KIRIBAKU FIC RECS

Master list!

Here you will find all my stories! I put a read more because it’s pretty long! Enjoy!

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Stray Kids Masterlist

Reactions:

Surprise Visits and Silent Tears: Finding their S/O crying (hurt/comfort, fluff)

Animal Fears: Their S/O's SKZOO phobia (fluff, humor)

Rejected Embraces and Heavy Hearts: Their S/O refusing a hug (angst) -> pt.2: Reconciling Comfort (hurt/comfort, fluff)

Unfiltered Beauty: Their S/O not wearing makeup often (fluff, humor)

Unlocked Trust: The sharing of a phone PIN (humor)

Passionate Attacks: Their S/O suddenly kissing them (suggestive, fluff)

First-Night-Nerves and Quite Moments: First sleepovers (fluff)

Scars of the Past: Finding out their S/O was cheated on in the past (hurt/comfort, fluff)

Anxious Introductions: Their S/O being nervous to meet the members (fluff)

Friendly Fire: Accidently causing their S/O a minor injury (fluff, hurt/comfort, angst-isch)

Sleeves Pulled Back: Their S/O's s/h scars (hurt/comfort, fluff)

Echos of Home: Their S/O not being close with their parents (hurt/comfort, angst-isch fluff)

Reunited Moments: Seeing their S/O after a long time (comfort, fluff)

Sibling Bonds: Skz x Member's sister Scenarios (humor, fluff, angst-isch)

Imagines:

– Bang Chan –

One-Time Special Edition: You not being cuddly changed one morning (fluff)

Ruined for anyone else: "If we ever broke up, I think you ruined me for anyone else" (fluff)

Studio Interruptions: Changbin didn't expect to walk in on an passionate encounter (fluff, humor)

Dreaming of Peaches: He has a dream of little curls and your eyes (fluff)

Laptop Delivery: Practice got a little more eventful thanks to an forgotten laptop (humor, fluff)

A Lap to Nap: He finds peace in your lap, but duty calls him back to the studio (fluff, humor)

Boyfriend Taxi: He thought he was just dropping you off, but now he's meeting your friends (fluff, humor)

Beneath the Midnight Stars: "I didn't want to date, but now you're the one thing holding everything together" (fluff)

Chasing Yesterday: Years after splitting paths, he didn't expect a text to bring an old friend – and old feelings – back into his life pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5 (fluff, 10k)

Hotter Than Expected: How you found out your boyfriend can't handle spicy food (humor, fluff)

– Lee Know –

Aishitemasu: His motivation for studying Japanese might not just be due to the fans (humor, fluff)

Early Bird: While you're still tangled in the sheets, he fills the kitchen with quite affection (fluff)

Feline Approval: How Soonie and he agreed you were the one (fluff)

A Snowy Promise: With his enlistment approaching, he contemplates building a deeper commitment with you (fluff)

Quite Rhythms: As the neighbour's music seeps through the walls, he pulls you close (fluff)

– Han –

Borrowed Warmth: Han didn’t realize the hoodie he grabbed wasn’t his (fluff, humor)

Lyric Stolen, Heart Taken: During your date night, you stumble upon lyrics that feel a little too familiar (fluff)

Soft Nuzzles: Lately, you couldn’t shake the urge to nuzzle into Han’s neck (fuff)

Mornings with You (and low Ceilings): A lazy morning turn hilarious and hardwarming as Han crashed into the ceiling (fluff)

Just One More: Goodbyes always take a little longer thanks to your lovely boyfriend (fluff)

– Seungmin –

Sm x Lee Know's sister (fluff, humor, ~ 10k)

pt.1: Tangled Lines

pt.2: Caught in the Middle

pt.3: Future Hyung-in-Law

pt.4: Chauffeur Duties

pt.5: Puppy Love

Stray Kids Masterlist

Welcome to my Stray Kids Masterlist. Down below you will find everything I’ve written for Stray Kids. Requests for Stray Kids are open!

Main Masterlist

Keep reading

part one. part two. part three. part four.

boxer!sukuna who’s instantly intrigued the first time you two meet. You were passing behind him when you noticed that he’s suffering from a knot in his shoulder. You didn’t hesitate to offer your help even with the evident scowl on his face.

“Can I touch you?” You asked politely with those innocent eyes. How dare he say no to that?

He nods timidly, inhaling a bit when he felt your fingers press onto his skin. You added pressure to deviate the tension on his muscles with such ease that even the current doctor can’t do.

“There, all done!” You smiled at him and walked away as if nothing happened.

He can’t get you out of his mind after that.

boxer!sukuna who learned that you were the new lead doctor of his agency. He’s so confused when you look so unfazed when examining him. The man was 6’8 and made out of muscle, yet you look at him like it’s normal for you to see his men like him all the time. He wants to change that.

boxer!sukuna who intentionally makes himself lose during training and sparring sessions just to have an excuse to see you more.

“You can’t keep doing this Sukuna.” You’re pissed, he can tell by the tone of your voice.

“Doing what?”

“Your next fight’s coming up. You can’t keep getting hurt. I thought you were the best boxer?”

“You distract me when you watch me fight, baby.”

“Don’t do that too.” He raised a brow at your statement.

“I’m your doctor ‘kuna, you can’t flirt with me.”

Then maybe you shouldn’t give me a nickname, he wants to say.

“Can’t help it doc, you’re too pretty.”

boxer!sukuna who going to give his PR team a headache, and the HR a disaster because his interest in you isn’t going away any time soon.

boxer!sukuna who watches you like a hawk when you examine other boxers. He thinks you look so cute when you’re extremely focused. Though sometimes, his jealously streak kicks in. He wants you to focus on him and only him.

boxer!sukuna who flirts with you non-stop even if you try to push him away. He believes that fate brought you to him that day you two met. The poor man is stage five in lovesickness.

boxer!sukuna who’s now suffering from an injury from his last fight that his vision started to become a little blurry. He still won but everyone rushed to attend to him backstage. You in particular, were very worried. Unfortunately, it looks like he needed to be taken to a hospital.

“Don’t pass out on me Sukuna.” Your palm felt so warm and comforting on his cheek.

“If I survive this, let me take you out on a date.” He managed to grin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

He’ll take that as a yes.

Dog Bakugou & Kirishima X Reader

I don't really think I'm allowed to call this a headcannon anymore because of how long it had gotten. It resembles an actual story more but because most of the lines aren't exactly true sentences and everything is described in light to medium detail I'm just going to call it a very VERY long headcannon. I apologize for how long this got but the ideas just kept flowing into my head. I wasn't able to edit this as this took me hours to write already I just didn't want to do it, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes I may have made. But with that said I really do hope you enjoy my story-thing.

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• Bakugou and Kirishima were turned into dogs because of someone's quirk

• On accident though

• It happened when they ran into a lady who was being chased by a dog

• And since her quirk forces whomever she touches to turn into whatever animal she was thinking of the time caused them to turn into dog

• Bakugou is a Pomeranian and Kirishima is a Dutch Shepard

• You being the animal lover you are you volunteered to take care of them

• The quirk user said they'd be stuck like that for probably at least a week as her quirk can stay in affect for a very long time and she was terrified

• The poor lady had a phobia for dogs

• You had gotten permission from the principle to keep them in your dorm to keep them from getting in trouble

• The first couple days were awkward as boundaries were established

• Kirishima settled in fairly quickly but Bakugou obviously didn't want to be there

• DOG HAIR EVERYWHERE

• You didn't exactly know what exactly to feed them since you were sure they didn't exactly want to be fed dog food

• You ended up googling what dogs could eat

• You ended up feeding them meat and whatever vegetable was healthy for a dog

• You had to walk them every morning, before you enter to school and before you went to bed

• After you came back from school you would take them out into the Commons area or sat outside, letting them do as they pleased while you studied

• You had to keep all your notes and make your notes very detailed so when they did turn back they could look at them and understand

• You gave them a lot of affection

• As you still are a big animal person you couldn't help yourself

• Lots of doggy kisses and hugs

• Kirishima didn't mind much and would definitely be up for doggy cuddles and hugs

• He would place his head on your lap, which most times you don't mind but when he lays down on your text book it gets kinda obnoxious

• Bakugou starts biting when you try to give him doggy kisses

• Secretly he likes the attention, especially the hugs

• He'll get jealous when you give a lot of attention to Kirishima but he'd never admit it

• He'd just attack Kirishima to get him away from you

• Lemme tell you, just because he's smol doesn't mean he's not ferocious

• Their quirks are still activated but they're a lot lower of a level

• So expect to get blasted at first from an angry Pomeranian when you try to give love and to get a couple scratches as Kirishima gets use to the new body

• Of course they sleep in the bed with you

• They were still humans at one point and you didn't want to male them sleep on the hard, cold floor

• Kirishima would sleep very close to you, sometimes with his head laying on your chest

• He's a big cuddlerer and of course

• Bakugou would sleep as far away from you and Kiri as he could get

• But in the mornings you'd find him snuggled up to your side and if your laying on your back you'd find him on sleeping on your chest

• You'd smile and softly pet the two until its time to wake up

• Most of the time Bakugou wakes up from the petting, growling and nipping at you, but not moving away from your hand

• There was a time while walking them and a wild German shepard started charging at you from across the street

• How quickly they were able to take it down surprised you

• Before you could react Bakugou launched over the dog and blasted it's back, making it fall on its stomach in what you could only assume was shock

• Before it could get up Kirishima pinned it down in his unbreakable form

• Lemme say it was pretty scary look for a dog and I think the German shepard agreed

• It didn't try to fight, not like it could move Kirishima anyways

• Bakugou stood closely beside you growling and explosions coming from his front paws, damaging the ground

• Who would've thought a small pomeranian could be intimidating

• Both somehow able to shread or completely burn their leash

• You stood in shock for a couple moments before you called animal patrol

• When animal patrol came they were confused on what was happening, animals with quirks? What has thus world come to?

• They started panicking and pulled put their tranquilizer guns, yelling at you to step away from the dogs

• Your face filled with fear and you also started panicking

• You yelled at the people saying that they weren't the problem, and it was a long story

• ... Let's just say you were very late for class as you had to explain the whole story to them to get them to back down

• The fact that the two didn't back down from them either, especially Bakugou, just made things worse

• Aizawa understood though

• Well you thought he did, he could've just not have cared of the reason why, just that you were finally here

• Cause we all know he secretly cares for all of his students, even if he'd never admit it

• Todoroki and Momo were nice enough to lend you their notes for the class you missed

• Not that you asked for Momo's notes but you were grateful none the less

• When you got back to your dorm the boys were sitting by the door and when you opened the door they were immediately at your legs

• Kirishima was sniffing you as if checking to see if you were okay

• Bakugou was just sitting in front of you staring at you intensely

• When you tilted your head and gave him a huh he seemed to lose interest

• He, somehow, scoffed and walked away

• You walked in and looked for their leashes so you could take them for a walk only to remember that they destroyed them earlier that morning

• Groaning, you decided that you had to trust them not to run off

• Though you didn't feel like you could watch both of them at once as they tend to do whatever they want, especially Bakugou

• So you decided that you ask your close friend Todoroki to help watch them

• Granted you knew that Bakugou probably wouldn't enjoy it but you figured if he was to busy thinking of ways to destroy Todoroki he'd be to detracted and stay out of trouble

• So off you went

• Todoroki agreed to help you since he knows how prone you are to bad luck and will most likely end up losing on of the dogs and end up having a panic attack, even when you knew that the two know how to get back to the dorm and you'd stay close to campus for the walk

• Though you ended up enjoying the walk yourself, you had a nice conversation with Todoroki even if he didn't say much, you were use to it, you don't think that Bakugou enjoyed it that much, but Kirishima didn't seem to mind much

• You went back to the dorms and you noticed that Bakugou looked like he was bruting

• And holy crap was it cute

• You picked him up and hugged him, calling him a cutie and saying how adorable he was

• He might have, okay to totally, bit you because of that but it wasn't extremely hard and wasn't unexpected so it didn't affect you that much

• But you did out him down

• After giving him a doggy kiss of course

• You played around with Kirishima for a while

• Also giving him doggy kisses, just a lot more cause he seemed to enjoy them

• You decide it was time to eat and fed then

• You studied for a little while before taking them out for their night walk, this time bringing along Ashido since she wanted to go

• Afterwards you snuggles with the dogs, mostly Kirishima but at least Bakugou was now sleeping closer to you having warmed up to you and the situation

• It has been around 3 weeks since they turned into dogs and you still couldn't tell if they were going to turn back soon or not

• You got that answer when you woke up to a heavy weight on your chest

• You had looked to see what it was and saw a half naked human Bakugou, well mostly human as he still has ears and a tail, laying on your chest in only a pair of boxers

• He'd probably moved there as in his tiny dog form not expecting to transform back into his human-ish form

• You had to push him off so you could breath which woke him up

• And he was not happy

• His yelling woke up Kirishima, who had also turned into a half naked human with dog ears and tail, who was sleeping at your side

• Neither if them realized they turned back until they made eye contact and realized the other had turned

• Kirishima panicked at first while Bakugou kinda celebrated by yelling 'hell yeah'

• They both went back to their rooms to get cleaned and change while you went to go find Mr. Aizawa to tell him they had turned back, kinda

• They both came down to the Commons area a while later

• Both of them looked awkward which was probably because of the tail with the pants

• When the rest of the class saw them they literally started letting them, which they did do when they were dogs but it looked kinda weird now

• Kirishima didn't seem to mind much but Bakugou was PISSED

• Oh he couldn't wait til training so he could kick the crap out of them for this

• Went it came to to start leaving for school you left the dorms, both of them following behind you

• At first they didn't think anything of it but then they realized they were following you like dogs after they saw you looking at them with a raised eyebrow

• Kirishima got flustered and apologized while Bakugou just 'tch'ed and walked ahead of you, though he still stayed relatively close

• You thought you saw a vague glance of blush in his cheeks when he passed by

• They did still follow you around all day though

• You got so many weird looks

• I mean they would have gotten weird looks because of the ears and tail but because they were following you around it made it look like you had two dogs by your side and you were their master

• While that technically was the case before, it doesn't matter right now

• They even followed you to your room after school

• You gave them the weirdest look when they were still behind you went you tried to enter your room

• They scattered to their own room pretty quickly

• A couple hours latter though you hear a knock on your door that interrupts you from cleaning the dog hair that was LITERALLY EVERYWHERE and went to go answer it

• Kirishima was at the door asking you to help him with the notes from class you took for them

• You agreed and helped him study

• You were studying for about an hour before your door swung open and Bakugou walked in, no knocking or anything, just waltzes right in

• He freezes for a second when he sees you and Kirishima at the desk together

• He growls quietly before walking over to your bed and laying down

• You ask what he need and he just grunts, not even looking in your direction and pulls out his phone and starts doing whatever in it

• You sit there confused for a second before deciding to ignore him for the time being

• You continue to help Kirishima with his work

• You made really good progress with Kirishima before you decided to head to bed

• Only to notice Bakugou was still on your bed, his eyes lazily drooping, focusing in and out if whatever he was looking at

• You stand over your bedside staring at him until he finally acknowledges you

• You ask him why he's still here and tells him that he should go to his room if he's so tired

• You gives no response, only stating at you before suddenly grabbing you and pulling you onto your bed

• You give a light screech at this

• You end up on your back with Bakugou laying his head on your chest

• You ask what he was doing and he only tells you to shut up and that this was your fault

• You were going to ask what he was talking about when you noticed Kirishima staring at you from your desk

• He was giving you puppy eyes, whether they were intentional or not you didn't know

• You sigh and realize that he want to join and sleep with you like he's been doing for the last couple weeks (stop it you impure children, I didn't mean it like that)

• You swing your free arm out towards him, telling him is was okay to join on the bed

• His eyes might up and his ears perk up and his tail wags

• Which was cute AF

• You stop him right before he reaches you

• He gives you sad and confused eyes, he ears and tail dropping

• Your heartbreaks at this and you tell him that it's okay and that you just want him to turn off the lights

