☝️🤓 I Guess My Contribution To This Trend, Well Its Not My Best I Tried

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.

🐦‍⬛

🐦‍⬛

Do you want it, kitten?

after:

falling snow masterlist

"I-I hate you," You murmured. As much as you hated him, you still wanted him to fuck you. And that made you hate him even more. "Good," He whispered back. His mouth was on your neck again, incisors sinking into your skin. "Seven days," You managed a mumble in between pitchy breaths. "And I'm never speaking to you again."

relationships: Choso x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Geto x Reader (multiple endings)

content: MDNI, fake-dating, piv sex, oral (f! + m! receiving) heavy pining, longing, idiots-in-love, (not-so) unrequited love, jealousy, break-ups and makeups, semi-public sex, messy relationships, smut, angst with happy endings

chapter index

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven

Choso's Ending

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven

Gojo's Ending

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve

Geto's Ending

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve

HOW TO MAKE UP WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND ♡.ᐟ.ᐟ⸻ still not a guide. (yandere Gojo)

cw✶ yandere Gojo, he is a creep in the shadows, established relationship, they semi break up for a bit, reader with mental health problems, pining on either side if you think about it, fem reader, p in v sex, rough sex, feels like hate sex, but really make up sex, Gojo is lowkey obsessive af, oral sex (f! receiving), biting, spit stuff, cum play, breeding kink, borderline dub-con, but ykw that opens up a new gate for them, they are freaks and they are into that shit, never getting of this cock-roach.

<<PART ONE

a/n: again, sorry for late upload, but also not. but big thankies for 1k+ followers<3 have funnnn also oof. that's allllll~

Imagine kissing your girlfriend as you both cum together. And after you clean yourself and your girlfriend, you two cuddle and drift off to sleep, while whispering sweet nothings and imagining a future together. How picture perfect.

Or so it would seem to everyone. 

While Gojo Satoru is too busy buying a ring, getting the perfect plot to build a house—nay, home—with you, and imagining about adopting more cats and a dog maybe, making children with you, who must look like you; you were still trying to run from him.  

But Gojo Satoru is nothing, if not confident, not just in himself but also in his love for you. And if he has kept you tied to him for two whole years, a lifetime together will be plausible as well. Even if it means taking some difficult measures, despite his poor heart. Because he would never do anything to hurt you! How could he? It was as if his own source of life laid in your hands, and harming that vessel would be a foolish attack on himself. 

But when the time came that you stopped your meandering tactics of trying to get rid of him—scheming poorly staged fights could only get you too far—and just told him upfront, “I want to break up.” He almost lost it. 

You did expect at the very least few tears, and at most groveling; holding onto your legs and getting dragged on the floor, while tears and snot ran down his orifices—that type of begging. Yet, all he did was take off his apron, which he always wears while cooking for you, that says ‘husband material’, and silently walked out of the main door. As the soup on the stove boiled down to nothing and the rice became stale in the rice cooker—Satoru did not return.

And day by day his absence was chipping away at your sanity. Maybe it was the lack of delicious and nutritious meals he cooked you; toast and peanut butter with instant coffee for breakfast and take out for dinner, was not the way to keep yourself alive. And the lack of him was more apparent with the creases on your clothes, pile of laundry, the missing coats that went to be dry cleaned. Somehow dishes for one person were piling up in the sink like a huge mountain. And your cat was getting just as anxious as you—all the rivalry he had with Satoru was gone in an instant when he could not see the white fluff of hair being shoved in his belly. 

On top of all that it was as if everyone was out to piss you off. Your parents’ calls to just nag you were getting more annoying than ever, when Satoru was not around to swoop in at just the right time before a fight broke out, and took the phone from you to entertain your parents with his charm. Even they were starting to question the lack of Satoru from miles of distance. And your friend was asking about Satoru’s chocolate cake recipe. So the wisest thing you could do in this situation? Isolate of course.

Maybe the last straw was your colleague commenting on your sunken and dark eye bags. Or maybe it was the overgrown and chipped off nails, on your hand, and the dirt accumulated in the nails of your feet. Or just maybe it was the lack of his sweet whispers and head pats at night, while he held you close to his chest. The sound of his heartbeats always drowned out any worries that dared to come to your mind when you were in his arms. Or maybe it was the absence of how cold he felt to touch compared to your burning hands. 

And now it was just the air conditioner blasting excessively cold air all night long, with no one to turn it off for you when you started to curl up into yourself. All you can do is, just wrap yourself up in the blankets you last used with him, and bury your face in his pillow. Sniffing every last drop of his fading smell, and soaking up the said pillow with your tears.

