Daydreamer

And you’re letting out such a sweet, sweet giggle - even sweeter than the linger of cherries on his tongue - before you duck underneath the table to help him pick them up.

Choso was already on his knees crawling after those damn cherries- and all it takes is a single glance at your face oh-so-close to his, in such short proximity, for him to jolt—and bang his head against the underside of the table. So hard that the glasses clink against one another, and Wasuke groans as he misses in his valiant cherry canons.

So loud that half the parlor stares at your little table.

“Oh no.” You’re reaching out in concern as Choso rubs his achin’ head. “Honey, are you-”

“I-I’m fine—!” Choso turns his face away - and the only things you could make out were the frames of his chunky glasses…and the burning red on the tips of his ears. Blushing. Though you’re not convinced, and once you get a little closer- he’s waving you off more fervently than ever. “I promise, I promise! I can handle it…babe.”

You quirk a brow - “If you say so, sugarplum.”

He almost jolts once more- too much…?

However, before you’re thrusting yourself once more into the stratosphere of emotional fathers (at least, one of them) and glowering uncles, you inch yourself closer to the nerve-wracked man - as quick as a flash. And then you’re pressing your lips to his right cheek—just a graze, just a peck.

But it’s enough for Choso to yelp-

And bang his head against the table once again.

“Easy there, tiger.” You’re giggling at him, “I need you in one piece.”

“N-need me…” Choso whispers to himself- perhaps thinking that you won’t hear.

And it’s a small mercy that you’re handing to him - pretending that you didn’t hear that. Instead, you’re throwing yourself back into your seat, and presenting your most-practiced smile at Choso’s eavesdropping family members. 

In little-to-no time, Choso’s popping back up and plopping all those floor cherries into Sukuna’s black coffee. The older man swears. 

Jin covers the seven-year-old Yuji’s ears.

And then your boyfriend’s excusing himself hastily to the bathroom. Leaving you alone with them.

Unsure how to proceed, there’s a few minutes of silence before you’re speaking first. “Quite the lovely place, isn’t it?”

“Yes- yes.” Jin snaps out of his little reverie—he’d been watching over your interaction with such unabashed pride. Such loving nosiness. Out of all the fathers of clients that you’d happened to meet, you think he might just be your favorite…He beams. “I’m so glad you like it, dear. I mean- the first girl that Cho’s introducing us to-”

“The only one.” Sukuna coughs.

“-I just knew I had to impress. I picked this one specifically because it advertised itself as a place that’s both family-friendly and open to coup-”

“So you met the wimp…how again?” Sukuna interrupts. And he ignores the look that Jin throws at him.

“Six months ago at university.” Choso’s finally finished up at the bathroom, within earshot of the table. He takes his seat right next to you. 

“I hope you washed your hands.” You whisper to him.

“Of course, I did.”

The two of you had already repeated this tried and true story at the very start of your introductions. And it was clear that Sukuna was fishing for something…more.

You make a show of reaching for Choso’s hand on top of the table—intertwining your fingers with his. They were fingers much longer and thicker than yours- that you might not have expected. The most sensual calluses from what you assume to be turning pages of books. The softest touch nevertheless.

You squeeze his hand and shoot him a simpering smile.

Itadori Jin just about faints.

Sukuna scoffs at his overdramatic older brother, “S’that so…?” He then crosses his tattooed arms, “You don’t seem like the type to like ah- biology and hemorrhages.”

“It’s biology and hematology, uncle Ryo.” Choso answers crossly, “And no- we met in the campus library.”

Then you’re the one to pipe up. “Cho here- oh, sorry, Choso-”

“Call him whatever you like—!” Jin cries.

As his brother attempts to wrangle him back into his seat, you smile appreciatively and continue. “Cho here was the one that helped me find a textbook I’d been searching for for weeks.” Just to add a little flare to it, you’re squeezing his hand once more and staring deeply into his big, beautiful brown eyes when you speak. “He knew even better than the librarian! And he was just so nervous- stuttering and- and did I tell you that he almost tripped over himself handing me that book?”

Jin, so very interested in your story, shakes his head aggressively.

Meanwhile Sukuna merely rolls his eyes- though you note that he and Wasuke don’t interrupt you for a second.

“Yeah…that was when I knew.” You conclude. Patting lovingly at his arm, “And of course, it did take a few weeks of being friends for Cho here to finally build up the courage. But he did manage to ask me out in the end—”

Sukuna raises one mean, coral-pink brow.

And you’re elbowing your boyfriend.

“-didn’t you, honey?”

It was rather difficult to convince your boyfriend’s family of the story of you two meeting- especially when your boyfriend himself looked as though this was his first time hearing it…Choso kept an expression of sweet euphoria—something soft. Like he was watching a romantic movie play out.

One that was starring in- and you needed him to say something…

“Huh? Yes?” Choso blinks- sense coming back to him. “O-oh, yes.”

And then he straightens up.

Possessively placing his hand on top of yours, “I saw her and I just…knew she had to be mine-”

“See now, that where yer lying.” Sukuna leans over the table with a devilish smile- pointedly ignoring his brother’s swatting. “There’s no world in which Kamo Ultimate Loser Choso—had his first kiss with a biology textbook, asked out the high school lab skeleton before any real person - would be the one asking you out.”

You’re stiffening as he points at you.

“Are you just someone he’s paying to lie? Because whatever he’s paying, it surely can’t be enough-”

You’re plastering on your smile, “If by ‘pay’ you mean love and cherish me then-”

“Then I know my nephew would no sooner woo a damn lab rat than a real person.” Sukuna scoffs, crossing his arms and falling back into his seat. “Especially one so pretty.”

Jin looked tense- and he’d forgone swatting at Sukuna underneath the table to now openly pinching his bicep. Still, the pain seems to do nothing to bate his suspicion.

“More sundaes, everyone? More sundaes?” Jin asks in a strangely high tone.

The only ones unaffected at the table was Yuji currently plucking at his sundae cherries, and Wasuke who stared at them with the internal debate as to whether or not he should fling those at the neighboring table, too. You almost wanted him to—anything to distract from the terseness that had suddenly taken over.

And to your surprise - it’s Choso who’s the first one to speak. “Why, uncle Ryo…” Those doe-like eyes of his narrow into an expression you’ve never seen made by the sweet, sweet boy thus far. “-jealous?”

Sukuna startles- “The hell did you s-”

“Dagnabbit I almost had it this time-” Wasuke gives up on considering and swipes one of Yuji’s overabundance of cherries to throw into their neighboring tables glass. It’s a hole in one.

“Grandma, do that again—!” Yuji squeals and claps his hands.

“Huh, where? I’m grandpa-”

“Everybody silence!” Jin’s voice raises above than the rest - and into every corner of the ice cream parlor. Echoing. He hadn’t realized it in the heat of the moment, but he found himself standing as he stopped the chaos—and rushed to sit down after some apologetic bows at the wider population being subjected to the catastrophe that was…their family.

And his next apology is directed at you. “My dear, I cannot tell you how sorry I am-” Now instead of pinching Sukuna, he outright gives the man a brotherly smack upside the head. Unafraid of doing so; Jin makes it hard enough that even Ryomen Sukuna winces. Now you understand how he kept his title shining as older brother…“-that I am related to a bunch of buffoons, and Yuji.”

“Yuji has been quite the distinguished gentleman.” You’re nodding at Yuji and his ice-cream-covered grin. “But it’s alright, Mr. Itadori. Honestly- promise I wasn’t offended by anything said.”

Your hands have seemed to find a permanent home in Choso’s - at least for the time being - and you squeeze his. 

“I understand that you’re just ah- cautious as the first girl to meet you like this but…I get it. Really.” Jin’s expression just seems to melt as you keep speaking. “Cho really is someone special to me. And I want to protect him, too.”

Next to you, you hear Choso suck in a shaky breath.

“Really? And you truly promise that it hasn’t been too much?” He probes with shining eyes. “Ryo here can get a little too mouthy-”

“Hey!” Sukuna starts—then immediately winces as Jin’s fingers twitch towards him again.

“Please do forgive him- it’s in his nature.”

“Absolutely promise. And I don’t hold anything against Mr. Sukuna, either.” You knew to hit juuuust where it mattered - and referring to Sukuna using such a title made the man straighten in his chair a little. “Choso did warn me that his family might be a little…excited. But to be honest with you, I always have had a soft spot for big, loud families.”

“Well…” Jin blushes happily, before reaching across the table and shaking your hand. “You may call me Jin, if you’d like. And I’d like to welcome you into our big, loud family.”

“I’m so honored- thank you.”

“The honor is all ours.”

“Oh no, it’s ours.”

Sukuna glances at Choso and scoffs. Underneath his breath, “That’s as long as that wimp has paid for-”

The table rattles as Jin kicks him underneath it. “The honor is all ours. Isn’t it…younger brother?”

“Ye-yes—” Sukuna wheezes. His large hand comes slamming down- merely something to hold onto his dear life for. “Welcome to the family, girl.”

You beam like it’s the happiest day of your life.

Head rested on Choso’s shoulder, and your head nodding at the flow of conversation. “This is cooler than the Turritopsis dohrnii.” He breathes.

Save for the brief hiccup earlier- you’d consider your first meeting with Choso’s family to have gone swimmingly. And sure, perhaps Sukuna held the faintest inkling of suspicion that what the two of you had was a ruse—but he’d been shot down almost immediately by Jin.

And thank goodness for that.

“Let’s celebrate by getting the double double heart-shaped cones- oh, I wonder how they get them into that shape?” Jin hums. “And then I want chocolate chips, dipped in the bubblegum drizzle and- oh, hello.” 

He beams as their server nears the table.

“I would like-”

“Sir, we’ve been getting complaints of cherries being flung into people’s glasses and we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Oh.”

Because of course…Ryomen Sukuna had been completely correct.

As the group gets up to leave - perhaps to another diner downtown or so - you’re refusing to let Jin apologize. And you’re still holding onto Choso as though he was the dreamiest boyfriend in the whole wide world, and you were the luckiest girlfriend—as dreamy as he may be…you weren’t the girlfriend he’d been dating for the past five months.

In fact, you weren’t his girlfriend at all.

In fact, you’d only met two hours prior.

