Part One. Part Two. Part Three. Part Four.

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.

T R I C K O R T R E A T

presented by BTS Fantasy and Fangs

Celebrate this Hallows' Eve with legends told by our most esteemed ghouls. Enter worlds of the unknown and lose yourself in these tales. But beware: one might lose themselves in these hallowed stories.

Rating: Works range from SFW and NSFW. Each work will have its own set of warnings.

Note: This collaboration features works written as general works and works that were assigned via a Secret-Santa style within the BTS Fantasy & Fangs server in which writers did not know who was gifting them a work!

LEGENDS COMING THROUGHOUT OCTOBER.

T R I C K S

☾ Title: Devil Town

☾ Pairing: Platonic OT7 x reader

☾ Summary: You take a chance and spend a month in Devil Town: a quaint little place nestled deep in the woods of The Unknown, where the air is always a touch chilly, things are never quite what they seem, and no one will tell you anything.

☾ Genre/AU: Autumn?? A lil spooky, a lil whimsy, a lil mystery; not quite angst, not quite fluff

☾ Rating: PG

as told by @park-jimin-isnt-real

☾ Title: Handmaidens

☾ Pairing: OT7 x reader

☾ Summary: When the murder of handmaidens begin in Joseon, you are assigned to serve the throne – the seven imperial princes, sons of Lord Sihyuk. Despite your loyalty, your suspicions begin to rise about the killings. Can you escape the palace before it’s too late?

☾ Genre/AU: Joseon Era thriller/slasher

☾ Rating: TBD

as told by @eserethriddle

☾ Title: Have Mercy

☾ Paring: Demon!Jimin x Reader | Alpha!Yoongi x Reader | Demon!Jimin x Alpha!Yoongi

☾ Summary: As a crossroads demon, Jimin is no stranger to vile creatures. Summoned once more, Jimin is surprised to find one of the purest souls asking for his help. Not only does he accept her deal, but while watching over her, Jimin finds himself falling for the very soul he is meant to devour. Eager to confess, Jimin summons the sweet soul only for his plan to turn sour when someone far more evil finds her alone.

☾ Genre/AU: Angst | Smut | Strangers to Lovers | Demon AU | A/B/O AU

☾ Rating: 21+ | Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

as told by @sweetestofchaos

Title: The One who Saved Us All

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader

Summary: It's the annual Halloween celebration in Seoul, where everyone from different walks of life get together and celebrate the history of the Vidyadhara. But when someone decides to cause some trouble, Seokjin's best-kept secret comes to life.

Genre/AU: Halloween, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Disaster?

Rating: Maybe M to MA 15+

as told by @quirkybtsarmy

☾ Title: Simply Meant to Be

☾ Pairing: pumpkin king!jungkook x fem reader

☾ Genre/AU: nightmare before Christmas au, romance, horror, smut

☾ Rating: m (18+)

☾ Summary: You aren’t sure how any of it can be real. This place…these creatures…this man.

You’ve never been one to believe in things that go bump in the night. That is, until you woke up in Halloween Town with no memory of how you got here in the first place.

But everyone in town seems to know you. You belong to the Pumpkin King and he’s perhaps the strangest of them all. Strange, but also absolutely fascinating and charismatic. Beautiful and incredibly dangerous.

The things he’s willing to do for you are frightening…but what’s more frightening is that you’re starting to like it.

as told by @caelesjjk

T R E A T S

☾ Title: Blessed With A Curse

☾ Pairing: Werewolf!Jungkook x Hybrid!Reader

☾ Summary: When your company throws a mandatory Halloween party, you aren’t thrilled. You’re even less thrilled when a delusional coworker ruins the party and places a curse on everyone because her crush, the resident werewolf, Jeon Jungkook, rejected them. OR When a coworker gets rejected at the company Halloween party, things get crazy.

☾ Genre/AU: Smut, Werewolf AU, Hybrid AU, Modern Magic AU

☾ Rating: NC-17

as written by @sweetestofchaos for TBA

☾ Title: Bump In The Night

☾ Pairing: Bogeyman!Yoongi x f. reader

☾ Summary: The dark can be scary; full of strange, unseen things. Just when you think you’ve got a handle on your fear, the lights go out, and you face the reality that you were always right—you should fear the dark and especially what’s waiting in it.

