Alexis

‘03

[baobei-bu]

hoodie

[xoxojisu]

SOMEWHERE AMONG

synopsis: somewhere among all the little moments, it becomes very apparent to various people in his life that katsuki bakugo is in love with you. (aka when they realize and know that he's so incredibly gone.)

notes: YAYYY more unofficialbf!katsuki !! 3.5k wc. childhood friends to lovers (?) but no real confession or establishment of relationship. so like childhood friends to unofficial lovers. N E WAYS the concept is like. childhood vs now: when people realize he loves you sorta. or at least that's what i wanted originally but at some point i was just writing like idek man. not well-proofread so there are probs lots of errors n mistakes w the flow im sorry. first longer piece in a min w my writing hiatus and all so im a bit rusty but i hope yall enjoy!!

mitsuki knows before anyone else does.

maybe that’s just how moms are. sharp-eyed and a little nosy, always paying more attention than they let on. but really, you’d have to be blind not to notice the way katsuki’s whole damn world orbits around you, even at the tender young age of four.

the first time he declares you’re his, you’ve got dandelions in your hands and dirt on your knees, and he’s stomping around the backyard like he just won a damn olympic gold medal, screaming, “she said yes!! she's mine now!! hell yeahhhh!”

she snorts into her coffee, watching from the kitchen window.

you follow him around like a tiny shadow. he grabs your hand so tight it makes her raise an eyebrow, your little hand crushed into a position that must be painful, but you don’t complain. you just smile, swing your arms with his, and look at him like he’s your whole world.

(it’s the same way he looks at you.)

she keeps the photos. of course she does.

photos of you passed out on the couch together, little heads squished side by side. photos of you tangled in blankets during movie nights. photos of you curled up under katsuki’s arm, his little hand resting on your knee like it belongs there.

because, she thinks, maybe it does.

by the time you both hit middle school, mitsuki’s fully accepted that you’re going to be her legal family someday. she calls you that often. "my future daughter-in-law," "my sweetheart," "my precious y/n-chan.” it's half because she means it and half just to piss katsuki off.

it works every time. he turns bright red. stomps around the kitchen shouting, “shut up, old hag!!” while you giggle behind your hand. she only laughs and hands you more food.

she always makes extra when she knows you’re coming over. which is... pretty much every day.

he complains. boy, he complains. “why do you treat her better than me? i’m your kid!”

she shrugs. “yeah, and she's my favorite.”

the way he scowls is almost too easy.

but the truth is that she’s proud of him. of the way he’s gentle with you, even when he’s sharp with everyone else. the way he carries your bag without thinking, pulls you close when he thinks no one’s watching, the way his hands shake when you get hurt and he pretends they don’t. the way he's learned to love.

she sees the softness he hides so visibly. she is his mom, after all.

-

it's break, so you two are back home and not in the dorms. of course, she still isn't seeing very much of him, seeing as he spends every waking moment of his time with you. she hears him before she sees him come home, stomping up the stairs like a damn elephant. his voice is low, not yelling for once.

“quit squirmin', you’re gonna fall.”

"'s cause you didn't give me any warning before you picked me up! what am i, a sack of rice?”

“yeah, ‘cause you’re too damn stubborn to admit you’re tired.”

"as if you do?!"

"tch."

she peeks out of and sees you in his arms, head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut while he carries you to his room like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he doesn’t even notice her watching.

not until he comes back down a few hours later, shirt rumpled, hair a mess, looking like he just got hit by the best nap of his life and a truck named feelings. (puke)

she leans against the counter. raises an eyebrow. “so, when’s the wedding?”

he groans like she stabbed him. “can you just not for once?”

“nope,” she says sweetly, tossing him a towel. “you still sleep next to her every night like it’s not a big deal?”

“shut up.”

“still let her in your bed but kick that nice redheaded boy out for even looking at it?”

“shut up.”

she smirks. “you gonna tell her how you feel or am i gonna have to do it for you?”

he looks her dead in the eye.

“…you wouldn’t.”

she grins dangerously. katsuki forgets too often that his genes and personality are mainly from her.

“try me.”

he runs back upstairs.

she laughs to herself, puts the kettle on, and pulls out the old photo album. the one full of pictures he pretends not to care about.

she flips to a page labeled “age 4: katsuki + y/n” and looks at the photo of you both asleep in a beanbag chair, his arms around you like he was born to protect you.

“stupid boy’s so damn deep in love,” she mutters.

but she’s not worried. you’ll figure it out eventually.

you always do.

izuku knows before katsuki does.

maybe that’s just how he is, though. observant, over-analytical, always watching "like a damn stalker," as katsuki says. it’s not that katsuki ever told him anything, of course. because he wouldn’t. never in a million years.

but izuku doesn’t need words to see it. he sees it in the little things.

like the way he practically shields you in crowded hallways, hand on your back, just enough to block anyone who might bump into you. like the way he mutters “dumbass” every time you trip, even as he reaches out to catch you without thinking. like the way his hands clench at his sides when you’re the slightest bit hurt. like the way he relaxes when you laugh. like your happiness adds years to his life. like loving you has become a reflex engrained in his body.

izuku remembers the way you used to cling to katsuki's side when you were kids. a ray of sunshine with scraped knees and bright eyes, all trust and affection, following the fiery katsuki around like he was gravity. and he remembers the way he used to puff up like it was his job to keep you safe from everything. even the super scary stuff, like wasps and thunderstorms.

izuku's almost always known that 'kacchan's in love with y/n.' he recalls back fondly to a distinct memory in his childhood. they’re five, maybe six, sitting in the grass by the park, dirtied by playing outside.

-

izuku’s digging in the sandbox, humming to himself, in his own world as per usual, building a castle with just plastic buckets and imagination. he glances over when he hears your laugh. the really bubbly one, the one that sounds like the windchimes his mom puts up when it starts getting warm. he's noticed that that laugh usually comes out a lot more with kacchan.

you’ve got a bandaid on your knee and a flower crown crooked on your head, made from dandelions and clovers, and katsuki is sitting in front of you, scowling at a tiny daisy you’re trying to tuck behind his ear.

“hold still,” you giggle, reaching again.

“why’re you puttin' weeds on me?” katsuki grumbles as if he hates life, but he’s not pulling away one bit. he’s red in the face, squinting at the sun, fists clenched like he can’t decide if he wants to knock the crown off your head or punch something to release his emotion overflow.

he doesn’t do either.

he just lets you keep going.

izuku watches as you lean in close, tongue poking out a little in concentration, and katsuki completely freezes, face red and breath held.

he’s not yelling. not barking. not blowing anything up. he’s just… staring at you. soft-eyed. stunned.

like someone pressed pause on his whole little brain.

and izuku, tiny and curious and wide-eyed, tilts his head.

he doesn’t really know much, or anything, about love. but he knows for sure that kacchan never lets anyone that close.

and he knows kacchan only lets you steal his snacks.

..and his hoodies.

..and his toys.

..and.. him.

and izuku, with sand on his cheeks and a shovel in his hand, watches katsuki blush so hard he falls backwards into the grass, yelling “shut up!!” when you giggle and call him pretty.

and izuku just smiles to himself.

"oh," he thinks, "kacchan's gonna marry y/n one day."

-

now and then, a decade or so later, izuku can still see how hopelessly in love katsuki is with you. you’re sitting on the common room couch. it’s a late night, everyone else mostly gone, the tv playing quietly in the background. you’re curled into katsuki’s side like it’s second nature, his arm slung around your shoulder like a reflex, your fingers tangled with his like neither of you realize you’re doing it.

katsuki’s eyes are closed, head tipped back against the cushions.

but izuku watches as you shift, just slightly, and katsuki’s fingers twitch like they miss your touch before your hand finds his again.

like muscle memory.

like home.

and katsuki has no idea how obvious it is.

he still acts like he’s subtle. acts like he’s got it all under wraps. snaps and scowls like always, but izuku sees how he softens around the edges when you’re near. he sees how katsuki tracks the sound of your voice from across the room. he sees how katsuki smiles at you when you’re not looking.

not smirks. not scoffs.

smiles.

the real kind. the warm kind. the kind izuku didn’t know katsuki even had until you brought it out of him.

and now, even a decade later, izuku watches the two of you interact with fond eyes.

"yep," he thinks, "kacchan's gonna marry y/n one day."

masaru knows before katsuki knows too, but there's no surprise there.

what is a bit of a surprise is just how much he knows.

masaru's always been the odd one out in his family. his wife and son are two peas in a pod, after all. explosive, angry, but caring underneath everything. on the other hand, he's quiet, gentle, and very carefully observant. he watches you two interact over the years with more insight than he lets on. he and katsuki don't talk much, but he is his son, and he is the carbon copy of the woman he loves and knows best. katsuki's never talked about his feelings or anything with his dad before, but masaru knows.

he knows when he sees the way you diffuse katsuki's explosiveness, turning him from a bomb seconds away from detonating into a grumbly, blushing mess.

he knows when he sees that his fridge and cabinets are stocked with foods that no one in the bakugo family buys or likes, and he realizes that they're your favorites. and that katsuki must've bought them.

he knows when he sort of sees himself and mitsuki in you and katsuki, and everyone knows how well they've worked out.

-

"jeez, katsuki really should just hurry up and confess to y/n already! i don't know what he's waiting for!" mitsuki huffs one evening when they're chilling on their bed together.

masaru breaks his attention from his book to give her the acknowledgement to keep talking.

"like, seriously! i mean, they've been in love since before katsuki even formed his quirk. the boy shared his sandwiches with her before he could even pronounce the word right!"

"you're right."

"aren't i?! and y/n is such a sweet girl. if katsuki doesn't get his act together soon, someone else will take away my sweet y/n-chan! and you know what? i wouldn't even be mad with them. it'd be katsuki's fault for letting her slip through his fingers."

"mhm,"

"and do you see how good she is with him? she always balances him out and brings out his nicest qualities. qualities that i forget he has until she comes around. she's honestly probably too good for him, but im too attached to her to let go. plus, she somehow loves our boy to bits, too. theyre like yin and yang. sun and moon."

masaru smiles softly. "they kind of remind you of us, don't they?"

mitsuki looks a little surprised at the new insight before smiling softly as well. "you're right."

she slides closer. "and you and i are a pretty damn great couple."

"we sure are."

masaru sleeps that night holding the woman he loves, and he suspects his son is doing the same.

1a knows within just a week or two of watching the two of you interact.

kirishima notices first, having spent the most time with katsuki. it was an evening study session with the three of you. kirishima finds it kind of odd seeing how it took tons of effort for katsuki to let him in but you just showed up and katsuki opened the door for you.

he shakes it off, knowing katsuki can be kind of weird sometimes.

the sheer difference in treatment was ground-shaking. kirishima thought that out of everyone, he was the closest to katsuki. he was the nicest to him.

boy, was he wrong.

while katsuki would beat kirishima up for getting a problem wrong and threaten to blow him up, he would gently teach you in the softest of tones, giving you a "reluctant" (he wanted it so bad) hug when you got frustrated with yourself.

kirishima just sat there, blinking, pen halfway to paper. like, sure, he knew that his explosive friend had a heart. somewhere. deep down. probably in the fiery depths of hell. but this?

this was a fully tamed beast. a completely different person.

“you’re doin' fine,” katsuki muttered lowly, tugging your worksheet towards himself and redrawing the problem. “look. see? you almost had it.”

you stared at the page, chewing your lip, frustration written all over your face. katsuki barely hesitated before reaching out and flicking your forehead gently.

“oi. don’t get all weird about it. you've got it.”

“you’re weird,” you mumbled back.

“yeah, and you’re dumb. now shut up and do it again.”

but he sat a little closer.

and he pointed out each part of the equation with his arm against yours, like he couldn’t help it. like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

by the time you finished the question right, katsuki grunted and muttered with a slight smile, “told you. that's my girl.”

you beamed up at him, bright and sunny like he hung the goddamn stars.

he immediately turned away like you’d set him on fire.

holy shit, kirishima thought to himself. he's in love. he's totally in love with her.

-

it wasn't long before the entire class caught on.

you’d show up late to class and katsuki was already moving stuff out of the seat he'd saved for you.

you’d get paired with someone else in group activities and katsuki would mutter the whole time, arms crossed, blowing tiny explosions in his palm like he was restraining himself from starting a war.

you’d laugh at something dumb that kaminari said and katsuki would visibly pout for the next twenty minutes.

every time he held the door open for you, took your plate at dinner, passed you notes during lectures, stared at you during hero strategy lessons like you were an addictive substance he didn't know how to breathe without. everybody knew.

i mean, how could you not? everything about him literally visibly softened when you were in the room. you'd be a fool not to notice how he only ever raised his voice to protect you, never to push you away. how he sat with his arm around the back of your seat every time you watched a movie together. how he never, ever flinched away from your touch, even though he did with everyone else.

iida and ochaco and all of them had sort of learned to steer clear of the two of you when you were alone, courtesy of katsuki's guard dog glare. todoroki and yaoyorozu would conveniently need to share a book and weren't able to sit next to you on the couch when he was walking up, much to katsuki's grunt of approval as he slid in next to you.

of course, some were not as wise, such as the bakusquad, who would poke fun of him every now and then. call him a loverboy and tease him about being soft, shoving pictures they'd taken of a sleeping you cuddled up on him in his face.

but at the end of the day, they know it's not just some silly crush that they can lord over his head. it's love. actual, genuine love that sometimes feels too pure to make fun of. something so precious and real that they feel like they should lay off and give you two some space.

whenever they see you two acting all soft and like an old married couple, their expressions are less mischievous, as if they're thinking about doing something really dumb and embarrassing, but more fond and soft, looking at something so sweet and genuine that they can't help but smile.

you were probably the last to catch on.

it's just that katsuki is so katsuki. he's your best friend. has been for as long as you can remember. of course you love him, but you've been loving him for so long it feels as natural as breathing. it's not some huge revelation or big deal. it barely registers as abnormal because it doesn't feel like one of those exhilarating whirlwind romances you see on tv. it just feels normal. because to you, it is.

you've always fallen asleep on katsuki. always hung out with him one-on-one. always shared snacks. always slept over. always jumped for him knowing he'd catch you.

it’s just… him. it’s always been him.

it doesn’t hit you all at once. it’s quieter than that.

it’s in the little things. like how you don’t even knock before going into katsuki’s room anymore. it’s your second home. your charger is plugged in on your side of the bed and you've got a spare set of your uniform in your own drawer.

it’s how you always end up pressed against him on the couch. you never sit down with that intention, but it always happens. at some point, you'll crawl over or he'll pull you into his lap. it just feels right.

it’s how he notices things. you texted him some dumb video at 3am, so he wordlessly shoved your favorite energy drink into your hand the next morning because he knew you'd be sleepy. your shoelace comes undone and somehow he’s crouching down to tie it before you even register he noticed. you mention craving something salty and there's a nameless bag of your favorite chips on your desk by the next period.

and the weird thing is that he doesn’t do that with other people. you’ve watched. he’s snappy and blunt and downright rude to anyone else who tries to get too close. but with you? he's your "soft sweet little katsuki." (said with his face in your hands as you laugh and tease him. his cheeks are red and he won't meet your eyes but he doesn't dare move.)

the realization doesn’t slam into you. you don't feel the love pulsing through you as he kisses you passionately in the rain. you don't gasp and cry when he surprises you with a giant flower arc and a michelin star dinner.

it leaks in through cracks in moments. when you’re laughing so hard at something snarky and witty he said that your stomach hurts and he’s looking at you like you’ve just hung the moon. when he shoves your head gently away, grumbling “dumbass” because you called him a teasingly affectionate nickname, but you can feel how he leans right back a second later, hand coming around to rest at your waist. when he catches you dozing off during study sessions and just keeps reading aloud, voice lower, steadier, like he wants to coax you to sleep.

you don’t think, oh my god, i love him. not right away.

it’s more like: oh, i’ll text him first. oh, i’ll stay a little longer. oh, i’ll bring his favorite snacks with me when i go over. oh, i don’t ever want to leave.

and then, somewhere in between his hand brushing yours absentmindedly and you feeling safer with him than you’ve felt anywhere else in your entire life, you realize you’re already gone. you’re already his.

there isn’t a single “moment.” it’s all the moments, stacked and layered and wrapped around you until you’re here. on his bed, in his hoodie, atop his chest, watching him grumble and rant about how stupid kaminari was in training today, and all you can think of is,

god, i’m in love with him.

and based on the way his hand is curling tighter around your waist, sneaking under your hoodie to rub circles on your bare skin, you think he's in love with you too.

masterlist reblogs + comments are super duper appreciated!

[folklorefantasies14]

so freaking adorable i will always love the childhood friends to lover trope

[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??

[werecreature-addicted]

people are always like "Oh a vampire wouldn't get horny while drinking someone's blood, that's like getting horny while eating a sandwich" and like man have you never had a really good fucking sandwich?

[radio-jupotter]

The sandwich i had for lunch didnt moan and scream and squirm against my body and then become limp and pliable when i was done now did it

[radio-jupotter]

(Via @morganpdf )

[pupucino]

[ceruleancattail]

Jack who lets you use his arm as a handle when both of you are taking the train. He’s pushing his bicep towards you to grab and knead, his tail wagging so hard it’s hitting the other passengers-

I like the idea of him wanting to be useful to you. He wants to be wanted, needed by you. Like when you can’t open a jar, he’s right there to muscle it open. Or if you need help reaching something, Jack wants to be the first one you call.

It’s… not like he particularly wants you to be helpless without him, really. It’s more of he wants you to be comfortable with the idea on calling on him. Comfortable with the idea of… him, in general.

