t going to present a ‘half-assed’ (forgive her language) marriage-wrecker to the Princess just yet.

That reminder of you kept him quiet for the rest of the make-over.

And Kugisaki had even commented, “Perhaps we ought to invoke the Princess’s name every time we need to keep the jester in line?”

“Do not tempt me.” Utahime had replied. 

Gojo had shuddered.

But it really was true: he sat through the rest of the next hour or two without so much as a single rhyme or peep. 

Not even when they told him to ‘pucker up’ in order to douse him in rouges and lip stains. That likely saved five years from Utahime’s life…

Gojo himself helped them scrub off his stark-white jester’s make-up. The vampiric base. The teardrops of black paint. The red, red lips—a few of his little troupe openly stared as they’d never seen the Princess’s jester without his make-up. 

And Gojo himself knew that he wasn’t all that bad looking - he had noble features. A strong nose. A high set of cheekbones. A pert, pretty mouth that always looked to be on the verge of saying something he shouldn’t.

Or, at least, that was how you described him.

You were the only person that got to see Gojo without his court-deemed make-up; and you always did say he was handsome. To which he’d always bat his long, white lashes dramatically and compose you a sappy sonnet about your eyes. He supposes he knew he was decent, but…handsome? 

He never saw it.

But these girls seemed determined to make him.

Cloudy hair. Delicate features. Blue eyes like a painting.

They replaced his make-up with something simpler. Gone was the cast of white, instead replaced by just a bit of rouge and shimmer. His pale brows were tamed and so was his hair - braided to the side using fragrant rose oils, with a few pieces falling handsomely over his face. All thanks to Momo, of course. 

Kugisaki had dug up something from that ol’ tailor’s trunk—a snow-white cloak and doublet, along with the associated tights he often made fun of. It was a suit fit for a prince. 

And it was exactly the type of suit he’d made fun of a prince for.

But here he was now - not a single difference between him and them. Or at least physically.

Gojo’s training sessions with Yaga had kept him fit; and he fit the suit perfectly. His broad shoulders were outlined against the clean cut, and his trim waist fit snugly into those damn tights—even through the suit, it was obvious he was well-built, in a way those baggy jester’s outfits never did show. Polished shoes. Silver buttons. Silver belt. Heavy silver chains and pendants that arrived with the robes. 

He might even have passed for a battle-hardened Prince like this…

Momo helped him into his equally as white gloves - it seems they were sticking to a theme for him. All the better to help his eyes and his crown stand out.

Oh yes…the girls had somehow bribed Yaga into letting them sneak down to the royal treasure. For just a few minutes.

All the spoils of war and generations of wealth—and they’d come out with a crown. 

It was Utahime who’d dug this one out, deciding that that would make him stand out far more than the usual hats. 

Made of pure silver; the design itself was rather simple, or so it seemed at first. Only when one looked closer…when one ventured further…could you see that what seemed like a simple band was actually a wreath of silver branches and floral vines twisted into one, with sapphire-studded flowers blooming along it. One more thing had been taken from the treasury - a signet ring with a ‘G’. 

“It felt proper.” Miwa, who had found the ring, beamed. “Names and titles are lost to time. And though I may not know what the ‘G’ once stood for, at least for tonight, it can mean ‘Gojo’, can it not?”

Gojo felt it getting slid onto his left hand, and he stares at the ring with furrowed brows.

He stares and stares.

He’s never felt more worthy of you.

By the time they had finished, the strings of the orchestra had started playing their opening sequence - the ball was commencing. 

Utahime turns to the rest of them, “We have done well.” Then, ultimately, back to grumble at him. “…You have done well.”

And though Gojo could make up a rhyme to rile her up, though Gojo could comment that they could have done better and bask in the ensuing chaos, though he could do his mask and his mask—

He simply looks at each and every one and smiles. Sincerely. “Thank you.”

They smile tenderly back.

The final component of his outfit for your engagement ball was the mask. Though there was no set theme, Shoko had gone above and beyond to craft his in the shape of the upper-half of a snow leopard’s face. The feline gaze. The sharp ears. The faint outline of rosettes against the white mask. It was mastery. 

Gojo dons it and smiles to himself. He really did feel handsome, as you had always said.

His blue, blue eyes twinkle from behind the mask.

.

.

.

“You look absolutely riveting, Your Highness.”

“I thank you.”

This was a royal ball that looked gilded. There was no other word to describe it—gilded. 

Polished floors. A thrumming orchestra. Golden chandeliers had every single candle lit; and they crept halfway down to the ballroom floor as if gifted from the Sun itself. Just for you. 

And that was in addition to the numerous other decorations that made even the most high-titled of guests gape in awe: the shimmering fountains that looked as if they were sprouting liquid gold, golden-dipped gardenias wreathed around the hallway, and the long table of foods were most lovely. All sorts of sweets and champagnes in honor of the union.

Guests upon guests upon guests being announced as they entered. They were dressed to impress, and there were more aristocrats gathered for this one ball than you’d seen in your entire life, perhaps. 

Had Gojo been here with you, then you two would’ve had the most amusing time coming up with stories for each one. 

There was Sir Gakuganji who held a secret liking for abstract dancing, here was Lord Todo whose son had fallen in love with a thousand-year-old portrait. No one would be spared. The two of you would have tucked yourself into some alcove and watched as the lavishments flew by, and when everyone was appropriately drunk you’d sneak out to the stables or to star-gaze. 

Your heart clenches.

Satoru…

You attempt to shake your head free of him.

It most certainly was a beautiful ball. And if you imagined that this was one of no particular purpose, then you really could see it. 

The ball was decorated to match your dress, you see.

Floor-length silk. Gold-threaded bodice. 

Celestial layers upon layers.

Your uppermost skirts had gold dusting atop it; and they dazzled as you floated across the ballroom. 

Your attendants had decided that going for a more simple look with the jewelry was appropriate - it would accentuate the simple gold circlet atop your head. A single sapphire embedded into the middle of it. 

Naoya had sneered at the choice, of course. When doesn’t he? But this time, he was particularly offended at the presence of a sapphire rather than the Zenin family’s signature blood-red rubies.

You refused to make your attendants change it. You donned your cat-like mask with pride. 

Perhaps that’s why he seemed keen on ignoring you in favor of a group of other beautiful court ladies in attendance—though you honestly couldn’t imagine anything different happening had the two of you been married, as well. You sighed inwardly.

You’re nodding in acknowledgement as Prince Okkotsu Yuta nears with a man beside him. 

He looked older - about your father’s age, if not a few years older. Tall. Toned - in the way of someone that had one been corded with muscle, but had since lost it to age. Bearing an ice-white beard and a row of silver medals proudly lining his chest—he stands before you in his off-white uniform and bows. It was obvious that the man was rather handsome, drawing eyes from around the ballroom. 

But what catches your eye the most were his eyes.

Summer-sky blue eyes.

They reminded you of—

“My uncle, Michizane, Your Highness.” Yuta introduces him. “This is his first time in the palace since…”

Your voice drops into something hushed. “I understand.” Turning to the general, you’re half-bowing once more. “I am rejoiced to welcome you into my home, any troubles that we may have had in the past-”

“Have naught to do with the present, Your Highness.” Michizane graciously nods at you. “And most certainly have naught to do with the beloved princess.”

You manage a smile.

“And if you can excuse my being so impudent…it is precisely what I sought this occasion for, Your Highness.” He looks over the bustling crowd, now getting ready to waltz- and seemingly catches the eye of your father. Your father who now looked as though he’d just seen a walking dead man. “I hope to bury the misunderstandings between my family and your father, and understand what happened to my younger brother and his family. It had proved itself to be both a blessing and a curse that I had been on an excursion during those troubled times. And I seek a resolution for the sake of my inner peace, if nothing else.”

You’re nodding in agreement. “It is most tragic what happened. For the sake of borders…nothing is worth so much. And I cannot ask for your mercy enough-”

“It is not something I shall ever be able to forgive. But you are not at fault, dear princess.” Michizane smiles conclusively, but not unkindly. 

“And yet, I have been wracked with guilt ever since.” You ultimately reply. 

Though you hadn’t met Michizane previously, you had learned that the history between your families was a long and bloody one. His family had been of a royal bloodline, of kingdoms now lost and eviscerated into neighboring ones - including yours. And you knew it was partly the fault of your kingdom. And although royal tutors justified and justified away your father’s actions—you could see past them

“Perhaps…” Michizane is the one to break through your whirlwind of thoughts. He reaches his gloved hand out, a silver signet ring on his middle finger. “-a dance to commence the burying of our animosity?”

“But of course.”

As the orchestra starts up a lively tune, Michizane whisks you away onto the dance floor. Much to the horror of some of your elderly ministers, of course, who gaped at the mere presence of the man.

And at the fact that your first dance wasn’t with the Prince.

But laughter bubbles to your throat as Michizane twirls and swirls you—sways you smoothly around and around the dance floor. He was one of the best dancers you’ve ever encountered, and you’re smiling appreciatively at him once the song comes to a close.

From the corner of your vision, you spot the black-and-red-clad Naoya storming his way over to you. And you hurry to beg a second dance when-

A title is announced - louder than all the rest. 

A prince.

Prince…you don’t hear the name.

But you don’t need it. 

Because you’re looking up at the grand staircase from which guests made their entrance, hand-in-hand with their partners or followed by their entourages. This one had neither. This one was one of the most beautiful men you think you’ve ever seen.

He looked like something from a story.

Snow-white mask. Snow-white suit. He was tall and clearly toned - but there was something in his demeanor that made him seem almost…dainty. He gripped the balustrade of the landing and looked over the glistening ball- barely even breathing, it seemed like. And he looked content to remain there in awe, before the chief butler reading out the named coughs- pointedly.

The man startles.

He looks over at the chief butler, and then nods jerkily to himself. In self-assurance.

Cautiously, he makes his way down to the ball.

And the closer he gets, the more of his details you’re taking in: like the traces of signature silver on his suit, and the way his fingers trembled ever-so-slightly. 

He looked just like the princes you’d read about in fairytales - the ones you imagined as a child before you happened to meet a real-life prince. 

Curls of white could be seen behind that snow leopard mask of his. They contrasted oh-so-beautifully with the blue, blue sapphire atop his crown.

Just like his eyes.

Your breath hitches-

“I believe I may have been monopolizing you, Your Highness.” Michizane whispers as the Prince nears. 

“Pardon?” You look at him- but he merely smiles.

Before you know it, the mysterious guest has neared enough to give the two of you a jerky bow. His tone tremors ever-so-slightly as he asks, “P-permission for the next dance, Your Highness?”

Michizane nods at you reassuringly. 

“I would be delighted.” You breathe, and then he’s taking your hand in his—gently. A touch even softer than the fabric of his tender, tender gloves. 

“I bid you a good evening, Your Highnesses.” Michizane tips his hat, “And do take care of the lovely princess…” Before turning to the younger man…his brows furrow the longer he looks-

But a lady-in-waiting taps Michizane’s arm for a dance—and he’s made to turn away. 

And you’re left alone.

With him.

Naoya stuck with some other lady-in-waiting as you put your hand…tentatively on the other man’s right shoulder. He lets out a shaky breath, as if your mere touch was replenishing his soul—and he doesn’t move away. Then you let your second hand get grasped - gently - in his own. 

Backward with your right foot.

Sideways with your left foot.

Backwards.

Sideways.

Backwards.

Sideways. 

It’s halfway into the song, pressed closed to his thundering chest, that you finally break the silence. “The crown suits you…Satoru.”

Gojo flinches, “You discovered-”

“You did not seriously think you could fool me?” You smile. He mirrors it- albeit sheepishly. “Gojo Satoru, how could I possibly be gulled? You have been my dearest friend since I was eight-”

He twirls you in the middle of the ballroom.

And you continue. “-and the one I hold closest to heart.” Looking deep into his blue, blue eyes.

Gojo sighs, “Words cannot describe how beautiful you are, my princess. The least this fool can do is but dress to impress.”

“You look particularly dashing this evening as well, Satoru. You always do.” Surprise makes his lips part—and you’re leaning in. Though they do not touch, you hear gasps from the onlookers. “You look like a Prince.”

“And you look like my dreams.”

The two of you dance for a second song, and a third, and a fourth. Without letting Naoya gain any entryway between you two - that non-existent space - you two dance the night away—dizzy with nothing but the proximity.

The realization that you could be so…close as long as no one found out. That you couldn’t be closer.

That you could.

That you needed to.

By the time that most of the guests had well and thoroughly indulged themselves in the bubbling champagne and wine, the clock had struck midnight—and you and Gojo disappear into the night once no one’s looking. Through the small passageway where the two of you had first met, then up a few flights of staircases, breathless and giddy, you’re lucky there were no guards stationed outside your bed chambers as the ball raged on.

And you’re opening the door and falling into the vast bed with him.

Your hands on his lapels. His hands on your waist.

You’re both letting out synchronized grunts as your back hits the springy mattress, and Gojo’s letting out a scorching breath that fans your face. That sets your skin searing.

“We ought not to…” You whisper- and then you’re pressing your lips down his neck. Illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the windows.

“I am of the same thought.” He responds, in an equally hushed tone - as if anything louder would shatter this fragile dream. It most certainly must be a dream, yes? This was all you’ve ever wanted- and him. “And yet—”

And yet, Gojo places a hand on the back of your neck, and guides your mouth to his. 

He kisses you loooong and deep- and inexperienced. You both are.

You’re chuckling as you tug his lips open with yours - letting Gojo’s sultry tongue slide inside your wet cavern. He drags his tastebuds inside and moans—

And after kissing you and kissing you as if starved for eons—

Until your lips were buzzing.

Until his hot hips were crushing into yours.

—you let your fingers fall to his silver buttons. Rapidly undoing them.

“My princess.” The jester wrenches deep from his chest - guttural and gone. There was a crazed hint in his tone already. “Allow me…”

And before you know it, he guides your hips to rest back on the king-sized mattress. Sapphire eyes boring deeply into yours- Gojo hands you his crown to hold, as he hovers himself down and unravels the first few layers of your gown. 

His fingers are quick- nimble.

And it takes him far shorter an amount of time to rid you down to your undergarments than it takes your careful attendants. Desperate. Depraved. Soon enough, you’re feeling goosebumps prickle across your skin at the bite of cold midnight air; your chemise and undergarments were much too thin.

And soaked. 

Utterly, utterly soaked. 

But Gojo’s face flushes - almost hard enough to warm your skin through sheer proximity. He admires your sopping cunt through your panties, he leans down and presses his nose right where your clit would be. And then he sniffs—

“Fuck.”

He almost jolts. Reaching in and tearing through your undergarments with his teeth. 