“It’s ok, sweets. I am right here. Never going anywhere.”

Liar.

You did make sure to not contact him these past few days, and now it was already Saturday. It has been a whole week since you actually broke up with your boyfriend. And on the eighth day, you got drunk enough to black out, not before sending him illegible voice mails of slurred words and aggressive crying. And a wall of equally illegible texts, with occasional voice notes of, more crying. 

It was pathetic. Were you not the one trying to drive him away? And now you're just doing these things to make things harder for not just yourself, but also him. It was the last thing you wanted.

But it is not your fault the thought or him won't leave you alone. Yet he also left you behind. 

He might have already found someone better. Maybe he found someone since you started this whole charade, that is why he walked out so easily without a word. In a year you might receive a mocking invitation to their wedding, and postcards of their kids in Christmas pajamas with their pets. And thinking about all that first thing in the morning after drinking like a fish, was more nauseating than days old milk. 

Rotten and expired.

Maybe that's how he sees you now. Exactly with those disappointed eyes, just as the stares he is giving out to you while sitting on the couch with his legs spread and his hands holding each other. Great. Now you're hallucinating him. Time to actually see a therapist instead of making excuses.

“Did you drink last night?” 

Mirage Satoru’s low and demanding voice sure felt like real Satoru huh? But not really. Since you've never heard him speak to you in that tone. Satoru has maintained the most soft and affectionate voice with you since you've met. One time you got close to hearing the real Satoru speak in that tone, you caught him on the phone with someone from his office. And upon your arrival he quickly hung up for some reason and changed back to the sweet Satoru you know.

“I asked you something. Didn't I?”

Your mind sure does work wonders. First at making you feel like the worst living being alive, then making mirage Satoru follow you to the bathroom in the most perfectly matched cadence as real Satoru. You never really knew how much attention you paid to his every little move until now. That saying about only realizing something's worth when it's actually gone, sure hits home.

“Are you still drunk?” Oh shit. 

This was definitely the real Satoru, standing beside you, in front of the sink. Because you have been here before, with a hangover, trying to splash water in your face to somehow alleviate the headache. And Satoru always stood beside you like this, with a smile on his face and asked you the same thing. Difference is that his hands were always on you, instead of in his pockets, like right now. 

“What- why are you-” “I think we have plenty of time to find such unimportant answers. Hmm?” This was very much the real Satoru, but the condescending tone he used to cut off your, granted confused, rambling—that was not your Satoru.

But maybe this is alright. Because you are not sure if you can call him yours anymore.

“Did you think you got rid of me?” He leaned down to come face to face with you, and some more, making you effectively lean away from him and backing down towards the sink. Not a great idea, because it leaves you no option but to be trapped in between both of his arms on either side of you, holding himself to lean into you with a tight grip on the marble, turning his knuckles white. And his eyes were not as usual, but somehow a darker shade of blue, and much out of character, with no shine in them. There was a smirk on his lips, more patronizing than his words, but it did not not reach his eyes.

“Did you think we actually broke up?” you respond with nothing at first, but something about his aura told you it was better to answer him than not, so you quickly nodded a weak yes.

“Right. I did leave you alone for a week. Since that is what you have been trying right? For me to leave you alone.” He finished the sentence by lifting one of his hands off the edge of the sink counter to only squeeze your face and pulled you closer to him by your jaw. “You really tried hard huh? Well. sorry to tell you that it did not work.”

Whether or not you guys are over or not, was not your concern currently. He knew. He knew this entire time.

“How long?” you managed to muffle out, with the inside of your cheeks pushed in, not letting your tongue move freely. 

“Since you started this dumb charade. From your very obvious hints to complaining to your friends.” So he knew all along. Maybe he knew about this longer than you.

“Why?” You asked weakly, already thinking about a thousand ways this could go wrong. “Because I know how you get in your own head. Doesn’t take much huh.” You involuntarily shake your head from side to side. And something about your face squeezed in his hands, and your hand holding onto his wrist, while you shook your head, was too cute for him to hold back a giggle. It was precious, the way he bent down his head, to have his hair cover the crinkles of his eyes, and the stretch of smile across his face. But he could only hide so much. 

“So. Did you like your little single life for a week?” The answer was an instant “no.”