• He starts beaming again and quickly turns off the lights and joins you on the bed

• He snuggles to your side just like he did when he was a dog

• Sleeping like this became a regular occurrence for a little while

• But it slowly stopped becoming a thing, especially when the tail and ears finally disappeared and the clingy dog nature left their body

• You still hung out a lot though

• Your room had become a normal hangout spot for you three and they would still sometimes follow your around

• The latter mostly being Kirishima as Bakugou was would be in front of you two

• Expect your privacy and free time to be almost gone cause either of them, or both, will just show up outside your door at random time, of barge in depending on which of the two we're talking about

• You three almost always study together nowadays and they started to train with you whenever you decided to

• They gave great tips tbh

• The protectiveness over you as their caretaker when they were dogs changed into protectiveness over you as a friend

• (Or maybe something more, idk I haven't thought if I want a part two yet)

• So whenever your in any sort of trouble they'd either be close by or show up very quickly after a call or text

Bonus:

• YOU STILL FIND DOG HAIR IN RANDOM PLACES AROUND YOUR ROOM

• It's like the hair will forever haunt that room

• But you don't regret it

• Cause having to deal with dog hair was worth it to have had the two bestest dogs in the world with you

• And you'd do it again

Fell Sans X Reader: Never Leave on a Bad Note

Warning: short angsty headcannon

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• Pappy and Fell have gotten into a fight

• This is normal but this ones seems to be worse than the others

• Sans stormed off to his room and didn't come out until the afternoon of the next day

• You thought it would be better to let sans cool off

• Sans and pappy get into another fight and sans ended up leaving the house

• He didn't return till the next day

• You tried to confront him about it but he ignored you

• No matter what you did for him, he ignored you

• When you confronted him about this he yelled at you

• Saying you were being nothing but a nuisance

• After that he left the house again, leaving you there shocked

• When sans returned you weren't there

• He thought you were out doing something so he thought nothing of it

• He thought something of it when you didn't return home the next day

• He asked pappy were you went

• He said you left after he yelled at you

• Sans decided to go out and look for you

• He couldn't find you do he went to alphys for help

• Alphys told him you went to Asgore

• That you wanted to break the barrier

• This scared Sans and he telported to the judgement hall

• From there he ran into the throne room

• There was a big door open and it was glowing

• It was the barrier

• When Sans enter through the door he finds you and Asgore

• Well more like Asgore trying to extract your soul so he could combine it with the others

• Sans shouted your name, you turned your head

• You smiled at him, with a tear streaked face

• Your body fell to the ground

• Sans ran up to you, your body was becoming cold, your soul was leaving your body

• Sans asked why, why you did it, all while crying

• You explained how you didn't want to be a nuisance anymore but you wanted your death to have some value

• Sans said you weren't a nuisance, he was just mad

• You smiled at him once more

• Bring your head up you press your lips to his teeth

• Your body falls limp

• That day the barrier was broken

• The monsters were set free

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝

Pairing: vampire!Felix x afab!reader, strangers to potential lovers, vampire au

synopsis: to prove that you are once again always the brave one, you take one a dare. But meeting a cursed attractive vampire wasn't part of the deal.

Warnings: blood, angst?, curses, Felix falls in love easily (esp. with blood), but hes a meanie, dead people

A/n: this was a request made a while ago by a beautiful angel that I can't remember..but I know it was a request 😔 I'm sorry love! Please enjoy the story as it's my first time writing a supernatural au even though it's not my type. If you have extra eyes for errors, no you don't.

It all started with a bonfire and a bottle of cheap vodka.

The night was unusually cold for early autumn, and the wind that howled through the trees felt almost like whispers brushing against the skin. The fire cracked in the center of the clearing, surrounded by seven dare-hungry souls seeking thrills in a town where nothing exciting ever happened. Except for the one thing no one dared talk about—except in jest, when the alcohol flowed and the night felt invincible. The abandoned mansion at the edge of Marrow’s Hollow.

“It’s just an old ruin,” one of the boys, Devin, said, passing the bottle. “Creepy? Sure. Haunted? Nah. You’d die of boredom before any ghost got you.”

“But people have died there,” Margo whispered, her voice trembling just enough to sound like a challenge rather than fear. “Five kids from Cresthill went in last year. Never came back.”

“Because they ran off to the city. Typical runaway story,” someone laughed, brushing it off.

Then came the dare. Drunk on adrenaline, firelight, and fermented courage.

“Y/N,” Margo grinned, eyes glittering in the dark. “You’re always bragging about how brave you are. How about you prove it?”

Y/N raised a brow, the fire’s glow casting sharp shadows across her face. “Oh? And how exactly do I do that?”

“Spend the night in the mansion.”

The group erupted in shocked laughter, some clapping, others gasping, but all eyes were now on her.

“You’re kidding,” she scoffed. “That place is sealed off.”

“Nope,” Devin replied, digging into his backpack and pulling out a rusted old key. “Found this in my grandpa’s shed. He was a cop back when the town tried to shut the place down. This opens the back gate.” The air shifted then. Like something had turned to listen.

“The rules are simple,” Margo continued. “Go inside before midnight. Stay until sunrise. No phone. Just you, your flashlight, and whatever you find inside.” Everyone expected her to say no.

But Y/N smirked, heart racing with the thrill of being challenged. “Fine. I’ll go.”

None of them knew she’d return with eyes wide, blood on her leg, and a name carved into her skin.

Felix.

She packed her bag as the sun dipped below the hills, smearing the sky in shades of bruised violet and blood-orange. No phone—part of the dare. They claimed it was cheating, that the spirits “didn’t like tech.” Instead, Y/N grabbed a flashlight, a small notebook, two protein bars, a lighter, a flask of water, and a silver pocketknife she didn’t usually carry. Just in case. Her heart thundered like a drum, but her face remained calm, stoic. She’d accepted the dare. She wasn’t backing out. By the time she reached the edge of Marrow’s Hollow, the sky had turned black, and the wind carried the sharp scent of decaying leaves and something fouler, metallic, damp, like blood soaked into ancient wood. Her boots crunched over dried twigs and gravel as the path narrowed, twisting through skeletal trees that clawed at her jacket like they wanted to drag her back.

The mansion loomed in the distance like a corpse propped upright. Gothic spires stabbed the sky, and its shattered windows stared outward like blind, furious eyes. The iron gates stood crooked, rusted with time and something darker. Moss clung to the stone fence that wrapped around the property like a noose.

That’s when she saw them.

The graves.

Dozens no, hundreds of them. Scattered around the mansion in irregular rows, half-swallowed by the overgrown earth. Some headstones were cracked down the middle, others too weathered to read, and some… disturbingly fresh. The dirt on a few was still unsettled, as if the earth hadn’t finished claiming what was inside. Her breath caught in her throat as she counted at least seven graves marked only by wooden stakes, their surfaces smeared with what looked like dried crimson.

She swallowed.

“Just theatrics,” she muttered to herself. “Someone’s sick idea of a prank.”

The beam of her flashlight trembled as her hand shook, breath shallow, every instinct screaming to turn back—but she forced herself to step further into the mansion. The air inside was colder, as though the house itself had forgotten what warmth felt like. The scent of mildew, rotting wood, and something iron-like clung to her lungs, thick and suffocating.

Her footsteps echoed through the empty, crumbling foyer. A grand staircase loomed ahead, shrouded in shadow, its once-elegant banister now splintered and dark. She panned the flashlight upward, slowly.

That’s when she saw it.

Hanging upside down like some twisted bat from the rafters, a figure motionless. Pale skin, platinum-blond hair matted with streaks of red, arms hanging limp, face partially obscured by the tangled mess of bloodstained mesh fabric. At first, she thought it was a corpse strung up in some sick ritual. But then—the light caught his face.

She didn’t scream.

Not yet.

His eyes snapped open.

Crimson.

Not the dull, dead kind of red, but burning like fire and fury trapped behind his irises. Y/N gasped, the sound too loud in the dead silence of the house. Then he moved. In one fluid, inhumanly fast motion, the figure dropped from the ceiling—landing directly in front of her with a soundless grace that chilled her blood.

She screamed and fell backward, scrambling on the cold, dusty floor. Her flashlight clattered away, spinning wild beams of light across the walls. Her hands scraped against jagged floorboards as she kicked herself back until her spine slammed into the wall behind her.

Trapped. Frozen. He was crouched in front of her now, head tilted slightly, hair casting jagged shadows across his face. His mouth curled slowly into a smirk, fangs glinting in the dim light, and he leaned in—too close.

“Why did you come here?” he whispered, voice like velvet dipped in danger.

And Y/N… couldn’t speak. He was crouched in front of her like a predator—still, coiled, every inch of him humming with danger. His head tilted slowly to the side, platinum hair falling messily across one glowing eye, the other hidden in shadow. His lips curled into something that might have been a smile… if it weren’t so cruel.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low and velvety, but with an edge like a blade dragged across bone. “This place doesn’t welcome the living.”

Y/N’s mouth was dry, her chest heaving. She could barely form words. “I—I was dared… I didn’t think it was real. I didn’t think you were real.” He leaned in, so close now she could see the blood dried along his jawline, the faint twitch of his lip as if the word ‘dare’ had amused him in some feral, irritated way.

“A dare?” His voice deepened, colder. “You risked your life because some idiot told you to? For fun?”

Her breath caught as he rose, standing over her now. “Leave. While you still have your limbs attached,” he growled. “Or stay, and regret it for however long I let you live.”

She stared up at him, trembling but unmoving. Her body was screaming to run—but her heart refused. Something in her, deep and stubborn, latched onto the way his voice wavered on the edge of warning and loneliness. She could’ve crawled away. But she didn’t.

“No,” she whispered.

Silence. The air thickened around them like molasses. His eyes narrowed, burning red. Then—pain. Sharp and sudden. He dug his nails into her thigh, not just pressing but sinking in—deep enough to tear through her jeans and into flesh. She cried out, her back arching from the wall, her hands scrabbling at his wrist in shock and agony.

“Do you want to die?” he snarled, voice close to her ear now. “Or are you just this stupid?”

Tears welled in her eyes from the pain, but still—she shook her head. “I just… I couldn’t leave. Not yet.”

His expression flickered something dangerous, but almost curious. He stared at her a long time, then slowly removed his hand, his fingers now painted in her blood. He brought them up, inspecting the crimson smeared on his skin with idle interest.

“Not yet?” he echoed, voice low, dangerous.

Y/N winced as she sat up straighter against the cold wall, her hands trembling against the floor. “I-I have to stay the night. That was the dare. I can’t leave until sunrise.” At that, the vampire actually chuckled.

A dark, guttural sound slipped from his throat, followed by a slow shake of his head as he crouched again in front of her this time more relaxed, his elbows resting on his knees. “You humans are so entertaining,” he drawled, tone thick with sarcasm. “Stay the night? What is this, some sadistic version of hide-and-seek?”

She didn’t answer.

He leaned in, eyes flicking downward and that’s when he saw it. Blood. A slow, lazy smile stretched across his lips, revealing just a hint of fang. “Oh…” he purred, as if delighted by a surprise dessert, “You're bleeding.”

Y/N followed his gaze in horror to the gash on her thigh—right where he’d dug his nails in earlier. It was deeper than she’d realized. Crimson soaked through the fabric of her pants, trailing in a warm line down her skin.

He didn’t ask permission.

He slid forward smoothly, his hand gripping her injured leg—firm, cold, and possessive. Before she could pull away, his head dipped low. His lips met her thigh, and she gasped—whether in pain or shock, she didn’t know. His tongue traced the blood in a slow, deliberate motion, warm and terrifyingly intimate. A groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating against her skin.

“Sweet,” he murmured. “So very… sweet.”

Y/N’s heart thudded violently in her chest, panic twisting with something else, something she didn’t want to name. She finally found her voice, strained and fragile. “W-Who are you…?”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, licking the remaining blood from his bottom lip, the tip of his fang glinting in the dim light. “You don’t know who I am?” he asked finally, voice hushed, but heavy with something ancient and cruelly patient. His crimson gaze locked with hers.

“Felix,” he said, his voice low, intimate. “The thing that haunts this house. The monster they warned you about.”

He leaned in closer, his lips nearly brushing her ear.

“And darling… you just walked into my cage.”

Felix didn’t pull away completely. He stayed close, crouched like a predator who wasn’t done playing with its prey. “You want to know how I became this?” he asked suddenly, his voice lower, weightier. His eyes didn’t glow as brightly now. There was something old in them—haunted, even.

Y/N swallowed hard but nodded.

He leaned back slightly, hands resting on his thighs. “A curse,” he said simply. “From someone I trusted. Loved.” He tilted his head, lips curling into a bitter smile. “She didn’t like that I left her. So she took everything from me. My soul. My time. My death. Gave me this… thirst instead.” His nails idly traced a line on the dusty wooden floor. “She said I’d rot in this mansion forever—feeding, waiting, watching. Everyone who comes through here ends up in the ground.” He glanced at her then, eyes flicking to the window, to the graves just beyond the overgrown glass.

“I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to come in.”

Y/N kept her face as neutral as she could, though her heart was hammering in her chest.

She breathed in shakily, brushing her hair back from her face. “Well, I didn’t come for you,” she muttered. “I came to explore the house.” Felix blinked, stunned for a second then broke into a low, amused laugh. He stood slowly, fluid and graceful, brushing the dust from his pants. “That so?” he said. “And here I thought I was the main attraction.”

He stepped back, letting the distance grow between them. “Go on then,” he said, voice still rich with mocking humor. “Explore.”

Y/N’s leg throbbed, the cut still fresh. She gathered her bag and stood, wincing as she tested her weight on the wounded limb. The stairs loomed ahead, worn and shadowed. She took a step. Felix’s voice drifted behind her, casual. “Need help limping, sweetheart?”

“No,” she bit out, without looking back.

Her hand gripped the railing, jaw clenched as she pulled herself up step by step, trying not to let him see the pain with every movement. She was determined, stubborn, stupid she knew all of it. But she wasn’t going to run. Not yet. The stairs creaked under her weight. She could hear his footsteps below but when she turned, he wasn’t there. She took another step.

He was suddenly behind her—no sound, no warning—his breath ghosting the back of her neck. She spun around, startled, but he had already vanished again.

“Ghosts aren’t the only ones who haunt,” his voice echoed faintly from the upstairs corridor.

She gritted her teeth and kept walking. Room after room stretched out before her each one dust-covered, untouched by time yet heavy with it. Cobwebs swayed in the cold air. Mirrors were cracked and warped. A child's doll sat in a corner, its porcelain face fractured like it had screamed too long.

And every time she stepped into a room… he was there. By the window. On the ceiling. In the reflection of a broken mirror. Watching and following.

She tried to pretend she didn’t see him. Tried to act like the shadows weren’t moving with him. But her fingers trembled on the edge of the doorframe as she entered the master bedroom. She whispered to herself, more for courage than belief.

“I’m just here to explore the house…”

A deep chuckle echoed from the wall.

“Keep telling yourself that, little lamb.”

The room she finally settled in was at the end of a long corridor its once grand double doors hung slightly ajar, one barely hanging onto its hinges. The air inside was thick, still, like it hadn’t been stirred in decades. Dust swirled in lazy circles through the beam of her flashlight as she hobbled in, limping more heavily now. She didn’t care. Her thigh burned with each step, but her body was too exhausted to keep moving.

The room had a tattered armchair near the fireplace, a velvet couch that had long since given in to mold, and faded wallpaper that peeled at the corners. Moonlight filtered in through shattered glass, casting silver puddles across the wooden floor.

Y/N slumped into the armchair with a pained sigh, letting her head fall back. Her fingers grazed the torn fabric of her jeans where his nails had sliced her earlier. It was still bleeding. Dull, hot pain flared through her nerves, but she welcomed it. It meant she was still alive.

Still human.