“Fuh-fuck.”

The noise that expels from him is almost unbidden- and its primal tone is enough to make your toes curl. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, he stares at your swollen folds. He stares at your glossy slit. 

He stares and stares as slick beads out of you in a pretty stream—and before Gojo’s own mind seems to register, he’s muffling a hot moan between your naked legs. Immediately shoving himself nose-deep.

His chin thwacks! the top of your sopping slit, and his tongue wastes no time darting inwards. 

Your entrance is so wet that he has no trouble easin’ his thick muscle inside- despite its impressive girth. And then immediately zig-zagging his sensual inches fucking in—aaaaaaall along your walls and driving the curvaceous tip of his tongue into every little ridge and cranny. Fat. Trembling with need. 

“Yes, my princess.” Gojo’s managing between husky breaths- each scorched out against where you were most sensitive. “Yes, my princess-”

“S-Satoru—” Your hand’s reaching down to twist your fingers into his snow-white locks. 

You’re giving him a particularly hard pull and he groans-

“My princess…” That ocean gaze of his is half-lidded and hypnotized, flickering right up to bore into your eyes as he gluttonously propels his tongue even deeper. “I cannot live if I do not make you mine.”

Your feet plant on either side of his shoulders- a steadfast pedestal. For you to buck your hips and shove your drivelling cunt against his mouth, “Then what deters you, jester?”

Gojo’s chuckle is dark and deepened with lust. “Nothing, Your Highness.”

He’s moving his tongue in and out of your hole at such a frenzy. 

This was the night of your royal engagement, and you’re here getting eaten out by your jester—

“Does it vex you that this lowborn jester has finally gotten his hands on the princess’s pretty pussy?” He gurgles out into your arching core, the wads of your sap slipping between his lips—and then back out as he licks. “Perhaps not you…but surely those godforsaken ministers that must have hoped for a more…royal touch….”

And licks and licks and licks—“Y-you keep running that mouth, Sato-”

“Jester, remember?” He grins. “Pray tell, Your Highness, am I the first?”

He must know the answer. He surely must- he’s been at your side for the past eighteen years…and you yourself were aware that you were his first, too. 

Yet you find your lips moving before your mind does. And you whimper, “Y-yes…”

“Pardon, my princess?”

“Yes-”

Gojo drags the doughy patches of his fingertips across your clit.

“Then you grant this lowly fool the deepest and most precious honor.”

It was an honor. 

An honor to eat your pretty core—to press his puckered lips against your folds in such a sensual kiss- one that would make even the most scandalous of court ladies faint. To part those tender pussylips and dive his tongue inside- every single inch that thrusts away at a vigorous pace. Stuffing you from the hilt of his tastebuds, to that flexible tip that swirled to n’ fro- 

Gojo had his face pressed up so closely - so deeeeep - that parts of his features were rubbin’ red. Covered in slick. Dripping with it. 

And yet he was only scouring deeper- deeper- fucking deeper until your pelvis was crushed against his hungry maw. Crushed. “And this fool is grateful- so very, utterly grateful.” His tastebuds were going in nearly till those sweetened soft spots you loved so much in those solitary moments in the privacy of your baths, yet he flares his tongue till he’s stretchin’ you out even more. “I shall do anything for you, my princess- anything—I live to serve you-”

Gojo’s honed canines nip at your clit.

“And this pussy.”

And serving you, he is. 

With every fibre of his being. With every part of him that could reach you—he’s eating you out like such an animal, as if he was going fucking frenzied on your cunt. 

The tip of his nose massaging your clit. That left hand of his fastening to your waist and dragging you right back n’ forth even deeper. 

“And th-this fool deserves not such a privilege-” He whispers, mostly to himself. Though his wide, lust-glazed eyes maintain contact with yours, “This fool deserves nothing. And yet…yet, I care not if they happened to enter this chamber right now- I would gladly get thrown in the gallows for this greed, for a second taste.” 

Wide-eyed - almost crazed - he tugs his wet tongue uuuuup the middle of your slit, and almost up to your navel. “In fact, I beg of it.”

And his other hand…

Oh, Gojo’s other set of fingers smear the puddle of slick that spreads from your core- all along your inner thighs and making its way down your calves. He collects it all.

Every single drop.

And then, like the most precious of mead, he brings those wettened fingertips up to his mouth and sucks. Savors. Gojo’s eyes flutter closed and his Adam’s apple bobs with ecstasy - “She tastes like she yearns for more.” 

“You understand?” You’re asking, half-bemused.

“I speak seven languages, Your Highness.” Gojo replies, “One of which is pussy—” Then with his flattened tongue, he laps up the rest of the satiny ribbons escaping you- before flicking his eyes to the mountain of pillows piled behind you. “My princess, might I request that you procure a little treasure I have left underneath your favorite pillow?”

“A little treasure…?” Almost dazed, you reach underneath and your fist closes around something soft and bell-decorated. One of his jester’s hats. 

“A long, long night beside the princess left this poor fool forgetting—the hat bestowed upon me by the princess, I should be getting~” Gojo trills- whilst he still lavishes his heated, horny lips across your swollen cunt. “But if the princess puts it upon my head, she can be as pushy- as she wishes as I eat this royal pussy~”

Your jester is speaking rhymes between your legs?

“Oh, sometimes your mouth is overworked.” You’re harrumphing at the overjoyed jester - once you’re unceremoniously dumping the cap n’ bell onto Gojo’s head.

Grinning, he bites down on the expensive tip of his right glove and tugs it off. 

He makes quick work fastening that behind his ears, before nudging your hands to grasp onto the floppy ‘ears’ on top. Your sole source of balance as he leans in and eases one of his long fingers inside- then two—then teasin’ a third.

As he shovels in oblong inches into your sopping cunt, pushin’ apart your tender folds and letting his padded tips find their way inside. And inside.

In and out.

“Please-” You breathe heavily as he quickens the pace after a few squelching thrusts. His middle finger was the longest, and it was spreading you apart the deepest—fuck, it was just so soft inside. So welcoming. So tight that you were clenchin’ around him almost hard enough to make his poor digits snap- and the mere thought makes Gojo hard enough in his trousers that he wants to cream them right away-

You’re clamoring onto your elbows suddenly, “Y-you cannot be serious, Satoru…”

Oh, had he said that out loud? It seems he’d said that out loud. And yet, without even a hint of regret in his grin- Gojo hums. “A jester shan’t ever lie to his princess.” Those kiss-bitten lips of his purse with a wad of spittle that lands gently between your pussylips, “Or his pussy.”

“Your pussy?” You ask- before the breath’s suddenly knocked out of you as he starts driving a third finger in this time. Properly.

Stretching you out to the maaaaaximum. 

The globular ends of his fingers edging in, in, in—he doesn’t just remain pistoning them vertically. Gojo’s rude in the sense that he’s hooking them right below where you needed him the most.

Throbbing, thumping; your g-spot was most certainly aching for him.

But that was exactly the problem- and Gojo’s smile grows wicked as he keeps thrusting his three fingers into your cunt. “J-just the slightest bit…fuck, to the left, jester.”

“If the princess may still utter a sentence, then this poor jester must go harder on her entrance~” He croons. Swabbin’ into every good spot except for that one - your favorite - he suckles on your sensitive nub. “What deters you from claiming what you seek, hm? Use me, Your Highness.”

Your teary eyes snap open. When had you even closed them? “Use?”

“Use me.” Less of a demand- more of a live-saving plea. Gojo was so far gone by this point that his hardened hips were ruttin’ against the luxurious mattress with every swipe of his tongue, “Claim what you wish. Use me- use me—”

And as he wishes, you’re lightly tugging on the points of his jester hat to keep him pressed against you-

But that wasn’t enough for him.

“I beg of you—this lowly fool begs…” As his right hand shapes out the tight, tight channel of your cunt - Gojo reaches his other hand up to grasp your own- to make you clutch his cap n’ bells even tighter. Hard enough for his fingernails to leave marks- and he needs you to be just as rough. “Fucking use me like the princess you are. The princess that saved me.” 

He ruts even more suddenly- he must be painfully hard now. 

“Claim my lips. Claim my tongue- claim every fibre of my being to be used by you…” A low snarl snatches from the back of his throat. “-just claim me as yours, as I have claimed you, my princess.”

And then you’re knocking that stupid little hat off his head- and fisting your hands in his hair once more to crush Gojo’s pretty, pink lips against your cunt. Arching off the mattress, you were just bucking and bucking your treacly pussy all over his face.

Stringing yourself through the shockwaves of pleasure that kept pouring up your legs - like warm water. Gojo was just salivating in-between them.

He doesn’t even have the time to breathe—and you’re getting the distinct feeling that he didn’t want to. Couldn’t even make himself think of anything else but dragging four - now four - fingers between those swollen-shut lips and thud-thud-thudding into your g-spot. “Good princess.” He hisses between clenched teeth, “Gooooood princess-”

“Keep quiet, jester.” You’re feeling yourself get slowly overcome by primal desperation. 

“As you wish, mistress~” And Gojo’s never been happier- lashing and lashing those ridged tastebuds inside until your walls buzzed with the texture. “Mmmm.”

And soon enough, you’re feeling your legs start to twitch- in the way they did whenever you had your fingers stuffed deep in the baths- “Oh.” By this point, Gojo was aiming to intrude four fingers and his slippery tongue between your pussylips. 

Swirlin’ and swirlin’ it—tap-tap-tapping it over that first tight ring of muscle. 

His greed sickened you- and made you even wetter. And with a forceful tug of those angelic strands of his, you’re staring deep into Gojo’s eyes - fluttering desperately as he fights not to detach himself with your wet pussy. He doesn’t.

And he’s accelerating his fingers hitting the bullseye—

“I-I feel I shan’t last very long, Sato- jester.” You’re hissing, eyes threatening to shut as the white-hot pleasure keeps wracking through you.

With his spit-glossed lips wrapped around your clit, he hums. “Mmm?”

“Oh.” You hunch into him. “Repeat that.”

“Mmmmm—” Gojo elongates his nearly-feline rumbles, and then his lips quirk up- into a grin you recognize as being a signature of when he gets a devious idea. 

One sure to ruin courts and leave you amused - though you’re sure that you’re the sole one being ruined right now. 

He’s nuzzling his face ever-deeper against your cunt, then muffles out an entire sentence - what you assume to be a rhyme - whilst he keeps his mouth sucklin’ on your clit. Making the sensitive bursts of pleasure explode twofold behind your eyes- you’re seeing stars as he repeats it—again, and again, and again and again and again—

Gojo often did love repeating a joke if it managed to make you laugh exceptionally hard.

However, now you were all but crying out for mercy. Your chin trembles as you keen out Gojo’s name in a lingering echo, “I-I really shan’t- oh…” No matter how many years of royal diction or elocution you’ve endured, it couldn’t mask the way your voice cracks on the tail end of your sentence. 

Almost pathetically so.

And soon enough, Gojo’s finding his witty mouth stuffed full- fucking you through your high.

Tongue flicking in and out. Teeth grazing over your clit. 

He alternates between letting his tastebuds enter your pussy as well—and then letting his doughy digit take over as he suckles on your clit. Like the sweetest thing in the world. “Mmmm.” Repeating his little rhymes over and over- interrupted only by the noisy slurps! of him sucking on your nub- and the embarrassing little whimpers as he was wrenched by you.

Side-to-side. Up and down.

You’re moving him wheeeeeerever you wanted- and he was in heaven as pain sears from his scalp.

You grip onto his braid, and another lock of his hair, as handlebars to prolong your wave of pleasure. The bliss stabs through you white-hot as he presses deeeep into your g-spot. “I haven’t felt anything like this- hah, before, Satoru…”

“Your jester aims to please.”

Your orgasm makes you shiver. It rattles past your walls - where the pounding was most prevalent - and then up your spine to make your head pound with pleasure—the curling of your toes, the fluttering of your lashes, the way you’re letting escape the sweetest soft moans; sweeter than any orchestra downstairs. Gojo memorizes it all. 

Through peak after peak.

Through thrust after thrust.

And as the crescendo comes to a close, he parts with your pussy—a pointed squelch! emanates from the connection. “Though the back of this Princess’s pussy I did knock, Her Royal Highness still yearns for the jester’s cock~”

Your mouth gapes, “Do not tell me that was the rhyme you have been repeating this entire time?”

“As you wish, I shan’t.” He grins. And then Gojo’s raising himself to his haunches- shrugging off his cloaks and his coats. “Perhaps another? From all the princes and lords to pick, our beloved Princess yearned for the jester’s di-”

“Another word and you shall be turned out.” You warn him, albeit half-heartedly.

“Now that doesn’t rhyme, Your Highness.” Gojo faux-pouts. With a few more tugs and pulls - he really didn’t understand how you aristocrats wore this on every occasion - he’s ridding himself of his upper garments and his trousers. 

Though you’ve seen the royal jester shirtless time and time again, his perfectly-toned body made your eyes bulge. 

And then finally the linen undergarments that presented him—Gojo Satoru’s long cock, hot and rock-hard.

He was engorged till he looked fit to burst - with his mushroom-curved tip blushin’ an angry red, and his veins popping out down his shaft. So prominent that you could almost count every throb-throb-throb!

Gojo’s tip glistens wetly with precum, capping the top of his cock and just oozing like a lacquer down every inch. Almost eight inches, if you’re mentally counting correctly. 

He wraps a single hand around his thickened base- rustling the soft curls decorating his pelvis. Spreading out in an alluring pattern—Gojo then uses his other hand to nudge your thighs apart. Hamstrings stretching. Toes curling. Making sure they’re pinned to the springy mattress before he inches his red-hot cock closer. 

There’s a resounding squeeeeelch! as he smears the very first, readied inch down your opening crevice. 

“Easy there, Your Highness.” Gojo’s breath hatches with a moan. “Easy- hah…”

“I am no steed, Satoru.”

“You speak the truth, my princess.” He shoots you a ravishing smile- hungry. He really did look ready to eat you. Ready to shovel his entire length in.

Ready to break—himself. Fuck.

He was breaking himself. 

A mere few inches are entering past that first ring of muscle-

And you’re arching your back into his chiselled chest. “Oh h-heavens…” It leaves you and mixes with the broken grunts n’ gruffs that were leaving Gojo just as equally, just as desperately, as he keeps your hips pushed into the bed and siiiiinks his cylindrical length inside. 

It’s like nothing your royal tutors had lectured you upon - down to the fact that all those awkward anatomical lessons were for your wedding night with a prince, no less. 

You feel a pearl of red escape you—and you embrace him with weakened limbs. “Satoru-”

“H-heaven is correct.” Gojo hiccups out. Was he still stuck on that you’d uttered earlier- had he even heard anything more? And were there…tears twinkling at the edges of his lashes? 

