𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄 ⚜
𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄 ⚜
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒. jester!Gojo x lady!Reader, historical AU – medieval, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, banter, eventual smut [MDNI], dubcon, loss of vírginity, ôrgasm denial, overstimúlation, edgīng, glove used as makeshift gag, böndage, Gojo talks you through it, fíngering, cûnnilíngus, finger sucking, cúm swallowing, sqûírting, exhibítionísm, voyeûrísm, crëampîe, table séx, library séx, couch séx, pantry séx, balcony séx, ridíng, máting press, sorta fwb, arranged marriage, angst (w/ implied happy ending), forbidden love, etc etc
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 16.2k
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. thank you for 4k cuties!! accept this as a gift, sorta, idk, this was actually a request; also, this was my first time writing for Gojo, and . . . NEVER again, i tell you. i shan't write for this man EVER again *wipes tears* i'm way more used to writing the big bad wolf Sukuna // available on ao3 // dividers by @/aquazero
Jesters could do many things.
They could dance and sing and laugh. They could read through your deepest fears, your desires, your wants, and exploit them—all in the name of fun. They could write poems, tell tales, play songs; but beneath all their cunning smiles, hidden under their costume and glory, all jesters were but men. Pigs of mud; scum of the earth. Mortals; males; humans.
All jesters were men—plain, stupid men—but not Gojo Satoru.
Not your Gojo Satoru.
No, he was different: he was a piece of shit. In the beginning, at least.
Now, originally, he was a slave—captured from the raidings of a nearby kingdom and thrown into the dungeons. It was unfortunate, really, and you pitied him. But not everyone did. At first, many royal advisors of the king’s court opted for throwing the young boy into a brothel, because they took one good look at his sea-blue eyes, and decided he would be extremely successful for the kingdom as an escort.¹ But, luckily, the king saw wit and potential in the kid, and, instead of throwing him into a brothel, threw him right into the royal court, where he served, from then on, as a jester.
¹ Prostitute.
He was only fourteen when he earned his role as a professional entertainer, and only, still, fourteen when he escaped eternal damnation as a slave.
‘Twas the lives of boys like him, Gojo was just lucky enough to be a pretty boy.
Not like that was relevant, anyway. Because, although he was four years your junior, he still managed to cause twice as much trouble compared to the average toddler. He was a jester, sure, but he was more than just mockery and tomfoolery. He played pranks even during the most serious occasions, and teased the ladies of the royal court endlessly.
Crude, deviant jokes.
Twisted mind games.
Insults vile enough to bring tears down the victim’s eyes.
He did it all, with little to no remorse. Actually, scratch that, no remorse—none, at all.
Gojo Satoru was a mischievous kid, probably the most mischievous jester of the kingdom. He joked around and teased just about everyone, but he directed most of his obscenities towards you. All six years he had been at the castle, the castle where you resided at as a lady, he was nothing but a menace to you. A bully, if you could even say that.
He pulled your hair, laughed in your face at your evident frustration, occasionally stepped on the trains of your dresses, stole food from your plates, and often dared to interrupt your conversations with other ladies you had befriended at the castle. You did not like Gojo, not one bit.
The only time you had ever felt an emotion lacking loathing towards the now twenty-year-old was when you became acquainted at his first appearance in the royal court. When he was brought in before the king, who sat solemnly on his throne, Gojo did not want to live. His parents had been murdered, house had been ransacked, and old life destroyed. You could not blame him. But the king offered him a new life, a life as a jester.
Gojo was fourteen years old; he was alone, cold, hungry, and he decided to start anew.
Perhaps the reason Gojo was so skilled at being an entertainer was because the only way the boy had ever learned how to cope with his misfortunes was with humor. He masked his sorrows every day he sang and danced and joked with the royal court, and maybe—maybe the reason why he poked fun at you the most often was . . . because you were the only one who noticed.
He was a talented man, but his talents were directed towards rather foolish acts. He wrote and played ballads dedicated to poking and making fun of you. He plucked his instruments as annoyingly and horridly as humanly possible just to rile you up and see you either storm out the room in rage or struggle to hold yourself back from slapping his smug smile right off his impossibly handsome face. Besides music, he also wrote poems: poems full of love and poems full of hate (more often than not, pointed to you).
There was not a word in the language you spoke that could describe how much you loathed hearing Gojo’s irritatingly smooth voice or the sound of his lute.²
² An instrument.
You were practically seething right now, as you were sharing gossip with the other ladies over your usage of embroidery as a pastime, because the only gossip you could hear was the horrible plucking of strings in the other room. It seemed you were the only one bothered by the noise. Damned was that silver-haired oaf, you silently cursed to yourself, fingers twitching whilst you interlaced your thread.
“Agnes, dear, you know, I hear there shall be a festival during the spring times,” began a red-haired woman, otherwise known as Bridgette. She was a built woman, and was taller than most of your fellow ladies. She married, became widowed, and was now alone, though she was still jolly. You wondered if your future would be the same. “In the villages, of course.”
“Oh?” Agnes asked, coughing. “Do tell.”
The eldest woman of the room, Bridgette, began relaying all the information she possessed from overhearing maidservants in their respective corridors to Lady Agnes, a raven-haired, arguably sickly thin woman. Agnes was perhaps one of your closest friends at the castle, and you had known of her since the two of you were but adolescents. She liked spring festivals, because the smell of florals always brought the color back to her pale, sunken face.
“It will be a delight, I’m sure. After all, all festivals are delights. Say, Eleanor,” added Bridgette, as she turned her rosy-cheeked face to the blonde woman sitting just beside you, “have you heard any more about the ball from any of the chevaliers³?”
³ Knights.
“Oh, I—yes . . . I remember, the ball, the one next week?” asked Eleanor. She was a meek, lithe woman; wife to a knight. A quiet, stuttering creature she was, but, nevertheless, you admired her for her humorously contradicting elegance and modesty.
“The day after the morrow,” you said, clarifying, having decided to distract yourself from the awful playing of the lute next door by conversing amongst the rest of the ladies.
“The day after the morrow . . .” Eleanor repeated, before her face lit up. “Oh! yes, I see. The ball after the morrow . . . Oh, well, in that case—Bridgette, I do have some news.”
The ladies seated around the wooden table instantly leaned more into the conversation, their embroidery and weaving having come to either a stop or a slow in order to focus on the words which would leave Lady Eleanor’s lips. Even Agnes, the least social of the ladies, seemed intrigued by the highly anticipated ball which would surely bring a variety of guests flocking from each kingdom.
“Well, bless me!” exclaimed Bridgette, her hand on her bosom. “Color me intrigued.”
Eleanor cleared her throat. “Plenty of the knights and calvary will be there, as they always are. I hear some merchants are also attending, in pursuit of business and the sellings of oh-so splendid dresses. Sires, lords, nobles, sirs. There will be many royals, I’m sure, but—”
“Princes?” interrupted Bridgette. “What about princes?”
Eleanor blushed, embarrassed from being cut off. “A-plenty,” was what she ultimately replied with.
“Oh! my word. There will be just so many princes to dance with! Think of the conversations one could have with a foreigner. Think of how different their customs are. How attractive they could be compared to the hounds that, here, we call men.”
Lady Bridgette went on and on with her exclamations, her excitement showing itself as her face continued to redden impossibly with each sentence she spoke.
Even someone as unsociable as Agnes blushed a bit, and you, too, also seemed to grin a little at the idea of men, other than Gojo, pestering you for change. But, speaking of the man, at the bringing of attention towards the amount of single men that would be attending the ball, the playing and strumming of the lute had come to an abrupt stop.
There were no more incorrect notes, no more out-of-tune strings, and no more laughter echoing throughout the halls. Perhaps the jester had finally decided to leave you alone.
Perhaps.
“Perhaps” was the key-word here, because, at the moment you even suggested such a ridiculous idea, of course, the playing had to resume. The lute was picked up, and, once more, Gojo continued his horrible music, but, this time, much more quicker-paced and, as if to add some flair, in a staccato fashion.
It would be useless to say you were not left alone for the rest of the evening, because it came with no surprise. None, at all.
***
The day of the ball arrived much earlier than you felt it, but that was no coincidence, for, with the seemingly increased amounts of times Gojo bothered you throughout the waiting time, you were just about ready for, quite literally, anything else.
The hall was filled with bustling crowds of men and women. Candelabras were lit, servants walked with trays of assorted treats, guests lined the walls, and princes and nobles rushed in through the gates and doors like a great wave. The king had ordered for such a grand ball in celebration of his recent victories on the battlefield, and there was no denying the grandeur of the spectacle.
Ladies dressed in their best attires, men buttoned their coats to the top, and knights slung ribbons and swords at their waists.
You weren’t always one for affairs that served their purpose as opportunities to meddle, (such as balls), but you couldn’t resist the event of seeing so many new faces, especially since you were approaching the time to be wed. Well, it didn’t matter, really; in the instance that you failed to find a beau, the king would surely bring in a favor for you, whether you wished for it yourself, or not.
On the other hand, it seemed princes weren’t the only men attending the ball, which, in this case, was as unfortunate as fortunes could get. Because, lo and behold, Gojo, clad in a purple motley,⁴ was present at the hall where the ball was to take place.
⁴ Costume of a jester.
How foolish you were to think that, for once in your life, you could be free of the moronic man-child. But, of course! you could never. You two resided in the same royal court, after all; it could only be expected that the notorious jester would be in attendance alongside more agreeable guests.
The silver-haired man took full strides until he was just one pace away from you, leaning down into a deep bow as he kissed the back of your palm, his eyes staring up at you all the while, almost hypnotic, they seemed.
You did not smile, opting for scoffing instead, though you did not immediately pull your hand away from his. “Go bother someone else, Gojo.”
“Feisty, I like it.”
“This is not a joking matter, I mean it. I’m here to have fun, as are other people. Which, speaking of, I’m sure there are plenty of women who would be more than willing to throw themselves into your arms as we speak.”
Gojo did not respond for a moment, but you did not take it as an opportunity to exit the scene. Perhaps you should have, when he said, with an unfamiliar tone, “And you?”
“. . .Pardon?”
“Are you a woman who’s willing to throw herself into my arms?”
“I am a woman who is busy, Gojo. Enjoy the ball.”
Your words were spoken like a parent tired of scolding a child an indefinite number of times, but Gojo did not let them cut deep into his heart, and before you could pick up the train of your gown and walk away, he took your hand once more, stopping you.
“A dance,” he implored, looking into your eyes. “One dance with my fair lady.”
You almost laughed at the poor attempt for a joke, your lips curving upwards into a smile. “My hand has already been promised to another man.”
“Promised . . . for a dance,” he repeated, as if reassuring himself of something. “—Correct? Nothing more?”
You let your fingers gradually slip from Gojo’s grasps. “You really are a silly man, aren’t you? Oh, well, I guess it cannot be helped.” You grinned, laughing to yourself at the strange exchange that had just taken place, before walking elsewhere.
It was true. Your hand was promised to another. Another man. A prince. He had asked for a dance with you as soon as his eyes met yours just moments before, and, who were you to decline him? After all, there was no one else you could’ve imagined as a more agreeable partner, for the first round, at least.
He was of a foreign land to the North, was what you learned during conversation you held during your waltz together. Of the name Rilian Atkinson, the prince was a tanned, lean man. With brown hair that sat under his gleaming coronet,⁵ there was no mistaking of his patronymic name and title.
⁵ A simple version of a crown, worn due to its lesser weight.
He spoke nothing short of how royalty would, and you found your cheeks warming numerous times whenever he made a joke you could not understand, seeing as a lady such as you was not at-level with someone so high in rank and respect. You could only feign soft laughter and forced smiles. But, luckily, when it came to keeping up a reputation, you were not particularly bad at playing the part of a respectable lady of court, and you were almost certain you had Prince Rilian fooled by a false image.
Now, don’t start getting the wrong ideas.
You were fond of the man, you learned—during waltzing with him, and his hands were softer than most, so you held no hostility. His manners were inarguably adept; he was proper, acted with more respect than anything else, and was, perhaps, the only man in a while that had you wanting to excuse yourself, taking consecutive trips to the nearest mirrors in order to fix your jewelry or touch up your hair.
It was almost embarrassing, come to think of it. The way he managed to make you laugh despite your not understanding any of his jokes, because, funny enough, his mannerisms and tone were enough to make you want to praise him for his complex, sophisticated humor, and, above all, you felt ashamed of yourself had you done otherwise.
He twirled you, he turned you, he dipped you; all with such ease and skill—he was the most enjoyable dance partner you had ever had.
Despite your pleasures during the first round of the waltz, there were others who were . . . not so fortunate.
Gojo, for instance, had been leaning against a pillar in the corner, a frown on his face and his arms crossed over his chest throughout his sulking and seething. Maybe he was upset because you declined him, maybe he disliked the way you looked over his offer so casually, but, in any way, he refused to dance with any other women, and ignored the ladies that approached him whilst the troubadours⁶ performed.
⁶ Poet-musicians.
He often scoffed to himself, complaining about how he could write much better love songs than the hired entertainers, which was a silly thought, because the only reason he was free to dance instead of play music, was because he opted out of entertaining at this specific ball in hopes of being able to dance with a certain . . . someone.
Gojo was not woeful for long, though—albeit it felt that way to him—because, by the time he felt he had harnessed the wrath of a thousand suns, it was then time to change partners.
You were en route to chat up some ladies about your dance with a prince, when, quite out of the blue, the silver-haired jester had stepped in your way, interrupting your train of thought and forcing your steps to come to a halt as he stood before you, eyes gleaming and smile plastered.
He did not need to say another word more before your expression moved into a bothered one, contrasting the moony eyes you had been wearing prior to his approach.
“Are you going to attempt and ask me to dance a second time?”
“Are you going to say ‘No’ a second time?” he bit back.
Yes, you would have declined him again, but God’s graces were not on your side at the moment, for you felt like a punished sinner when the king, too, had begun to approach you and Gojo with a drunk look on his old, worn face.
Your lips were open to offer rejection towards the jester, but the king was much swifter in his speaking. “Jester. Lady.” He nodded, acknowledging you both in greeting with the cocking of his head. “It seems a rare pair has made its way onto the ballroom floor,” he laughed, a harmonious sound.
Your cheeks grew warm at his assumption. His Majesty was certainly getting the wrong idea at the sight of his most youthful lady, and his most mischievous jester, gathered together during a rather conspicuous setting. Oh, God, upon your word! this wasn’t what it looked like. The opposite, really.
“Well, most certainly, Your Majesty,” replied Gojo, playing along. He shot a grin your way, obviously aware of your distress, but paid no further mind. “You wouldn’t believe the lengths I had to go to in order to get a lady as beautiful as her—” (He gestured to you) “—to dance with a lowly jester such as I.”
The king laughed. “Many love poems were written, I assume?” he joked.
“Your Majesty is as insightful as always.”
The furrow of your brows grew deeper and deeper, the crease in your forehead making its public debut. Could Gojo get any more dishonest? you scoffed, but couldn’t find it in yourself to deny his claims. After all, the king had been rooting for the two of you since Gojo became a young man, and you couldn’t, just, defy His Majesty, per se . . .
“Ha! I’m glad to hear it, Satoru. Much charm you have, to aim for a lady.” The king patted the jester on the back.
“I’ve only learned from the best,” said Gojo, which earned another hearty laugh from the older man, attracting the eyes of the many guests around you three.
They talked like father-and-son. In a way, you thought it to be almost wholesome.
“Well, young lovebirds, since it seems you two are just about ready to dance, I’ll be on my way,” began the king, looking between you and the taller man in purple. “Don’t let Gojo cause any trouble, yeah?” His Majesty added, joking, as he turned to face you before making his exit, walking towards his wife and other company of the like.
You stood silent, stunned at the exchange. You had not uttered a single syllable throughout that, and you could not fathom the fact that Gojo had just manipulated his way into gaining your hand for a round of dancing. Surely, he was only here to ruin your evening. That was the only purpose he served.
“You heard the man,” said Gojo, as he turned to you with an expression lacking empathy. “Shall we?”
You gave Gojo your hand, begrudgingly—or, was it that he took your hand? you did not know.
“Shall we?” you repeated, shivering at the cold of Gojo’s palm. “If it was in my favor, we shan’t. But, alas, it is not. And I have no choice but to dance with an oaf such as you.”
Gojo led you to the center of the room, where there was more open space, and began a slow pace for a waltz as he stepped and stepped to the side.
There was practically smoke coming out from your ears as Gojo twirled you, and you could barely pay attention to where you were moving your feet from how agitating the sound of Gojo’s voice was to your ears. Your eyes met the ground and stayed there; you could not face the jester without wanting to rip his head off his neck (err, well, you wanted to do that, anyway).
“An oaf such as I?” he repeated, feigning offense. “My lady, you are as cruel as they come—pretending to hate me and all. I’ll give you a little advice, it’s a lot more fun pretending to love me.” He grinned, adding a small, “Pretend or not,” under his breath.
“You think I’m pretending to hate you? Oh, please. Were you dropped on the head as a baby?” You finally relented to meet Gojo’s eyes, as you laughed tauntingly in his face.
“Perhaps. But, dropped on the head or not, it wouldn’t change the fact I have never danced with a lady more beautiful than—”
You did not let him continue, and stared at him humorously. “Now, you’re just fooling around.”
He leaned down to meet your level, sea-blue eyes staring back at you with intent as he spoke—his voice loose and sultry. It made your head spin.
“Is that what you wish for, my lady?”
***
You had been sitting at a desk, alone, for only five minutes—five minutes—before the silver-haired jester, as mischievous as always, strolled into the room, seemingly having predicted your whereabouts (or, maybe, he had memorized the variety of locations you visited on a weekly basis).
The ball where you two danced together had occurred, by now, a week ago, and it rarely entered your train of thought; but, still, it sent shivers up your spine every time you thought about it. You couldn’t shake off the feeling that that ball wouldn’t be the last dance you shared with the man—he was vermin enough normally, but at a public space such as a ball? where anyone could spot you two? Even death would be more pleasant for you.
“I always thought these things were ridiculous,” began Gojo, childishly, as he walked over to where you sat just to poke and jab at your hennin.⁷ He stood behind you, his lean, tall figure casting a shadow over the book you had been reading just moments before his presence found itself interrupting.
⁷ A headdress worn by women of nobility—best known for its cone shape.
You rolled your eyes, a scowl on your powdered face, but you did not stop the man’s curious, pestering hands. “It’s not like your cap and bells⁸ are any better.”
⁸ A fool’s cap; the bells were intended for informing people of the jester’s entrance.
“Pfft, now that is where you are wrong, my dearest lady—they are way better.”
You sighed, eyes casting downwards as you crossed your arms over your gown’s bodice, leaning against the back of your chair. “Gojo, what are you doing here?”
“Hanging out. With my friend.”
“Even you know better than I do that we are far from friends.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be that way, my lady. Sure, we’re friends,” he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “Pals, even! am I right, or am I right.” He laughed, the sound of it bouncing around the walls of the study. “Who am I kidding—We’re best buds!”
His voice sounded insane, but his merry words were even more deranged. You wondered if, by any chance, “Has the jester found himself drunk this evening?”
“Drunk?” he repeated, entering your line of view. He approached the desk from opposite to where you sat, his face leaning down to peer into your eyes as his palms pressed against the dark wood of the table, as if he were interrogating you. “Me? Me, drunk?”
The blue of his eyes was so bright at this moment that it would’ve blinded you, had it not entirely creeped you out, instead.
“That’s what I said, yes.” While you may have found it difficult not to waver beneath his intense stare, you did not find it impossible . . . Okay, maybe just a little bit.
“You think I am . . . drunk?”
You blinked, nearly breaking under Gojo’s deep gaze. It seemed his eyes would never leave yours. “You are acting strange. Why would I not?”
Gojo pulled back, and a sigh of relief left your lips at his backing away after being mere centimeters from your face.
“I don’t understand women,” he began, voice smooth and clear as he spoke. A deck of cards had appeared in his hands, seemingly out of thin air, and he shuffled them, performing arm-spreads and cardistry with no difficulty, at all.
“I really don’t. I don’t understand why, every time I speak to you, you pull away, and act like I’m crazy, or joking, or . . . or drunk!” He raised his hands up in exasperation—the cards discarded, fluttering and falling to the ground in heaps, as if feathers.
“You’re a jester, aren’t you? I have no reason to take your words as you mean them. Why, you’re a boy, Gojo. Hardly a man, if I ever knew one.”
The jester raised a brow at the sound of your voice, before snapping his fingers. Another deck of cards suddenly appeared between his digits, identical to the fallen ones. Now, any ordinary civilian would’ve called it magic, but you knew how good Gojo was with his hands and card tricks and such, and thought almost nothing of it.