You were #1 Rental Girlfriend in all of Tokyo. And this time, you’d been hired to save face at a family get-together.

Of course, it wasn’t the first time that you’ve had to pretend your way through such a predicament - more people than one would think had less and less time for love. Especially not in this day and age. Especially not when work and responsibilities latched onto you like a starving tick, and though its blood supply might be modest at first, it only grows hungrier and hungrier—greedier, until you’re bone-dry. Bone-dry. Bone-dry. And it still feeds- what’s next? The bones and all?

And society still looks at you with the same standards—yes, the parasite’s gotten bigger, but why are you so frail?

And before you know it, you’re hiring a rental girlfriend to prove to your parents that yes- you can still be a functional and well-balanced adult still!

This was exactly why you continued being a rental girlfriend.

It’d started out as a side-job during your first year of university—your friends were all getting partners or throwing themselves into their studies. And you needed something fulfilling to pass the time.

Then, your best friend suggested getting a part-time job.

You’re sure she didn’t mean as a rental girlfriend.

But you couldn’t help it - it’d been the first advertisement for Hiring that’d popped up once you’d searched online! 

And it was meant to be for a few weeks initially- really, you hadn’t planned on continuing this career for so long. Let alone making it a sort of career. 

That morning, you’d opened up your approved application for Doki-Doki-Girlfriend and determinedly made your way to the interview section - promising yourself that you’d run at the first sign of anything off. The interview was being held at the Doki-Doki headquarters: this pretty pink-colored building in downtown Akihabara that had formerly been a host club. It’d been dimly-lit and draped in old perfume and even older sex. 

Though you’d been nervous the first time you entered, you’d been quickly taken by the Doki-Doki owner—Tsukumo Yuki.

The first thing she asked you was what your type in men was.

And when you’d answered - through your shock - that it was the shy, stuttering type- she laughed that that was about 95% of their clientele. So you’d be lucky, perhaps.

Yuki, as she insisted you call her, explained to you the ins and outs of being a rental girlfriend. To smile. To simper. To be sweet but not overly so.

To never let them pressure you into anything. They weren’t the type of rental business that offered other sorts of services. 

What people were searching for above all was a connection- for at least this brief moment in time. And the both of you would understand this transaction: it was the fantasy of a human bond that you were selling, and they were buying. It was your time. It was your emotional investment.

But later…you would come to genuinely connect with most of those you worked with.

After that interview—which you passed with flying colors, you spoke with some of the other girls working there and decided to continue with the job opportunity. Much to Yuki’s delight, who’d taken a liking to you almost immediately. After that was the training period - during which you accompanied some of the other rental girlfriends on their dates.

You were introduced to some as their friend—and as many guys as expected were actually flattered to be seen with two ‘girlfriends’ in public. 

You took notes on conversation topics. You watched their behaviours. 

You understood how they’d change their approaches according to the needs of their clients, and you absorbed it all.

After a few weeks of observation, you were finally added to the roster of rental girlfriends to go on your own dates. 

You just didn’t expect to shoot to the top of the ranks.

#1 in Tokyo.

Perhaps one of the Top 5 in the entire country—only three years after starting, in your fourth year of university. 

The clients adored you.

They draped you in gifts. They went on repeat dates - spending extra just for a minute of your time, though you often refused the additional amounts. Of course, there would be no funny business (and this was something you made quite clear within the first few minutes of meeting a new client). And excluding one or two unsavory clients that were quickly blacklisted from Doki Doki, you’d grown rather fond of your regulars.

There was the older woman who’d practice speaking to women through you- for when she planned on getting her first girlfriend. There was the excitable college student who tested out date spots with you. There was the pensioner who wished to take a monthly stroll through the park, simply talking about their day.

It was the feeling of belonging amongst strangers. Connecting with people you never could have imagined finding common ground with before.

And you believe, through this line of work, you began to understand humans better.

Humans were all just…really, really lonely.

Choso had been the same when he came to you.

It had been a working day like any other - you’d been called to the front desk of Doki Doki in order to be given a briefing of your next date. It was all standard processes, really.

Name: Kamo Choso

Age: 23

Occupation: Student

Prior appointments: None.

Prior love life: None.

Purpose: Client seeks a rental girlfriend to sit through a family dinner with his family, pretending to be his girlfriend. Prior backstory required to be able to maintain the conversation and create the illusion of a loving relationship (5 months). Flirting and mild physical affection. 

Extra notes: Client says to please be wary of his extra ‘rowdy’ family. 

And so, you’d accepted.

You met up with the aforementioned Choso—and found yourself a little taken aback at just how…cute he was.

Nerdy. Nervous.

Pushing his glasses up as he frantically introduced himself - that, too, messing his name up a few times before actually telling you.

Exactly your type. Yuki had been right.

He was your age, and went to - it turns out - the same university as you. Though the two of you hadn’t seen each other before, Choso confessed that that might be because he was cooped up in the library most of the time. 

He bowed at least a dozen times through apologies for the trouble- even though you assured him that meeting a family wasn’t anything out of your way. And then he insisted on paying extra, on coming up with a code should you want to leave, on—you shook your head and grabbed his hand. “So, how did we meet, boyfriend?”

You always did enjoy the ones where big families were involved - sure, they might be more awkward in the long run…but those types of dates always did manage to make you feel so warm inside. Big families. Big emotions.

And the biggest, perhaps, of all had been meeting the Itadori family.

They’d been unlike any other family you’ve ever met.

And that was saying a lot.

Thus, you’re letting out a prolonged sigh the moment you’re stepping outside—it was some downtown diner that the six of you had ended up at after your less-than-ceremonious exit at the ice cream parlor. Sukuna had been craving something hearty after living through that introduction on just sweets and coffee - and Jin had suggested one of their favorite ramen places.

It was only after you’d sat down with them at one of the booths - the one they called their ‘usual’ - that Jin had revealed that when they referred to it as ‘their’ ramen place—they really meant the their.

In everything but ownership.

This was the first restaurant they’d gone to celebrate Choso’s first birthday, this was the first restaurant they’d gone to after Jin’s mother had passed, this was the first restaurant they’d gone to after Yuji was born and Jin was granted full custody.

And you couldn’t help but feel a strange sinking feeling at the pit of your stomach. What was that you said about family-oriented dates being the most awkward in the long term?

At least the ramen had been the best you’d ever tasted- and the conversation flowed freely. Even Sukuna seemed to forgo his initial suspicion to make some conversation with you on Akihabara’s best spots. 

And in the end, you were walking out of that ramen restaurant with a full stomach and an even more full heart. 

Waving to the retreating backs of Jin, Sukuna, Wasuke, and a sleeping Yuji—you’re turning to Choso once they were completely out of sight. “Your family is…”

“Abhorrent?” He pushes his glasses up with a crooked smile. Choso had eased up around you significantly compared to your initial meeting outside the Doki Doki building, stammering through an adequate backstory for your faux-relationship, though he still seemed to be the nerve-wracked type.

“No…” You pretend to think.

“Overbearing?”

“No.”

“Savages?”

“Certainly not.”

“The servers at that ice cream parlor would disagree.” Choso mutters, “How about aneurysm-causing?”

“No.” You’re shaking your head once again, before turning to him with a smile. “They’re loving.”

Choso says nothing, but the tips of his ears burn.

“They care about you a lot- even your uncle was making sure I wasn’t some stranger just taking your money.” Well…

The long-haired man pushes his glasses up with a sputter of confirmation- or at least something that sounds like it. “I-I suppose ah- in their own…ways they’re rather…” Choso swallows a few times, and you’re watching his face as he does so—the Sun was dipping past the horizon now, and cracking its golden yolk over the grooves of his worried face. Handsome. Choso Kamo was just so handsome. 

With his lashes dark and draping over his cheekbones. With his lips pouty and bitten whenever he was thinking deeply about something. With his stature so tantalizingly tall—though he didn’t even seem to be aware of it, as he navigated the world like a newly-birthed fawn. 

He was the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen - glasses and all. 

“—caring.” Choso finally finishes his sentence.

You’re letting a smile stretch across your lips- and before you can think twice, you’re clasping Choso’s hand once more. You’d been doing it so often over the course of the date that it almost feels- natural now. 

“You know…you paid for five hours of my time, Choso. Do you know how much more time we have left?” 

“Two hours, fourteen minutes and—” He grows ever-redder as he stares down at you. Were you…leaning in? Pressing yourself against him? Fuck. “-f-fifteen seconds.”

“Mmmm, I do love a smart boy.” Beginning to tug him in another direction from the path to the Doki Doki building - though you leave enough leeway that he can stop should he want to. Choso follows you like a dog on a leash. “I don’t usually do this, but if you want to spend the rest of your time with me then…I know this ah- other place we can go to?”

“Like you want me to c-call my family back for another family dinner?” Choso asks, eyes bulging.

“Oh no, no.” You laugh. “This place isn’t family friendly at all.”

.

.

.

“A-a love hotel-”

“One room, please. Standard.” Interrupting Choso, you smile at the receptionist.

“Will that be for an allocated time or overnight?”

“Hmm…” You glance sidelong at the gawking Choso next to you- looking around the hotel lobby as though it was some sort of attraction. “Overnight, please.”

As the woman behind the desk continued tap-tap-tapping away at her keyboard, you take a moment to look at Choso - now adjusting his glasses to make sure that he was seeing right. That really was a bowl of condoms sitting on the front desk. As the heat rushes up the back of his neck, you’re wrapping your arms around one of his own—and pressing your body against his. “Everything alright, Cho?”

He’d been like this ever since you started heading him in the direction of the glitzy love establishment. Pink walls. Fluorescent lights. He’d agreed to going…elsewhere to continue your date- but he’d expected your apartment or something! Choso had been stunned but allowed you to lead him in front of the love hotel, and once outside you turned towards him once more. It was the first time you yourself was doing this with who was supposed to be a client. “And you’re really su-”

“Yes.”

And that was that.

The lobby was quiet…too quiet. In a way that made your spine tingle with anticipation.

“That’s a…a real bowl of condoms.” He exclaims- earning a look from the receptionist. 

“That is. Is this your way of saying that we don’t need any?” You joke…mostly. Then the key gets slid over to you - Room 143 - and you’re nodding at the receptionist. “Thank you.”