She didn’t hear him enter, but she knew. The air shifted. Warmer. Closer. She opened her eyes, and sure enough Felix was there, lounging across the arm of the ruined couch like he’d been waiting for her all along. His boots were kicked up, his dark eyes locked onto her, lazy but alert.

“Done exploring already?” he teased.

“Shut up,” she muttered, leaning her head against the chair’s backrest. “I’m bleeding and tired.”

He smirked. “You should’ve left when you had the chance.”

“I already told you. I’m not going anywhere.”

A beat passed. Silence, except for the ticking of an old grandfather clock down the hall.

“Do you ever get bored?” she asked suddenly. Her voice was softer now, tired but curious. “I mean… being here. Alone.” His smirk faded just slightly. “Sometimes.”

“You have friends?” she asked, tilting her head to look at him. Felix’s gaze shifted to the ceiling, then back to her. “I did. Once. But time… time isn’t kind. Not to mortals. Not to memories.”

There was something sad beneath his words something that slipped between the cracks of his usual sarcasm. Y/N let the silence stretch again before speaking. “I had a brother,” she said quietly. “He used to dare me into dumb things like this. Climb towers. Break into abandoned schools. He died a few years ago.”

Felix didn’t say anything. He just watched her, expression unreadable now.

“I guess I kept doing it. The dares. The exploring. Because I didn’t want to forget the rush.”

He leaned forward slightly, interested now, his elbows resting on his knees. “And vampires,” she said, a breath of a laugh in her voice, “I always thought they were… I don’t know. Lonely. Tragic. Kind of romantic in a twisted way.”

His head tilted slowly. “Romantic?” he echoed, something sharp glittering in his eyes. She nodded. “Yeah. There’s something sad and beautiful about someone who can live forever but never really live again. Always hungry. Always chasing something they can’t have.”

Felix didn’t move for a long moment. Then he rose slowly, his movements fluid, predatory.

“You’re strange,” he said quietly, stepping toward her. “Most people scream. Cry. Beg me not to kill them. And you… sit here bleeding, talking about tragic romance.” She watched him approach, heart thudding loud in her chest, but she didn’t flinch. Not this time. He crouched in front of her, his face close to hers again.

“Careful,” he whispered. “You’re starting to sound like someone I might like.” And though every instinct told her to be terrified, something in her stirred drawn in, caught in the storm of his presence.

She didn’t look away. “Maybe that’s the problem,” she whispered back.

The silence between them grew heavier. Not awkward—no, something more dangerous than that. It pulsed in the air like a heartbeat, slow and charged. Y/N shifted in the armchair, the dull ache in her thigh impossible to ignore, but what really unsettled her was the way Felix was watching her now. His eyes weren’t just curious anymore they were hungry.

His tongue ran along the sharp edge of his teeth, deliberate and slow. “Do you want me to take care of that wound?” Her breath hitched. The question lingered in the air, heavy with implication.

“You mean like… disinfect it?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

He tilted his head, a crooked smirk playing on his lips. “Not exactly.” There was a long pause. Her heart pounded against her ribs, but then she nodded small, cautious. “Okay.”

His smile deepened, something dark and pleased glinting in his crimson gaze. “You’re brave. Or reckless.” He crossed the room with a smooth, predatory grace and knelt before her. Without asking, his fingers ghosted over her torn jeans. Then, with a soft rip, he tugged at the fabric, exposing more of her thigh. The skin was slick with blood, the wound still fresh and tender. She winced, but didn’t pull away.

His lips hovered above the gash.

“This might sting,” he murmured, almost like a tease. Then his tongue touched her skin.

It was warm. Slow. Precise. He licked up the blood in gentle, deliberate strokes like he was savoring every drop. His hands anchored her leg, firm but not painful. And when he moaned softly against her flesh, she shivered. “God,” he whispered, pulling back just enough to look up at her. “You taste sweet. Like dusk and danger.”

Her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were glowing brighter now, pupils blown wide with something that looked disturbingly close to desire. And still, he didn’t move away.

He stared at her, lips stained crimson. Then his voice dropped, lower, almost pained. “You should stay away from me, you know.” She blinked, lips parting to ask why, but he spoke first—his voice raw, quiet, like a confession.

“Because if you don’t… I’m going to fall in love with you.”

Y/N’s heart stopped.

Before she could say a word, Felix stood, licking the last trace of blood from his thumb. His eyes lingered on her for a second longer searching, maybe hoping she’d stop him. But she didn’t. And he was gone. The door creaked shut behind him, and she was left alone, her wound clean, her pulse racing, and her mind echoing with the words she hadn’t expected to hear from the monster in the mansion.

…

The room was warm when Y/N stirred, the kind of warmth that only sunlight could bring the soft kind that seeps through worn-out curtains and brushes against the skin like a memory. She blinked slowly, her lashes fluttering, head heavy and sore. For a moment, she forgot where she was. Then the dull pain in her thigh reminded her.

She sat up, realizing she was no longer in the chair from last night. She was on a bed now, tucked beneath a thick, dusty quilt that smelled faintly of old wood and faint cologne. Her eyes darted around the room. The lamp was off. Her bag was still against the wall. But the window to the side was cracked open, golden light pouring in. The sun had risen.

She gasped and threw the covers off, adrenaline kicking in.

“I overslept—damn it,” she muttered, quickly limping to her things and throwing everything into her backpack with shaky hands. Her heart was racing not just from panic, but from everything that had happened. The wound on her leg was bandaged now—probably by him—and she didn’t know how to process the fact that a vampire had basically confessed to her hours ago.

As she zipped her bag shut, a voice from the darkest corner of the room, cloaked in shadow, interrupted her.

“You’re in a rush,” Felix said softly.

She startled, turning to the voice. The far corner was untouched by the sun’s rays, but his silhouette was unmistakable leaning against the wall, arms crossed, as if he’d been standing there for a while.

“How long have you been there?” she asked, breath catching.

He shrugged lazily, one brow lifted. “Since before you started dreaming. You talk in your sleep, you know.” Her cheeks flushed despite herself. “I didn’t mean to sleep in,” she said quickly, strapping her bag on. “I need to get going.” She turned to leave, but something about his silence made her pause. She glanced back and that’s when she noticed it.

He looked… sad. Not dramatically so. Just the subtle downturn of his lips, the slight slump of his shoulders, the way his eyes didn’t quite meet hers. It was the kind of sadness that came quietly, like a bruise blooming under the skin.

“I was just starting to love you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She froze. It wasn’t said with charm or seduction. It was said like it hurt to admit like every time he let himself feel, the wound from his past reopened. She turned fully, letting her bag fall from her shoulder, and stepped closer into the shade.

He looked different in the dark. The edge to him was softer, the menace stripped away. She hadn’t seen him fully before not like this. His skin was pale but not lifeless, like marble kissed with moonlight. His hair, tousled and shadow-drenched, framed his face like a halo of ink. And his eyes—those haunting red eyes—weren’t glowing now. They were watching her quietly, searching. She reached out, touching the sleeve of his shirt gently. “You say that like it’s a curse,” she said.

He gave a dry smile. “That’s because it is.”

Her breath hitched. Her fingers brushed his wrist, just barely, and still he didn’t pull away. He looked down at where she touched him, then back up at her face—taking her in like he was trying to memorize her.

“You really have to leave?” he asked, voice low.

She hated herself for saying it. The words slipped past her lips before she could stop them, fragile and foolish and far too human.

“I’ll come visit,” she whispered, eyes not quite meeting his. “Every other day… if you want.”

Felix didn’t answer at first. His red eyes remained unreadable, shadowed by the darkness of the corner he stood in. But the silence stretched, heavy and uncertain. Finally, he let out a low, dry laugh—one that barely sounded amused.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” she insisted, taking a step closer, heart hammering painfully in her chest. “I don’t break promises.” His eyes narrowed slightly, scanning her face for a hint of insincerity. Whatever he found, it seemed to shake him a little. His shoulders relaxed. Just a bit.

“I never got your name,” he said, quietly.

She blinked, realizing she never told him. “It’s Y/N.”

He repeated it softly under his breath, like tasting it on his tongue. Then he moved slow, deliberate, and with the kind of grace that didn’t belong to anything human. He stepped out of the shadows, careful not to touch the spill of sunlight on the floor. When he reached her, he stopped just a breath away. His hand came up, ghosting against her cheek before he leaned in and pressed his lips to it. A kiss; soft and fleeting but it lingered like heat.

When he pulled back, he hovered there, his lips close to hers. Close enough to feel her breath stutter against his mouth. His gaze dropped to her lips, then lifted back to her eyes, searching.

He didn’t want to overstep. Not after everything. Not when he wasn’t sure if she truly meant what she said.

So, he leaned in… slowly. Hesitant. Shy. A boy hiding beneath a monster’s skin.

And Y/N… Y/N closed the distance. Their lips met gently, mouths molding together like they were made for this one moment in time. It was cautious at first, full of question and fear, but it didn’t stay that way. Her hands gripped the fabric of his shirt, and he angled his head slightly, deepening the kiss with a hunger that had nothing to do with blood.

When he kissed her jaw, she tilted her head, giving him space. His lips found her neck.

She gasped softly as he trailed slow, reverent kisses down the side of her throat, each one more possessive than the last. When he found the spot just above her pulse, her breath hitched, and his lips paused there.

He inhaled sharply, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. Her blood sang to him.

His fangs throbbed with temptation. His hands tightened on her hips. But he pulled away just in time. He turned his face from her neck, lips parted, a shiver of restraint trembling through him.

“You need to go,” he said hoarsely, his voice thick with longing. “Now… before I forget how to be gentle.”

His eyes glowed faintly, raw with emotion and desire. And he stepped back into the safety of the shadows, watching her like a secret he was too afraid to keep.

“I’ll come back,” she promised again, softer this time, as if saying it any louder might break whatever fragile thing had just formed between them.

Felix didn’t respond right away. He stood a few steps behind her in the dim shadows of the mansion’s doorway, the place where the light ended and he could no longer follow. His red eyes were softer now, less hungry, less dangerous just… quietly watching her like he didn’t want to forget what she looked like. Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned away from him. Her legs still ached, the memory of pain clinging to her thigh, but she didn’t look back just yet. She didn’t trust herself to.

The wooden door creaked as she pushed it open, a harsh contrast to the soft silence behind her. Sunlight greeted her like a slap—too bright, too warm—reminding her she was back in the world that made sense. She stepped outside and paused on the stone steps of the mansion, the cold air brushing against her skin. Then slowly so slowly she turned around.

The building loomed behind her, still and ancient, its windows like tired, sun-dulled eyes. The vines clinging to the stone looked like veins frozen in place, and the old wood creaked under the wind’s touch. And there he was. Felix stood in the shadows, just behind the doorway, his form half-ghosted by the dark. He didn’t speak. He didn’t wave. He just watched her his head tilted ever so slightly, as if he was memorizing her all over again. There was something vulnerable in his stillness, like a statue that longed to move.

She offered him one last look, her eyes lingering on his, before finally, reluctantly, turning away.

Her footsteps were slow at first, each one echoing against the cracked stone path that led back to the world. Then, quicker. Further. Her heart pulled back with every step, but she didn’t stop.

And Felix… he stayed at the threshold, his fingers curled around the edge of the doorframe like he wanted to follow but couldn’t.

Not yet. Not in the sunlight. Not in the world she belonged to.

…

When YN finally reached the edge of town and stumbled through the gates of her dorm, the weight of the mansion still heavy on her, she was immediately met with wide eyes and frantic voices.

“YN?! Oh my God—what the hell—where were you?”

“You actually went through with it?”

“Are you okay? You’re bleeding!”

The voices of her friends swirled around her like a whirlwind. Arms guided her inside, and she was gently eased onto the common room couch, blankets thrown over her shoulders, questions raining down before she could even catch her breath.

She winced. “Guys, I’m fine—seriously.”

“Fine? You look like you just crawled out of a horror movie,” one of them said, pointing at the tear in her pants and bandaged wound. They demanded answers.

“What did you see in there?”

“Was the mansion really haunted?”

“Did something attack you?”

Y/N’s lips parted, her throat dry. She could still feel Felix’s lips brushing her neck, the ghost of his voice in her ear, the aching sweetness of his presence. But she couldn’t tell them that. They’d never believe her.

So she lied, believably.

“There were... graves,” she started, voice low and steady. “Dozens of them, some old, some more recent. The place is completely overgrown. Windows shattered, furniture still inside, like everyone left in a hurry.” Her friends leaned in.

“I think I tripped on one of the broken floorboards. It was dark I didn’t have a good flashlight. I cut my leg on something… maybe glass or rusted wood. I panicked, stayed in one of the rooms till sunrise, then came back.” They stared at her, wide-eyed.

“You stayed the night there alone?” Margo whispered, half in awe, half in horror.

She gave a small shrug, eyes lowered. “I didn’t really have a choice.”

None of them questioned her further not about the wound, not about the strange tiredness in her eyes, not about the way she kept glancing toward the window as if expecting someone or something to be there, watching.

She never mentioned Felix. Not his name. Not his eyes. Not his curse. That part... was hers alone.

@pixie-felix @pessimisticloather @necrozica @sh0dor1 @leeknow-minho2 @jitrulyslayyed @igotajuicyass @bbokvhs @katyxstay @maisyyyyyy @day138 @katchowbbie @imeverycliche @yoongiismylove2018 @morkleesgirl @rockstarkkami @alisonyus @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @lillymochilover @idol-dream-catcher @iknow-uknow-leeknow @maxidential @ebnabi @ari-hwanggg @rossy1080 @hanniebunch @tricky-ritz

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~kc 💗

𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄 ⚜

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒. jester!Gojo x lady!Reader, historical AU – medieval, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, banter, eventual smut [MDNI], dubcon, loss of vírginity, ôrgasm denial, overstimúlation, edgīng, glove used as makeshift gag, böndage, Gojo talks you through it, fíngering, cûnnilíngus, finger sucking, cúm swallowing, sqûírting, exhibítionísm, voyeûrísm, crëampîe, table séx, library séx, couch séx, pantry séx, balcony séx, ridíng, máting press, sorta fwb, arranged marriage, angst (w/ implied happy ending), forbidden love, etc etc

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 16.2k

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. thank you for 4k cuties!! accept this as a gift, sorta, idk, this was actually a request; also, this was my first time writing for Gojo, and . . . NEVER again, i tell you. i shan't write for this man EVER again *wipes tears* i'm way more used to writing the big bad wolf Sukuna // available on ao3 // dividers by @/aquazero

Jesters could do many things.

They could dance and sing and laugh. They could read through your deepest fears, your desires, your wants, and exploit them—all in the name of fun. They could write poems, tell tales, play songs; but beneath all their cunning smiles, hidden under their costume and glory, all jesters were but men. Pigs of mud; scum of the earth. Mortals; males; humans.

All jesters were men—plain, stupid men—but not Gojo Satoru.

Not your Gojo Satoru.

No, he was different: he was a piece of shit. In the beginning, at least.

Now, originally, he was a slave—captured from the raidings of a nearby kingdom and thrown into the dungeons. It was unfortunate, really, and you pitied him. But not everyone did. At first, many royal advisors of the king’s court opted for throwing the young boy into a brothel, because they took one good look at his sea-blue eyes, and decided he would be extremely successful for the kingdom as an escort.¹ But, luckily, the king saw wit and potential in the kid, and, instead of throwing him into a brothel, threw him right into the royal court, where he served, from then on, as a jester.

¹ Prostitute.

He was only fourteen when he earned his role as a professional entertainer, and only, still, fourteen when he escaped eternal damnation as a slave.

‘Twas the lives of boys like him, Gojo was just lucky enough to be a pretty boy.

Not like that was relevant, anyway. Because, although he was four years your junior, he still managed to cause twice as much trouble compared to the average toddler. He was a jester, sure, but he was more than just mockery and tomfoolery. He played pranks even during the most serious occasions, and teased the ladies of the royal court endlessly.