Besides, whenever you lean onto him and ask him for help with these little chores of your life, Jack can quietly imagine them in a more… domestic context.

Living with you sounds nice…

[marigoldendragon]

All roads lead to death

[marigoldendragon]

Ruggie knew the risks

Comic for AuDHDcat, the reddit winner of that raffle I held a while back. Forces conspired against us to get it done in a timely manner :P

[kkumri]

HAIKYUU X POKEMON 👶🏻🧶 BABIE BOIS and the pokemon partners i thought that they’d each have!!

[donis-donut]

I love seeing “the lion doesn’t concern himself” memes with Leon Kingscholar, like yes this is the guy this meme was made for!

[dumdogs]

i want to interact with people more but what if they kill me

[mysumeow]

[requested] ➥ Cuteness aggression! ₊⊹

ᓚᘏᗢ When you cause them cuteness aggression. ᓚᘏᗢ TAGS: Gender-neutral reader. Reader is stated as being shorter than the boys. Reader is regarded as cute by them too. Established relationship. ᓚᘏᗢ A/N: while looking up for the guy's height i came across this. It took me by surprise and made me burst out laughing 😭😭 fcking leech twins are huge what were they giving them in the coral reef lmao | ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ . . . TWST MASTERLIST

ʚ⁺˖↪ FLOYD

Waking up entangled with Floyd’s limbs was a guarantee when you had a sleepover. That was the best scenario. Worst case, you'd wake up on the floor because Floyd had no sense of space and overestimated the size of the bed and ended up pushing you out of it while asleep.

This time, Floyd behaved better regarding that.

Floyd stirred awake, waking you up along with him, and you found yourself cuddled to him…if having one of his arms half draped around your waist and one of his legs on top of yours counted as such. It wasn’t the most comfortable position to wake up in, but you preferred this over finding yourself on the floor.

“Mornin’…” you muttered, still half-asleep as you stretched.

Floyd barely regarded your greeting—it was the least of his concerns. Instead, he fixated on the sliver of skin exposed when you extended your arms overhead, the way the hem of your shirt rode up, akin to curtains unveiling a stage.

Rather than a good morning, Floyd’s impish smile made a slow, playful appearance.

Your stretch was short-lived, the relief interrupted. Instead, sharpness bloomed on the side of your lower abdomen.

“You—!”

He had pushed your shirt higher up, exposing more of your abdomen, and bitten onto it. It was a quick chomp he gave you. Hard enough for it to leave a mark, but not enough to draw blood.

“Eh? What’s that look for? You’re the one being all soft and cute.” With a sleazy smile, he rubbed his face into your tummy. “Don’t act surprised if I try to gobble you up when you look that tasty.”

ʚ⁺˖↪ JADE

“You know, I could use some help over here.”

To end up drenched by sudden rain was not how you were expecting your concise camping trip with Jade to go. Woe is you. Moreover, your single climate-appropriate jacket proved unusable now. Since you were just going to stay a couple of days, you didn’t bother packing another one. Your backpack ran out of space, anyway. It was another jacket or your weighted blanket, and you weren’t about to endure a cold, sleepless night in frigidity.

Jade’s backpack capacity was bigger than yours, thus posing him the availability to pack an extra upper-body garment that suited the temperature.

As much as you were grateful for getting a second chance to accompany Jade on his quest for mushrooms, the truth was that you were struggling with putting the insulated hoodie on. How could someone’s arms in this godforsaken land be this long?

 “Oh, do you? I’d say you seem to be managing quite adorably on your own.”  

“Jade!”

“My, do not distress, darling. You’re quick to aggravate,” Jade didn’t even bother hiding the amused smile curving his lips, striding towards you with an expression you knew too well. You felt him grab the ends of the sleeves and push them so you’d find the holes faster. “Careful now, or you might disappear in there.”

That little shit.

ʚ⁺˖↪ IDIA

In a school with students from all backgrounds, ranging from supermodels to a literal prince, Idia considered himself not to be at the same level as them. Sure, he was a genius who could design complex algorithms in record speed and code in any programming language known to mankind, and no one in the entirety of the student body compared to his programming prowess…but let’s be honest, who actually finds that attractive? (His thoughts).

The thing was, Idia wanted to impress you. Thus, his solution to his headache ended up being…

Showing you how much of a good gamer he was. No—good didn’t even begin to describe it. He was the MVP.

“Wait, wait, wait! That’s not how you do it! Give me your controller, you’re using a cheat exploit, so that doesn’t count!”

Much to his chagrin, his little plan to awe you went awry. This was nowhere near the little fantasy he spent the night imagining. (It had gone something more like: “Wow, Idia. The way you’re ranked as one of the top 1% of players is so hot I don’t know what to do with myself. And the way you’ve spent over 500 hours on this one video game? Marry me already.” As you fluttered your eyelashes at him.)

“Wha…? What do you mean I’m not playing it right? I’m literally beating your ass this round!” you dodged his attempts at grabbing the controller off your hands, struggling to empty the HP bar of his character.

“That doesn’t count if you’re button-smashing!”

After what felt like forever, he snatched the controller from you, holding it up above his head.

“You sore loser, give it back!”

You stood up from the chair and jumped, raising your arms the furthest you could reach. The odds weren’t working in your favor, as Idia was taller than you, and not only that, but the fact that he also held it up above his head decimated your chances of retrieving it.

At first, your misfortune made him burst out in laughter. You had no chance of taking it back, and your attempt was futile in every sense of the word. However, the longer he glanced at you from his point of view, the spark of endearment did appear. You were smaller than him by a considerable margin. Surely you couldn’t hope those short arms of yours to snatch the controller back, right? To make matters worse for yourself, that little frown and pout wasn’t intimidating him in the slightest.

At last, you huffed.

“Did you give up?” Idia taunted.

You glared at him and crawled onto his bed. Idia’s eyes followed you, confused. Then, you stood up on the mattress, further dumbfounding him.

From that vantage point, you lunged at him, both succeeding in tackling him to the floor and regaining possession of the controller.

ʚ⁺˖↪ MALLEUS

To understand humans and create meaningful connections, such an endeavor implied the necessity to watch—study, even—how these quirky creatures interacted with their environment. Despite the intricacies human relationships and peculiarities entail, he did crave to bridge that gap.

Therefore, he observed you.

His objective was devoid of ill intentions; he found himself gazing upon you more often than he did with the fellow student body, proving that you held a uniqueness that drew his eyes to the way you unfolded to the world around you. The sentiments that stirred when he did were one of a kind; nothing he had ever felt in his over one hundred years of life compared to what he experienced when his eyes or thoughts settled on you. Most humans don’t live that long. They don’t make it for over a century. That thought made him realize the gravity of the situation…

After a date, when your eyes fluttered close, and you leaned in for a kiss, somehow, his memories retraced to that one time you were trying to reach something on the cupboard. For a moment, you looked around as if checking if anyone was around. You hadn’t noticed Malleus was there.

You try to place a leg on the counter, to climb onto it and attempt to grasp what you looked for… To which Malleus was quick to use his magic to levitate the plate you were trying to reach towards your hold.

What else do you do when you can’t reach something?

Instead of lowering himself so you could kiss, as that’s the usual occurrence, he remained unmoving. The way your lips were slightly ajar, waiting for a kiss that has yet to be bestowed upon them, and how the moonlight cast its silver glow on your soft, warm skin…

A heartbeat passed, followed by a second one.

Malleus chuckled, and you opened your eyes to see what was so funny, but that question disappeared when Malleus tilted your chin up to press that long overdue kiss.

Consider liking/reblogging ฅ(•˕ •マ

[wafflefries13]

Rivals (Multi TWST x Reader)

Summary: Night Raven College has never been lacking in drama and intrigue, especially where the magicless Prefect is concerned. And through all those adventures, she may have just stolen a heart or two... or more? Or Various mini-fics where the Twisted Wonderland cast duel it out for the Prefect's affections.

Warnings: AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, fluff, cannon typical shade, I really did not mean for Lilia to catch strays twice in this fic but here we are

Crossposted on my AO3 TheGhostInTheKitchen

Riddle vs Floyd 

Riddle knew he was distracted. This wasn’t like him at all. He’d been happy, more than happy, to help (Y/N) when she had asked him to help her study for her upcoming alchemy exam. But now, as they sat across from each other in the library, warm afternoon light casting golden rays through the book stacks, he couldn’t seem to even bother looking at his textbook. Rather, he found himself watching the girl across from him. How she would frown at a particularly confusing equation, tracing a sentence with her finger as she copied it into her notes, tapping her pencil against her lips as she silently read. Oh, Seven, he was staring at her lips too much. 

Riddle had to stop himself from flinching as (Y/N)’s eyes glanced up to him. He could already feel his face heating up as she smiled at him. Her eyes cut to behind him quickly before coming back to him. 

“Incoming, twelve O’clock,” She said. 

“Sorry?” Riddle asked, trying not to sound as flustered as he felt. Before he could even try to clear his head of the embarrassing pink hearts and sparkles that seemed to be clouding his vision whenever he looked at (Y/N), the back of Riddle’s chair was yanked back on the rear legs. He pinwheeled his arms, legs kicking out on instinct, as he grabbed anything to try and regain balance. 

“How are my two favorite guppies doing?” Floyd asked, looking at Riddle upside down with a sharp grin stretched across his impish face.                                

Riddle started turning red for an entirely different reason than before. “Floyd!” He snapped. He threw himself forward, causing the chair to slam back down on all four legs, hands slapping down on the study table. 

“Yes, Goldfish?” Floyd said. 

Riddle was completely ready to tear into Floyd for his chaos, a pretty standard routine for both of them by this point. But then he remembered who he was in the room with. His reprimand stuck in his throat. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his chair, back straight, lifting up his book. “As you can clearly see, I’m helping (Y/N) study. We don’t have time to entertain you.” 

Floyd started shaking Riddle’s chair. “Boo. What do you need to study for anyway? This is easy stuff.” 

Riddle was about to snap again when (Y/N) saved him by saying,“Don’t be mean, Floyd. It’s for me, not him. We can’t all be master mages like you two.” She chastised without any real power behind it, more like a line from a script she knew by heart to try and placate his naturally volatile personality. 

Floyd pouted, collapsing into a chair next to her and propping his chin on her shoulder. “I’m never mean to Shrimpy.” 

She made a half-hearted “MmmHmm,” sound and ruffled his hair while going back to her notes. 

Riddle felt his teeth grind together as Floyd looked at him sideways, smiling slyly. 

“Hear that, Goldfish? Shrimpy called me a master mage.” 

“I believe she directed that to the both of us. Although perhaps she’s being too kind to some parties.” 

(Y/N) lightly kicked Riddle’s foot under the table. “You don’t be mean, too, Riddle.” 

“I - I’m not - I would never -!” 

She laughed. “Don’t worry about it, I’m just teasing you. But hey, could you help explain this part to me?” She flipped her book around, tapping a section. 

Riddle gave a silent sigh of relief as he focused back on the book. But before he could properly read the section (Y/N) indicated, Floyd snatched it out of her hands, holding it high above his head. 

“Oh, I know this stuff!” He exclaimed. “I remember reading about this when we first got on land. There’s a way better book to go over it. Uhh, what was it called again?” He pretended to struggle for a moment before calling out the title, author, and exactly what section of the library it could be found in. 

“That’s perfect, thanks, Floyd!” He beamed. “Wait here, I’ll go grab it.” As she went around them, she briefly touched Riddle’s shoulder. A silent thank you for his help? An unspoken token of affection? A warning not to let Floyd get on his very last frayed nerve? Who could say. But the ghost of her hand tingled as he watched her disappear into the stacks. 

He turned back to the study table, only to be met with Floyd’s wide eyes staring directly into his, the merman’s face less than an inch from his own. Riddle let out a rather undignified yelp as he reflectively threw himself back, his chair almost toppling over for the second time that day. 

“You’re all red, Goldfishie,” Floyd said. “Not like the kind of red when you’re playing with me or yelling at those guppies in your dorm. It’s different.” 

Riddle brought a hand up to his cheek, feeling the heat radiating from his blush. He  cleared his throat. “Yes, well, it is rather warm in here.” 

“No,” Floyd said, drawing out the O. “I don’t think that’s it. I think you’re all red because of (Y/N).” 

It took Riddle a moment to connect that Floyd had used (Y/N)’s real name instead of his nickname for her. He blinked a few times, saying, “So you can be civil and use someone’s proper name, then.” 

Floyd shrugged. “(Y/N) is (Y/N), like how Jade is Jade and Azul is Azul. It’s different from Goldfishie. But you get it, right? You feel the same way about her, too.”  Riddle stared at him, mouth moving but no sound coming out as he tried to process Floyd’s accusation. Although, could you really call it an accusation if it was true? In response, Floyd just laughed, leaning back and clapping his hands together. “I was right, right? I knew it! You’ve got a crush on (Y/N)~.” He sang the last part teasingly. He sighed, crossing his arms on the study table and laying his head down on them. “Too bad, though, cause I like her too.” 

Finding his voice again, Riddle narrowed his eyes. “And what gives you the impression she feels the same about you?” 

“Why do you think she feels the same about you?” Floyd threw back nonchalantly. “She’s real pretty, and nice, and brave, and smart, and doesn't swim away like the other guppies around me. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. What’s that land term? She makes me have beetles in my stomach, or something.” He sighed happily. “It’s like how Pop talks about Mama.” Breaking out of his romantic stupor, he snapped back to Riddle. “How about a game, Goldfish? We don’t tell (Y/N). It wouldn’t be fair to try and influence her decision by making her feel guilty and confess too early. You got to work for what you want, right? We’ll let her decide. The deadline can be a week before summer break. How about it?” He held out his hand to Riddle, looking at him expectantly. 

Riddle felt like he was staring down the devil at the crossroads. He felt insulted by the insinuation that he treated (Y/N)’s feelings as a game. But then, maybe that was just Floyd’s unique vocabulary. Although this situation felt less like a game and more like a declaration of war. 

And if that’s how it was going to be, fine. He was Riddle Rosehearts, after all. Heartslabyul House Warden during his first year, top of his class, master mage with a unique spell that could send Floyd on his backside in three seconds flat. 

If this was war, then so be it. 

He clasped Floyd’s hand tightly, glaring at him as the taller boy grinned in victory. 

“Aww, look at you guys getting along.” They jumped apart as (Y/N) reappeared behind them, holding the alchemy book. 

Floyd hooked an arm around Riddle’s neck, bringing him in close. “Oh, yeah, Goldfish and I were just talking about a cool new game! I think it’s going to be a lot of fun. There’s a really great prize at the end. But it’s a secret.” 

“Well, good luck. If it’s between the two of you I’m sure it’s going to be a battle for the ages.” 

She had no idea. 

Let the games begin.        

Malleus vs Leona

“Leona,” (Y/N) said. She tapped his back a few times. “Leona, I have to get up.” 

“Mmph,” He grunted, tail flicking at her hand like it was a bothersome fly. 

“Leona, my leg’s asleep.” 

“So am I.” 

“You just talked to me.” 

“I’m sleep talking.” 

She laughed and Leona smiled. He could listen to that sound all day. 

They were in the conservatory, stashed away in one of the many groves of trees, one of Leona’s favorite places to hide away and nap. What had started as (Y/N) bringing him lunch in an effort to give a sick Ruggie a break had ended with Leona pulling her down and using her lap as a pillow. 

“Seriously, though,” She said. “I’m already late. I was supposed to meet up with-” 

She was abruptly cut off as she was unexpectedly pulled out from under him, his head smacking to the ground. Grumeling, Leona looked up, only for his annoyance to increase ten fold. 

Malleus stood over him, blocking out the sun, holding a surprised looking (Y/N) behind her back and under her knees, like some noble prince and princess in one of those old sappy stories his mother used to tell him. 

“Kingscholar,” Malleus said dryly. 

“Lizard,” Leona responded in kind. 

“Hi, Hornton,” (Y/N) said, either ignoring or trying to dissolve the tension rapidly building between them.  “Sorry, were you waiting for me long? I guess I lost track of time hanging out with Leona.” 

“Yeah,” Leona said, pushing himself to stand. “We were having a grand old time before you interrupted.” 

Malleus narrowed his eyes. “I’m sure. However, the child of man and I have an appointment this afternoon. If you’ll excuse us.” Still holding (Y/N), he spun around and began marching out of the conservatory. 

With a growl, Leona pushed himself up and stalked behind them. 

“What’s the rush?” He said. “Afraid (Y/N) has better things to do than stare at some old stone statues all day?” 

(Y/N) put up her hands. “Oh, no, I-” 

“(Y/N) had wanted to learn some of the modern fae language,” Malleus said. “After the events of the fairy gala, and considering the pixie population here at school. And who better than I to tutor her?”

Bell-like chimes immediately emanate from Leona’s mouth, causing Malleus and (Y/N) to both freeze. Leona smirked at Malleus, who had been able to clearly understand what the beastman said while (Y/N) simply looked on in admiration. 

“I know six languages,” Leona said, casually flipping his mane back. 

Malleus smirked. “I speak nine.” 

“I know a couple phrases in French!” (Y/N) said. “So I can tell what Rook is saying, like, a quarter of the time? That’s really impressive, though!” 

“Thank you,” “Of course,” Malleus and Leona both said at the same time. 

As the two continued their stare-down, (Y/N) wriggled down from Malleus’s hold. “So, yeah, the fairy gala! You really missed out, Hornton. I know there was a reason you couldn’t come with us, but it was beautiful! And the guys looked great on the runway! Leave it to Professor Crewel to pull off a whole capsule collection in less than a day.” 