Before you can finalize an answer, you’re mewling at the slight resistance of your cunt. Gojo’s cock was oh-so-girthy—more than you might have expected, and seemed to be throbbing even bigger with every second he was mazin’ himself inside you.

And he feels the shift immediately- he’s affected by it immediately.

His handsome jaw grits. His chest caves with a sudden groan. He turns his half-lidded eyes downwards, and using both overlarge hands he grips each of your asscheeks. 

Those pretty, princely features of his twist into something agonized- as Gojo arches his sculptured back and drives his cock inside. “Please-” Your best friend pants out. “Please, please, please, please—h-haven’t I served you well, Your Highness?”

“You would be correct…?” You’re answering him- head foggy because of the sudden flurry of semi-thrusts.

In and out. In and out. He was buried just a few inches past his sensitive slit - and the small tremors of your cunt meant that he was thrown to ecstacy every few split-seconds. 

Gojo seemed to be growing longer than you remembered seeing him.

Gojo seemed to be pulsing even thicker-

“Th-then…shan’t this lowly fool be rewarded with a single inch…?” He mumbles- sounding utterly drunk. And it wasn’t just his slurring tone and his tapering sentences that gave you that impression - but Gojo had his face pressed into the crook of your neck, and his hot tongue gliiiiiding up your sweaty neck. “A mere inch, my princess-”

You buck- and even that seemed far too much for the pussydrunken jester.

For he’s digging his crescent-shaped nails into your soft flesh and dragging you back into him - hitting his hips with a resounding thwack! “No- no, please don’t leave, Your Highness.” He begs—fucking begs. 

“I-I am not—oh.” Another blustering thrust that leaves your deepest innards probed.

“If you wish me to cease- then just say the word. And I shall heed every syllable.” Gojo murmurs, his sapphire eyes threatening to shut with the hypnotic squeeze. With his pure need. With the urge to feel himself from the outside- and considering how big he was, he’s sure he’d manage to. “But please- please, do not leave me. Th-this pussy has been my deepest, darkest desire ever for f-far too long.”

Your eyes widen, “How long…exactly?”

Those plump, rose-pink lips of his graze yours as soft as a feather. “Ever since I knew what it was…and I woke up with quite the ah- rock-hard situation. I had never left your chamber faster, Your Highness- what if the attendants witnessed it?”

You moan as one of his hands lifts off your ass to thumb aside your sultry pussylips. Lovingly full.

“What if they were aware how feverishly I desired you?”

They were just glued with sap- it makes him break off a moan.

“What if- hngh, what if they could see through me—a lowborn mutt- eager to dirty the precious princess?”

Gojo stares so long and lovingly at your slightly-ajar cunt—so lovingly, that his mouth ends up watering. He continues, “To dirty you…to corrupt you.” A stream of spittle leaks from the corner of his lips, and it ends up dapplin’ over your folds. 

“To- hah, fuck you.”

Your jester roves his hips closer - smearing the translucent liquid using his hips. Aaaaaaall over as he nudges and nudges his rounded, reddened tip deeper inside - taking over your cunt little by little. 

Stars flash behind your eyelids, and in that opportunity, Gojo had reached over to take the crown that he’d donned for the ball. Your engagement ball. And he was promptly caressing the top of your scalp with it, placing it atop your beautiful head—you suited his colors. 

Gojo lets out something that sounded more like a prayer: “To fuck you with the crown on, has always been this fool’s most embarrassing wish.”

He’s finally bottoming out.

Finally. And it’s a sensation like none other. 

Gojo’s cock was stretching you out in ways you’ve never felt before; managing to mold your channel to his measurements. And his hammers were just so sensual—slow, semi-thrusts so that he can fit himself inside. “Please-” Inside and inside. “Please, please- this lowly jester knows every secret and preference of yours, my princess.”

Your heels are digging into the gorgeous dimples at the base of his spine. “Yes, oh…”

“Every- single- inch—” And you’re being propelled in short jerks upwards- those ancient royal bedsprings protesting. As much as you were begging for more. Your hands drag down his creamy-white back, leaving bloodied marks- and that only leaves him pulsating even harder inside you. Gojo’s blossomed tip had contentedly filled you up till your cervix - “In ways those ministers would- hah, wring my neck over.”

“I would never let them.” You’re spitting out.

“And yet…” Gojo leans down to whisper. “That only made this fool yearn for it- more-” A few more pressurized thrusts, and every prominent vein of his massages your spots oh-so-perfectly. As he pushes n’ pushes he continues babbling, “Please let it fit inside-” His lips tremble with a whimper. “Please let it fit inside—”

Shock strangles your words, “S-Satoru, you’re already inside.”

“P-pardon?” He almost stutters his hips - before he likely realized that your syrupy-sweet cunt was far too heavenly for him to merely linger. And he’s thrusting away like an animal. 

Nodding, “Satoru, I promise—” Eyes scrunching together at the incredible sensations of him stretchin’ you out, hitting into your every nook, letting his velvety tip glide across your tenderest area - that g-spot. “You’ve succeeded your fantasy.” Your legs tighten around his slender waist, “Promise.”

Gojo’s chin hits his chest.

And he’s staring down at where the two of you glossily connect—“O-oh…” Gojo’s mouth looked so delicious like this - you almost wanted to bite him - as an expression of cute surprise takes over him.

And all of a sudden, it’s as if he’s simply melting…

Into your arms. Into your cunt. Gojo’s honey-dipped tip probes into your cervix, and instead of even ramming away - he’s merely draaaaagging and swirlin’ the bulbous edge of him around. Again and agaaaaain. The texture of his flared ridge was something incredible, and it knocks n’ grinds against hidden spots of nerves. “I finally have you, Your Highness.”

You’re feeling your heart pound at his confession - oh-so-tender. Even when he was fucking you deep into the plush mattress.

“You have never not, my jester.” You’re admitting back up at him.

The most beautiful smile graces his face- and Gojo’s feeling quite unfairly about all this. So he’s slitherin’ his right hand between your legs and spankin’ your neglected clit.

Those slight brushes of his bushy happy trail weren’t enough—now he was twiddling and turning such dizzying patterns atop that sweet, sweet nub. Watching your every minute expression, he hums. “Beautiful through anger, happiness and shock, yet the Princess looks prettiest on my cock~”

“You fiend.” You’re swatting his chest.

Only for him to gather up those weak legs of yours and bend you into a mating press- a mating press. Muscular thighs against your thighs. Your knees against your tits.

Gojo keeps his forehead pressed against yours as he drills away, “Though this lowly fool may be poor with the manners of a pig, aren’t you happy to have a cock that’s actually big~?”

And that…you have to admit that that one actually draws a laugh out of you.

And just as soon as the bubbling noise emerges from your lips- 

Gojo’s body seems to collapse. His hips seem to falter. His cock thunks at the back of your womb, sending your teeth chattering, and lets out a throb-throb so hard that you feel it louder than your own heartbeat.

Your eyes shoot open, “S-Satoru…?”

“I-I am quite alright, Your Highness. Naught to worry about.” Though there was something thoughtful behind his eyes, “It is simply…”

And only after a few more thrusts—after a few more rub-a-dubs of his thumb…fingers now so jittery on your cunt that he’s teasin’ you with his silver signet ring, too.

The smooth metal makes you keen-

“For all the horses and all the men, could not pull the fool out of his princess again.” He near-tentatively utters. It could be heard only slightly above the smacking of skin-on-skin, of his hips practically plastered onto yours, and you can’t help it - you’re startled into a laugh.

“P-pardon?” You speak through both moan n’ giggles. 

“Oh…” Meanwhile, Gojo was absolutely shattering. He was drooling. He was—fuck, he was tearing up. And great globules of tears were hitting the edge of your shoulder.

Gojo’s rubbin’ himself raw- he’s wracking his brain a mile a minute just for a new verse to come up with. 

Something that will make you laugh.

Something that will make you squeeze your tremoring thighs ‘round him. 

Something that will make you clench—and it’s such a startling, tight sensation that damn-near sends him hurtling straight into his high. But he can’t cum before you - of course, he can’t. What good jester possibly ever could? Before his princess no less?

Gojo accelerates his hips until tears start clinging onto his long lashes, and his cocktip starts twitchin’ out of pure oversensitivity.

And so he keeps on repeating—rhyme after rhyme, botched whimper after whimper. Each one more ragged than the last. Your jester was making you whine with laughter as he fucked you- whispering in your ear in aaaaaall the dirty ways one perhaps shouldn’t to a princess.

He fucks you like an animal. 

It’s the final note you’re hearing - ‘—no prettier princess than thee.’ - as your sudden high takes you by surprise. Legs shaking. Back arching. You’re squeezing him tighter than ever as the white-hot pleasure courses through you.

Thrumming your every vessel and vein.

Thrusted deeper into you with every one of his- they seem to burst pretty fireworks inside your now-emptied head. Nothing but lust inside it.

And it doesn’t take much for Gojo to topple into his orgasm, as well. He shakes- he stutters…“C-cumming…” Breathlessly. Large tears were puddlin’ at the crook of your neck, dampening your skin more than your perspiration. “And I cannot think of a more appropriate home.”

“Should you sire an heir, they shall have your head.” You’re whispering to him - a smile on your face.

“But you forevermore have my heart.”

“Rake.”

“For you only, my princess.”

That bawling divot atop his shaft keeps floodin’ out a constant stream of cum—hot-white and lacquering your insides. Every single burst of cum made him twitch- letting out the prettiest erotic whines. “My princess—solely for you.” 

“More.” You murmur gutturally. “More- more.”

“More…deep inside.” Lovingly, he’s patting at your bloated pussy. “Just for my princess.”

Until your walls were almost heavy with the condensation of his sap, and after only a few thrusts of his shaft- it was pouring out of you almost like a waterfall. 

Between the crevice of your puffy pussylips, you feel it drip-drip-dripping out of you. Eventually formulating a little froth of creamy white ‘round Gojo’s swollen base - a few globules that he’s smearing with a thumb and pushing right back into you. A thumb stuck right between your folds. “A-and where do you believe you are putting your hands, Satoru?”

“Simply giving my princess everything she deserves…” He leans down to nibble on your soft ear lobe. “And right on her engagement night, as well.”

You’re moaning as he tugs on your clit a few more times.

“Happy engagement, Your Highness.” The jester speaks, as he fucks his cum into you harder than ever. 

You end up babbling for a few minutes longer, before the sudden sparks of your high start bating- and Gojo himself starts finally slowing his hips down. 

“Mmmm…” You reach up and clasp him by the back of his neck, sweaty, with his hair curled at the name. You whisper into his mouth, “My greatest pleasure, to be engaged to you, Prince Gojo Satoru.”

There’s a long stretch of silence - still thrusting - before he mutters. 

“I really do wish I could marry you…” Summer sky-blue eyes shuttering into the kiss—

“Satoru.”

“—my princess.”

.

.

.

“Zenin Naoya.”

The young man whirls around - and his nose crinkles in distaste as an older man enters the royal guests’ quarters. 

No union had been announced.

The engagement ball had long since ended, and you had even long since disappeared with some prince- some jester, as he had discovered through ballroom gossip. 

The fucking jester.

Naoya knew he should have gutted him after that dinner.

But alas, once he arrived outside your royal bed chambers to finish off the job- he’d been blocked by your personal guards from entering. That damned General Yaga had threatened that a single step closer could constitute an attempt at treason- treason? 

Accusing him of treason? Did he not know who Naoya was?

General Yaga hadn’t budged. And thus, Naoya had no choice left but to retire to his own guest’s quarters. 

Alone and angry until morning arrived. 

He had just settled with the thought of enacting his own taste of justice today- he shall lure some of the ministers to your bed chambers, perhaps falsifying an ailment you’d befallen under, before Gojo can escape. And once they discover that that lowborn jester had sullied the Princess- dungeons it is for the fool.

And oh-so-generous Prince Zenin Naoya shall agree to marry even a ruined maiden. 

Then comes the crown. Then the titles, the land, the power.

The woman shan’t be too bothersome, either, at least you were easy on the eyes. Even if the jester had gotten his hands on you first.

And ah…perhaps he shall throw out this court and your father along with it? That’s if he was in a good mood - and it was the original plan, after all…

Or perhaps he shall stage a coup of which your father had ‘led’ and enact justice as King- yes…a royal hanging should seem righteous enough. The jester shall be first. 

This was justice. 

Naoya had just been in the middle of writing a letter to inform his father of this change of plans, when a knock-knock-knock thundered from the door. The broad, bearded man on the other side of it hadn’t waited for him to answer before coming inside. 

“May I…help you?” He stands. Had this seemed like any old guard or minister, then Naoya would not have hesitated to draw his sword- but this was clearly someone of high status. Of numerous battle accomplishments.

And his eyes dip down to the silver scabbard at his waist…

This was clearly someone potent.

“I have arrived with a proposition.” The bearded man invites himself to sit down on the very chair that Naoya had been at work at.

Naoya’s eyes narrow, “Of what kind? Do I look like an errand boy to-”

“Of the kind I am aware your family is quite expert at.” Those words held such a dark weight to them—and he doesn’t take his eyes off of the Prince for a single second as he utters. “To be frank, I must request the ah…removal of Prince Okkotsu Yuta from the throne.”

That makes the royal straighten. “Find yourself a common mercenary-”

THUNK—!

From underneath his coat, the visitor pulls out a hefty bag - so large that Naoya wonders just how it had remained obscured for this long. There is a weight to it that makes the polished desk rattle, papers flying. There is an overabundance of its contents—so that the burlap rim threatens to burst open.

Naoya gulps as he eyes the - albeit alluring - bag. “D-do you believe the Kingdom of Zenins to have plummeted so far that we hold the need for a single sack of gold?”

The other man chuckles, “Gold?”

And with a single flick at the rim—it’s opening to reveal…sapphires.

A miniature mountain of it.

Such a rare beauty. Naoya had never seen so many in all the treasuries he’d ransacked combined - and his hand it darting out to grasp it—

“This is, of course…merely the advance.” The man places his hand on top of the bag, and slides it discreetly away from the Prince. His fingers twitch towards it, but Naoya can’t do anything with the other man here. “Trust me when I claim that your kingdom will have no shortage of sapphires for the next hundred years. I simply request that you prove your abilities to me.”

That snaps the Prince out of his constant eye-contact with the expensive bag. “Prove?”

His now-client nods. “Prove it. I should hope that the eradication of Prince Yuta shan’t prove too daunting- and for that, I wish to know what other…deeds you have accomplished, Your Highness.”