But Satoru really did not have to even ask to know that. After all, even when he was away from you, he was still there. Watching you come in and out of the apartment, the horrible state of the kitchen, watching you struggle with your cat to quiet down his meows, coming back from work and just lying face down on the couch and crying until you fell asleep. Or when your parents pestered you about him, and you got in another fight with them, to ignoring their calls from then on; he heard all of that. He also heard you tip toe around your friends whenever he came up in the conversation, until you finally told your friend and cried in her arms that whole night, and how she struggled to put you to bed. He also saw her take your cat with her for a few days until you got your shit together. 

He was always watching. From the shadows or from the couch in his penthouse, he saw you struggling with even brushing your teeth, ignoring your basic hygiene some days. Afterall he was the one always when things got this bad. But now he was not there. 

He also saw you crying in the shower, or when you squirmed under your blankets trying to find some sort of distraction and pleasure, to maybe forget the situation at hand for some time. He fisted his own cock at you struggling to please yourself like he did, then came to you crying miserably on your pillows. On more than one occasion.

He was tempted at times to come into the apartment while you slept with dried up tears on your face, and cleaned up as much as he could while leaving everything the same as it was to the naked eye. But he never left before sitting somewhere close to you and just watching you sleep. He knew how much of a light sleeper you were, so he could not risk anything, except for a few kisses and cleaning your face with a wet towel.

He was actually watching you while you got shitfaced last night and sent him all those voicemails and texts. 

But maybe these were things best left unknown by you.

“Still want to be single?” He offered as if it was even an option. “No.” 

“Good girl.” Maybe because he has never used such a term with you, or maybe it was the smile on his face that he did not hide away and reached his eyes. Or maybe because the smile felt more threatening than a knife being held to your neck. But it stirred up a storm in your stomach. And just as you thought those waves in your stomach could not get more intense, he lifted you off the floor, on his shoulder, and walked over to your bed with ease.

“A punishment is still due, sweets.” 

Honestly it was hard to tell what exactly had your pussy twitch in your panties—the fact that he was calling you sweets when you thought you would never hear that again, or that this was a completely new side to the Satoru you know and love, or just the sheer force with which he slammed you down on the bed. Either way it was all too fast and all too new for your brain to register anything at an acceptable pace.

“Let’s treat you how you want to be treated.” His body was basically pinning you down to the mattress, holding himself up with the support of his left hand beside your face, while the right hand hiked up your thighs, all the way up to your hips and pinning them further into the mattress. While working hard to not leave a single nook on your neck left unmarked. He has always been so gentle in bed, but this felt like somehow he was more comfortable not trying to treat you like some fine china.

He is kissing you, shoving his tongue in your mouth exploring everything that he has never touched. The next moment you are stripped down to your panties and flipped over to straddle his face. “SATORU!”

“What?” he asked so nonchalantly like he was not in a struggle with your thighs to sit you down on his face. Especially when he is not giving a second to process anything, but too lost into cranking his neck up to kiss you through your panties one moment and just tearing the panties off you, also pocketing them for some unknown reason.

“DID YOU JUST-I cannot!” “Not asking you to do anything sweets. I will be doing everything.” The smile with which he said those words, should be illegal. Because how dare it make you so weak in the knees and more, that you topple down and fall right where he wanted you. “Thank you for the meal.”

It is not that you have never imagined this, in fact quite often you have caught yourself thinking that his face is quite ‘rideable’. If you previously thought that he is a good eater, time to reevaluate his skills. His teeth pulled your lips open, to lick a long and anguished strip down, from your clit to your now twitching hole. After a week away from you, one would expect Gojo Satory to dive in like he is dehydrated, he might as well be, but the sheer will to torment you as a payback was all that was holding him back. 

Even when your thighs were engulfing his entire face, and the weight of you was heavy on him, he was still in control. His tongue, oh so skilled and flexible, laid flat and heavy pressed against your cunt as if it did not know what to do with all that. Even with all the whining and attempts at grinding on his face, maybe getting his nose to press on your clit or having the rough texture of his tongue drive you just where you needed to be—it was all fruitless, in front of his strength holding you still, leaving you to only clutch the headboard for your dear sanity.  

“Please- please, please Satoru, I am so-so s- sorry. Please.”

Maybe it was the apology or just that his self control withering away, but he finally started to work on your folds. Each drag of his tongue was agonizingly visceral, and just the feeling of his tongue pushing into your hole and hardening was enough, to make you consider maybe the slow pace was better than him  giving it his all like a depraved man. It was all sloppy licks and plush lips sucking on your clit. The noises were deafening, not just from your sopping cunt, but also the whines and grunts being muffled by your skin. But really he has always been deprived and hungry for you, it is just that he decided to shield you away from that side of him, for your sake really. He could inhale you entirely and keep wanting more, you were worse than sugar to him.