“You wouldn’t think that if you saw me without my motley.⁴”
⁴ Costume of a jester.
The jester spoke so seriously, as if he were mad at you, but you only found humor in his argument.
“Without your motley . . . ?” you repeated, unable to decide whether he was referencing the act of undressing, or the act of being in normal (non-jester) apparel.
“My lady, I am a man. Twenty years of age, I dare say. Beneath my cap and bells, behind my poems and songs, I am not a child. You cannot tell when you look at my face?”
You smiled, setting down your literature. “You are quite defensive of your manhood, I see.”
“Would my lady rather I display it?”
“Your lady would rather her jester sit down and deal in cards already, instead of standing there like a fool.”
If Gojo had come in the study to interrupt your reading and disturb your evening, the least he could do was keep you entertained. And, besides, seeing him perform all his flashy card tricks reminded you of the last time you played, which was far behind in the past.
“Like a fool?” Gojo laughed, seating himself in a chair across from you, before resting his feet on the table and crossing his legs—one over the other. You frowned at his lack of propriety. “It is what I do best.”
“And what you do worst is keep me waiting!” you whisper-shouted, leaning your upper-half over the desk. “Shall I wait for you to shuffle, or are you incapable of that, as well?”
“My lady is so impatient today,” Gojo teased, feigning a yawn as he interlaced his fingers behind his head, leaning backwards. “But, if you want to shuffle . . .” he continued, a strange glint in his eyes, “come and get it.”
The cards were between his index- and middle-finger; he wiggled them, before your eyes but behind his head, in an almost derogatory manner, as if daring you to seize the cards. And dared you did.
Huffing, you sat up from your chair, the legs scraping the floor as you went, before marching over to where Gojo sat, his demeanor composed and cool as he awaited the gracing of your presence. There was a strangeness in the air about him as he finally let his legs drop from the desk, but you ignored the conscience gnawing at you.
Gojo wore a lopsided grin on his face, eyes shining wildly, and you swore, if he wasn’t so highly regarded by the king, you would’ve slapped him right then and there, but, either way, you probably wouldn’t have, because you had other priorities, like retrieving the deck of piquet⁹ the jester was currently holding for ransom.
⁹ A two-player card game.
Standing just centimeters before him, the gown of your dress brushing up against his legs, you tried and tried to reach upwards and grab the cards from Gojo’s hand, but he kept dodging you, either switching the hand with which he held the deck, or moving the cards further behind him.
You did not meet his eyes, for you know they would be full of mockery, but you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, nonetheless. From embarrassment and frustration, or from being so close to the jester, you did not know.
“Gojo! Ugh, you . . . Give me that!”
You made one last, final attempt.
Stretching your arm out as far as you could, you reached over for the deck, again, and, to your surprise, and to all your efforts, you got it! But you also fell over, because your other hand was not holding onto anything until it was too late, and you landed in Gojo’s lap. And, while you were now holding onto something, it probably wasn’t your best move.
You were now sitting on Gojo’s lap, cards in one hand, Gojo’s collar in the other. Huh.
“I—”
You couldn’t think of what to say. And, apparently, neither could Gojo. While your eyes stayed upon the starched fabric being clenched between your fingers, Gojo’s eyes met the side of your face, the side you were not concealing by sitting at a slight angle.
“So desperate to get up close and personal, aren’t you?” He spoke up first, the hand that caught you coming up to rest on the small of your back.
“I fell. I simply fell. It was nothing short of an accident—you must be mistaken to think otherwise.”
“My lady, you don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m sure the king will understand your attraction to an oaf such as I.”
You scoffed at his allusions, releasing his collar (something you should have done much, much earlier), before turning away from Gojo’s watchful gaze, a huff slipping past your lips.
“Don’t be stupid.”
The position which the two of you held was scandalous, if anything. Your legs were beside Gojo’s, straddling him as the lengths of your dress fanned out beneath you, covering his lower half with ease. It was a scene straight from a sonnet¹⁰, except he was not your knight in shining armor, for he was your fool, instead.
¹⁰ A fourteen-line poem.
“Stupid?” he repeated. “That’s an interesting way to describe a man enamored.”
“What—?”
He cut you off. “I mean, you could’ve at least called me ‘besotted.’”
It did not take much strength for Gojo to turn you back around, his arms maneuvering you, seating you on his lap at an angle so that you could not avoid his eyes ever again. Your front was pressed right up against his chest, cards long forgotten about and hands perched upon his shoulders.
“. . .” You could not form a sentence as long as you held eye contact with the jester beneath you. You couldn’t even remember what occured for the two of you to end up in such a predicament.
Your cheeks flamed, and your blinks came in either pairs or trios.
“Do you want to kiss me?” began Gojo, abruptly, his tone casual (almost humorous), crystal-blue eyes boring into yours. “Or should I just go for it?”
You blinked, having not yet registered his words, but it didn’t matter—his question, your answer (or lack of); neither of those mattered, because he kissed you, anyways. Or was it you who first leaned in? All the same, either way.
Cool, ice-cold lips met yours in a chaste kiss, and you slowly snaked your arms around Gojo’s neck as you kissed back, shyly, almost hesitantly. You had never kissed anyone before. Hell, sitting in a man’s lap was frightening enough, but kissing? You prayed for God’s forgiveness seemingly simultaneously.
You didn’t expect Gojo’s lips to taste so . . . sweet, like a pastry. Err, well, it wasn’t like you ever imagined what they would taste like, ahem . . .
But it was like—like you were suddenly possessed by an entity. Before either of you knew it, simple short, innocent kisses turned heated, zealous, as if there were something more.
It was raw, it was full of feeling, and it was from the heart. Perhaps all the tension and frustration in the air had turned you both into insatiable animals, too far gone for mere kisses to soothe your aches and desires.
“Nngh . . .”
“Hahh—”
“Fuck. Pardon me, my lady, for I am no better than a man.” Gojo’s words acted as a warning, one you did not take.
You sighed into his kisses, eyes closed and squeezed tight. “Are you apologizing?”
“Do you . . . mmm . . . want me to?”
You whimpered as Gojo sucked on your bottom lip, hands running down your back, playing with the ribbons of your dress. “I think—I think you know what I want.”
“What a smart girl.”
More kisses, more kisses, more kisses. Your lips were swollen and bitten and nipped from his assaults, but it felt so . . . good, you had never known a similar feeling.
“Gojo—”
“Mm, don’t call me that,” he spoke, in a shamelessly sensual tone. He sounded so pathetic, like he was begging, albeit he knew full well you would listen to whatever he asked any other way. “No more. God, no more.”
His words slipped out between every kiss you two shared. It was sloppy, and clumsy; to say it made you feel warm inside was an understatement.
You pushed at his chest, repeatedly, whilst the two of you claimed each other’s lips, but he only let you go so you could catch your breath. He was going to get his fill in the end, anyway.
Gojo looked down at you from where you sat on his lap, hair a mess and dress disheveled. You had never looked so beautiful in his eyes, and he was sure to let you know that when he peppered kisses on every inch of skin left revealed by the neckline of your gown.
His lips trailed upwards towards your clavicle, tickling your skin as he went, and you slapped a hand over your mouth at the sounds that his kisses alone managed to pull out of you. It was embarrassing.
“Don’t call me by that name.” Kiss. “I implore you, my lady.” Kiss. “It’s—” Kiss. “—degrading.” Kiss.
“Your name? it’s, nnghh, degrading?”
His arms tightened around your waist, but he did not stop his kisses. You were like a dove trapped in a cage, bound within Gojo’s grasps. “That you would call me by my surname—is degrading.”
“I, ahhnn . . . don’t understand.”
Gojo looked up at you, before rising to his full height, loosening his grip on your middle, and, as he did so, putting a temporary pause on his making of love-bites upon your skin.
“Call me a fool, my lady—all you want, and I won’t protest. But call me Satoru. Your Satoru. Your Gojo, your jester, your oaf, your Satoru, and yours alone.”
You would’ve swooned from his declarations right then and there, had it not been for his tone of voice, which contradicted the sweetness of his words to a high degree.
Anyway, it wasn’t like Gojo was expecting you to fall so soon after deliberately going to great lengths to argue, ignore, and hate him all these past years. But, that was okay! All’s well that ends well. Or, at least, until Gojo decided to lift you up by the waist, standing up from his seat and setting you on the surface of the table which you occupied before he entered the room.
You shuddered from the amount of control he had over you, cowering before him. Even so, his laugh was a melodious ballad; too bad it wasn’t any less cruel-sounding.
“Don’t tell me my dear lady is shy,” he purred, lips against your ear as he spoke, before tilting your chin upwards to meet his eyes.
“I—You . . . Just when did you give yourself away before marriage?”
“Ehh, can’t remember. Let’s just say,” began Gojo, in a languid tone, “the maidservants here have really taught me a thing or two. And I’m not talking about playing cards.” He wiggled a singular card between his fingers, dauntingly, in front of your eyes, before bringing it closer to your lips.
You wondered whether he would make you bite down on it, because you suspected a moron like him would do such, but just a millimeter before it made contact with your swollen lips, Gojo let the piquet⁹ card slip from his grasps and fall to the floor. Instead of the card, it was Gojo’s index- and middle-finger that ended up between your teeth.
⁹ A two-player card game.
Gojo had this look on his face as he stared down at you; it was ravenous, almost, and your cheeks warmed as you looked up at him from beneath your lashes—eyes doe and wide.
“Come on, pretty,” he cooed. “Don’t make me wait. I know what you’re thinking.”
You swallowed, hard, before taking his fingers between your lips, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked on the digits. You couldn’t fathom the ache that it brought to your core when you heard the squelching of saliva and spit, the paint of your lips smudging all over as Gojo’s fingers reached deep within your mouth.
A breathy moan slipped past your kiss-bitten lips, and you failed to suppress the dazed, far-gone expression on your face as your eyes crossed, rolling into the back of your head. Oh, God, this was terrible, terrible! you thought, though you did nothing to prevent it.
“You can try and pretend you hate me all you want, but your body knows better, doesn’t it?”
“Mnngh . . .”
Gojo laughed. “Your body knows better? Ha! who am I kidding—I know better.”
You sucked continuously on Gojo’s fingers, their length long enough to make you gag as they hit the back of your throat, knocking out all the wind in you. There were tears pricking at your eyes, and you struggled to whimper out a coherent response.
“Awwh, I almost feel bad.” Gojo leaned down to meet your level. “Mouth too full to call me a mere boy now, is it? Gonna take back what you said, pretty girl? or should I have you choke some more?”
“Nnghh . . . Hahh.”
Your nails clawed at the wood beneath you, white knuckles clenching and unclenching repeatedly. Goodness, you had never hated jesters so much.
Perhaps Gojo was also a mind reader, as well, because not even a second after you finished that thought, he gave the roof of your mouth a small tap, and gestured for you to release his fingers. Which was what you did.
A string of saliva connected the tips of his fingers to your lips, parted ever so slightly, when he removed his digits from your mouth. You couldn’t look anywhere but his fingers; they seemed to draw you in, even as Gojo ended the trail of saliva in one short movement, before bringing his hand down your bodice, fingertips brushing against the fabric of your dress.
You shivered, even as your body warmed.
Watch, watch, watch. You could do nothing but watch Gojo. You did not know what he was going to do, you did not know what you were going to do, you just knew you wanted whatever it was Gojo was planning. Fuck, maybe the jester wasn’t the only one besotted.
“You’re awfully silent about this, my lady.”
“Whatever can I say?”
Gojo laughed, lifting the bottom edges of your dress to your knees, revealing bare skin to cool air. “I was expecting you to stop me.”
You met Gojo’s eyes when he looked down at you. “Nothing I say could stop you.”
“Because I know you don’t want me to stop.”
The jester leaned down to meet your eye-level as he spoke, before closing the distance between you two just as he had done earlier, lips meeting yours in a fervent, heated kiss, whilst his dominant hand, his right one, toyed with the lace of your dress teasingly, before trailing up your thigh. His hand was cool to the touch, leaving goosebumps rising on your skin and the hair on your neck standing up.
Thinking back, you had always imagined him to be the warm-blooded type, but no, Gojo was as cold as the snow which rivaled the silver of his hair. Which was strange, considering how warm he made you feel from the taste of his lips and the touches of his hands.
His mouth was on yours, one hand gripping the flesh of your hip and the other trailing up between your legs, right where you felt the most warmth.
“Do you . . . mmph . . . ever wonder where I get all my ideas for my poems and ballads?” he questioned, between kisses.
“Never.”
“Funny.”
You sighed into the kiss, succumbing to Gojo’s caresses and the ticklish sensations you felt from his fingertips brushing against your undergarments.
“I don’t see you laughing,” you quipped, holding the sides of Gojo’s face between your hands as you pulled away from the kiss, staring at him earnestly.
“You don’t see a lot of things.”
And then his lips were back on yours.
But that wasn’t what took your breath away. Well, it was part of it. Only part of it.
While the silver jester had been occupying your mouth with his own, his hand had been trailing up your thighs, thumbing your clit through the thin, lame excuse of panties you had on, all the while. He had been applying pressure to, and toying with the puffy lips of your aching cunt, which dripped and soaked profusely through the material of your undergarment. To say it was crude was an understatement.
You only noticed his advances on your lower half when Gojo pinched your clit, eliciting a loud, scandalous cry to be ripped out from between your kiss-bitten lips.
It was rough, and harsh, but still, nonetheless, gave you more pleasure than it did pain.
“Nngh, ahh . . . !”
You may have mewled then, but you writhed and whimpered even more when he finally pushed your panties to the side, slipping two fingers into your cunt with ease, seeing as your slick was useful enough as a lubricant. You never forgot the sound it made, the squelching of your wetness, Gojo’s fingers reaching past your rings of resistance and curling deep within your cunt.
It was so strange.
Gojo kissed you even harder now that he had two fingers deep inside your pussy, shushing your cries and moans as you squirmed around, uncomfortable.
His index- and middle-finger, the two digits that had previously been in your mouth, the ones you had been sucking on, were now moving inside your cunt, curling and scissoring your insides like nothing you had ever felt before.
When the jester finally pulled his mouth off of yours, he let you rest your head on his shoulder, whispering into your ear with that unmistakably smooth voice of his as you mewled and moaned, never being set free from his fingers, still buried deep inside your cunt.
“This . . . is called fingering. You like it, don’t you, my lady? God, if only you could feel how tight your little walls are.” He talked you through his movements and assaults on your poor, little pussy. It was invigorating as much as it was aggravating. “Fuck, ‘m never letting you go after this.”
You choked on your sobs, clawing at Gojo’s back. “S-Satoru . . . I—nngh!”
“Where’s all that attitude you had earlier, pretty girl? Not so frustrated now that you have two fingers up your cute pussy, huh?”
You could only let out a moan in response.
There was a coil building up in your stomach; you felt warm all over and your eyes squeezed shut as Gojo’s fingers curled with expertise, his pace quickening with each second that passed. They were long, and large, could barely fit a third in your cunt even if he tried—courtesy of the size difference between you two.
He was knuckles deep inside of you; each time you looked down to meet where he entered and exited repeatedly through your pussy had you squeezing your thighs together, forcing (unbeknownst to you) his fingers to reach even greater depths within you.
“Hahh, ‘Toru—! . . . It feels . . .”
You whined like a puppy. It was degrading how submissive he had made you within the course of twenty minutes or so.
“D’you want to cum? Is that it? Wanna cum on your jester’s fingers, sweet girl?” he cooed, mockingly.
Crying out, nodding profusely, you wrapped your arms around Gojo’s neck, pressing the two of you impossibly closer as your sobs turned to hiccups and the coil in your lower belly tightened unbearably.
Perhaps it was the additional friction from your hardened nipples pressing against Gojo’s chest that brought you over the edge as you came with a final cry and your juices released onto Gojo’s hands, his fingers dripping with your cum as he kept his fingers inside of you even after you came, continuing to curl and scissor without remorse.
“A-ahh . . . nngh . . .”
Your first orgasm hit you like a chaise and four. His name left your lips like a prayer, eyes rolling into the back of your head, thighs shaking.
“I really hope you don’t think we’re done here, my lady,” said Gojo, hot breath fanning against your ear.
“Satoru . . . What—What do you mean?”
“My lady, what I mean is I’m going to fuck you now.”
Those words were what made you open your eyes, looking up at the jester. “You’re going to, what?”
Gojo leaned down to meet your level, your faces too close to differentiate where your breath ended and where his started. “I’m going to show you just how mistaken you were to call me a mere boy.”
And that he did.
The silver-haired jester had you on your back within seconds, the cold wooden surface of the desk sending shivers down your spine as Gojo took his sweet, sweet time spreading your legs before him, as if preparing a feast.
You never imagined yourself losing your virginity so early on, and you were almost certain all your ancestors would be looking down at you for not waiting till marriage, but would it really count if it was only casual?
“I’m surprised we’ve gotten this far,” Gojo said, letting out a breathy laugh as he looked down at you. Hair splayed all over the desk in disarray, gown disheveled, ribbons undone, your cunt dripping with ache and want. It sent blood rushing down to his dick.
“Why are you surprised, jester?”
He wore a lopsided grin on his face, looking all smug and satisfied with himself. “Thought you hated me a little more to refuse my cock, is all.”
“Who says I still don’t hate you?”
“Her.”
And then that motherfucker spat on your cunt.
When Gojo decided he would be able to fit at least the tip of his cock in you, he hoisted your legs up, slipping them over his shoulders and pushing his cock into your cunt in one short thrust, (though it didn’t feel very short) . . .
He was both long and thick, girthy, with veins that twitched and sent bolts of pleasure shooting through you.
The head of his cock was big, and thick, sure, but the rest of it was even bigger. Slapping a hand over your mouth, you tried (and failed) to suppress the pornographic noises that left your lips left and right.
“Ahh, ‘Toru! Not so . . . Not so rough, nngh . . .” You whined, throwing your head back against the table beneath you, though you weren’t complaining.
“Well, would you look at that,” began the jester, as he slowed his thrusts down to look at where your pussy swallowed his cock to the base, thumb moving down to spread your puffy lips even further apart. “Biiiig stretch.”
Your gummy walls clenched down on his cock, and you clawed at the desk, nails leaving permanent marks upon the wood.
“Nngh, a-ahh! Gojo, you’re—!”
You saw stars when the head of Gojo’s cock kissed your cervix, reaching even deeper within you than his fingers had.
The silver-haired jester leaned down, his body overshadowing yours as he held both of your hands down beside each side of your head, interlacing your fingers together as he moved to whisper in your ear. “I thought I told you not to call me that. Does my lady not know how to listen?”
“No, S-Satoru, nngh! I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean to—! Ahh . . . !”
You weren’t the only whose body had an evident reaction when Gojo began his thrusts with a rougher, more ruthless pace. Even the jester was one to groan in your ear, laying all of his weight on top of you as he forced your body to fold in half, thighs and legs infinitely spread out as your slippers, true to their name, began to slip off your feet with the way your body shook and writhed and jerked with every thrust, hitting the carpeted floor with a soft thud.
Back arching, tits pressing up against Gojo’s chest, your throat soon grew dry and parched as you continued to moan like some lousy prostitute.
“This is . . . hahh, called a mating press,” said Gojo, as his hips pistoned against the flesh of your ass, cock bottoming out just to re-enter with a table-rocking thrust. “God. Dirty, little cunt’s fucking swallowing my cock alive, huh. Must really enjoy it from this position, my lady.”
“S-Satoru! ‘tis so d-deep . . . I—I can’t, nngh.”
You wondered whether you would need to visit an apothecary from the way Gojo was just relentlessly battering and rearranging your insides. Upon your word, you could feel him in your guts.
Gojo grunted and groaned in your ear, cock continuing to slam into your poor pussy with abandon. It seemed he couldn’t keep his composure, either, despite seeming so put together. Perhaps he had been waiting too long for this moment.
Opening your eyes and tilting your head downwards ever so slightly, you could see the way his cock was almost twice the size of your entrance, yet all the wetness and slick that had gathered there earlier was enough to enable Gojo to thrust in and out of you with ease.
Everything about the man was just so . . . big. He was tall, lean, and his cock was no different. Despite his fingers having loosened you, it was still a miracle he managed to make it fit—the size of his cock was almost monstrous, and was, indubitably, able to be considered as a weapon, if anything.
The stretch was delicious, but burned like hell.
Pounding into you, rutting against your used cunt, Gojo held himself above you as he, himself, whimpered as if he were the one taking a cock two times too big. No, make that three.
“Hahh . . . Cunt’s squeezing me like a damn vice,” he groaned. “God, still so fuckin’ tight.”
“Mmph, n-nghh, ahh—!”
“Never letting you hide this pussy from me ever again. Fuck, I . . . Hahh, gonna make you take it at least twice a day, now.”