☾ Genre/AU: Monster Under The Bed, Horror/Thriller, Angst, Smut

☾ Rating: MA

as written by @colormepurplex2 for TBA

☾ Title: Carmen

☾ Pairing: Vampire!Jimin x human!Taehyung

☾ Summary: When Taehyung gets invited to a very secretive high-society club, he simply can’t say no. It’s only a little too late when he realizes that there is something wicked under the gilded laughs and pretty face. And there seems to be someone in particular who has his razor-sharp eyes on Taehyung.

☾ Genre/AU: Supernatural, Vampires, Smut

☾ Rating: Explicit/Mature

as written by @sailoryooons for TBA

☾ Title: Fledgling

☾ Pairing: Jungkook x Namjoon

☾ Summary: Jungkook is tired of his dreary existence. So when a mysterious stranger offers him a way out of life as he knows it, he takes it without hesitation.

☾ Genre/AU: Vampire AU, horror, smut

☾ Rating: 21+ | Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

as told by @theharrowing for TBA

☾ Title: Love As Soft As a Distant Star

☾ Pairing: Min Yoongi | Reader, Min Yoongi | Park Jimin

☾ Summary: You didn’t mean to fall in love with your husband and fellow Witches’ Councilmember Yoongi, but here you are: in love. (How gauche and not the thing. You’re co-workers, not lovers.) It’s particularly inconvenient since he is in love with someone else.

☾ Genre/AU: Witch AU, arranged marriage AU

☾ Rating: Explicit/Mature

as written by @vyduan for TBA

☾ Title: Lose Your Head

☾ Pairing: Park Jimin x F!Reader

☾ Summary: As a constable’s assistant you have several duties to him and the police force. Not only as his assistant, but as his dear friend. However, when an ominous summoning sends you and Jimin both to the town of Sleepy Hollow, you fear there might be more at play than either of you understand. And feelings that you’d hope to bury for life bubble to the surface...

☾ Genre/AU: Movie!AU, Thriller, SleepyHollow!AU, Smut, Romance. Rating: 21+

as written by @jessikahathaway for TBA

☾ Title: The Love Witch

☾ Pairing: witch!yoongi x demon!taehyung

☾ Summary: Despite being a popular romance blogger, Yoongi isn’t interested in finding love. He only summons a demon boyfriend to prove to his followers that it’s possible. He’ll send Taehyung right back to Hell once he’s done with him, obviously.

☾ Genre/AU: fantasy, strangers to lovers, fake dating (kinda), light angst, smut, fluff, humor

☾ Rating: 18+

as written by @gimmethatagustd for TBA

☾ Title: Passage

☾ Pairing: Captain!Yoongi x Dracula!Jimin

☾ Summary: For several years, Min Yoongi and the crew of the Magpie have sailed the perilous waters of the Pacific, surviving treacherous waves and other deadly threats in order to deliver goods to the West. Now, on his final voyage as captain, Yoongi is about to face a danger like none he’s ever seen before - and he may find it too tempting to resist.

☾ Genre/AU: horror, supernatural, angst, smut, Dracula!AU

☾ Rating: M(18+)

as written by @minisugakoobies for TBA

Disclaimer: This is a collaboration put on for members of the BTS Fantasy and Fangs Server. These stories, characters, and festivals used here are not meant to represent any real or factual people, places, or things.

700 notes View Post

lmorg149

2 months ago

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.

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lmorg149

3 years ago

✭SKZ cute icons✭

˜”*°•please like/reblog if you save/use•°*”˜

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lmorg149

5 years ago

Great work

Masterlist

Below you will find our new and updated Masterlist, containing the characters we’ve written for as well as events that we’ve held. Now I am aware that for some people on Mobile that these links don’t work, unfortunately I have no idea as to why they don’t work and there isn’t much I can do about it. Some of these links may not lead anywhere or come up empty because we haven’t written for some of the characters yet but rather they are ones some of us will be writing for from now on. I hope this helps all of you my Little Rogues.