Everything was a mess, no words of warning could leave you before you came squirting all over his face. He kept holding you down on him, twitching and quivering from the sheer intensity in the air. And he did not shy away from licking away at every drop of saccharine juice dripping off you. When he pulled away to push back the hair in his face, it was wet, not just with sweat but with everything that you squirted all over him. And you could not decide if that was the most embarrassing thing or was it the string of spit still connecting your pussy to his mouth, or maybe the all natural glow he got on his face covered in your juices.

Your boyfriend sure values his time, because he spends no time flipping you back on the mattress, takes off his soaked shirt and situates himself right between your legs. And you would think, this is it. But no, instead he is moving up to forcibly open your mouth with his fingers, and pulling your tongue out to hold it down with his thumb. 

“Ahhhh.” And he is spitting out everything in his mouth on your tongue. His other hand moves up to your throat to squeeze the side and prevent you from swallowing anything that he gives you oh so graciously. All while the hardness of his cock, rubs your overstimulated pussy through the rough denim.

“Spit.” He instructs you as he opens his own mouth and moves his tongue forward for you to give him back what he lent, to take it all back and more with your own saliva mixed into the substance. So you do as asked, pulling yourself slightly off the bed to reach his tongue and roping them together. 

Satoru does all that to only spit it all out of his mouth. But that was the plan from the beginning, to drench your cunt with everything you and him. And that pushes you into some weird space where it feels like you might suffocate or come. It was the second one, you came from the hot liquid flowing down your slit and accumulating around your hole, and dripping further down to your ass. And his fingers spread it all over. Threading them carefully to give just enough but also nothing. 

While you throbbed in white ecstasy, Satoru got to work with the rest of clothes on his body. He gives you no time to flip you back over, and presses you down. This was new, you cannot remember when you were ever fucked by him in any other position than missionary. But you are not granted the time to relax and get used to this, because Satoru is already shoving himself inside you. Not easing into anything, just forcing the length of his cock inside you with no will to get you used to anything.

And with a few stops, because even when he has no intention for you to feel comfortable, he wants you on the edge and overstimulated, but the anger is nothing to your tight walls and warmth. So he staggers a bit, but gets all of him inside you, right up to the base of his cock. Then usually he gives you all the sweet time to get used to the stretch before he starts fucking you. But truly you have taken his nicety for granted, when he spends no time to give you a mean thrust, followed by more, each thrust getting more and more vigorous and sloppy with passing time.

“Yeah, you are taking it all huh. Do you love it? Now that i am fucking you like some slut? Is this what you wanted?” He rapidly slurs all that out, his mind more focused on the view of your ass recoiling with the force of his thrust, and his dick disappearing inside you. “This is what you deserve right? Come one, answer me.” 

“YES. y-yess.”

You are gripping onto the same pillows you cried on last night, and similarly to the past seven days, they were soaked in your tears. Just this time around it was from the amount of pleasure you felt in the pain. For the first time in your life, pain felt sweet, addictive. 

Satoru’s right hand was holding you by the waist, probably leaving an imprint of his callouses from the grip, trying to keep you still from hitting your head on the headboard. His hips however did not stop for a second, they quivers, and staggered, but they never stopped. It was the built up desires he locked away to make you feel like a doll, but since that is not what you wanted, he can surely take you out of the glass display from time to time to play with you. 

Satoru leaned down on your back, to push his chest to your back, and nuzzled in the side of your face. His lips found your ear, biting them to have you turn your head and look at him, to only collide his lips to yours. It was messy and raw, just tongue and teeth, spit dripping to your chin, like you have never been kissed before and he has never kissed before. And more than enough to make you cum again.

“I’m going to fill ya’ up. Fill ya’ full with my cum, until you are too filled to take any more. And I’ll just shove it all back into you. Plug you up.” His thrusts were starting to shatter more and more. “You’ll like that right? Hmm?” Nothing about you makes him think rationally, in fact you quite literally challenge his sanity. But he cannot help but love you, want you, need you even. 

“I’m gonna fill you up with my kids. Breed ya’ full, so you can never run away from me.”

You did not hate that idea. When his breaths are getting heavier with every second, and his nails are digging into your waist, and his face is pushing itself in your hair; you are actually hoping he keeps his word. 

And he does, you can feel every rope of cum he shoots up your walls, how his cock twitches inside you, making you clench around him in return—he is cumming inside you. Filling you up with his seed, shoving his cock further up your tubes, hitting your cervix one too many times to leave you capable of walking tomorrow. And it was all slimy and sloppy, you have never felt this wet, and you liked the feeling and idea of Satoru’s cum gushing inside you, creeping up to your womb and tying you down to him, forever.