You mewled and whined, tits bouncing and spilling from the top of your dress, courtesy of the combined erraticness and harshness of his thrusts.
“Gotta—nngh, make you used to this cock . . . Fuck—!”
You came hard when Gojo’s cock kissed your cervix for the umpteenth time, the coil in your lower belly unraveling as your cunt weeped white tears, dripping down your thighs as Gojo’s release followed suit only moments later. His cock pumped you full of warm, white seed, filling your womb excessively as the rest gushed out from between your puffy, swollen lips, sliding down the curve of your ass before staining the fabric of your gown.
Stuffed to the hilt, filled to the brim.
“O-ohh . . . Hahh, nngh—!”
“Is this enough for displaying my manhood?” asked Gojo, quoting you, a sly smile on his face as he ran a hand through his tousled hair.
God, you hated him.
For interrupting your evening, for ruining your dress, and for only giving you seconds to collect your breath before his cock was, once again, hard as a rock and thrusting into you from a different angle.
It was as if his first orgasm was completely non-existent; I mean, you could barely speak from how dry your throat was, (never mind moan), and this man was already up and running, fucking his excess cum back into you?
Preposterous.
***
You and Gojo had been having . . . an affair, for a while, now.
Had it been three weeks, or three months, or, even, three years, you did not know. Neither of you knew.
Gojo had ruined you ever since that night in the study. Your innocent dynamic consisting of mere banter and bullying had developed into a relationship of endless hostility, so much so, that after an unbearable amount of tension ensuing, it evolved into a sort of . . . acquaintance. Okay, that wasn’t the right word for it, but it sounds better compared to “affair,” right?
In essence, the both of you had grown closer. Well, that was inevitable. Because the jester now knew what you looked like under your gowns, and you knew whether the carpets matched the drapes or not, but, all the same.
Gojo was like a deviant; he was insatiable.
You two had begun to sneak around together. Sex was daily, once or twice a day, but you two also—what did Gojo call it?—hung out. Sort of. But it was still mainly sex.
Most often, it was due to tensions bursting during nasty arguments, which would end up with both of you locking yourselves in a common room, making inappropriate usage of the couches and lounge. Gojo would bend you over an armrest, or sit you on his lap, bouncing you on his cock as he used the skirt of your dress to conceal where your bodies became one.
Then, came the gardens.
You sometimes gave excuses to your fellow ladies in order to take a breather, using taking a walk through the gardens as a way to meet up with Gojo during the day. If anyone spotted the two of you together outside, it would only look as if you were chatting or linking arms. But then, whenever you two found an open opportunity, you would seize it and embrace, making out under the glaring sun and the shade of oak trees, hidden away from any lurking eyes.
It was kind of odd, to be honest, but you had found, after Gojo took your innocence, that you were addicted to whatever feeling he gave you. Whether it be lust, or want, or desire—they’re all different, believe me. You wanted, Gojo gave; Gojo wanted, you gave. It was how the two of you worked. But it was always casual, never serious.
Just like when the two of you fooled around under tables during supper, giving each other soft touches and pinches and rubs, completely unbeknownst to anyone else sitting around you two, (albeit you couldn’t say the rush of exhibitionism didn’t send a shock to your core). It was always for fun. Always for fun.
Likewise, your newly found “enemies-turned-friends with benefits” dynamic never prevented Gojo from being the devil he was. In fact, it made him worse.
That son of a bitch just loved to make completely unrefined, vulgar jokes. In front of others, he made sexual innuendos, hinting to one of the ladies of the royal court possibly entertaining secret relationships with an unknown other. Though he was careful to never let any further clarifications slip, he always brought up the topic at least once every public gathering, which usually led to surrounding nobles beginning to even question the idea, which was ridiculous in itself.
Even behind closed doors, the silver-haired jester was still the same. But, you couldn’t decide whether that was for the worst or not . . . Every time you thought you were finally able to strike up a civil, appropriate conversation with the man, Gojo always ruined it by twisting your words and making highly crass allusions, which was, perhaps, what you disliked the most (mainly because you always understood his references, which, more often than not, brought heat to your cheeks).
And, from the way everything was beginning to unravel, it seemed today would be no different.
You had been sitting at a desk (a different desk, not the one you lost your virginity on); you were writing—a letter to your cousin, and Gojo had been silently sitting across from you, like an obedient child.
The jester was sat with his elbows on the table, hands interlaced as he rested his face in the middle of where his fingers connected. He was “admiring” you, as he had said earlier, and promised, because you made him promise, to not disrupt your writing like he had all those previous occurrences whenever the two of you spent quiet time, like this, together.
Gojo was silent, but not silent for long, and you sighed when you caught sight of a grin forming on his lips.
“However long do you plan on writing to your . . . who was it, again? cousin.”
“I believe that is of no importance to you, jester,” you replied. “I didn’t invite you to watch me write, after all.”
Gojo’s eyes watched your every move, from the way you held your quill, to the way you paused whenever you were stuck on what word to use (in those cases, he would give you suggestions), and even to the way you looped your Y’s and G’s and J’s. He prided himself on, supposedly, knowing you so well. And, if you weren’t so used to his strange, almost childish behavior, you would’ve deemed him frightening.
“When was it a crime to accompany a maiden?” he laughed, wiggling his brows, tone humorous. “Eh, doesn’t matter. It’s not like I came here to watch you write, anyway—I’m only here to watch you.”
“. . .Satoru, don’t be creepy.”
You chastised him like an adult would a child; those were the moments that reminded you of the comparison between your ages. But it also reminded you of how much closer the two of you had gotten; you could speak to each other so freely now.
“Scolding me, . . . huh. You gonna start taking the reins, too, now, my lady? If it’s in the bedroom, I can’t say I’m opposed to the idea.” You couldn’t count the amount of times Gojo had laughed this afternoon. “God, I’m getting excited just thinking about it.”
You spoke without taking your eyes off your letter. “You’re so crude sometimes.”
“You like me this way.”
Dipping your quill into its inkwell,¹¹ you looked up, just to see blue eyes boring into yours. You did not respond.
¹¹ A small jar containing ink.
“Not even denying it anymore, my lady?” he pressed.
“You wouldn’t believe it if I tried.”
“Because I know you would be lying,” he said, in a sing-song tone as he leaned in, face only inches away from yours. “Isn’t that right?”
“No,” you began, putting away your quill and rolling up your parchment; “in fact, you’ve never been more incorrect in your life.” You sat up as you spoke, and moved to leave the room, never meeting Gojo’s eyes, albeit you knew they trailed after your figure.
“Yeah?”
He sat up immediately after you, the sound of his steps following yours as you made your exit, out into the hallway in search of a carrier pigeon.¹² Gojo made notice to avoid stepping on your gown, whistling as he walked behind you, like a dog following its owner.
¹² A breed of pigeon domesticated for delivering messages over long distances.
“That is what I said. Now, if you’ll please excuse me,” you continued, turning around for a brief moment to address Gojo, “I’ll be on my way.”
The jester did not let you go far before he caught up; now, you two were walking side-by-side. Gojo was a fast walker, which came naturally due to his tall stature, but it was evident he forced himself to slow his pace down in order to match yours.
“My lady is so rude,” he teased. “Leaving me behind, all by my lonesome?”
“. . .”
“Am I worth so little to you? Who do you think I am?”
You stopped, turning to face Gojo. “Who?” you repeated. “Do you mean, do? Because I don’t—I don’t think of you, Gojo.”
“Oh, come on. I know my lady’s thought of me at least once.” He grinned. “I mean, look at this face.” (He jabbed a thumb at himself) “How can you see this, and not stay up late at night, thinking about it.”
You gave him a side-glance. “You’re so pompous, ‘Toru.”
He grinned at hearing you use his first name, never mind his nickname, in such an open hallway, which highly increased the risk of anyone overhearing your usage of familiarities.
Leaning down to whisper in your ear as you two began to walk again, he said, in that smooth voice of his, “Am I wrong, though? I’m sure you would be lying if you told me you didn’t think about me during your most private, intimate moments. You probably sit on your bed, nightgown all bunched up at your waist, with your fingers buried in your tight, little cunt as you try to recreate what only I can give you; but it’s never as good as the real deal. I’m right, aren’t I?”
You froze, face burning as your hands balled into fists at your side, and Gojo snickered. He always had a knack for riling you up.
“Upon my word, you—you bastard! What is . . . Ugh, what, in heaven’s name, is your problem!”
You shoved at Gojo’s chest, weakly, before storming off, down the hallway, a crease on your forehead.
You really, really couldn’t understand why Gojo was like this. Why he just loved to tease you all the time, why he liked to belittle you, call you names. Although it upset you, this was only a minor argument in comparison to your many feuds. He was as bad as the rest of them.
The sound of your footsteps reverberated throughout the servants’ corridor (which you and Gojo frequented in efforts to conceal your meetings), and you could tell the jester was right at your feet when you decided to whirl around, the skirt of your gown flowing as you turned to face Gojo.
“Don’t, Gojo. Don’t follow me.” You looked up at him with intent; you did not yield when a light flickered in his eyes, as he stared back down at you.
“C’mon, pretty girl, it was just a joke . . . or an assumption,” he muttered that last part, beneath his breath; and you rolled your eyes, tightening your grip on the letter in your left hand. “You’re not really mad at me, are you?”
“Yes, I am mad! Why can’t you see that your words affect people?”
You took a step backwards, clutching your pearls (A/N: lmfao), but Gojo took two forwards.
Raising his arms up in surrender, Gojo continued to take a step or two every time you moved, matching you.
“Don’t be that way, my lady. You know I’m only ever kidding.” His smile was hypnotic, voice spellbinding, and you nearly broke.
But the moment you knew you were fucked was when you felt your back hit the wall behind you, and Gojo seemed to know, too, because he laughed in your face.
“Nowhere else to run, my lady?”
You two stood only centimeters apart, the tip of Gojo’s nose nearly touching yours as he leaned down to your level, eyes staring you down.
You shuddered, feeling hot breath fan against your skin. “Fuck you.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
You thought he was going to kiss you—you two were really close, after all—but, he didn’t. Gojo reached behind you, hand turning the doorknob of a pantry (one you had not even noticed during your little dispute), before pushing the both of you in, making sure to avoid any lurking eyes. You squirmed and pushed back, but Gojo was stronger. He locked the door of the pantry within record timing, before turning to face you.
You were stumbling over yourself when Gojo first pushed you in, but you were now backed up against one of the four walls of the pantry, finding purchase with your palms on the wall behind you, chest heaving as you gave the jester a grave look.
“Gojo, I’m going to give you ten seconds to get me out of here before I kill your court-fool ass.”
The jester walked forward, closing the distance between you two. Tilting your chin upward with his index-finger, he met your glare with calm sea-blue eyes as he asked, all cool and composed, “You’ve been such a brat today—what’s got your panties in such a twist?”
There was a hint of a laugh in his tone, and you snapped, “Gojo!” — just about having had it with the man.
“Me? Hm, well, I can’t say I don’t plan on it.”
You couldn’t remember when you had dropped your letter, but it certainly still wasn’t in your hands by the time Gojo had kissed you. Rough, raw; Gojo had you backed up against the wall as he ran his hands down the bodice of your gown, his mouth on yours, breaths turning ragged.
You weren’t going to let Gojo get away with anything, but it wasn’t like kissing him was a crime, per se. You were just . . . relieving your temper, for a bit.
“Does this—mmrph—mean I’m off the hook now, my lady?” he murmured, against your lips.
“. . .Not even close.”
“This attitude of yours is seriously getting to be a problem,” said Gojo, between each kiss he gave you. “Oughta loosen up a bit before that scowl turns permanent, darling.”
You kissed him with teeth, your hands giving a purposeful tug to his silver hair after yanking off his cap and bells,⁸ which fell to the cobblestone floor of the pantry with a resounding thud.
⁸ A fool’s cap; the bells were intended for informing people of the jester’s entrance.
“I’d advise you to stop speaking, jester,” you chided, pulling away for a moment’s breath or two. Gojo rested his forehead on yours, looking down at you as you spoke. “—Before you lose your head.”
Gojo scoffed, humoring you. “You love my face too much for that.”
“I love your silence just as much.”
“I would say the same to you, but . . .” Gojo’s voice trailed off as one of his hands wandered down your arm, removing your glove with ease as you shuddered beneath him. “I like hearing your pretty cries, too.”
There was a split-second from between your insults and jabs at the man, to the transition of said-man parting your lips with little to no care, shoving a glove into your mouth as a makeshift gag.
You whimpered and cursed, thrashing around as Gojo held your arms pinned to the wall by your elbows, keeping them lowered; but all your protests came out muffled, and the jester could only laugh at your disposition.
“Mmm, mm—mmph!”
“It won’t be as bad if you stop fighting it, my lady. Have faith in your jester, won’t you?” Gojo looked like a saint as he spoke, but even God knew he was closer to the Devil, himself, than anything.
Using your gown’s girdle belt as bondage for your wrists, Gojo soon had you completely at his mercy.
“Mmph . . . Mmm, mm, mmph—!”
He didn’t listen, didn’t even try to.
Then, the jester did something he had never done before, ever—he knelt down in front of you. On his knees, he looked as handsome as ever, but, you knew, his almost princely smile was only for show.
You squirmed and wriggled around in your restraints and gag, but none of that stopped Gojo from lifting up your gown, throwing a leg of yours over his shoulder as he licked a stripe up your inner thigh. His tongue was warm, wet, and you shivered.
Looking up at your figure from where he knelt, eyes meeting yours from beneath white lashes, Gojo asked, with that unforgettable voice of his, “Scared?”
The front of your gown was totally out of place, lifted and bunched up at your waist, nearly enveloping Gojo as he kissed the skin revealed to him. The jester, ever the playful one, hooked a thumb around the waistband of your panties, before tugging them downwards, cold air hitting the wetness of your core almost immediately.
You blinked. Once, twice, thrice.
“What a pretty sight, huh. Shame I’m the only one who gets to enjoy it.”
Gojo laid a kiss on your clit; you shuddered, twitching, and then he slipped his tongue between your folds, tasting the growing sweetness of your cunt with every second that passed.
If your wrists weren’t restrained behind your back, you would’ve slapped a hand over your mouth, but the glove was working just fine muffling the lewdness of your sounds—thank God, the jester had finally used his intellect for something.
Tongue probing deeper and deeper, lips attached to your clit, sucking, there wasn’t a spot Gojo left unattended to. But, upon your word, since when was his tongue this long!
The whole of it was sensational. You were shaking within twenty seconds of his mouth’s assault, and if you weren’t so out-of-tune from his tongue licking stripes up your cunt, plunging and pumping deep inside of you, sucking on your pussy as your slick dripped and dripped down his chin, perhaps you would have noticed the sharpness of his teeth that just so happened to graze, ever so slightly, at your puffy, swollen lips.
“Still mad at me?” he asked, mouth full of pussy. “Where’d all that attitude go, Miss Untouchable.”
That bastard, you cursed, sliding down the wall as you kicked and cried out, thighs clenching around Gojo’s face as he continued to eat you out with not a care of the world.
You couldn’t count the amount of times you had thrown your head back against the cobblestone wall, muffled mewls and moans leaving your lips from behind the glove shoved in your mouth. Why on earth did this feel so good? you wondered, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
“A-Ahh . . . Mm, nngh!”
Your hips bucked forwards, forcing the tip of Gojo’s nose to end up further buried between your folds. You nearly screamed from how cold his skin was; the contrast between it and his tongue was almost unbelievable.
Never had you ever wanted to pull on the jester’s hair more than you did now.
But you couldn’t.
Your lower stomach grew hotter and hotter, and tears pricked at your eyes whilst Gojo’s tongue only dove deeper and deeper. There was a knot forming in your belly, and you squirmed endlessly, spit and saliva and drool soaking the glove stuffed in your mouth without a second thought.
“You want to cum, don’t you?” Gojo’s sea-blue eyes flitted upwards from where he kneeled between your legs, his voice as sensual as ever.
You nodded profusely, eyes blinking back tears as you tugged at your restraints.
Gojo licked a stripe up your clit, laying a kiss at the end of it, and you almost came right then and there, the feel of his tongue simply too much for you to handle any longer, but Gojo’s grip on your thighs tightened, forbidding your release, and you whimpered.
“Only good girls get to cum on my tongue. Have you been a good girl?” he cooed, mockingly. “Nah.”
Your orgasm was so close, yet so far. You pressed your thighs together, seeking any friction to bring you past your high, but Gojo’s hand kept your legs spread, cunt dripping with ache and want.
“Mmmph! Hahh, n-nngh—ahh . . .”
Gojo wasn’t lapping at your cunt anymore. He had completely put his mouth on halt, and was instead using his thumb to apply small amounts of pressure to your clit. Emphasis on “small.” Your lips were puffy and swollen—Gojo could tell it physically hurt you to have your orgasm denied, but he only laughed.
His thumb gave you small slips of bliss, but they were never enough to fully bring you over the edge. It was frustrating enough to be tied up, but to be forbade from cumming? You needed a break.
Your legs were shaking so much you could have been mistaken for an innocent fawn. Gojo continued to thumb at your clit without an ounce of mercy; it drove you insane. And, by insane, I mean, “digging-your-nails-into-your-skin,” insane.
The last straw was when Gojo reached up to remove the glove from your mouth, throwing it onto the floor with a plop! sound. You were so distracted you didn’t even realize you could then speak, but when you did, you didn’t hold back.
“Satoru, I swear, to all things heavenly, I will kill you once I’m out of here.” Your chest heaved as you took in breaths of air, thighs still quivering. “You’ve been nothing but the biggest jerk I have ever fancied.”
“Dunno. Have I? Or, are you just mad I’m finally doing something about your little . . . attitude.”
Slick dripped from Gojo’s chin as he spoke, looking up at you, and you almost forgot why you were mad in the first place.
“Don’t be coy, I know you’re—o-oh! Nngh, mm . . .”
You went cross-eyed when Gojo finally attached his lips to your clit again, sucking at your sweet spots with a newly-founded intent.
Gojo’s tongue plunged into depths deep within your cunt once again, curling and curling, and you could feel the coil in your stomach tighten, ever the more closer to an orgasm. Then, there came the squelching of your cunt, the lewd sounds escaping your lips following suit, and your wetness coating Gojo’s face with a glossy, sheen layer.
You only realized how good of an idea the use of a glove as a makeshift gag was when you finally came on the silver-haired jester’s tongue with a loud cry, back sliding down the cobblestone wall.
“A-Ahh . . . Hahh, ‘Toru—! Nnngh, mm, ahhn . . .”
Tongue lapping at the juices and hot liquid that your cunt weeped, Gojo didn’t let a single drop go to waste as he kept his mouth on your clit all the while. He was indulging all your sweetest, most sensitive spots even after you came—the stimulation soon becoming too much to handle as you grinded against Gojo’s face, riding out your high with heavy sighs and heavy breathing.
You were so sensitive you could’ve cried. Gojo flicked the puffiness of your lips with his tongue, and before you knew it, he was stealing yet another orgasm out of you, only a few minutes after the first one.
“I can’t help myself, beautiful,” he murmured, lips still attached to your clit. “Just tastes so good . . .”
More sucking, kissing, licking; Gojo absolutely ravaged you, as if he were eating a full-course meal after a month-long campaign¹³ with a cavalry—and then came your third orgasm, or, so you assumed; it was . . . different.
¹³ A military operation in the objective of a specific thing, or, in this case, a knights’ operation.
It wasn’t cum, no, it was something more clear, and sheen. The sensation was different, too—you could tell. It ripped obscene vulgarities from your throat. It was . . .
“Well, would you look at that?” Gojo laughed, leaning back to admire his handiwork. “Made my lady squirt. About time, actually. Was beginning to doubt myself for a moment there.”
“Nngh . . . ‘T-Toru—I . . . !”
You had been wriggling for a while, now, and only a few moments after you reached bliss, was when the girdle belt finally fell from your wrists, releasing you from your binds. The sound of it hitting the floor was deafening, and a light bulb finally switched on in your brain—you remembered. You remembered now, and because of that, you needed to leave.
Gojo let the skirt of your gown fall back down as he stood back up, making sure to tuck your dirtied panties into a back pocket of his as he rose to his full height.
“Gonna curse me out now, my lady? Take off my head?” he teased, offering a shit-eating grin.
You patted your gown, smoothing it down in efforts to alleviate your disheveled appearance as much as you could.
“Don’t act smart.”
“You don’t like smart men?”
Since when was his voice this tempting . . .
You avoided his eyes as you spoke, otherwise you would have broken. “I like . . . when you leave me alone.”
And then you hurried away. Out of the pantry, out of the servants’ corridor—you left with wobbly legs, but left, nonetheless. The jester was still standing at the doorway of the pantry when you turned around for a quick glance.