The two of you make your way down the lust-pink corridor and take the elevator up to your room - jamming in the key to open up a space that looked as if a honeymoon threw up all over it. Rose petals on the floor. Faux candles flickerin’ on the beside cabinet. Rows upon rows of even more condoms lined on the middle of the queen-sized bed. 

If you looked at it from the right angle, it formed a few hearts. 

“I didn’t mean we shouldn’t use them…” Choso’s the first one to speak- and he visibly gulps as you close the door behind you two. “It’s just…I-I’ve never done this before.”

Your eyes widen—you’d been suspecting this ever since you entered. But to have it actually confirmed…“No fooling around before finals or anything? Nothing to de-stress?”

He shakes his head n’ bites his lower lip. “Nothing. I haven’t even had my first kiss, to be honest…” Choso looks up at you with those nervous eyes. “Is that okay?”

“Okay?” You smile. Walking over to twist your hands into his lapels- and tug him to you. “It’s perfect. And since you’ve shared a secret with me, I’m gonna share one with you, okay?”

He nods. 

And so you’re leaning in so that your lips are grazing - just grazing - his pretty, blushing ears. “It turned me on more than it should’ve, seeing you on your knees in that parlor.”

Choso gasps-

And then your lips are on his. 

Then you’re tucking his cute, shivering bottom lip into your mouth—and sucking softly. Choso lets out the most guttural groan at the act- and his hands tremble in mid-air not knowing what to do. 

“Don’t be shy.” You’re cooing at him - reaching up and guiding one of his hands to be on the back of your neck—the other one on your ass. You lean into his surprisingly firm chest, “Although…I find it really cute when you’re shy.”

His involuntary whimper gets swallowed up by your own lips. 

You’re the one that’s guiding him through the sensual motions of your mouth. Kissing and kissing him till he’s senseless.

Till those thick glasses of him have been knocked ever-so-slightly askew.

Till you’ve left him weak in the knees - literally. 

Choso Kamo is melting into you—he’s letting his hands grasp your body as though a forgetting man holding onto his last memory, a drowning sailor holding onto a lifeboat. It doesn’t even feel real to him. And he can’t stop himself as his hands, his body, his knees buckle n’ he’s sliding doooooown the expanse of your body- lips breaking contact with yours with a pained grunt.

Before he knows it, his knees are hitting the floor.

And he’s peering up at you with a desperate expression; brows pinched, mouth kiss-bitten and trembling. Expression something of dazed awe. It makes your pussy clench at just how utterly pathetic he looks. “Everything alright, baby?”

“Ngh- yes.” You watch as one of his hands automatically shoots to cover his crotch - he was rock-fucking-hard already. 

“You suuuuure?” Teasing. There’s a devilish twinkle in your eyes that’s reflected through his as utter indigence. 

And without saying anything more, you step backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed. Bouncing a few times. You’re sitting yourself down on the plush bedsprings, crossing your legs- and watching him through half-lidded eyes. Not a single word comes out of you.

But it doesn’t take a single word for Choso to realize what you wanted with a jolt—

He crawls to you.

He crawls to you.

Choso’s letting his features twist into something akin to embarrassment - with the tips of his ears so red that they were practically radiating heat - as he edges closer. As he shifts on his knees. As he crawls just as he had been doing in the ice cream parlor—except this time, the only cherry he was searching for was that cute lil’ wet spot between your legs.

Your dress was short and already hiked up to reveal those pale pink panties. 

Was that a little bow on top?

Though it seems like an age before he’s finally able to reach close enough to affirm that- yes, that was a little bow on top. Choso finally manages to without combusting, and looks up at you with wide, pleading eyes. 

“Please…” He begs.

You’re softly caressing his cheek- almost lovingly. And Choso’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into the touch in an almost feline manner. 

Moving to his jawline. Moving to the back of his sweaty scalp.

And then you’re shoving his pretty face between your legs—and Choso’s letting himself gladly be shoved. Manhandled. His chin sticks against the foamy mess of your panties, so wet with all your leaking juices. His nose digs between the plushest parts of your swollen pussylips. And Choso lets out a hallowed breath as he gapes his mouth ever-so-slightly wider-

“Awww, why so shy, baby?” You’re cooing down at him.

With your hand clasped onto the back of his head- you’re guiding Choso’s mouth to better plaster against your pussy. For him to find his balance.

“S-s’like a second kiss.” Choso sputters out. And you’re grinning.

“Naughty, are we?” You had a feeling that this was going to be a loooooot of fun…

Choso’s mouth was parted. And his lips were rubbin’ incessantly up and down the outline of your cunt—up and down, up and down.

That flimsy fabric of your panties was just glued to your sopping wet pussy, and he’s able to slot his lips over your folds perfectly. Managing to string down a line of hot wet kisses where you needed him the most- “Mmmm…” You’re arching your back with a deep groan as his nose fits between your pussylips—the pointed tip pressing on your clit. “Just like that, Cho. You can go deeper if you like, y’know that?”

“H-how, baby?” He rasps. Those pleading eyes of his were just so cute- and Choso can’t last too long speaking without pressing a few more open-mouthed kisses on your cunt.

“You want me to teach you?” You’re asking him, to which he nods. “Mmm, well open your mouth a little wider- just a little wider-”

And he does- his cute canines snaggin’ against the top of your pussylips.

“You can just start off by kissing lightly, baby. Remember how we did all that kissing earlier?” Nodding once more. “Yeah- just try to replicate that.”

“M’gonna do my best, baby…” He’s starting off soft at first- slow. Almost timid in his movements as he properly slots his mouth over your pussy - over your panties - and kisses n’ sucks lightly. 

“Fuck- you study biology, so you know where the good spots are, hm?”

“The glans clitoris a-and the…” Kitten kisses. “-the labia minora contain an immense number of nerve endings.” Chaste pecks—but every single droplet of your pussy’s juices splashed onto his tongue seems to leave Choso Kamo reeling. 

Eyes drawing to the back of his head. Ragged pants emanating from the back of his throat. 

And he’s pushing himself deeper, deeper, deeper - making out with your pussy so desperately, depravedly that his glasses were crushing against your pelvis—“Easy there, baby. Easy.” The only way to even get him to take a breath is to tug him back using his hair. “We have more than ‘nough time, okay?”

“Mhmmmm…” He nods through a pout- lips sucking off the juices seeped into your panties. “All night.”

“Eager boy. Next, I want you to use your tongue, okay?” His expression turns into something startled. “What? Not scared are you, Cho?”

Choso shakes his head furiously—as though he couldn’t stand the mere thought of it. “N-no.” He hisses, hot breath gluing to your leaking core - the way he was just so…greedy to lavish your pussy left you even wetter. And he was gladly allowing the excess residue to land all over his face and end up sliding off, “No no no- not at all. This pretty labia- Mmmpf—”

Whatever else was on the tip of his tongue gets muffled- 

For then Choso’s flattening his tastebuds on top of your pussy. Those swollen pussylips. Movin’ his muscle siiiiiiide to the siiiiiide and then up and down the line of your slit. 

You whine, “Oh- just fuck me with it.” Tugging on his locks, “Fuck me with your tongue- ngh, the way I know you’ve been wantin’ to since we met. Don’t think I didn’t see the way you were looking at me…”

“I was…” He pleads. He prays between your legs. Zig-zagging his tongue wildly. 

And then after he’s sucked off your panties all clean - Choso reaches one of his hands upwards to try and take off those useless undergarments-

But you’re faster than him.

And you’re stopping him with a searing pull at his scalp. The nerdy man lets out a sudden yelp and looks at you with the prettiest doe-eyes. “Ah ah—” It almost ached your heart to act so mean to him, not giving him exactly what he wanted. But more than your heart- it was your pussy that was throbbing. “Now who said you’ve earned the right to take them off, hm?”

“B-but…” Choso’s peripherals widen - they were glazed-over with lust. “How can I reach the tunica mucosa if I don’t take off—”

“You don’t have to take it off, right?” You hum. “Eat me out through my panties-”

Just the mere sound of that sentence makes Choso moan.

“-and…” And you’re cocking your head to get a better look at where his hips were starting to rut. Against the rickety frame of the love hotel’s bed, he was grindin’ and crushing what seemed to be an aching erection. “-don’t touch yourself, either.”

Choso’s free hand immediately halts in its tracks.

He’s shooting you a pained look- but more than that, it was flooded with pure, unabashed need. 

Something dark. Something primal.

Choso’s tipping his head back and letting you plough your pussy against his mouth- in rough, rapid grinds. You don’t wait a single moment for him to catch his breath—and that seems far from his main priority in the first place. He’s merely flopping his lengthy tongue out - so pinkish n’ pretty - and slithering it past your panties.

Riiiiiight underneath, after a few tries he manages to ease it past the rim of your puckered entrance.

You’re letting out a semi-shocked gasp once you feel your convulsing walls streeeeetching at the girth of him. He was thicker than you’d expected- with the ridges of his tastebuds melding to your inner channel. And without any experience, Choso doesn’t know how to ease into it - which works just as well for you as he’s expanding his thick tongue inside of you. And then thrashing n’ thrashing away. “Sh-shit, keep going, Cho.”

“What- hck! what do I have to do?” He manages to somehow ask between heavy gulps. And even that amount of time spent parted with your pussy means that he’s letting out loooong, luxurious licks inside your velvety walls to make up for it.

“H-huh?” You blink down at him through your bleary eyes. “Keep going, ngh- faster, baby.”

“No, I just meant…” Choso blinks those big, beautiful peripherals at you. He kept both hands on your thighs to press himself ever-deeper—he couldn’t get enough. “-what do I have to do t-to take off your panties? I wish to see all of you…that pretty vulva like a flower, the- ngh, prepuce…”

The mere thought has him ruttin’ away against the bed once more.

“How about you make me- haaaah, cum, baby? Hm?” You smile down at the desperate man, “And you have to do it before cumming yourself, m’kay?”

He can’t remove your panties.

He can’t touch himself.

He can’t cum before stuffin’ his face between your legs and making you cum first—

Choso was in heaven.