Leona smirked. “You thought I looked cool, huh? Well, maybe it wasn’t an entire waste of time, then.” He frowned and added under his breath, “But I swear I can still hear Vil nagging me in my sleep.” 

“Perhaps, then,” Malleus said, taking her elbow and pulling her closer. “You should allow me to escort you to a ball in the Briar Valley. There is an upcoming masquerade celebration for a meteor shower. We dance through the night, there are strolling performers, the royal chefs prepare the most amazing feast. I’m sure you would look beautiful in Briar Valley attire.” 

Leona took her other arm, pulling her back to him. “Festivals in the Sunset Savannah are way more exciting than whatever stuffy charade they get up to. You liked visiting Sunrise City last time for the Bead Brawl, right? We can stop by the hot springs again, just the two of us.” 

“Really, Kingscholar, do you have no sense of decorum?” Malleus pulled her to him again. 

Leona tightened his grip as he tugged her back. “You’re the one who interrupted in the first place.” 

“Um, guys?” (Y/N) asked. The two princes continued as if they hadn’t heard her at all. (Y/N) sighed. “I wonder if Riddle has a foreign language study guide?” She said to herself. 

Both of them snapped to her, exclaiming at the same time, “No!” 

Ace vs Jamil

Floyd was suspicious. Crabby and Sea Snake had been acting weird during basketball practice. They started out fine, Sea Snake being snippy and rolling his eyes at everything, Crabby talking a big game and only half way delivering. 

But things had changed about half way through when Shrimpy had come into the gym. She has tried to sneak in, slipping into the bleachers with a book. But Crabby had laser-focused his attention on her almost immediately, missing a cue from another player and getting slammed in the face with the basketball. Floyd cackled and he caught Sea Snake trying to hide his smirk behind his hand. But the Scarabia boy quickly frowned when Shrimpy came rushing over to Crabby, fusing over him like a, what was the land term for it? A mother duck, or something like that. 

“I’m seeing spots,” Ace lamented. “I think my nose might be broken.” He held Shrimpy’s hand as she fussed over him. 

“Do you want to sit down?” (Y/N) asked. “I can get some ice for you.” 

“Oh, he’s fine,” Jamil said, tucking the basketball under his arm. “Not like he has many brain cells left to damage anyway.” 

“Hey!” 

“Maybe if you stayed on your toes more like me you won’t have this problem.” He took Shrimpy’s other hand, turning her focus to him. “Honestly, (Y/N), I don’t know how you put up with it. You can always come to me if-” 

“She can come to her best friend if she needs anything, thank you very much.” 

“Yes, her friend. Thank you for pointing that out.” 

Coach Lobster blew his whistle, calling everyone back into formation. Sea Snake and Crabby took their places across from each other, glaring. Floyd started bouncing on his toes in anticipation at the change of energy. Lobster tossed the ball up to start play, and Sea Snake jumped, smacking it away from Crabby’s hands. The two weaved and dodged around each other, almost completely ignoring the other players. Floyd found the whole thing hilarious, thinking the two were like fighting beta fish, competing to impress their potential mate. 

Finally, Crabby was able to get control of the ball, ducking and spinning under Sea Snake’s outstretched arms. In just a few short dribbles, he made it to the three-point line. Smirking, he looked over his shoulder at Shrimpy still watching from the bleachers. 

“This one’s for you, (Y/N)!” He called confidently. He lined up the shot, hopped as he threw the ball, and watched dejectedly as it fell a foot short of the basket. 

Sea Snake swooped in, easily catching the bouncing ball, side eyeing Crabby with a confident tilt of his head. “I’ll show you how it’s done, (Y/N).” He set up for his own shot, flinching at the last second as Crabby tried to knock the ball from his hands. The ball hit the rim, clanging and falling out of bounds. 

Sea Snake glowered. “I had that shot, Ace.” 

Crabby shrugged, pretending to be non-chalant while also returning Sea Snake’s dirty look. “Just trying to keep you on your toes, Jamil. We got to practice to be ready for anything, right?” Crabby said, throwing his words back at him. 

They both turned from anger to embarrassment as Shrimpy called out, “Don’t worry, guys! You’ll get it next time!” 

Floyd snatched the ball out of the hands of one of his teammates. “Hey, Shrimpy!” Floyd called out. “This one’s for you!” He easily made the shot from the half-court line. Shrimpy whistled and clapped. Floyd grinned wider as the two bessotted boys glared daggers at him. 

At least this would make the rest of practice more interesting. 

Deuce vs Azul 

“Look out!” Deuce jumped back just in time to miss (Y/N) as she sped past on roller skates. She wobbled to regain balance, two trays held high with precariously perched drinks threatening to fall. Deuce lurched forward, pressing underneath the trays to help settle them, ignoring the heat in his palms as they pressed against the back of (Y/N)’s hands. 

Regaining composure, (Y/N) sighed, smiling at him. “Thanks! Still not used to carrying stuff while skating. It’s making it a lot faster to meet orders, though!” She gave him a wink that did something funny to his heart before twirling away, threading through the tables of the Monstro Lounge. 

It wasn’t uncommon for (Y/N) to pick up shifts for the Octavinelle side business. With her available funds always in a perilous position, depending if Crowley decided to remember her existence that week, it never hurt to find employment from a more reliable supervisor. 

Or, as Deuce thought glumly, as reliable as you could call Azul. Deuce still didn’t trust the landlocked merman as far as he could throw him, or anyone else in this dorm. There was pretty much only one reason he’d come here, and that was to check up on (Y/N). Especially since she’d gotten that new uniform specifically when she worked at the Monstro Lounge. The skirt fluttered and swayed with each glide on her skates, the puffy cap sleeves giving the whole thing a maid-like appearance, the soft lavender of the vest complimenting her complexion perfectly. 

And it wasn’t like (Y/N) needed anyone to check up on her! Sure she got into trouble sometimes, they all did, but Deuce knew well enough that she was perfectly able to take care of herself. Still, he pushed back against the protective instinct to jump up and punch the next guy who happened to look at (Y/N) in a way he didn’t like.  

Deep breathes, Deuce, He thought to himself. Keep your composure. 

“Well, welcome to the Monstro Lounge!” A familiar voice chimed. “It’s so rare to see you back here after all that unpleasantness earlier in the year.” 

Deuce felt his back molars grind together as he looked at Azul. The other boy smiled in a way that Deuce was sure was meant to be welcoming, but he couldn't help but read it as slimy. Azul threw his arm around Deuce’s shoulders. 

“You mean when you tricked me and a bunch of other people into becoming unpaid labor? Or after, when you stole a bunch of people’s magic and almost killed us?” Deuce said. 

Azul waved the comment away. “Semantics. Anyway, that’s all in the past now, right?” 

Deuce plucked Azul’s hand off. “Sure. Semantics. Look, I’m just here to walk (Y/N) back to her dorm after her shift.” 

“Oh, of course, of course. You know, it’s been great having her here. Seeing her every day, for hours on end, in such close quarters. We’ve become quite close, I’m happy to say.” There was a gleam in his eye as he purposefully goaded the underclassman. 

“Oh, yeah,” Deuce said. “We sit together in class every day. And study together all the time. And hang out at Ramshackle. I’d even say we’re best friends. And you’re just her part-time boss, right?” 

Azul wasn't a fool, and he wasn’t nearly as oblivious as he considered Deuce. While it might have taken a hot second for him to acknowledge his own feelings for (Y/N), and maybe a night of agonizing self denial as he tried to fight off the warm-fuzzies that came whenever he merely thought about the girl, he’d come to the conclusion that by the end of the year, he’d have (Y/N) return his affections, no contract required. Of course, that meant taking out the competition. And, as much as he would loath to admit it, (Y/N) was extremely close to her fellow first years, the spade card soldier unfortunately included. 

While it might have taken Deuce a little longer to exactly name the emotions that stirred in his chest the longer he knew (Y/N), he wasn’t as clueless as Azul thought he was. If you’d asked him before, back when he was a delinquent, he probably would have brushed off any mention of a crush or the blush of first love as nothing but chick-flick claptrap. But now, actually experiencing it for himself, he more than understood why romance novels were so popular. 

They both watched as (Y/N) zipped by. She caught them looking and waved a hand in greeting. Both boys smiled and waved back, imagining her smile was only ever meant for them. 

“You know,” Azul said. “I think Octavinelle purple looks good on her. Much better than, say, Heartslabyul red.” 

Deuce could swear he felt a vein pop. “I think you’d look better in-” 

“Hi, guys!” (Y/N)  said, interrupting at just the perfect moment. The tension eased out of Deuce’s shoulders like butter on a hot pan. “Got you guys something. On me!” 

In front of Deuce, she slid a tall glass of fizzing blueberry soda, swimming with bursting boba pearls and topped with condensed milk slowly diffusing into the drink. “I had them mix it with a shot of protein powder. You’re getting ready for that track meet, right? You’re going to be awesome.” 

For Azul, she set a delicate bone china tea cup, decorated with purple peonies against a light blue background. The aroma of green tea, swirled with a light pink strawberry syrup floated up between them. Tiny crushed freeze dried strawberries bobbed in the steaming tea. “Got to take it easy, boss. This should help your throat feel better. You said it was feeling sore this morning, right?” 

Azul smiled gratefully and took the tea cup. “Thank you, (Y/N). What would we do without you?” 

(Y/N) shrugged. “Anything for my two favorite guys. Got another order here. See you!” 

Deuce and Azul smiled and waved, only long enough for (Y/N) to be properly out of eye sight.   They sipped their drinks as menacingly as possible, glaring at each other in an unspoken challenge. 

On the other side of the Monstro Lounge, Jade was setting up a betting pool. 

Idia vs Vil

It was inevitable at some point, Idia knew, that he’d have to leave his dorm room eventually. That didn’t make his trek across the snow laden campus any better, though. Normally, when he had a special order come in, Ortho would be able to grab it from the mail room for him. But this time it had been delivered to the school store by mistake, and his little brother was deep asleep in his charging chamber with an in-depth diagnostic program running. Of course, Idia could have waited for Ortho to wake up, but every second he went without the new exclusive Premo memrobelia while knowing it was so close already was torture. So, he chose a different kind of torture, slinging on his heavy coat and ventruing out to retrieve the package himself. 

It was still snowing lightly as he stepped into Sam’s Mystery Shop, the flakes evaporating inches from his hair. He started to stomp the snow from his boots, but thought better of it quickly, not wanting to drag attention to himself with the noise. There was some sort of satisfying revenge in the thought of tracking melted snow through the store for forcing him to come out here, even if it wasn’t their fault his mail had been misplaced. 

He tapped his fingers rapidly at the checkout counter as Sam slipped into the back store room to find his package. Just as he was finally starting to calm down from the overwhelming irritation of being perceived, his heart jumpstarted back to a thunderous beat when he heard a familiar voice call out, “Idia!” 

Swallowing hard, he turned around, seeing (Y/N) waving at him from a display of winter clothes. He waved back, expecting her to turn back to what she was doing, but his mouth went dry and his heart dropped into his stomach as she came over to him. His thoughts rushed as he tried to remember if he’d showered that morning, if he’d used mouthwash, was he wearing his good coat, should he smile now or would that look creepy with his sharp teeth, was he - 

His mind went from overload to bluescreen as (Y/N) pulled out a deep blue and lavender striped scarf from the box she was carrying and wrapped it around his neck. “Here, this one’s on me. Sam’s letting me sell some stuff I knitted to get some extra cash. You’re dripping snow everywhere, you know? Are you cold?” Idia regretted his ‘revenge’ now. 

“A-ah, no, I’m fine,” He stuttered out. He tried to quickly recall every dating sim he’d ever played in a desperate attempt to figure out how to talk to a pretty girl IRL. 

“There’s not much point in setting up a stand to sell if you keep giving things away,” Another voice chimed in from behind them. Vil stepped up, hands on his hips with that familiar calculating and slightly disapproving look, although his eyes softened and he smiled that perfect, practiced, magazine-ready soft smile as (Y/N) looked back up at him. Idia couldn’t help but notice Vil had a similar scarf and a pair of mittens personalized with a VS clasped in one hand. 

Was that the kind of guy she liked? High maintenance, pompous, proud, tall? He was tall. When he stood up straight, anyway, which he didn’t like to do since it brought even more attention to him than his bright blue fiery hair did. Ugh, this was exactly why he preferred to talk through a screen. Although, even Idia had to admit there was something special about being able to stand directly next to (Y/N). 

Vil, likewise, couldn’t help but wonder if Idia represented the kind of personality (Y/N) found attractive as he observed the other boy tug at the scarf she has so fondly wrapped around his neck. A silent genius, yes, but also a shut-in, a rambler, barely enough confidence to fill a tea cup until some invisible switch flipped and suddenly he would go on and on about how amazing he was. Honestly, the only real competition Vil saw in Idia were his amazing cheekbones.  

“Vil’s helping me set everything up,” (Y/N) said, unaware of the silent sizing-up the two others were doing. “It’s great to have someone who knows what they’re doing.” 

Vil tossed his hair like he was in a shampoo commercial. Idia rolled his eyes. “Well, I only promote products I believe in.” 

“Still, it was nice of you to post about it on MagiCam. I never thought my hobby would get 5,000 reposts in ten minutes.” 

“It was the least I could do,” Vil said, not-so-subtly flaunting the monogrammed mittens. “Your skills continue to astound me. Perhaps you should come to Pomfiore this evening for dinner and I can-”  

“I’ll take it all!” Idia blurted out. He slapped down a heavy black metal credit card on the cashier table. Sam seemed to materialize right out of the shadows, smiling brightly and swiping the card before anyone could get another word in. 

“Whoa, Idia!” (Y/N) said. “That’s way too much!” 

“Naw, don’t worry about it,” He said, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “Ignihyde gets super cold anyway since we need strong AC to keep the computers cool. So you’re doing me a favor.” He pulled the scarf up to cover the bottom half of his face, hoping it would hide the blush quickly forming on his pale face, to say nothing of how the edges of his hair were sparking pink. “Plus, it’s like a SSR rank pull since you made it.” 

“(Y/N), spudling,” Vil said, putting a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder to gently direct her attention back to him. “Since you’re out of stock, I’d love to put in a few more orders for personalized items. I have several contacts back in Maquillaville who would be thrilled to receive something so high quality. And, if you’d like to come with me during winter break, I’m sure having an in person model with the designer herself would do numbers. I’m sure Sam here could put in an order for more yarn. Alpaca, cashmere, velvet chenille, and the like. No, don’t worry about the cost, I’m more than happy to pay for it. It's important to support small businesses, after all. Wouldn’t you agree, Idia?” 

"Doesn't the Shaftlands get, like, six feet of snow during even a mild winter? The Isle of Heroes is way nicer to spend winter break.  You-You know, if you wanted to come over to my place during break instead.” 

“Oh, yes,” Vil said sarcastically. “I’m sure (Y/N) would love to spend her free time miles under water in a sterile facility where we nearly escaped with our lives. That sounds like a dream.” 

“Um, actually,” (Y/N) said, feeling like she was interrupting something. “Kalim already invited me and Grim to his place. Trying to make up for last winter break, I think. But thank you for thinking of me!” 

As Sam bagged up Idia’s new knitwear and discussed with (Y/N) about how much yarn she needed, added to Vil’s tab, of course, the two third years exchanged looks. Maybe they could call a temporary truce for the time being in light of a common enemy. 

Sebek vs Jade

“I think I caught something!” (Y/N) cheered. She yanked back on her fishing pole, heels digging into the soft sand of the bank of the river. 

She and Sebek stood in the dappled light in the forest around NRC campus. They had taken the easy trek out to a clear river that ran across Sage’s Island, just in time to catch the salmon migration as they went from freshwater to salt. Sebek had asked her to accompany him that morning, with an attempt at nonchalance while also blushing furiously and not being able to meet her eyes. Grim had declared that, even if it wasn’t tuna, fresh fish was still fresh fish and eagerly pushed his hench-human out with the knight. Although she had laughed afterward and said that she would have loved to accompany him, even if she didn’t have an extra mouth to feed. 

Sebek looked casually over at her exuberant flailing, his own posture as straight as his own fishing pole. “You’ve caught a rock.” 

“What? No, I-” With a yelp, (Y/N) suddenly fell back as her fishing hook dislodged from the riverbed rocks it had been snagged on. Sebek dropped his pole and lunged with his arms out to catch her, only to be beaten to the punch by a figure that stepped out of the trees. 

“Careful now,” Jade said, (Y/N) cradled rather fondly in his arms. “This isn’t exactly the way I pictured you falling for me, but I suppose it will do.” 

(Y/N) felt heat rise to her face immediately. Before she could formulate a response, her mouth opening and closing uselessly, Sebek grabbed her hands and jerked her back upright. 

“Thank you,” Sebek said, not sounding at all grateful. “Now if you’ll excuse us.” 

“Oh, not at all,” Jade said. Purposefully ignoring Sebek, he stepped behind (Y/N), looking over her shoulder at their collected equipment. “I didn’t expect to run into anyone during my hike today. It’s quite a lovely surprise. What brings you out, (Y/N)?” 

“It’s the salmon run,” (Y/N) said, picking her pole back up and trying to fix the line. “I’ve never been fishing before, but Sebek’s helping a lot.” 

“I see,” Jade said, glancing sideways at Sebek. “My, Sebek, I wouldn’t have taken you for one to lure our dear Prefect out alone in the middle of the woods. And not a chaperone in sight! What would your prince say?” 