“My lady, you dropped your letter on the floor,” Gojo added, from behind you, calling your name. Damn, he was inviting even if he didn’t mean to be.
Gojo’s voice was loud, and could have, possibly, been heard throughout the servant corridors. But you did not turn back, didn’t even stop to consider the idea. It was nothing, you told yourself, you could just write another letter. Parchment was parchment, after all.
You had already lost a glove, a girdle belt, your panties, and your dignity. Paper? was nothing.
***
In all honesty, you didn’t want to put an end to the affair you and Gojo possessed; you just . . . you were getting married. You were betrothed to a man (a man whom you had never met), and your marriage had already been arranged by the king and his advisors. It would be nothing short of scandalous—not to mention, unchaste. You were committing adultery, after all.
An affair was one thing, but infidelity?
You had some morals left, at least.
Now, refraining from extramarital activity was hard enough, but avoiding the jester? Nearly impossible.
You refused to look him in the eye after that incident, because of how awkward it was (but mainly because you knew you would fold). You, just, couldn’t bear the thought of some other feeling besides unvirtuous lust rising within yourself—normally, you would’ve labeled your relationship with Gojo as “just for fun,” but now that you were engaged to another man? (And not by choice, nonetheless.) It made you wonder whether you really did think of Gojo without sparks of animosity.
Admitting you . . . loved him? Admitting he paid you more attention than any other man? and, that, you enjoyed his attention? No. Impossible.
He was a jester, after all; he was supposed to give the ladies attention! Or, that’s what you told yourself whenever you began to suspect his love poems weren’t only for entertainment.
You were forced (rather, you forced yourself) to take different routes around the castle if it meant you could avoid Gojo. At supper, you waited for the jester to seat himself before you sat down at whatever chair was farthest from his (you made sure he was unable to kick your feet from beneath the table). And, at times where it seemed impossible to take different routes, you either shut yourself in your bedchambers, or took to reading in hidden nooks inside the library.
On an evening during your second week of your pseudo vow to celibacy, you were outside on your balcony, combing through your hair beneath the moonlight’s gaze.
It was dark out—most nobles had already gone to bed and knights were deployed into hallways to keep watch of the castle, but you enjoyed the quietness that tarried late in the evenings, and didn’t usually slip under the covers until the clocks had struck midnight.
Wind from the East whirled past your face, and, dressed in only a flimsy, light negligee, it was only natural that you shivered. Alongside the company of the moon and wind, there also came the noises of animals, scurrying around underneath the balcony, playing with their mates, snoring; the list went on and on.
All in all, you were never truly alone, even if you felt you were.
The wind howled once more, and you heard the crunching of leaves and another, more distinct, strange noise coming from down below. You didn’t like looking downwards—some could say you had a sort of fear of heights, especially with how high up your balcony was—but, the sounds of tonight seemed to be . . . louder than usual.
Overcome with curiosity, you peered over the balcony railing, with your hairbrush in-hand, to get a good look at what animals were still awake at this time.
You cooed when you saw a pair of rabbits play-fighting, their scuts¹⁴ wagging. “Awh!”
¹⁴ Tails belonging to rabbits.
“Cute, am I right?”
At the sound of someone else’s voice, especially when you should’ve been alone, you immediately dropped your hairbrush, a thud! playing out as the tool landed on the floor of your balcony.
You turned around instinctively, clutching your pearls at the sight of the jester standing only a few paces away, at the opposite end of the balcony.
Before you put a pause to your little affair, Gojo only ever met you here, on the balcony, if it meant climbing up the vines on the brick walls of the castle, because it would mean hell if anyone caught sight of him slipping through the doors of your bedchambers; and, judging by his disheveled appearance, he had done just that.
“Expecting me, my lady?”
“Goodness! Gojo—Gojo, do you have any idea how late it is?” you exclaimed, a hand over your beating heart as you took several steps closer, standing on your tiptoes as you cradled Gojo’s face in your hands, examining the cuts and scars he had acquired from suffering through the pricking of thorns.
“Didn’t I tell you to stop calling me that?” he quipped, though his tone held no real malice—he looked down at you as you held his face, and appeared almost relieved at the physical contact after two agonizingly long weeks without it.
You looked up, peering into the blue of his eyes. “What . . . in heaven’s name, are you—?”
“Doing here?” He cut you off, finishing your sentence for you as he deadpanned. “I could ask you the same thing. Admit it, you’ve been avoiding me. The past weeks you’ve always been with either the ladies, burying yourself in mountains of books, or . . . or here!—locking yourself up in your bedchambers. I haven’t been able to speak a single word to you.”
“I . . .”
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, in a matter-of-fact fashion. “Why have you been avoiding me?”
“. . .”
You didn’t know what to do; the only thing you were certain of, was that you absolutely refused to answer him—at least, not yet. So, you did the one thing you were good at.
Throwing away your pride, (and since Gojo’s face was already in your hands), you stood up on your tiptoes once again and kissed him.
Kissed him like you meant it, like he meant it. Kissed him with however little spirit you had left in you, with however much emotion you held towards that man. You kissed him, earnestly, lips pressing against his in a chaste kiss that, obviously, turned heated only seconds later.
But, in full honesty, with this you finally realized how much you had really missed the jester—not just his kisses, the addictive, sweet taste of his lips, or the way his hands flew down to your hips within moments; but, you missed him. You missed Gojo: Gojo Satoru.
He filled plenty of aches you never knew you had, and, when he kissed you back without even a second’s hesitation, you almost wanted to kill yourself for how stupid you were to have had the audacity to actually deprive this man of the one good thing he loved during his entertaining of the royal court.
“Abstinence,” he asked, looking down at you once you pulled away, “really? That’s what you’re doing to punish me?”
“Gojo, I—Satoru, that’s . . . not what I’m doing. Please, believe me, I’m . . .” Stammering over your words, you blinked several times, refusing eye contact with the man.
Before your hands could drop from his face back down to your sides, Gojo caught your wrists just as they trailed down his chest, holding you closer to himself as he whispered in your ear, nipping playfully at your earlobe.
“You’re, what? Uninterested in jesters all of a sudden? Found a prince for yourself? Celibate, even?” He laughed, albeit the sound of it was nothing but dry. “Now’s a pretty bad time for that, wouldn’t you say so?”
Now was a bad time for that, you thought to yourself.
Biting your lip with your face turned to the side, you swallowed the lump in your throat, resting your palms on Gojo’s chest.
“Satoru, I’m . . . engaged, now. We can’t . . .” You struggled to even utter the syllables of the word ‘engaged.’ “We can’t continue seeing each other without it being wrong.”
Gojo didn’t even look surprised when you revealed your hand was promised to another man. I mean, with the quiet time he had had on his hands as of late, he probably went through a couple of possible explanations for your sudden vow of silence towards anything that had to do with him and himself.
“Will you look at me?” he sighed, tone lowered to a pathetic plea.
“That wouldn’t—wouldn’t change anything,” was what you answered with, turning your head to look up at Gojo’s eyes. It was funny; they seemed to shine less under the moonlight, considering one would ordinarily assume otherwise.
“You seem to not understand me, my lady.” Gojo picked up a lock of your hair, bringing it to his lips to kiss—his white lashes fluttering. “I don’t want you to stand here and tell me you won’t go along with the marriage. I want you to stand here and tell me you will go with marrying another.”
“W-What—?”
“But only whilst you look me in the eyes, my lady.” Gojo let your hair drop from his hand as he moved to hold your cheek, instead. “Look me in the eyes, and tell me you’ll marry him—he, who has won your heart.”
You looked away, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t, Satoru.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Because, it would be a lie . . . It’s not he who has won my heart . . .”
“Then, who?”
You turned back, facing Gojo, but you did not answer his question. “Satoru, I’m—I’m afraid.”
“You’re afraid,” he repeated, as if telling you. “You’re afraid because our affair; you and me; us—it’s wrong. Simply wrong, you know that, and, yet, you don’t want it to end, do you?”
Gojo leaned down as he spoke, but when you tried pushing his face away, he barely budged.
“I’m a woman betrothed, Satoru. It’s immoral.”
“My lady, you’re not wrong. You are a woman betrothed, but I am a jester who has fallen for an engaged woman. Have you no pity for me?” The question seemed almost humorous, in a way, but you didn’t laugh.
You shook your head. “None.”
“What do you have for me, then?”
You sighed, giving in to your heart, and your eyes softened as you gazed upwards at the silver-haired jester.
“Must I say it?”
Gojo grinned, the mischief returning to his eyes. “You can show it,” he said.
And then you threw your arms around his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him, until your mind went stupid, insane, absolutely dumb; because that was how it always was with kissing Gojo Satoru—he made you sick for love. He made you ache for it, for him, for anything, at all, that had to do with the certain six-foot-something fool of a man.
That was the night you confessed your requited love towards Gojo for the first time (even if it was nonverbal). That was the night your lover took you on the balcony for the first time—or, well, it wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time you two were, actually, making love—spending a night together; together-together.
That night was a blur.
One moment you two were embracing, reveling in what the both of you had been missing out on for the past fortnight; the next, well, Gojo had you bent over the balcony railing; and, after that, you were being backed up against the doors of your bedroom which led out towards the balcony.
Clothes had already been shed en route—your lame excuse for a nightgown lay shredded on the balcony floor, alongside Gojo’s motley⁴ and his cap and bells,⁸ which were both in a similar, if not equal, state (hey, you could be impatient, too).
⁴ Costume of a jester.
⁸ A fool’s cap; the bells were intended for informing people of the jester’s entrance.
The night was long, but that didn’t mean you stopped before sunrise, no. You two went on even after the break of dawn, and, when you did (eventually) lay down to sleep and awake, you were with sore muscles and a different kind of ache between your legs. But your heart soared, and your head spun—all but for one jester.
You were afraid of love, and you were promised to another man. But Gojo, your Gojo, made it all better; and that was how the two of you came to be lovers.
***
The two of you had already been in a secret relationship together—hell, one could even argue it had never even stopped. But, it was different now that you knew your little affair had developed into something . . . more, per se. It was thrilling, knowing that, even with all the show you two had to put on in front of crowds: arguing, banter, cursing; your nights would all end the same, with Gojo sliding under your covers when it came time to sleep.
However, not everything had changed.
The both of you still rendezvoused in hidden corridors and servant hallways—plenty of times, even. Hiding under oak trees was also still a thing, given the amount of shade and quiet provided.
And, anywho, there were also new additions to the dynamic of your relationship with Gojo. Instances where you two were this close to getting caught in scandalous, compromising situations soon grew . . . quite frequent, really. Gojo liked to hide under the skirts of your gowns whenever someone entered the room you two occupied, and he found it even more fun when it meant he could keep you entertained down there while you spoke with your unwanted company up there.
If it wasn’t becoming apparent, Gojo couldn’t have cared less if someone was in the room—he would’ve kept toying with your clit or reaching knuckles-deep inside of your cunt, anyway.
He also didn’t care much about going out on a limb just for some . . . fun. The two of you played a variety of risky games together, games that could end up with the whole royal court finding out about your affair, but it was fun, nonetheless. Like, trying to find each other within crowds at masquerade balls, for example; it was an event which had all guests covering their faces, so approaching someone by mistake was quite a sight to see. The time of Carnival¹⁵ came with a lot of entertainments, but masks were definitely one of them.
¹⁵ A time of feasting and celebration before Lent.
However, aside from all your risqué escapades, you and Gojo also showed your intimacy in subtle ways. You had never noticed it prior, but even before your affair went into full-bloom, Gojo had made a habit of matching his everyday costumes to your everyday gowns. He matched the color of your fabrics, and, if possible, matched the patterns, too. He did this with every color—every color except for white, because you never wore white.
You had told him once, perhaps during one of those nights the two of you spent watching the stars, that you held a strange sort of detestation towards the color. You didn’t know why, truthfully, you just . . . you weren’t a fan of blank, empty canvases.
Gojo had no problem with that, really. It was much easier to pick colorful flowers than it was to find white ones. Oh, yeah, before I can forget, the jester had a particular pastime of picking you bouquets—only ever the most beautiful and fragrant flowers, of course.
In his own words, “It would be a crime worthy of punishment to give my lady anything less than the best.” Yeah, he was a dork—a dork who played footsies with you during supper; but he was your dork, nonetheless.
Well, he was, up until the day your arranged marriage was supposed to take place.
Gojo didn’t like talking about it, and for the fortnight that had passed after you both confessed to each other, he had not brought up the subject of it once. Whenever you did, he began to talk of something else. Whenever someone was bringing it up during a public gathering, Gojo would drag you away from the crowd, off to another pantry or library.
It wasn’t Prince Rilian you were marrying: it was actually a lord; still, Gojo hated whichever man it was.
He liked to say, joking (or not), “It’s a shame he couldn’t find his own woman. Had to arrange a marriage like a pussy. You wouldn’t marry someone like that, would you? A bitch-boy who had no game?” And then he would laugh. “Nah, you’re more into real men.”
You were. He was right. But, who were you, a lady and her lover, otherwise known as the jester of the royal court, to defy the king and his advisors? . . . No one. And that’s exactly why, on the day of your wedding, Gojo had climbed up your balcony just as he had done before, a countless number of times.
Gojo had heard you were taking a few minutes to yourself, alone, on your balcony, before the ceremony; and wasn’t even a second hesitant about trying, attempting, to persuade you into eloping. He was a jester: he was supposed to be irrational, but this was, perhance, his most unbelievable joke yet.
“Well, you’re dressed up today. What’s the occasion?”
Gojo was standing two paces behind from where you stood, hands perched on the balcony’s railing.
You didn’t turn around when you heard the sound of his footsteps approaching, but you were forced to, when he spun you around.
“Please, don’t joke about this,” you pleaded, eyes sorrowful as Gojo held you.
“Oh, trust me. I do not find anything about this funny—especially not the part where you forgot to tell me you were getting married today.”
You turned away from Gojo’s eyes, your veil trailing far behind you. “I can assure you, . . . I didn’t know the date was already officially set until hours ago.” You wanted to whisper, I thought we had more time, but you didn’t.
Gojo stared at you like a child admiring the stars, lifting your veil to examine your painted face—it made him sad, the way he knew how much you hated the color white, and how empty it was, just like your eventual false vows to a man you barely knew.
Blushing brides were supposed to be blushing, Gojo thought; not on the verge of tears.
“Will you think of me when you stand at that altar?” he began, a silence following before he continued. “Will you wish it were my name you were vowing your life to?”
“G-Gojo,” you stammered, “please—”
“So we’re back to a title basis? I’m just ‘Gojo’ to you, again?”
“I didn’t want this, I . . .”
“I wouldn’t be in the crowds, my lady, if you were wondering. You won’t see my face and you won’t hear my voice objecting.”
“But—”
“But you don’t want to get married,” said Gojo, cutting you off, “I know. So run away. Run away with me.”
“Satoru, I . . . It’s not as easy as you think it is.”
Gojo took your gloved hand in his, and kissed it. He kissed the left hand, on the ring finger. “I don’t think it’s easy. I just think it’s right. Don’t you agree? So, please, my lady, don’t make vows you do not mean.”
Sure, jesters could do many things. Jesters could be many things. But this one—this one just happened to be the love of your life.
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a.n: thank you to @a-cute-french-fry and @dorisnumber1fan for brainstorming some of these with me <3 i made myself very delulu with this so ENJOY. happy 3k!!! i love you all muahhh <3
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 chan ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹
Chan's warm hands are in yours, fingers tangled with one another tightly- like the sturdy roots of an ancient tree.
“Baby,” he calls out softly, and you can already feel tears well up in your eyes at the tenderness in his voice. His thumb reaches out instinctively to wipe the lone tear that managed to escape. His right hand remains on your cheek, cradling it gently.
“Seungmin always liked to joke that I was nearly half-fifty-two. Then half fifty-three on my next birthday,” he starts, as a faint giggle escapes your lips. “That's how I counted time too, with the different days I lived… That is until I met you.” He pauses, a shaky breath leaving him and crashing onto you. “Suddenly I was no longer twenty-six. I was one week old since I met you. Three months since I’ve loved you. And then five years since you changed my life. Years no longer marked the passage of my time. It was you who marked the passage of me.”
“I always had this idea in my head, that I was only worth loving easily. If I diluted all my problems, concealed all my flaws and insecurities to please the ones around me, only then was I deserving of love. But you...” His eyes soften, even more so than they were before. “But you loved me, you loved me on my happy days, and on my darkest ones. You loved me, even when I couldn't understand it, even when I couldn't see what was there to care for in me. So, thank you, for showing me that I am worthy of love, simply because I am me. Thank you for choosing to be patient with me. You don't always know what to do to help, nor do I, but you try, and I try, and isn't that what love is, in the end? To take time out of your day to try, for the person you love?” His voice cracks, as sudden tears wash over his rosy cheeks.
“And I love you. I love to love you. And I cannot not love you, not when my heart beats to the melody of your existence. I promise that even when I’m eighty, I’ll always try to love you better, softer, gentler. I'll never stop trying to be worthy of your love, to be worthy of being yours. Only ever yours.”
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 minho ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹
“Angel,” Minho smiles softly, the back of his hand brushing tenderly against your cheek. “I love you, so so much. You know that, right? I probably don't say it as much as I feel it, because I always do. Every second of my existence is spent loving you. Even when I’m not fully awake, and still floating in that hazy space between dreams and consciousness, I can still feel it deep within me that I love you. It is the one thing that ties me back to life itself.”
“And I never... I never imagined that I could adore someone this much. So much that I always think of you, always miss you, even when you're near. Because I feel as if I missed out on years of loving you, back when we didn't know each other. And I- I want to love you, hard enough so it'd feel as if I’ve done it for your entire life.” He's blinking repeatedly, you're surprised he can still read the words scribbled on his paper. You can sense that the tears glistening in his eyes are on the verge of spilling, so you grab his hand and squeeze it gently. 'I'm here', you silently say- he understands.
“Thank you for holding my hand. Now, and every time I’ve needed you. Thank you for being here for me, with me. I... I always thought that people like me were destined to be alone. But- but being with you feels like I’m with myself. There's no need for me to pretend. Thank you for not making me pretend anymore. You are my mirror, you and I are one, and I- I hope...” He brings your hand to his chest, where his heart beats wildly- 'stay with me' it sings to you.
“I hope you can always feel my love for you. Now and when we're too old sitting on the patio of our home, and my hand is still in yours. Because my heart belongs to you, it beats for you and I breathe for you.”
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 changbin ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹
“You're breathtaking,” Changbin whispers in awe, his eyes tracing the contours of your body with each lingering look, like the brush of a skilled artist.
“So are you,” you giggle, but he shakes his head vehemently, drawing nearer to you. “You are the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I can't believe I’m marrying you,” he chuckles in disbelief, before grabbing your hand and twirling you around, showing you off for all to see.
“Look at who I’m marrying!” he shouts with bursting excitement, as he dips you down, his nose grazing yours gently, a soft touch amidst the loud exclamations around you.
“Still sure you want to marry him?!” Seungmin shouts from his seat and you giggle, wrapping your arm around Changbin’s waist. “I do!”
Your laughter gradually fades, as Changbin clears his throat. His head is tilted to the side, a small, incredulous smile drawn on his lips as he contemplates the loveliness of this moment- of marrying you.
“My baby. My beautiful baby. I think this is the happiest day of my life. But again, every day is a happy one with you. I... I've never known that love could be unconditional, that loving someone would feel as simple as breathing. Until you. Loving you doesn't feel like I’m taking something out of my being, and giving it to you. But rather, I’m nurturing something within me, a blossoming tender emotion that grows within my soul. Loving you...” he steps forward, cradling your cheeks in his warm hands. “Loving you makes me happy, immensely happy. Because you are the sunset that makes people stop in their tracks to admire it. You are the beautiful scenery that gives hope to everyone who witnesses it. And you make me feel alive. More than I’ve ever been before you.”
“And I promise...” he pauses, wide eyes trying their best to embrace each feature drawn on your face. “I promise to love you more today than I did yesterday. I promise to shoulder the pain that slips through the cracks in your heart, the one that you try so hard to conceal from me. I promise to hear your silent cries and to hug you until your soul stops bleeding. I promise to see you, even when you try to hide from me. I promise to hurt if it means you'll feel less pain. And I-” his voice trembles as it washes over your old scars, delicately erasing them from your memory.
“I will love you. When the pain seems too big, I will love you. And when your happiness shines the brightest, I will love you. I am madly, irrevocably, desperately in love with you. My heart is tangled in yours.”