Even through the obscurement of his now-fogged glasses, Choso’s features twist into something primal- and he lets out a looooow whine before drag-drag-dragging his tongue into your clingy walls again. Thrusting in and out at a frenzied pace—the nerd was eating you out like a man starved.

Almost wolfish.

Choso was suckin’ and biting and snarling deep into your cunt. His glasses stick against your clit, and every single time he was forced to part with your pussy in order to breathe felt like fucking torture to him. “The clitoral nerve network consists of about 8000 to- ngh, over 10000 nerve endings-” Before you know it, he’s spitting. Letting it smear down your panties. Then dragging one of his calloused thumbs down that buttony nub. “-and baby, I need you to feel every single one.”

“Ohhhhh, fuck.” Your back arches deeper into him. Hands planting against the mattress in order to steady yourself, “A man that knows anatomy is dangerous.”

“And then the tunica mucosa…those spots there are also-” Such a priggish smile spreads across Choso’s mouth - one that you’re feeling on your cunt - as he swabs his tongue inside and stimulates some of those sweet nerve endings he was talking about. The hooked end of his muscle pushes apart your clingy walls, and somehow manages to find those sensitive areas so easily- “-effective…”

“Shut up and eat me out.” Pushing him deeper between your legs.

“A-and that’s not to mention—” But of course, you should’ve known that it isn’t easy to shut a STEM major up when it comes to their subject of interest. Choso most of all. And that nerdy man is babbling away whilst he’s slipping his tongue in and out, in and out, of you at a furious pace- until it was nothing but a pinkish blur squeezing away between your pussylips. “-the Gräfenberg spot-”

“You mean the g-spot?!” You’re wailing out.

“My favorite.” Choso nods, with your clit sucked into his mouth. Holding your panties to the side. He now alternates between rolling his tongue over your sensitive nub, and pushing it deep into your hole—stretchin’ you out juuuuust enough for his fingers to slip n’ squelch their way inside.

You’re letting out the shrillest keen as two of his fingers scissor apart your cunt’s walls, pushing up into their spongy surroundings to mold his sheer size into you. He’s softer on the tips of his digits, and rougher against the sides - “Easy there. Fuck, easy…” Choso’s sucking in a harrowed breath.

“I should be the one saying that to you.” You huff. Because Choso wasn’t dry-humping the foot of the bed whilst eating you out anymore - he was way past that.

Now solely keeping himself pushed- wedged in one place because just a little more friction and he’s bound to be cumming. “I-I’m alright, baby.” He tells you, “The Gräfenberg spot is located on the anterior wall, so right…up…” 

Just a single press up into the roof of your cunt makes you buck - not having pressed on your sweetest spot just yet but-

“And then about two- three inches deeeeeep—” The loudest, sloppiest squelch! echoes across all four corners of the love hotel room as he eases inside. Roverin’ about inside your tight, wet channel for a few strokes before an explosion of pleasure runs right through you. “-right- there-”

“Fuuuuuuuck, oh.” You simper out. “There- right there- ngh.”

And then he’s thump-thumping his perfect fingers inside your cunt- accurately pinpointing that one spot inside you with his digits like a searchlight. Again and again. And don’t think that his mouth wasn’t working overtime—Choso kept his maw permanently gaped on top of your clit and had his lips hollowed with a constant suctioning motion. 

Letting out broken moans off into your cunt all the while-

Choso manages to slip in a third finger- though those damn panties kept getting in the way. “Baby…” There’s a rasping, almost guttural tone to his words that you don’t recognize at first- you’re even raising onto your elbows to make sure that this was the same Choso Kamo.

But it sure was.

Glasses pressed up against your cunt—getting wetter by the second. “Baby, you’re experiencing vaginal contractions and tremors. Your pulse is faster. Your transudate is leaking even more- you’re getting wetter. And your clitoris is growing even, mmm-” He savors the feeling of your nub being pulled n’ dragged into his mouth. “-more swollen.”

“A-and that means…?” Though you already have an inkling of it.

“You’re going to orgasm, baby.” He never sounded more confident than when he was speaking science between your pussylips. “And I need you to cum aaaaaall over my mouth, okay?”

“Was planning to.” You whisper-

And it’s with a few more strokes, with a few more gashes of your pussy against his face, that the pressure that’d been building in your pelvic region finally explodes.

It thrums through your body faster than you can announce it—making every single vein, artery, and axiom within you vibrate until they’re sizzling at the sheer pressure. It felt as though your body was on fire. And the hottest it could get was at your sopping core- shoved against Choso’s pretty plush mouth and getting draaaagged through the violent peaks of your high.

The best you’ve ever had.

Choso manages to locate your g-spot right when the pleasure was hitting you the most - and you’re getting the faint suspicion that he was counting your throb-throb-throbs until he’d timed it just right. “One…two…” 

Thrashing his fingers deepest.

Damn-near tearing your panties.

Shoving his erection against the bed. 

And his tongue would move over your clit in an almost soothing motion- “Your vasocongestion m-means you’re sucking me up even- ngh, more. Fucking tight.” He spits. “Myotonia and contractions. Your orgasm’s strong, baby.”

“Didn’t need science to tell me that.” You comment.

Thrown through your orgasm.

It’s a crescendo then a plateau, and then when you’re finally done - Choso keeps jabbing his greedy fingers into you just for a few seconds longer. Fucking you through it. Fucking you past it.

You’re so sensitive by this point that you’re sobbing- pushing on his sweaty forehead. “Baby—oh, baby I’m done.” 

“Done…?” He rasps. Eyes bleary as he raises them up, seeing you on your elbows. “Oh.”

“And you did as I wanted.” It takes much more effort than you expected to detach him from your quivering pussy - still a little sensitive from your previous orgasm. It was incredible. A part of you almost couldn’t believe that it’d been poor, inexperienced Choso Kamo that pulled that out of you. 

He’s setting your cunt free with a whimper n’ a loooooud slurp!

Watching slack-jawed as you peel off your soaked-through panties and throw it right at him- it makes you gasp when Choso catches it with one hand…

Then brings that flimsy fabric riiiiight up to his face to sniff, to suck off the remnants of your syrupy sap. Not a speck of regret.

“Filthy.” You leer.

And then you’re tightening your hold on him—merely than sound was enough to wrench out a yearning croon from him. Preventing Choso from chasing after your cunt once more, “Now now…you don’t want to continue losing that virginity of yours, baby?”

“I-I do.” He eagerly nods.

“Good. Then get on the bed f’me.” You’re patting at the space beside you.

Soon enough, your positions are somewhat flipped - Choso finds himself lumbering onto the bed. Back against the mattress. Skin searing at the heat that your body had left behind. 

He lies where you did- and you’re making quick work of discarding his graphic t-shirt (proudly claiming ‘I found this humerus’ next to a picture of a bone) and his trousers. The tent in his boxers was jaw-dropping—Choso stood proudly erect, thick and looking heavy between his legs, his bulbous tip kept trickling out more n’ more precum the longer you stared. 

And had he just…

Taking off his boxers to make sure—you’re revealing his cock. Long and rock-hard.

It slaps against his soft core, and leaves a heart-shaped mark of sap. Just about seven or so inches in length- though the longer your gaze lingers on him…the longer he seems to look. Shit, was he about nine inches, maybe? And he wasn’t too thick - just flared enough at the tip that he’s sure to make your walls feel it. 

But Choso had an abundance of pretty, long veins decorating down the shaft—underneath the tip, creating patterns down to his base. One which had a few sparse tufts of curly brown - almost black - hair.

Yet what you’re interested in the most was how Choso was so damn hard that his blushin’ red tip looked just about ready to fall off—

“I c-couldn’t help myself, baby.” Choso admits shyly. His hands reach downwards to try and cover his mess- but you’re waving him off. “Having you cum aaaaall over my mouth made me- ngh, want to cum as well.”

“I can see that.” You smirk.

“I didn’t mean to.” He insists, voice growing urgent as the silence stretches - fearing that you’d perhaps refuse to continue as he somewhat broke his promise. “P-promise, I didn’t mean to! It’s just that your tunica mucosa was squeezing me so tight- and your vaginal lubrication just tasted so sweet-”

“Choso?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Shush.”

“I- oh.”

Because, initially, you’d planned on riding the man senseless. But now you were leering yourself closer—almost sake-like in motion.

Staring deep into Choso’s widening eyes once you’re hovering yourself over his shivering legs. His long abdomen. And pressing a cute peck right on the top of his frothing tip—the splashes of his precum were syrupy-sweet. And they were combining with Choso’s cum from earlier to add a salty tint-

“So messy.” You’re whispering as you run your tongue ‘round and ‘round the top of his shaft. Cleaning him off until he was shining. “Are you gonna make a mess like this inside me too, hm?”

“D-don’t say something like that…s’gonna make me cum again.” Choso pleads.

And he really was serious - his words were on the verge of shattering.

You’re letting out a giggle- right into his aching hot cock. The vibrations sprint through his body and make him buck up into you—body before his mind, he doesn’t even realize until he’s doing so with a startled yelp. “My apologies-”

“Mmm, keep going. Get some practice in before the real deal.” You hum once more. 

Choso seems as though he’s about to sob - this was too good for him - as he fucks his cock into your mouth a few more times. You relax your throat to take down most of him, and the parts that you can’t get milked with one hand. 

Once. Twice. Thrice and quadruple before his flared tip starts twitchin’ wildly—draaaaagging up the soft insides of your throat, he leaves a salty aftertaste behind that makes you realize…

You’re pulling off of his cock with an emanating pop! “But you’ve got to save that up for inside, got it?”

He’s nodding so hard you idly wonder whether he might get whiplash. “Yes, baby. Anything for you, baby.”

“Mmm…” Climbing up the expanse of his body, you’re kissing Choso squarely with the same lips. “Just how I like it.”

And then your knees straddle Choso’s slender hips, your thighs press against his sweltering skin - you reach behind you to grab ahold of his cock’s base—and the sudden squeeze is enough to make him jolt. Bodily. He’s letting out a visceral shiver, “B-baby…”

You guide his ruddied tip to you—and just the barest, briefest smooch of your sweet pussy makes him jolt. Just feelin’ his hardness press up against your softness.

It makes him drive his hips off the mattress suddenly. 

“Ah ah-” You warn. “Take it easy, baby. We have all night, don’t we?”