“The burning of the Inumaki kingdom’s crops.” Naoya immediately blurts out—before he lists off his family’s proud accomplishments as though he was listing off a market list. The other man nods with an unreadable expression. “The…displacement of the Cursed rubies, the demotion of the Ijichi household, the framing and eradication of the Gojo family-”

“Oh?” At that last one, he looks more alert. “Kindly elaborate on that final one, it seems to have ah…piqued my interest.”

Naoya hesitates- before a single glance at the sapphire sack makes him talk once more. “It was prior to my birth, thus the details might not be as adequate. Essentially what happened had to be done- the Gojo royals were advancing their economy in leaps and bounds—far too rapidly, far too soon.”

As he continues, an almost proud smile twitches at his lips. 

“It was ingenious- really.” He hums, “Just a few forged letters, just a single meeting with His Majesty-” Naoya gestures vaguely at this palace. “And he became convinced that the Gojos were planning battle over the borders.”

Naoya spits.

“Borders? Pah- what borders?” He’s pacing now, hands clasped behind his back—back turning to the other man as the Prince stares into the licking fireplace. “Come dawn, the palace was painted in red. Ministers. Mongrels. That King and Queen- the cowards begged for mercy, were you aware?”

Silence stretches.

It seems like an eon passes before the man’s answering - in a rough tone that punctures the silence. “I…I was not aware, no.”

Naoya huffs out haughty laughter.

“And what of their son?”

The Prince looks at the other man over his shoulder, brows pinched in confusion. “They had no son.”

“No.” The sword is pulled out of his scabbard. “They hid Gojo Satoru well.” 

It embeds deeply in the junction between Naoya’s shoulder and his neck—and his scream is silent. Expression twisted into shock as those final words registered - Gojo Satoru. Even in death, he hears his name. 

Much louder than Naoya’s scream was the impact of his cold, dead body hitting the carpeted floor - and almost instantly, Prince Okkotsu Yuta enters the chambers. “I have recorded the confession, uncle, and the troops are storming the Zenin palace as we speak.”

“Good.” Michizane pulls his sword out and watches as blood creates a painting across the brick fireplace and floor. He wipes it off using what would have been Prince Naoya’s engagement robes, and places it back in his scabbard. 

Yuta takes a step closer to offer a clean wipe to his uncle, “Should I summon a court meeting at once?”

“No.” Michizane takes it and dabs at the beads of sweat on his forehead. Then he nods at Yuta to collect the bag of precious sapphires, “I have a far more important affair to attend to.”

.

.

.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!

Both you and Gojo startle awake- and a single glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows reveals sunlight filtering in. A soft breeze rustles the sheer curtains…and Gojo’s beautiful locks right beside you.

It wasn’t the first time that you were waking up next to him.

But it was the first time it was…in such a manner.

You’re tugging on the satin blanket- of which you were wearing nothing underneath. Bare. Barely holding yourself back from him. And Gojo smiles to himself as the thought seems to occur to him, as well, reaching over to kiss you—before wincing at the red, red nail marks that twinged with movement. 

You’re leaning in as well—

But then two things occur to you:

It must have been at least midday.

Someone was at the door.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!

More insistent this time.

The two of you look at each other.

Then at the door.

Then at each other.

Gojo jumps to his feet, throwing off the blankets and attempting to dive underneath your bed- but you’re raising a hand to stop him. Shaking your head imperceptibly. “No…”

“My princess?” Gojo asks.

“I believe there comes a time where one must stop running.” You’re speaking, more to yourself. And in a quick fashion you cross the room to don your satin robe—Gojo manages to bunch up a few blankets that cover his bits. You shake your head and scour for one of his casual night garments from underneath your bed - throwing it at his head.

“For all the princess in the land-”

“Oh, perhaps I ought to hand you to the guards.” The guards that were surely outside. Perhaps waiting to accuse you of treason for shattering the Zenin union. Perhaps ready to embarrass you and your jester in front of the royal courts.

Whatever it shall be - whatever the price may be for loving Gojo Satoru - you’re raising your head high and taking it like a ruler. 

You open the doors, and outside stands…

Michizane?

He looks just as startled as you, though he manages out a rough smile. “May I see the ring?” 

You’re unsure what he means—and you’re considering telling your guards to escort him away, when Michizane peers inside your bedroom and locks eyes with Gojo. Gojo who seems to startle the instant that blue, blue gaze meets his. Perhaps…

And then he’s stepping forwards- pushing the door open ever-so-slightly further open.

And presenting his left hand - with the silver signet ring still upon it. A hollowed gasp leaves the older man, and he’s clasping Gojo’s hand in his own trembling, timid ones—holding it as though it was the most prized treasure in this world. Buried for eons. 

Gojo’s voice sounds scratchy, “I-it is not my possession to don-”

Michizane shakes his head. 

“I believe…” He looks between the two of you, bright eyes twinkling with tears. “-that there is much we need to speak of.”

.

.

.

There was to be a royal wedding.

There was to be a royal wedding.

There was to be a royal wedding.

The union between yourself and the long-lost prince of the Gojo kingdom. 

After Michizane had explained to you both - let alone an astounded court - that he was the uncle of your beloved jester, that he was titled royalty, and that Gojo himself…was the sole survivor of a gruesome attack that the Zenin family had orchestrated…Gojo didn’t believe it. Not at first.

Not that someone knew his life before this life.

Not that someone had come to…save him. Because Michizane didn’t - to Gojo, it had been you. And it forevermore shall be.

But you could see the fearful hope - almost unwelcome on his face - as Michizane explained that he hadn’t known about the status of the Gojo heir, his nephew, before the engagement ball. He was so young, he must have forced himself to forget such a traumatic ordeal. Thus, it had always been assumed that he had perished along with his brother and his wife—though Michizane couldn’t find a small body amongst the carnage. 

And so he had always hoped…always, always…

And it had been the signet ring (looted by the Zenins and gifted to your father, no doubt) that roused his suspicions. Then those eyes. That hair. That smile, like his mother’s.

It had to have been him.

Fearing such an attack, had the late Gojo royals not kept the birth of their son a secret, then his features would have gotten him poisoned before he even stepped foot into the royal court. The cap n’ bells masked more than one would think. 

The scheme to expose the Zenins had been planned beforehand - being the only reason that Michizane even attended the ball in-person. And he’d thought that perhaps finding his late nephew’s look-alike had been a good omen.

Had been…

Oh, he just had to confirm it for himself. Especially after Naoya had affirmed that the Zenin’s hadn’t been aware of any son. 

Michizane could see the Gojo name in the boy. And so he was right. 

Acceptance had taken long hours cooped up in the numerous palace libraries—poring over history books, and rewriting ones that misunderstood.

During this time was when you’d iron-handed your ministers into changing the law that ‘only a prince shall marry a princess’. Of course. 

Long days and longer conversations.

Gojo had finally accepted that he was the sole righteous heir to the throne of Gojo by the time he’d ascended to the throne. It had occurred during a coronation too grand for words - of which you were the honored guest, of course.

Michizane had accumulated vast sapphire mines during his time away, and the Gojo kingdom’s infrastructure was soon able to recuperate their losses. Though not all of it…certainly some wounds would take time.

But the first time that Gojo stepped through those familiar palace walls, he cried as if it were a dream. And he’d said as much—“I had believed it was a dream- oh, I believed this was all a dream. This is my home.” As he embraced you in the middle of the royal lobby, you could agree with the sentiment. “You are my home.”

The first portrait that one saw when they entered the palace - moved by Michizane from Gojo’s former chambers to the main hallways - was one of his mother, his father, and Gojo himself.

Just an infant with bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile.

He had his father’s eyes, but his mother’s smile. 

After Gojo’s crowning, the borders of the Gojo kingdom were reestablished - all territories and citizens that surrounding kingdoms (as well as yours) had absorbed were handed to their rightful ruler.

His kingdom was new…but building. And fast.

Then Gojo had gotten to work helping right all of the Zenins’ wrongs. He aided in expanding the Inumakis’ agricultural lands, he returned the Cursed rubies that had been embedded in Naoya’s coronet to lord Sukuna, he promoted the Ijichi household’s titles twofold. 

And he rebuilt his own family. 

Of course, the Zenins themselves met their rightful fate. Prince Yuta had attacked their palace and numerous fortresses, causing those family members to be impounded. Some fled but were quickly caught—in part due to General Yaga’s tireless assistance. 

Gojo had insisted that the children grow up in his palace. And though you’d been befuddled at first - most certainly you wouldn’t allow them to be hurt…but as for raising them yourselves over placing them in noble homes - you quickly registered that Gojo simply didn’t want history to repeat itself.

Above all, he took in young Fushiguro Megumi as a ward.

The trials for the other family members were currently ongoing.

But, recently, there was a new event that shook your kingdom. 

The wedding. 

Not one of political nature…but rather love. No matter the class, position, or power the two of you held—you would always be his princess, and he your best friend- oh alright…your jester. But solely because Gojo still loved to act a-fool to make you laugh. 

Your father had no choice but to approve your wedding to such a powerful young King. Why would he risk such strong political ties? Why would he risk your abandonment?

Your people throw snow-white petals of gardenia as the wedding carriage passes through the streets- on its way to a honeymoon voyage before setting down in a newly-built palace between his kingdom and yours. Megumi would live there, too, and of course you’d convinced your most-trusted attendants—Utahime and everyone else that had readied Gojo that night of the engagement ball - to reside there, as well. 

Not as servers, but with titles. With General Yaga as your head of guards.

You couldn’t be happier. 

Gojo holds your hand. Wedding band on his left ring finger, the Gojo signet on his middle.  

Faces beamed and cheers soared as you two passed by in your dream-like carriage—upon a cloud. And though the kingdom had been decorated until one nearly couldn’t spot a single roof, Gojo only had eyes for you.

He’s unabashed as he leans down to publicly kiss you. 

Now that he finally could, the boy that had once been jester.

“Satoru.”

“My queen.”

A/N. Ugh had just finished watching the animated Sleeping Beauty before I wrote that ending, can you tell??

[fellaramdane]

masterlist

warning: contains 18+ contents, smut, nsfw, gxg, bxb, read closely to each tags inside, mdmi.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ ──── kpop ── .✦

aespa

winrina • ningselle

new jeans

bbangsaz • daerin

⋆.𐙚 ̊ ──── kdrama ── .✦

go kyungjun os

night has come

the line up • traitors • abandon me

study group

dear sunset

weak hero

extracurricular

⋆.𐙚 ̊ ──── anime ── .✦

jujutsu kaisen

itadori yuji os

[fellaramdane]

her first time | go kyungjun

summary: you've been in a relationship with kyungjun for three years, you have done nothing but kissing, but today’s anniversary won’t be the same as the last two.

warnings: 18+ mdni // college!au | virgin!reader | fluff | slow burn | you’re the one who impatient to do it | he’ll do something on you with chocolate, protected sex, he’ll teach you for the first time, fingering, cunillingus, vaginal, missionary

note: requested by @ftrsvv literally from almost a year ago, but my bad time management couldn’t even handle a simple paragraph. my writing contains slow build-up, so for anyone who’s easily tired won’t get to the climax ahaha. ngl i almost forgot how to write, but tysm for the req, baby, sorry if my writing skill is getting worse. i hope everyone likes it ♡ wc. 9.6k

collections: kyungjun's drabbles

The golden afternoon light streams through the tall lecture windows when Friday comes.

The campus is quiet with distant chatter of students rushing for the weekend fading into a soft hum. You zip your backpack, hoisting it over your shoulder with a small sigh of relief. Finally, the week is over. When you turn around the door, your heart violently leaps into your throat.

A tall guy is leaning against the doorframe, his massive frame blocking out the hallway light. He’s already shed his heavy basketball team jacket, wearing just a clean black sweater that emphasizes the broad breadth of his shoulders. The low, warm sunlight catches the sharp angles of his jawline and the messy dark bangs falling into his eyes. He’s just standing there, arms crossed, watching you with an intensity that instantly makes your skin flush.

"Oh, my God, Kyungjun! You scared me," you gasp, a breathless, giddy laugh escaping your lips. “Please stop standing like a ghost, again!”

He doesn’t say anything. He just pushes off the doorframe and walks toward you, his long strides effortless. Before you can even protest, his large, calloused hand gently hooks under the strap of your backpack, sliding it off your shoulder to sling it over his own.

Without a word, he reaches down and locks his fingers through yours. His palm is so warm, that you feel the heat of it rush straight up your arm. You’ve been holding this exact hand for long, yet the simple friction of his skin against yours still makes your pulse flutter like a trapped bird.

"Don’t trip," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates in the quiet classroom.

"I never trip," you pout, though your cheeks burn because you both know it's a lie. You always trip when you look at your boyfriend’s side profile for too long.

He pulls you gently toward the exit, leading you out into the hallway. The campus is practically deserted, the usual loud laughter of the colleagues fading out into the distance. It feels like the entire university has cleared out just to give the two of you space to breathe.

Because today isn't just any Friday. It’s your third anniversary.

You almost jump out of your feet, a giddy, bubbling excitement exploding in your stomach. Three years. Today marks exactly three years since he awkwardly asked to walk you home under these exact same streets. Rewind the memory of your first anniversary, he had nervously packed a handmade picnic basket and taken you to the botanical gardens. On your second, he had saved up for weeks to reserve a high-end rooftop dinner uptown.

"So ..." you drag out the word, leaning your weight slightly into his side, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "Where are you taking me tonight, Captain? A fancy restaurant? A secret drive?"

Kyungjun doesn't look at you, but the corner of his lips twitches. He tightens his grip on your hand, pulling you out the campus gates where the sunset paints in deep shades of gold and pink.

"My place," he says simply.

You pause mid-step, blinking up at him. "Your ... house?”

"Yeah."

A sudden, sharp wave of disappointment pricks at your chest. Your expectation, which had been building up all week, deflates just a little. Just his house? On our third anniversary? You try to swallow the feeling down, telling yourself that being alone with him is enough, but a small, involuntary pout forms on your lips as you look down at the sidewalk.

Kyungjun notices. He always notices when it comes to you.

Suddenly, he stops walking. Before you can ask what’s wrong, under the golden canopy of the campus trees, he turns his massive frame toward you. Steps into your space, completely blocking the rest of the world from view, and cups your jaw with his free hand. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone, tender and solid.

Then, he leans down and presses a deep, lingering kiss to your cheek, right at the corner of your mouth.

His lips are warm, soft, and smell faintly of menthol he always smokes. The kiss is so deliberate, so all the disappointment in your chest evaporates. Replaced by a sudden heat that flushes your bad mood down to your stomach.

He pulls back just a fraction, his dark eyes burning into yours with a quiet intensity you’ve never seen before.

"Don't make that face," Kyungjun whispers against your skin, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "I don't want anyone else interrupting us tonight."