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 hyunjin ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹
“My love,” Hyunjin begins before abruptly stepping forward, pressing his lips onto yours. The kiss is dizzying and sweet, it reminds you of the figs he hand-fed you yesterday- honey dripping down his tongue onto yours. “I’m sorry,” he whispers once he steps back. “I couldn't help myself. You're so pretty,” he admits sheepishly, and you giggle, too in love to ever mind.
“Where was I? Right, hi, my love. Writing these vows was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Not because I didn't know what to say, but there is so much I wish to express, to talk about when it comes to you. How my soul seems to burn for you. How you’re my last love, but also my first, because I don’t think I’ve ever truly loved before you. Not when you are love itself. But I… I found this journal entry, from four years ago. And I want to read it to you.” He clears his throat, a useless attempt to erase the quiver in his voice.
“I used to believe that love was meant to be grandiose. Extravagant gestures and confessions that will seem too magical for any ordinary human. That’s what I craved; a love so big it would overtake my being completely. But... But tonight, you played with my hair as I laid my head on your lap. And we held hands while drinking warm tea on your couch. And it felt enough, more than enough for me to lead a beautiful life. One worth remembering, one worth commemorating. All because it’s with you.
I realize now that I no longer have to search for love all around me, because you hand it to me, so freely, so selflessly. You love me on our extraordinary days and our mundane ones. I never have to second guess it with you. We may be angry, sad, or frustrated, but the love always remains. It's the one emotion that ties us together, that anchors us to one another. My compass. You.
I don't think I ever 'fell' in love with you. Because a fall can never be gentle, it always hurts, even if for a little. And you must always get up afterward, in a minute, in an hour, in a few years. You can't stay down forever. But this, what I feel for you, the emotion that makes my heart beat is tender and soft. It feels like walking inside a home where the light is golden, the windows are wide open, and every past version of me finally finds what it was looking for all along. I want to stay in you for a while. For a long time. For the rest of my life. And I’ll do whatever it takes so you’d let me.
P.S: I am sleeping with a light heart tonight. I hope that, for as long as I’m breathing, you will always too. You deserve it, more than anyone who has ever walked this earth.”
There is a long pause, as Hyunjin’s words hang over the air; they knock the breath out of you but simultaneously fill you with life. You step forward, swiping away his tears gently. He brings your hand to his mouth, soft rosy lips brushing against your knuckles.
“I guess I've been writing my vows since the day I met you,” he smiles softly, delicate love overflowing from him. “Every painting, every journal entry, was to you, by you, for you. Thank you for being my home. Thank you for choosing to love me, every day. Thank you for allowing me to witness the magic that is you. I will forever and always orbit around you.”
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 han ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹
“Have I ever told you that you're my favorite artist, sweetheart?” Han’s voice is gentle, as he begins speaking. It reminds you of the waves lapping at your feet when he proposed to you. “I feel as if, as soon as you stepped into my life, you began to paint it with the most vibrant colors. The ones I’ve been desperately longing for. Because it is hard… to see the world as a rainbow when you've felt in blacks and whites for so long.” Han’s gaze softens as he spots the tears now trailing down your cheeks. “Shh, don't cry, honey. Or I’ll start crying too, and I don't think I can stop then,” he whispers and you nod, a breathy giggle escaping your lips.
“My mind used to be a scary place. But it no longer is, because it's now filled with thoughts of you. I like to imagine that you planted yourself a little garden there, vibrant tulips and roses. And these flowers may wither down. But they will always bloom again, watered by my love for you, and your love for me. And I hope you know that I... I'll always be there for you too. When the thoughts in your head won't quiet down, I’ll talk for as long as it takes to distract you. And when you want to sit in silence, I’ll be near you, holding your hand. And when you want to be alone, I’ll be there, lingering around the door, within your reach. In whichever shape you want me, you'll get me. I am here, I won't ever leave you.”
“And now I’m crying too” Han chuckles softly, and through the shimmering veil of your tears, you cling to his hand to see.
“I really, really don't know what I ever did to deserve you. But I know I’ll try my entire life to be worthy of you. For as long as I’m here then there will always be someone who loves you. Someone who is proud of you; for breathing, for trying, for never giving up. Please never forget that. You are my strength, my peace, my home. You are everything I have ever dreamed of in human form.”
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 felix ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹
The golden rays reflect on Felix’s eyes as he looks down at his paper. A summer wedding- he insisted, his only condition to you. It is ridiculous, you wanted to tell him, to expect it to be any season but summer when he is the sun.
“Hi baby,” he grins, twinkling brown eyes captivating yours. “God, I’m so nervous. I rehearsed this ten times in front of chan. I think he learned it by heart now.” You giggle, as Chan’s laughter travels across the venue. “I’m not usually afraid of speaking in front of people. But you aren't anyone. I guess that's why I’m nervous. You look really beautiful today. This isn't in my papers, I just wanted to tell you. Because you are. You're always beautiful but today you're absolutely breathtaking and I can't believe I’m marrying you. Thank you for saying yes,” he pauses, a breathy chuckle escaping him. “I’m rambling, aren't I?” you nod, a wide grin on your face. You love him.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I... I'm known as the massage fairy, right? I think I might've massaged almost everyone present in this room.” The loud cheers of your friends signal that they agree.
“I used to, I mean, I do it because you get knots in places your hands can't reach, and it feels nice, for someone to ease the ache of your muscles for you. And I always thought that massages were strictly physical. That it just undoes tension in your body, nothing more, nothing less. And I never told you, because it sounded silly in my head. But I knew... I knew I loved you when you massaged my shoulders for the first time. Do you remember, baby?” he asks, a gentle smile gracing his lips. “That was two months into our relationship. Which is fairly early, but time means nothing when it comes to you.”
“My shoulders were sore, and when I told you, you stood behind me instantly. You started to massage my shoulders and I almost cried right there and then. Because your fingers worked delicately, and it felt as if you were kneading your love into my body. You lifted an invisible weight off of me that day, an emotional one. I didn't even know it was there until you touched me. That's how I knew you were different, to me. That your touch wasn't strictly physical, that it reached into depths of my soul, that it soothed aches I’m not even fully aware of,” he pauses, drawing in a deep breath.
“You already know this, but I... I never really learned how to deal with sadness, because it all happens so suddenly with me. One bad thought always brings with it ten others and suddenly I am pulled into a pool of horrible feelings. But your hands keep me afloat until I’m ready to swim by myself again. I think... I think you understand my sadness more than I do. Maybe because you're a part of me, two halves of the same heart.” His voice softens at the last word, as unshed tears glimmer in his eyes.
“I hope, I pray, that my hands massaging your sore shoulders would also reach into your soul and heal its ache. And I know I might not make you feel better, instantly, or in a day, or the following one. But I promise that I won't ever leave, even if the bad times stretch forward. I'll be with you, patiently, just as you do to me. I may not understand myself fully, but I know that my soul was crafted to love you. Every atom in me is yours, and that is enough knowledge for me.”
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 seungmin ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹
You take a step forward, brows knitted in concentration as you carefully readjust Seungmin’s black tie. Your hands then glide to his shoulders, smoothing the fabric of his suit. “Nervous?” You ask, and he responds with a subtle nod, planting a chaste kiss upon your forehead.
“Don’t be. It’s just me.”
“It’s never ‘just you’ to me.” He gently holds your chin, dainty fingers commanding a cascade of butterflies inside you. “Just look at me, okay?” You smile tenderly and he nods, taking a step backward.
Seungmin draws in a deep breath, eyes traveling over the entire room before finally settling on you.
“I’ve always liked math. I liked the security that numbers gave me, the exactitude of this science. Because one plus one equals two, and no change in our world, however grand it may be, could ever alter it. I liked things that I could grasp, that I could wrap my head around fully. Tangible rules and formulas. They were my safety net. Until you came into my life. You were the wildest variable I’ve ever encountered, and being near you made me crave things I’ve never known. You pushed me out of my comfort zone, but I wasn't afraid to fall into the unknown, because I knew you'd be there to catch me. So, you became my risks and paradoxically, my safety net, all in one.” He doesn’t look down at his paper- his kind eyes never leave yours, and you’re suddenly the only two humans existing in this world.
“I remember a Tuesday night, two years ago. You slept over at my house, and we didn't do anything special. We just talked a lot, about everything and nothing, just saying whatever crossed our minds. And then you dozed off on my chest. You looked so... Peaceful in my arms, and I was surprised you weren't woken up by my wild heartbeat. Because I suddenly realized that I wanted a forever with you, right there and then.” You both step forward at the same time, hands reaching out blindly to hold one another.
“I’ve always found it a bit weird to crave something to last for a duration that we humans cannot grasp. Everything we know is ephemeral. Everything has a beginning and an end. So, I never really believed in forever, until you. Forever exists because I can't see myself ever not loving you,” a faint hiccup courses through him, as he looks up at the sky- an earnest attempt to stop his tears from falling. It is useless, because once he looks at you again, emotion overtakes him, rippling from him in waves.
“Even- even when we're both no longer here, and my body can no longer contain my soul. Even if I only roam in space eternally, as a small speck of light, my destination would always be you, because my love for you would be the only thing my soul would remember. The core foundation of my being, the essence of who I am is my love for you, and even if everything around me fades, the love for you will stay.” His forehead presses onto yours, a last whisper, only meant for you- “My eternity is you.”
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 jeongin ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹
Jeongin's lips graze the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse dances in fervor- for him alone. He looks self-assured, as he lets go of your hand to take out a paper from his pocket. But there is a faint blush tainting his cheeks; it travels down his neck when he clears his throat.
“Baby,” he starts, voice hoarse from barely hidden emotion- the notes of it settle inside your heart. “I don't know where we will be many years down the road, or what we will be doing. But I know that there are things that won't change between us. I know that I’ll listen to all your rants about your favorite show, and I’ll buy you ice cream when you're craving it at 3 a.m. I will still buy two bottles of my shampoo because you love to use mine more than yours. And I like it when you carry a part of me with you, even in such a subtle way. I will still give you my jacket, even when you insist you aren't cold, but I can tell, because I know you. I will...” He sucks in a deep breath, as his vision grows blurry from the tears in his waterline.
“I will make you coffee in the morning, exactly how you like it, down to how many ice cubes you use. I will warm up your towel as you shower and I will fold your laundry because I know you hate doing it. And I- I will hold your hand when we cross the road, and in crowded places, and in the lines of every coffeeshop we’ll go to. I will run my fingers down your spine when you're about to sleep, and I will-” Jeongin's tears splatter across the paper, smudging its black ink. His lips are quivering, as the paper shakes in his hands.
“I will kiss your tiny bruises and remind you to breathe on- on days where...” Jeongin crumples the paper in his hand as he finally looks at you. He’s crying, a stream of tears trailing down his cheeks like a floodgate that isn't planning on stopping. “On days where it seems impossible to.” He finishes, the words he's written long forgotten by him. He didn't need to read them when he had you in front of him- the sole holder of his love.
“And I will hug you tight on nights when your sadness feels bigger than what your body can contain. And when words don't seem to make sense in your head, I’ll- I’ll listen to you, I’ll understand you, I’ll learn you. And I will love you. I will love you and I’ve loved you and I love you. And I- I wish there was a word bigger than love to describe how I feel for you. Because four letters never seem enough when it comes to you. But I am yours, body, heart, and soul. Wherever you go I follow. Till the ends of the earth, I'll be there.”
the boyfriendification of ran haitani
a/n: 18+!!!! nsfw!!! this is exactly what it sounds like. i've been trying to write this for DAYS and HERE SHE IS tbh i could've gone on forever ran has moved into my brain and is living completely rent free please somebody get him OUT of there!!!
content: alcohol / drinking, smoking, fingering, nipple play, spanking, sex!!, maybe a little bit of misogyny? kinda?? some of the boys sanzu talk about girls a little crazy oy
word count: 7,114
it wasn’t the first time you’d been to octagon. your friends had dragged you to the fancy, new nightclub downtown for its opening weekend and had fallen in love with the gaudy atmosphere. they had gotten into the habit of splurging on a night out there whenever one of you was in need of a pick-me-up. a pick-me-up in the form of a lux night surrounded by rich assholes, bottle service, and flashing lights, of course. so no, it wasn't your first time at octagon, but it was, however, the first time you’d been bent over the counter top in its single stall bathroom while a gorgeous stranger took you from behind. definitely a first.
from the moment he'd locked eyes with you from his table across the dance floor, you wanted him. you had found him incredibly handsome, especially compared to the usual slimeballs that frequented the place. it wasn't a secret that most men went to octagon with the hope of their private table and bottle upon bottle of top shelf liquor being enough to win the attention and company of beautiful women, regardless of how old or gross they were themselves.
ran haitani was neither old nor gross. he seemed to be in his late twenties, tall and slim, with a cigarette danging from his lips. he held himself in a way that said i know i'm better than everyone here and it is fucking hilarious. he had an amused look on his sharp, angular face that never seemed to shake. he watched you with calculating eyes, as if deciding if you were worth the chase. and you were enough shots into the night that you decided to flirt and wink back at him, shaking your ass in his direction for just a moment before turning back to your friends to tease him. when two enormous hands firmly gripped your waist, you knew it was him. you allowed him to run his greedy hands up and down your sides, arousal beginning to pool in your panties as he danced closer to you. as you arched your back, you were met with the feeling of his hard cock pressing into your ass while those massive hands pulled you flush against him. the size of him nearly made your mouth water. it wasn’t much longer before his whiskey scented breath was hot at your cheek, a sensual rumble of a voice tickling your ear, “can we go somewhere to be alone?”
next thing you knew, you were locked in the bathroom, stuffed full of this man’s veiny length. one of his hands had tightened around your throat. the other came down onto your ass cheek with a sharp slap every so often, making you yelp. you could barely hear your own cries of pleasure over the booming bass of the dance music just outside the door. ran was pounding into you at a pace that made your legs wobble. thankfully, he had you pressed against the counter with a hand gripping your hip for support. the hand around your neck released to take a fist full of your hair and drag you up against his chest. “you’re so fucking tight,” he growls in your ear. “how’d i get this lucky? didn’t even wanna go out tonight but here i am with this tight fucking pussy squeezing the shit out of my dick.” you can’t take your eyes off the pornographic scene taking place in the mirror in front of you as he continues thrusting up into you.
ran is watching too, and he's desperate to see more of you. he uses his free hand to hike your dress up even higher until it’s bunched up at your stomach. you're completely exposed, tits bouncing freely, soiled panties pushed aside to make way for the intrusion into your slick heat. his size is making it impossible to stay quiet. you’re moaning and whimpering with every thrust as the head of his thick cock bruises your cervix. the pain and pleasure have become one and between that and the alcohol you’re feeling like you’re floating.
the way you’re wrapped so tightly around him, pussy swallowing him up completely and dragging him back in each time he pulls almost all the way out of you, ran can't get enough. he’s watching you hungrily as your mouth hangs open, a constant string of curse words and cries streaming out. his eyes lock onto the place where he’s disappearing inside you, the place dripping with your arousal and making a mess all down your thighs and onto his dark pants.
"tell me how good you feel, baby," his face is next to yours, talking to your reflection in the mirror. "s-so good," you sputter. sweat and tears have ruined your makeup and you look absolutely wrecked. it's fuckin beautiful, ran thinks. "lemme hear youuu," he whines, grin only growing. "come onnn. tell me you love this." "i love it, i really love it, fuck." it's not a lie, either. you can't remember ever being fucked like this in your entire life. he's hitting deeper than any guy you've ever been with, and with a girth that's stretching you to the point of almost being painful. but you love it, you really do.
you watch in silent desperation as one of his hands starts to snake down your thigh, long fingers beginning to circle your clit. the added stimulation has you screaming, orgasm approaching like a bullet train. "scream my fuckin name," he orders, teasing voice taking on just a hint of sternness. "ran."
you did as you were told, repeating his name over and over, louder and louder, drowning out the sound of his balls slapping against you, nearly matching the volume of the music outside. "that's right," he laughs, fingers speeding up as he feels your walls tense around him. "cum on this cock, gorgeous. let me hear you." you do, hard, eyes practically rolling back in your head. you cry out his name just as he had told you to, a few swears following as his hands grab onto your waist and starts forcing your hips down to meet his thrusts. he's groaning now, the way your orgasm has you fluttering around him bringing on his own orgasm. you feel the heat as he fills the condom deep inside you, arms caging you in as he grips the counter for support. he bucks his hips up a couple more times– both of you making desperate sounds at the overstimulation– and pulls out. he trashes the condom and tucks himself back into his boxers.
your knees threaten to buckle under you so you turn quickly to lean back against the counter for support. he laughs, leaning close to kiss you for what feels like the very first time that night. it's sloppy and a little rough, tasting like whiskey and cigarettes, but for some reason it exhilarates you. he pulls away and cocks his head to one side.
"what's your name, pretty little thing?"
you tell him and he grins, repeating it back to you slowly, savoring each sound. "you have got the absolute tightest, juiciest pussy i've ever put my dick in."
you wince a bit at his lewd words and how casually he's said them. you mumble a slightly sarcastic thanks and start to adjust your clothes, pulling the straps of your dress back over your shoulders, tugging the hem down to where it belongs. he watches you with amusement, that same smirk still on his lips. you wet a paper towel and lean in close to the mirror to try and wipe away your smudged makeup. when you turn back to ran you see him slipping your phone into your purse.
"hey!" you startle him but he just as quickly regains his usual expression. "what are you–"
"i'd really like to do this again," he cuts you off, checking something on his own phone with a satisfied smile. "pleasure meeting you." he tips your head up and kisses you once. you watch in stunned silence as he unlocks the bathroom door and exits. you catch a glimpse of a line that has formed just outside.
"oh, you've gotta be fucking kidding me," a voice groans seeing ran exit.
"someone sounds jealous!" a laugh follows ran's words.
when the door shuts again, you lock it quickly and pull your phone from your bag to see what he'd done. your screen lights up revealing that he had sent a text, presumably to himself. the message simply reads, "best fuck i've ever had"
----------------------------------------------------------------
despite sending it to himself, it's weeks before ran uses your number. you had almost started to believe he would never actually text. which wasn't the worst thing in the world. sure, it had actually been the best fuck of your life, but you had decided that fucking strangers wasn't something you were into anymore. shortly after you'd met ran, you'd hooked up with a friend of a friend after a night out, and it had been one of the least sexy encounters you'd ever had. and then, a few weeks after that, sex with a guy from a dating app had ended with him crying on top of you, realizing he wasn't over his ex. yeah, hooking up with strangers was proving to be a dead end.
you were confident in your decision to stay away from all that. even when a text came through from an unsaved number, the only other message ever exchanged with it being best fuck i've ever had. ran.
remember me? :)
you stare at the message for a few seconds and locked your phone. you had just sat down in the corner of your favorite cafe with a latte and your laptop to get some work done and you weren't going to let mr. best fuck i've ever had derail your productive morning.
ignoring me? my feelings are hurt!
the message alarms you just a little. but before you can wonder how he knew you were ignoring him intentionally, you receive another text.
mind if i join you?
you look up as a looming presence arrives at the seat across from you. it's ran, looking just as you remember, maybe even more handsome than in your memory, now that you were looking at him with sober eyes. "so?" he smirks, quirking an eyebrow. you nod, motioning politely to the chair and he sits.
he's wearing a suit, or half of one. he's got on a crisp white button down and slacks with the jacket slung over his arm. the clothes fit him perfectly, every stitch and fold falling just where it should as if they were tailored just for him. which they probably were. over the collar of his shirt peeks the top of a tattoo that adorns his throat. you wonder why you hadn't noticed it back at the club. it was pretty hard to focus on anything other than his cock. you banish the thought from your mind. that was behind you. with his polished appearance, his hidden tattoos, and knowing smile, ran exudes an overwhelming aura of power and wealth. it's a bit intimidating.
"fuck, do i feel lucky to have run into you," he settles back in his chair, eyeing you mischievously. "what are you working on?" you notice his gaze on your laptop. "emails," you say simply, stupidly. he's hard to have a conversation with, you can't stop thinking about that word: intimidating.
"nothing urgent, i hope?" he sips his coffee, deep violet eyes flickering, hinting that there was more to the question.
you just stare back at him, waiting for it. "if you're free, why don't you come back to my place? it's really close to here."
"i'm not free," you reply evenly. "i told you, i'm working."
"oh, come on," he rolls his eyes petulantly. "you'd rather send emails than come with me and get the best dick of your life again?" you look away from him and open your computer, "sorry, i'm not interested."
he shuts your laptop with one large hand, leaning across the table toward you, "i don't believe you." his tone is still pleasant and lighthearted as it seems to always be, but he's clearly not used to hearing an answer that isn't yes. "you were begging for me at the club. don't you remember?"
"i do but–" you open your computer again and he shuts it abruptly. "i'm really not like that."