“But…” Choso’s eyes flicker between your face n’ where the two of you were about to connect. Something in him seems to almost break. So close. So close- “That’s so unfair. Your pussy feels like this and you’re expecting me to take it easy?”

A hand claws down your arched spine.

“Not even the textbooks could replicate how good it feels- m’not even inside you yet and I feel like I’m going insane.”

You swipe a thumb down his throbbing tip—catching a bead of white that was threatening to pour out. “I told you. As long as you keep it inside, Cho.”

And then you’re letting your hips lower - aiming to seat yourself down on that toned pelvis of his. “Ohhhh, fuck.” Your back bends, your head tips backwards as you’re taking in the inches of him. It’s a slow process - given that Choso was much larger than average - and you’re wrenching out primal moans as his thick length invades your core. A sweet prodding vein down the side of him was already massaging your insides—“You’re so big, baby. It’s always the quiet ones, huh?”

If he heard you, then he doesn’t make a show of it.

Choso’s handsome features scrunch up into something of pure ecstasy as he dives his cock deeper into you. Hands flying to your waist. Bottom lip stuck between his teeth. “Inside-” He whispers.

“Hmmm?”

“Inside- inside.” Choso gets out through heated pants. His mouth was moving a mile a minute- fuck, even his mind was. But he couldn’t possibly juggle any single coherent thought when his cock was sucked between your soft, soft pussylips and getting practically drained already. “A-am I really going inside? Or is this just a dream, baby?”

Without waiting around for an answer- he’s pinching his arm.

It leaves an angry red mark that proves to him that no…life really was this sweet.

“I am?” As though still in disbelief. 

As though this in and of itself would be enough to make him cum and- oh, shit. 

He really was cumming.

It seems to take the both of you by surprise, and Choso’s lunging his hips completely off the mattress - slamming his cockhead into the springy back of your cunt. 

Bouncin’ off at the sheer force for a few seconds- it isn’t long before he’s then scouring deep into your walls and letting his bawling divot run free. Cumming in less than a single stroke inside you. “Oh- oh, shit.” Choso’s mouth waters, a single line of spittle running from the corner of his lips. “I’m sorry I…”

But he doesn’t have an answer.

He really, truly doesn’t.

“Pussy got your tongue?” You giggle. 

This was his first time - and your pussy just felt that good all wrapped ‘round him and keeping him hostage.

His cum’s flooding you with a warmth, spreadin’ from the in-betweens of your legs and then right upwards. The satiny tresses of it rush uuuuup your walls n’ then right back down—those goopy layers then getting fucked back in by his desperate semi-thrusts. 

Squelch after squelch as he accumulates the cum like frosting on top of his swirling tip. Shoving. 

Choso scrunches his eyes shut and tears start to well up behind- now he was crying, too? Crying just by putting it in?! Buried like this, he feels like he’d do anything for you right now. He feels like he could lay his life on the line for you right now. He feels like—like—he could really truly ask you to become his real girlfriend now…

“Baby, I think I love you.” Choso blubbers up. “Do you want to marry me?”

“Let’s get dinner first.” You giggle, lovingly patting his cheek. 

“Oh…”

If you could feel the way his ruddied tip twitches inside you (and you could) then you’re not teasing him for it…much. Simply a smirk before you’re veering your hips down until he’s bottomed-out.

Clit massaging against the scruff of his happy trail. Pussylips struggling to squeeze around his sheer size. “Fuck.” You’re groaning, starting up a lecherous pace that keeps Choso’s toes curled - his head thrown back into the pillows, his skin blushing. He was flustered.

But more than that- he wanted more.

And sending a silent word of gratitude to the chance of the universe and science itself, Choso slithers that same right hand of his between your sultry legs. Sheened with slick. 

You were making such a mess fucking him whilst you’re still keeping his cum inside you—he scrapes his calloused thumb up, up, uuuup the few inches of his cock still left to fit inside. Collecting the slimy layers of slick up until the folds of your pussy. Reaching it up to his mouth- 

“Now, now.” You tut. “Are we just going to waste that, hm?”

“Oh…you’re right.” With a quiver of his lips, he then plunges it back inside. Then repeats the motion again and again until you’re feeling stuffed to the brim—with both his cock n’ his sappy fluid. Like you said before, it all deserved to stay inside. 

And you better keep it.

The rickety bedsprings creeeeeeak—! as he meets your pace. 

Choso continues, “Not just cum.” His curvaceous thumb swipes your inner folds again, “But that bulbourethral fluid deserves to stay inside, too. How else m’I gonna fill you up, baby?”

“Oh, of course.” You coo, something sensual. “But don’t think that that’s going to be your last time cumming tonight, Cho.”

His eyes damn-near bulge out of their skull. “E-excuse me?”

“It’s not even your last time cumming in this hour.” Oblivious - or so you pretend to be - to his growing concern n’ his gaping mouth. You’re bowing your body into his—manoeuvring your hips in somewhat of a circular motion, the slightest figure-eights and curves, that drag his tunneling cock juuuuuust right against every nook and cranny of your walls. Every hidden spot. “You’re gonna cum for me at least twice more, right?”

“I-I—I don’t know if that’s even possible!” Choso sputters, pushing his glasses up with his free hand- it was glossy with the excess of your slick from earlier.

And without warning, you’re leaning down to lightly lick off a bit of that glittering sheen.

Choso moans n’ feels his overly-stimulated length jolting away inside of you. “Baby, just consider the refractory period. Has it even been a few minutes since I last…?”

“Just about.” You’re smile. “Should be enough, no?”

“Though it varies based on age and health- when I can cum next depends on the blood redistribution, and how long prolactin and serotonin lasts in the body.” Choso admits then, albeit a bit sheepishly. “And I’m still fuh-feeling so goooood, baby- fuck I can’t—”

“But my smart boy’s gonna find a way, right?” Even if he couldn’t cum again, however - it was just too cute to watch Choso squirm like this. “When I said I wanted it inside, I wanted it stuffed inside, Cho.”

“S-stuffed…” He breathes - almost hypnotized by your pussy.

You’re grinding and swervin’ and clenching around his vein-loaded length in ways he could’ve only ever dreamed about before…“Mhm. Need it pouring out of me.” You beg, putting your best pleading expression on. “Need it up until…” 

Hands scouring up his front to press down on your stomach- almost up to your chest.

“-here.”

You pout. 

“If m’not bloated with your cum, Cho, is there even a point?”

“No there isn’t.” Choso’s jaw drops—as though the epiphany had just dropped on him. And no sooner are the words leaving his worry-bitten lips, he finds himself pumping wispy ropes of cum deep past your entrance. 

He doesn’t even know how he did it.

His body just seems to listen to you more than himself - and Choso jerks his pelvis up in synchronization with the faintish strings of cum that escape him. Thoroughly into your cunt. Thoroughly coating it on top of your womb.

You’re shivering as you feel the thin excess thwack! against your deepest innards. Such a lecherous feeling that cannot be replicated. 

Every time he strikes your spongy cervix, Choso lets out a sudden whimper. He sobs. He groooans. He’s fighting to clamor onto your body in any possible way that he could - your waist, your legs, your tits. It doesn’t matter where, Choso just needed to grab ahold of you and perhaps try to get you to fucking slow down—

“Please.” Every single letter in that word is botched with a cry, “P-please. Baby, keep riding me like this and you’re going to make me cum again-”

“Isn’t that the point? Third time’s the charm?” You ask. 

“Oh…” It’s then that he remembers that you’d said twice more- he has to cum twice more. Hiccuping, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Cocking your head with a smile, “And would you like to stop?”

“Not at all.”

Then you’re planting one hand in the middle of his defined chest for balance. Throwing your head back and ridin’ him silly.

Choso cries beneath you. Choso babbles. Torn between the pleasure of having those sweet, sopping lips wrapped ‘round him- and the insanity of his orgasm just barely bating before you’re attempting to hurtle him into another one. This was almost too much for his just recently-lost virginity, but Choso begs for more, more, more. “Please- please- that anterior wall of yours is so clo-”

With your other set of fingers then shoved into Choso’s pretty mouth- spit splashes from the sides of his lips. But he’s taking you so happily—“No no, keep going.” You tell him once his brows raise in surprise, “I just wanna watch my poor boyfriend struggle just a bit.”

“Mmmmpf- soooo good.” He lets out an agonized moan, muffled through the intrusion of your digits. You’re swirling them ‘round his mouth and watching him lightly choke on them. “I need to c-cum just once more, huh?”

Choso’s tears were enough to wash off the fog from his glasses lens.

And he blinks those teary eyes up at you - a few times before one of his hands slithers between your legs. Almost difficult, considering how the space between your two sweaty, crashing bodies was practically non-existant—but his long fingers find a way to thumb apart your puffy pussylips. Nearly swollen shut.

He runs the doughy tips of his digits across your clit, “Around it…just light kisses.” Choso murmurs to himself. “Juuust a little- ngh.”

A single squeeze of your fluttering walls leaves him reeling. 

“And then the good spots-” Peering down at your glossy cunt through his glasses, his half-lidded eyes. “The primary erogenous zones are the clitoris and introitus. Then the periurethral surrounding the urethra is also…oh…” Alternating between bashin’ his swollen cocktip against your g-spot, and thoroughly massaging every good spot he’d memorized.

“Shit…” You suddenly clench around him. “Keep going.”

He was seeing stars at the mere action. “And then the- hngh, even the perineum…” Fingers dipping just a liiiittle downwards to roll over that spot. He was unabashed - not in the state to be as he usually would. “And then fucking- at least as much as I can…here…” Slack-jawed, gaze unfocused. “My favorite is the clitoris.” The nerd presses the crescent pad of his thumb down on that knob.

Your hips are stutterin’ at the sheer amount of pleasure overwhelming you. Choso has taken up stimulating your clit in constant circular motions now. “I th-thought you said your favorite was the g-spot?”

“Both.”

As if on cue, he’s banging his thick tip against that ooooone spot.

Choso was stimulating you almost too well. Leaving you the one speechless as he drills his hips into you at a relentless pace—almost painfully desperate. 

“Good boy.” You whisper.

“Just need to make you- mmm, cum soon.” He states. “Because if you cum…then I’m sure to cum, too.”