The raw promise in his low voice makes your knees go weak, a strange, delicious tension bubbling up inside you as he turns and continues leading you down the sunlit street.

“Trust me, okay? I have a special chocolate.”

•••

The heavy lock of his front door clicks open and as Kyungjun pushes it wide, the smell catches in your throat.

The apartment isn't dark, across the ceiling and draped carefully along the living room walls are hundreds of tiny, warm-yellowish fairy lights, casting a soft, magical glow over the entire space. It looks like a contained galaxy. On the coffee table, right in the center of the room, sits a massive bouquet of deep, velvety roses surrounded by boxes of sparkling imported chocolates you’ve been dying to try.

"Kyungjun!" you gasp, your feet practically bouncing off the tiled floor as you dart past him. Gleaming with pure, unadulterated excitement as you touch the petals of the roses, spin around to look at the lights. "You did all this today? This morning?"

Kyungjun shuts the door behind him, dropping his keys on the entryway counter. He shrugs out of his heavy jacket to the couch armrest, but doesn't say anything. He just stands there, with a quiet, satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he watches you glow.

The faint flush on his ears is the only giveaway that he’s incredibly pleased with your reaction. “Happy?”

Looking around the cozy, private space, a sudden wave of regret hits your chest. You think about the crowded botanical gardens from your first year, the stuffy, overly formal rooftop restaurant. But this was exactly what you needed.

A cozy anniversary, completely hidden from public eyes, where he didn't have to be temperamental and almost threw an angry punch at a waitress for having your meal too late. Or throwing kicks at a bird who throws shit near your picnic rug, right at the moment he eats a sandwich.

You jog back to him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist and burying your face in his chest. "I’m sorry," you mutter, your voice muffled by his shirt. "For being disappointed earlier. This is ... it's perfect, Jun. So pretty!”

The second you snuggle yourself into your boyfriend’s chest, his large arms wrap securely around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his massive frame. Your head feels him resting his chin on the top of your hair, letting out a low huff.

"Told you to trust me, dummy," he murmurs, rumbling his chest against your cheek. "We need no crowd to celebrate this year."

When you look up to him, gives you a gentle nudge, steering you toward the living room couch, which is already piled high with his softest, thickest blankets. You happily collapse onto the cushions, kicking your shoes off and stretching out, watching him as he transitions into his element.

Without his jacket, his broad shoulders are on full display as he walks into the kitchen. The warm, dim overhead light turns on, and suddenly, the stoic boy who growls at his teammates is moving around the counters like a commanding captain. He ties a dark apron around his waist - a sight that makes you bite your lip to hide a giggle - and starts pulling ingredients out of the fridge with practiced, efficient movements.

"So, Captain Go," you call out from the couch, propping your chin as you watch him inspecting a bottle of wine. "What's the menu for tonight? Or am I just eating chocolates for dinner?"

Kyungjun glances over his shoulder, his dark eyes sparkling under the kitchen light. "There will be a special food.”

You lift an eyebrow. “Enlighten special!”

“Pasta with scallops," before you process his first answer, he adds confidently, "And a bottle of wine Jinha swore would make you happy. If it tastes like trash, I’m punching him on Monday."

You laugh, instantly throwing the blanket off your legs and jumping to your feet. The excitement is bubbling too high in your stomach to just sit still. "Let me help. I can scramble the ingredients or chop something."

"No," Kyungjun reached out a long arm to block you from the cutting board. "You're the guest of honor. Sit down."

"I've been annoying you for three years, I'm not a guest," you fire back.

Kyungjun blinks, caught off guard by your stubbornness. He steps up right behind you, his massive body completely shadowing yours as you work at the counter.

His warm breath fanning across your nape as he whispers, "Fine. But if you cut yourself, I’m carrying you back to the couch and tying you to it."

The kitchen dissolves into absolute chaos within minutes, the tension between you giving way to the bright, breathless rhythm of a couple who knows exactly how to push each other’s buttons.

You don’t just peel the garlic; you use the flat of the knife to smash a clove with a dramatic, heavy thud, intentionally spraying a few loose skins directly onto Kyungjun’s freshly wiped counter.

"Hey," Kyungjun growls, his dark brows drawing together as he looks down at the mess. "What did I say about management in my kitchen?"

When his back is turned to inspect the boiling water, you reach out with a flour-dusted finger and quickly swipe it across the tip of his nose.

Kyungjun freezes. "You did not just do that," he snapped, his voice dropping into a low warning.

"Do what?" you gasp innocently, already taking a step back.

"You’re dead," he mutters, dropping the wooden spoon onto a bowl.

You don’t wait for him to lung. With a loud, ecstatic giggle, you spin on your heels and dart out of the kitchen, your socks sliding wildly against the polished hardwood floor. You sprint around the edge of the living room sofa, using the large, plush furniture as a shield. Kyungjun tracks you with the agility of a man, his long legs cutting off your angles in two long strides.

"Kyungjun, wait! The scallops!" you shriek, laughing so hard your stomach aches as you dodge his outstretched arm.

“Scallops your butt!”

You try to make a break back toward safety, but your foot catches on the edge of the sofa rug. You stumble with a loud gasp, but in an instant, a heavy shadow falls over you.

Kyungjun’s hand shoots out, gripping your forearm firmly and with a sudden, effortless pull, he hauls you right back into the kitchen. “Aaa! Kyungjun!”

He yanks you flush against his massive frame, your chest colliding hard with his broad chest. The sudden impact knocks the last laughter straight out of your lungs. Your breath hitches, your hands instinctively coming up to rest against his shoulders to steady yourself, your socks sliding slightly until your toes are practically wedged between his feet.

For a long second, your giggles just collide and dissolve into the warm space between his lips.

Up close, the kitchen’s dim overhead light catches every single detail of him. You see the white streak of flour still dusted across his nose, a stark contrast to the faint, healthy sheen of sweat glistening on his temples from running around the apartment. Beneath his messy, shadowy bangs, his dark eyelashes are long, thick, and casting soft shadows over dilated pupils that are locked down to your face.

Looking up at him like this, a sudden, heavy wave of heat hits your stomach. It’s a dizzying, bubbling tangle of pure affection. A deep, tingling weight spreads you in paralyzed. He is so hopelessly handsome, radiating a natural, intoxicating warmth that smells faintly of his laundry detergent and the sweat scent of his skin. You get completely hypnotized, your fingers curling into the cotton of his shirt, unable to look away.

Then, the small pot on the stove lets out a sharp, sudden hiss as a stray bubble of pasta water splashes over the rim onto the hot burner.

The sound snaps the spell. You blink, shifting your weight to pull away toward the stove. And just like that, the heavy grip of his hands around your waist instantly loosens. He lets his palms slide off your sides, stepping back a half-inch to give you space, his expression softening back into that familiar, patient gentleness.

You turn your heels toward the stove, grabbing the wooden spoon to stir the pasta, but your mind is suddenly miles away from dinner. A strange, frustrating ache begins to tighten in your chest. As you watch the steam rise from the boiling water, you can't help but think about how effortlessly he always slips off your body. The second you pull away, the second you distract yourself with a joke or a chore, he lets you go.

And for the first time in three years, it starts to irritate you.

It’s always like this. It’s always so easy to run from him. You know exactly what Go Kyungjun is capable of. You’ve seen him on the basketball court - bruising, relentless, knocking opposing players out of his way without a shred of hesitation. You know he’s the guy who will fiercely snap back at a lecturer who gives an unfair grade, the one who throws terrifying punches at gym walls when the pressure of mid-terms gets too loud.

Yet, when it comes to you, he acts like you’re made of spun glass. He treats you with such a meticulous, careful innocence that it suddenly leaves you feeling half-satisfied, a heavy layer of overthinking clouding your brain. Why won't he just snap out? Why won't he hold onto me like he actually wants to?

The heat in the kitchen feels like it suddenly skyrockets. The heavy knit cardigan still hanging over your shoulders suddenly feels like a suffocating cage. You blindly lower the heat on the burner, your breath coming a little faster as a fine layer of sweat begins to glisten on the nape of your neck and the curve of your damp cheeks.

Slowly, you slide the cardigan off, letting the heavy fabric drop carelessly onto a dining chair. Left in just your simple, silky black tank top, you reach down with a trembling hand, lightly wriggling the hem of it to fan some air against your heated stomach. Your skin feels hyper-sensitive, glistening faintly under the dim light, your pulse racing from the sheer friction of your own racing thoughts.

You try to ground yourself. You force your eyes back down to the garlic butter sizzling in the pan, focusing deeper and deeper into the work of the kitchen, trying to drown out the wild imaginations running through your head about what he could do to you if he just stopped being so damn polite.

You take a slow breath, lifting your chin to glance sideways at him, expecting to see him looking away or waiting patiently.

Instead, you freeze.

Kyungjun hasn’t moved an inch. He is standing right beside the counter, but the gentle, compliant boyfriend is entirely gone. His dark eyes - heavily shadowed by the dim yellow light and his bangs - are shot right at your sweated skin. He is tracking the frantic rise and fall of your chest, the way your fingers are trembling against the handle of the spoon, and the glisten of sweat on your exposed collarbone.

The raw, unblinking intensity in his gaze is unyielding. It’s the exact look he wears right before he dominates a game - sharp, heavy, and completely stripped of any politeness. He caught you overthinking. He caught exactly what you were doing with your shirt.

And for the first time tonight, you’re panicking.

Your heart turns a violent, dizzying somersault in your chest. Under the unblinking, heavy weight of his gaze, your thoughts scramble into complete fuzziness. It’s one of the things you secretly crave, but facing the raw reality of it, is completely different. A sudden, breathless panic mixes with the heat in your belly, and you quickly look away, your hands suddenly moving twice as fast to stir the pasta.

"Ramen … pasta, I mean … is almost done," you stammer out a breathless squeak. Frantically plate the food and pour the wine, your movements clumsy and rushed because you can still feel his eyes burning holes into the side of your neck, refusing to let you go.

And when the sun finally dips entirely below the horizon, “We are watching SpongeBob!" you announce, using the coffee table as your anchor as you settle onto the floor. “My brain is completely fried from finals week, so I refuse to think about anything complex for the next twelve hours."

Your boyfriend sits down beside you, groaning as the loud theme song fills the room. “I can't believe I'm watching a talking sponge on our anniversary," he grumbles, though his legs are already folded on the floor beside you. “It’s just a brain rot.”

"It's classic literature, Go Kyungjun, shut up and eat," you giggle, the familiar, cozy bickering finally draining the nervous panic from your system.

He scoffs, but the sharp look from the kitchen has decreased, melting back into a fond, relaxed posture. For the next hour, you both eat from the coffee table, the rich, savory garlic pasta and the sweet white wine helping to ground your racing thoughts. Every time a ridiculous joke plays on screen, you burst into light giggles, and Kyungjun just shakes his head, with a helpless, beautiful smile tugging at his lips as he watches you instead of the cartoon.

But all you know is, the tension hasn't disappeared, it’s just simmering quietly under the surface, waiting for the moment the plates are pushed away.

•••

After dinner, you move from the floor to the plush cushions of the couch, dragging the heavy fleece blanket with you. Kyungjun follows without a word, his massive frame instantly sinking the cushions beside you.

Naturally, you crawl right into his lap, tangling your legs with his and pulling the blanket over the both of you until you're just a messy, clinging pile of limbs. Just like always, how you two usually binge watch a TV show.

At first, you're still giggling, your face buried in the crook of his neck as the screen babbles in the background. But as you shift, trying to get closer to his warmth, the friction of your bare legs sliding against his sweatpants sends a sudden tingle straight up your stomach.

The laughter dies in your throat.

Underneath the heavy blanket, Kyungjun’s hand finds the exposed skin of your waist. His palm is scorching hot against your bare skin, his thumb starting to trace slow, deliberate circles right over your hip bone.

"Jun," you whisper, your voice dropping into the quiet of the dark room.

"Hmm?" He doesn't look away from the TV, but his fingers tighten on your hip, pulling you a fraction of an inch closer firmly against his thigh.

The space beneath the blanket feels increasingly cramped, the heat radiating from his large body morphing into a heavy, pooling ache inside your stomach. Every tiny movement feels amplified a thousand times over. You can hear the deep, steady rhythm of his breathing, feel the hard, unyielding muscle of his chest rising and falling against your cheek. Your own breath hitches when his thumb slides higher, dragging the hem of your tank top up, letting the cool room air slightly freeze against your bare stomach.

Your skin twitches under his touch, your mind racing. Looking up at his face, you trace the sharp angle of his jaw in the blue light of the television. The overthinking returns, deeper and more agonizing than before. You find yourself trapped in a quiet delusion, imagining what it would feel like if he finally stopped being a protective boyfriend. You picture him losing that tight grip on his temper, pinning you down with the same heavy intensity he uses on the court, dominating you completely until you're entirely breathless under his weight.

As if he can read the illicit thoughts flashing through your mind again, Kyungjun's hand suddenly flushes downward, his palm sliding inside your waistband. You jolt against him, a sharp, electric shock tingling straight down your spine and settling heavily into your lower center. The sudden, possessive pressure makes your breath catch in a ragged gasp.

Before you can pull away or speak, Kyungjun reaches down with his other hand under the blanket. He finds your free hand - the one nervously curling into a tiny fist against his chest - and gently uncurls with his. He laces his large, calloused fingers through yours, and slowly brings it up to his face.

His eyes never leave yours as he tilts his head, pressing your fingertips onto his warm lips.

He doesn’t stop. He takes his time, you feel his mouth wet as he moves from your fingertips to your inner palm, lingering pecks into your knuckles, before dragging his tongue lightly across your sensitive skin.

Your breath jolts. Heartbeat entirely desperate, the loneliness comes back from the space he’s kept between you for three years. The intense heat he gave sent your center ache, tightening and opening against the fabric of your shorts, starting to get slick and melting from just the sensation of his mouth on your hand.

"You're shivering," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that commands your entire attention, his lips still brushing your knuckles.

"I'm not," you breathe out, your voice completely ruined. Unable to take the agonizing slow pace anymore, you grip the fabric of his black shirt with your other hand and drag yourself upward. You shift your weight, sliding fully onto his thighs and straddling his lap right in the center of his hips.

By your unexpected movement, Kyungjun lets out a sharp, ragged hiss through his teeth, his entire massive frame going completely rigid beneath you.

“Baby …” he rasps, his hands instantly gripping your waist to steady you.

Sitting flush against him like this, the sheer reality of his size hits you all at once. Every breath he takes, every low vibration of his voice rubs directly against your aching center, making you hyper-aware of the hard, thick length already pressing heavily against your shorts from beneath his sweatpants.