Sebek spluttered at the accusation. “How dare you! As a knight of Briar Valley, (Y/N) is more than safe with me! Much more so than with someone already proven to be a swindler and confidence man!” 

“Oh, how you wound me, Sebek.” 

“Wait, I’ve really got one this time!” (Y/N) interrupted. A brightly colored red salmon jumped out of the water, the end of (Y/N)’s finishing line caught in its mouth. 

“Start reeling it in!” Sebek commanded. “Keep your rod up and pull it towards you.” 

“You want to give it side pressure,” Jade said. “Move your rod to the other side of how its swimming.” 

“That will just make the line slack! You’re going to lose it!” 

“Keeping the rod that straight will snap it.” 

“I’ve been fishing since I was a child training with Master Lilia, I know what I’m doing!” 

“Ah, that would explain the outdated methods, then.” 

Amidst their arguing, neither of them noticed (Y/N) take a step forward to try and steady herself against the surprisingly strong fish. Her foot landed just the wrong way on an algy-covered stone, her leg buckling under her, sending her cascading into the river and the fish zipping away to freedom. 

(Y/N) spluttered, wiping a hand down her face to get rid of the dripping water. She supposed she was lucky enough to have fallen into a shallow portion of the river, even if she was still soaked through. She pushed against the slippery rocks, turning herself around only to slip again, landing on her back. 

Huffing in finality, she laughed at herself. “Can I get a little help here?” 

“Honestly, human,” Sebek said, voice crossed with frustration and affection. “What would you do without me?” 

“My, so presumptuous,” Jade said. “Here, (Y/N), let me help you, free of charge.” 

(Y/N) looked up. The sun created halos around their forms, both extending a hand down to her. She gulped, hand hesitating in the air. Finally, she took both their hands in each of hers, hauling herself up out of the water. She tried not to notice their disappointed expressions as she wrung out her shirt. “Thanks, guys! Maybe I’m not built for the great outdoors.” 

“Nonsenes!” Sebek said. “You’re progressing quite well for a human.” (Y/N) winked at him. “Oh, just for a human?” 

Sebek blushed, clearing his throat and turning away. “Y-Yes, well, all things considered, I suppose you have become quite… formidable, given recent events around school. Even with your unfortunate disposition, I can see why Prince Malleus has grown fond of you.” 

“Just Hornton, huh?” 

“I told you to stop calling him that-!” 

Jade dropped to his knees, one hand coming up to hold (Y/N)’s knee and the other cradling the back of her thigh, just underneath the hem of her shorts. She let out a tiny gasp of surprise and Jade had to bite his lip to keep himself from smiling too obviously. 

Sebek, however, had no compunctions about hiding his emotion.  Fangs bared, he marched over, ready to snatch Jade by his collar and throw him into the river, or, more preferably, all the way back to campus. “What do you think you’re doing?! Such crude behavior is completely inappropriate in front of a lady!” 

“Just a moment,” Jade said, unbothered. He ran his hand up the back of (Y/N)’s leg, taking note of the goosebumps that followed. With a deft twist of his wrist, he dislodged a black, blobby leech from her skin, holding the wiggling thing up for them to see. “Please excuse me, (Y/N). I thought it best to remedy the situation as quickly as possible.” He flicked the leech back into the river. 

“A leech,” Sebek muttered. “How appropriate.” 

Jade grinned. “A distant cousin, perhaps?” 

“I was referring more to the blood sucking.” 

“Hey!” (Y/N) said, trying to lighten the mood. “I might not have caught anything, but you got a couple of big ones, Sebek! How about we light up a campfire and start cooking these?” 

Sebek puffed up his chest in pride. “Of course! For a trained knight to the Draconia throne, this sort of thing is nothing!”  He dropped to a pre-cleared area and started arranging various logs, sticks, and other kindling they had collected earlier into a short pyramid shape. 

“Ah,” Jade said. “So you’re choosing to make that type of fire.” 

“And? This is a perfectly standard way to cook in the wilderness!" 

“I’m sure. But, as the founding member of the mountain lover’s club, I’ve been out in nature my fair share as well. I think you’ll agree this configuration is much more efficient.” 

(Y/N) sighed inwardly. It was going to be a long day.  

Ruggie vs Kalim 

Kalim wasn’t used to this feeling. He wasn’t used to wanting anything, at least not something he couldn’t easily have. He wasn’t used to craving what someone else had. He’d always been the kind of kid to share his toys, give freely to whoever asked, with no thought of repayment.Yet anything he could ever want or dream of was always at his fingertips. The entire concept of envy was inexplicable to him. 

But now, standing in the small garden tucked behind Ramshackle dorm, watching (Y/N) and Ruggie laugh together as they pulled weeds, there was a strange twist deep in his gut. Was this what jealousy was? 

Trying his best to push the gnawing feeling away, he plastered on a bright smile, waving his arm above his head as he walked over to the two. He purposefully ignored the way Ruggie’s eyes narrowed and ears went back, instead focusing on (Y/N) looking up at him with the sweetest smile he had ever seen and a glitter in her eyes that made his heart flip. He was enraptured by the sound of her voice as she detailed all the work that had gone into the little backyard garden and how proud she was of its crop. She couldn’t have done it all without Ruggie’s help, she said, bringing back that twitching, strange feeling in Kalim’s chest. 

Was it so bad that he wanted her to rely on him like that? To have her first instinct be to come to him for any problem, no matter how small? To speak about him as if he was the air she breathed, like he spoke about her? 

He swooped down and lifted up a basket of zucchini, taking her hand to pull her up with him. He talked about throwing a party in her honor. She was amazing, didn’t she know that, for working so hard to make something so amazing? He felt like he was flying on a magic carpet as she laughed and thwacked his chest with the back of her hand. 

Kalim wasn’t used to the feeling of want. But he was more than ready to do whatever it took so that ‘want’ would become ‘have.’ 

Ruggie was used to this feeling. This feeling of wanting, of coveting, of hunger. He was also used to the feeling of perseverance. Of fighting for what he wanted. Of digging his teeth in and not letting go. He knew the weight of his own determination, the ache of hard work, the bloom of succeeding after long hard exertion. 

What was new to him was that hollow feeling being filled by nothing more than a few kind words and a sincere smile from a certain magicless girl. A girl who had stumbled into his life out of nowhere, turning everything upside down and chaotic but quickly becoming someone he couldn’t picture the rest of his life without. 

He watched Kalim hoist a basket of zucchinis over his head, smiling brightly as a few leftover yellow flowers fell from the vines. Ruggie sunk his teeth into a tomato, relishing the way the juices dripped down his chin, but his eyes never wavering from the other boy. 

Was he worried? No, not really. Sure, there was some apprehension watching how Kalim’s hand touched (Y/N)’s back as she leaned down to look at something he was showing her. But he wasn’t worried, not really. 

Ruggie had known plenty of boys like Kalim, whether from interacting with them at NRC or his grueling days back home in the slums of the Sunset Savanna. Boys like that were easy to figure out, all overstuffed with their own confidence that came with being born with a silver spoon in their mouth. They were used to things being easy. 

Ruggie jumped up, easily sliding himself between Kalim and (Y/N), pretending he had interrupted to show her a caterpillar slowly gnawing on a large leaf. He relished the way she gasped in delight and gently stroked the caterpillar’s back. Every smile, every sincere compliment, every laugh she gave him, the warmth of their hands brushing as they had worked in the garden, felt like refreshing rain rushing through a dry riverbed. 

Ruggie’s eyes cut up every so briefly to Kalim’s face, catching his small frown at the interruption. He had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. 

Ruggie had always been a fighter, and he wasn’t about to give up on his love so easily. 

Bonus: Malleus vs Ace 

It took Ace a minute to realize his eyes were open. It wasn’t until moonlight started to peak behind the clouds and pour in through the large windows of the Ramshackle living room that he realized what had woken him up. Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he pushed himself up off the couch he was splayed over. He wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep. He’d originally come over after getting hit with his House Warden’s signature spell again and wanted a quiet place to stew. But his bad mood had quickly devolved into a night of eating way too many snacks, jokes, and video games with his favorite Prefect. 

The floorboards creaked as he heard movement from above, padding down the stairs, and passing by the living room to the front entrance. He saw (Y/N)’s familiar silhouette pass by the door. 

“He-Hey!” Ace called out, voice still a little groggy from sleep. Tripping over himself, he rushed to the entrance hall. Why would (Y/N) be up so late? Was she running from something upstairs? Did something weird happen with the ghosts? Was she okay? Was there something-

Ace froze as he whirled around the corner, staring at the front door. The tall, dark, looming figure of none other than Malleus Draconia blinked back at him in surprise as (Y/N) hopped on one leg to pull her shoes on. 

“Oh, Ace!” She said. “Sorry, did I wake you up?” 

“Uh,” Ace said, now all too aware of the dried drool on his chin. “What’s up?” “Hornton and I were going on a walk,” She said, like it was the most casual thing in the world. 

“In the middle of the night?” 

“It has become routine,” Mallues said. “There’s something beautiful about exploring the grounds at night. It’s much more… intimate.” He seemed to smirk at the way Ace’s eyes narrowed at him as he said that. “Althought I didn’t expect you to have company.” 

“Oh, yeah,” (Y/N) said, pulling on her coat. “The guys crash here all the time. At least it gives me an excuse to clean up some of the other rooms here. Ready to go?” 

“I’ll come!” Ace quickly interjected. He tried to downplay his insistence by saying, “I mean, I’m awake already, so might as well, right?” 

“Oh, yeah, sure! Is that okay with you, Hornton?” 

Malleus pressed his lips into a thin line, looking down at the red head who stared back up. In any other circumstance, Malleus might have felt impressed at the younger boy’s insistence at not backing down. He smiled softly, taking (Y/N)’s hand and patting the back of it, taking pleasure in the way Ace stiffened. “Of course, my dear child of man. Whatever would please you.” 

“Great!” She said, squeezing his hand once. She stepped around him, opening the door for the two boys. “Don’t forget your coat, Ace.” 

As (Y/N) admired the fireflies that gathered on the Ramshackle lawn, Malleus and Ace stopped on the front steps. There was a moment when they both admired her, a carefree moment in a normally tumultuous environment. And then they remembered they were standing together, and not alone with the object of their affection, and the mood quickly soured. 

“I wasn’t aware you frequented Ramshackle Dorm,” Malleus said. 

“Oh, yeah,” Ace said, casually. “I’m here, like, all the time. (Y/N) and I are practically besties, you know? Like that.” He held up his pointer and middle finger crossed together. 

Malleus narrowed his eyes at his underclassman. “I see. Then, of course, you know all about the ball we had at Noble Bell College during the student social last year, yes? Why, I remember catching her in my arms as we fell through the floor when the fire lotuses bloomed. And then we danced the night away, hand in hand.” 

Ace tripped going down the front steps. He hadn’t known that particular saccharine detail, but there was no way he was about to admit that. 

“Y-yeah, well, then, she probably told you all about when we were in Playful Land, right? We went down a rollercoaster and she totally grabbed on to me real tight.  I mean, it was great and everything, for a while, anyway. Bet I looked super cool swooping in to save the day at the end.” 

“Intersting. Lilia told me you were quickly trounced by the fox’s unique magic and only managed to be spared by sheer coincidence and good luck.” 

Ace grimaced. “Yeah, well, he was stuck in a cage turning into a puppet the whole time, and he’s like a million years old, so maybe he doesn't remember right.” 

Malleus narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps you don’t remember who you’re speaking to.” 

Ace could already tell that whatever he was going to say next would be a bad idea, but by the Seven, he was going to say it anyway. He was saved by (Y/N) coming back up the steps. She stood between them, hooking her arms through each of theirs. 

“Come on!” She said. “The night’s not getting any younger. I’m glad you're both here. There’s nothing better than hanging out with my two favorite guys. Don’t tell Grim I said that.” 

“Your secret is safe with me,” Malleus said with a soft smile. 

Ace casually bumped her with his shoulder. “But I’m your most favorite guy, right?” (Y/N) laughed and shoved him back. 

“Hey, so,” She began, tone more serious and quiet now as the trio meandered through the silent streets of Night  Raven College. “I mean it, really. I don’t know how I would have survived this long if it hadn’t been for you guys. Not just the Overblots, I mean. But, like, everything. Things have been pretty hard from the word ‘Go,’ but knowing you both are here to help me… It just means a lot, is what I’m trying to say. I don’t know how I can ever really repay you.” She blinked hard, eyes suddenly misty. 

Both boys paused, their competition temporarily forgotten. Malleus stepped in front of them, taking both of her hands in his and leaning down so they were eye level. “My Dearest (Y/N),” He began. “I believe I speak for both of us when I say your happiness is of the utmost importance. No sacrifice is too great if it leads to your bliss.” 

“Yeah!” Ace jumped in. “You know, not to get sappy or anything. But with everything going on here, you know you can count on us for anything. We’ve got your back, no matter what.” Ace looked past (Y/N) at Malleus. “You know what I mean, right?” 

Malleus definitely knew what Ace meant. 

Bonus bonus: Ace and Deuce vs Jade and Floyd 

“Well,” (Y/N) said, dusting off the stubborn sand that still clung to her clothes. “All's well that ends well, right?” 

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Azul grumbled. 

The five of them, (Y/N), Grim, Azul, Jade, and Floyd, looked over at Jamil and Kalim. The taller boy was sitting cross-legged amongst the many piled high pillows and low couches in the Scarabia dorm common room. He was still clearly exhausted from his Overblot, but nonetheless he kept trying to stand and move around. Kalim would, not unkindly, push him back down, darting everywhere like an anxious bird to pick up various snacks, blankets, and tea to present to Jamil. Grim had already descended on the spread and was devouring a plate of baklava. Rushing over with a plate of petit fours, Kalim’s foot caught on the edge of an elaborate area rug, causing him to trip. He fell flat on his face, but popped back up with a smile, having saved the tiny cakes from damage. Jamil sighed, shoulders slouching, his face collapsing in his hand. 

“Well enough,” (Y/N) decided with a smile. “Seriously, I can’t thank you guys enough. You’re lifesavers, literally.” 

Floyd threw his arm around his brother’s and (Y/N)’s shoulders, bringing the three of them in a tight hug. “So, Shrimpy owes us one, huh? That’s fun. Got any ideas, Jade?” 

“Oh, I’m sure we could come up with a way you can repay us,” Jade said with a sly smile. 

Azul rolled his eyes at his friend's antics, heading over to schmooze with Jamil. 

(Y/N) felt her face heat up at the close proximity to the two boys, not to mention that particular look in their eyes that seemed a cross between playful affection and a predator that had just spotted its next meal. 

She laughed nervously. “Well, yeah, sure. Or maybe we can call it even from that time you kicked me out of my house.” 

“Aww, you know we didn’t mean anything by it!” Floyd pouted. “It was all part of Azul’s deal! We were just following orders, you know?” 

“Yes, I’m sure you took absolutely no pleasure in throwing me out on the streets.” 

“If we’re discussing pleasure,” Jade said. “I think a return visit to Ramshackle would be a fine way to settle this debt. There is some sort of charm I miss in that dilapidated old building.” 

“Hey, I’ve spent a lot of time fixing that place up!” 

“Perfect,” Jade said, leaning down so his face was level with hers, mouth next to her ear. “ Then you’ll have to personally give us a tour of all the improvements." 

Floyd squeezed a little harder, his own face coming down to her other ear. “Everyone’s still gone for winter break. Must be lonely up there. Jade and I can come keep you company.” 

Flustered and face burning, (Y/N) stuttered out, “Uh, well, if you wanted to come hang out I suppose that’s okay-” 

“(Y/N)!” 

The new voice broke whatever carefully crafted mood the two eels had cultivated. Looking up, Jade and Floyd with an annoyed frown and (Y/N) with curious wide eyes, they looked to the entrance of Scarabia that led to the mirror portal. 

(Y/N) was worried it was a mirage at first, a cruel hallucination caused by the stress of the last few days, exhaustion from dealing with a fourth Overblot, and the heat of the desert. But no, it was real. Ace and Deuce, running up the fountain-lined entrance of Scarabia, school blazers slung off and shirt sleeves rolled up. 

(Y/N) didn’t expect the sudden bursting in her chest. With a sob that surprised even her, she broke away from Jade and Floyd’s grip, running to meet the two other first years half way. She missed how the twins clutched at the air behind her, unwilling to give up a treasure or aching for the memory of the heat of her skin. Without waiting for a proper hello or explanation, (Y/N) threw her arms around the Heartslabyul boys in the tightest hug she could manage, hoping to convey all her emotions through that action since words had abandoned her. 

“Hey, hey!” Ace said, awkwardly patting her back in the outburst of emotion. Although he couldn’t help the feeling of self satisfaction that came with knowing (Y/N) was so happy to see him. “Easy, already! We came here to save you, didn’t we?” 

“We got your text!” Deuce said. His hands floated over her back, unsure how exactly a proper honor student would handle a situation with a crying girl. Even if his first instinct was to pull her close and never let go. 

She pushed back, still holding them at arms length and taking shuddering breaths to calm herself down. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I-I didn’t think you’d come! I didn’t even know if that text went though.” 

“Didn’t think we’d come?” Ace said, incredulously. “Come on, we go through three Overblots, a monster in the mines, a heist in the middle of the ocean, and you don’t think we’d come help our best friend out when we get an SOS text out of nowhere?” 

“Four Overblots, actually,” Jade said, him and Floyd sliding up to the reunion. 