Crude, deviant jokes.

Twisted mind games.

Insults vile enough to bring tears down the victim’s eyes.

He did it all, with little to no remorse. Actually, scratch that, no remorse—none, at all.

Gojo Satoru was a mischievous kid, probably the most mischievous jester of the kingdom. He joked around and teased just about everyone, but he directed most of his obscenities towards you. All six years he had been at the castle, the castle where you resided at as a lady, he was nothing but a menace to you. A bully, if you could even say that.

He pulled your hair, laughed in your face at your evident frustration, occasionally stepped on the trains of your dresses, stole food from your plates, and often dared to interrupt your conversations with other ladies you had befriended at the castle. You did not like Gojo, not one bit.

The only time you had ever felt an emotion lacking loathing towards the now twenty-year-old was when you became acquainted at his first appearance in the royal court. When he was brought in before the king, who sat solemnly on his throne, Gojo did not want to live. His parents had been murdered, house had been ransacked, and old life destroyed. You could not blame him. But the king offered him a new life, a life as a jester.

Gojo was fourteen years old; he was alone, cold, hungry, and he decided to start anew.

Perhaps the reason Gojo was so skilled at being an entertainer was because the only way the boy had ever learned how to cope with his misfortunes was with humor. He masked his sorrows every day he sang and danced and joked with the royal court, and maybe—maybe the reason why he poked fun at you the most often was . . . because you were the only one who noticed.

He was a talented man, but his talents were directed towards rather foolish acts. He wrote and played ballads dedicated to poking and making fun of you. He plucked his instruments as annoyingly and horridly as humanly possible just to rile you up and see you either storm out the room in rage or struggle to hold yourself back from slapping his smug smile right off his impossibly handsome face. Besides music, he also wrote poems: poems full of love and poems full of hate (more often than not, pointed to you).

There was not a word in the language you spoke that could describe how much you loathed hearing Gojo’s irritatingly smooth voice or the sound of his lute.²

² An instrument.

You were practically seething right now, as you were sharing gossip with the other ladies over your usage of embroidery as a pastime, because the only gossip you could hear was the horrible plucking of strings in the other room. It seemed you were the only one bothered by the noise. Damned was that silver-haired oaf, you silently cursed to yourself, fingers twitching whilst you interlaced your thread.

“Agnes, dear, you know, I hear there shall be a festival during the spring times,” began a red-haired woman, otherwise known as Bridgette. She was a built woman, and was taller than most of your fellow ladies. She married, became widowed, and was now alone, though she was still jolly. You wondered if your future would be the same. “In the villages, of course.”

“Oh?” Agnes asked, coughing. “Do tell.”

The eldest woman of the room, Bridgette, began relaying all the information she possessed from overhearing maidservants in their respective corridors to Lady Agnes, a raven-haired, arguably sickly thin woman. Agnes was perhaps one of your closest friends at the castle, and you had known of her since the two of you were but adolescents. She liked spring festivals, because the smell of florals always brought the color back to her pale, sunken face.

“It will be a delight, I’m sure. After all, all festivals are delights. Say, Eleanor,” added Bridgette, as she turned her rosy-cheeked face to the blonde woman sitting just beside you, “have you heard any more about the ball from any of the chevaliers³?”

³ Knights.

“Oh, I—yes . . . I remember, the ball, the one next week?” asked Eleanor. She was a meek, lithe woman; wife to a knight. A quiet, stuttering creature she was, but, nevertheless, you admired her for her humorously contradicting elegance and modesty.

“The day after the morrow,” you said, clarifying, having decided to distract yourself from the awful playing of the lute next door by conversing amongst the rest of the ladies.

“The day after the morrow . . .” Eleanor repeated, before her face lit up. “Oh! yes, I see. The ball after the morrow . . . Oh, well, in that case—Bridgette, I do have some news.”

The ladies seated around the wooden table instantly leaned more into the conversation, their embroidery and weaving having come to either a stop or a slow in order to focus on the words which would leave Lady Eleanor’s lips. Even Agnes, the least social of the ladies, seemed intrigued by the highly anticipated ball which would surely bring a variety of guests flocking from each kingdom.

“Well, bless me!” exclaimed Bridgette, her hand on her bosom. “Color me intrigued.”

Eleanor cleared her throat. “Plenty of the knights and calvary will be there, as they always are. I hear some merchants are also attending, in pursuit of business and the sellings of oh-so splendid dresses. Sires, lords, nobles, sirs. There will be many royals, I’m sure, but—”

“Princes?” interrupted Bridgette. “What about princes?”

Eleanor blushed, embarrassed from being cut off. “A-plenty,” was what she ultimately replied with.

“Oh! my word. There will be just so many princes to dance with! Think of the conversations one could have with a foreigner. Think of how different their customs are. How attractive they could be compared to the hounds that, here, we call men.” 

Lady Bridgette went on and on with her exclamations, her excitement showing itself as her face continued to redden impossibly with each sentence she spoke.

Even someone as unsociable as Agnes blushed a bit, and you, too, also seemed to grin a little at the idea of men, other than Gojo, pestering you for change. But, speaking of the man, at the bringing of attention towards the amount of single men that would be attending the ball, the playing and strumming of the lute had come to an abrupt stop. 

There were no more incorrect notes, no more out-of-tune strings, and no more laughter echoing throughout the halls. Perhaps the jester had finally decided to leave you alone.

Perhaps.

“Perhaps” was the key-word here, because, at the moment you even suggested such a ridiculous idea, of course, the playing had to resume. The lute was picked up, and, once more, Gojo continued his horrible music, but, this time, much more quicker-paced and, as if to add some flair, in a staccato fashion.

It would be useless to say you were not left alone for the rest of the evening, because it came with no surprise. None, at all.

***

The day of the ball arrived much earlier than you felt it, but that was no coincidence, for, with the seemingly increased amounts of times Gojo bothered you throughout the waiting time, you were just about ready for, quite literally, anything else.

The hall was filled with bustling crowds of men and women. Candelabras were lit, servants walked with trays of assorted treats, guests lined the walls, and princes and nobles rushed in through the gates and doors like a great wave. The king had ordered for such a grand ball in celebration of his recent victories on the battlefield, and there was no denying the grandeur of the spectacle.

Ladies dressed in their best attires, men buttoned their coats to the top, and knights slung ribbons and swords at their waists.

You weren’t always one for affairs that served their purpose as opportunities to meddle, (such as balls), but you couldn’t resist the event of seeing so many new faces, especially since you were approaching the time to be wed. Well, it didn’t matter, really; in the instance that you failed to find a beau, the king would surely bring in a favor for you, whether you wished for it yourself, or not.

On the other hand, it seemed princes weren’t the only men attending the ball, which, in this case, was as unfortunate as fortunes could get. Because, lo and behold, Gojo, clad in a purple motley,⁴ was present at the hall where the ball was to take place.

⁴ Costume of a jester.

How foolish you were to think that, for once in your life, you could be free of the moronic man-child. But, of course! you could never. You two resided in the same royal court, after all; it could only be expected that the notorious jester would be in attendance alongside more agreeable guests.

The silver-haired man took full strides until he was just one pace away from you, leaning down into a deep bow as he kissed the back of your palm, his eyes staring up at you all the while, almost hypnotic, they seemed.

You did not smile, opting for scoffing instead, though you did not immediately pull your hand away from his. “Go bother someone else, Gojo.”

“Feisty, I like it.”

“This is not a joking matter, I mean it. I’m here to have fun, as are other people. Which, speaking of, I’m sure there are plenty of women who would be more than willing to throw themselves into your arms as we speak.”

Gojo did not respond for a moment, but you did not take it as an opportunity to exit the scene. Perhaps you should have, when he said, with an unfamiliar tone, “And you?”

“. . .Pardon?”

“Are you a woman who’s willing to throw herself into my arms?”

“I am a woman who is busy, Gojo. Enjoy the ball.” 

Your words were spoken like a parent tired of scolding a child an indefinite number of times, but Gojo did not let them cut deep into his heart, and before you could pick up the train of your gown and walk away, he took your hand once more, stopping you.

“A dance,” he implored, looking into your eyes. “One dance with my fair lady.”

You almost laughed at the poor attempt for a joke, your lips curving upwards into a smile. “My hand has already been promised to another man.”

“Promised . . . for a dance,” he repeated, as if reassuring himself of something. “—Correct? Nothing more?”

You let your fingers gradually slip from Gojo’s grasps. “You really are a silly man, aren’t you? Oh, well, I guess it cannot be helped.” You grinned, laughing to yourself at the strange exchange that had just taken place, before walking elsewhere.

It was true. Your hand was promised to another. Another man. A prince. He had asked for a dance with you as soon as his eyes met yours just moments before, and, who were you to decline him? After all, there was no one else you could’ve imagined as a more agreeable partner, for the first round, at least.

He was of a foreign land to the North, was what you learned during conversation you held during your waltz together. Of the name Rilian Atkinson, the prince was a tanned, lean man. With brown hair that sat under his gleaming coronet,⁵ there was no mistaking of his patronymic name and title.

⁵ A simple version of a crown, worn due to its lesser weight.

He spoke nothing short of how royalty would, and you found your cheeks warming numerous times whenever he made a joke you could not understand, seeing as a lady such as you was not at-level with someone so high in rank and respect. You could only feign soft laughter and forced smiles. But, luckily, when it came to keeping up a reputation, you were not particularly bad at playing the part of a respectable lady of court, and you were almost certain you had Prince Rilian fooled by a false image.

Now, don’t start getting the wrong ideas. 

You were fond of the man, you learned—during waltzing with him, and his hands were softer than most, so you held no hostility. His manners were inarguably adept; he was proper, acted with more respect than anything else, and was, perhaps, the only man in a while that had you wanting to excuse yourself, taking consecutive trips to the nearest mirrors in order to fix your jewelry or touch up your hair.

It was almost embarrassing, come to think of it. The way he managed to make you laugh despite your not understanding any of his jokes, because, funny enough, his mannerisms and tone were enough to make you want to praise him for his complex, sophisticated humor, and, above all, you felt ashamed of yourself had you done otherwise.

He twirled you, he turned you, he dipped you; all with such ease and skill—he was the most enjoyable dance partner you had ever had.

Despite your pleasures during the first round of the waltz, there were others who were . . . not so fortunate. 

Gojo, for instance, had been leaning against a pillar in the corner, a frown on his face and his arms crossed over his chest throughout his sulking and seething. Maybe he was upset because you declined him, maybe he disliked the way you looked over his offer so casually, but, in any way, he refused to dance with any other women, and ignored the ladies that approached him whilst the troubadours⁶ performed.

⁶ Poet-musicians.

He often scoffed to himself, complaining about how he could write much better love songs than the hired entertainers, which was a silly thought, because the only reason he was free to dance instead of play music, was because he opted out of entertaining at this specific ball in hopes of being able to dance with a certain . . . someone.

Gojo was not woeful for long, though—albeit it felt that way to him—because, by the time he felt he had harnessed the wrath of a thousand suns, it was then time to change partners.

You were en route to chat up some ladies about your dance with a prince, when, quite out of the blue, the silver-haired jester had stepped in your way, interrupting your train of thought and forcing your steps to come to a halt as he stood before you, eyes gleaming and smile plastered.

He did not need to say another word more before your expression moved into a bothered one, contrasting the moony eyes you had been wearing prior to his approach. 

“Are you going to attempt and ask me to dance a second time?”

“Are you going to say ‘No’ a second time?” he bit back.

Yes, you would have declined him again, but God’s graces were not on your side at the moment, for you felt like a punished sinner when the king, too, had begun to approach you and Gojo with a drunk look on his old, worn face.

Your lips were open to offer rejection towards the jester, but the king was much swifter in his speaking. “Jester. Lady.” He nodded, acknowledging you both in greeting with the cocking of his head. “It seems a rare pair has made its way onto the ballroom floor,” he laughed, a harmonious sound.

Your cheeks grew warm at his assumption. His Majesty was certainly getting the wrong idea at the sight of his most youthful lady, and his most mischievous jester, gathered together during a rather conspicuous setting. Oh, God, upon your word! this wasn’t what it looked like. The opposite, really.

“Well, most certainly, Your Majesty,” replied Gojo, playing along. He shot a grin your way, obviously aware of your distress, but paid no further mind. “You wouldn’t believe the lengths I had to go to in order to get a lady as beautiful as her—” (He gestured to you) “—to dance with a lowly jester such as I.”

The king laughed. “Many love poems were written, I assume?” he joked.

“Your Majesty is as insightful as always.”

The furrow of your brows grew deeper and deeper, the crease in your forehead making its public debut. Could Gojo get any more dishonest? you scoffed, but couldn’t find it in yourself to deny his claims. After all, the king had been rooting for the two of you since Gojo became a young man, and you couldn’t, just, defy His Majesty, per se . . .

“Ha! I’m glad to hear it, Satoru. Much charm you have, to aim for a lady.” The king patted the jester on the back.

“I’ve only learned from the best,” said Gojo, which earned another hearty laugh from the older man, attracting the eyes of the many guests around you three.

They talked like father-and-son. In a way, you thought it to be almost wholesome.

“Well, young lovebirds, since it seems you two are just about ready to dance, I’ll be on my way,” began the king, looking between you and the taller man in purple. “Don’t let Gojo cause any trouble, yeah?” His Majesty added, joking, as he turned to face you before making his exit, walking towards his wife and other company of the like.

You stood silent, stunned at the exchange. You had not uttered a single syllable throughout that, and you could not fathom the fact that Gojo had just manipulated his way into gaining your hand for a round of dancing. Surely, he was only here to ruin your evening. That was the only purpose he served.

“You heard the man,” said Gojo, as he turned to you with an expression lacking empathy. “Shall we?”

You gave Gojo your hand, begrudgingly—or, was it that he took your hand? you did not know. 

“Shall we?” you repeated, shivering at the cold of Gojo’s palm. “If it was in my favor, we shan’t. But, alas, it is not. And I have no choice but to dance with an oaf such as you.”

Gojo led you to the center of the room, where there was more open space, and began a slow pace for a waltz as he stepped and stepped to the side.

There was practically smoke coming out from your ears as Gojo twirled you, and you could barely pay attention to where you were moving your feet from how agitating the sound of Gojo’s voice was to your ears. Your eyes met the ground and stayed there; you could not face the jester without wanting to rip his head off his neck (err, well, you wanted to do that, anyway).

“An oaf such as I?” he repeated, feigning offense. “My lady, you are as cruel as they come—pretending to hate me and all. I’ll give you a little advice, it’s a lot more fun pretending to love me.” He grinned, adding a small, “Pretend or not,” under his breath.

“You think I’m pretending to hate you? Oh, please. Were you dropped on the head as a baby?” You finally relented to meet Gojo’s eyes, as you laughed tauntingly in his face.

“Perhaps. But, dropped on the head or not, it wouldn’t change the fact I have never danced with a lady more beautiful than—” 

You did not let him continue, and stared at him humorously. “Now, you’re just fooling around.”

He leaned down to meet your level, sea-blue eyes staring back at you with intent as he spoke—his voice loose and sultry. It made your head spin.

“Is that what you wish for, my lady?”

***

You had been sitting at a desk, alone, for only five minutes—five minutes—before the silver-haired jester, as mischievous as always, strolled into the room, seemingly having predicted your whereabouts (or, maybe, he had memorized the variety of locations you visited on a weekly basis).

The ball where you two danced together had occurred, by now, a week ago, and it rarely entered your train of thought; but, still, it sent shivers up your spine every time you thought about it. You couldn’t shake off the feeling that that ball wouldn’t be the last dance you shared with the man—he was vermin enough normally, but at a public space such as a ball? where anyone could spot you two? Even death would be more pleasant for you.

“I always thought these things were ridiculous,” began Gojo, childishly, as he walked over to where you sat just to poke and jab at your hennin.⁷ He stood behind you, his lean, tall figure casting a shadow over the book you had been reading just moments before his presence found itself interrupting.