Kyungjun looks up at you, his pupils so entirely dilated that his dark eyes look almost black under the flickering light of the screen. He is shaking, his muscles tight as he fights a level of restraint that looks physically painful.

"Hey," he breathes, his voice thick with restraint. “Baby, are you okay? What are you doing?”

“You’re still asking?” you whisper, a sudden wave of bold defiance overtaking your panic. You don’t care anymore. You arch your hips subtly, pressing your wet center directly into his hardness, answering to him.

“We …” Kyungjun jolts, his head snapping back slightly as your movement hits him straight in the lower belly. His grip on your waist tightens, it's almost bruising. “Don't ... we don't have to do this if you're scared."

"Scared?" His single, deliberate word snaps the final thread of your control. “I’m on top of you, Captain, and you still think I’m scared?”

You don’t give him a chance to answer. Driven by the agonizing three-year buildup and the slick ache between your thighs, your lips crave his nose, pressing a soft, lingering kiss over the spot where the flour had been, before your lips slide down to devour his mouth.

In a messy, urgent collision. You aren't being careful anymore. You graze your teeth against his bottom lip, drawing a low, ragged groan from the depth of his chest. And when his mouth parts, you slide your tongue inside, drinking down the hot, sweet wine in him.

The heat between your thighs is blinding. Driven by a sudden, wild desperation, you shift your weight, dragging your wet center directly along the hard, rigid length of him through his sweatpants.

Kyungjun lets out a fractured, choked gasp against your mouth. The vibration sent straight to your pants. His hands fly from your waist, his large palms gripping your hips with bruising force to stop your movement, but you ignore the warning. You pull away from his lips, burying your face in the crook of his neck, biting gently at the tense muscle and pressing a string of wet kisses down his throat.

"Damn," Kyungjun’s groan broken, "Baby, stop-"

"No," you breathe against his burning skin..

That is the absolute breaking point. With a low growl that vibrates against your chest, his restraint completely snaps. With large hands instantly wrapped around your waist, and a sudden surge of power, he flips your bodies over.

The world spins in your eyes before your back hits the plush cushions of the couch. Before you can inhale, his heavy, muscular body descends upon you like a cage, completely trapping you beneath him.

He pins both of your wrists flat against the cushions on either side of your head, calloused fingers locking through yours with unyielding force. The flickering light from the television washes over your skin, highlighting the crimson flush creeping down your cheeks, over your throat, and spilling red onto your chest. His eyes trace how your silky tank top is slightly ruined, forcing the soft curves of your breasts upward.

All you see is him towering over you. Sharp bangs fall over his eyes, but beneath them, his pupils are entirely gone. You see his eyes are pitch-black, burning with a dangerous, unchecked fury. That's when you realized, your polite, gentle boyfriend is completely dead.

"You think this is a game?" He leans down until his lips are mere millimeters from yours, his hot breath fanning across your mouth. "Three years. I spent three years tearing myself apart trying to be good for you. Keeping my hands to myself, treating you like you were holy. And tonight you just ride my lap and dare me?"

You try to twist your wrists out of his grip, but he doesn't budge a single millimeter.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to the heavy, rapid rise and fall of your breasts. "Where did all this confidence come from, huh?”

"Kyungjun ..." You shut your eyes.

"No, look at me," he growls. "Don't you dare close your eyes. And answer me."

You force your eyes open, your vision swimming as you look up into the pitch-black depth of his gaze. "I’m tired of waiting," you confess. "I didn't want you to be good anymore, Jun. Every time you let me go ... it felt like you were keeping a part of yourself away from me. I know who you are. I didn't want the polite version tonight. I wanted all of you."

Kyungjun’s jaw slacks just a fraction, the dangerous fury in his eyes fracturing into something deeply stunned.

"You have no idea what you're asking for," he whispers, chest pounding against yours. "If I start this, baby ... if I stop holding back, I won't know how to be gentle with you."

"Then break me," you breathe out, a desperate tear slipping from the corner of your eye. "Please, Jun. If I'm asking for it ... just give it to me."

The last wall of his restraint crumbles. Slowly, he releases your wrists, leaves your hands to simply fall limp against the cushions. Until his thumb gently tracing the high line of your cheekbone, sliding down the side of your neck, absorbing the scorching heat of your skin. And travels lower, trailing a path of pure fire until it rests over your hip.

You let out a sharp, fractured cry as his hand slides down beneath the heavy blanket, and cups you right through your thin shorts. The fabric is already deeply soaked, clinging entirely to your skin from the slick dampness.

Kyungjun freezes, his eyes snapping down to where his hand is buried between your thighs. A dark satisfaction alters his features.

Without taking his eyes off your face, his long fingers slide beneath the elastic waistband of your shorts, pushing the damp underwear aside until his bare skin contacts your burning, slick heat. The sudden, direct touch of his rough fingers trace your hyper-sensitive flesh.

"Hm, so wet," Kyungjun murmurs, his voice dropping into a dark growl as he circles your entrance, his thumb finding the swollen, throbbing bud at the top. "Three years ... and you've been hiding this from me?"

He doesn't wait. Slowly, deliberately, he slides his long middle finger inside you.

"Jun, please-" You gasp, your head tossing back into the cushions, your thighs trembling violently as he begins to move, his finger sliding deeply in and out of your slick entrance.

"Hush," he commands softly, though his breathing is completely ruined.

But instead of diving deeper inside you, Kyungjun suddenly shifts. He pulls his glistening, slick fingers out of your heat with a wet sound that makes your thighs tremble with a sudden sense of emptiness. You gasp, your hips instinctively twitching upward to follow his hand, but he’s already reaching past your shoulder, his long arm stretching toward the coffee table.

When he pulls his hand back, he’s holding a piece of the rich, dark chocolate again.

His jaws clenched while gaze locked on your flushed, panting face as he breaks a small piece. Gently, he presses the sweet morsel against your lower lip, prompting you to open up, so you let the chocolate slide onto your tongue. Let the bitter-sweet flavor melt against the roof of your mouth.

Then, the reality of what he's doing hits you. He is using the exact same fingers he just used to slick your heat to push the chocolate in.

You look up at him, your eyes wide and completely dazed. The intoxicating, sinful mix of the rich cacao and your own liquid smell explodes on your tongue. A choked sound catching in your throat. You want to scream from the mind-melting audacity of it. Realizing how bad he can torture you.

"Baby, listen to me," he commands. "Listen once again. You have always been my cute, smart girl. So I need to hear you say it. No jokes, no teasing. Are you completely sure? Are you actually letting me do this to you?"

The question, spoken with such sudden, intense sincerity in his veins, pushes your temperament right over the edge. The sweet, torturous frustration building in your chest makes you want to rip his messy hair out just to pull his mouth back down to yours.

"Yes, you idiot!" you cry out frustratingly, your nails digging into the solid muscle through his shoulder. "Yes! Just do whatever you want with me, Kyungjun. Stop waiting!"

The confirmation completely breaks him. "You sure you won’t take back your words?"

Instead of freeing himself from your claws, he grabs the remaining piece of chocolate. With an agonizingly slow movement, he breaks it further. 

You nod by his frustrating agony questions. “Yes, Jun, just fuck me!”

He didn’t think to press the melting pieces directly against your bare skin. He lines the rich, dark sweetness right along the curves of your upper chest, tracing a path down the center of your breasts, and letting a few drops smear across the skin of your stomach where your tank top is bunched up.

The contrast of the cool, melting chocolate against your cold, feverish skin makes you gasp, muscles twitching beneath his hands.

Kyungjun doesn't give you a second to recover. He leans his massive frame down, his dark bangs brushing against your neck as he buries his face into your skin. He begins to lick the chocolate away. With hot, wet tongue swipes across your chest. He bites down gently on the soft swell of your skin, leaving a stinging mark that makes your back arch off the couch.

“Ah!" you whimper, your hands tangling blindly into his hair. “Oh my God, you-”

He ignores your weak protests, mouth moving lower. He licks a dark trail down your belly. Every wet, suctioning kiss, every sharp lap of his tongue sends a localized current of pure fire straight down to your dripping core, prepping you for the moment he finally decides to claim you fully.

“Kyungjun … how could you-”

The hot, heavy drag of his tongue leaves glistening trails, and before you can recover, Kyungjun’s large hands hook into the waistband of your shorts. In one smooth downward motion to strip your fabrics completely off your legs, tossing them onto the floor.

He pulls his upper body back, shifting his weight to sit on his knees between your thighs, and forces your knees wide apart. The cool apartment air hits your exposed skin, and you instinctively try to close your legs, but his grip on your knees is like iron, holding you completely open beneath him.

Kyungjun's gaze drops. He freezes.

In the dim, shifting blue light of the television and the warm glow of fairy lights, your swollen depth is fully exposed. You are pretty, flushing pink, glistening heavily with the thick, slick dampness of your throbbed arousal, the sensitive folds fluttering and twitching as they meet the open air. Three years of absolute restraint, three years of keeping his hands to himself.

Completely untouched, pristine, fucking virgin slit now weeping entirely right in front of him.

"Fuck," he breathes, his voice dropping into a broken exhale. Because the raw, unblemished reality of it hits him like a physical blow.

Without thinking, a heat in his veins completely takes over. With an agonizingly slow, deliberate touch, he begins to smear his chocolate again right along your virgin folds, coating the sensitive skin of your illicit sticky warmth.

The second the cool, melting confection meets your hypersensitive, pulsing core, you jump violently against the cushions. "Anghh ... Kyung-"

You cry out, hips jerking up. Let alone the cold stains of the stupid chocolate which he uses like lubricant, your hands blindly clawing at the couch pillows as your mind completely melts. “How could you … how do you think of doing this?”

Kyungjun smirks upon the air. "How do I do this?" he murmurs, his hot breath fanning across your dripping center. “By planning our celebration. What else?”

He doesn't give you a single second to breathe. He takes the last bit of the chocolate and deliberately swirls it right over your swollen clit, coating the hyper-reactive bud before leaning down to savor exactly how you taste.

Until he seals his mouth over you entirely.

Your back arches off the couch as his lips lock, sucking the chocolate and your own sweet, musky juices into his mouth with a heavy hunger..

"Ah! Jun! You're crazy … I can't …” you scream into the quiet room, toes curling.

"I told you before," he mutters against your wet skin, muffled and hot, and heavy with a dark hunger as his tongue violently laps to your sweet clit.

"There’ll be a special chocolate for us."

•••

Kyungjun feels it, by the way your body completely tenses, the sudden, frantic hitch in your breath.

You’re close.

Looking at how your back arches off the cushions, a silent scream caught on your lips as Kyungjun’s mouth works your chocolate-flavoured slit with devastating precision. The sensation is entirely too much, too sharp, and too intense, but you can’t push him away. You can’t do anything but clutch fistfuls of his thick, dark hair, anchoring him against you as pleasure zaps through your nerves.

"Kyungjun! I-I can't!" Your thighs tremble violently around his head, your toes curling as another dangerous, pooling crest builds deep in your stomach. "This is too much, I'm gonna ..."

“Yeah? You’re gonna what, baby?” He laps with hard slurps. "Uh, wait.” Yet, he is talking in between your thickness. “How do you even know what it feels?"

‘Fuck.’

You got caught. You’ve never actually come from a boy like this before, but you know the feeling. You know exactly how it feels because of the lonely nights you spent playing with your own fingers. Completely alone in your apartment, you had constantly watched things a delicate woman shouldn't even touch. Where your eyes glued to the screen as you imagined him.

You had imagined his heavy basketball captain frame hovering over you, his rough hands pinning your wrists, his harsh voice whispering filthy things into your ear while he forced his harsh way deep inside you.

And right now, for fuck sake, he can actually making it happen.

"You bastard! Just … please," you cry out, your mind completely fracturing into a million pieces. “Please, please, I’m gonna punch you if you don’t-”

And then, right before you completely explode into a blinding climax, he stops again. Pulls his mouth away with a wet, heavy gasp, leaving your drips throbbing violently against the empty air, agonizingly close to the edge but denied the final release.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Kyungjun slides his massive body upward, crawling over you until he is hovering directly above your face. Seeing you completely wrecked, your eyes glossy and unfocused. He leans down and gently kisses your sweat-damp forehead.

“It’s okay, relax, baby. Take a breath.” His large hand gently cups your cheek, anchoring you while your head spins in a dizzy daze.

But the tenderness doesn't last long. A dark, wicked smirk crawls back onto his lips.

"Do me a favor, yeah?” he whispers. "Slide your hand right on the couch near your head. Dig in there."

Your mind is starting to blank, your movements sluggish and entirely uncoordinated from the heavy weight of arousal. Trembling, your fingers trace the fabric of the sofa cushion until you find the hidden crease near your head. You dig your hand inside, your fingers brushing against something plastic.

When you pull your hand out, you are holding a small, sleek square packet. A contraception.

“Smart girl.”

You blink up at him through your dazed vision, your heart hammering against your ribs as the realization hits. He didn't just plan the pasta, the wine, and the fairy lights. He hid this right here, exactly where you've been laughing around SpongeBob.

Your face burns, feeling incredibly shy despite the fact that you’re already bare beneath him.

But as you hold the small square packet, you catch the sudden shift in his posture. Your boyfriend, who usually faces down everyone without blinking, is staring at the condom on your hand with a heavy dark flush creeping up his neck.

"Sorry," he suddenly mutters, his voice cracking slightly before he clears his throat, looking away toward the flickering TV screen. "It's actually … it was the last plan. I put it in there this morning just in case, not for actual ... who knew you'd lead us here? Fucking hell!”

Hearing him stammer completely flustered by his own hidden preparation, changes something inside you. A wicked, playful confidence bubbles up your shyness.

Still trembling with a mix of leftover arousal and newfound boldness, your free hand reaches out, pressing your palms flat against his stomach. Feel his skin burning around the hard, defined ridges of his lower abs which is tensing beneath your nervous fingertips.

Until the first graze of your finger hooks his waistband.

"Did you just show me how clever my boy is?” you murmur with a teasing purr. "My smart boyfriend."

"Shut up!” he rasps, shutting his eyes. "Don’t you dare call me like … nghh …"

"I told you to stop waiting, didn't I?" you whisper back.

You haven’t even hooked into the elastic of his gray sweatpants, but he leads you to push the heavy fleece down past his hips. The fabric slides smoothly over his muscular thighs, completely freeing the dense, heavy heat he’d been hiding beneath the cloth all evening.

With a low, ragged groan from the back of his throat, his massive erect length springs free, throbbing up against his lower abdomen.

The sheer reality hits you in absolute shock. He is massive - fully hard, with dark crimson from the sheer volume of blood rushing through him. Pulsing veins mapping its way up the rigid crown. His tip is already glistening with a clear drop of pre-cum, casting a faint glow under the low lights.