Class 1A

Eijiro Kirishima

Izuku Midoriya

Katsuki Bakugou

Mashirao Ojiro

Denki Kaminari

Koji Kouda

Shouto Todoroki

Tenya Iida

Fumikage Tokoyami

Mezou Shouji

Hanta Sero

Yuuga Aoyama

Mina Ashido

Kyouka Jirou

Ochaco Uraraka

Tsuyu Asui

Momo Yaoyorozu

Tooru Hagakure

Class 1B

Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

Monoma Neito

Yosetsu Awase

Shihai Kuriro

Itsuka Kendo

Yui Kodai

Kinoko Komori

Ibara Shiozaki

Pony Tsunotori

Setsuna Tokage

Other Classes

Tamaki Amajiki

Mirio Togata

Nejire Hadou

Yuyu Haya

Hitoshi Shinsou

Mei Hatsume

Other Schools

Inasa Yaorashi

Camie Utsushimi

Yo Shindo

Tatami Nakagame

Kashiko Sekigai

Pro-Heroes/Others

Hawks

Tsunagu Hakamata (Best Jeanist)

Shinya Kamihara (Edgeshot)

Rumi Usagiyama (Miruko/Mirko)

Ryuko Tatsuma (Ryukyu)

Kugo Sakamata (Gang Orca)

Yu Takeyama (Mt. Lady)

Taishiro Toyomitsu (Fatgum)

Shino Sosaki (Mandalay)

Ryuko Tsuchikawa (Pixie-Bob)

Tomoko Shiretoko (Ragdoll)

Sir Nighteye

Shouta Aizawa (Eraserhead) / Dadzawa

Hizashi Yamada (Present Mic)

Toshinori Yagi (All Might)

Ectoplasm

Nemuri Kayama (Midnight)

Ken Ishiyama (Cementoss)

Snipe

Higari Maijima (Power Loader)

Sekijiro Kan (Vlad King)

Emi Fukukado (Ms. Joke)

Rei Todoroki

Sirius

Kaoruko Awata (Bubble Girl)

Eri

Nezu

Tensei Iida (Ingenium)

Shinji Nishiya (Kamui Woods)

Villains

Tomura Shigaraki

Kurogiri

Dabi

Himiko Toga

Jin Bubaigawara (Twice)

Shuichi Iguchi (Spinner)

Atsuhiro Sako (Mr. Compress)

Kai Chisaki (Overhaul)

Hari Kurono (Chronostasis)

Shin Nemoto

Kendo Rappa

Chizome Akaguro (Stain)

All For One

Gentle

La Brava

Type

Scenarios

Headcanons

Themes

Orange

Lime

Lemon

Grapefruit

Angst

Hurt

Comfort

Fluff

Platonic

Character x Character

Art

Poly

Emergency Requests

AU’s

Omegaverse

Villain AU

Fantasy AU

God AU

Witch AU

Dragon AU

Supernatural AU

Mermaid AU

Kitsune AU

Vampire AU

Shapeshifter AU

Demon AU

Zombie AU

Apocalypse AU

Stripper AU

Elf AU

Writer Mods

Mod Lady Lucifer (Lady Bitch Tits)

Mod Pasta

Mod Miss Magpie

Art Mods

Mod Void

Mod Kitten

Mod Bready

Retired Mods

Mod Eclipse / Momma Dragon / Undead Raven

Mod Inky

Mod Pumpkin

Mod Shortcake

Mod Pomme

Mod Sourpatch

Events

Explodoweek 2018

700 Followers Event

Mirio Weekend Event

Christmas 2017 Event

New Years 2018 Event

Demon Event

Birthday Event

PastaLosta Event

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lmorg149

3 weeks ago

Sky’s Library:

If you’re finding this first PLEASE read this post

Welcome to my library!! Stay awhile!! 🤍📖

REQUESTS STATUS: OPEN

Guide:

🤍- Bangchan

💪🏻- Changbin

💐- Han Jisung

🐚- Felix

🍄- I.N

🌈- Hyunjin

🪐- Lee Minho

🫧- Seungmin

Stray Kids:

Fake Texts:

The Boys Are Jealous Of Your Date

Pt. 1[🤍💪🏻🪐]

Pt. 2 [💐🐚]