⁷ A headdress worn by women of nobility—best known for its cone shape.

You rolled your eyes, a scowl on your powdered face, but you did not stop the man’s curious, pestering hands. “It’s not like your cap and bells⁸ are any better.”

⁸ A fool’s cap; the bells were intended for informing people of the jester’s entrance.

“Pfft, now that is where you are wrong, my dearest lady—they are way better.”

You sighed, eyes casting downwards as you crossed your arms over your gown’s bodice, leaning against the back of your chair. “Gojo, what are you doing here?”

“Hanging out. With my friend.”

“Even you know better than I do that we are far from friends.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be that way, my lady. Sure, we’re friends,” he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “Pals, even! am I right, or am I right.” He laughed, the sound of it bouncing around the walls of the study. “Who am I kidding—We’re best buds!”

His voice sounded insane, but his merry words were even more deranged. You wondered if, by any chance, “Has the jester found himself drunk this evening?”

“Drunk?” he repeated, entering your line of view. He approached the desk from opposite to where you sat, his face leaning down to peer into your eyes as his palms pressed against the dark wood of the table, as if he were interrogating you. “Me? Me, drunk?”

The blue of his eyes was so bright at this moment that it would’ve blinded you, had it not entirely creeped you out, instead.

“That’s what I said, yes.” While you may have found it difficult not to waver beneath his intense stare, you did not find it impossible . . . Okay, maybe just a little bit.

“You think I am . . . drunk?”

You blinked, nearly breaking under Gojo’s deep gaze. It seemed his eyes would never leave yours. “You are acting strange. Why would I not?”

Gojo pulled back, and a sigh of relief left your lips at his backing away after being mere centimeters from your face. 

“I don’t understand women,” he began, voice smooth and clear as he spoke. A deck of cards had appeared in his hands, seemingly out of thin air, and he shuffled them, performing arm-spreads and cardistry with no difficulty, at all.

“I really don’t. I don’t understand why, every time I speak to you, you pull away, and act like I’m crazy, or joking, or . . . or drunk!” He raised his hands up in exasperation—the cards discarded, fluttering and falling to the ground in heaps, as if feathers.

“You’re a jester, aren’t you? I have no reason to take your words as you mean them. Why, you’re a boy, Gojo. Hardly a man, if I ever knew one.”

The jester raised a brow at the sound of your voice, before snapping his fingers. Another deck of cards suddenly appeared between his digits, identical to the fallen ones. Now, any ordinary civilian would’ve called it magic, but you knew how good Gojo was with his hands and card tricks and such, and thought almost nothing of it. 

“You wouldn’t think that if you saw me without my motley.⁴”

⁴ Costume of a jester.

The jester spoke so seriously, as if he were mad at you, but you only found humor in his argument.

“Without your motley . . . ?” you repeated, unable to decide whether he was referencing the act of undressing, or the act of being in normal (non-jester) apparel.

“My lady, I am a man. Twenty years of age, I dare say. Beneath my cap and bells, behind my poems and songs, I am not a child. You cannot tell when you look at my face?”

You smiled, setting down your literature. “You are quite defensive of your manhood, I see.”

“Would my lady rather I display it?”

“Your lady would rather her jester sit down and deal in cards already, instead of standing there like a fool.”

If Gojo had come in the study to interrupt your reading and disturb your evening, the least he could do was keep you entertained. And, besides, seeing him perform all his flashy card tricks reminded you of the last time you played, which was far behind in the past.

“Like a fool?” Gojo laughed, seating himself in a chair across from you, before resting his feet on the table and crossing his legs—one over the other. You frowned at his lack of propriety. “It is what I do best.”

“And what you do worst is keep me waiting!” you whisper-shouted, leaning your upper-half over the desk. “Shall I wait for you to shuffle, or are you incapable of that, as well?”

“My lady is so impatient today,” Gojo teased, feigning a yawn as he interlaced his fingers behind his head, leaning backwards. “But, if you want to shuffle . . .” he continued, a strange glint in his eyes, “come and get it.”

The cards were between his index- and middle-finger; he wiggled them, before your eyes but behind his head, in an almost derogatory manner, as if daring you to seize the cards. And dared you did.

Huffing, you sat up from your chair, the legs scraping the floor as you went, before marching over to where Gojo sat, his demeanor composed and cool as he awaited the gracing of your presence. There was a strangeness in the air about him as he finally let his legs drop from the desk, but you ignored the conscience gnawing at you.

Gojo wore a lopsided grin on his face, eyes shining wildly, and you swore, if he wasn’t so highly regarded by the king, you would’ve slapped him right then and there, but, either way, you probably wouldn’t have, because you had other priorities, like retrieving the deck of piquet⁹ the jester was currently holding for ransom.

⁹ A two-player card game.

Standing just centimeters before him, the gown of your dress brushing up against his legs, you tried and tried to reach upwards and grab the cards from Gojo’s hand, but he kept dodging you, either switching the hand with which he held the deck, or moving the cards further behind him.

You did not meet his eyes, for you know they would be full of mockery, but you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, nonetheless. From embarrassment and frustration, or from being so close to the jester, you did not know.

“Gojo! Ugh, you . . . Give me that!”

You made one last, final attempt. 

Stretching your arm out as far as you could, you reached over for the deck, again, and, to your surprise, and to all your efforts, you got it! But you also fell over, because your other hand was not holding onto anything until it was too late, and you landed in Gojo’s lap. And, while you were now holding onto something, it probably wasn’t your best move.

You were now sitting on Gojo’s lap, cards in one hand, Gojo’s collar in the other. Huh.

“I—”

You couldn’t think of what to say. And, apparently, neither could Gojo. While your eyes stayed upon the starched fabric being clenched between your fingers, Gojo’s eyes met the side of your face, the side you were not concealing by sitting at a slight angle.

“So desperate to get up close and personal, aren’t you?” He spoke up first, the hand that caught you coming up to rest on the small of your back.

“I fell. I simply fell. It was nothing short of an accident—you must be mistaken to think otherwise.”

“My lady, you don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m sure the king will understand your attraction to an oaf such as I.”

You scoffed at his allusions, releasing his collar (something you should have done much, much earlier), before turning away from Gojo’s watchful gaze, a huff slipping past your lips.

“Don’t be stupid.”

The position which the two of you held was scandalous, if anything. Your legs were beside Gojo’s, straddling him as the lengths of your dress fanned out beneath you, covering his lower half with ease. It was a scene straight from a sonnet¹⁰, except he was not your knight in shining armor, for he was your fool, instead.

¹⁰ A fourteen-line poem.

“Stupid?” he repeated. “That’s an interesting way to describe a man enamored.”

“What—?”

He cut you off. “I mean, you could’ve at least called me ‘besotted.’”

It did not take much strength for Gojo to turn you back around, his arms maneuvering you, seating you on his lap at an angle so that you could not avoid his eyes ever again. Your front was pressed right up against his chest, cards long forgotten about and hands perched upon his shoulders.

“. . .” You could not form a sentence as long as you held eye contact with the jester beneath you. You couldn’t even remember what occured for the two of you to end up in such a predicament.

Your cheeks flamed, and your blinks came in either pairs or trios.

“Do you want to kiss me?” began Gojo, abruptly, his tone casual (almost humorous), crystal-blue eyes boring into yours. “Or should I just go for it?”

You blinked, having not yet registered his words, but it didn’t matter—his question, your answer (or lack of); neither of those mattered, because he kissed you, anyways. Or was it you who first leaned in? All the same, either way.

Cool, ice-cold lips met yours in a chaste kiss, and you slowly snaked your arms around Gojo’s neck as you kissed back, shyly, almost hesitantly. You had never kissed anyone before. Hell, sitting in a man’s lap was frightening enough, but kissing? You prayed for God’s forgiveness seemingly simultaneously.

You didn’t expect Gojo’s lips to taste so . . . sweet, like a pastry. Err, well, it wasn’t like you ever imagined what they would taste like, ahem . . .

But it was like—like you were suddenly possessed by an entity. Before either of you knew it, simple short, innocent kisses turned heated, zealous, as if there were something more.

It was raw, it was full of feeling, and it was from the heart. Perhaps all the tension and frustration in the air had turned you both into insatiable animals, too far gone for mere kisses to soothe your aches and desires.

“Nngh . . .”

“Hahh—”

“Fuck. Pardon me, my lady, for I am no better than a man.” Gojo’s words acted as a warning, one you did not take.

You sighed into his kisses, eyes closed and squeezed tight. “Are you apologizing?”

“Do you . . . mmm . . . want me to?”

You whimpered as Gojo sucked on your bottom lip, hands running down your back, playing with the ribbons of your dress. “I think—I think you know what I want.”

“What a smart girl.”

More kisses, more kisses, more kisses. Your lips were swollen and bitten and nipped from his assaults, but it felt so . . . good, you had never known a similar feeling.

“Gojo—”

“Mm, don’t call me that,” he spoke, in a shamelessly sensual tone. He sounded so pathetic, like he was begging, albeit he knew full well you would listen to whatever he asked any other way. “No more. God, no more.”

His words slipped out between every kiss you two shared. It was sloppy, and clumsy; to say it made you feel warm inside was an understatement.

You pushed at his chest, repeatedly, whilst the two of you claimed each other’s lips, but he only let you go so you could catch your breath. He was going to get his fill in the end, anyway.

Gojo looked down at you from where you sat on his lap, hair a mess and dress disheveled. You had never looked so beautiful in his eyes, and he was sure to let you know that when he peppered kisses on every inch of skin left revealed by the neckline of your gown.

His lips trailed upwards towards your clavicle, tickling your skin as he went, and you slapped a hand over your mouth at the sounds that his kisses alone managed to pull out of you. It was embarrassing.

“Don’t call me by that name.” Kiss. “I implore you, my lady.” Kiss. “It’s—” Kiss. “—degrading.” Kiss.

“Your name? it’s, nnghh, degrading?”

His arms tightened around your waist, but he did not stop his kisses. You were like a dove trapped in a cage, bound within Gojo’s grasps. “That you would call me by my surname—is degrading.”

“I, ahhnn . . . don’t understand.”

Gojo looked up at you, before rising to his full height, loosening his grip on your middle, and, as he did so, putting a temporary pause on his making of love-bites upon your skin.

“Call me a fool, my lady—all you want, and I won’t protest. But call me Satoru. Your Satoru. Your Gojo, your jester, your oaf, your Satoru, and yours alone.”

You would’ve swooned from his declarations right then and there, had it not been for his tone of voice, which contradicted the sweetness of his words to a high degree.

Anyway, it wasn’t like Gojo was expecting you to fall so soon after deliberately going to great lengths to argue, ignore, and hate him all these past years. But, that was okay! All’s well that ends well. Or, at least, until Gojo decided to lift you up by the waist, standing up from his seat and setting you on the surface of the table which you occupied before he entered the room.

You shuddered from the amount of control he had over you, cowering before him. Even so, his laugh was a melodious ballad; too bad it wasn’t any less cruel-sounding.

“Don’t tell me my dear lady is shy,” he purred, lips against your ear as he spoke, before tilting your chin upwards to meet his eyes.

“I—You . . . Just when did you give yourself away before marriage?”

“Ehh, can’t remember. Let’s just say,” began Gojo, in a languid tone, “the maidservants here have really taught me a thing or two. And I’m not talking about playing cards.” He wiggled a singular card between his fingers, dauntingly, in front of your eyes, before bringing it closer to your lips.

You wondered whether he would make you bite down on it, because you suspected a moron like him would do such, but just a millimeter before it made contact with your swollen lips, Gojo let the piquet⁹ card slip from his grasps and fall to the floor. Instead of the card, it was Gojo’s index- and middle-finger that ended up between your teeth.

⁹ A two-player card game.

Gojo had this look on his face as he stared down at you; it was ravenous, almost, and your cheeks warmed as you looked up at him from beneath your lashes—eyes doe and wide.

“Come on, pretty,” he cooed. “Don’t make me wait. I know what you’re thinking.”

You swallowed, hard, before taking his fingers between your lips, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked on the digits. You couldn’t fathom the ache that it brought to your core when you heard the squelching of saliva and spit, the paint of your lips smudging all over as Gojo’s fingers reached deep within your mouth.

A breathy moan slipped past your kiss-bitten lips, and you failed to suppress the dazed, far-gone expression on your face as your eyes crossed, rolling into the back of your head. Oh, God, this was terrible, terrible! you thought, though you did nothing to prevent it.

“You can try and pretend you hate me all you want, but your body knows better, doesn’t it?”

“Mnngh . . .”

Gojo laughed. “Your body knows better? Ha! who am I kidding—I know better.”

You sucked continuously on Gojo’s fingers, their length long enough to make you gag as they hit the back of your throat, knocking out all the wind in you. There were tears pricking at your eyes, and you struggled to whimper out a coherent response.

“Awwh, I almost feel bad.” Gojo leaned down to meet your level. “Mouth too full to call me a mere boy now, is it? Gonna take back what you said, pretty girl? or should I have you choke some more?”

“Nnghh . . . Hahh.”

Your nails clawed at the wood beneath you, white knuckles clenching and unclenching repeatedly. Goodness, you had never hated jesters so much.

Perhaps Gojo was also a mind reader, as well, because not even a second after you finished that thought, he gave the roof of your mouth a small tap, and gestured for you to release his fingers. Which was what you did.

A string of saliva connected the tips of his fingers to your lips, parted ever so slightly, when he removed his digits from your mouth. You couldn’t look anywhere but his fingers; they seemed to draw you in, even as Gojo ended the trail of saliva in one short movement, before bringing his hand down your bodice, fingertips brushing against the fabric of your dress.

You shivered, even as your body warmed.

Watch, watch, watch. You could do nothing but watch Gojo. You did not know what he was going to do, you did not know what you were going to do, you just knew you wanted whatever it was Gojo was planning. Fuck, maybe the jester wasn’t the only one besotted.

“You’re awfully silent about this, my lady.”

“Whatever can I say?”

Gojo laughed, lifting the bottom edges of your dress to your knees, revealing bare skin to cool air. “I was expecting you to stop me.”

You met Gojo’s eyes when he looked down at you. “Nothing I say could stop you.”

“Because I know you don’t want me to stop.”

The jester leaned down to meet your eye-level as he spoke, before closing the distance between you two just as he had done earlier, lips meeting yours in a fervent, heated kiss, whilst his dominant hand, his right one, toyed with the lace of your dress teasingly, before trailing up your thigh. His hand was cool to the touch, leaving goosebumps rising on your skin and the hair on your neck standing up.

Thinking back, you had always imagined him to be the warm-blooded type, but no, Gojo was as cold as the snow which rivaled the silver of his hair. Which was strange, considering how warm he made you feel from the taste of his lips and the touches of his hands.

His mouth was on yours, one hand gripping the flesh of your hip and the other trailing up between your legs, right where you felt the most warmth.

“Do you . . . mmph . . . ever wonder where I get all my ideas for my poems and ballads?” he questioned, between kisses.

“Never.”

“Funny.”

You sighed into the kiss, succumbing to Gojo’s caresses and the ticklish sensations you felt from his fingertips brushing against your undergarments.

“I don’t see you laughing,” you quipped, holding the sides of Gojo’s face between your hands as you pulled away from the kiss, staring at him earnestly.

“You don’t see a lot of things.”

And then his lips were back on yours.

But that wasn’t what took your breath away. Well, it was part of it. Only part of it.

While the silver jester had been occupying your mouth with his own, his hand had been trailing up your thighs, thumbing your clit through the thin, lame excuse of panties you had on, all the while. He had been applying pressure to, and toying with the puffy lips of your aching cunt, which dripped and soaked profusely through the material of your undergarment. To say it was crude was an understatement.

You only noticed his advances on your lower half when Gojo pinched your clit, eliciting a loud, scandalous cry to be ripped out from between your kiss-bitten lips.

It was rough, and harsh, but still, nonetheless, gave you more pleasure than it did pain.