Shoving a third finger in his mouth, he moans as he sucks. You hum, “And you’re sure you’re a virgin?”

“S’just everything you t-taught me.” He insists, mouth full yet listening to every word you said - if you expected an answer, then he was giving you an answer. “And sometimes…I’d search up…things online…”

“Online? Poor, innocent Choso Kamo watches porn?”

“Not that, I get too shy.” Choso responds. He blushes all the way down to the roots of his hair, “But using my textbooks, I’d- hah, read through them…study them…look at all the diagrams…”

You smirk. “Ever jerked off to a textbook, Choso?”

His jaw drops. “No…” Although you remain rather suspicious of the ever-deepening blush that seems to invade his cheeks—all the way down to his collarbones. “But I did jerk off just today.”

“Today?” One of your brows raise, “Don’t tell me this was- hah, before we met or…?”

He shakes his head. “After. After.” Big, bulbous tears make their way down his cheeks - and Choso tastes the salt on them as they splosh across his lips. You do too, as you kiss him. “S-snuck right into the bathroom at that ice cream parlor and- oh—”

“And what for? Saw a pretty someone at the neighboring table?”

Shaking his head even harder- “It was…you.”

“Me?”

“You said that thing- fuck, you said you needed me.” Choso’s dark chocolate-brown eyes glaze over as if he’s reminiscing the very moment. Living in it. “Under that table. And I couldn’t run to the bathroom faster to r-relieve myself.” Ah, this was that time then…

Your faux-boyfriend’s brows are then knitting.

His cock tunnels into you at an even more accelerated pace - one that leaves your head dizzy. Flinching at every run of his thumb down your pulsing clit. 

Choso finishes, “But I only lasted two pumps- the thought of you, ngh—” Thrusting in so deep that it felt as though, if he could go past your gooey cervix, then he long since would have. Choso thumps against the back of your cervix and remains there, “-wrapped around my cock and usin’ me to make your anterior- pussy feel pleasure was just too good of a fantasy for me.”

It’s a lewd admission.

It’s almost startling to hear this from Choso above all.

And it’s exactly what’s making you cum—just in time that he is. Your orgasm is prolonged and has been building up ever since he tickled your g-spot for the first time- “C-cumming—!” Belatedly, the announcement leaves your lips.

But Choso already knows.

He can already feel the rhythmic clenches of your sopping wet walls - the soft thing he’s ever felt. They’re tightening around him and tuggin’ on his pistoning cock like you didn’t fucking want him to leave. 

Toes curling. Back arching.

The bang after bang after bang right on that target of your g-spot meant that your orgasm was being intensified. Every peak left your thighs clenching around his waist, and you bounce your hips up n’ down furiously. Up n’ down. Up n’ down. “Yes- yes, yes, yes—and you’re c-cumming too, Cho.”

“I am?” Choso blinks his teary eyes down at your lower halves. The smacking of skin-against-skin was deafening, and Choso’s pelvis was rawly red due to the sheer friction. 

But more than that…he was feeling his even redder tip twitch a few times. Once. Twice. Thrice- before the warmth of bliss takes over his body. It’s a wave of euphoria even stronger than the last few, and it makes the nerdy boy flinch his hips up into yours- agonizingly good. He was hammering into you so animalistically- jabbing short, sloppy semi-thrusts. “I am.” Choso gasps out. “I’m cumming-”

He’d predicted as much earlier, but it actually worked?!

“M’filling you up, aren’t I?” Choso blabbers, a crazed smile on his face. “This virgin…I was able to stuff this pussy full.”

Lovingly patting your cunt. 

“So much so that- hah, look she’s even struggling to- ngh, take me. That cervix uteri is all flooded, huh? All drenched in me?” Through the waves of your high, you’re feeling your orgasm fizzle and pop as he rolls his thumb doooown your clit a few more times. “And these pretty labia of yours are all swollen- bloated with my cum, hm?”

“Mhm…” Before you blink a few times. “Oh- this one was shorter than the last though, wasn’t it? Maybe we need to go again- heh.”

“S’it already done? I…but I’m still…” Choso jabs out numerous more thrusts before he’s pulling out.

And whilst you’re interested in the squelch! and the feeling of hot, wet cum splashin’ out of you and onto his toned hips—Choso himself is more interested in the way his cock twitched n’ feels like he’s cumming…but nothing is actually coming out. 

“Orgasmic anejaculation?” He states in shock. “Baby, you’ve made me cum dry—”

“Oh.” Lips parting, you look down to watch as his pretty reddened tip jolts about irritatedly as though he was in the throes of his orgasm - and he was. It’s just that nothing was coming out. 

“I-it’s likely that this is due to the lack of semen replenishment. Thus, if there’s none left to-”

“So fourth time’s the charm, right?” You cock your head down at him with a smile.

Another time?!

His half-hard length twitches in interest.

“You really are going to be the death of me.”

Choso really, really needed to ask you out after this.

.

.

.

Ryomen Sukuna knew that the two of you weren’t dating.

He knew it.

He just had no way to prove it. 

That is…until one day, just a week after that initial introduction to you, Jin had bothered Sukuna into visiting his nephew. He’d made some cookies—some of your favorites that you’d briefly mentioned at the ramen place, and Jin had immediately gotten to work scouring through his recipes. Flipping through some of grandma’s old cookbooks - he really did get his love for cooking and baking from her.

And then trialing batch after batch of cookies in order to make the perfect one.

And Sukuna hadn’t minded, of course - no one in the house had. They each got to scarf down the ones that Jin deemed as ‘failed’ and they turned out as great as ever. Sukuna honestly didn’t know what more perfection Jin was searching for—especially not for someone he knew Choso was surely paying you in some manner…

There was no conceivable world in which his nephew - as much as Sukuna respected him, for the sole reason that he was related to him (and anyone in some proximity to the great Ryomen Sukuna can’t be all that bad…) - would ever have enough courage to ask a real person out. Let alone someone as electric as you?

Let alone have you say yes?!

Something was up. And Sukuna was on the case.

At least after he finishes this mountain of cookies…

Either way, it took an entire week for Jin to perfect his cookies. And once completed, he’d thumped Sukuna over the head with a couch cushion and told him to go deliver them to Choso.

Unfortunately they hadn’t managed to catch your address or anything of the sort - and there was no telling when Choso would have enough time between his studies and library-haunting to visit. Thus, it’d be easier to just have Sukuna (who was far too busy doing a whole load of nothing) drop the cookies off at Choso’s apartment and let him give it to you.

Jin could trust Choso with handing them to you safe n’ sound.

He couldn’t trust Sukuna not to swallow them whole on the way, however…

So it was with a tonne of brotherly intimidation and threatening brandishes of that cushion that Jin waved Sukuna off—‘you better not eat those cookies, Ryo.’

But Sukuna promised. He promised.

He had other, more important, things on his mind - like cornering Choso into admitting that the two of you actually weren’t dating. Maybe if he didn’t relent so easily, he’d even look around the apartment to check for signs of you or anything you’d left behind—after five months of dating, surely, there’d be some evidence, wouldn’t there?

And then maybe he’d eat the cookies- hah!

The perfect plan.

Ryomen Sukuna what a genius you were, what a mastermind—who said that Jin was the smarter brother?! It was Sukuna that liked literature and poetry (wait, was nerdiness genetic?) No one should underestimate the sheer underappreciated brilliance of a prodigy like-

“Choso’s uncle?” He gapes as you answer the door- and you’re just as beautiful as he remembered you. And oh, alright—Sukuna admits you’re beautiful. Gorgeous, actually.

Which is also why he found it hard to believe that Choso could ever manage to bag you- sure, he wasn’t bad looking…but that’s only because Choso was related to him.

Then again, he wasn’t any Ryomen Sukuna.

A Ryomen Sukuna that was feeling rather…a lot…small as he looks at you.

Your eyes widen as you recognize who your visitor was, though your smile never falters.

“Oh, Cho should be right out. Please come in, have you eaten breakfast yet? You should join us!”

Opening the door even wider, though he stands as still as a statue. 

“Is…everything alright.”

No movement once more. No answer, either.

“Ummm, maybe it’s more comfortable there then?” You’re awkwardly smiling at his lack of a response - this certainly wasn’t the Ryomen Sukuna that you’d met at the family dinner…And perhaps at the same time, you’re realizing why.

Because you weren’t just answering Choso’s apartment door—you were doing so in nothing but sleep shorts and a humerus-related t-shirt that was most definitely not yours. And above the hem of that ratty t-shirt were a series of bite marks, nail marks down your neck…such an obscene display that makes you immediately yelp and tug your neckline upwards.

Though Sukuna remains gawking. “I uh…”

“I am so sorry.” You’re blubbering away, and when your neckline fails to cover you adequately without showing off the similar marks on your midriff- you’re reaching your hands up instead. “We’d just been making breakfast, and I’d completely forgot-”

“No, that’s fine uh…” Goodness, when has the rough n’ tough Sukuna ever floundered like this? “It’s my fault for coming unannounced um…”

“What’s this?” Another voice sounds from inside the apartment.

Soon enough, Choso’s joining the two of you at the door—he’s in JBA sweatpants and pulling on a t-shirt as he walks. With whatever mercy that the universe had granted Sukuna, Choso sneaks up behind you, so he doesn’t see whatever similar markings might have been left on him as Choso finally wears his t-shirt properly. 

There’s amusement in Choso’s tone as he adjusts his glasses and speaks, “I never thought I’d see the day that you apologize to anyone, uncle Ryo.”

Choso throws an arm over your shoulder - the intimacy was palpable. Something far more different than at the ice cream parlor, and yet…Sukuna should’ve recognized the same admiring glint in Choso’s eyes back then, too.

The apartment behind was messy in that domestic way. There were eggs frying on the stove. 

“Sh-shut it.” Sukuna spits. “This is all your…girlfriend’s fault.”

Ah, you really were his girlfriend. The great Ryomen Sukuna has been wrong. How could this be? How could he fathom such a thing?

He takes a big bite out of one of those cookies. 

A/N. Oh Kuna dw I’m here for you <33

And that was the story of how you met Gojo Satoru - when you were eight, and he’d been merely ten. Though he didn’t look ten—he might’ve looked even younger than you. 