Pt. 3 [🌈🍄🫧]

Friends to Lovers Series: 🤍

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

PART 6…Loading

[1] The boys ask for intimate advice

{🤍💪🏻🐚💐🍄🪐🌈🫧}

[2] The Aftermath of Your Advice …Loading

{🤍💪🏻🐚💐🍄🪐🌈🫧}

Husband! SKZ Texts:

[💐]

[💪🏻]

[🐚]…Loading

[🫧]…Loading

[🪐]…Loading

[🍄]…Loading

[🤍]…Loading

[🌈]…Loading

SMAU’s:

…Loading

Written Works:

{By Request Only}

Chaumet Event [🫧]

RQ: @nightmarenyxx

254 notes View Post

lmorg149

3 years ago

[ 10:49 am ] Your eyes were fixated on Seungmin the whole lunch.

Your friends and his decided to have lunch together so that they could all grow closer together, but you knew your best friend had another reason for doing so.

Your eyes never left his face, and you knew it was wrong to stare but you couldn't bring it in yourself to look away.

He's so eye catching.

He looked up, feeling as if someone was watching him, but once he looked around, he couldn't find a pair of eyes on him.

Thanks to your amazing reaction time, you had looked down at your phone— that wasn't even on— the time he had looked up.

You wait for a few seconds, trying to pretend that you were listening to the topic of the conversations your friends were having, but in reality you just wanted to get back to observing Kim Seungmin.

Your patience ran out and you look back up to him, but you were met with familiar black pupils.

Seungmin.

Your eyes widened, and he smiles(at you? maybe), letting out a small giggle. Going back to having a conversation with Jeongin, leaving you in a state of embarrassment.

114 notes View Post

lmorg149

1 month ago

make me your villain - collab

If you’ve ever wondered how the story might have ended differently if the villain got the girl, you’ve come to the right place.

Everyone loves a bit of a morally grey villain who is only good for that one particular person. The kind that would watch the world burn for you and never think twice about it. The kind that are deadly but also deadly hot.

In this collab you’ll find an array of retold stories with that villainous twist. Please look forward to them in the coming months, as there’s no particular posting time.

TBA

Title: The Price Written by: @daechwitatamic Genre: Snow White and the Huntsman!au, angst, smut, unhappy ending Pairing: Snow White!Yoongi x Hunts(wo)man!reader Summary: The Queen is responsible for everything you can claim: your home, your job, your freedom. You live without laying claim to anything else, lest the Queen leverage more pieces of you in exchange for her grace. But freedom isn’t free, and the Queen has just named her price: the young blacksmith, Min Yoongi.

Title: The Surface Written by: @moni-logues Pairing: prince merman!Hoseok x sea witch!reader Genre: fairytale AU/The Little Mermaid AU, angst, smut Summary: Prince Hoseok has only ever wanted one thing: to experience life on the Surface. You have only ever wanted Prince Hoseok. When he comes to you, desperate, claiming you are the only one who can help him, you decide to play along. You'll help him achieve his dream and maybe you'll satisfy your own dream, too.

Title: Red Written by: @sailoryooons Pairing: Werewolf!Namjoon x f. reader Genre: Supernatural, thriller, smut Summary: For as long as you can remember, your village has been relatively normal. But when people begin to turn up dead right after a group of newcomers arrive, pieces of your past start to fall into place, and something feels familiar - particularly the quiet man who can't take his eyes off of you.

Title: A Good Day To Die Written by: @here4kpopfics Pairing: Jimin x reader Genre: Robin Hood!au, enemies to lovers, smut, violence, royal shenanigans. Summary: With a royal wedding looming around the corner, everyone is running around in circles to make sure everything goes according to plan. Three days before the wedding, however, the princess is kidnapped by the infamous outlaw, Park Jimin. Or was she?

Title: Serpent & Nightingale Written by: @caelesjjk Pairing: Captain Hook!Taehyung x f. reader (grown version of Wendy) Genre: Peter Pan AU, Fairytale AU, Villain gets the girl, angst, smut Summary: You needed to escape him. You needed to get as far away as you could so he could never bring you back. So you make a deal with the pirate you’ve been told to loathe most of your life. The pirate that you read stories to when you were a child when had no other way to save him. The pirate who insists you seal your deal with a kiss in order to board the Jolly Roger and join him in Evernight, the island he calls home.