“Nngh, ahh . . . !”

You may have mewled then, but you writhed and whimpered even more when he finally pushed your panties to the side, slipping two fingers into your cunt with ease, seeing as your slick was useful enough as a lubricant. You never forgot the sound it made, the squelching of your wetness, Gojo’s fingers reaching past your rings of resistance and curling deep within your cunt.

It was so strange.

Gojo kissed you even harder now that he had two fingers deep inside your pussy, shushing your cries and moans as you squirmed around, uncomfortable.

His index- and middle-finger, the two digits that had previously been in your mouth, the ones you had been sucking on, were now moving inside your cunt, curling and scissoring your insides like nothing you had ever felt before.

When the jester finally pulled his mouth off of yours, he let you rest your head on his shoulder, whispering into your ear with that unmistakably smooth voice of his as you mewled and moaned, never being set free from his fingers, still buried deep inside your cunt.

“This . . . is called fingering. You like it, don’t you, my lady? God, if only you could feel how tight your little walls are.” He talked you through his movements and assaults on your poor, little pussy. It was invigorating as much as it was aggravating. “Fuck, ‘m never letting you go after this.”

You choked on your sobs, clawing at Gojo’s back. “S-Satoru . . . I—nngh!”

“Where’s all that attitude you had earlier, pretty girl? Not so frustrated now that you have two fingers up your cute pussy, huh?”

You could only let out a moan in response.

There was a coil building up in your stomach; you felt warm all over and your eyes squeezed shut as Gojo’s fingers curled with expertise, his pace quickening with each second that passed. They were long, and large, could barely fit a third in your cunt even if he tried—courtesy of the size difference between you two.

He was knuckles deep inside of you; each time you looked down to meet where he entered and exited repeatedly through your pussy had you squeezing your thighs together, forcing (unbeknownst to you) his fingers to reach even greater depths within you.

“Hahh, ‘Toru—! . . . It feels . . .”

You whined like a puppy. It was degrading how submissive he had made you within the course of twenty minutes or so.

“D’you want to cum? Is that it? Wanna cum on your jester’s fingers, sweet girl?” he cooed, mockingly.

Crying out, nodding profusely, you wrapped your arms around Gojo’s neck, pressing the two of you impossibly closer as your sobs turned to hiccups and the coil in your lower belly tightened unbearably.

Perhaps it was the additional friction from your hardened nipples pressing against Gojo’s chest that brought you over the edge as you came with a final cry and your juices released onto Gojo’s hands, his fingers dripping with your cum as he kept his fingers inside of you even after you came, continuing to curl and scissor without remorse.

“A-ahh . . . nngh . . .”

Your first orgasm hit you like a chaise and four. His name left your lips like a prayer, eyes rolling into the back of your head, thighs shaking.

“I really hope you don’t think we’re done here, my lady,” said Gojo, hot breath fanning against your ear.

“Satoru . . . What—What do you mean?”

“My lady, what I mean is I’m going to fuck you now.”

Those words were what made you open your eyes, looking up at the jester. “You’re going to, what?”

Gojo leaned down to meet your level, your faces too close to differentiate where your breath ended and where his started. “I’m going to show you just how mistaken you were to call me a mere boy.”

And that he did.

The silver-haired jester had you on your back within seconds, the cold wooden surface of the desk sending shivers down your spine as Gojo took his sweet, sweet time spreading your legs before him, as if preparing a feast.

You never imagined yourself losing your virginity so early on, and you were almost certain all your ancestors would be looking down at you for not waiting till marriage, but would it really count if it was only casual?

“I’m surprised we’ve gotten this far,” Gojo said, letting out a breathy laugh as he looked down at you. Hair splayed all over the desk in disarray, gown disheveled, ribbons undone, your cunt dripping with ache and want. It sent blood rushing down to his dick.

“Why are you surprised, jester?”

He wore a lopsided grin on his face, looking all smug and satisfied with himself. “Thought you hated me a little more to refuse my cock, is all.”

“Who says I still don’t hate you?”

“Her.”

And then that motherfucker spat on your cunt.

When Gojo decided he would be able to fit at least the tip of his cock in you, he hoisted your legs up, slipping them over his shoulders and pushing his cock into your cunt in one short thrust, (though it didn’t feel very short) . . .

He was both long and thick, girthy, with veins that twitched and sent bolts of pleasure shooting through you.

The head of his cock was big, and thick, sure, but the rest of it was even bigger. Slapping a hand over your mouth, you tried (and failed) to suppress the pornographic noises that left your lips left and right.

“Ahh, ‘Toru! Not so . . . Not so rough, nngh . . .” You whined, throwing your head back against the table beneath you, though you weren’t complaining.

“Well, would you look at that,” began the jester, as he slowed his thrusts down to look at where your pussy swallowed his cock to the base, thumb moving down to spread your puffy lips even further apart. “Biiiig stretch.”

Your gummy walls clenched down on his cock, and you clawed at the desk, nails leaving permanent marks upon the wood.

“Nngh, a-ahh! Gojo, you’re—!”

You saw stars when the head of Gojo’s cock kissed your cervix, reaching even deeper within you than his fingers had.

The silver-haired jester leaned down, his body overshadowing yours as he held both of your hands down beside each side of your head, interlacing your fingers together as he moved to whisper in your ear. “I thought I told you not to call me that. Does my lady not know how to listen?”

“No, S-Satoru, nngh! I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean to—! Ahh . . . !”

You weren’t the only whose body had an evident reaction when Gojo began his thrusts with a rougher, more ruthless pace. Even the jester was one to groan in your ear, laying all of his weight on top of you as he forced your body to fold in half, thighs and legs infinitely spread out as your slippers, true to their name, began to slip off your feet with the way your body shook and writhed and jerked with every thrust, hitting the carpeted floor with a soft thud.

Back arching, tits pressing up against Gojo’s chest, your throat soon grew dry and parched as you continued to moan like some lousy prostitute.

“This is . . . hahh, called a mating press,” said Gojo, as his hips pistoned against the flesh of your ass, cock bottoming out just to re-enter with a table-rocking thrust. “God. Dirty, little cunt’s fucking swallowing my cock alive, huh. Must really enjoy it from this position, my lady.”

“S-Satoru! ‘tis so d-deep . . . I—I can’t, nngh.”

You wondered whether you would need to visit an apothecary from the way Gojo was just relentlessly battering and rearranging your insides. Upon your word, you could feel him in your guts.

Gojo grunted and groaned in your ear, cock continuing to slam into your poor pussy with abandon. It seemed he couldn’t keep his composure, either, despite seeming so put together. Perhaps he had been waiting too long for this moment.

Opening your eyes and tilting your head downwards ever so slightly, you could see the way his cock was almost twice the size of your entrance, yet all the wetness and slick that had gathered there earlier was enough to enable Gojo to thrust in and out of you with ease.

Everything about the man was just so . . . big. He was tall, lean, and his cock was no different. Despite his fingers having loosened you, it was still a miracle he managed to make it fit—the size of his cock was almost monstrous, and was, indubitably, able to be considered as a weapon, if anything.

The stretch was delicious, but burned like hell.

Pounding into you, rutting against your used cunt, Gojo held himself above you as he, himself, whimpered as if he were the one taking a cock two times too big. No, make that three.

“Hahh . . . Cunt’s squeezing me like a damn vice,” he groaned. “God, still so fuckin’ tight.”

“Mmph, n-nghh, ahh—!”

“Never letting you hide this pussy from me ever again. Fuck, I . . . Hahh, gonna make you take it at least twice a day, now.”

You mewled and whined, tits bouncing and spilling from the top of your dress, courtesy of the combined erraticness and harshness of his thrusts.

“Gotta—nngh, make you used to this cock . . . Fuck—!”

You came hard when Gojo’s cock kissed your cervix for the umpteenth time, the coil in your lower belly unraveling as your cunt weeped white tears, dripping down your thighs as Gojo’s release followed suit only moments later. His cock pumped you full of warm, white seed, filling your womb excessively as the rest gushed out from between your puffy, swollen lips, sliding down the curve of your ass before staining the fabric of your gown.

Stuffed to the hilt, filled to the brim.

“O-ohh . . . Hahh, nngh—!”

“Is this enough for displaying my manhood?” asked Gojo, quoting you, a sly smile on his face as he ran a hand through his tousled hair.

God, you hated him.

For interrupting your evening, for ruining your dress, and for only giving you seconds to collect your breath before his cock was, once again, hard as a rock and thrusting into you from a different angle. 

It was as if his first orgasm was completely non-existent; I mean, you could barely speak from how dry your throat was, (never mind moan), and this man was already up and running, fucking his excess cum back into you?

Preposterous.

***

You and Gojo had been having . . . an affair, for a while, now.

Had it been three weeks, or three months, or, even, three years, you did not know. Neither of you knew.

Gojo had ruined you ever since that night in the study. Your innocent dynamic consisting of mere banter and bullying had developed into a relationship of endless hostility, so much so, that after an unbearable amount of tension ensuing, it evolved into a sort of . . . acquaintance. Okay, that wasn’t the right word for it, but it sounds better compared to “affair,” right?

In essence, the both of you had grown closer. Well, that was inevitable. Because the jester now knew what you looked like under your gowns, and you knew whether the carpets matched the drapes or not, but, all the same.

Gojo was like a deviant; he was insatiable.

You two had begun to sneak around together. Sex was daily, once or twice a day, but you two also—what did Gojo call it?—hung out. Sort of. But it was still mainly sex.

Most often, it was due to tensions bursting during nasty arguments, which would end up with both of you locking yourselves in a common room, making inappropriate usage of the couches and lounge. Gojo would bend you over an armrest, or sit you on his lap, bouncing you on his cock as he used the skirt of your dress to conceal where your bodies became one.

Then, came the gardens. 

You sometimes gave excuses to your fellow ladies in order to take a breather, using taking a walk through the gardens as a way to meet up with Gojo during the day. If anyone spotted the two of you together outside, it would only look as if you were chatting or linking arms. But then, whenever you two found an open opportunity, you would seize it and embrace, making out under the glaring sun and the shade of oak trees, hidden away from any lurking eyes.

It was kind of odd, to be honest, but you had found, after Gojo took your innocence, that you were addicted to whatever feeling he gave you. Whether it be lust, or want, or desire—they’re all different, believe me. You wanted, Gojo gave; Gojo wanted, you gave. It was how the two of you worked. But it was always casual, never serious.

Just like when the two of you fooled around under tables during supper, giving each other soft touches and pinches and rubs, completely unbeknownst to anyone else sitting around you two, (albeit you couldn’t say the rush of exhibitionism didn’t send a shock to your core). It was always for fun. Always for fun.

Likewise, your newly found “enemies-turned-friends with benefits” dynamic never prevented Gojo from being the devil he was. In fact, it made him worse.

That son of a bitch just loved to make completely unrefined, vulgar jokes. In front of others, he made sexual innuendos, hinting to one of the ladies of the royal court possibly entertaining secret relationships with an unknown other. Though he was careful to never let any further clarifications slip, he always brought up the topic at least once every public gathering, which usually led to surrounding nobles beginning to even question the idea, which was ridiculous in itself.

Even behind closed doors, the silver-haired jester was still the same. But, you couldn’t decide whether that was for the worst or not . . . Every time you thought you were finally able to strike up a civil, appropriate conversation with the man, Gojo always ruined it by twisting your words and making highly crass allusions, which was, perhaps, what you disliked the most (mainly because you always understood his references, which, more often than not, brought heat to your cheeks).

And, from the way everything was beginning to unravel, it seemed today would be no different.

You had been sitting at a desk (a different desk, not the one you lost your virginity on); you were writing—a letter to your cousin, and Gojo had been silently sitting across from you, like an obedient child.

The jester was sat with his elbows on the table, hands interlaced as he rested his face in the middle of where his fingers connected. He was “admiring” you, as he had said earlier, and promised, because you made him promise, to not disrupt your writing like he had all those previous occurrences whenever the two of you spent quiet time, like this, together.

Gojo was silent, but not silent for long, and you sighed when you caught sight of a grin forming on his lips.

“However long do you plan on writing to your . . . who was it, again? cousin.”

“I believe that is of no importance to you, jester,” you replied. “I didn’t invite you to watch me write, after all.”

Gojo’s eyes watched your every move, from the way you held your quill, to the way you paused whenever you were stuck on what word to use (in those cases, he would give you suggestions), and even to the way you looped your Y’s and G’s and J’s. He prided himself on, supposedly, knowing you so well. And, if you weren’t so used to his strange, almost childish behavior, you would’ve deemed him frightening.

“When was it a crime to accompany a maiden?” he laughed, wiggling his brows, tone humorous. “Eh, doesn’t matter. It’s not like I came here to watch you write, anyway—I’m only here to watch you.”

“. . .Satoru, don’t be creepy.”

You chastised him like an adult would a child; those were the moments that reminded you of the comparison between your ages. But it also reminded you of how much closer the two of you had gotten; you could speak to each other so freely now.

“Scolding me, . . . huh. You gonna start taking the reins, too, now, my lady? If it’s in the bedroom, I can’t say I’m opposed to the idea.” You couldn’t count the amount of times Gojo had laughed this afternoon. “God, I’m getting excited just thinking about it.”

You spoke without taking your eyes off your letter. “You’re so crude sometimes.”

“You like me this way.”

Dipping your quill into its inkwell,¹¹ you looked up, just to see blue eyes boring into yours. You did not respond.

¹¹ A small jar containing ink.

“Not even denying it anymore, my lady?” he pressed.

“You wouldn’t believe it if I tried.”

“Because I know you would be lying,” he said, in a sing-song tone as he leaned in, face only inches away from yours. “Isn’t that right?”

“No,” you began, putting away your quill and rolling up your parchment; “in fact, you’ve never been more incorrect in your life.” You sat up as you spoke, and moved to leave the room, never meeting Gojo’s eyes, albeit you knew they trailed after your figure.

“Yeah?”

He sat up immediately after you, the sound of his steps following yours as you made your exit, out into the hallway in search of a carrier pigeon.¹² Gojo made notice to avoid stepping on your gown, whistling as he walked behind you, like a dog following its owner.

¹² A breed of pigeon domesticated for delivering messages over long distances.

“That is what I said. Now, if you’ll please excuse me,” you continued, turning around for a brief moment to address Gojo, “I’ll be on my way.”

The jester did not let you go far before he caught up; now, you two were walking side-by-side. Gojo was a fast walker, which came naturally due to his tall stature, but it was evident he forced himself to slow his pace down in order to match yours.

“My lady is so rude,” he teased. “Leaving me behind, all by my lonesome?”

“. . .”

“Am I worth so little to you? Who do you think I am?”

You stopped, turning to face Gojo. “Who?” you repeated. “Do you mean, do? Because I don’t—I don’t think of you, Gojo.”

“Oh, come on. I know my lady’s thought of me at least once.” He grinned. “I mean, look at this face.” (He jabbed a thumb at himself) “How can you see this, and not stay up late at night, thinking about it.”

You gave him a side-glance. “You’re so pompous, ‘Toru.”

He grinned at hearing you use his first name, never mind his nickname, in such an open hallway, which highly increased the risk of anyone overhearing your usage of familiarities. 

Leaning down to whisper in your ear as you two began to walk again, he said, in that smooth voice of his, “Am I wrong, though? I’m sure you would be lying if you told me you didn’t think about me during your most private, intimate moments. You probably sit on your bed, nightgown all bunched up at your waist, with your fingers buried in your tight, little cunt as you try to recreate what only I can give you; but it’s never as good as the real deal. I’m right, aren’t I?”

You froze, face burning as your hands balled into fists at your side, and Gojo snickered. He always had a knack for riling you up.

“Upon my word, you—you bastard! What is . . . Ugh, what, in heaven’s name, is your problem!”

You shoved at Gojo’s chest, weakly, before storming off, down the hallway, a crease on your forehead.