“Not that you’d know,” Floyd added. “We already did all the hard stuff. Right, (Y/N)?” 

“Oh, yeah, right!” (Y/N) said. She wiped away the stray tears from her eyes. “You guys won’t believe the week I’ve had. Well, maybe you will, it’s kind of seeming par for the course at this rate.” 

“Wait, there was another Overblot?” Deuce gasped. 

(Y/N) nodded. “Yup. And I thought Crowley said these things were supposed to be rare.” 

“Not… Kalim?” Ace said, looking over to the common room. “You know, with the house warden trend and all.” 

“No, it was Jamil.” 

“What! Jamil? I play basketball with that guy! That doesn't…” Ace paused for a second, thinking. “Okay, wait, yeah, no, that actually makes sense now that I think about it.” 

“Well, we’re all okay now,” (Y/N) said. She took a step backward, tapping Jade and Floyd. “It wouldn’t have been possible without these guys and Azul.” 

“You went to Octavinelle for help?” Deuce said, sounding a little betrayed. 

“It was kind of a spur of the moment thing, and a flying carpet is actually really hard to drive, and I didn’t know if you guys had gotten my message or not, and things were getting really dire, and-” 

“No need to justify yourself, (Y/N),” Jade said. “Octavinelle is based on the Sea Witch’s spirit of benevolence, after all. Of course we would be more than happy to come to the aid of a damsel in distress. In a timely manner, of course.” 

“Yeah,” Floyd said, pulling (Y/N) into a backwards hug and resting his chin on the top of her head. “We already took care of all the hard stuff. So I guess there’s no reason you guppies need to stay around, huh?” 

Ace grabbed (Y/N)’s hand and pulled her back to his and Deuce’s side. “(Y/N) called us. It sounds like she just kind of ran into you guys by accident.” 

Floyd grabbed her back. “Well, we’re the ones who actually helped out. We’re all super close now. What’s that thing called, Jade?” 

“Trama bonding.” 

“Yeah, we’re totally trauma bonded.” 

“Hey!” Deuce interjected. “If anything, we’re way more trauma bonded than you!” 

“Okay!” (Y/N) said, holding her hands up between the two groups. “Not that I wouldn’t love to remember all the awful stuff that’s happened in the past few months, but I think we need to save Jamil again.” She nodded her head back towards the common room. While they couldn’t make out what he was saying, it was clear from Azul’s body language that he was trying to pitch something to the vice-house warden. Jamil looked like he was ready to throttle the merman. “Come on, you guys are here anyway. Might as well enjoy some time off  before classes start again.” Grim waved her over, proudly showing off that he had saved a piece of baklava just for her, since he was such a good boss for this hench-human and all. (Y/N) picked him up gratefully and inserted herself between Azul and Jamil. 

The two groups back at the entrance glared at each other. 

“Tweels,” Ace hissed. 

“ADeuce,” Jade shot back. 

“Don’t think this makes anything even,” Deuce said, punching his fist into his palm. Once he realized he was doing it, he shook out his hands and crossed his arms. 

“Yeah,” Ace said. “(Y/N)’s our best friend.” 

“Oh, did you hear that, Floyd?” Jade said, grinning. 

“Yeah,” Floyd replied, matching his brother's teasing tone. “He said ‘friend’.” 

“Well, friends are all well and good, but I think we’re interested in a little more than that. And if the position is open, who better than her recent saviors to fill it?” Floyd started cackling as the two quickly made their way over to the little party. 

“Wh- Hey, wait!” Ace called out. 

“There is absolutely no position to fill!” Deuce yelled after them. “And if there was, we’d get first dibs!”

[eikyuuni]

friends do this, right? | part three

content warning ⬩ (all characters are 21+) friends to lovers, modern au, best friend!yuuji, afab!reader, fingering, oral (f! receiving), light overstimulation, squirting, praise, dirty talk

authors note ⬩ a direct continuation from part 2, but can be read separately! i'm still learning the ropes of writing these longer fics, but i think it's good practice. i know i have some bad habits... hopefully u can look past those (pls & ty) enjoy!! wc 5.6k

series masterlist | previous ⬩ next

“you wanna… lay back for me?” he asks, his voice still a little rough around the edges from kissing you and coming undone in your hand.

once you nod, yuuji rearranges you—he tugs one of the couch cushions into place behind your shoulders, adjusts it until your back is supported, until you’re comfortable enough that you won’t be thinking about your neck or the angle instead of what he’s doing. his hands linger at your sides as if he’s checking whether you’re steady, like he can’t help making sure you’re taken care of before he lets himself want anything.

then, like he’s asking without words, he nudges your knees apart with the back of his hand. it’s tiny and gentle, the kind of touch that makes it impossible to pretend he isn’t trying so hard to do this right.

when you relax and let your legs fall open, yuuji’s breath catches. he looks at you for a second—really looks—eyes warm and wide, like he’s startled by how badly he wants this while still being terrified of doing it wrong. and then he lowers himself between your thighs.

the sight alone makes your stomach flip. yuuji on his knees on your living room floor, shoulders broad, hair a little messy from earlier, gaze flicking up to your face like he’s waiting for the final yes. the trust. the permission. like he could stop at any moment and it would be fine, but he needs to know you want him to keep going.

“still okay?” he asks.

“yes,” you whisper.

something in his expression softens into almost reverence. he leans forward and presses a slow kiss to your inner thigh—over fabric, warm and grounding—then another kiss a little higher, like he’s reminding you he’s here, that he’s not going to rush you into anything you don’t want.

his hands slide up your legs, thumbs stroking lightly over your knees before he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants. “can i?” he asks.

“yeah...”

yuuji eases them down carefully, not tugging, not yanking, letting you lift your hips to help. it’s almost domestic if it isn’t for the way his eyes keep drifting down, trying to pretend he isn’t staring at you like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

when your panties are all that’s left between you, he pauses. his gaze lifts to your face again. “do you want them off too?” he asks, voice low.

you hesitate for half a heartbeat—not because you don’t want it, but because saying yes makes it real. then you nod.

yuuji’s hands move slowly, sliding the fabric down your thighs with gentle patience. the air feels cool against your skin. you can feel how wet you already are, how exposed you suddenly feel, and yuuji goes quiet.

his gaze drops between your legs and stays there. he looks stunned, helplessly fascinated, trying to be respectful while being hit full-force by the reality of you—flushed, slick, open for him.

“holy shit,” he whispers before he can stop himself. then his eyes snap up, wide and guilty. “—sorry. i just…” he swallows, voice going softer like he’s trying to handle you carefully even with his words. “you’re really pretty.”

the laugh you let out is breathy and mortified, but warmed through.

his hands slide back to your thighs, spreading you a little wider, “you’re already…” he swallows, voice dropping. “you’re already so wet...”

“don’t— don’t say that,” you mumble, trying to sound stern and failing.

yuuji’s mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but his eyes are still locked on you. “sorry,” he murmurs again. “it’s just— i can’t stop looking.”

his thumb strokes your thigh again, slow and soothing. “okay,” he says, mostly to himself. then, softer, “i’m gonna touch you with my fingers first. just… outside. is that okay?”

“yes,” you whisper, voice a little shaky.

his hand slips between your legs slowly. he doesn’t dive straight in; he just rests his palm lightly against you like he’s testing the heat, the sensitivity. the first touch makes you flinch purely from how sensitive you already are.

“too much?” he asks.

“no,” you say quickly. “just… sensitive.”

yuuji nods, absorbing every word. “okay,” he murmurs. “i’ll go slow.”

he uses two fingers to spread your slick slowly through your folds, warm strokes that make your breath stutter. you can feel how easily you coat him, how the wet gathers and smears with each pass. his touch is careful, curious, like he’s learning you—texture, heat, the way your body reacts to him. every time his fingers glide over you, your hips twitch, chasing pressure without you meaning to.

yuuji notices. his eyes go darker, entranced. like he can’t believe your body is responding to him like this.

“you make the sweetest sounds,” he murmurs, and he sounds a little stunned by it, like it’s new information he didn’t expect to feel so proud of. “s’pretty. makes me wanna keep going.”

you try to hide your face with your forearm. “yuuji…”

he lets out a quiet, breathless laugh. “hey— don’t hide. i like seeing you.” he looks captivated. like he can’t stop himself from being honest when he’s overwhelmed.

his fingers slow, then shift. one slides lower, pressing to your entrance and pausing there, waiting. you can feel the tease of it—the steady pressure that makes your thighs tense and your stomach tighten. your breath catches.

“i’m gonna push my finger in, okay?” he says softly. “just one.”

he pushes in gradually, watching your face the entire time like he’s taking cues from your breath, your shoulders, the way your lips part on that first stretch. it’s warm, slick, eased by how patient he’s being, but it still makes you inhale sharply.

yuuji stops, holding still inside you. he doesn’t move until your shoulders unclench and your breathing steadies again.

“you okay?” he asks.

“yeah,” you whisper. “yeah, i'm okay.”

yuuji’s eyes soften, relief and something sweeter mixing together.

“good,” he murmurs. then he starts moving—slow, shallow strokes at first, just enough to get you used to the sensation, his other hand staying on your thigh, thumb stroking idly like he’s keeping you tethered while he figures you out. he eases a little deeper, then a little more, letting the stretch happen in small, careful increments instead of forcing it all at once.

his finger curls gently, as if he’s searching for the place that makes you gasp—testing pressure, angle, watching your face the entire time. and when your breath breaks on a soft sound, yuuji’s whole expression shifts.

it slips out of you before you can catch it—a whimper, soft and broken.

“that— yeah.” he whispers. “that sound… you’re so pretty when you do that. can you— can you do it again for me?”

your face burns instantly. dragging your forearm over your mouth like it’ll hide you from him, but it doesn’t help when his finger curls again and you whine anyway, muffled and helpless.

yuuji’s stare drops between your legs, mesmerised. he’s watching the slick shine on his finger, the way it clings when he pulls back and gathers again when he pushes in, the way your thighs tense, the way your pussy clenches slightly around him when he hits something that feels good. his breathing turns uneven, chest rising quicker, like your reactions are getting under his skin in the worst way.

“you’re… so wet,” he notes again. “feels so good.”

his finger slows, then he adds a second one carefully, easing it in slowly. he pauses when you tense, lets you breathe, lets your body relax around him before he moves again. and when he starts back up, the rhythm is steady—slow in, slower out—slick enough that the quiet room fills with it, obscene in the way you can hear exactly what he’s doing, every push drawing that wet, sticky sound out of you like your body’s answering him out loud.

you make another sound, higher this time, and yuuji’s jaw tightens like he’s trying not to get carried away by how pretty you sound. your hips start to lift, chasing his hand, chasing pressure. yuuji presses his palm to your lower stomach, grounding you—keeping you from squirming away from what you asked for, keeping you right there under him.

“stay right there for me, okay?” he murmurs. “just like that. you’re doing so good for me.”

the praise makes your whole body flutter, heat spreading fast. you feel yourself tighten around his fingers again, a reflex, and yuuji’s breath stutters like it punched him.

he leans closer without realising he’s doing it, face hovering near your inner thigh like he’s drawn there by gravity. his fingers keep moving—slow, deep, careful—pressing in and curling just enough to make your breath hitch, then easing back like he’s trying to keep you in that perfect, trembling middle.

you can see the moment the thought hits him. it’s in the way his eyes go unfocused for a second, in the way his swallow turns audible, in the way his breath warms your skin like he forgot he was breathing on you. his voice drops to something almost shy.

“i—” he stops, then tries again, eyes flicking up to your face. “i really wanna taste you.”

he doesn’t move. doesn’t do it. he just says it like a confession and keeps his fingers steady, like he’s trying to be good even while his curiosity grows teeth.

your breath catches. your body is still buzzing around his hand, still slick, still open. the room suddenly feels very small.

yuuji looks at you, waiting. not for permission to keep touching you—he already has that. for permission to want more.

he doesn’t push. he just stays kneeling between your legs, fingers still inside you, gaze warm and a little anxious. the words hang in the air—i really wanna taste you—and yuuji looks almost startled at himself for saying them out loud.

but his hand doesn’t stop.

if anything, his focus sharpens after he says it—like making it real forces him to prove he can still be good. his fingers keep that slow, steady rhythm, sliding in and out. every time he curls slightly, your hips twitch up toward him, like your body’s trying to meet him halfway, even when you’re trying to stay still.

and your body gives you away too. your pussy clenches tightly around him, a sudden tightness that makes yuuji stop mid-stroke.

“wait—” he whispers, voice rough, like he has to stop himself from doing something stupidly fast.

you blink at him, hazy. “what?”

yuuji swallows. his grip on your thigh firms—not forcing you open more, just steadying you. “you just—” he exhales, a little laugh caught in his throat. “you just squeezed me. i felt it.”

“i didn’t—”

“you did,” he says, not accusing. almost delighted. his eyes drop, watching where his fingers disappear into you, watching the slick shine. when he pushes back in slowly, you clench again—smaller this time, but unmistakable.

“oh my god,” he murmurs, and it’s half disbelief, half awe. “fuck… do you know what that would feel like—”

he stops himself abruptly, like he remembers he’s trying to be good. like he remembers you’re right there, watching him, and he doesn’t want to scare you off with how fast his brain is sprinting ahead.

you swallow anyway, pulse jumping. “what?”

yuuji looks up, eyes dark and warm, cheeks flushed. he hesitates for a second, then lets it fall out low and honest.

“if you do that around my fingers,” he says quietly, “i can’t stop thinking about how you’d take me. about what you’d feel like around my cock.”

the words land like a spark.

yuuji immediately looks like he regrets saying it—not because he doesn’t mean it, but because he’s worried he crossed a line too fast.

“sorry,” he adds quickly, voice softer. “i’m not— i’m not asking. i just… couldn’t keep it in my head.”

your pussy clenches around his fingers again, like it heard him.

“oh—” he whispers. “you did it again...”

and then he starts moving again, a little slower this time, like he’s letting himself feel it properly—pressing in deep and holding there for a beat before drawing back just enough to make your body chase him on instinct. the pace is mean in the gentlest way, built to keep you right on the edge where your body keeps reacting without you being able to stop it.

every time your expression shifts—every time your lips part, every time a small sound slips out—his eyes brighten with that same stunned fascination, like he can’t decide if he wants to look at you or listen to you more.

“does that feel good?” he asks, voice low, careful.

you nod, breathing uneven. “yeah.”

yuuji’s mouth curves faintly—not smug, just pleased, like he’s proud of himself for making you come apart in tiny pieces. he curls his fingers again, a little deeper, and you arch with a soft, helpless noise.

he adds just a little more pressure, just holding the curl and stroking through it—and you clamp down around him hard enough that his lashes flutter.

he lets out a shaky exhale, head tipping forward for a second like he’s trying to keep it together. when he looks back up, his expression is almost dazed.

“you’re so… responsive,” he whispers, like he’s still processing it. “it’s crazy. i can feel you tightening every time i move— every time i touch you right.” he cuts himself off on another rough breath, fingers never stopping, like he’s caught between wanting to talk and wanting to just listen to the sounds you keep making for him.

he swallows, voice dipping again, so low it feels like it lands right against your skin. “it’s like you’re trying to pull me in,” he murmurs.

“yuuji…”

“sorry,” he breathes. “i— i keep talking.”

“you keep talking,” you echo, trying for teasing—and then his fingers sink deep again and your voice fractures anyway, turning into something breathy and useless.

“i just… i can’t believe you’re this wet,” he murmurs. “and it’s from me— from my fingers. that’s…” he breaks off on a low groan when you clench again—sharp, sudden, a pulse around him that makes his shoulders tense. for half a second, his hand stills completely, like he needs to remember to breathe.

then he starts moving again, keeping it slow on purpose, controlled in a way that feels even meaner because you can tell he’s choosing it—pressing in deep, curling just enough to make your breath hitch, then drawing back with the same patience like he’s seeing how many times he can make your body answer him.

and maybe you’re helping. maybe you’re learning.

you tilt your hips a fraction—small enough it shouldn’t matter, but it does. his fingers hit deeper, and you make a sound you can’t swallow, your thighs tightening.

his hand steadies on your thigh, grip firm but gentle, and his fingers curl more confidently now that he can read what you’re doing.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, warm and focused, voice like a hand smoothing you down. “good… keep doing that for me.”

you make another soft sound, and yuuji leans closer, face hovering near your inner thigh again. just breathing near your skin like he’s fighting his own curiosity with sheer willpower, like he’s holding himself back because he promised he would.

his eyes flick up to your face, searching. waiting. still being good. still letting the want build instead of taking it.

“i’m trying so hard not to,” he admits, barely above a whisper, like he’s almost embarrassed by how badly he wants it.

“not to what?” you ask, breathless, even though you already know. your body knows too.

yuuji’s eyes drop between your legs again, and when he answers, it’s so quiet it feels stolen. “not to put my mouth on you.”

he tries to keep his focus on your face—he really does—but your body keeps pulling his attention back down. back to the way you’re open for him, clenching around his fingers like you’re answering him without even trying.

and then he leans in and kisses the inside of your thigh.

just one kiss, right where your skin is warmest. it’s almost innocent if you ignore the fact that his fingers are still inside you, moving slow and deep.

you shiver anyway. yuuji’s breath hitches against your skin like he felt that shiver travel straight through him. he kisses you again, a little higher, mouth warm and lingering.

“yuuji—”

he hums quietly, pleased, and kisses you again. higher still.

it’s careful, like he’s inching toward something he’s been trying not to touch. like he’s following heat with slow, deliberate steps, each kiss a little closer to where you’re slick enough that the air feels cold when it hits you.