Title: Golden Shackles Written by: @gimmethatagustd Pairing: sorcerer!jungkook x genie!(f)reader Genre: Aladdin AU, fantasy, royalty, angst, smut Summary: For thousands of years, you’ve been forced to grant the wishes of greedy men who want nothing but power. When you fall into the hands of a royal imposter, it’s his rival for the throne who becomes your only hope for freedom.

888 notes View Post

lmorg149

9 months ago

Second Time’s A Charmer

Chapter 1

the london season is upon us! all eligible bachelors and bachelorettes are in attendance at the first event of the season: The Worthington’s inaugural ball!

word count : 3,290

pairing : seo changbin x fem! reader

genre : slow burn, forbidden love

- master list -

Worthington.

A name that was unanimously agreed upon to carry much weight. If one were a Worthington, one had not only wealth, but dashing good looks and intelligence unmatched. Generations of Worthingtons had set the standard for excellence in every realm they touched—business, politics, and the arts. Their opulent estates, sprawling across the countryside, stood as monuments to their enduring success. The family crest, a symbol of honor and distinction, was a mark of both privilege and responsibility.

From a young age, children born into the Worthington family were groomed to uphold this illustrious tradition. Tutors were engaged, private lessons were given, and expectations were set sky-high. The Worthingtons were not merely a family; they were a legacy in the making, with every action and decision carefully considered to preserve the reputation they had meticulously built.

As the anticipation surrounding the birth of Lord and Lady Worthington’s first son grew, the society buzzed with speculation. Would this new addition live up to the family’s storied reputation? Would he embody the charisma, intellect, and grace that defined the Worthington lineage? The whispers became a symphony of curiosity and hope.

When the young lad was born, the initial uncertainty was palpable. Yet, as he grew, it became increasingly clear that he was not merely a Worthington by name. By age three, he carried himself with an innate elegance, and his early accomplishments—mastering complex concepts and displaying a remarkable charm—affirmed that the family’s reputation was in capable hands.

The next two children born into the Worthington family were equally remarkable, with the youngest surpassing even her older brothers in charm and grace. If that could be chalked up to the fact that the Worthington’s youngest child was female, then so be it.

And as was expected, none of the Worthington children lacked for intelligence. Whether it was due to the unparalleled education they received or a hereditary gift from their parents, their intellectual prowess was undeniable. Each child exhibited a remarkable acuity well beyond their years; the second child, in particular, had been so advanced that he had skipped an entire grade, further underscoring the family's exceptional intellectual legacy.

One thing was for sure: the legacy of the Worthington family name was surely in the right hands.

However, despite the children’s seemingly endless blessings, it seemed quite impossible for any one of them to obtain a spouse. Y/N Worthington, the youngest and only daughter, was, in fact, in her second season, having failed to secure herself a husband the previous year. The grand balls and high-society gatherings, usually a showcase of youthful romance and potential unions, had yielded little progress for her.

Y/N had been raised with the highest expectations of securing a marriage that would further elevate the Worthington name. She was well-versed in the art of conversation, skilled in the latest dance steps, and possessed a beauty that was frequently admired. Yet, the season had brought an onslaught of disappointments. The eligible bachelors she encountered seemed either indifferent or unsuitable, their attentions fleeting and superficial.

It was only the first event of the season, and already this year’s prospects seemed as bleak as ever. Though the evening often proved less than enjoyable, with suitors jostling for every dance, they held a certain nostalgic charm for Y/N. Her family had always hosted this inaugural event, and while she hadn’t truly grasped the experience until the previous year—when she had made her debut into society—she fondly remembered the raucous laughter and melodic strains of music that would drift through the ballroom doors during her childhood.

Y/N stared out at the crowd, a sea of opulent fabrics and glittering jewels, each member of high society engaged in the intricate dance of courtship and intrigue. The chatter and laughter that filled the room felt distant to her, a stark contrast to the growing despondency she felt within. Each glance and smile from potential suitors seemed to pass her by, as if she were an observer rather than an active participant.