You really, really couldn’t understand why Gojo was like this. Why he just loved to tease you all the time, why he liked to belittle you, call you names. Although it upset you, this was only a minor argument in comparison to your many feuds. He was as bad as the rest of them.

The sound of your footsteps reverberated throughout the servants’ corridor (which you and Gojo frequented in efforts to conceal your meetings), and you could tell the jester was right at your feet when you decided to whirl around, the skirt of your gown flowing as you turned to face Gojo.

“Don’t, Gojo. Don’t follow me.” You looked up at him with intent; you did not yield when a light flickered in his eyes, as he stared back down at you.

“C’mon, pretty girl, it was just a joke . . . or an assumption,” he muttered that last part, beneath his breath; and you rolled your eyes, tightening your grip on the letter in your left hand. “You’re not really mad at me, are you?”

“Yes, I am mad! Why can’t you see that your words affect people?”

You took a step backwards, clutching your pearls (A/N: lmfao), but Gojo took two forwards.

Raising his arms up in surrender, Gojo continued to take a step or two every time you moved, matching you. 

“Don’t be that way, my lady. You know I’m only ever kidding.” His smile was hypnotic, voice spellbinding, and you nearly broke.

But the moment you knew you were fucked was when you felt your back hit the wall behind you, and Gojo seemed to know, too, because he laughed in your face.

“Nowhere else to run, my lady?”

You two stood only centimeters apart, the tip of Gojo’s nose nearly touching yours as he leaned down to your level, eyes staring you down.

You shuddered, feeling hot breath fan against your skin. “Fuck you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You thought he was going to kiss you—you two were really close, after all—but, he didn’t. Gojo reached behind you, hand turning the doorknob of a pantry (one you had not even noticed during your little dispute), before pushing the both of you in, making sure to avoid any lurking eyes. You squirmed and pushed back, but Gojo was stronger. He locked the door of the pantry within record timing, before turning to face you.

You were stumbling over yourself when Gojo first pushed you in, but you were now backed up against one of the four walls of the pantry, finding purchase with your palms on the wall behind you, chest heaving as you gave the jester a grave look.

“Gojo, I’m going to give you ten seconds to get me out of here before I kill your court-fool ass.”

The jester walked forward, closing the distance between you two. Tilting your chin upward with his index-finger, he met your glare with calm sea-blue eyes as he asked, all cool and composed, “You’ve been such a brat today—what’s got your panties in such a twist?”

There was a hint of a laugh in his tone, and you snapped, “Gojo!” — just about having had it with the man.

“Me? Hm, well, I can’t say I don’t plan on it.”

You couldn’t remember when you had dropped your letter, but it certainly still wasn’t in your hands by the time Gojo had kissed you. Rough, raw; Gojo had you backed up against the wall as he ran his hands down the bodice of your gown, his mouth on yours, breaths turning ragged.

You weren’t going to let Gojo get away with anything, but it wasn’t like kissing him was a crime, per se. You were just . . . relieving your temper, for a bit.

“Does this—mmrph—mean I’m off the hook now, my lady?” he murmured, against your lips.

“. . .Not even close.”

“This attitude of yours is seriously getting to be a problem,” said Gojo, between each kiss he gave you. “Oughta loosen up a bit before that scowl turns permanent, darling.”

You kissed him with teeth, your hands giving a purposeful tug to his silver hair after yanking off his cap and bells,⁸ which fell to the cobblestone floor of the pantry with a resounding thud.

⁸ A fool’s cap; the bells were intended for informing people of the jester’s entrance.

“I’d advise you to stop speaking, jester,” you chided, pulling away for a moment’s breath or two. Gojo rested his forehead on yours, looking down at you as you spoke. “—Before you lose your head.”

Gojo scoffed, humoring you. “You love my face too much for that.”

“I love your silence just as much.”

“I would say the same to you, but . . .” Gojo’s voice trailed off as one of his hands wandered down your arm, removing your glove with ease as you shuddered beneath him. “I like hearing your pretty cries, too.”

There was a split-second from between your insults and jabs at the man, to the transition of said-man parting your lips with little to no care, shoving a glove into your mouth as a makeshift gag.

You whimpered and cursed, thrashing around as Gojo held your arms pinned to the wall by your elbows, keeping them lowered; but all your protests came out muffled, and the jester could only laugh at your disposition.

“Mmm, mm—mmph!”

“It won’t be as bad if you stop fighting it, my lady. Have faith in your jester, won’t you?” Gojo looked like a saint as he spoke, but even God knew he was closer to the Devil, himself, than anything.

Using your gown’s girdle belt as bondage for your wrists, Gojo soon had you completely at his mercy.

“Mmph . . . Mmm, mm, mmph—!”

He didn’t listen, didn’t even try to.

Then, the jester did something he had never done before, ever—he knelt down in front of you. On his knees, he looked as handsome as ever, but, you knew, his almost princely smile was only for show.

You squirmed and wriggled around in your restraints and gag, but none of that stopped Gojo from lifting up your gown, throwing a leg of yours over his shoulder as he licked a stripe up your inner thigh. His tongue was warm, wet, and you shivered.

Looking up at your figure from where he knelt, eyes meeting yours from beneath white lashes, Gojo asked, with that unforgettable voice of his, “Scared?”

The front of your gown was totally out of place, lifted and bunched up at your waist, nearly enveloping Gojo as he kissed the skin revealed to him. The jester, ever the playful one, hooked a thumb around the waistband of your panties, before tugging them downwards, cold air hitting the wetness of your core almost immediately.

You blinked. Once, twice, thrice.

“What a pretty sight, huh. Shame I’m the only one who gets to enjoy it.”

Gojo laid a kiss on your clit; you shuddered, twitching, and then he slipped his tongue between your folds, tasting the growing sweetness of your cunt with every second that passed.

If your wrists weren’t restrained behind your back, you would’ve slapped a hand over your mouth, but the glove was working just fine muffling the lewdness of your sounds—thank God, the jester had finally used his intellect for something.

Tongue probing deeper and deeper, lips attached to your clit, sucking, there wasn’t a spot Gojo left unattended to. But, upon your word, since when was his tongue this long!

The whole of it was sensational. You were shaking within twenty seconds of his mouth’s assault, and if you weren’t so out-of-tune from his tongue licking stripes up your cunt, plunging and pumping deep inside of you, sucking on your pussy as your slick dripped and dripped down his chin, perhaps you would have noticed the sharpness of his teeth that just so happened to graze, ever so slightly, at your puffy, swollen lips.

“Still mad at me?” he asked, mouth full of pussy. “Where’d all that attitude go, Miss Untouchable.”

That bastard, you cursed, sliding down the wall as you kicked and cried out, thighs clenching around Gojo’s face as he continued to eat you out with not a care of the world.

You couldn’t count the amount of times you had thrown your head back against the cobblestone wall, muffled mewls and moans leaving your lips from behind the glove shoved in your mouth. Why on earth did this feel so good? you wondered, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“A-Ahh . . . Mm, nngh!”

Your hips bucked forwards, forcing the tip of Gojo’s nose to end up further buried between your folds. You nearly screamed from how cold his skin was; the contrast between it and his tongue was almost unbelievable.

Never had you ever wanted to pull on the jester’s hair more than you did now.

But you couldn’t.

Your lower stomach grew hotter and hotter, and tears pricked at your eyes whilst Gojo’s tongue only dove deeper and deeper. There was a knot forming in your belly, and you squirmed endlessly, spit and saliva and drool soaking the glove stuffed in your mouth without a second thought.

“You want to cum, don’t you?” Gojo’s sea-blue eyes flitted upwards from where he kneeled between your legs, his voice as sensual as ever.

You nodded profusely, eyes blinking back tears as you tugged at your restraints.

Gojo licked a stripe up your clit, laying a kiss at the end of it, and you almost came right then and there, the feel of his tongue simply too much for you to handle any longer, but Gojo’s grip on your thighs tightened, forbidding your release, and you whimpered.

“Only good girls get to cum on my tongue. Have you been a good girl?” he cooed, mockingly. “Nah.”

Your orgasm was so close, yet so far. You pressed your thighs together, seeking any friction to bring you past your high, but Gojo’s hand kept your legs spread, cunt dripping with ache and want.

“Mmmph! Hahh, n-nngh—ahh . . .”

Gojo wasn’t lapping at your cunt anymore. He had completely put his mouth on halt, and was instead using his thumb to apply small amounts of pressure to your clit. Emphasis on “small.” Your lips were puffy and swollen—Gojo could tell it physically hurt you to have your orgasm denied, but he only laughed.

His thumb gave you small slips of bliss, but they were never enough to fully bring you over the edge. It was frustrating enough to be tied up, but to be forbade from cumming? You needed a break.

Your legs were shaking so much you could have been mistaken for an innocent fawn. Gojo continued to thumb at your clit without an ounce of mercy; it drove you insane. And, by insane, I mean, “digging-your-nails-into-your-skin,” insane.

The last straw was when Gojo reached up to remove the glove from your mouth, throwing it onto the floor with a plop! sound. You were so distracted you didn’t even realize you could then speak, but when you did, you didn’t hold back.

“Satoru, I swear, to all things heavenly, I will kill you once I’m out of here.” Your chest heaved as you took in breaths of air, thighs still quivering. “You’ve been nothing but the biggest jerk I have ever fancied.”

“Dunno. Have I? Or, are you just mad I’m finally doing something about your little . . . attitude.”

Slick dripped from Gojo’s chin as he spoke, looking up at you, and you almost forgot why you were mad in the first place.

“Don’t be coy, I know you’re—o-oh! Nngh, mm . . .”

You went cross-eyed when Gojo finally attached his lips to your clit again, sucking at your sweet spots with a newly-founded intent.

Gojo’s tongue plunged into depths deep within your cunt once again, curling and curling, and you could feel the coil in your stomach tighten, ever the more closer to an orgasm. Then, there came the squelching of your cunt, the lewd sounds escaping your lips following suit, and your wetness coating Gojo’s face with a glossy, sheen layer.

You only realized how good of an idea the use of a glove as a makeshift gag was when you finally came on the silver-haired jester’s tongue with a loud cry, back sliding down the cobblestone wall.

“A-Ahh . . . Hahh, ‘Toru—! Nnngh, mm, ahhn . . .”

Tongue lapping at the juices and hot liquid that your cunt weeped, Gojo didn’t let a single drop go to waste as he kept his mouth on your clit all the while. He was indulging all your sweetest, most sensitive spots even after you came—the stimulation soon becoming too much to handle as you grinded against Gojo’s face, riding out your high with heavy sighs and heavy breathing.

You were so sensitive you could’ve cried. Gojo flicked the puffiness of your lips with his tongue, and before you knew it, he was stealing yet another orgasm out of you, only a few minutes after the first one.

“I can’t help myself, beautiful,” he murmured, lips still attached to your clit. “Just tastes so good . . .”

More sucking, kissing, licking; Gojo absolutely ravaged you, as if he were eating a full-course meal after a month-long campaign¹³ with a cavalry—and then came your third orgasm, or, so you assumed; it was . . . different.

¹³ A military operation in the objective of a specific thing, or, in this case, a knights’ operation.

It wasn’t cum, no, it was something more clear, and sheen. The sensation was different, too—you could tell. It ripped obscene vulgarities from your throat. It was . . .

“Well, would you look at that?” Gojo laughed, leaning back to admire his handiwork. “Made my lady squirt. About time, actually. Was beginning to doubt myself for a moment there.”

“Nngh . . . ‘T-Toru—I . . . !”

You had been wriggling for a while, now, and only a few moments after you reached bliss, was when the girdle belt finally fell from your wrists, releasing you from your binds. The sound of it hitting the floor was deafening, and a light bulb finally switched on in your brain—you remembered. You remembered now, and because of that, you needed to leave.

Gojo let the skirt of your gown fall back down as he stood back up, making sure to tuck your dirtied panties into a back pocket of his as he rose to his full height.

“Gonna curse me out now, my lady? Take off my head?” he teased, offering a shit-eating grin.

You patted your gown, smoothing it down in efforts to alleviate your disheveled appearance as much as you could.

“Don’t act smart.”

“You don’t like smart men?”

Since when was his voice this tempting . . .

You avoided his eyes as you spoke, otherwise you would have broken. “I like . . . when you leave me alone.”

And then you hurried away. Out of the pantry, out of the servants’ corridor—you left with wobbly legs, but left, nonetheless. The jester was still standing at the doorway of the pantry when you turned around for a quick glance.

“My lady, you dropped your letter on the floor,” Gojo added, from behind you, calling your name. Damn, he was inviting even if he didn’t mean to be.

Gojo’s voice was loud, and could have, possibly, been heard throughout the servant corridors. But you did not turn back, didn’t even stop to consider the idea. It was nothing, you told yourself, you could just write another letter. Parchment was parchment, after all.

You had already lost a glove, a girdle belt, your panties, and your dignity. Paper? was nothing.

***

In all honesty, you didn’t want to put an end to the affair you and Gojo possessed; you just . . . you were getting married. You were betrothed to a man (a man whom you had never met), and your marriage had already been arranged by the king and his advisors. It would be nothing short of scandalous—not to mention, unchaste. You were committing adultery, after all. 

An affair was one thing, but infidelity?

You had some morals left, at least.

Now, refraining from extramarital activity was hard enough, but avoiding the jester? Nearly impossible.

You refused to look him in the eye after that incident, because of how awkward it was (but mainly because you knew you would fold). You, just, couldn’t bear the thought of some other feeling besides unvirtuous lust rising within yourself—normally, you would’ve labeled your relationship with Gojo as “just for fun,” but now that you were engaged to another man? (And not by choice, nonetheless.) It made you wonder whether you really did think of Gojo without sparks of animosity.

Admitting you . . . loved him? Admitting he paid you more attention than any other man? and, that, you enjoyed his attention? No. Impossible.

He was a jester, after all; he was supposed to give the ladies attention! Or, that’s what you told yourself whenever you began to suspect his love poems weren’t only for entertainment.

You were forced (rather, you forced yourself) to take different routes around the castle if it meant you could avoid Gojo. At supper, you waited for the jester to seat himself before you sat down at whatever chair was farthest from his (you made sure he was unable to kick your feet from beneath the table). And, at times where it seemed impossible to take different routes, you either shut yourself in your bedchambers, or took to reading in hidden nooks inside the library.

On an evening during your second week of your pseudo vow to celibacy, you were outside on your balcony, combing through your hair beneath the moonlight’s gaze.

It was dark out—most nobles had already gone to bed and knights were deployed into hallways to keep watch of the castle, but you enjoyed the quietness that tarried late in the evenings, and didn’t usually slip under the covers until the clocks had struck midnight.

Wind from the East whirled past your face, and, dressed in only a flimsy, light negligee, it was only natural that you shivered. Alongside the company of the moon and wind, there also came the noises of animals, scurrying around underneath the balcony, playing with their mates, snoring; the list went on and on.

All in all, you were never truly alone, even if you felt you were.

The wind howled once more, and you heard the crunching of leaves and another, more distinct, strange noise coming from down below. You didn’t like looking downwards—some could say you had a sort of fear of heights, especially with how high up your balcony was—but, the sounds of tonight seemed to be . . . louder than usual.

Overcome with curiosity, you peered over the balcony railing, with your hairbrush in-hand, to get a good look at what animals were still awake at this time.

You cooed when you saw a pair of rabbits play-fighting, their scuts¹⁴ wagging. “Awh!”

¹⁴ Tails belonging to rabbits.

“Cute, am I right?”

At the sound of someone else’s voice, especially when you should’ve been alone, you immediately dropped your hairbrush, a thud! playing out as the tool landed on the floor of your balcony.

You turned around instinctively, clutching your pearls at the sight of the jester standing only a few paces away, at the opposite end of the balcony. 

Before you put a pause to your little affair, Gojo only ever met you here, on the balcony, if it meant climbing up the vines on the brick walls of the castle, because it would mean hell if anyone caught sight of him slipping through the doors of your bedchambers; and, judging by his disheveled appearance, he had done just that.