White hair. Winks of dimples upon each cheek. His face was chalk-white from the make-up typical of jesters, even young ones, supposedly. 

He was drowning in a faded red and blue jester outfit that looked as if it’d been dragged through multiple shows a night. It looked far too big to have been his originally. Even through the patched-up collar, his collarbones showed, and from the too-wide sleeves; his pale, near-skeletal limbs stuck out oddly. 

His face was pretty, however, with eyes too large for his head. 

Gojo’s cheeks were sunken in, yet his smile wasn’t the slightest bit smaller. That, too, looked too large to be his. 

And you…

Crying outside the royal court, after your parents had declared you far too young to see the travelling circus. The acrobats. The sword-swallowers. And one little jester…that had gone missing during the processions. 

Though, in time, Gojo took delight in weaving in additional parts of fighting off dragons and two haunted knight armors—enraptured courts that clapped and laughed as he sang of a white-haired fool and his crying princess. He’d whisked you off your feet and made you swoon in ways a princess utterly shouldn’t - and then produced you before your horrified father, His Majesty, as the sole suitor that made you laugh. 

At least according to him.

Though one thing was true from that fairytale: Gojo had been the only person to make you laugh. The only one.

Previous jesters and palace acts wavered between confusing you with their overly long ballads, or enraging you - all because they assumed some little princess couldn’t handle humor. And maybe that was why - Gojo hadn’t underestimated you - that you’d gone right up to your father in the middle of a particularly splendid fire-breathing act, stood in the center of the lavish floor, and declared—

For Gojo to be released from the circus to become your personal jester.

As a royal jester he would be clothed, bathed, and tutored alongside you - so long as he kept you entertained with his rhymes (to which you had no doubt that he wouldn’t falter). 

Not minister nor royal guest should lay a hand on him. He was to be treated as an equal member of the court, and should have titles bestowed upon him in due time—but for now, he will grow up as your best friend. Your only.

And whilst declaring this in about as much royal haughtiness as you could have managed, you looked over at Gojo. You don’t remember for what reason. You don’t remember what you were looking for.

All you remember is that Gojo’s eyes seemed brighter in that moment, like the night’s cloak of stars. There were tears in his eyes.

And he flashed you his crooked grin.

You grinned back.

His Majesty and the advisors didn’t take long to mull over the thought before asking the circus master to name his price for the boy. And Gojo had been small then - oh-so-small - a mere waif of a boy. He was clearly the youngest amongst these adults, and the circus master hadn’t even remembered he was part of the troupe.

He’d demanded two crowns and a bag of wheat.

To which The King had obliged with a simple wave of his hand—before freeing the other circus members, as well. He was merciful…most of the time.

And you’d been so overcome with joy that you ran to the jester and took his hands then and there.

Had it been in the little passageway where you’d met, then you might even have embraced him.

But perhaps you’d given the ministers enough conniptions for the day?

“Follow me.” You breathlessly whispered to the little jester that seemed far too shocked for words. “I shall summon the royal tailor whilst you take your bath- we have every fragrance in the land, and more than enough botanical springs.”

But the longer he stayed speechless and unmoving, the more self-conscious you grew.

Your fingers loosened around his, “That…that is if you wish to-”

“I do.” He stopped you from slipping away - he clasped your hands even tighter. Tight enough to nearly hurt—but you didn’t stop him. “I-I’d be honored, Your Highness.”

“You shan’t have to call me that.”

And though a few eavesdropping court ladies and gentlemen gasped at the destruction of long-held social etiquette, Gojo had merely smiled and nodded. And then you’d been the one to whisk him away. 

You.

Gojo shared little about his upbringing that first day in the palace, and even less over the years. You knew that he’d been born into an average family just a kingdom over - Gojo itself was a fairly used name - but tragedy struck and his parents both passed away—although you never asked how, and he never shared why. It almost…seemed as if he didn’t remember. A part of him that had scrubbed out most of those years, like a bloodstain.

And he’d lived in the same lifeless home as them for five days. Trying to wake them.

No one listened.

No one arrived.

No one helped.

No one helped.

No one helped.

Driven by hunger and loneliness, Gojo finally left the house after those five days. And just his fortune, he hadn’t walked long before encountering the travelling circus—so many jugglers and jesters and acrobats and fire-breathers. And one master leading them from the front. 

He’d been both enraptured and scared.

And hungry. So…so hungry.

Even the smell of the lion food was appetizing to him. 

One acrobat passing by had spotted the boy watching wide-eyed from the side of the road, and seeing how desperate he was, shared her lunch and invited him to join. It was the biggest act of kindness he’d felt in five days.

And so he taught himself to rhyme. To joke. To smile. 

And two years later was when you saved him- you told Gojo that it wasn’t so much as saving him than him saving you. But he denied. 

“Thank you.” Gojo had whispered to you, almost fearful, during his first night in the palace. The Princess’s jester had been granted quarters right across the hallway from your own chambers—and yet, the first night was always the scariest, wasn’t it? 

He’d given you quite the fright sneaking into your royal chamber after all the candles had been snuffed and your attendants had left. Soundless as a mouse—and looking just as unwelcome inside the gilded bedroom. But eventually, you welcomed him onto the lavish mattress far too large for even two.

Let alone two children.

Laid a fair distance apart, you faced each other. 

“I forbid you to say those words again, Gojo.” You smiled. “And just for the one night, I trust?” You meant the bed-sharing; should your attendants walk upon this in the morning, then Gojo would be thrown into the dungeons faster than he can rhyme. 

Gojo nodded, somewhat flushed. “Just for the one night.”

.

.

.

“Satoru-”

“Mmmm, puff pastries and wagashi.”

“Satoru.”

“Huh? Ohhh, sweet cheesecake.”

“Sato—” The exasperated call of his name doesn’t land before the kick does - square in the middle of Gojo Satoru’s broad back. 

Sometime in the last few years, after he’d taken up training with General Yaga to keep himself fit for his dances, Gojo had started sleeping without his upper garments on. 

And you couldn’t deny that it was a sight for sore eyes; his sun-freckled sun, the dips and curves of his muscles shifting as he did. The roundness of his deltoids. The sensual curve of his spine. The patterns of his scapulae, and lash marks that he wouldn’t explain. They moved like waves of an ocean, and they peaked and fell just as much. Some mornings you dared to trace every single one—just with your eyes, of course. 

But of course, he was just your best friend - socially, your jester, at that.

Which is exactly why you’re kicking him off the bed the second you hear your morning attendants heading down the corridor. As soon as he’s out of sight, the double doors to your bedroom open—and they’re floating inside with steaming-hot trays of breakfast and new fragrances for your skin. 

One of the attendants sets the breakfast tray down on your bedside table, and you sneak him a few of the blueberry-spotted pancakes. Though have to slap Gojo’s hand away from swiping the syrup, too, before one of them sees.

“Such a beautiful day, isn’t it, Your Highness?” Your head attendant, Utahime, trills as she throws the curtains open to let soft morning sunlight flood inside. “The perfect morning.”

“It is.” You’re nodding. You slap Gojo’s hand away from the syrup again.

“And we have no more than an hour to get you ready, Your Highness. So I beg you to finish your tea quickly.” Another attendant hands you your morning tea - just how you liked it. It smelled of something floral that reminded you of the royal gardens, and something else so utterly appetizing that you could feel Gojo huffin’ and puffing about beneath you.

Served him right for sneaking in again, you think.

You slap Gojo’s hand away again. Utahime continues speaking onwards obliviously, “—prepare for the guest.”

“A guest?” That piques your interest. 

This time, Gojo steals the syrup. And it creates a loud clatter that draws the attention of all the attendants sweeping and scurrying about to pick out your gown for the day—you’re unceremoniously coughing to cover it up. You’re not sure it works.

Utahime crinkles her nose, “Nasty little ailment, isn’t it?” Her intelligent eyes dip down to the bed - though she keeps it discreet. Utahime, as well as being your head attendant, was one of your closest friends as well. 

Close to you in age, you’d hand-picked her to be what was essentially your right-hand woman. 

And she knew of the rather…close friendship that you and Gojo had; perhaps improper for court etiquette, but just right for the two of you. 

From underneath the bed, Gojo snickers. 

You bounce on the mattress, whilst Utahime kicks the bed post. 

“Ah…this ancient bed.” You’re commenting once the other attendants look at you with raised brows, “Honestly, sometimes I believe it to be haunted.”

“Wake up to a mysterious figure at your bedside, do you?” Utahime eyes you. You avert your gaze from hers. “Well, we should do well to rid your chambers of that before the Prince arrives, Your Highness.”

“The Prince?”

“Prince Zenin Naoya, of course.”

Gojo knocks his head on the bed frame. 

.

.

.

Prince Zenin Naoya possessed many titles; the latest one being the most unpleasant royal you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Which was saying rather a lot.

You’ve met many a-princess that were appalling to her attendants, and many princes that boasted their numerous wars. Your father himself fell into the latter group. And many, many more dukes and duchesses and marquis—and whatever other title had surfaced over the last few centuries and gotten latched-onto with rabid, golden-ringed claws. Had it not been for your duty to maintain a peaceful political climate, you would have forgone those social gatherings altogether.

Though your father was particularly careful not to repeat the border strife that had occurred not too long ago in your kingdom…some violence-seeped dispute over power. 

And so you lifted your head and plastered a smile.

You managed to clamor through even the most painful of social obligations.

But this one…this one might just force you to rewrite all the royal rules that had been drilled into you since you were younger. 

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” You nod in acknowledgement as the Prince bows. His coronet was made of pure gold; a simple band with a blood-red ruby in the middle. 

It flashed at you menacingly.

And so did his pearly-white smile. 

“The pleasure is all yours, Your Highness.” 

You’re taken aback at his choice of words. You meet Gojo’s eyes a little ways away from the court- and his read the same confusion. He shakes his head imperceptibly. Then Naoya turns to the King seated on the throne beside you instead. His smile leers, “My utmost gratitude for this invitation, Your Majesty. My parents send their regards.”

“Good people, good people.” Your father nods, “Their assistance during…those times of trouble shall forever remain in my memory.”

“Who are we if not united against the face of the radicals, Your Majesty?” Naoya graciously bows once more. 