Part of her wished that she could go back to those simpler times, when one wasn’t being constantly bothered by one’s parents to “Pin down a man!”. Back then, she could enjoy the festivities from a distance, savoring the celebrations without the weight of expectation.

She wouldn’t dare cause a fuss about it though. It had always been told to her that when she came of age, it was important she marry as quickly as possible. Why it didn’t matter as much that her brothers marry quickly, she would never know. It seemed as though men could simply take their time with these sorts of things.

There was only one man she was certain was bursting at the seams to find his future wife: The Honorable Felix Hanilee.

The second son of a Earl, he didn’t have much to look forward to in terms of estate. Nevertheless, Y/N had witnessed that Felix had quite an abundance of love and kindness in his heart, something she all but respected and hoped for her future husband.

In all honesty, had he been born the first son of the Earl, Felix would have been an exceptional marriage prospect in her eyes. His striking features and effortless charm far outshone most of the eligible bachelors Y/N had met. Equally adept in conversation and possessing a natural elegance, he embodied the qualities of a distinguished gentleman. Yet, despite these attributes, he still fell short of her parents' lofty expectations. His status as a second son and his comparatively modest prospects rendered him insufficient in their eyes, regardless of his undeniable appeal and grace.

It was a harsh reality that Y/N grappled with often. In a society where lineage and wealth were paramount, the value of personal attributes seemed to be diminished. Felix’s charm and sophistication were overshadowed by the rigid standards of social standing. Y/N found this discrepancy both frustrating and disheartening, especially when she considered how rare it was to encounter someone of his caliber.

As she pondered these thoughts, she glanced around the bustling ballroom, feeling the weight of her own constraints pressing upon her. The glittering crowd seemed to mock her own romantic frustrations, with the contrast between genuine affection and societal obligations growing ever clearer. Just as she began to lose herself in her reflections, a familiar figure caught her eye.

Almost as if she’d summoned him right out of her thoughts, the young man appeared by her side, his freckles on full display in the late afternoon light.

“Lady Worthington, how wonderful to finally greet you tonight!” His voice boomed loud, much louder than was appropriate for how close he was but Y/N simply laughed it off.

“Felix, there’s no need for formalities. I’ve all but given you permission to use my given name.” Felix smiled softly, his face crinkling in all the right places. “Why you insist on you using my title, I’ll never understand.”

He simply waved her off, instead bowing then moving to stand beside her. “My mother would have my head if she heard me call a lady by her given name.” He looked over at Y/N, the smile forming on his face almost mischievous. “Even if that lady was only in diapers when I was first acquaintanced with her.”

While it was true that the Worthingtons were esteemed pillars of high society and placed a great deal value on their children’s futures, this had never deterred Y/N's mother from maintaining a close friendship with the Hanilee family. Despite the Worthingtons' prominent status, Lady Worthington had long since been acquainted with Lady Hanilee, before either had been married. Their connection had endured through years of social gatherings, mutual support, and shared interests, transcending mere social convenience.

Though however close her and Felix’s families were, she couldn’t stand to hear him utter such embarrassing remarks in public. In the privacy of her mother’s drawing room perhaps, but not in the company of the ton. Y/N frantically placed her hands over Felix’s mouth, although the shaking in her shoulders did not hide her laughter well. “Hush! This is no place to be talking of such things!” She huffed slightly, trying to push down the giggles that threatened to bubble out of her throat. “If someone should overhear you!”

Y/N’s hands were little deterrent to Felix. “You’ll die of embarrassment?! Don’t want the entire ton knowing you were once a child who needed to wear diapers?” Her attempt to hush him was only met with Felix’s loud and obnoxious laughter. A few heads turned in their direction, and a murmur began to ripple through the crowd.

Despite the commotion, Y/N couldn’t help but find a moment of amusement in Felix’s irrepressible humor. She glanced around, noting the curious glances from nearby guests. Her smile remained pleasant but felt increasingly strained as she caught sight of the bewildered faces in the crowd.

With a sigh, Y/N leaned closer, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “I’m sure that’s information they’re all well aware of, but not necessarily information they need to be reminded of.” Her gaze narrowed as she looked back at Felix, the amusement in her eyes giving way to a more serious expression. “You’d be smart to shut that gaping mouth of yours.”