“Expecting me, my lady?”

“Goodness! Gojo—Gojo, do you have any idea how late it is?” you exclaimed, a hand over your beating heart as you took several steps closer, standing on your tiptoes as you cradled Gojo’s face in your hands, examining the cuts and scars he had acquired from suffering through the pricking of thorns.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop calling me that?” he quipped, though his tone held no real malice—he looked down at you as you held his face, and appeared almost relieved at the physical contact after two agonizingly long weeks without it.

You looked up, peering into the blue of his eyes. “What . . . in heaven’s name, are you—?”

“Doing here?” He cut you off, finishing your sentence for you as he deadpanned. “I could ask you the same thing. Admit it, you’ve been avoiding me. The past weeks you’ve always been with either the ladies, burying yourself in mountains of books, or . . . or here!—locking yourself up in your bedchambers. I haven’t been able to speak a single word to you.”

“I . . .”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, in a matter-of-fact fashion. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“. . .”

You didn’t know what to do; the only thing you were certain of, was that you absolutely refused to answer him—at least, not yet. So, you did the one thing you were good at.

Throwing away your pride, (and since Gojo’s face was already in your hands), you stood up on your tiptoes once again and kissed him.

Kissed him like you meant it, like he meant it. Kissed him with however little spirit you had left in you, with however much emotion you held towards that man. You kissed him, earnestly, lips pressing against his in a chaste kiss that, obviously, turned heated only seconds later.

But, in full honesty, with this you finally realized how much you had really missed the jester—not just his kisses, the addictive, sweet taste of his lips, or the way his hands flew down to your hips within moments; but, you missed him. You missed Gojo: Gojo Satoru.

He filled plenty of aches you never knew you had, and, when he kissed you back without even a second’s hesitation, you almost wanted to kill yourself for how stupid you were to have had the audacity to actually deprive this man of the one good thing he loved during his entertaining of the royal court.

“Abstinence,” he asked, looking down at you once you pulled away, “really? That’s what you’re doing to punish me?”

“Gojo, I—Satoru, that’s . . . not what I’m doing. Please, believe me, I’m . . .” Stammering over your words, you blinked several times, refusing eye contact with the man.

Before your hands could drop from his face back down to your sides, Gojo caught your wrists just as they trailed down his chest, holding you closer to himself as he whispered in your ear, nipping playfully at your earlobe.

“You’re, what? Uninterested in jesters all of a sudden? Found a prince for yourself? Celibate, even?” He laughed, albeit the sound of it was nothing but dry. “Now’s a pretty bad time for that, wouldn’t you say so?”

Now was a bad time for that, you thought to yourself.

Biting your lip with your face turned to the side, you swallowed the lump in your throat, resting your palms on Gojo’s chest.

“Satoru, I’m . . . engaged, now. We can’t . . .” You struggled to even utter the syllables of the word ‘engaged.’ “We can’t continue seeing each other without it being wrong.”

Gojo didn’t even look surprised when you revealed your hand was promised to another man. I mean, with the quiet time he had had on his hands as of late, he probably went through a couple of possible explanations for your sudden vow of silence towards anything that had to do with him and himself.

“Will you look at me?” he sighed, tone lowered to a pathetic plea.

“That wouldn’t—wouldn’t change anything,” was what you answered with, turning your head to look up at Gojo’s eyes. It was funny; they seemed to shine less under the moonlight, considering one would ordinarily assume otherwise.

“You seem to not understand me, my lady.” Gojo picked up a lock of your hair, bringing it to his lips to kiss—his white lashes fluttering. “I don’t want you to stand here and tell me you won’t go along with the marriage. I want you to stand here and tell me you will go with marrying another.”

“W-What—?”

“But only whilst you look me in the eyes, my lady.” Gojo let your hair drop from his hand as he moved to hold your cheek, instead. “Look me in the eyes, and tell me you’ll marry him—he, who has won your heart.”

You looked away, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t, Satoru.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Because, it would be a lie . . . It’s not he who has won my heart . . .”

“Then, who?”

You turned back, facing Gojo, but you did not answer his question. “Satoru, I’m—I’m afraid.”

“You’re afraid,” he repeated, as if telling you. “You’re afraid because our affair; you and me; us—it’s wrong. Simply wrong, you know that, and, yet, you don’t want it to end, do you?”

Gojo leaned down as he spoke, but when you tried pushing his face away, he barely budged.

“I’m a woman betrothed, Satoru. It’s immoral.”

“My lady, you’re not wrong. You are a woman betrothed, but I am a jester who has fallen for an engaged woman. Have you no pity for me?” The question seemed almost humorous, in a way, but you didn’t laugh.

You shook your head. “None.”

“What do you have for me, then?”

You sighed, giving in to your heart, and your eyes softened as you gazed upwards at the silver-haired jester.

“Must I say it?”

Gojo grinned, the mischief returning to his eyes. “You can show it,” he said.

And then you threw your arms around his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him, until your mind went stupid, insane, absolutely dumb; because that was how it always was with kissing Gojo Satoru—he made you sick for love. He made you ache for it, for him, for anything, at all, that had to do with the certain six-foot-something fool of a man.

That was the night you confessed your requited love towards Gojo for the first time (even if it was nonverbal). That was the night your lover took you on the balcony for the first time—or, well, it wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time you two were, actually, making love—spending a night together; together-together.

That night was a blur.

One moment you two were embracing, reveling in what the both of you had been missing out on for the past fortnight; the next, well, Gojo had you bent over the balcony railing; and, after that, you were being backed up against the doors of your bedroom which led out towards the balcony.

Clothes had already been shed en route—your lame excuse for a nightgown lay shredded on the balcony floor, alongside Gojo’s motley⁴ and his cap and bells,⁸ which were both in a similar, if not equal, state (hey, you could be impatient, too).

⁴ Costume of a jester.

⁸ A fool’s cap; the bells were intended for informing people of the jester’s entrance.

The night was long, but that didn’t mean you stopped before sunrise, no. You two went on even after the break of dawn, and, when you did (eventually) lay down to sleep and awake, you were with sore muscles and a different kind of ache between your legs. But your heart soared, and your head spun—all but for one jester.

You were afraid of love, and you were promised to another man. But Gojo, your Gojo, made it all better; and that was how the two of you came to be lovers.

***

The two of you had already been in a secret relationship together—hell, one could even argue it had never even stopped. But, it was different now that you knew your little affair had developed into something . . . more, per se. It was thrilling, knowing that, even with all the show you two had to put on in front of crowds: arguing, banter, cursing; your nights would all end the same, with Gojo sliding under your covers when it came time to sleep.

However, not everything had changed.

The both of you still rendezvoused in hidden corridors and servant hallways—plenty of times, even. Hiding under oak trees was also still a thing, given the amount of shade and quiet provided.

And, anywho, there were also new additions to the dynamic of your relationship with Gojo. Instances where you two were this close to getting caught in scandalous, compromising situations soon grew . . . quite frequent, really. Gojo liked to hide under the skirts of your gowns whenever someone entered the room you two occupied, and he found it even more fun when it meant he could keep you entertained down there while you spoke with your unwanted company up there.

If it wasn’t becoming apparent, Gojo couldn’t have cared less if someone was in the room—he would’ve kept toying with your clit or reaching knuckles-deep inside of your cunt, anyway.

He also didn’t care much about going out on a limb just for some . . . fun. The two of you played a variety of risky games together, games that could end up with the whole royal court finding out about your affair, but it was fun, nonetheless. Like, trying to find each other within crowds at masquerade balls, for example; it was an event which had all guests covering their faces, so approaching someone by mistake was quite a sight to see. The time of Carnival¹⁵ came with a lot of entertainments, but masks were definitely one of them.

¹⁵ A time of feasting and celebration before Lent.

However, aside from all your risqué escapades, you and Gojo also showed your intimacy in subtle ways. You had never noticed it prior, but even before your affair went into full-bloom, Gojo had made a habit of matching his everyday costumes to your everyday gowns. He matched the color of your fabrics, and, if possible, matched the patterns, too. He did this with every color—every color except for white, because you never wore white.

You had told him once, perhaps during one of those nights the two of you spent watching the stars, that you held a strange sort of detestation towards the color. You didn’t know why, truthfully, you just . . . you weren’t a fan of blank, empty canvases.

Gojo had no problem with that, really. It was much easier to pick colorful flowers than it was to find white ones. Oh, yeah, before I can forget, the jester had a particular pastime of picking you bouquets—only ever the most beautiful and fragrant flowers, of course. 

In his own words, “It would be a crime worthy of punishment to give my lady anything less than the best.” Yeah, he was a dork—a dork who played footsies with you during supper; but he was your dork, nonetheless.

Well, he was, up until the day your arranged marriage was supposed to take place.

Gojo didn’t like talking about it, and for the fortnight that had passed after you both confessed to each other, he had not brought up the subject of it once. Whenever you did, he began to talk of something else. Whenever someone was bringing it up during a public gathering, Gojo would drag you away from the crowd, off to another pantry or library.

It wasn’t Prince Rilian you were marrying: it was actually a lord; still, Gojo hated whichever man it was. 

He liked to say, joking (or not), “It’s a shame he couldn’t find his own woman. Had to arrange a marriage like a pussy. You wouldn’t marry someone like that, would you? A bitch-boy who had no game?” And then he would laugh. “Nah, you’re more into real men.”

You were. He was right. But, who were you, a lady and her lover, otherwise known as the jester of the royal court, to defy the king and his advisors? . . . No one. And that’s exactly why, on the day of your wedding, Gojo had climbed up your balcony just as he had done before, a countless number of times.

Gojo had heard you were taking a few minutes to yourself, alone, on your balcony, before the ceremony; and wasn’t even a second hesitant about trying, attempting, to persuade you into eloping. He was a jester: he was supposed to be irrational, but this was, perhance, his most unbelievable joke yet.

“Well, you’re dressed up today. What’s the occasion?”

Gojo was standing two paces behind from where you stood, hands perched on the balcony’s railing.

You didn’t turn around when you heard the sound of his footsteps approaching, but you were forced to, when he spun you around.

“Please, don’t joke about this,” you pleaded, eyes sorrowful as Gojo held you.

“Oh, trust me. I do not find anything about this funny—especially not the part where you forgot to tell me you were getting married today.”

You turned away from Gojo’s eyes, your veil trailing far behind you. “I can assure you, . . . I didn’t know the date was already officially set until hours ago.” You wanted to whisper, I thought we had more time, but you didn’t.

Gojo stared at you like a child admiring the stars, lifting your veil to examine your painted face—it made him sad, the way he knew how much you hated the color white, and how empty it was, just like your eventual false vows to a man you barely knew. 

Blushing brides were supposed to be blushing, Gojo thought; not on the verge of tears.

“Will you think of me when you stand at that altar?” he began, a silence following before he continued. “Will you wish it were my name you were vowing your life to?”

“G-Gojo,” you stammered, “please—”

“So we’re back to a title basis? I’m just ‘Gojo’ to you, again?”

“I didn’t want this, I . . .”

“I wouldn’t be in the crowds, my lady, if you were wondering. You won’t see my face and you won’t hear my voice objecting.”

“But—”

“But you don’t want to get married,” said Gojo, cutting you off, “I know. So run away. Run away with me.”

“Satoru, I . . . It’s not as easy as you think it is.”

Gojo took your gloved hand in his, and kissed it. He kissed the left hand, on the ring finger. “I don’t think it’s easy. I just think it’s right. Don’t you agree? So, please, my lady, don’t make vows you do not mean.”

Sure, jesters could do many things. Jesters could be many things. But this one—this one just happened to be the love of your life.

( ℳ𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⌕ )

새하얀 종이 위로 매일을 그려, 어차피 지나갈 구름도 색이 변해가는 나무들, 우릴 닮은 풍경 한 장씩 작은 비밀처럼, 둘만 열어보곤 알 수 있게.

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝜗𝜚

HEADCANONS 💭

SKZ + WAYS THEY SHOW “I LOVE YOU” !

SMAU’S/TEXTS 📱

SKZ + GOING OUT ON CUTE DATES !

hyung line ver. | maknae line ver.

SKZ + BREAKING UP WITH THEIR GF FOR YOU !

hyung line ver. | maknae line ver.

SKZ AS NEW PARENTS !

hyung line ver. | maknae line ver.

ARGUMENT WITH BF!SKZ !

hyung line ver. | maknae line ver.

SKZ + REASSURANCE !

SKZ + WHEN THEY GET JEALOUS !

WE CAN’T BE FRIENDS ! (BANG CHAN SERIES)

SKZ AS YOUR OLDER BROTHER !

FAKE ARGUING WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND !

RATING YOUR EXES !

DRABBLES/ONE SHOTS 📑

THE PERFECT PAIR ! (HAN JISUNG)

𝐛𝐭𝐬 𝜗𝜚

HEADCANONS 💭

NOTHING YET

SMAU’S/TEXTS 📱

SOFT LAUNCHING YOUR NEW BOYFRIEND ! (JK)

part 1. | part 2.

ARGUMENT WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND ! (JK)

JEALOUS/TOXIC ARGUMENT ! (JK)

part 1. | part 2.

DAD!YOONGI TEXTS !

EX!NAMJOON TEXTS !

DAD!JUNGKOOK TEXTS !

DRABBLES/ONE SHOTS 📑

NOTHING YET

𝐩𝐥𝐳 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬 !

Stray Kids Masterlist

Bang Chan

Interview with Officer Bahng

Sunkissed

Perfect Fit

Login Confessions

You’re Losing Me (Angst)

Adrenaline High

Check Under My Hood

Always Come For You (Requested)

Love at Lunch Time

Airborne

His Little Star (Angst)

New Year New Me

His Clumsy Klutz

Lucky Number 13

Lee Know

Drunken Teasings

Mouth to Mouth

Unsure Attraction

Recipe of a Confession

Dandelions

The Great Cat-Napper

Red Light, Green Light

Parade Shenanigans

Love Postage

Entwined With You

Interrupting Festivities

Nearly Missed

Polar Opposites

New Cat Mama

Changbin

Traffic Control

Pool Games

Guarding Your Heart

Confession to Quench Your Thirst

Brave Girl (Angst)

Wrong Number

Silent Protector

Love Stuck on You

Do You Want To Build A Snowman?

Created Happiness (Angst)

Courage at Midnight

Taking Care of Him

Your Advocate

Rooftop Conversations

Hyunjin

Photographic Evidence

Underwater Love

Scent of Attraction

Masterpiece of a Confession

Play Pretend

The Chase

Little Bit of Time

Love Letters

Catching Snowflakes On Our Tongues

No Longer Playing Pretend

New Year’s Resolution

All In The Details

Love Guru

Off Key

Han Jisung

Connections

Moves to Quick

Launch Party

Tickled Confessions

Eyes On Me

Sway

Nitro Boost

Love Behind the Lyrics

Baby It’s Cold Outside

Inyeon

Plan Crasher

His Reassurance

Monsters Under The Bed

Lee Felix

Status Report

Just a Glimpse

Data Breach

Gameplay Confessions

Greedy (Angst)

Card Up His Sleeve

Checkered Flag

Love Creases

Angels In The Snow

Twilight Zone (Angst)

New Beginnings in the New Year

Worry Wart

Too Early For This

Seungmin

Monthly Exam

Protective

Gathering Courage

Confessions Under Fluorescents

Spoil Me

Took A Louisville Slugger

Last Proposal

Little Book of Love

All’s Fair

Spoiled Rotten

New Year Conditions

Sweet Serenade

Backseat Driver

Coffee Snobs

Jeongin

Undercover Mission

Paired Up

Tease Me

Boardgame Confessions

Song Bird (Angst)

Highest Bid

Take Another Lap

Let Me Count The Ways

Icing You Out

False Hope (Angst)

Wishing You Good Fortune

Always In The Nick of Time

Dyed Colors