“like what?" his tone is changing, it's patronizing, belittling, an attempt to coax a yes out of you. "a horny little slut telling me how much she loved getting her tight fuckin hole filled in the bathroom of that club?”
"you got lucky," you bite back. "we're not in a club, now. i'm not fucked up, and i'm not just hooking up with you because you look good in a suit."
"you think i look good?" his smile grows, mocking.
“whatever, ran," you start to collect your things, suddenly frustrated. he'd shown up and interrupted your day, expecting you to just drop everything to go fuck him. not this time. "think what you want, but if you're really trying to fill this tight little hole again, it definitely won’t be like this.” you turn to walk away leaving him completely stunned and surprisingly aroused...
you're just starting down the sidewalk outside when the bell on the cafe's door chimes again behind you. ran's hand circles your wrist and pulls you to a stop abruptly. he turns you toward him.
"fine," his jaw is tight. "i'll play along. what do you want me to do? get you fuckin flowers or some shit?"
it's your turn to feel smug. as powerful as he seemed, as he carried himself to appear, there had clearly been a shift in the dynamic. the subtle annoyance you'd caused in the world's most easygoing man was thrilling. you felt like the ball was suddenly in your court.
"let’s get dinner."
"buy me dinner first," he mocks, putting on a high pitched voice.
"you’re the one begging to fuck me," you remind him sharply.
he quiets. “fine."
you're shocked he's agreed but try not to show it on your face.
"8?" he continues. "i’ll pick you up."
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the sight outside your apartment stuns you into silence. ran, dressed in a dress shirt and slacks, the shirt looser and more stylish than the one he'd had on at the coffee shop, smoking a cigarette leaned against the hood of his car. with the first few buttons of his shirt undone you can see his tattoo clearly. just below his collarbone are a few dark swirls of ink, telling you there are more tattoos on his chest. you briefly wonder what they look like, what they mean.
he flicks his cigarette butt into the gutter before his eyes come to rest on you as you approach. the corner of his mouth curls up in a grin but he says nothing. "i didn't expect you to drive a batmobile," you say simply, gesturing to the sleek black car. ran laughs, loose and genuine. the sound somehow calms your nerves. "it's a bugatti. batmobile prob'ly woulda been cheaper, though." you laugh, surprised at his humor. but much to your disappointment, the car ride that follows is relatively silent.
the restaurant ran has chosen is a steakhouse, one of the finest in the city you learn from a quick google search as you exit the car. he hands the keys to the valet and you can barely make out a whispered threat of what he'll do if anything happens to his precious car. you watch a wave of fear wash over the young man as ran claps him on the back dismissively. "you scared him," you frown. "good," ran says casually. "that car costs more than he'll make in his entire life." you call him a number of mean names in your head. great date so far.
ran gives his name at the front, the host looking just as fear stricken as the valet as he leads the two of you to a table in a bustling VIP room. you sit down, eyes flitting from table to table, observing the other kinds of people with the same reservation privileges as ran. older men and women in expensive suits and cocktail dresses laughing and drinking wine, middle aged business men celebrating closed deals, and a handful of other couples enjoying each other on dates. "i hope you eat meat," ran smiles briefly.
the rest of the night passes with no more than 20 words exchanged between you. your displeasure is growing with each time ran checks his watch or rolls his eyes at you. as your plates are cleared, ran refills both your glasses of wine. you've convinced yourself you're calling a taxi home after this glass. you'd enjoy an expensive meal paid for by this mysterious, exorbitantly rich man and leave with your dignity in tact. you weren't going home with him, not after this pitiful attempt at a date.
"somethin wrong?" he asks with a patronizing tilt of his head.
"no," you lean in. "just wondering why you're choosing to be so insufferable."
ran's eyes narrow the slightest bit, "what ever could you mean, darlin?"
"you're acting like a child. i get that getting to know someone before fucking them is a brand new concept to you, but it's what we agreed on–"
"i agreed to dinner," he corrects, raising his glass to his lips. you want to reach across the table and slap the grin from his face.
"right, a dinner so i could get to know you," you're speaking through gritted teeth. "that was my only request, because i don't want to fuck a stranger–"
"honey, you already fucked a stranger and, if i remember correctly, you fucking loved it."
you blink back at him making a move to grab your purse.
"aww, come on," he chuckles. the sound feels like a punch to the gut.
his hand closes around yours on the table, his grip almost too tight. you look up at him, ready to protest, when you see that his eyes are dark, warning you not to leave. "i'm sorry. really. put down your bag."
for the first time all night there's not a hint of teasing in his voice. the sudden authenticity startles you enough to keep you in your seat. your eyes can't seem to unglue themselves from his. you feel your hand release your clutch, shoulders relaxing. the remaining shred of control you'd felt earlier in the day was completely overwhelmed by his commanding gaze. the tone of the evening had shifted.
"what do you want to know about me?" he asks, his usual smile back on his lips. his hand is still holding yours, thumb stroking over the back delicately.
there are a million things you want to know, each question seeming more important than the one before it as they bubble in your brain. you decide on something simple.
"what's your last name?"
his smile widens, "good question, baby. haitani."
"and what do you do?"
instead of answering, he takes out his phone and unlocks it. he hands it over to you on a new internet tab, "google me."
you hesitate but he seems insistent. ran haitani. search.
the first thing to come up are pictures of him. paparazzi shots, professional headshots, press photos at company events, something resembling a mugshot.
under the pictures are a list of links to articles mentioning his name. you gulp, trying to conceal your reaction to the headlines, and probably doing a terrible job of it.
"bonten inc. executive ran haitani could face criminal charges"
"ran haitani: genius business mogul or nefarious mob boss?"
"police commissioner assures no links found between bonten inc. and citywide gang activity following investigation"
"haitani brothers acquitted of charges following month long trial"
your mind had chosen to analyze the new information quite calmly. he was an executive of a huge company. that explained the money, the clothes, the attitude. gang activity. criminal charges. mob boss. you remembered the look of terror in the faces of the valet and the restaurant host. now that you thought about it, you had even seen it from other patrons when they risked a peek over to your table.
blame it on being naive, but for some reason, you didn't feel afraid of him. you pass his phone back wordlessly, noticing how carefully he was watching your face for some kind of reaction. "learn anything good?" he asks, sliding the phone back into his pocket.
you nod, "you have a brother."
his brows draw together for a moment, scrutinizing your expressionless face. you barely last another moment before you both burst out laughing. ran isn't sure why your reaction has him feeling so delighted, but it does. googling his name had been meant as a mean trick, a surefire way to terrify you and run you out of the restaurant. so for you to react with a joke of your own... had he met his match? he feels his cock twitch in his tight pants.
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once all ran's cards are on the table, the whole night inexplicably shifts. you stay there much longer with him, actually talking, finishing the expensive bottle of wine he'd gotten together. a newfound passion seems to overtake ran as he tells you more about what he does (in slightly vague terms, for obvious reasons). even more surprising is how the things you tell him fascinate him, your world being so starkly different from his. it's intoxicating, the way you light up as you speak, hands gesturing and eyes sparkling. he thinks it's perfect that you work for a non-profit– something to do with helping kids in need– because after these few hours of being in your presence, he knows he'd donate millions if you asked.
"we should probably get going...?" you mumble when you notice that most of the diners have disappeared. ran feels a pang of disappointment, realizing the night may be nearing its end. what you see, though, is a casual smile and a nod as he stands up and offers you his arm. clinging to him, you let him lead you out of the restaurant. as you stand beside him waiting for the valet to get his car, he wraps his hand around yours wordlessly. the gesture is so small, so sweet, you wonder if he had even done it intentionally. nonetheless, you feel giddy, however out of character it was for him.
"how'd i do?" he asks quietly. you're not sure what to make of the question. "how was tonight?"
you try to hold back your smug smile. "well, you definitely don't feel like such a stranger anymore." he laughs, a soft exhale. you squeeze his hand to get him to look at you. "aren't you going to invite me back to your place?"
he gives in to the urge to kiss you, large hands cupping your cheeks, holding you in place as he bends to press his lips to yours. "you're a fuckin tease," he mumbles against your lips, making you giggle. "shut up and take me home," you smirk. the car pulls up and ran is feeling triumphant. he slaps a hundred dollar bill into the valet's hand, "thanks, man. g'night." the guy looks shocked to be receiving such a large bill, especially from someone who had threatened to gouge his eyes out with car keys just hours earlier.
"that was very generous," you note, once you're both inside the cavernous vehicle. "i'm in a good mood," he shrugs, smiling out at the road. the car zooms out of the parking lot with a roar, ran driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh.
as you pull through the guard gate and descend down the winding tunnel to the underground parking lot of ran's place, you start to giggle. ran glances over at you as you try to contain yourself. he gives your thigh a squeeze, "what's so funny?" you shake your head dismissively. pulling into his parking spot, he cuts the engine and turns to face you. another devilish giggle slips out and you know you have to spill.
sheepishly, you place your hand over his on your leg, tracing nervous circles onto the back of it. "fuck me here. in the batmobile."
"shit," ran snorts out a laugh, already pulling you over the center console and onto his lap. "whatever you say, baby."
as soon as you're straddling his hips, he slides the hem of your dress up your thighs, letting it bunch up at your hips and reveal your lacy black panties. "pretty," he grins, knuckles running over your clothed slit. "d'ya wear these just for me? pictured me taking em off you?" you whimper, already turned on by his feather-light touches and teasing words. as you fumble with ran's belt, his massive hands have each one of your tits in their grip, squeezing hard. "fuck," he breathes, finding the zipper at the nape of your neck and tugging it down. you slide your arms out of the straps so that ran can peel the bodice down toward your stomach, revealing your tits to him in their lacy confines. "look at these!" he sounds overjoyed, giving them another squeeze. he pulls the cups of your bra down at the same time. he meets your eyes before giving each of your nipples a firm pinch. you whimper, eyebrows furrowing. "aww, sensitive, huh?" he fakes sympathy, pinching again, harder. he rolls the hardening buds between his thumbs and forefingers, "i feel fucking cheated. i didn't get to play with these gorgeous tits last time. what do you have to say for yourself, hmm?"
you moan as his lips wrap around one nipple, fingers twisting and rubbing the other. "s-sorry," you whine. "sorry's fuckin right," he says, mouth full of your breast. as he releases it with a wet pop to move to the other side, his hand comes up between your parted legs. as he suckles at your nipples, fingertips nudge themselves under the fabric of your underwear. "please. touch me." in response he presses his slender middle finger into your already dripping hole. a second finger follows closely after. his thumb presses down firmly on your clit, running over it slickly using the arousal that's leaking around his fingers and pooling into his palm. "you're fuckin filthy," ran's tone makes it sound like something between a praise and an insult. "listen to how wet you are already. you just love havin somethin fuckin in and outta this little cunt, huh?" you nod desperately, burying your face in his neck as the squelching sounds of his fingers in your pussy fill the car.
a sharp slap comes down on your ass cheek and knocks the wind out of you. "take my cock out, baby. want you to see how fuckin hard i am feelin you leakin all over my fuckin hand." you had almost forgotten you'd started to unbutton his pants, before he'd shoved his fingers into you, that is. he spanks you again and you yelp, "too hard!" he chuckles darkly, but still presses a kiss to your temple and mumbles out a "sorry, baby." you finally get his fly down and he lifts his hips to help you tug his pants and boxers down to his thighs. his cock stands upright, angry red tip resting against the firm muscles of his stomach. because he'd taken you from behind in the club, you hadn't actually gotten a good look at his member. the size of it was shocking. "it fit?" you ask in disbelief. he strokes your cheek, smiling at you with amusement, "'course it did. you were such a good girl for me. gonna be a good girl again?"
you respond by lifting your hips and positioning yourself over his length. your hands grip his shoulders for support. he holds your waist in one hand and the base of his cock in the other. he runs the tip between your lips a few times, your arousal coating the head and running down his shaft. finally, he pulls you down, tip pushing inside your clenching hole. the stretch is a million times more intense when you're on top, you decide. as ran sheaths himself inside you in one swift motion, you feel as if the air has been stolen from your lungs.
before you've caught your breath, he's lifting you back up and slamming you down again. you can't help the yells, whimpers, and moans that fill the tiny space around you two. you drop your head to his shoulder as he thrusts his hips up into you. he takes your tits into his mouth again, "fuckin obsessed with your body. you feel so good, baby." something possesses you to say it back, "fuckin obsessed with your cock." the words send him into a frenzy. his hips speed up, the sound of skin on skin getting louder and more frequent as he pistons into your hole. you cling to him, fingernails leaving crescent shapes where they've dug into his skin.
ran pants an order, "touch yourself. wanna feel you cum on my cock." your fingers rub around your clit, bringing you even closer to the edge. "fuck, ran," you whimper, all the sensations becoming too much. "louder." "ran! fuck, oh my god, ran!"
you see stars as your high hits like a freight train. you're barely aware of how tightly your walls have clenched around ran, how they've drawn out his release, milking him of every last drop. he makes no move to pull out, simply lets himself soften while buried deep within your cunt. but you wiggle your hips, too sensitive to have him there much longer. "tsk," he shakes his head in fake disappointment and lifts you off of him. he keeps you in his lap, though, wrapped up in his long arms. he reaches into the back seat, grabbing the suit jacket he'd had on earlier in the day. you almost blush as he drapes it over your shoulders. you kiss him in thanks. the kiss turns into a few more kisses and soon you're straddling him again, looking into his face.
"was it really so bad?" you ask, teasing. "going on a date?" he lets his head loll back as your lips leave a trail of kisses from his collarbone up to his jaw. "not bad with you," he turns his head and catches your lips with his. he grips your ass in his hands to pull you closer. "and not after this." "worth it, right?" you giggle against his mouth. "i might even consider doing it again." your tiny gasp makes him laugh. "yeah, yeah," he chuckles. "whatever." cradling his face in your hands, you smile devilishly. "if you agree to another date, maybe we can go upstairs and do this again," you whisper in his ear. "fuck. deal."
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"alright," sanzu calls attention to himself, a bit too loudly as usual, as he walks into the room. "strip club. on west 44th street. i bought it."
"you said you would and you did," koko nods, impressed. "good for you."
"thank you!" the pink haired man points at his colleague triumphantly. "we're celebrating the new ownership tonight, and i want you all there. got it?" the other bonten execs agree, nodding or chiming in from around the room.
"ra-a-an," sanzu sing songs, noticing his colleague's lack of a response. "complimentary lap dance from the bitch with the tittie piercings if you show up tonight. i know she's your favorite."
"pass," ran calls around a cigarette, absorbed in whatever he was doing on his laptop.
"you can't pass, dick, it's a big night!" sanzu retorts, clearly offended.
"i'm seeing someone tonight."
rindou scoffs and ran throws him a look.
“you’re fuckin pussy whipped, idiot,” rin rolls his eyes.
"no way," sanzu scoffs. "no way you're seeing that same fuckin girl."
ran is silent, he continues trying to drown out sanzu's voice. the truth is, he was still seeing the same girl. it had been nearly four months since you and ran had met at the club and, as out of character as it was for him, he hadn't been with anyone else. hadn't even thought about it. he really didn't mind going on dates with you, enjoyed them even. in the last couple weeks he'd even started trying to choose some of the outings so you wouldn't have to plan them all. unlike most of his past flings, you were worth seeing again. and again, and again, and again. he liked being in your company, had grown to enjoy and long for the times you got to spend together, even fully clothed.
ran was definitely not "boyfriend material" in the traditional sense. he'd never considered that he could ever be a relationship guy. his job was dangerous and demanding. it ran the risk of pulling him away at a moment's notice and keeping him off the grid for long periods of time with no explanation. it had shaped him into the man you met at the club, a man of strip clubs, hookers, and, yes, getting his dick wet with random girls in club bathrooms.
with you, ran had it all. someone to confide in, someone to be intimate with, someone that gave him a reason to make his free time non-bonten time. it had been less than 24 hours after your first date at the steakhouse that he had realized how fucking good and different it felt to be around you. after years of the same shit with bonten or all the gangs that came before it, of course he was going to pursue this new possibility.
sanzu takes ran's silence as an answer, "fuck, ran, is it??" he howls with laughter. “did you go soft on us, man? got wifed up and lost your edge or some shit?”
“first, shut the fuck up. second, you would be doin the exact same fuckin thing if you knew how tight that shit is.” the regret for his words comes instantly.
“alright, then help me understand,” sanzu teases. “you plannin on sharin with the class?”
something ugly starts to boils deep in ran’s stomach. he's never once felt this sort of annoyance– the kind that borders on genuine anger– while simply joking with the boys. he wanted to abruptly end the conversation, didn’t want a single other person thinking about his girl and her pretty lips and tight little body and perfect fuckin cunt anymore or ever again. it was for him, him only. he wanted to swing at sanzu, knock him out of his fucking chair and leave the room. but where the fuck was that coming from? it didn't feel like ran at all.
so ran pushes the feelings down and does as normal ran would, diverting sanzu's attention away from his changing persona and the woman who had caused it, away from his clearly shifted views on women, sex, himself. he snorts a laugh and mumbles a pompous, “you fuckin wish.”
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a few more weeks go by and ran has successfully managed to avoid any further mentions of you with the bonten guys. he's more careful following the conversation with sanzu and, luckily, the topic doesn't come up again.
he's watching you intently from the bed as you brush your teeth in his bathroom. smiling to himself, he marvels at how differently your relationship has turned out from what he'd expected. it was like no other relationship ran had ever had, if you could even call his past conquests relationships at all... there was a private desire to always make you happy, keep you smiling. a constant need to make sure you were kept safe, far from bonten, its executives, and all its business. it had been such a drastic shift in him. honestly, ran couldn't remember the last girl he'd even saved in his phone with a name before you.
you meet his eyes in the mirror and grin at him. "who's got you smiling like that?" he calls, motioning you toward him. you pad across the room, climbing onto the bed and settling into his open arms. he holds you tightly against his bare chest, kissing your forehead fondly. you chuckle, "hey, when did you get so sweet, huh?" "m'not sweet," he says through a grin, squishing your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger and pecking your lips. "i'm a nefarious mob boss." you laugh at the epithet– your favorite from the tabloid articles about him– that had become something of an inside joke between the two of you. he can't help but join in your laughter, delighted just by seeing you so giddy.
a loud ding sounds from the nightstand and ran reaches across you to grab his phone. "what's wrong?" you ask when his brow furrows at the screen. "someone's at the door..." he clicks the notification and it brings him to the live video feed from his doorbell. there's a man smiling and waving into the camera, like a batman villain. his long hair is dyed pale pink, his mouth bookended by even lighter pink scars. "oh, you've gotta be fuckin' kidding," he grumbles.
"is it work?" your voice is tight. he realizes he's worried you and he hates it. kissing your forehead once more before getting to his feet, he reassures you that it's nothing, "i'll get rid of him in two minutes. promise."
before he leaves his bedroom he sends a stern look your way, "stay in here. okay?" you nod obediently and he moves through the penthouse toward the front door. "i'm off the fuckin clock," you hear him say as soon as the door has been yanked open. your eyes widen at the change in his tone. cold, all business.
"good news and bad news," sanzu is breathing heavily. "i got that info about the police raid. bad news is, it was not easy." ran notices sanzu is holding his side, notices dried blood under his coat. "you fuckin idiot," ran growls, grabbing sanzu by the back of his jacket and dragging him into the apartment.
"stay here," he orders, sitting his disheveled coworker at the kitchen table. "i've got bandages."
you stand up from the bed as ran bursts into the room. "is everything o–" he cuts you off, making a beeline toward the bathroom. "it's fine. you– fuck– please just sit down. stay in here." you follow him anyway, watching from the doorway as he starts pulling out drawers and rummaging around.
"what are you looking for?"
"first aid kit."
"it's under the sink."
he crouches, opens that cabinet next, and there it is. despite his frustration, he smiles up at you apologetically before rushing out of the room again.
"they had a fucking k-9 unit," sanzu groans, squirming as ran dabs his bloody, gashed flank with a peroxide soaked cotton ball. "isn't that fucked up?" ran sighs, nodding slightly. he's too tense to really listen. you're in the other room, listening to their every word, worrying about this dangerous business he was involved in. ran feels sick wondering how you'll react when you discuss it after sanzu leaves.
"oh, well hellooo." ran's head snaps up, following sanzu's gaze to something behind him. you're standing in the doorway, nervously holding a tube of antibiotic ointment in your hand.
ran's eyes bulge as they rake down your frame. your shorts suddenly seemed too short, your oversized pajama shirt bordering on see-through. he wanted to get up and shove you back into his bedroom, shut the door and keep you away from sanzu's gaze. at least until your long legs were covered up and you had put a bra on, but maybe not even then. he was reaching a panic as he considered the thoughts that might run through sanzu's filthy fucking brain about his girl.
sanzu nudges him, "who's this? you didn't tell me you had company! i would've gone over to rindou's to bleed out." the corner of your mouth twitches up at sanzu's words. you and sanzu exchange introductions. you can see ran's hands curling into fists, his jaw clenching. he's far from happy. you hadn't done as he'd instructed and now you were meeting one of the members of his company that he tries so hard to keep you so far removed from, too.