Felix’s eyes widened in mock horror, though he couldn’t suppress the mischievous grin that lingered. “Threatening me? This early in the season?” He laughed again, this time much more subdued; her attempt to maintain decorum was a stark reminder of the delicate balance she had to keep in such social circles. “That must be a new record you’ve just set.”

Y/N could not help but roll her eyes. He finally settled, turning his gaze towards the crowd. “Anyone standing out to you yet?” He looked in the direction of Y/N’s mother, who was happily chatting away with some of the older women of the ton. “Or anyone your mother has determined you speak to?”

Y/N shook her head. “No, not yet.” She sighed a little. “Although that’s almost certain to change. She was quite distraught over last season’s outcome, more so than myself…” Her voice trailed off and she snuck a glance at her mother. Thankfully, she was preoccupied enough that she wasn’t aware that Y/N was standing off to the side of the floor, and not on it being swept off her feet by some gentleman.

She turned back to Felix, momentarily shoving her worries to the back of her mind. “Nevermind me. What about you Felix? Any ladies of the ton you wish to court this season?”

He only allowed himself a curt nod. “A few, yes. Most my mother would be quite happy about. Although…” He didn’t turn away from her, but his eyes did not meet hers. “It seems that most ladies would rather the attentions of my older brother.”

Y/N looked out across the crowd, scanning for the eldest Hanilee son. She quickly found him, as he was surrounded by many bodies, all desperately trying to make conversation with him. He looked overwhelmed, a bead of sweat forming on his brow and his couiffed brown hair was a slight mess from the continued ruffling of his own hand running through it.

Lord Jisung Hanilee had been out two years earlier than Felix, and yet, Felix was the only son of the Hanilee family who seemed to want to settle down and sire an heir, even though he was only three and twenty years of age.

Y/N turned her attention back to Felix. His demeanor had changed, to one more somber. She gingerly placed a hand on his shoulder, doing her best to reassure him. “Surely there are some young ladies who wish to answer your affections.”

The sigh from his lips was so audible, it was quite possible the entirety of the ballroom had heard it. “For a short while, they entertain them. But eventually…” His shoulders shrugged then slumped. “They start to inquire about Jisung and lose all interest in me.”

Y/N was at a loss for words. There was a sense of comparison she could make: there were some women she’d made conversation with who eventually asked about her older brothers. And truly, she couldn’t begin to count how many men had approached her due to the Worthington title alone. But there was never a single man who’d approached her, feigning interest, only to inquire about another woman.

She couldn’t begin to imagine the pain it would cause a person. Rejection was one thing, disingenuous interest coupled with it was another.

“I’m sure that when the time is right…” Y/N thought carefully about her next words, being ever so picky about how to reassure him. “Your future spouse will find you so incredibly important, so interesting, that she’ll stop at nothing to discover every word you have to say.”

Felix brightened at her words, and Y/N patted herself on the back mentally. Words could easily lift one’s spirits, if the person speaking wove them in just the right way. And of course, it all but helped that the words she’d spoken to reassure her friend were of the utmost truth. When the time came that Felix finally did secure a wife, it was quite clear that she would be one of the luckiest women among the ton. “Yes…yes, I suppose you’re right.”

He straightened finally, and Y/N let her hand fall away from his shoulder. His brown eyes seemed a little misty, but she decided not to draw attention to the fact. “I find it most intriguing…” Felix mused, changing the topic of conversation effortlessly. “…That as the only daughter of the Worthington family, your dance card is surprisingly empty.” He motioned towards her wrist with a gloved finger, which she quickly moved behind her back.

She cleared her throat, keeping her gaze averted from his. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

A sly smirk slowly formed on his face, the most mischievous expression the ton would ever be graced with. “If you’re going to go about avoiding dances, might I suggest you stand in a less conspicuous spot?”

She scoffed, waving him off. “I’m the daughter of the host. Anywhere I stand is conspicuous.” She lifted herself onto the tips of her toes, craning her neck to see if either of her brothers were in earshot. Decidedly they weren’t, so she continued, “Besides, even if I weren’t, I’d doubt my brothers would let me have a moment to myself. They seem almost as determined as my mother to secure me a husband this season.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “It sounds like you’ve been cornered by family expectations.” He said, his tone sympathetic yet playful. The smirk seemed to widen on his face. “Pity…And a poor shame you don’t know a single soul who’d be willing to distract them for you .”