While you are too busy hitting a fourth orgasm, and getting lost in the feeling of Satoru’s cum filling up your walls—Satoru’s left hand creeps up to your left hand, and slips the coveted ring that he kept safe with him, on your ring finger. He plops down on you, still connected to you by your cunt, and brings your left hand to his lips and kisses it, before moving to your face and kissing you. 

“Finally.” He wishepers, more to himself than for your ears to pick it up.

“I am not taking a no. I will tie you up if necessary.”

"I love you a lot you know?"

Maybe you have finally gone insane. Because honestly, you would not have it any other way. You might try to run again just to have Satoru chase you down and corner you, and lock you up. Maybe it was the thrill, or just the sheer need to piss him off to the point he shatters into nothing but the most authentic image of himself—but either way you had no plans of leaving your boyfriend. You need Gojo Satoru, you need him more than you need oxygen to breathe.  

"I love you too."

He is essential for your survival, and you are integral to his existence.

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

a/n: dividers by @/omi-resources. header (i edited the original to fit the blue theme) by the artist Tony Belobrajdic (this is his insta go follow him or at least check it it is gorgeous)

did not edit it halfway through. please spare me.

tag list: @cheralith @madamechrissy @gojosperms @naomigojo @naomi-main @cuntphoric @nanamiskentos @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @exquisink @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @gojosconsort @alygator77 @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @slayzzz @undercvrfan444 @miizuzu @getoistic @infinitatis-ink @theorphicangel @ricecake-mochi @nonamebbsblog @genshingeeksworld @splat1371 @stxrlingpearl

All men do is lie

snowed in

seven | observation logs

is it a man? a beast? no! it's the abominable gojo!

synopsis: for a cash-strapped starving scientist such as yourself, finding a yeti would've made the discovery of a lifetime. there's just one tiny problem - he found you first

pairing: yeti!Gojo x researcher!Reader

content: mdni, smut, monsterfucking, unprotected piv sex, creampie, knotting, masturbation, oral (m!receiving), mating press, gojo is OBSESSED, he talks you through it, idiots falling in love, cuddling

You had a big problem.

Literally.

One that you'd been trying and trying to ignore, to snuff out the flames burning you up inside and douse yourself with the cold reminder that there wasn't enough oxygen in the world to sustain whatever this was every time you caught a glimpse of it in the corner of your vision, the bulge barely contained in his boxers or when it was pressed so firmly against your back while you cuddled.

And maybe, it was still on your mind when you got out of the hot springs, using one of the more leathery pelts to dry yourself, no longer needing the dim flashlight to guide you back to the little nook of the cave you started to consider home.

It'd only been a few days since he'd eaten you out like he was starving.

But he didn't bring it up, acting like everything was business as usual, doting on you the same way he always did, chattering your ear off - just not about what you really wanted to talk about.

"Hey," You called out, pulling the pelt tighter around you.

There wasn't an answer.

You frowned, huffing to yourself at the thought of him going back in the woods when the sun must be setting already outside.

"Satoru, you better-" You started again, freezing when you walked through and realized why he hadn't answered.

He was sitting in the old recliner, head tilted back and eyes scrunched shut, loose strands of hair plastered to his forehead. His jaw was pulled tight, the lump in his throat bobbing before a low growl ripped out of him.

But all of the little details just drew your attention back to the one thing you couldn't get away from.

His oversized fist stroking his thick cock, a pair of your panties wrapped around his sturdy fingers as he roughly pumped up-and-down. It was just as pale as the rest of him, thick with a couple prominent veins running along the side, his tip a pretty shade of pink that bordered on purple. Pre-cum had already collected over it, thick and clear, coating his fingers as he groaned again.

Lips still parted, you froze, stunned as you watched him murmur your name while he fucked his fist. You weren't sure if you should walk away, hide out for a few minutes until he finished, but you couldn't tear your gaze away.

You weren't sure what it was - maybe your breath hitching in your throat or the smell of your own arousal - but Satoru's head suddenly snapped up, pretty blue eyes going wide at the sight of you standing there.

But did he stop?

No.

His stare locked onto yours, his breathing getting ragged, desperate. Watching all his defined muscles tense as his mouth fell open, struggling to form any words at all.

"I-I could help," You choked out, a strained whisper that only made the tension even thicker between you.

He could hardly nod, just a jagged bob you took as a yes as you slowly approached him. He only paused his rough strokes to pull you closer, shedding you of the pelt wrapped around your body to strip you bare in front of him.