“you’re so…” he murmurs, and then he cuts himself off with a shaky exhale, like the words keep getting stuck on the way his breath keeps catching.

his fingers never stop—patient, steady, kept right in that rhythm that makes your nerves feel too exposed, like he knows exactly how to drag this out until you’re the one begging him to stop being careful.

yuuji’s mouth brushes your thigh again, and this time he doesn’t pull away immediately. he lingers—breathing you in, letting his lips rest against your skin—while he pushes his fingers in deeper and you clench around them so hard he makes a small, wrecked sound in his throat.

he pulls back just enough to look up at you.

his eyes are blown wide and dark, face flushed. he looks like he’s trying to keep his curiosity contained and failing in real time.

“i can feel you squeezing... every time,” he whispers. “you’re— you’re so tight when you do that, it’s insane.”

his smile wobbles—soft, dizzy, like he’s not sure what to do with how much he likes seeing you like this. he kisses your thigh again, then higher, and you feel his breath closer to your heat this time. just near enough to make you tremble—near enough that your hips lift on instinct, chasing, and yuuji makes that same small, wrecked sound like it hurts him to hold back.

he hovers there for a second, breath warm against you, fingers still moving inside you—slow, deep, coaxing—and the way he keeps you full while he refuses to give you the one thing you’re craving makes it feel almost cruel. his eyes flick up to your face one more time, searching. waiting for you to tell him he can stop being good.

yuuji’s breathing turns uneven. you can feel it clearly because he’s so close now. his mouth is hovering just beneath you, his breath warm and spreading up your folds, and it makes you dizzy in a way that feels unfair—like he’s touching you without even touching you, like he’s already learned you well enough to make you squirm with nothing but heat and patience.

he presses another kiss, one more just above where he was last time, and then he pauses—not because he’s done, but because you’re right at the edge of his restraint and he knows it.

“i really want to,” he whispers again, voice rough with it. “i really, really want to taste you. i wanna know if you taste the way you feel on my fingers— i wanna…” his fingers curl gently mid-stroke, and you gasp, hips lifting on instinct.

yuuji steadies you with one hand, palm firm on your thigh, and you hear him swallow like he’s trying to keep himself together and losing the battle anyway. then he looks up at you from between your legs, eyes blown wide and warm, asking you with his whole face.

“tell me,” he murmurs. “tell me i can.”

the way he asks—careful, earnest, like he’d rather swallow his own want than take something you didn’t offer—breaks something in you. you’re already buzzing, already too sensitive, already clenching around his fingers like your body is trying to drag him closer. the kisses on your thigh feel like a promise you can’t stop imagining being fulfilled.

your voice comes out thin. “yuuji…”

he freezes instantly, gaze locked on yours. “yeah?”

you swallow hard, cheeks burning, and then you give him the permission you’ve been circling around like it might bite. “just… use your mouth on me,” you tell him, soft but unmistakable. “please.”

yuuji’s expression shifts so fast it almost looks like relief—relief and gratitude tangled up with hunger he’s trying so hard to keep gentle. like he’s been waiting for you to say it so he doesn’t have to be the one to take.

“okay,” he breathes, and it comes out like a promise.

he kisses your thigh one last time—slow, reverent—then shifts closer with careful patience, like he’s afraid a sudden movement will startle you. his fingers stay inside you, moving just enough to keep you warm and open while his mouth travels the last inch, like he can’t stand the idea of leaving you empty even for the second it takes him to settle.

and right before he touches you with his tongue, he looks up again, eyes dark and soft, like he needs to see your face one more time. “tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” he whispers.

you nod, breath catching.

yuuji hums. then he finally leans in—but even now he takes his time, like he’s trying to make the last inch feel as intimate as the rest of it. his breath spills over you first, a soft exhale that makes your stomach roll and your thighs tremble.

then his mouth hovers, and the pause is just long enough that you can hear the tiny hitch of his breath, the small sound he makes when he realises he’s here—right here, finally.

when his lips finally touch you, it’s gentle—almost shy—like he’s placing the kiss carefully, learning the shape of you with his mouth before he does anything else.

“still okay?” he murmurs, voice muffled and warm against you, and it’s not just a check-in; it’s him anchoring himself to your answer because he wants it to be yours, not something he takes.

“yes,” you breathe.

yuuji makes a quiet sound, and then his tongue slides out, slow and tentative, tasting you in one long stroke that makes your whole body jolt. it’s warm and broad, dragging through your slick. he pauses, like he’s absorbing it.

then he does it again, a little more confident, mouth opening as he tastes you properly this time. you hear him hum—an involuntary, pleased sound—and the vibration goes straight through you, pulling a whine out of your throat before you can stop it.

yuuji’s shoulders tense like that noise hit him somewhere deep.

“fuck,” he murmurs softly, the word blurred by your skin. “you taste… you taste so good. i knew you would.”

his fingers are still inside you, but they slow, then go still, like they’ve become secondary to the way his mouth is working. he kisses you again—warm, open—then licks you slower, deliberate and unhurried, like he’s trying to memorise the taste and the way you react at the same time, like he’s learning the exact pace that makes you whimper instead of gasp.

the carefulness lasts only a few seconds.

and then something in him shifts.

it’s subtle at first—the way he presses closer, the way his mouth opens wider, the way his tongue starts moving with more insistence. he’s still gentle, still checking you with the way his hand holds your thigh steady, but the hesitation disappears like it was never there. like he’s finally allowed to be greedy.

yuuji pulls his fingers out slowly, and you gasp at the sudden emptiness—your body instinctively tightening around nothing, chasing what it lost—aching for him the moment he’s gone, only for him to replace it immediately.

his tongue pushes into you, licking you in a rhythm that makes your hips lift, involuntarily.

and the way he eats you out now, more confident, makes it feel like he’s been waiting to do this since the moment he first realised how wet you get for him.

because he’s hungry now, mouth moving like he’s starving, tongue working through your slick with urgency. every time you whine, he answers with another hum against you, another slow press of his mouth, another stroke that lands exactly where it makes you shudder, like he’s praising you without words—like your sounds are the only thing he wants to hear.

you feel his fingers slide up, slick from you, and for half a second you think he’s going to put them back inside—until his thumb finds your clit. you cry out, sharp and breathless, the sound punching out of you like you didn’t have time to swallow it.

yuuji moans into you like he felt that noise in his bones. his tongue doesn’t stop, and his thumb starts circling with careful pressure at first, testing, learning—like he’s still trying to figure out exactly how much you can take.

it doesn’t take him long to decide.

your legs tense. your hips jerk. your whole body goes taut, and yuuji’s eyes flick up for a second—dark and blown wide—watching your face like he can’t look away from the way you’re falling apart. “that’s it,” he breathes against you, and it comes out as a warm, vibrating murmur. “so good—”

his thumb presses a little firmer, circles tightening. the rhythm starts matching the pace of his tongue, and the combination hits too fast, too perfectly—building heat low until your thoughts go thin and bright.

he licks you slower, deeper, and then faster again when you whine—like he’s listening to you with his whole body. his thumb never lets up, and every time your pussy clenches around his tongue, he makes a sound like it drives him insane.

his breath keeps stuttering against you, little broken exhales that make it obvious he’s just as overwhelmed as you are.

it builds quick. inevitable.

your breathing turns frantic, little broken pulls of air that don’t feel like they’re enough. your thighs start shaking so hard you can barely keep them open, and the slick sound gets messier as you chase him, hips lifting in small, helpless motions.

“yuuji—” you gasp, and your voice cracks.

he answers with another hum—greedy, pleased—and his thumb speeds up just slightly, like he heard the edge in your voice and decided to push you over it.

“come on,” he murmurs against you, soft but relentless. “i’ve got you. i’m right here— let go. you can— you can do it.”

the praise, the permission, the heat of his mouth—something in you gives.

your whole body locks, back arching off the couch as your orgasm tears through you in one long, gasping wave. you cry out, thighs clamping tight around his head, and yuuji stays put like he wants to feel every second of it. he doesn’t pull away. doesn’t slow down. he keeps licking you through it, thumb still circling your clit while you tremble and go boneless beneath him.

“that’s it,” he breathes, voice muffled against you. “so pretty. so fucking pretty.”

“yuuji— too much—” you manage, voice thin, every nerve raw from how hard it hits.

he groans into you, the sound low and ruined. his thumb eases up just a little, enough that it doesn’t tip into pain, but his mouth doesn’t leave you. he drags his tongue slower now, broad strokes through the mess he’s pulled out of you, lapping you up like he’s not ready to give you back to yourself yet.

“i know,” he murmurs against you, breath shaky. “i know. you’re doing so good. just breathe— i’ve got you.”

your muscles twitch with the aftershocks, little jolts you can’t control, but your body doesn’t relax all the way. there’s still a tight, coiled feeling lower than before, something hot and strange building under the overstimulation, sharper than the first wave.

yuuji feels it. like he’s tuned in to every twitch your body gives him.

your thighs try to close around his head and he just tightens his grip, gentle but unyielding, fingers pressing into the soft flesh to hold you open. his thumb finds your clit again—barely there this time, the lightest pressure—and even that makes your whole body jump.

“yuuji, i… i can’t—”

“you can,” he says quietly, and there’s a thread of awe in it. “just one more. lemme see you, okay? i wanna feel you do it again.”

his tongue focuses lower now, broad strokes right over your entrance, like he’s chasing everything that’s still spilling out of you. he sucks there once, slow and filthy, and you feel something in your stomach twist hard, pressure pressing down instead of up—intense in a way that makes your eyes fly open.

“wait— it feels weird,” you gasp, panicked and breathless. “i think i’m gonna— it feels like—”

“it’s okay,” he says quickly, the words rushed and soft against your skin. his thumb keeps that maddening, light circle on your clit, just enough to keep the live wire humming. “you’re okay. let it happen— don’t fight it.”

the need sharpens, almost painful—like your body can’t decide whether it wants to pull away or chase it. yuuji’s mouth is everywhere, tongue pushing, licking, coaxing, and his thumb catches a perfect pattern on your clit that makes your hips buck and your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling and tugging hard.

“yuuji—”

he groans when you pull, the sound vibrating straight into you. “that’s it,” he rasps, completely gone now. “come on. give it to me— let me feel it.”

the pressure snaps.

it crashes through you differently this time—white-hot and blinding, ripping a ragged, helpless sound out of you as your body seizes around it. your thighs slam around his head and then it hits: a sudden, hot rush leaving you, liquid spilling over his tongue, his chin, his hand, the cushion under you.

yuuji jerks in surprise, then moans against you like you just lit him on fire.

“oh my god,” he chokes, but he doesn’t pull back. his thumb presses down a little firmer on your clit, working you through it, and his tongue keeps moving, tasting you, chasing every drop as it gushes out.

you feel it splatter his cheeks, his jaw, his fingers where they press into your thigh. you can hear it, too—patters against his skin, the wet slap of it soaking into the cushion beneath your ass. your whole body shakes, legs trembling so hard you’re not sure you’re actually still on the couch.

“yuuji, yuuji, yuuji—” you babble, chanting his name because it’s the only thing you can grab onto while everything else blanks out. he just hums against you, greedy and reverent all at once, like he could live off the sounds you’re making.

“that’s it,” he breathes when he finally breaks for air, voice wrecked. his thumb gentles, strokes loosening as he eases you down. “fuck, you’re— you did so good.”

only when the tremors start to fade—when your thighs start to sag open instead of crushing his head—does he really stop. his thumb leaves your clit, his mouth softens, turning from hungry to soothing, kissing the inside of your thigh like he’s apologising and praising you at the same time.

then he lifts his head.

his mouth is shiny, lips swollen, cheeks streaked with you. there’s a wet sheen at the corners too, like he keeps swallowing and still can’t get all of you off his mouth. his hair’s a little mussed from how hard you were holding on. he looks dazed—almost proud in this stunned, boyish way—and when his eyes meet yours, there’s something warm, like he can’t believe he got to watch you like that, like he can’t believe you did that for him.

for a moment, he just stays there, breathing hard, like his brain is still trying to catch up with what his mouth already knows.

then he glances down between your thighs, at the mess on the cushion, the way you’re still glistening and slick and open, and his eyes go huge.

“holy shit,” he breathes, but it’s softer this time, more awe than shock. he trails off, laughing breathlessly, like his brain can’t pick a word big enough, like every option sounds too small for what he just felt.

you let out a shaky sound that might be a laugh if you weren’t still buzzing out of your body. everything feels loose and wrong and floaty, like your skin’s too thin and the couch’s the only thing stopping you from sliding right off the planet.

yuuji wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing your slick across his knuckles, and then, like he can’t help himself, he licks it off. his pupils blow even wider. his throat works around a swallow, like he’s still tasting you even after he’s cleaned you from his skin.

“okay,” he mutters to himself, shell-shocked and weirdly delighted. “okay— yeah. i get it. i get why people go insane about this.”

he shifts up the couch until he can press his forehead to your stomach—like he needs to be close now. his breath is warm against your skin. you can feel him smiling against you, stupid and soft. “you did so good,” he murmurs into you like he can’t keep it in, like he needs you to hear it again.

“you okay?” he asks eventually, quieter again.

you manage a nod, fingers sliding weakly into his hair. “yeah,” you croak. “think you broke me a little.”

yuuji laughs, the sound low and pleased, and presses a kiss to your stomach. “sorry,” he says, “but… god. you were amazing... kinda wanna see you do that again someday— if you want to.”

then he kisses you again, like he’s trying to calm you down the same way he worked you up, like he’s reminding you he can be soft too.

you're still best friends in the way he’s always been with you—just… not the same kind anymore.

likes and reblogs are much appreciated! | jjk masterlist

taglist ⬩ @getoville @velvtcherie @man1cslut @brookeleanne @sunnyyae @fairyof553 @fushizae @rckcutiqq @dabi-vakarian @zlinguss @vynn01 @azafloop @yourmomismilf123 @fleuscents @simpee9000 @elliekatsmiller @lostgirlinthewoodss @leener99 @baniraho

@sylusqt @yeagerbombxxx @gaberleladoodlepeen @loiswish @lovra974 @pochitaprayersndthoughts @arianerisulhi @aliaskleelo @tridentgumfreshy @venetiaaaa @hrts4yuji @freakvolume @sweetieelilii @kiyadeleine @kadijasolos @bl0g-d0ll @nanadexth @shhhhhhxoxo125 @what-the-jams

@perqbeth @amb4rluvs @onepiecenthusiast @megssleepygirl @twodimensionalboyfriend @partyluvr

[gojosconsort]

︵ ೀ mdni. yuji dreaming of megumi and you together and now he gets all flustered when the two of you are around

yuji itadori has always loved watching the two of you together.

there’s something warm and fluttery in his chest whenever he sees you and megumi getting along. the way megumi’s usual stoicism softens around you, the little smiles he gives when you tease him, the way you laugh at his dry humor—it all makes yuji feel impossibly full. like his two favorite people in the world have found a gentle space with each other.

but lately, that warmth has been mixing with something else. ever since that dream, yuji can’t stop blushing.

he remembers it too clearly: the dim lighting, megumi’s long fingers buried deep inside you, your soft moans filling the room. in the dream, yuji had been sitting right there, hand wrapped tightly around his own cock, pumping fast and sloppy like he only had seconds left before the scene vanished.

he watched his best friend make you cum on his fingers while you whimpered megumi’s name so prettily. the sight of his sweet angel getting pleasured by someone he also liked a little too much had left him aching and ashamed when he woke up.

tonight, the three of you are sprawled on the couch watching a movie. you’re sitting between them, head resting on yuji’s shoulder while your legs are casually draped over megumi’s lap. megumi’s hand rests on your ankle, thumb absentmindedly stroking your skin.

yuji tries to focus on the screen, but his mind keeps drifting back to the dream. his cheeks burn. he shifts slightly, hoping neither of you notice the way his cock is starting to twitch in his sweatpants.

you tilt your head up at him with that bright, angelic smile he loves so much. “you okay, babe? you’re really red.”

“yeah! totally fine,” he says quickly, voice a little too loud. megumi glances over with a raised brow, and yuji feels his face grow even hotter.

because all he can think about is how good you would look with megumi’s fingers inside you for real. how pretty your moans would sound. how he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from stroking his cock while watching his two favorite people making each other’s eyes roll back in ecstasy.

megumi’s hand slowly slides higher up your calf, innocent enough, but it sends another rush of heat through yuji’s body. you hum happily and snuggle closer to yuji’s side.

yuji swallows hard, heart racing.

he wonders what would happen if he told you both about the dream. if he asked megumi to touch you while he watched. if he admitted how much he wants to see his best friend bury his head between his sweet girl's legs and make you cum. the thought makes his cock throb painfully.

he presses his face into your hair, trying to hide how flustered he is, but the warmth in his chest only grows stronger. because maybe… just maybe… the three of you could be even closer than he ever imagined.

[miraeofficial]

Does Idia Shroud baby-talk about his lover?

Yes.

Only in private matters. Where no one but his action figurines from numerous anime series displayed on his shelf bears witness to the most pathetic display of a man in love in the history of humankind.

Under the heavy blue comforter that covers his entire lanky figure, his feet remain exposed, and he is clutching onto his tablet with a death grip, revealing numerous photos of you he had secretly saved in a hidden folder from the past conversations and social media platforms that you were active on.

The soft, bluish glow of the screen illuminates his face, highlighting the longing in his yellow, tired eyes and the sharp set of teeth hopelessly grinning in the dimly lit room, mindlessly scrolling through the images. His bluish-flaming hair falls messily around his face, the tips of the ends painted with subtle pink streaks that required no words to indicate that this man is a lovesick fool.