Y/N couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He’d truly give up a part of his night so she may enjoy some soltitude away from the watchful eyes of her mother? He’d have to be mad to do such a thing. “You jest…” She gawked, her jaw open in the most unladylike of fashions.

“Do I~?” He murmured, his voice trailing off with an enigmatic lilt as he cast a final, lingering glance at her. With a deliberate grace, he strode across the room, his movements fluid and purposeful. He deftly sidestepped any attempts at conversation from those who ventured to engage him, almost as if he were gliding on air. Her gaze followed him with a mixture of curiosity and excitement as he captivated one of her brothers in a light, engaging chat, and then seamlessly shifted to charm the other.

In the blink of eye, she was left standing alone on the edge of the floor, able to make any sort of decision she wished. The sudden overwhelming freedom of the thought glued her in place. It was one thing to hope for solitude and freedom, but to gain it so quickly…Why the sudden change left her utterly woozy.

The cacophony of laughter and clinking glasses seemed to drift away as she surveyed the room. The grandeur of the ballroom, with its opulent chandeliers and gilded moldings, felt stifling in the moment. Her heart pounded in her chest as she fought the overwhelming sensation of being trapped. Perhaps some fresh air, and some soltitude would do her some good. After all, Felix’s sacrifice needed to be worthwhile, didn’t it?

As quietly as a mouse, she maneuvered her way towards the entrance to the terrace. There were still some people milling about, but not nearly as many as there had been in the ballroom.

She slowly made her way to the staircase at the far end of the terrace, which was even less crowded than the terrace itself, watching as the last golden rays of the afternoon disappeared beyond the horizon. It was moments like this that she missed most while attending events. Simple, earthly moments. It was most likely that not a single soul had bother to look towards the direction of her family’s gardens. And it was almost certainly impossible that had anyone looked out at the gardens, they’d stop and appreciate the setting sun.

As Y/N’s heels touched the grass, she couldn’t help but wonder what it might feel like to remove her shoes and promenade through the gardens in just her stockings. A silly thought, of course. She’d get quite a lashing from her mother if she’d found out that Y/N had frolicked about in front of the ton with no shoes on.

Then again, where she was standing wasn’t in clear view of the house, nestled in a shadowy corner of the terrace where the dim lighting provided a comforting shield. Her gown, cascading in layers of rich fabric, flowed gracefully around her, its length enough to conceal her bare feet from view.

She bent down and carefully slipped off each shoe, one by one, before placing them discreetly in a nearby bush. She didn't want any unexpected visitors coming down the stairs to find a pair of abandoned shoes with no owner in sight. The subtle placement ensured that her brief moment of escape would remain undisturbed and unnoticed.

The absence of shoes, while a small rebellion against the formalities of the evening, was something she relished in this moment of solitude. Perhaps, she mused, this brief escape from the constraints of social expectation was exactly what she needed. The sensation of the cool grass beneath her feet, though imperceptible to anyone else, felt liberating. It allowed her to take a deep breath and embrace the stillness of the evening, far removed from the clamor and artifice of the ballroom.

As she walked, she marveled at how the air carried the faint scent of jasmine, mingling with the distant, muffled music from inside. Each footfall on the grass was a small, defiant assertion of her own comfort and freedom, a fleeting reprieve from the expectations and pressures that had been crowding her mind.

She paused to take in the view of the garden, the setting sun casting lovely golden rays across the landscape. The tranquility was a balm to her senses, a momentary escape from the relentless pace of the evening. With a deep breath, she felt her tension ease, the burdens of formality momentarily lifted.

She’d only walk around a bit, then she’d head right back and no one would be any the wiser. This brief foray into the gardens was a small indulgence, a chance to reclaim a fragment of personal space amidst the chaos of the celebration.

Nothing could ruin the bliss she felt in this small glimpse of freedom.

“Going for a stroll, my lady?”

Well, almost nothing.

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