You tremble from head to toe. The imagination that had run wild in your head for three years feels completely dwarfed by the terrifying reality. Your mind goes blank again, wondering how on earth your tight opening like yours is supposed to stretch around something this large.

Kyungjun watches your eyes widen, tracking the exact moment your breath catches and your gaze freezes on his hardness. The vulnerability on your face completely shatters his composure.

"Fucking hell," he rasps, his voice a broken.

His voice makes you look down at the glossy little wrapper again, her brow furrowing in helpless confusion. Your fingers twitch against the plastic. You blinked up at him, cheeks burning a fresh red.

"Jun ..." you whisper. "I ... how do I even?"

Kyungjun lets out a low, breathy huff. The flustered tension in his shoulders softens into something deeply patient, a quiet gravity settling over him as he realizes how entirely new all of this is for you.

"Give it here," he murmurs softly, taking the torn packet from your trembling fingers.

He slips the thin, lubricated rubber disk out. Instead of doing it himself, he places it gently to your fingers again, guiding you hand down to his burning, throbbing length.

"Pinch the little tip at the top," Kyungjun instructs, placing his large thumb over your index finger, ensuring you to pinch the reservoir. "Like that. Squeeze the air out so it doesn't break."

You swallow hard, eyes wide as you carefully center the ring over the slick, weeping head of his cock.

"Now roll it," he rasps, his jaw clenching tightly as the cool, wet lubrication of the latex hits his hypersensitive skin. "Just ... push the ring down. Smooth it all the way to the base."

Your shaking fingers slowly follow his guidance, sliding down the heavy shaft. As the rubber unrolls, you can feel the thick, pulsing veins stretching beneath the skin, the sheer, uncompromising hardness of him expanding even further under your touch. Kyungjun lets out a sharp, ragged hiss through his teeth, his head snapping back into the cushions as his abdomen violently ripples.

"Like ... like this?" you ask breathlessly, your knuckles brushing against the coarse hair at his base.

"Yeah," he chokes out, his eyes squeezed shut as he fights for every ounce of control. "Exactly like that. Fucking hell, [name]."

He opens his eyes, and the sheer agony of the pleasure swimming in those dark depths makes your heart skip a beat. He looks down at where you're spread open beneath him, your glistening pink slit completely defenseless, trembling in anticipation of a weight it has never carried before.

The contrast is torturous. He is so big, so completely unyielding, and you're entirely untouched, a narrow, virgin vice waiting to claim him. The thought of stretching her open, of burying his thick length into your tight, untamed warmth, sends a wave of agonizing heat straight to his groin. It is a beautiful, terrifying friction, knowing he has to be careful with the girl he has protected for three years, while every single instinct in his body screams at him to just push inside and ruin you.

"Look at me," Kyungjun whispers, gripping your hips with a force that leaves no room for escape. "It's going to be tight. It’s going to hurt a little at first. But I'm going to go as slow as you need. Just tell me when to stop, okay?"

You blink up at him through a heavy, liquid daze, your thighs trembling as you try to comply. And nod at his words.

"Spread your knees wider for me," Kyungjun commands, sensing your hesitation, his large hands leave your waist and slide down the insides of your knees. Physically guiding your legs apart, lead you to open up until your tight, dripping slit is entirely bare to his gaze again.

And the unadulterated motion makes your face burn again. He doesn't push inside. Instead, Kyungjun deliberately slides the thick, rigid shaft upward, rubbing the smooth, lubricated latex directly over your highly sensitive, swollen entrance.

"Angh!" a ragged, high-pitched gasp rips from your throat. You instantly claw the blankets as a blinding shockwave of pleasure zaps through your abdomen.

"You like that?" he murmurs, his hot breath fanning across your damp neck as he continues the torturous, slow friction. He rubs his hardness against you in a steady rhythm, deliberately painting his thick shaft with the endless, hot liquid that is nonstop pooling from your center.

Your own cream wraps around his unyielding thickness, coating the rubber until the squelching sounds echo loudly in the quiet room. “Shut … shut up! Yeah, I like it.”

The pure, heavy ache of being so close to him, of having his massive length sliced in you but not yet inside you, makes your hips involuntarily buck upward, desperately trying to catch the head of his cock.

Kyungjun stops for the third time, his muscular frame trembling violently. The veins on his forearms pop under the strain, even a heavy drop of sweat rolling from his jaw onto your chest.

"Sweetheart," he breaks, "Tell me. Give me permission. Can I push inside you?"

"Yes ... please, Jun, yes," you sob out, your hands locking behind his neck. "Stop asking everything, and do it, please."

He doesn't wait another second. With a heavy, deliberate tilt, he slides the thick tip straight into your tight opening.

Your entire body jolts violently in pure shock. A high-pitched scream rips from your throat, completely unmuffled in the quiet living room. The sheer, overwhelming sensation of being physically stretched apart by his massive length makes your eyes roll and glassy. It feels incredibly full.

After all of those fucking lonely nights spent alone in your bedroom, the boundary is finally broken by him.

"Ah! Wait, wait! Kyungjun, it's too big … oh my god," you whimper, your legs shaking against his broad shoulders as your body tries to adjust to the invading mass. “Slower, Jun, keep it, uh-”

Kyungjun lets out a choked, agonized growl, his teeth baring as your internal muscles pump frantically against him. "Fuck ... baby, you’re so tight," he groans, forcing himself to stay completely still. "So fucking hot. Don't move, just breathe."

To keep you from panicking under the intense stretch, he intentionally keeps his movements still.

"Ughh ... Jun … it feels too crazy," you cry out, unable to muffle the dirty, lewd sounds escaping your lips as his shallow, torturous pacing milks more liquid from your core.

Sensing the overwhelming stimulation crashing over you, Kyungjun buries his face in your hair, begins pressing soft, melting peck kisses all over your burning cheeks, down the line of your jaw, and against your trembling eyelids.

"Breathe for me, baby. Just breathe," he whispers fiercely, his large hand sliding down to stroke your hair.

"I feel like... like I'm going to die," you complain tearfully "You didn't even ... you didn't even start yet, and I can't take it."

Kyungjun lets out a low, deeply fond rumble against your ear. "You're not going to die, sweetheart. I've got you.”

As the seconds tick under the warm glows, the sharp pain melts away into a heavy, pooling warmth. Your internal belly slowly begins to accommodate him, pumping around his thick tip comfortably, as if you’re adapting to his presence inside you.

Kyungjun feels the exact moment your body melts for his size. "That's it," he rasps, his jaw tightening as he deliberately begins to push deeper. “You’re already comfy for me.”

As your reactions, your core clamps on him like an instinctive, pulsing vice, enveloping his shaft in a tight, desperate grip. “Ahh, ah!”

“Fuck, baby, you are so warm," Kyungjun groans, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “Does it hurt?”

The heat inside you is suffocating, a feverish, wet friction. “I … I don’t know …” You can feel every pulsing vein of his cock twitching on your deepest base. “I feel … full.”

“Full?” He gives you a second to adjust before he draws back, pulling his length out until just the tip remains in your dripping folds. “You feel full when I do this?”

Only to plunge right back in.

The wet, slamming sound echoes loudly over the low babble of the television. He begins to pace you, his movements pace into a steady grind that drives the broad tip of his cock ruthlessly against your sweet spot with every forward thrust.

"Ah! God-" you shriek, your fingers clawing blindly into the hard muscle of his back, toes curling. “Fuck, fuck-”

You can’t muffle the dirty, lewd whimpers. Kyungjun watches you under the shifting amber glow of the lights. Seeing your chest heave, hearing the shattered noises, makes his movements grow heavier and thrusts faster as he abandons the gentle restraint, fully taking what he had waited for three long years.

“What a main course my shy girl hides from me.”

•••

He begins to fuck you faster, the sheer audacity of his words completely breaks the little sanity you have left.

You lose all concept of time, the minutes blurring into a continuous, white-hot  friction and gasping breaths. Because Kyungjun doesn’t just let you sink into the pleasure; he forces you to hear exactly what you’re doing to him. He increases the pace, hips hammering a relentless, wet rhythm, driving his thick length so deep your internal walls stretch to their absolute limit with every single plunge.

"Open your eyes, baby. Look at me," he commands. Making you reluctantly blink through your dazed tears, only to find him staring down at you with a heavy intensity. Jaw clenched, a dark flush covering his sharp features as he watches you ruined under his massive frame.

"Three years," he rasps, his hips tilting. "Three years of playing the perfect, innocent gentleman because I thought I’d scare my sweet girl away. And the whole time, you were sitting in your room imagining your boyfriend ripping you apart like this?"

"Jun … ah! Stop-" you sob out, your hands helplessly clutching his damp shoulders.

"I'm not stopping," he growls, a wicked smirk breaking through his flushed face as he deliberately slows his thrusts. "Tell me more about those wild imaginations, sweetheart. Did you imagine how loud you'd scream when I finally put my cock inside you?”

The raw, unadulterated filth pouring from his mouth, mixed with the wet, squelching sounds of his length drives you completely over the edge. Your brain completely shorts out. You can’t lie, and you can’t hide it anymore - not when he is physically extracting the truth out of your body.

"Yes!" you wail, your head thrashing against the couch cushions as he delivers a devastatingly deep, upwards thrust that hits your sweet spot dead-on. "I wanted you ... I wanted you to be dirty with me! I wanted to feel how big you are!"

Kyungjun lets out a low, primal growl against you. The dirty confession from his supposedly shy, saint-like girlfriend completely destroys his remaining sanity.

"Fucking hell, you are a bad girl," he groans, his large hands sliding down to grip your thighs, pinning them wider and higher against his ribs to expose your dripping center even more. "Look at how good you're taking it, baby. A total virgin, and wrapping around my cock so tight I can barely breathe. You're milking me so fucking well."

Kyungjun feels the violent, rhythmic squeezing of your climax building, and a dark, wicked glint takes over his dilated eyes. He slowed his pace, put a thumb ruthlessly rub against your swollen clit.

"Look at your wetness all over my couch, baby.” He leans down, mouth brushing the shell of your ear as he delivers a devastatingly deep rub that makes your clit violently buck.

 "What do you think my mother will say when she sees this?"

Your eyes fly wide open in pure shock. The thought of his sweet, traditional mother - who constantly dotes on you and calls you her absolute favorite - discovering what you're doing right now makes your face burn with a level of embarrassment that is entirely intoxicating.

"Jun! No, stop!" you scream, your voice cracking as you bite your lower lip so hard you taste copper. "Don't say that! Ahh! Please, Jun!"

But Kyungjun is completely untamed, he lets out a dark, breathless laugh against your neck, his thrusts turning faster again.

"Actually, I don't think I should even clean it," murmuring filthily, he anchors you at a rapid pace. "I’ll just leave it. Let her come over and sit right here on Sunday, completely oblivious to the fact that her son’s favorite, innocent girl left a dirty, dripping smear all over her couch."

"Oh my god, Kyungjun!"

The forbidden, deeply taboo weight of his words explodes behind your eyelids like fireworks. Your internal walls contract in a violent, crushing vice around his cock, and shattered shriek rips from your throat as an anticipated orgasm crashes over you. 

"Jun! I'm gonna-”

Driven to absolute madness by the filth pouring from his mouth, you lose control of your own body. Wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling his head down, you sink your teeth into the meat of his shoulder.

Kyungjun lets out a sharp, ragged grunt at the sting of your teeth "Take it all, baby. Give me everything,"

“It's too much-” Your chest heaving as he delivers three final, brutal, bottoming-out plunges you completely open.

“You wanna come? Cum for me.”

The final thrust shatters the last thread of your sanity. A sickening, violent jolt snaps through your spine, and you let out a high-pitched, breathless shriek as your climax explodes through your core. It is a total firework show behind your eyelids, your womb contracts in a crushing, suffocating vice around his cock, pouring an endless, thick stream of your hot cream all over his rigid length.

Your entire world fractures into a blinding, white-hot sheet of pure electricity. A loud, shattered shriek rips from your throat, your teeth releasing his shoulder as your head thrashes back against the cushions.

The chaotic, blinding storm of the climax slowly recedes, leaving a soft, heavy silence. The low hum of the television and the amber glow of the fairy lights finally ground you back to reality, pulling you down to earth as the erratic rhythm of your chest begins to sync with his.

You feel his hand slide down in a soothing stroke on the curve of your waist over and over until the violent trembling in your thighs finally settles into a warm throb. He moves with a newfound tenderness, kissing soft, lingering pecks along your jawline.

"[Name],” he whispers in a raw thread in the quiet room. You wrap your weak arms tighter around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. "Shh, you're okay. You did so good for me," he praises softly, his fingers gently wiping away the damp sweat from your temple. "So fucking good."

He shifts his weight behind you, pulling your back flush against his broad chest. He wraps one massive arm around your waist, pulling your hips back until you are perfectly spooned against him, trapped securely within his suffocating heat.

But as your mind begins to drift into a comfortable, post-coital haze, you suddenly freeze. Still unable to fully recover, you feel it, hard, unyielding, and throbbing ruthlessly against the curve of your lower back.

You twist your head around to look at him over your shoulder. Under the dim, shifting blue light of the television, Kyungjun is staring down at you. And that’s when you realize it.

A wicked, possessive smirk pulls at the corner of his lips as he catches the realization in your dazed expression. He tightens his grip on your waist, his thick length pressing firmly against your lower back.

“Now that you’re so good for me, let's start our real celebration," he whispers against your ear. Your eyes widen in the dark. He hasn't even gotten what he wanted. He spent the entire time pacing you, teaching you, and still neglecting his own release.

"Happy third anniversary, my sweet girl.”

[myjlla]

Kyungjun Masterlist

This minimasterlist contains all my work for the Night Has Come character Go Kyungjun

written by @myjlla on Tumblr; do not steal

My Kyungjun short story series - suspended

Lighter - first meeting

Rainy days - second meeting

Headcanons

Love languages w. Kyungjun

NSFW Headcanon w. Kyungjun

Stories with Kyungjuns actor - Cha Woomin

Cha Woomin as boyfriend

[fellaramdane]

me confidently thought "my melody and kuromi" series is only a childish cartoon so i can watch to refresh my brain ... *gets into metal hospital*

[fellaramdane]

abandon me | go kyungjun

chapter list ᝰ.ᐟ

status: on going

summary: night has come, nsfw // after years of destroying your own body as go kyungjun's second choice, you finally get your own result. he was busy celebrating his relationship with someone else, while you're abandoned with an unwanted pregnancy. college!au, triangle love, third wheel!mc, kyungjun x yoonseo, angst, infidelity, toxic romance, gxg.

other platforms: wattpad | ao3

dialogue: "congrats, jun, you'll be a dad."