Honestly, he doesn't know what possessed him to start doing it.

Just the sight of your photos, regardless of how you look, felt natural to him. Equivalent to how he expressed his cuteness aggression to feline creatures, such as cats or kittens. He just couldn't help but dotes on you in the same way.

"Look how cute they are…" Idia muttered to himself, his lips puckering up into a smoochy expression, making kissing noises at the screen. "Wanna bite their cheeks off…"

"Mwaa… mwaaa… my cute widdle babbyyy," he continued, planting soft kisses onto the hard surface of his tablet and his feet kicking behind him in sheer delight. "If only they can fit into my pockets…" he pouted, tracing the features of your photo with his finger, a wistful look in his eyes. "I would carry you around everywhereeee."

While this is a rather adorable (yet cringey) display of affection, unfortunately, some good things have to come to an end eventually.

"Big brother, what are you doing?"

Idia's eyes widened at the concerned tone in his younger brother's voice; his heart spiked with a mix of anxiety and embarrassment.

He attempted to shuffle his way out of the comforter but only made it worse by getting tangled up in it even more. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE—ACKK!" The material rolled over like a heavy burrito until Idia fell onto the bed with a loud thud, his limbs flailing as he tried to regain his balance, while his tablet smacked onto the floor with a clatter.

"Big brother!" Ortho called out worriedly, his robotic hands reaching out to peel off the comforter from Idia's flailing form. "Are you okay? You need to be more careful," he scolded gently.

When he finally managed to free Idia from the tangled mess, he was met with the most desperate look of embarrassment on his big brother's face.

"Pleasepleasepleaseeeee, do not tell [Y/N]!" Idia pleaded, his cheeks flushing a bright shade of red, and his yellow eyes darting around nervously.

Ortho tilted his head innocently. "Tell them what?" he asked, then his eyes squinted slightly with a mischievous glint. "That you're secretly baby talking Big Sibling?"

"OOORRRTTTHHOOOOO!!"

[parawaxart]

pov you are an rsa student (its so over)

[envy-of-the-apple]

Pleaser

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader -College AU

word count: 6.6k

Synopsis: You’ve always had a hard time standing up for yourself. Your new roommate loves that about you.

(Warnings: yandere, dark content, manipulation, slight exhibitionism, forced voyeurism(?), non-con, gojo being a freak)

It was a clerical error. 

Gojo Satoru wasn’t supposed to have a roommate because he was Gojo Satoru. The apartment was specifically his, as most things were. 

You were a mistake. 

The administration apologized to you both. They’d fix it in no time, they promised. This would only last a month before you’d move to your permanent residence. 

You didn’t mind the error. His apartment was large and expansive, and you’d already unpacked your stuff. The plan was to keep you there until everybody settled in for the semester, and then they could swap you out to an empty room. 

Gojo didn’t seem to mind too much either. You assumed he’d be a bit more irritated with the situation, but his lax nature was a pleasant surprise. You wouldn’t necessarily call the two of you close, but you weren’t on bad terms either. 

Positive, is the better word. Not exactly neutral, but not too friendly either. You existed on the edges of each other's peripherals, and you were pretty happy with that. Gojo wasn’t a bad roommate either. He kept the apartment mostly clean and didn’t leave any food out. You thought you’d have to deal with loud parties; he seemed like the type, but the tiny circle he gravitated towards never overstayed its welcome. 

The only issue was the music. 

It wasn’t bad music. You enjoyed his taste. You would just rather not hear it blasting through the walls at 2 am. 

A roommate disagreement. It’s the first one you’ve ever had. 

You want to do this right. Your biggest worry is offending him. You spend days figuring out the best way to approach him. You look up ways to gently bring up disagreements between your roommate. You fill a bag with treats and sweets–the kinds you’ve seen him munch on before. You even write a letter because you know how flighty you get in these situations, and you can’t thank him enough for all that he’s done for you, but if he could just maybe perhaps slightly–

“-So you just want me to turn the music down?” Gojo interrupts your rambling.

He’s sitting on the sofa, one leg across the other. You remain standing, too strung up to really relax. The paper you were reading out loud crinkles as you fold it back up. 

“Yeah.” You mumble. “If you can.” 

He takes another candy you’d gifted him, popping it in his mouth. 

“Yeah, sure.” He shrugs, as if it were hardly an inconvenience. 

You, on the other hand, nearly deflated in relief. You didn’t expect it to be so simple. You were half-preparing for the possibility that he’d blow up at you and go back to administration, demanding your eviction. Everything was resolved so easily. 

“Thank you.” A genuine smile graces your lips.

Gojo hums. The candy cracks between his teeth. 

“You’re pretty shy, huh?” He tilts his head, studying you.

A laugh escapes your throat. Nervous. 

“I just don’t like confrontation,” you admit. 

Gojo nods, returning your wave when you say your goodbyes. You think nothing of the exchange. Hours later, you’re still riding the high of how effortless it all went. 

⌂

Two things change today. 

First, Gojo is up this morning. 

He’s never up this early. Usually, you only hear him moving around at noon. You’re the early bird, not him. You never minded his routine. If anything, you appreciated that you ran on separate schedules. 

Second, he was naked. 

Gojo typically dresses conservatively: T-shirts, sweatpants, hoodies. He adorns the look of a typical college student most days. His tastes are a bit on the expensive side, considering how casually he wears luxury brands, but he’s mostly covered up.  

Today, Gojo walks around the kitchen in nothing but boxers.

You’re awkwardly standing in the hallway. You want to go back to your room and hide out until he leaves, but you’re already running late for class. Briefly, you think about keeping your head locked on the ground and slinking out the door. Maybe, if you’re lucky, he won’t notice you. 

You aren’t that lucky. 

Gojo looks at your miserable figure. There’s no embarrassment about how little he’s dressed. No apologies. No stutters that will make you feel the tiniest bit human. He bares his white teeth as he smiles. 

“‘Morning, roomie!” He chirps. 

You repeat the pleasantry with far less enthusiasm. You avoid looking at him directly, preferring to look at the counter, the floor, the refrigerator, anywhere that didn’t have Gojo in it. 

This was normal, you kept repeating to yourself. This is his house. You’re practically a squatter. He should be comfortable in his own home. He should wear whatever he wants. 

Besides, now you can make the most of your situation. You first considered skipping breakfast, given his situation. Now that the worst has happened, you could grab an apple or something. 

You slip past him. You think Gojo is making some type of smoothie, but you refuse to look directly at him to confirm. The fruit basket is right at your fingertips. You start to swipe the first one you can grab before making your escape.

Something presses against your back, caging you against the counter. You freeze. You feel hard muscle as Gojo reaches up to mess with the cabinets. 

“Sorry.” Gojo casually excuses, rifling through the shelves. “I’ll just be a second.”

One second. 

Five seconds. He’s still there. Your knuckles are white from how hard you’re gripping the counter. 

“Gojo–” 

“My music didn’t bother you last night, did it?” He asks. 

For a second, you wonder if that’s why he was doing this. Maybe you had offended him earlier with your complaint. But you don’t hear any resentment in his voice. He sounds cheerful. 

Delighted, even. 

“No,” you say, “it was fine.” 

He hums. When he finally pulls away, you get your autonomy back. You scramble away from the counter, not wanting to get caught again. 

“That’s good,” He says, “I’m glad you were upfront about this. We’re roommates! No use in hating eachother, right?” 

Temporary roommates, you correct in your head. 

“Also, we should use our first names from now on, roomie.” Gojo continues. “We should speak more comfortably.” 

Fine, whatever. You just wanted to leave. 

He suddenly leans in so he’s eye-to-eye with you. You hadn’t noticed it before, but his gaze is intense. You try to back away, but there’s nowhere to go. 

“Say it.” He lowers his voice. “Sa-to-ru.” 

It feels like he’s mocking you, but you can’t seem to find the joke. 

“Satoru,” you obey. 

He smiles. 

“Yeah.” He pulls away. “Just like that.” 

⌂

After a couple of washes, you finally notice its absence. 

It wasn’t the most expensive of your collection, but it was still pretty pricey. You liked the silk material and the dark red color. It was your favorite pair of panties. 

You skulk around the apartment, hoping it just fell from the basket. That, or the washer ate it. You tried not to think of the other option. 

 Days pass, and you give up searching. You decide to forget about it. You have other pairs. It’s not the end of the world. 

A part of you thinks about asking Satoru, but you’re quickly squashing it down. No way would you willingly ask him something so embarrassing. You just toss it to the back of your mind, hoping it will just show up again. 

And then, Satoru invites you into his room.

It’s not exactly an invitation. When you’re trudging home from class, he pops out from his room, excitedly telling you about a TV show before you’re being dragged inside. You’re not a big fan of the genre, and you have no interest in the show. It doesn’t matter to Satoru. You’re forced to sit on his bed as the characters on screen follow the script. 

He’s doing that a lot lately. Interrupting. Invading. You keep brushing off the thought that he’s testing you, somehow. 

“Roomie, this guy is so annoying.” Satoru comments. “Don’t worry, he dies in the next episode, so you don’t have to suffer for long.” 

You say nothing as he casually spoils the show for you. Honestly, you couldn’t care less. You were getting a little bored. Your eyes wander around his room. It’s cleaner than you thought it’d be. A few clothes are scattered around. A college hoodie hangs off the door. There are all sorts of papers on his desk, each is covered in meaningless algorithms you can’t decipher, and you suddenly remember he’s a physics major. You ask about maybe getting some math help from him later on, before you’re brushing that thought away. 

There’s a snap of fingers. Your gaze drifts back to Gojo. 

“Roomie, pay attention!” He whines, urging you back to the screen. 

There are only 10 minutes of the show left. Fine, you sit there, counting down the minutes until you can make your escape. 

Satoru’s hand brushes the edge of your bare thigh. 

He’s not exactly touching. You two are sitting pretty close. He was just sitting comfortably, resting his weight on his hands. It’s barely a touch, but it’s there. You can feel his fingers on your skin. 

He doesn’t move his hand back. It’s more likely because he doesn’t notice, you convince yourself. You’re overthinking things again. 

He shifts. His hand slips even closer. 

When you try to open your mouth, he hushes you with a, “This is the best part!” and all the courage leaves your body again. 

It feels like hours until the credits finally roll. Satoru steps off the bed to turn off the TV, and you make your move too, eager to find refuge in your room. 

“Oh yeah.” His voice stops you in your tracks. “What did you want to talk about earlier?” 

You stare. It feels crazy to bring up what happened just now. See? He didn’t even notice. 

But now, you have nothing to say, and saying nothing feels like a lie. 

“Did you see something in your laundry?” You blurt out before you can even think. 

Satoru encapsulates a picture-perfect replication of an innocent doe. He tilts his head in confusion. 

“Like what?” He asks. 

Dark red panties, with just the hint of lace. You can’t say it. You just can’t. 

“I think we might’ve swapped some clothes.” You unhelpfully murmur. “If you see anything…just let me know.” 

He nods. “Sure thing, Roomie!” He calls to you as you hurry back into your room and lock the door. 

Soon, Satoru’s actions turn less ambivalent. 

Sometimes, you’d hear him once or twice in the middle of the night. He’s loud. The walls thankfully muffle most of it, but you know what he’s doing. You usually just plug in your headphones and try not to look at him the next day. So far, things have worked out pretty well. 

Today, his door is wide open as he jerks off. 

You’re standing right next to your own door, mouth agape, forced to listen to his moans and babbles for five minutes. You’re already late for class.

But you can’t bring yourself to even open your door. 

To get out of the apartment, you’d have to cross Satoru’s room. The one that is currently open, where you’d see him stroking his dick. 

You know this is going too far. You needed to fucking do something already. There’s no way you can be kept a prisoner in your own home. 

And yet, you stay, forced to listen to him openly masturbate. 

“Fuck yes,” you can hear him say over and over again. “Just a little more, pretty girl. C’mon, just a bit–there we fucking go.” 

He’s talking to someone. No, that’s not right. He’s fantasizing about someone. 

More babblings and you’re squeezing your eyes shut as he comes. He curses again, and you stand there until you no longer want to melt into the floor. 

A few minutes later, you’re stomping around the room, trying to be as noisy as possible. You loudly adjust your bookbag and fiddle with your chair. You try to give him as much time as possible. 

By the time you come out, the apartment is back to normal. His door is still open. You stare straight ahead, ignoring the clear invitation to look as you pass his room. 

“Hey, Roomie.” Satoru casually calls from his place on the bed. 

You nearly trip over your own feet. Satoru gives a hiss. 

“You good?” He asks. 

No. 

“Yes.” You adjust your bag. “Just tripped.” 

“Okay.” You hear him shift. His bed creaks under the weight. “Have fun at class, pretty girl.” 

You slam the door a lot harder than you should. You were ten minutes late for class that day, but it doesn’t matter. As much as you tried to focus on your professor’s drones, your mind kept drifting to the name he called you right before you fled. 

No, no it couldn’t be. You needed to forget about it. 

Also, he was holding something in his hand. You didn’t know for sure, you didn’t want to stare but…

…it was a dark red piece of fabric. 

⌂

You like it when Satoru’s friends come over. They create a buffer between you and him. 

These days, you aren’t in the apartment as much. You’re out early. You come in late. You aren’t avoiding Satoru. You talk to him when he talks to you. You listen to whatever ramblings he has that day. You aren’t avoiding Satoru. 

Today is one of the few times he manages to catch you. Maybe you should count yourself lucky that he did it today, because Suguru was here. 

He lounges on the sofa as Satoru drags you behind him. Suguru barely glances up from his phone. He’s pretty used to Satoru’s antics. You aren’t. 

Satoru plops right next to his friend, picking up his remote. 

“Okay, we’re ready,” he says before frowning and glancing around. “There’s no more space.” 

He’s right. Both men are big, barely overcrowding the minuscule couch. You awkwardly loiter nearby as they both set up. You open your mouth, ready to say that you were fine with not joining, that you didn’t really care about a video game, no matter how awesomely Satoru described it. 

Satoru’s grin is filled with nothing but delight as he turns to you. 

“Here–” he eagerly pats his lap “–I've got plenty of space left, pretty girl.” 

You blanch, and his smile just grows wider. He starts to reach for you before his friend steps in. 

Suguru shoves him off the couch. Satoru dramatically collapses onto the floor. 

“Don’t be a dick.” Geto chides before motioning you to sit. 

You take a seat, with a relieved smile directed at Geto. Satoru grumbles from his spot on the floor, but he doesn’t try to move back as you thought he would. 

“I can’t believe you’re abusing me in my own home,” Satoru complains. “Where I pay rent.” 

“Your parents pay rent, you trust fund baby.” Geto is more than happy to refute. 

“Same thing.” Satoru rolls his eyes. “It’ll all go to me in the end.” 

Out of all of Satoru’s friends, Suguru seemed to have the biggest hold on his collar. They seemed close. Maybe their friendship had spanned years before college. You don’t know if anyone could bear to be around Satoru for that long, but maybe Suguru is that exception. 

You think you spend about an hour watching them play. You aren’t too interested in video games, much less combat games, but they seem to get a kick out of it. Eventually, Gojo demands to play with you. Geto relinquishes his remote to your reluctant hands, more than happy to go back to his phone. 

“Damn.” Satoru laughs as he kills you for the 4th time. “You’re bad at this.” 

You frown at the YOU LOSE on your side of the screen. 

“I haven’t played this before,” you respond. 

“I can tell.” 

He doesn’t seem particularly upset that his new gaming partner sucks. If anything, the more he kills you, the wider his smile gets. 

“We should place bets.” He suddenly pipes up. “However looses a round: strips.” 

You shrink. Geto rolls his eyes. 

“Satoru, stop bullying your roommate and play the game.” He leans back. “Let the poor thing breathe.” 

“Bullying?” Satoru sounds offended. “I’m joking. Y’know I’m joking, right?” 

He whirls around to look at you with wide eyes. You can’t tell whether he’s being genuine. You glance away. 

“Yeah.” You fiddle with the remote. “I know.” 

“See, it’s fine!” Instantly, Satoru forgets the game. He crowds into the couch to circle his arm around you, pulling you into his side. “You’re the only person who understands my humor, pretty girl.” He sighs. 

“This sounds more and more like a hostage situation.” Suguru idly comments. 

But when you look at him, really look at him, you can see the apathy clear in his eyes. 

Maybe that’s why they got along so well. 

“Shut up.” Satoru snaps. 

“You’ll tell me, though, right?” Satoru says as he snuggles even closer. “If I’m going too far?” 

You want him to get off of you. You know he knows, too. 

“I will.” You say instead. 

Satoru grins, continuing to swaddle you with his body. 

“See?” He blows a raspberry in Suguru’s direction. “My Roomie loves me.” 

⌂

Sometimes you prefer to be alone with Satoru. He just gets worse with more people around. 

The club he dragged you into was smoky, with the occasional lights that flicked and changed colors, illuminating the floor. It was crowded. Someone spilled a drink on the floor earlier that night. The sweet sticky scent lingered in the air. 

Satoru had brought a couple of other people too, more than happy to stuff the lot of you into his car before driving off. One of Satoru’s other friends, Shoko, was here somewhere. Suguru was here too, but you lost sight of him sometime back. You, standing against the wall, wonder if you could take a bus back to the apartment. 

The only person in your line of sight was Satoru. 