"this fell out of the first aid kit," you hand it to ran, letting your hand stay in his for just a moment longer than it needed to, hoping that it would calm him down a little. "i thought you might need it. nice meeting you, haruchiyo." sanzu nods politely, still smirking like he's just witnessed some big secret come to light. which, to be fair, he kind of had.
"so–" "shut up," ran bites. "i don't want to fuckin hear it." sanzu's smug expression only deepens, but he stays quiet. "and not a word to anyone else. okay? for my girlfriend's sake, be fuckin cool about this. i don't want her getting involved in anything."
sanzu agrees, "you got it, man. happy for you. she's as fuckin' fine as you– fuck, ran, OW!" ran presses the cotton ball sharply against sanzu's wound, effectively shutting him up. once he's bandaged up, sanzu produces a handful of painkillers from his pocket and swallows them down. "like a new fuckin man," he claps ran on the back. "i owe you one. say goodnight to your beautiful mrs. from me." ran shuts the door in his face.
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ran steps into the doorway to his bedroom and lets out a heaving sigh. you scramble up from the bed and hurry over to him, hugging tightly around his middle. "i'm sorry," you mumble." he wraps an arm around you, kissing the top of your head, "don't be. that was just..." he shakes his head to clear it. "i wish you'd stayed put, honey."
"i know, i know," you frown. "i just wanted to help."
you're both silent for a moment. you step back to look up at him.
"so i'm your girlfriend, huh?" you raise an eyebrow at him teasingly.
"you were eavesdropping, too??" he fakes annoyance, shoving you back onto the mattress and climbing on top of you as you giggle. "you're in big trouble."
"nooo," you whine impatiently. "one time. for me. say that you wanna be my boyfriend."
his violet eyes soften, he cups your cheek. "i wanna be your boyfriend. real fuckin bad. alright?"
"alright," you grin and he kisses you, feeling like the luckiest man on the planet.
champagne for my real friends – (ran x reader ft. bonten)
a/n: this took forever to finish but i'm happy with how it turned out!!! also this is so humiliating but i literally forgot to write in mochi please don't hate me oh my GOD
content: LIL BIT NSFW!!! JUST SOME MENTIONS OF PAST STUFF!!! drunk!ran, pregnant!reader, bonten members, alcohol/drinking, last but not least there is so much swearing idk how else to write these folks i'm sorry lmaooo just a little meet the bontens fic :')
word count: 4.7k
(( this is a part of my boyfriendification/daddyfication of ran haitani universe please check out the original fics if you're interested! :) ))
"haitani," sanzu calls across the table. everyone's attention shifts over to him. "sorry," he says to rindou. "big haitani."
rindou rolls his eyes at the descriptor. ran chuckles and jerks his chin in sanzu's direction, silently indicating to him to proceed.
"what ever happened with your girl's pregnancy scare?"
there are a few exclamations or remarks in agreement: "shit, yeah!" "oh right, what did happen with that?"
"not a scare," ran tries to conceal a grin. "she's pregnant."
there are a few shocked sounds. he continues, "and we're gonna have the kid."
"shut the fuck up," kakucho's jaw hangs open in shock. takeomi, sitting to ran's left, claps him on the back in congratulations. "is he serious??" koko asks, looking not to ran, but to the more trustworthy rindou beside him, who nods. "that's not fair!" sanzu whines, throwing a childish pout toward ran. "why do you tell rindou everything first?"
"that's a dumb fucking question," koko scoffs, earning a shove from sanzu. ran snorts and takes a long drink.
suddenly, mikey raises his glass. the table goes silent, all eyes looking to him. "congratulations, haitani," he says with a small smile on his lips. "that's big news." everyone else raises their cups, celebrating ran's announcement.
ran hadn't realized how much mikey's approval would mean to him. he knew at some point he'd have to tell everyone. that they'd have to meet to discuss the logistics and the security risks of ran having a family, make sure his pregnant girlfriend and future baby would remain undiscoverable by rival organizations. but he had expected it to just be that: a topic for an executives meeting. never would he have expected mikey to congratulate him on the news, too.
"shots," ran slams a hand on the table. "on me. for everyone. mikey?" mikey hesitates but nods his agreement. "fuck yeah, great." ran waves to the bartender and in moments, they're all being handed shots of whiskey.
ran haitani was not a lightweight; the man could drink. as much as everyone else, and then some. typically, on these nights out for a drink with bonten, he would barely even get buzzed. when things at work got overwhelming, the guys had gotten in the habit of walking to the bar near their office together to vent about everything and have a beer. there were always brushes with law enforcement, court dates, dodged attacks on cargo, and this past week, a near miss involving an unmarked black van trying to run mikey's car off the road. none of this was unusual in bonten's world, but it took its toll when the events started to pile up. mikey had even been the one to suggest getting drinks tonight, signaling that even their leader was on edge: something that rarely happened.
when mikey went out to drink with his subordinates, they tried to keep it more on the professional side. nobody drank until he did, all cues were taken directly from his actions. but mikey had announced that congratulations were in order and something had switched in ran's brain. he was celebrating tonight.
after the first round of shots, he insisted on another. mikey was in a surprisingly good mood, always having been a sucker for happy announcements, and seemed perfectly content as ran ordered more shots and bottles and rounds of drinks.
as the hours passed, what began as a beer after work had become a rowdy, drunken night out. the table soon became the loudest in the bar, though the bartenders and owner recognized the mysterious tattoo they all donned and didn't dare say a word. the drunkest of them all, though, was ran.
"i'm really gonna be a fuckin' dad," he slurs, leaning into rindou's side, eyes on kakucho. "a cool dad, though. like, so fuckin' cool. imagine how cool i'll be as a dad. rin? yo, imagine it, man."
"jesus, slow down, dumbass," rindou shoves ran off of him as his older brother lifts his 5th? maybe 6th?? shot to lips. "how many is that now?"
"6," kakucho answers rindou from across the table, seeming sober enough to be trusted. ran snorts out a laugh and downs the dark liquor anyway.
he folds his long arms onto the table and rests his chin on them like a little kid. "you ever want kids?" he asks to no one in particular.
"you're so fucked up, man," takeomi chuckles, lighting a cigarette.
ran gives him look like he has no idea what he's talking about. mikey is watching with amusement, always intrigued by the behavior of his men outside of work and especially when they let loose in their personal lives.
"get him home, rin," koko nudges rindou.
"fuck no," rindou scowls. "i'm not his babysitter. he's an adult."
"he's trashed," kakucho indicates to where ran has almost fallen asleep at the table.
"should we call his girlfriend?"
everyone's heads whip toward sanzu, who's got the most devious grin on his face.
kakucho is the first to object to the idea, "he'd kill us for that."
"who am i killing?" ran lifts his head an inch. rindou rolls his eyes. the table falls silent as everyone continues to think it over.
"listen," sanzu raises his hands casually. "he's so gone right now, he'll probably just be happy as fuck when he sees his girl show up, right? and none of you have ever even met her! aren't you curious??"
"that's a good point," koko smirks. "fuck it, gimme his phone."
rindou lifts ran's phone from where it sits on the table between him and his brother and holds it up to ran's face. "ran, look up," he instructs. his brother turns slightly, blinks at the screen, and the phone unlocks. rindou places it into kokonoi's outstretched hand.
"hey, hang on," ran pushes himself back so that he's sitting up properly, almost sending the whole chair tumbling backwards. takeomi steadies it with an irritated huff.
koko easily finds your texts– they're pinned to the top of ran's messages. all of the bonten members have become familiar with your name, and there it is under a picture of you, saved with a single fiery heart emoji beside it. "let me call her," sanzu taps koko on the shoulder. "she's met me. it'll scare the shit out of her if you call."
koko looks up as if ready to protest, but mikey gives him a stern look that says listen to sanzu. so he does, handing the phone over obediently.
you answer on the second ring, voice slightly sleepy, "hi, baby."
"hey, sweetheart!" comes a voice that is definitely not ran's. "sorry to startle you. it's haruchiyo, 'member me?"
you feel your stomach drop. why on earth would one of ran's colleagues be calling you from ran's phone? "is ran okay?" you ask quickly.
"he sure is!" sanzu laughs like you've told him a joke. "but he's also piss fuckin' drunk."
"who the fuck is that?" ran's focus settles on sanzu's phone call. he balls the back of rindou's shirt in his fist, "who's he talking to?"
rindou roughly shakes off his brother's grip, "don't grab me. calm the fuck down."
"jesus christ..." you groan, hearing the exchange in the background of the call. "should i... would it be okay if i come to get him?"
"i think that would be a great idea. i hope it's not too much trouble!"
"no, he's always trouble," you scoff, though it comes across fondly. "i'll be there soon. haruchiyo, would you mind texting me the address?"
"sure thing, babe. we'll see you soon." he hangs up before you can clarify who exactly we entails.
once you've gotten the call from sanzu, you don't want to waste any time. luckily, you haven't gotten into pajamas yet; you're still in comfortable clothes from earlier that day. you grab a bottle of water from the fridge and toss a bottle of painkillers in your bag before heading out to your car.
you follow the map to the location sanzu has sent: a divey little bar only a block from ran's office. when you don't see his car in the parking lot, you assume he must've walked. at least the batmobile was safely in the parking structure at the bonten building.
it wasn't often that ran got drunk. try as you might, you couldn't actually remember a time when he'd been less sober than you. usually it was him who took your drunk ass home and played nurse. you inhale deeply to steel your nerves and head out into the cold night air.
the bar is warm, thankfully. it's dimly lit and bustling, almost every table and seat is full. the clack of a billiards game can barely be heard over the loud voices and the sound of the radio. eyeing the crowd, you notice that there's a clear division between one table in the back and the rest of the patrons. and at that table is a bright pink head of hair belonging to a man who you notice is waving you over.
you step carefully through the crowded bar, making your way toward sanzu and the bonten members. as you approach, you recognize the back of ran's long, lean body, sitting with his head propped up on his elbow.
"she's here! our savior!" sanzu exclaims, beaming at you. the five other men at the table turn to look at you. ran doesn't move. "just the ran haitani rescue team," you joke awkardly, earning a grin from the man at the other end of the table who you assume has to be mikey based on... well, everything about him.
sanzu motions around the table, quickly introducing the men: takeomi, kakucho, mikey, kokonoi, rindou. "nice to meet you," you nod respectfully and introduce yourself.
"and, of course, you know this ugly motherfu–" "can you be fuckin' polite, shithead??" koko elbows sanzu sharply. you try and fail to hold in a chuckle. "i know him well," you reply, unfazed. stepping forward, you kneel beside ran to get a look at his face. his eyes are closed, his cheek smushed into the hand that he's resting on.
"ran? wake up, hon."
his eyes crack open. when he recognizes you he smiles, "wow, hey, baby. where'd you come from?? look at you, you look so good. you're so pretty."
"and you're so drunk," you counter, cupping his cheek. ran's smile deepens at the touch, turning his head to kiss your hand. the movement causes his head to slip from his hand and hit the table with a thunk. the rest of the table howls with laughter.
"shit," ran raises his head, nearly chuckling himself. "come kiss it, baby." you lean in to kiss his forehead and he becomes jello, all his weight tumbling toward you.
you stand up to intercept his falling body with your own. he stays there, leaning against your side, eyes falling shut again. you run a hand along his shoulders lovingly. "i should get him home," you tell everyone. "thanks for calling me, haruchiyo. i appreciate it." sanzu winks, waving his hand: it was nothing.
"sorry, would someone mind giving me a hand with him?" you ask sheepishly, nearly laughing out loud when every single member of bonten rises from his seat.
takeomi throws one of ran's arm over his shoulder and pulls him up. ran is practically dead weight as takeomi shuffles him away from the table. kakucho comes around to ran's other side and does the same thing. together, the two men have no trouble carrying drunk ran to the door. "i'll supervise," sanzu follows them through the bar, scarred mouth tugging up into a delighted smile.
"nice meeting you all," you wave slightly to mikey, koko, and rindou, all of whom are still standing, watching their colleague being carried out of the bar. they nod their heads politely to you and you hurry to catch up with takeomi, kakucho, and sanzu.
"where do you–"
"which car, sweetheart?" sanzu asks, cutting off takeomi.
"sanzu... fuckin' kill you..." ran grumbles upon hearing sanzu call you sweetheart. he lurches forward but takeomi and kakucho are holding on tight.
you jog ahead to your car and open the door.
they help you fold ran's long limbs into the passenger seat until he's curled up and cozy against the upholstery. the four of you stare at him sleeping soundly for a moment.
"hey, i've got a great idea!" sanzu exclaims. "you should come back in and have a drink with us."
"thank you, that's very sweet, but–"
"she can't drink, she's pregnant, dipshit," kakucho rolls his eyes at sanzu.
"oh? you... oh..." you sputter. "...you know?"
"he told us tonight," takeomi gives you a genuine smile. "congratulations, by the way."
"thank you," you return the expression, hand coming up to rest on ran's shoulder, smoothing the fabric of his shirt nervously.
"well, at least come have a soda," sanzu bargains. "you can have soda, right? bubbles won't ruin the whole–" he gestures vaguely to your abdomen. "–project?" you can't help but laugh, "yeah, soda's fine."
"then come on in," he reaches to pat your shoulder tenderly. "we're all dying to know anything about you. ran doesn't tell us shit."
you give ran a questioning look out of habit, but he's out cold.
a soft mmm leaves his lips as you run your fingers through his hair, combing it out of his face. "tired, baby?" you ask. he nods wordlessly, eyes still closed. "okay, rest up a little. i'll be back soon."
you follow takeomi, sanzu, and kakucho back into the bar and straight to the table you'd found them at earlier.
"look who's back!" koko exclaims, the surprise evident in his voice.
sanzu presents you to the rest of the men with wide arms, like you're an answer in a game show puzzle.
smiling in a way that you hope doesn't come off as nervous or awkward, you give them another wave. the bonten members who had helped you get ran out to the car reclaim their seats around the table. ran's open chair sits before you, sandwiched between takeomi and one of the only other people you had recognized apart from sanzu: ran's brother, rindou.
you and rindou had met a handful of times, mostly briefly, but all pleasant. despite how much they bickered, you knew ran and rindou were incredibly close and deeply important to each other. ran would never admit it, but rindou's approval of you had been quite important to him. not quite a dealbreaker, but really fucking close.
luckily, from the first time you met the much more subdued and serious younger haitani, you'd immediately gotten along. you had respected rindou's quiet stoicism, the way he closely surveyed situations and people. rindou, on the other hand, appreciated your bubbly nature. he liked how kindly you spoke to him despite his cold facade, and knew that someone like that would be perfect for his brother who also tended to hide his true feelings from others. though ran chose to hide them behind a pearly white smirk. it didn't hurt that you also laughed when rindou made snarky remarks to his brother, and that you even teased ran a bit yourself.
rindou motions to the seat beside him, hoping to ease your obvious nervousness with a familiar face and a welcoming gesture. you sit beside him gratefully. though you and rin weren't particularly close, knowing he was ran's family who he trusted with his life, made him comforting company.
on your other side is takeomi, whom you'd only just met. he seems slightly older than the rest of bonten, and less amused by their shenanigans. from what ran had told you about him, he was much more of a veteran in their world, starting young as a founding member of a gang until now, where he's practically got a hand in every major crime organization in tokyo because of his knack for gathering intel and vast knowledge of the business.
what put you the most at ease, though, was the fact that ran always assured you that takeomi was not a bad guy. ran openly admitted to the fucked up shit he had carried out in his past, as well as that of the other bonten members (which, of course, was all top secret information you'd never share) but he always said that takeomi didn't roll like that. his official title was advisor because at his core– what he did best– was give advice. and apparently he knew what he preached perfectly well, he just didn't practice it himself.
he lights up a cigarette and sits back quietly, observing. surprisingly, mikey is the first to speak. "i wish i could say we've heard so much about you," he speaks in a soft voice, a slight grin on his lips.
"ran is ran," you shrug apologetically. "but i'm here now! i'd love to know more about you all, too."
"first," koko pushes his chair back from the table. "what are you drinking?"
"coke, please," you smile and he heads for the bar. looking back to the table, you add, "it is kind of shit that i can't do shots with my man anymore."
"or your man's friends," sanzu grins, pouring the rest of koko's beer into his own glass. "so, tell us everything."
"everything?"
"yeah, life story." you look over at takeomi and he smirks to indicate that he's kidding.
"jesus, don't stress her out," rindou mumbles, sipping on his beer. "fuckin' weirdos..." you pat his arm in a quiet thanks and possibly catch him grinning as he nods back.
"what kind of stuff do you want to know?" you lean back in your chair slightly, looking around at the faces of the men surrounding you. at ran's closest colleagues and friends. your mind goes to ran, wishing he was here with you while you meet bonten for the first time, holding your hand reassuringly, fielding questions like your own personal bodyguard/PR rep.
"where did you guys meet?" kakucho asks, leaning forward with genuine interest.
your mind flashes to the bathroom of club octagon where ran, who you'd known for 10 total minutes, had bent you over the countertop and rutted into your sopping core as he groaned filthy words in your ear.
"we were out with friends," you say, not a lie. "and we started talking."
"out where?" sanzu's eyes sparkle with mischief.
koko gives him an amused look and tells you, "sanzu's the fuckin' coked up prince of tokyo nightlife. you name it, he's been there."
"it was octagon."
"fuckin' love that place," he leans back in his chair, satisfied with the answer. to mikey he adds, "i fucked a girl in the bathroom there once."
mikey nods, unimpressed, while you try to maintain a poker face.
"why haven't we met you yet?" koko gives you a little pout. "haitani's keeping his princess locked in a tower or some shit?"
"weird that he wouldn't even introduce you to his brother," kakucho nods.
"we've met," you and rindou say at the same time.
"NOT FUCKIN' FAIR!" koko wails. takeomi visibly winces at the dramatics, making you smile. the dynamic between the bonten members seemed a lot like a little family, despite the dark undercurrent that seemed to connect them all.
"can i ask something a bit personal?" mikey speaks suddenly, dark eyes boring into yours from across the table. the way everyone goes silent when mikey has something to say nearly makes you shudder. you nod enthusiastically, wondering what it might be.
"have you given any thought to baby names yet?"
there's no indication that he's kidding at all. his genuine curiosity is endearing, even despite the whole silencing every other person at the table with just a look thing.
you nod, "probably ran jr."
nobody says a word.
"i'm kidding."
with the admission, the tipsy bonten members break; every single one of them howls with laughter. even mikey is chuckling at the joke.
"fuck haitani," kakucho grumbles. "i want a cool girlfriend, too, man..."
"why the fuck would any cool women ever date you with that face?" sanzu blurts through a laugh.
"who the fuck are you even talking to, dude?!" kakucho is laughing despite the subtle hostility in their back and forth.
someone orders another round of shots and soon the men are acting even looser, talking loudly and laughing with you like they've known you for years. you all sit talking, answering their questions, for a long while. their conversation moves so quickly, it doesn't feel like any time has passed at all, though.
"biggest thing in bonten is loyalty," takeomi is suddenly lecturing beside you. you can't help but find his older brother aura quite endearing. "so, you know, i'm sure ran has said it, but you're his one and fuckin' only."
you smile to yourself, nodding along to the man's words, "right. i definitely know that. and–"
"what the fuck is going on here?"
your head whips around to the familiar voice behind you. ran is standing a few feet back, swaying slightly. his violet eyes are so dark they're almost black, filled with confusion and rage. his eyebrows are drawn together, the only indication on his perfect poker face that indicates how he's feeling.
"baby," you stand up immediately. "you–"
"haitani!" sanzu cries fondly. "you're back from the dead!" he balls up a napkin from the table and tosses it at ran who swats it away.
"how do you feel?" you ask, now at his side. checking the time on your phone, you add, "you slept for a while."
he says nothing, just glares at the bonten executives seated around the table. the sleep had done him some good; he no longer felt like the room was spinning now, and could actually create a coherent thought. but now that his mind wasn't so cloudy, it was running wild with every possible thing the guys might have said to you. the jokes they might have made, the dark secrets they could have disclosed. were you okay? he worried. embarrassed? upset? scared?
"your girl's a delight, haitani."
ran focuses his gaze on his mikey as he continues, "you're forgiven for keeping her a secret for so long."
looking down at you, ran studies your face to make sure the calm expression is genuine. ran leans down to kiss your forehead. you're smiling when he looks at you again.