And it might've been cold inside the cave, but he was radiating enough body heat to keep you warm from here.

Your stare slid down to his, um, intimidating length, sizing him up and trying to measure up exactly how you were going to get it in anywhere.

Slowly, you started to squat down to get on your knees, but his hands held onto your hips, a sharp frown on his face, not understanding what you were trying to do. Fingers digging into your soft flesh, nearly bruising but still restrained.

"Let me, okay?" You spoke softly now, grabbing his hands to guide them up higher, letting him cup your breasts while you readjusted so bits of gravel weren't digging into your knees.

You slid your palms over his muscular thighs, through his soft fur until you reached the smooth expanse of hot skin right by his cock, swallowing hard before you wrapped your fingers around it. It felt so much bigger than before, with your hand seeming so much smaller than his in comparison.

"What are you-"

His voice was cut off into a long, lewd groan when you pressed your lips to his leaking tip, offering a little kitten lick before opening your mouth wide enough for him to squeeze the first few inches in. His thick girth was pressed up into the roof of your mouth already, tongue flat against his throbbing veins as his breathing became ragged.

It was hard not to gag, tears brimming at your bottom lashes when he tried to slide in deeper, your palm trying to take up the work his hand had done before, steadily stroking what definitely wouldn't fit in long, slow motions. He was already bumping into the back of your throat, his swollen tip almost bruising with each jerk of his hips forward.

Satoru was in heaven.

You'd definitely given better blowjobs before, considering it felt like you were literally choking on him, but the way he was moaning? Fingers tangling in your hair and stroking it softly like he wasn't so obviously struggling not to use you as a fuck toy? His appreciative little grunts of approval and whimpers?

God, it was starting to get to you too.

Pressing your thighs together like you could compress the heat building between them, the neediness and want for him to fill you up, ah, somewhere else. You sucked harder, accidentally letting a small moan slip out when he groaned again and tugged on your hair.

His body went rigid.

All his muscles tensed, freezing with his cock still buried in your throat before he suddenly was sliding out, picking you up and splaying you out on the sleeping bag underneath him in two seconds flat.

You could barely blink up at him before he was shoving your thighs up to your chest, spreading you open and almost melting at the sight of you, wide blue eyes crinkling and lips curling up in a (huge) smirk before he'd even lined himself up.

"Be gentle," You reminded him, lips staying parted even after your request as you let your gaze linger on his face.

He didn't speak, but he nodded again, probably too excited to form real words. His hair was sweaty, sticking to his face in wild strands as you felt his thick tip nudge at your slick entrance. You wrapped your wrists around his neck, although you had a feeling it wouldn't be long before you were clawing at his back, chewing on your bottom lip waiting for him to force the first few inches in.

But Satoru always surprised you.

He caught your lips with a kiss, hungry, desperate and clumsy. He wasn't sure what he was doing, and it was kind of obvious, but it was something you once mentioned to him as a token of affection. Something humans did - something couples in love did - to show how much they wanted each other.

You were returning it, even when his teeth knocked into yours, his tongue awkwardly sliding in, but he adapted quickly once you offered a little guidance in sucking on his bottom lip and kissing him softly.

It was almost enough to distract you from his hips pressing forward, and his tip being shoved inside, the kiss being broken by your sudden gasp. He was trying to kiss the rest of your face, messy pecks spread over your skin while you tried to adjust to his massive size splitting you open. It practically burned, walls stretching and squeezing around him, but he kept inching in deeper.

Every time you thought this is it, he can't possibly fit any more, he'd push in harder, and your body would somehow let him. There wasn't even any room in your lungs for air, every breath you stole shallow and forced, gasping as you strained to cling to your sanity.

"S-Satoru," You panted, but all you got was another grunt as he paused his onslaught of kisses, and you barely had the focus left to direct to his face. And God, he looked devastated.

Wrecked.

His pretty face scrunched up in concentration, glancing down to where your bodies were connected, his huge hands still pining your thighs down and keeping you in place while he attempted to fit the last few inches in.

Kinda hard to do when there wasn't an inch of you he wasn't already consuming.

"S'too big," You managed to warn, blinking too fast, the tears you'd been blinking back threatening to spill over now. You could already feel his tip smashed against your cervix, every grind and jostle of it making you whine.

He huffed, his features twisting into a pout, trying to push again just to stop when he realized it might hurt you, apologetically kissing you again.

"Sorry," He mumbled, his voice raspier than usual, hoarse. "Gentle."

"It's okay," You whispered, his cock barely managing to slip back out with how tightly you'd been gripping him, even just the slow drag of him pulling out making you tense and cling to his back more.