Earlier, he’d asked if you wanted to dance. You declined. You thought he’d make a bigger fuss out of it, like usually he does when you don’t fully accommodate him. Instead, he shrugged off your rejection, casually tossing over his shoulder to ‘join in at any time’. 

Someone else was with him. She was shorter than him, even with the heels. You watch as she drags manicured nails across his arms as he leans down to kiss her. You doubt they know each other. Satoru’s just like that. Overly friendly. 

It reminds you of all the people he brings over for ‘late-night study sessions’. Apart from the noise, you don’t mind the girls and guys. Most of them are pretty nice. They actually give you a lot of relief whenever you see them. For a second there, you thought that the reason Satoru was doing this to you was that he–

So yes, the people he brings over are a nice thing. 

Someone clears his throat. 

You don’t recognize him. His grin is sheepish. Polite, you smile back. 

The small talk is a bit awkward at first. It’s hard to hear him with the screaming crowd and music. You two exchange names. He comments on the phone case you have, claiming his sister likes that character too. He perks up when he says something that makes you laugh. 

“Did you come here with anyone?” He finally asks. 

“My roommate,” you offer, turning your head to point to Gojo. 

He isn’t there. Neither is the girl he danced with earlier. You wonder if he decided to ditch you and take her home. You don’t think you’d be surprised if he did. 

At the implication you aren’t seeing anyone, he asks: 

“Can I get you a drink?” 

You think you’re about to refuse. You know Satoru and the rest of his group will be drunk by the time the night ends. You’re pretty sure the only reason you were dragged along was to play babysitter and drive them home. 

You open your mouth for a polite rejection. 

Satoru does it for you. 

He was fast. You hadn’t noticed him until he was putting himself right between you and your conversational partner. 

Satoru’s smiling. It doesn’t look friendly. 

“Hey man,” Satoru casually says, “the fuck are you doing?” 

He can read between the lines, something you’re grateful for. Within seconds, the stranger is hurrying off. Lucky, you think to yourself, watching his back disappear into the crowd. Satoru lets him go so easily. 

Unlike you. 

He turns on you almost immediately. You want to sink into the wall. 

“We’re going.” He finally says. 

You pliantly nod, letting him lead you out the seedy club. Only when you get to his car do you realize he meant just you and him. 

“What about–” You cut yourself off when you see his eyes. 

Dark. They no longer resemble the color of cloudless skies. Now, they’re more like thunder and rain. 

You’ve never seen him more furious than the entire time you’ve known him. 

You remain silent as you slip into the passenger seat, tucking yourself into the seatbelt. Satoru starts the car with a distinct rumble. The locks click into place. 

You’ve always known Gojo to be an erratic driver. Tonight feels even worse. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s squeezing the steering wheel. The car keeps speeding up and up, careening past the speed limit. You can hear your heartbeat thudding in your chest. 

And Satoru? 

Satoru looks like he’s about to murder someone. 

“Who was that?” His voice is cold, devoid of all the playfulness he had earlier tonight. 

“I don’t–” 

“Who the fuck was he?” He demands. 

You flinch, and your hands curl into fists to keep them from shaking too much. You can’t do anything but stare into the window, watching the night sky dwindle past with all the other cars on the highway. 

“I didn’t know him.” You weakly tried to defend, even if you didn’t know why. Your instinct was to placate. “He just came up to me, and we started to talk.” 

He laughs. It’s dry, bitter, and sardonic. 

“Okay.” He tells you, turning the wheel so sharply that you press further into the door. “I let you outta’ my sight for two seconds, and you’re letting some fucker feel you up?” 

“I–” 

“What’d you two talk about?” He demands. “Did he ask if he could touch your pussy? If he did, you would’ve let him, right? I mean, you were practically throwing yourself at him like a slut, so maybe the guy thought he had a chance.” 

It hurts to breathe. Something stings in your eyes as your vision blurs. 

No one has ever said such horrible things to you before. 

“Nothing like that happened.” You insist. Why was he doing this? Why was he acting like this? “Please just–” 

“Shut up.” He snaps back. “What, you seriously thought anyone would fall for the shit you pull? You think he actually cared for you? Don’t make me laugh. He only wanted your tits and holes.” 

The words Satoru barks out are mean and vulgar. Your body freely shakes, you press yourself further up against the door, feeling tears stream down your cheeks. Satoru’s voice only softens when your hiccups and sobs fill the car. 

“Baby, no, I–I didn’t mean that shit.” His voice is oddly strained. You feel fingers brush against your neck, but you only shift away. 

You didn’t want to be in that club. You didn’t want to talk to that man. You didn’t want to get into Satoru’s car. You just wanted to go home. 

He can’t even let you have that. 

“No, pretty girl, it’s okay,” Satoru comforts, “Don’t–don’t cry–Fuck fuck.” 

The car slows to a stop right in an abandoned parking lot. Satoru kills the engine, letting the car hum into silence. Whatever happens, you think it will happen now. At this very moment. You prepare yourself for the worst, squeezing your eyes shut.

But it’s even worse. 

There’s a hiss of a zipper. Your eyes open just in time to see Satoru pull out his dripping cock. 

He’s already hard. His cock curves up, almost touching the steering wheel as he wraps his fingers around the base. The tip is painfully swollen as beads of pre-cum leak down his cock. Veins bulge against his skin as he frantically pushes his hand up and down. 

Your fear melts straight into horror as you stare at him. He’s staring right at you, desperately pumping his cock with his hand. The worst part is his eyes–wide, blown out like he’s high. He looks right at you like he wants to eat you alive. 

You’re immediately reaching for the handle. No matter how much you tug, the car won’t open. You’re trapped there, forced to watch as your roommate jerks himself off in front of you because your crying turned him on. 

Your sobs quieten. All you can hear in the car is his moans and the words he mouths, your name over and over again.

You think the worst part is that he still tries to talk to you, to comfort you. 

“You’re okay–you’re okay, baby.” He’s spitting the words out through his teeth as his hand throttles his pulsing dick. “Lemme–lemme–can’t help m’self–just–”, 

You flinch when he comes. His cock spurts white cum all over his hands. 

You’re fully silent. The only thing you can hear is his heavy breathing as he cleans up. 

You think he’s about to reach for you. His fingers never make contact. 

You stare out the window. Everything’s dark. Nobody was around. No one was around to see you. To hear you. 

Even if someone was around…what could you say? 

“Can we go home, please?” 

There’s a sharp inhale.

“Sure.”  The affection in his tone makes you nauseous. 

You close your eyes.

“Anything for you, pretty girl.” 

⌂

Ten minutes later, you’re still twiddling your fingers in the waiting room. 

Getting this appointment had been excruciatingly difficult. Constant last-minute cancellations. Reschedules. It felt like they were trying to deter you from entering the housing office. 

They promised you this was a temporary arrangement. You were only supposed to be at Satoru’s place for a month, maybe even less. But then one month turned to two. Two months turned to three. You don’t think you’d last another day in that apartment. 

He was getting worse each day. It was only a matter of them until he—

A man steps into the lounge. He’s tall and lanky, carrying a smile that screams dismissive. You perk up as he squints at you. When he calls your name, you immediately rise, following him into the back of his office. 

It’s stuffy. There are papers everywhere. You squish into a chair just before he starts talking. 

It’s the usual stuff. You spell out your name, and he pulls up your housing account. He squints at the computer. 

“You said this was a temporary assignment?” He asks. 

You eagerly nod, straightening your posture. 

“Yes,” you say. “My roommate wasn’t supposed to have another one, but there was a mix-up and—“

“No.” He taps on the screen. “You said it was temporary, but here it says it’s permanent.” 

You swallow. 

“What?” 

He messes around with his mouse for a bit. Your hands feel strangely clammy. 

“Ah, here it is.” He cleared his throat. “It says you came in a month ago wanting to make the change. I see your and your roommates' signatures. You must have come here a while ago.” 

You struggle to find the words. 

“I don’t—“ 

“In any case, it’s too late to change anything now. The deadline for reassignment passed weeks ago.” He gives you a sympathetic look that strangely cuts deep into your skin. 

“Are you and your roommate having issues?”

You think about the truth. 

“No,” you hear yourself say. “Everything is fine.” 

You don’t remember much after that. You think you were polite as you stood up. You think you shook his hand. You think you walked out of his stuffy office and out of that stifling building. Everything is a blur until you step into the sunlight, feeling it beat down your face. 

You don’t want to go back to the apartment. You still feel too raw, too fresh. 

You don’t have any classes left for today. You can’t hide out on campus. Satoru will find you. He always finds you. Maybe you should stay at a friend’s place and recuperate. 

Right, you don’t have any friends. Satoru made sure of that. 

Briefly, you think about going to the police. Could you maybe use them as a buffer somehow? At the very least, it might scare him from taking this any further. 

But then you glance over at the campus buildings. The name Gojo flashes brightly in the sun. 

You aren’t stupid. You may not know his family all that well, but you know the influence of his background. There is a reason his campus apartment is thrice the size of everyone else’s. There is a reason he wasn’t supposed to have a roommate in the first place. 

He is everything. He has everything. 

You are nothing. You have nothing. 

When you arrive at the apartment ten minutes later, Satoru is already lounging on the couch. 

He excitedly waves you over. When you get inside striking range, he reaches out, pulling you onto the cushions. You pretend not to notice the way he breathes in your scent as you settle on the sofa. An arm wraps around your body, pushing you into his side. 

“Where were you, roomie?” Satoru whines. “Didn’t class end an hour ago?” It would be a harmless question if his grip weren’t so tight. You won’t be surprised if you find a bruise there in a day or two. 

Something plays on the TV. Neither of you pays attention. 

“Sorry.” It’s all you can muster to say. 

He seems satisfied with your answer–the submission of it. You find yourself counting down the clock. Seven minutes go by before you speak up again. 

“Satoru?” You ask.

There’s a distant hum of an answer. 

“Did you tell Housing I was staying?” 

For the longest while, Satoru does not speak. Then, he relaxes. He groans, easily delving into your space. A hand rests on your thigh. 

“Oh, that.” There’s a yawn. “Yeah, I just went ahead and told them you didn’t need to move out. We were getting along so well, ‘makes no sense why you’d get a different apartment, right? Sounds like a hassle moving halfway through the semester.” 

Then he shifts. You can feel him stare right down at you. 

“Unless you have a problem with that?” 

He doesn’t even bother to hide it. Pure excitement. 

Was there ever a possibility you could’ve come out unscathed had you just stood up to him earlier? Maybe you should’ve been a bit less timid when speaking to him about his music. Maybe you should’ve commented on his lack of clothing around the house. 

Or maybe it was always going to end up this way. 

“No.” You tell him, staring straight at the TV. “I don’t have a problem with that.” 

A couple of days later, another pair of panties goes missing. 

Unlike last time, you don’t bother looking for it. 

⌂

You always locked your door at night, but looking back, it was stupid to assume Satoru didn’t have a spare key. 

This is his apartment, after all. 

The lock gives with barely a click. You’re already wide awake, body rigid, tucked underneath the covers as hallway light bleeds into the room. You’re facing the textured wall, watching as his shadow drifts into your bedroom. The door shuts in a way that sounds final. It’s dark again. 

He’s quiet. You can barely hear the sounds of his breath. There’s a footstep. Then, another. Eventually, he’s right behind you. 

You don’t know what he was doing. You’re too scared to turn and check. Naively, you think if you pretend to be asleep, he’ll leave. 

One minute. 

Two minutes. He’s so still, for a moment, you wonder if you imagined the whole thing. 

The edge of your blankets lifts. Your bed creaks under his weight. His chest presses against your back. Warm hands grasp your shoulders. 

He’ll leave eventually. If you pretend to be asleep, he’ll leave. 

You squeeze your eyes shut when his head nuzzles into the crook of your neck. He inhales. 

Fingers play with the ends of your shirt. 

He’ll leave soon. He’ll leave soon. He’ll leave–

“You’re not gonna stop me, are you?” His voice makes your shoulders tense. You can practically hear his smile. 

His fingers manage to slip under your shirt. You can barely hold in your gasp when he grabs a handful of your tits. He doesn’t even bother to be gentle, squeezing and pulling until you’re practically whining. 

“C’mon.” Satoru coos into your ear. There’s a kiss on your neck. “Say it. Tell me no.” 

He nibbles the skin right on your jawline. His hair tickles your cheek. 

Your hands reach out to grab his own. You squeeze, digging your nails into his skin. 

“Please stop.” 

He laughs–the kind of laugh you’d give to a toddler if they misbehave. It feels so mean. 

“You’re so cute.” Another kiss right at your ear.

“Stop.” You repeat. His hands don’t budge, not even when you start to draw blood. “Let go. Don’t–don’t touch me–” 

He flips you right on your back. From the streetlights peaking through the blinds, you can see his face. The widest smile is stretched over his pretty lips. It looks almost manic. 

Your eyes sting. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks. It’s almost cruel how soft his voice is. 

You shake your head. His teeth gleam. 

“Please?” He leans closer. “Just one kiss?” 

It’s heartbreaking how sweet the kiss is. Soft, barely touching as he melds his lips with yours. He keeps a hand on your chin, holding you in place before the greed takes over and he ravages you. 

By the time he pulls away, your lips are bitten and bruised.

He sinks lower, face dipping into the skin of your neck as he makes himself home there. It’s laughingly pathetic how weak you were compared to him–how little you fare when he pulls off your shirt, then your shorts. Soon, his clothes join yours, leaving a small puddle of cloth at the foot of your bed. 

He pulls away from your body, looking over the whole of you. 

“Oh, baby.” His eyes are blown out like he’s high. “I…I just wanna do everything to you.” 

You can’t hold back the tears anymore. They drip down your face, sculpting your cheeks. He coos, sinking lower to pepper your face in kisses. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” The excitement in his voice betrays him. “Don’t cry. I won’t do anything bad, I promise.” 

Liar, you want to call him, but you don’t. You can’t. Your throat traps your voice as his fingers delve underneath your panties. 

There’s no tact as he presses into you, immediately filling you up with his finger. Your pussy can barely fit one of him, almost choking when he slips in another. There’s no rhythm, no grace for how fragile you are as he thrusts his fingers deeper and deeper. 

You can barely muffle your cries as he hits a spot deep inside you. 

“See?” he asks, toying with your clit. “Not bad things, right?” 

You don’t answer, barely able to keep the noises in check as he abruptly pulls out of you. His fingers are shiny from your pussy juices. He crudely wipes his fingers on your tits. 

You’ve seen his cock before, but it looks even bigger from this angle. It slaps against your inner thighs as he finishes yanking off your drenched panties. The mushroom-tipped head brushes against your slit. He tosses one of your legs over his shoulder, opening your hole just enough to get his cock in the perfect position. 

The fight comes in too late. You think you’re reaching up to claw at his face, those pretty blue eyes. 

It dies as he bottoms out inside your pussy in one thrust. 

He doesn’t wait for you to settle down; he’s not kind enough for that. As soon as his cock sits as deep as it can into your pussy, he’s immediately moving. Your abused cunt immediately tightens around his cock, almost like you’re trying to suck him back in. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel Satoru collapse on top of you. His head drops into the crook of your neck. You can hear his ragged breaths as he fucks himself deeper and deeper into you. 

“‘need you to relax for me, baby.” He hisses like it’s your fault he can’t control himself. “Can–can barely fit into this cunt.” 

To emphasize his words, he reaches down. There’s a soft slap right on your clit. You yelp. He soothes you with gentle circles with his thumb. 

“Satoru,” you can barely get out from the pressure, “please just stop–” Another smack on your pussy. Harder. 

“Can’t stop.” His breaths are ragged, and his hips shift so he can plow into you at a different angle. “Can’t ever stop. Not when I know how good you feel.” 

There’s a rasp of a laugh as your own noises get louder and louder. Your back arches. Something hot writhes in your belly the more the fucks you. He’s gripping your waist so harshly that you know they’ll leave bruises. 

It’ll pair well with the clawmarks you leave on his back as you arch further into his raw cock. 

There’s a sharp hiss before he’s kissing you again. There’s a harsh thrust that makes you moan directly into his mouth. He reluctantly pulls away, licking the taste of you out of his mouth. 

“I’m so glad I found you.” He tells you, continuing to ram into your pussy. 

“Can’t even imagine how–how someone else would react to you just givin’ yourself to ‘em. Fuck, even thinkin’ about it makes me wanna kill someone.” 

Distantly, you think about all the times you could’ve stopped him. You think about what you could’ve done differently to never cross paths with a man like Gojo Satoru. 

“You’re all for me.” He sighs, leaning close so he’s whispering right in your ear. 

He wants you to hear this right before he makes you cum all over his cock. 

“It’s all you’ll ever be.” 

You're writhing against his cock as he forces you through an earth-shattering orgasm. Your pussy clenches hard around him, milking him for all he’s worth as your climax is reluctantly dragged out of your exhausted body. 

There’s a grunt, then a sigh as something fills you to the brim. His cock pumps his cum steadily into you. There’s so much your poor pussy can’t keep it all inside. It leaks crudely from your hole. 

He stays like that for a minute, breathing you in as you start to come down from your high. Then, Satoru flops to your side, gathering up in your arms. You’re forced to lie against his chest, listening to his quickening heartbeat. 

The anger comes too late to do anything about. 

“I hate you.” You hiss as he continues to cuddle you. “I hate you, I hate you–you sick, twisted–”

“Aw, you don’t gotta’ pretend to be mean with me, pretty girl.” Satoru coos, snuggling into your exhausted figure. You can feel the hard shape of his cock press right against your thigh. 

There’s a chaste kiss on the top of your head. 

“I love you just the way you are.”