"should we get you home, honey?" your hand wraps around his, your sweet voice like music to his ears.
"it was really nice getting to talk with you guys," you turn back to the table of bonten's upper echelon. there's still a smile on your face, but ran remains skeptical. then the men are all waving enthusiastically, absolutely gushing out their goodbyes to you. ran snorts out a smug "have some self respect, boys."
"yeah, sure. fuckin' gloat," kakucho leans back in his seat, crossing his arms.
"you're such a child," rin sneers, shaking his head at his friend.
ran's arm wraps around your waist, the movement both territorial and because he was still wobbly and needed the support. "goodnight," he gives bonten a small wave of his fingers. "don't stay mad forever, kaku, you'll get ugly." takeomi holds the half drunk kakucho back with one arm while you and ran turn and head for the door.
the night outside the bar feels even colder than when you'd entered the bar earlier, and you cling to ran instinctively. he hesitates just outside the doorway for a moment. "shit, hang on," he nudges you away from him with his arm abruptly. turning on his heel, he promptly vomits into the bushes that line the building's perimeter.
"fuck!" he cries, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and standing up to his full height. breathing heavy, he turns to give you a wild-eyed look and a toothy grin.
"you feel so much better, don't you?" you smile at him.
"like i got a fuckin' exorcism," he says seriously, making you laugh. "i really needed that."
you dig for a tissue and a stick of gum from your purse and you pass them over to ran. the color seems to have returned to his face and he doesn't look quite so out of it.
however, he chooses to focus his newfound attention on you and asks, "so, do you mind telling me what the fuck you're doing here?"
"sanzu called me from your phone and asked me to pick you up because you were really drunk," you take his hand and lead him to your car. he pulls away, "and you listened to him?"
"yes?" you look at him incredulously. "ran, you were shitfaced. i could hear you on the phone."
"i would've sobered up. they just wanted–"
"to meet me?" you cut him off. "is that such a bad thing?"
ran inhales sharply through his nose, watching you cross your arms over your chest. in a kind of demented way, ran liked arguing with you. the way you defiantly talked back to him, raised your voice when you got frustrated, and pouted your lips just the smallest bit: it drove him crazy. ran knew better than to ever try a you're so pretty when you're angry line on you, but it didn't stop him from thinking it.
the dreamy look in his eyes gave him away though. you suddenly sigh, "you're still not 100%. i can tell because you're obviously thinking about something else right now."
he shakes his head, smirking unconvincingly, "i wouldn't do that."
you roll your eyes, though it's lighthearted, "sure, baby. now let me take you home."
when you take his hand again, he allows you to pull him along to your car. "i just don't want you puttin' yourself in bad situations..." ran continues. his voice sounds slightly strained and you can tell it's difficult for him to express these feelings. "scares the shit out of me, like, what if they had said something fucked up, or done something while i wasn't there to look out for you?"
"but it was okay," you hesitate behind your car, holding ran's waist. "it was fine. and i was gonna meet them eventually, right?"
"i guess," he sighs stubbornly.
"everything was good," you take his hands. "they were all perfect gentlemen. i wasn't uncomfortable at all. don't be mad, okay?"
ran bends to kiss you, soft lips melding with yours. he's still a little tipsy and his kisses are messier than you're used to, but you can feel his stress melting away.
you pull apart and get into your car. "you just can't," ran gestures, still not done with the conversation. "can't be so quick to listen to– i mean, any of those guys– but sanzu, of all people, okay??"
you smile and nod, clicking on your seatbelt. ran watches your amused face with frustration "i'm serious! sanzu is legitimately insane."
"ran, stop," you frown at him. "he was very sweet."
"none of those guys are fuckin' sweet!" ran scoffs. "they're in tokyo's largest criminal organization! they've all done terrible things!"
"hey," you give him a chastising look. "i happen to be in a serious relationship with an executive of tokyo's largest criminal organization."
"yeah, and he's an asshole," ran smirks.
"sometimes," you deadpan. ran laughs, reaching over to hold your hand in your lap. "but he loves me."
"you're damn right he does," his hand squeezes yours, thumb running across the back of it lovingly. you can tell he's still frustrated at the events of the evening, but it's fading.
"aren't you kind of glad i came to get you?" you cock your head to one side. "you didn't have to wait at the bar to sober up, i got to be with you at the end of the night..."
ran looks back at you with a look you can't figure out. he brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. "it was really nice to see you show up."
you smile as he cups your cheek and pulls you close. his lips brush yours softly as he whispers, "i just fuckin' love you. and i worry, alright?"
"i fuckin' love you, too," you kiss his forehead. "let me take you home and put you to bed, okay, baby?"
"deal."
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Margin for Error (Fushiguro M x F!Reader)
My first post ahhh 👉🏾👈🏾 pls be kind
When you're observant enough to know your crush likes you but you're emotionally stunted and you keep second-guessing yourself 😩 poor megumi. Thankfully, Gojo is there to help!
Warnings: None!
Enjoy! xx
-♡-
"Oh, it's you," Megumi says, trying his best to sound apathetic as he cracks the door open a little wider for you to slip inside.
"Try not to sound too excited," you laugh, ruffling his hair as you waltz past. He gets a whiff of smooth caramel and sweet vanilla as you pass and swallows, trying to calm the wild thumping of his heart. You always smell like a candy store and freshly baked cookies. He's never been a fan of overly sweet things, but he's developed a sweet tooth since meeting you.
He watches you lean against his desk, casually perusing the books and notes scattered across it, "Do you even need to study? You're smart enough anyway."
Megumi drops into the office chair in front of you, rolling an inch or two away from you. He needs to create distance between you before his heart punches through his chest.
"Of course, I need to study," Megumi scoffs, "If I don't want to be a bumbling idiot like Itadori, that is."
You laugh and poke his shoulder playfully, "He's not that bad, Guro!"
Megumi glances away, heat rushing to his cheeks. He both loves and hates when you call him that.
You push yourself up onto his desk and fiddle with the dog-shaped stress ball you bought for him in Tokyo. He watches how your legs dangle off the edge of the desk, how your skirt hitches up over your knees, revealing smooth skin he's only ever dreamt of touching.
"So why are you here?" he asks, averting his gaze from your legs, "To annoy me?"
A hint of playfulness to his tone is barely noticeable, but you pick it up straight away, and a teasing smile grows across your face.
"What? I can't visit my second best friend?"
Megumi snorts, "'Best friend' is a bit generous."
"Oh yeah? And what would you call us?"
Megumi glances up at you, his gaze snaring at yours. He can feel heat bloom beneath his cheeks again, but he can't look away, not when there's a glimmer in your eyes and a smile on your lips, those lips that he wants to do unspeakable things to.
Finally, he clears his throat, his voice a little husky, "Classmates."
You laugh, undaunted, nudging his leg with your toe, "Oh come on, we're at least acquaintances, right?" You nudge him again when you see the slight smile trying to worm its way onto his face, "Right?"
Megumi rolls his eyes, "Fine. You didn't answer my question, by the way."
You give the stress ball another small squeeze, "Well, Gojo-sensei is taking us out tonight, and I'm supposed to use my womanly charms to persuade you."
Megumi rolls his eyes at Gojo's antics. He can't turn his sensei down if you're the one inviting him because it would mean turning you down, and Megumi can't find it in himself to refuse you. So Gojo is using you as a pretty little courier bird, exploiting his feelings for you. What a clever little trap Gojo's set.
Megumi glances at his books, stacked neatly beside you. He wanted to finish some extra study tonight, but a few hours with you is far more intriguing than any textbook he could ever find.
"Okay," He shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant.
Your brows shoot up in surprise, "Really?"
"Really."
"Just like that?"
Megumi arches a brow, and you throw your hands up in defence.
"I was just expecting more pushback."
Megumi shrugs again, "It'll be fun if you're there."
This time, it's your turn to blush. You wear every emotion beautifully, but Megumi thinks bashful is his favourite.
"Cool!" You chirp excitedly, "Well, that was easy. Does that mean I can add you back to the group chat?"
Megumi makes a face, and you laugh again.
-♡-
The Karaoke Bar in Tokyo is loud and crowded, but Gojo manages to secure a private booth in the back, which Megumi is grateful for. He's not particularly fond of crowds, and he hates shouting over some tone-deaf drunk trying to sing along to Britney Spears.
Sitting on the couch next to Nobara and Gojo, Megumi watched with a small smirk as you scream-sing the words to 'I Want it That Way' with Itadori. Itadori laughs every three words while you perform a silly, uncoordinated dance, twirling the fringes of your dress. You look beautiful, beaming at Megumi now and then, your hair out and your eyes shining with amusement. He can't take his eyes off you.
Nobara is cheering you on, clapping and hooting, while Gojo sprawls out on the couch, grinning. He'd forgone wearing his blindfold for sunglasses instead, and there's something in the way that Gojo's eyes dart between you and Megumi that irritates the latter.
"She looks cute tonight, doesn't she?" Gojo remarks casually, though there is a teasing lilt to his voice that Megumi doesn't like one bit.
Megumi shrugs, still staring at you while Nobara shimmies up to you.
"Why don't you ask her out?" Gojo suggests, "I think she'll say yes." Megumi slants a disapproving glare over his shoulder at Gojo, who stubbornly persists, "It's obvious that she likes you. Sometimes, the way she looks at you makes me wonder how you haven't noticed."
Megumi looks away, and Gojo tilts his head to the side, observing how Megumi's throat bobs.
"Or you have noticed, but something's stopping you from asking her out?"
Megumi stares at his glass of coke, fingers flexing around his trousers.
"Every time I try to ask her, I second guess myself. It's stupid… I'm pretty sure that she likes me, but there's always the possibility that I might be wrong, a margin for error that keeps getting bigger and bigger the longer I think about it."
Gojo hums in understanding. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and stares at Megumi with a level of sternness that is so foreign, so unlike the Gojo he knows, Megumi thinks he's imagined it.
"Don't overthink it," Gojo encourages, and his mouth ticks into a smile, "You're your own worst enemy sometimes. But that girl is crazy for you, and I know you're crazy for her. So ask her up to the rooftop bar and go for it before someone else does."
Megumi arches a brow, "There's a rooftop bar?"
"Yeah," Gojo leans back again, all seriousness draining from his expression "It's pretty romantic up there."
A sneaking suspicion Megumi had since he'd arrived explodes into complete awareness as he stares at Gojo.
"Did you…organise this whole night so that I could ask her out?"
Gojo's small smile splits into a wicked grin.
-♡-
Megumi has to admit that his sensei has taste.
It is, indeed, very romantic up on the roof, with the night sky overhead and the glittering Tokyo city before him. The atmosphere of the rooftop bar is also very warm and relaxed, with golden fairy lights strung up above him. Despite the ambience and the beautiful views, Megumi's stomach ties itself into a triple-tied sailor's knot, and he can't stop drumming his fingers against the balcony railing. Why did he let Gojo talk him into this? This was stupid, insane even; he can't risk jeopardising his friendship with you because of some stupid, teenage hormones––
"Hey, Guro! You wanted to talk to me?"
Megumi turns around, sees you, and firmly instructs himself not to flee.
You look radiant.
Cheeks flushed, hair out, eyes glittering, smile beaming. You look vivacious, full of life, like sunlight on the first day of spring.
He can't do this.
"Actually, no - I mean - no, that's what I mean't…no."
He's not prepared for the look of disappointment that spills into your eyes.
"I've never heard the word 'no' used so much in one sentence," you quip, but your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes.
Megumi stares at his feet, defeated. He feels like a coward. He probably looks like one, too.
"There's a first for everything, right?"
"Yeah, I guess. It's a shame, though, because I thought you'd asked me up here so you could admit your feelings for me," Megumi's eyes snap back to you. You look hopeful and nervous as you continue, "Feelings that I share."
"You mean you—?!"
"Yes," you breathe, stepping closer to him, staring up into his eyes, "Yes, Megumi, I like you. A lot."
Megumi's throat bobs. You're so close. He's drawn in by every fleck of colour in your irises.
"I-yes, I did invite you up here to-to tell you I like you. But I didn't expect you to—"
"—Megumi," you whisper, and he swallows again. The way you say his name turns his spine to butter.
"—yeah?"
"Kiss me."
"Okay."
Craning his neck, Megumi leans down and finally, finally kisses you.
It's…a little awkward if he's honest. This is his first kiss, but it's evidently not yours, and as you guide him through it, Megumi finds himself melting into it. His lips move against yours, slow and sweet, and when you tilt your head a little to deepen the kiss, Megumi sighs. You taste sugary and smell sweet, and your body is warm against him, soft and small, and he reaches out for you to pull you closer. You link your arms around his neck and moan, and Megumi feels like he's floated into a dream. Except it isn't. You, him, and the chaste first kiss that is rapidly becoming a make-out are real, and he cups your cheek with his hand to prove it to himself.
Your feelings for him are real. That's all that matters.
in a fight right
𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐌 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍!
ft. shinichiro, kakucho, inui, ran, rindou, sanzu
tw. fem!reader, m!oral, cursing, dirty talk, praise, secondhand embarrassment, fingering, f!oral, cockwarming, pussy drunk boyo, needy boyo, soft dom! w/ sub! reader
an. sometimes the pussy is just too much <3
𖦹 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎
shinichiro lives for the moment when he finds your body nestled between his legs, cock perfectly placed in your hands and the tip melting on your tongue. the length throbs when your mouth engulfs him, swallowing his cock practically whole and the tip being met with the back of your throat, “god—s’good for me” shinichiro slurs, fingers digging into your scalp and his digits twitching when you only can gag around him. he doesn’t understand why you sucking him off feels so good today—better than it normally does. and shinichiro can’t control the way his hips buck into your face, slamming you down on his cock—or the cum shooting straight down your pretty little throat. shinichiro gasps, whimpering when your lips catch the sensitive head as you pull from his lap, “d-did you really just cum?” you question—meet with your boyfriend’s bright red face and avoiding eye contact, “i am so sorry princess, i-i just thought about how much i love the way you suck my cock and—shit” shinichiro hisses when your face bends back down to his crotch, tongue swirling around the length, “i’ll cum again you know? i bet my pretty girl wants another load huh?”
+ how does he make it up to you?
the only way shinichiro knows how, making you sit on his face and cumming on his tongue over and over. he really does feel bad for earlier but maybe if you’re so high on the bliss of his tongue prodding deep in your hole—you won’t mind <3
𖦹 𝐊𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐎
doesn’t grasp true reality right now when you’ve got kakucho lying on his back while you fuck his cock however you want. he likes the angle, the effortless beauty captures through each sway of your hips bouncing on his length and the way you’re taking charge, fucking him into oblivion—kakucho has self control, he knows when to clench from the waves of bliss rolling through his body but this time it’s different, “ridin’ this cock so well angel, i’m all yours, keep goin’.” but it’s better said than done because another movement of your body and everything feels—like it shouldn’t. kakucho letting a broken moan erupt through his lips, fingers pulsing through your hips and the willpower he had was filling your hole and eyes rolled white as kakucho dwindles through his high. before you can even talk he’s throwing a hand over your mouth, arm wrapped around your waist and bringing you down to his level, “just give me a minute, just give me a fucking minute” kakucho mumbles in your neck, the swell of his cock throbbing through your clenching walls. “proud ain’t ya princess? making me cum so quick” kakucho mumbles into the skin, though you can’t see his face—you’re sure he’s blushing through and through.
+ how does he make it up to you?
kakucho let’s the embarrassment wear off before he’s on you again, this time he’s the one fucking you into a limitless void of toes curling, moans spilling and his thighs splattered with a mixture of his seed and your juices—yeah, so what if he came early? not going to stop kakucho from fucking you until you’re dripping from his from his cum for days.
𖦹 𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐈
lives for the moment when he makes you feel so fucking good—if it’s the amount of squelching sounds radiating the room or the pure filfth of your juices coating his balls—inui puts your pleasure above his own, every single time. “cum for me, angel” inui whispers against your ear, hot breath creeping onto the shell while he lingers nimble fingers down to your puffy clit. inui watches the blossoming effect his cock has on you, splitting your pussy in half whilst his fingers bring your orgasm to the surface. your spasms coat his length, eyes screwing shut while you feel the orgasm brushing through your body—within a reach of paradise it’s abruptly cut short when inui lets a high pitch groan shrill your ears, panting above you and almost buckling over from his orgasm—your eyes sneer red. without another word spoken inui runs to the bathroom—bashful tones whimpering from his voice when he tells you he’s sorry, you almost want to be angry if it wasn’t for the way inui looked almost angelic crumbling to your pussy.
+ how does he make it up to you?
inui might of came too quick but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let it get the best of him— asking you to sit in his lap while he slowly rubs small circles against your clit. overstimming you until you can’t even remember why you were mad at him to begin with <3
𖦹 𝐑𝐀𝐍
with his tongue swirling on your clit, hips bucking against the sheets as your hands bring ran even closer to your throbbing heat—it doesn’t get much better than this. ran mindlessly licks and spits into your soaking cunt, groans vibrating through your core when another orgasm taints his tongue—ran has already spent an hour between your legs, he thinks what’s another more? but you’re on edge, wanting something thicker than two fingers curling along your walls and the soft whines of his name drags ran from his realm of your dripping cunt to your perfect face, capturing your lips on his and the taste of yourself spent in his mouth seeps through to your tongue. “you taste so good for me” ran moans against your lips, spreading your legs wide and motioning his cock into your hole but the overwhelming heat, silky juices from your pussy become so much ran is helpless succumbing to his ecstasy, spilling his load in a one single stroke. “you didn’t just fucking cum” you hiss, and ran drops his face into your neck, slowly reeling his hips before ramming his cock back deeper inside you, “i have no idea what you’re talking about pretty girl, i’m just getting started.” ran haitani has never lied to you but tonight, he had—a little white lie, that you totally don’t know anything about.
+ how does he make it up to you?
ran? cum? too fast? he says you’re just imagining things, he’d never do anything that embarrassing—maybe if you’re too caught up in his brutal thrusts, fingers mercifully swipes to your clit, you’ll completely ignore the fact he came inside you like it was his first time.
𖦹 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔
rindou doesn’t have time to fuck you, he’s on a tight schedule for work so maybe just pulling you in his car while he rolls his clothed bluge against your fabric covered cunt will do. maybe was what rindou thought but as hands tugged against his colored strands, coats of whines cascaded over his ear and the sheen patch of your slick stained his pants has rindou struggling. “wanna fuck this pretty pussy so fucking bad baby, just need to fill this hole” rindou pants against your mouth, needily bringing his hips down to grind against your core and he’s keeping the coil deep in his gut stagnant, hoping—praying nothing will come out of this but your panties being ruined. yet the ache grows by the minute especially when he feels your hand rub on his bulge, fingers working through to his sensitive head. a hiss bleeds through rindou’s teeth till white stars dance across his vision and rindou throws his head up, whimpering when you feel a wet patch scold his pressed pants. “did you just—” you look up at him and rindou looks the other way, biting down on his bottom lip, “do not look at me, if you do anything—don’t look at me, i am so pathetic.”
+ how does he make it up to you?
doesn’t make eye contact for a week afterwards but rest assured you sit rindou down and explain to him that mistakes happen and he’s more than happy to show you how much he needs you—he got what he wanted, filling your messy hole but rindou never says how long that’ll take. <3
𖦹 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐙𝐔
it feels like an eternity since sanzu has fucked you and maybe that’s why everything feels like the first time all over again. his strokes are shallow, shaky breaths expelled from his lips and even the slightest gaze upon your naked body makes him shiver. “missed you so much, princess” sanzu mumbles against your lips, tracing the curves on your body with his calloused fingers while his tongue dips into your warm mouth. sanzu could last forever just like this, the swell of his cock sweetly nestled inside you, soft hands cupping his warm cheeks and a singe of pleasure jolting up his spine. sanzu ignores it at first, he’s too caught up in the way you make him feel, alive—burning from combustion and craving more. “fuck i think i’m gonna cum” sanzu gasps and normally that’d be okay but time has slowed down and sanzu has only been inside you for a minute. “s-seriously?” you squeak back, noticing his lashes fluttering closed and your thighs slathers warm. “i can’t help it, fuck—” sanzu pumps another load inside you and his hands weakly fisting the sheets beside your head, “you’re gonna cum tonight, j-just let me use this hole, o-okay?”
+ how does he make it up to you?
cockwarm your precious boyfriend, that’s what sanzu wants and needs besides it keeps his cum in and the way your cunt clenches as he makes you cream on his length is a win-win situation <3
© 히니피앙★★★★★ | do not edit and/or crop logo
pov: your camera roll if kuroo tetsurou were your bf :”> (+ an extra manga ver of the first pic!)
i tried out a new colouring/rendering style and i really really like it!! will def be colouring like this more often :D
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