00: congratulations

01: two blue lines

[fellaramdane]

hello! I love reading your works

can you make a story about kyung jun and So-Mi? I really like them as a couple but I can’t write🥹

OH SHIT SHIT SHIT YESSS I KNOW LAW OF ATTRACTION WILL FIND US. BUT IDK I'D BE SCREAMING LIKE THIS.

KYUNGSOM IS LITERALLY MY GUILTY PLEASURE WHETHER IN ANGST, FLUFF, OR SMUT (but forgive my late ahh brain for writing😭😭😭 i promise i'll still write it)

[melsthots]

❥ them asking you to send nudes

⟡ feat. levi ackerman, porco galliard, connie springer, eren jaeger, jean kirstein. ⟡ summary : the guys send you a text requesting nudes to help with their…problem. ⟡ cw : 18+ MDNI. female!reader. all parties involved are in relationships. cursing. talks of sexual acts. connie calls reader ma and mamas (i’m sorry it’s my fav thing to make him say). porco is a S I M P for reader as always. reader is in college, so when she says class just realize she is an ADULT PLEASE.

aot smau m.list  |  jjk smau m.list

❥ levi ackerman

❥ porco galliard

❥ connie springer

❥ eren jaeger

❥ jean kirstein

divider creds : @cursed-carmine

all works are my own. i please ask that you do not copy, or repost to any other sites.

[starmapz]

could you possibly give me some sukuna fic recs?

I loved reading yours

thank you sm nonnie!! i will 100% without a doubt miss some so definitely check out my tag for all of my sukuna-specific reblogs here, as well as my ao3 bookmarks here BUT here are some faves off the top of my head!

as always, please read the warnings and each individual author's rules before interacting! they're all fantastic authors <33

controller by @yenayaps [series] - office au with hints of forbidden romance

not just anybody by @yenayaps [series] - baby daddy au

ceaseless by @yenayaps [series] - apothecary diaries au

thursdays by @beaniesayshi [series] - non-curse au

pour it up by @madamechrissy [series] - stripclub au

no. one party anthem by @indiewritesxoxo [series] - rockstar au featuring geto (and gojo)

faking it by @indiewritesxoxo [series] - college au/arranged marriage with someone else au featuring geto (and gojo)

vault boy by @indiewritesxoxo [series] - fallout au featuring geto

megalodon by @belimah [series] - hybrid au

sweet tooth by @sukunahs [series] - college au

tamed by @bluukive [series] - hybrid au

persephone by @creamflix [series] - office au

tomorrow is gone by @creamflix [series] - college au featuring gojo

high tides by @feyrinnn [series] - historical au

starburned and unkissed by @sukunahs [series] - magical girl au

mama i'm in love with a criminal by @cinnamorollcrybaby [series] - criminal au

jealousy, jealousy by @cinnamorollcrybaby [smau series] - best friend au

the ex files by @reignpage [smau series] - memory loss au featuring all the jjk men

we're just friends by @suku-enthusiasts [oneshot series] - best friend au

me and the devil by @yenayaps [oneshot] - modern sorcerer au

veni, vidi, vici by @emphistic [oneshot] - ancient rome au

knock her out by @screampied [smut oneshot] - boxer au featuring toji

waiting room by gojotojis (ao3) [angst oneshot] - best friend au

so i know who i'm looking at by @fushitoru [smut oneshot] - ghostface au

worst behavior by @kunareads [smut oneshot] - non-curse au

test drive by @indiewritesxoxo [oneshot] - f1 au

first time? by @kamiflix [smut oneshot] - college au

l is for licking wounds by deactivated [oneshot] - canon au

friday night lights by @epicderpface [oneshot] - mascot/sports au

cross over! by @hazedrat [oneshot] - ghost au

tracing trueform!sukuna's markings by @retiredteabag [drabble] - canon au

tattoo artist sukuna by @succunabus [headcanons] - non-curse au

[fellaramdane]

go kyungjun's drabbles

her first time | fluff, nsfw

forbidden project | fluff, nsfw

camera roll on | fluff, nsfw

the past | angst, nsfw

[kissthesword]

more yuji please🙏🏼

running from it

aged up!yuji

your face was pressed against the pillows, soft trails of drool running down your chin as your mind went to mush. yuji’s hips were almost punishing, slamming greedily into your ass with every forward thrust.

his dick felt as if it was growing impossibly bigger inside of you, your cunt was fucked raw, clit swollen and puffy from all the overstimulation. you really couldn’t remember when—or even how—it started. but you did know that yuji wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

yuji’s deep grunts filled your ears, one hand squeezed your ass as the other was planted firmly on your waist. pornographic sounds were spilling from your mouth before you could stop them, whines and pleas to slow down falling onto deaf ears.

it was all too much and too little as the same time.

as if your body was moving without your command you slowly inched yourself away from the brutal attack on your cunt, body reaching forward ever so slightly. it was that you wanted him to stop—quite the opposite actually—but the pleasure was so overwhelming you couldn’t help but try to escape from it.

of course he noticed, yuji noticed every movement, every little sound.

“don’t tell me you’re trying to run, baby.” his voice was rough, a stark contrast from his usual bubbly persona. you whined out, a small noise of protest coming from you as yuji tugged you back into him by your waist, free hand now coming up to press between your shoulder blades, pushing you further into the sheets.

“do i not make you feel good? wan’ me to stop?” he mocked concern, hips still steadily thrusting into you, jolting you against the mattress. “n-no yu—ji!” a squeal erupted from you as yuji suddenly pushed you flat against the bed, large body caging you in, trapping you.

his thrusts never let up, wet smacks of skin against skin bounced off of the walls. “then why don’t you take it? quit trying to run.” his demeanour had shifted rapidly, mere minutes prior his tone was softer, contrasting his rough movements.

now yuji’s tone matched his pace, rough and punishing as he fucked you into the mattress.

you were so full of him, the way each vein rubbed against your walls just right, how his bulky frame swallowed your body whole, the way he moaned in you ear. your head spun as everything hit you at once, the new angle forcing you to take him impossibly deeper.

small hiccups could be heard from your trembling lips, mewls mixing in with the lewd sounds of the room. “yuji, ngh—cumming, please.” your voice was raw from the previous orgasms, stomach tightening with the familiar feeling of your peak catching up to you.

“dunno, you did try to run away so do you really want to cum?” his words were punctuated by particularly harsh thrust, you could practically hear his pouty expression through his words. yuji’s once sweet eyes were now blown wide with lust, soft smile morphed into one of pure desperation.

“please, promise i’ll be good.” your speech was starting to slur, your begs being a last ditch effort to cum. “how can i ever resit those pretty begs if yours. come on baby, give me it.” yuji’s reply sent you spiralling, your hips tried to buck pathetically back into him, hurrying your face into the pillow as yuji pressed more of his body weight onto you.

your cunt spasmed around his dick as he continued to fuck you, tip hitting so deep you could feel it in your lungs. you cried into the pillow, tears coating the plush fabric. yuji’s coos only spurred you on, his gentle praises continued as he neared his own peak.

your over sensitive walls burned from the pressure, body twitching to get away but yuji was too strong, his weight pressed you against the bed, his hips hammering into you with such force it sent your eyes rolling back.

“stop squirming, please, ‘m gonna cum just a few more…” yuji’s voice trailed off as he felt his high hit, vision momentarily blinding as he pushed himself flush against you. breathing coming out laboured as he slowly rolled his hips into you, cum coating your walls with hot spurts.

you flailed under him, body going limp in seconds as yuji continued grinding into you.

you two lay still for a few moments catching your breath, slowly yuji pulled out, hissing at the loss of contact before flopping down next to you and pulling you to his chest.

“y’know, you’re really gonna have to try a lot harder to get away from me.”

[fellaramdane]

just sneak peek of go kyungjun (night has come) freaky time. when should i post?

[cinna-creme]

sleepy

a/n: finally got around to writing a lil yuji fic 🙇🏼‍♀️

y. itadori

your eyes flutter open, arm reaching around only to find yuji’s side of the bed still empty. you sigh and push back the covers, walking to the hall towards the living room. he’s sitting on the couch, tv low and playing some mindless show.

“should be asleep.” he says before you even walk around the couch.

“so should you.” you come to stand in front of him.

“mm.” he doesn’t look up at you.

“yuji.” you cup his jaw.

“hm?” he finally looks at you, eyes tired and heavy.

“wanna talk about it?” your thumb rubs his skin.

“no.” he sighs.

“wanna go to bed?” you step closer.

“no.” a small shake of his head.

“want me to ride you?”

his eyes darken and he pulls you down onto his lap, hands finding your waist and tugging up the shirt of his you’re wearing. you start rocking your hips against him, arms wrapping around the back of his neck and burying your fingers into his hair. you lean down and press your lips to his, he finally starts to relax under you, hands sliding down to your ass and squeezing the soft plush.

“push your sweats down.” you mumble against his lips.

when his cock springs free you’re sliding all over him, mouth pressed to his again, swallowing down all his moans. you lift up on your knees and wrap your fingers around his shaft, teasing his tip through your sticky folds before lining him up.

you stare into his eyes as you slowly sink down, each inch splitting you open wider than the last. when your ass finally meets his thighs you sigh and press your lips to his again. your fingers running through his hair as you slowly lift up and sink back down.

“fuck.” he moans into your mouth.

you ride him so slowly, grinding against him, starting to kiss all over his face. you focus on peppering feather light kisses all over his scars, whispering the softest words as your gummy walls flutter around him. his hands are still dug into your ass, hips jerking up to meet your movements.

his hands slide from your ass and up your shirt, pulling it higher as his hands settle on your chest, softly kneading into you. he rolls your nipples between his fingers and your hips jerk, pleasure rising in your tummy.

“yuu!” you whine, riding him faster.

he leans up and presses his lips to yours again, his own orgasm rising to meet yours. each schlick smack of your pussy sucking in his cock drives you both closer to the edge. a couple more rolls of your hips and you’re shattering in his arms, desperately trying to keep humping him so he can cum.

“s’okay.” he nods his head.

his hands slide down to your waist and he fucks up into you faster. your orgasm is still bursting through you, elongated from his pace and when he starts to fill you, your toes curl and you collapse on his chest. he still and you both stay connected, holding each other on the couch until your breathing settles.

you wrap your legs around him when he lifts you both off the couch. your eyes are heavy as he carries you into the room and lays you both back on the bed. you’re curled up on his chest as he’s still buried deep inside you, rubbing your back as you both finally fall asleep.

[fellaramdane]

after slumping over passerine #dsmp now i need to yearn yuji in modulo, guess the trope of an immortal having relationship with mortal is added to my new trauma.

[tteokdoroki]

imagine giving a pent up yuji the best head of his life, the noises he makes, the way his head falls back despite him wanting to watch you take it all, the grip of his hands in your hair trying so hard to be gentle but it’s too much he ends up pulling your hair not sure if he’s trying to push you off or pull you in

🏁 eighteen plus only ! ⋆  minors don’t interact ⋆ smut ⋆ blowjobs ⋆ oral sex (m!receiving), hair pulling ⋆ no hair texture or style is mentioned bf yuuji itadori, fem reader

at first yuuji has his hand atop your head, petting you and encouraging you because after all getting head from your girl is a gift. a blessing. he doesn’t wanna force you down or force you into it unless you give him the go ahead yanno? but after such long days and so much work, he gets a little pent up. stiff before you’ve even pulled him out, weighty in your palm because of all of the blood rushing through his dick. so hard and heavy it might as well be a weapon.

and yuuji’s tip is a painful bright red, has been all day, lathered in opaque white that tastes a little salty on your tongue as you slap him against it. he’ll run a hand through his messy, rosy locks — cheeks an equal shade cause he’s so feverish and fidgety while waiting to fuck your mouth. “honey,” he’ll sigh. “please don’t tease me, can’t today…” it’s like he’s begging because you look up at him with these huge innocent eyes like you don’t know what you’re doing and it makes yuuji’s shaft kick against the saliva soaked palette of your tongue.

he’s still petting your head as you mess with him, inhaling deep and slowly sucking him down as if the stretch to your cheeks and the weight on your tongue is like a pacifier to you. he brushes a hand over the bulge of your cheeks — running his finger tips up behind your ear and by your roots because now he really can’t help it.

goes from letting you bob your head slow, get used to the girth pulsing in your throat, to tugging you down ever so slightly — yuuji doesn’t push, he doesn’t want you to gag unless you’re willing to, but fuck does it feel good to ease his mushroom tip further into your mouth and smear it with all his precum. your saliva gushing from the corners of your mouth in frothy waves, spiralling down the veined parts of him that don’t fit inside and splattering against your balls.

“mnn, god, baby,” he howls hotly, head tipping back now that you’re getting messy with it, his entire chest flushed pink and his nipples hard while he heaves. “really feelin’ it today, m-mouth so wet ‘n warm around me. think i might die…”

then he bucks up by accident — uncontrolled, uncoordinated but still chasing that high and you mewl in surprise, the vibrations shooting straight through him and sparking lust at yuuji’s pelvis. “g-gonna die with my dick… in your pretty throat…fuck, you’re getting me so close baby.” his grip tightens in your roots, pulling you down a few more inches until he can feel your nose huffing against his tummy and chin by his thigh.

you bob your head every time he thrusts up, lashes fluttering against his bare skin and yuuji so badly wants to watch — but his face tingles with embarrassment at how loud he’s being and how easily he unravels under your simple touch, orgasm winding through organs and desire jumping across his synapses until he’s a twitching mess. it feels like it’s too much, too real and now he’s trying to pull you off by the hair until it’s too late.

your nails dig into the meat of his thick thighs deliciously, your lips swollen and hair a little mussed but you’re still so pretty with spit and precum spilling out onto your cheeks. itadori’s closer than he realises, ass clenched, legs spreading further and balls twitching as his release hits the back of your throat and oozes over the seam of your lips. “s-sorry baby, ‘m sorry,” he hiccups, faded, jaw slack as he licks his lips. “fuck… ‘m so sorry.”

but he’s not, and neither are you. licking him clean as his hot seed dribbles down his pulsing girth and your free hands rub smooth circles into yuuji’s sweaty skin.

you like how powerful you feel, making him come undone just like that — using only your mouth. you also like the way he gives you head pats after, feeling guilty for being a bit rougher than usual with you.

end. - reblogs and comments are always appreciated! just liking doesn't do anything. so leave a comment to motivate this writer if you'd like to see more!!

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED © TTEOKDOROKI 2020-26. all fanfics & layouts belong to me. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai, or recommend elsewhere.

[faithful91]

[fellaramdane]

baby