But when he slid back in?

You weren't positive the noise you made was even human. A strangled moan turned into a gasp, nails taking down his shoulder blades and tugging at the silky fur while he growled your name.

Your brain went blank.

There was nothing but him, him, him as he started thrusting in fast and sloppy, burying himself as deep as he could before dragging out to do it again and again. You felt delirious, drunk on the messy kisses he was still decorating your face with, dizzy on the desire burning through your veins. And fuck, you were completely, incredibly full of him, pretty sure he was carving out and imprinting every goddamn vein and ridge of his cock inside you.

"Y-you okay?" Satoru stuttered out, white lashes fluttering again as he struggled to keep his eyes open to look down at you. The fingers holding your thighs readjusted their grip, the edge of his claws settling on your skin when you tried to bob your head in affirmation.

You didn't think you had enough air in your lungs to answer when each rough thrust knocked it out of you. Your muscles tensed, aching almost as much as your swollen clit was, sensitive and desperate for him to keep going.

He paused, despite the fact it looked like he might die if he didn't keep fucking you, searching your face to make sure you really were, in fact, okay.

The way his cock was currently throbbing inside you, nudging and bumping against every sensitive spot and kissing your cervix the way his mouth should be kissing yours, was making you feel very much not-okay.

"Toru," You forced out a breathless whine. "Keep going."

Yeah, probably shouldn't have said that.

It was all the permission he needed to break you in, or maybe just break you. His hips smacking into your skin in harsh slaps, your thighs aching at the strain of being pressed to your chest while he angled deep enough you wondered if he could fucking see himself bulging through your stomach at this rate.

He was kissing you again, hot and hungry, sucking on your bottom lip the same way you'd shown him, but his teeth were a little sharp, the faint taste of iron on your tongue when he plunged back in.

Satoru was too fucked out to notice, all his concentration devoted to not cumming before you.

One hand slid down from its grip on your thigh, slipping between to your sore bud, carefully using just the pad of his thumb to rub messy circles over it. It was overeager, barely maintaining any sort of rhythm at all, but honestly?

It didn't even take thirty seconds of that brain-numbing pressure for him to make you cum hard.

You felt like jelly in his hands, everything too fuzzy, too warm, drenched and slick with more than just sweat, whimpering weakly as white splotches your vision. Clinging onto him while he kept pounding into you, the sleeping bag stained and crinkling underneath your bodies, and a funny little vague thought passed through your mind that you'd have to find a way to wash it, but then he was hitting your womb, and you were just crying his name again.

And okay, yeah, he had just fucked you dumb, but you still had just enough brain cells to realize something was different when his cock throbbed and stalled when it was completely stuffed against your cervix.

His forehead was pressed against yours, sweaty and loose strands of hair falling into your face in the intimate position, panting as you could see the pleasure wracking through him too.

"Fuck," He hissed, something warm starting to gush inside before you felt it.

The swell of something - him? - at your entrance, stretching you past what you thought possible. You squirmed, trying to pull back, to escape the pressure, but he gripped you tighter, a pleading look in his eyes like he needed this.

"Wha-what is-" You started, but you got too choked up to speak, filled past the brink of sanity with his cock and cum, not a single drop spilling out thanks to how swollen the base of his cock was.

"You're okay," He murmured this time, so soft and so sweet, like he wasn't spearing you open so meanly. "Just a little longer, okay? Doing so good for me, baby."

Those gentle lips pressed kiss after kiss to your own, holding you open to keep himself anchored and smashed against your womb when his thick tip leaked the last of his cum inside you. Every throb and drag of his cock was driving you fucking crazy, mewling and scratching at his back, the overstimulation driving you to the brink of a second orgasm - and then pushing you into it. He kept massaging your clit like he was coaxing you through it, holding that intense eye contact, looking somehow more destroyed than you with every swipe of his thumb.

"Satoru," You gasped, cumming hard and fast this time, thighs trembling and tears falling while the swelling finally started to go down, easing up enough for him to pull out properly this time.

He still kept your thighs pressed to your chest, like he wanted to examine you himself, his same adoring stare focused on where all his cum had collected inside you, where your thighs were already slick with yourself from before he'd even slipped in before.

You were still reeling at the realization you had just had sex with the very person you were supposed to be studying.

What the hell would that research paper even be called? 'I fucked a yeti'? It sounded more like a bad tabloid headline than anything anyone would ever take seriously.

And that was even if you got back home to write it.

If you even wanted to go back home.

Because when he pulled you into his warm chest, a flurry of sweet whispers and sweeter kisses delivered to your hair as you nuzzled your nose against his soft fur, you weren't so sure anymore.

Le me rn

you up?

ac: momoya384

THE WAY I WAS CRYING TO MY BOYFRIEND ABOUT THE JJK LEAKS AND HE HAD THE AUDACITY TO SAY

“Don’t worry, you have me”

Babe. Thank you, but you’re not a 6’3/6’4, white haired, blue eyed, strongest sorcerer in the world, probably undiagnosed autistic man child.

I’m a certified widow, now.

Wax Sessions with - Fratboy Gojo

Pairings- Rich Frat/fuckboi Toru x Preppy Sorority reader

More extra scenes from Took you Like a Shot - these are extra scenes set after chapter 3, but can be read alone- pregnant reader- MDNI- humor, just fun, fluffy ass cuteness, Gojo waxes you and gets a lil too excited, touching and teasing, oral (f recieving) -more fratboy drabbles here and here

"Are you sure you're... qualified to wax me!?"

"I'm not letting anyone see my baby mama's coochie, nuh - uh."

"You look blitzed, Toru!" Your cute little glare just makes him chuckle, fuck his eyes are red, making the blue even more intense, as he spreads your thighs, pouring the hot wax right at the apex of your thighs, where you're unable to shave the bigger you get- over five months now it's pretty difficult, and you feel a little insecure as you prefer to be on the smoother end.

Not that Satoru cared, he loved your pussy with hair or without, but he knows it's upsetting, so he's offered his apparently 'master services' in your direction.

"So sexy, fuck..." You're flushing under his praise while he takes in your body, you are gasping as more of the hot wax hits, and he's smoothing a strip, flattening it down right where your pussy is, looking at you under snowy lashes and smirking. "Getting horny from this?"

"No way!" He snorts, rolling his blitzed ass eyes, his home smelled of the most intense reefer when you first got here, since apparently Suguru and Sukuna had just visited.

"Sure you're not. Oh, what's that then?" He pulls back his long fingers, after spreading it between your folds, moaning as he sucks your arousal off them, making your mouth drop at just how sexy he is- he truly has no right to be this way so casually. Your pussy clenches, the constant hormones don't help how much you want him.

"It's... you... just do it, I can take it." You tense, making Satoru chuckle, leaning over you, rubbing your thigh with his free hand.

"Relax, sweets, gonna be over quick. Breathe." Satoru yanks then, making you scream out at the burn, he stares at the smooth spot with his full lips in a smirk.

"Ow, shit! ow!" Satoru is smiling, plump lips so glossy it's truly unfair, glossed from you, when he puts another strip down, this one right over your lips. "Oh no, you're enjoying this, you little jerk!"

"Me, enjoying my baby mama's pain? Never! How dare you-" rip

"Ah fuck fuck fuck! My pussy, ah!" You're screaming out now, holding it with your much cooler hand.

"Fuck..." Maybe he is a little turned on, looking at his handy work now, grinning like a psycho. "Look at that, one more and you'll be completely smooth. Unless you wanna leave a little trail hmm? A landing strip?"

"A what now?" You're glaring over at him, Satoru is maniacally laughing, as he pours more of the hot, honey wax, watching how it drips down your puffy, sexy lips, his cock twitching in response. "You're a little freak, Satoru."

"Says you, all soaked from this?" rip - scream- burn - "This is self care, baby girl."

"Baby girl my ass-"

"Wanna wax that too?"

"I'll wax yours!" He panic then, backing away as you giggle, snatching up the jar and pressing him down on his back, as his blue eyes go wide.

"You wouldn't!"

"Oh wouldn't I?" You're tugging at his pants when he flips your back right on the plush blanket he's laid you on, pouting now.

"You're being all moody, I know what will fix it." He's spread your thighs then, a hand on your rounded tummy, as your breaths come quicker and quicker, full breasts rising and falling as his long pink tongue laps at your sore little cunt, and his cool, long fingers part soppy folds. "Perfect at waxing, shit, I should charge you."

"Charge me, hmm- ah! Satoru oh my g-god..." You're so sore and sensitive his tongue is damn near painful, he grins against you, you feel every indentation of his teeth, as even his breath has you jerking just a bit.

"I'll wax you any time you want." His words are muffled, your fingers entangling in silky white locks, as he decides to make sure he got every bit of your cunt fully done, being thorough of course. "Will you give me a five star review?"

"If you lick my- ah! Yes, yes five stars!"

This was a cute drabble idea from @jkslaugh97 hehe I love it thank you for the idea bb <3

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