“Well said.” And then the King makes a sweeping gesture in your direction. “And in the future, it seems we shall be united once more.”

Naoya throws his gaze at you again, and the way he looks at you…it makes you hug your arms to yourself.

You’re unsure why your gaze had been upon Gojo at that very moment - they always did seem to find him - but you watch as his expression darkens. Darkens. Darkens. In a way you’ve never seen before, and then it’s hitting you—

“Father?”

But he ignores you, “Satoru—!” In the years that you’ve brought Gojo to court, your father had become rather fond of his rhymes and riddles as much as you were. So it wasn’t exactly surprising that he had been called upon, and Gojo’s expression switches instantly into one of foolish mirth. “Why don’t you share one of your amusing rhymes with our guest?”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” He bows deeply. As he makes his way to the middle of the court, where Naoya and his entourage were gathered, the bells upon his blue-and-white garments jingle. 

And before you know it, Gojo clasps onto Naoya’s shoulders and ensnares him with his words. “Naoya o’ Naoya, with your great riches and gait.” The corners of his lips twitch - something sharp. Gojo covers his mouth in a faux-whisper, though his words reach every single corner of the vast chamber. “Every lady here knows you take potions to compensate~”

Naoya’s face turns green then red. A furious red.

As if fearing the Prince would swing, Gojo jumps back- just in time for the hay-blond man to whirl around. “But oh, no potion shall make Prince Naoya’s rooster big—the most you ladies get will be the size of a fig~”

The jester laughs maniacally, and so does much of the court; you yourself can’t stop from letting out a startled laugh or two. 

Your best friend never did hold back - perhaps because he was the only one allowed to do so without fearing the threat of the dungeons. 

And Gojo watches as a giggle slips past the hand you’d brought up to cover your mouth- and his grin widens as he takes it as a challenge. Dancing around Naoya, he continues—

“Naoya is hated by the ladies of the court. Naoya is hated in his medical reports~” He trills gleefully, darting a hand out and knocking Naoya’s coronet off. “And all the ladies and all the healers, have never seen a cock this short~”

Red face now turning almost…a sickly yellow, Naoya attempts to fist-fight the jester. Though Gojo was far more agile than he looked, and he was dodging each hit with ease.

“Oh—have I offended you, Your Highness? Perhaps a change of pace…” Gojo crows. “For all Naoya hates women, he might as well court men-”

“You- you—”

“Easy, son.” Your father chuckles to himself as well, “You should do good to familiarize yourself with the Princess’s jester if you are to marry her.”

Gojo stutters- and his rhyme pauses. His eyes widen.

You feel the red, red carpet give out beneath you. 

.

.

.

“I simply must…apologize for Sato- my jester, Your Highness.” 

The clinking of silverware fortunately masked the waver in your tone. It was insincere and unapologetic.

Naoya maintains an expression as if he’d just smelled something unpleasant, perhaps as if it was on his very plate. The Prince cuts into his bird with far too much force than necessary, “Apology accepted.” Rather short.

Though you yourself didn’t care—you shoot a look at the ministers that were currently attempting to meld into the royal portraits on the wall. 

With nervous smiles, they urge you to continue.

It was a poor imitation of a romantic dinner - as romantic as a political marriage could get. 

The royal dining room had a table that sprawled nearly from one end-to-end. Polished mahogany. Intricately-carved legs. So thick that they didn’t buckle under the hundreds of dishes piled on top: soups to puddings to heart-shaped wagashi to those you couldn’t even name. Woven in-between were flickering candles and vases of red, red roses—sprouting confessions of love. 

Some of those petals were even scattered across the floor.

Though the dining room could seat about four-hundred guests, right now it only seated him and you. You and your future husband.

Your future husband.

Your future husband.

Your future husband.

It still hadn’t sunk in, and you didn’t want it to.

Zenin Naoya takes a bite of his roasted bird and spits it back out. From his entourage, one of the Zenin ministers darts out with a dish to collect it.

You wrinkle your nose in distaste.

Two courts were watching this fallacy of courtship. 

From your side, it was the entirety of your court save for some of the outer ladies-in-waiting and some gents, and your parents. From his side, it was Naoya’s entire entourage at his every beck, call, and swallow. Just waiting for the opportunity that their beloved Prince didn’t like anything.

Which seemed to be…everything.

You yourself can only pick at the delicacies on your plate - they’d done well to include favorites of both you and His Highness. And yet…

And yet, in the past eighteen years you’ve never sat through a dinner without Gojo at your side. 

Always at your right-hand seat. Always chomping through his dinner with overexaggerated noises that made you laugh, and the ministers grimace.

How could you feel so alone surrounded by so many people, and yet lacking one?

You’re biting back a sigh.

“Pssst.”

Confused, you look up at Naoya- but he seems just as morbidly indulgent in his food as he was before. He was spitting out even more. 

And so you look around—but none of the ministers nor advisors catch your eye, either.

“Psssssst.”

There it was again. Somewhat irritated and feeling your confusion growing - this dinner certainly hadn’t put you in a good mood - you’re about to excuse yourself from this social hostage-situation. Someone must be attempting to make a fool out of you. You’re resting your hands on the polished table and about to push off—

When you feel something…touch your wrist.

You’re about to scream-

“Tamper your screaming, please.” 

Oh, well if they asked so nicely…

Wait-

Who?

Without making too much of a spectacle, you slide your fork off the edge of the table. 

Naoya grumbles at the metallic ringing—and muttering a dainty apology, you’re leaning down to pick it up. Or so it seems. 

Instead, you’re crouching yourself down and lifting the tablecloth ever-so-slightly. It’s a purple velvet, one of the finest in the land, and it opens up to reveal one of the greatest treasures this palace held. At least, in your opinion.

Gojo Satoru brings a finger up to his lips and winks. His make-up crinkling handsomely as he did so, “Do you frequent these parts?”

“I should ask the same from you.” You hiss, glancing around to make sure that no one was looking. “Satoru, what do you think you’re doing-”

“Exercising my culinary skills, my princess.” And he raises up a little velvet packet in one hand, shaking it around tantalizingly. He answers your question before you can voice it, “Just a little horseshoe, just a little wool from Yaga’s sweater, and perhaps the Prince that swallows this shall be a little sweeter~”

Your jaw drops. “You cannot be serious-”

“Never in my life have I been more serious.” Gojo replies solemnly, then with an innocent flutter of his lashes- “Forgive me for not sharing, my princess. But perhaps you would favor it as well?”

“It shan’t suit my palate.” You answer firmly.

“It’s far more palatable than what I did to the wine, trust me.” Gojo smirks.

“You rouge.”

He opens his mouth as if to say something more, but Naoya’s tone grates through the little bubble of mirth you’d formed—in less than a minute, no less. “Wife- wife.”

You and Gojo stare at one another in shock.

Wife?

One of your ministers coughs pointedly, and with a final glance at Gojo, you’re straightening in your chair. “Were you perhaps addressing…me, Your Highness?” And any smart man would have quickly backtracked at this opportunity to change their answer. 

But you never claimed that Zenin Naoya was particularly smart. “My eyes don’t perceive any other woman here?” He scoffs, taking a bite of a chicken leg and then immediately spitting it out—“As for the engagement plans- eugh.”

You’re biting back a laugh as he drags out a string - seemingly from a wool…sweater…of Yaga’s - from his mouth and looks at his ministers in bewilderment. 

“Th-the chef must have been in a state of pioneering.” You cough out.

Another bite he takes.

And another wad of wool he spits out. 

You bring a hand up to your lips, “Perhaps you should wash it down with the wine, Your Highness? It had been brewed specifically for this occasion.”

And so he does - eyeing you all the while.

Naoya takes a big swig of his goblet and—shrieks as he finds half of a shoe inside. 

One of Gojo’s very own.

That shriek is loud enough to make the walls of the dining chamber rattle; and Gojo shoots out from the side of the dining table, unable to keep his laughter in control, and dances away. “Twiddle dee, twiddle doo—Naoya coughed up a shoe~” Those double doors are still swinging as it sinks in what just happened- and your ministers and guards take a menacing step towards where the colorful intruder had disappeared. 

You raise your hand to signal them to halt.

“This insolent—” Naoya was spitting with fury- unable to even formulate words. His mouth is a downturned slash, and he shoves the plate off the table. It shatters vociferously.

You notice that he’s turned a little green in the way he only seemed to do when Gojo was nearby. “My first order as King shall be to rid this incompetent kitchen-” He spits. “-and that godforsaken jester-”

Your fork clatters to the floor once again. “What’s wrong with Satoru?” You didn’t care if you sounded rather too offended by such a question. “Is it the practical jokes? I shall request that he ceases such-”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Naoya cackles to himself. “Woman, what is there not wrong about that goddamn fool? He’s- he’s—a fool.”

“For that is his duty, is it not?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“I suppose.” Naoya leans back in his chair, “But his duty is to the crown, and when I am King-”

“His duty is to me.” Before you know it, you’re standing. You’re breathing hard. You’re ignoring the ministers that attempt to hold you back. “He’s my best fri—jester.”

And you repeat…though you don’t know whether it’s more for yourself, Naoya, or the boy with the blue eyes that was once underneath the table.

“He’s mine.”

Those words fall like the blade of a guillotine. 

Naoya’s eyes were spitting fire. “He’s…yours, is it?” He throws his cape back and stands, “Your Highness…I fail to understand why you entangle yourself with a mere jester?” Though the sentence itself wasn’t one particularly barbed, his distaste bled through every syllable. 

“He- he is my best friend-”

“He is a jester.” Naoya says with a tone of finality. He pushes back, letting the chair clutter behind him- the brings up a palm to stop his ministers from righting it. “And a jester can never be anything to a princess. Never.”

Those footsteps of his resound louder than your heartbeat. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

On the way to making his exit, he stops before the entrance and speaks. “We are to be engaged in six moons, and when you are my wife, I expect you to act like one.” Naoya’s gaze is deadly as he grips the door open, “My family earned our titles bringing down entire households- a mere jester is nothing to me.”

Another guillotine: this time, it’s the closing of the dining room doors.

“Your Highness-”

But you’re following Naoya out, and tears burn behind your eyes.

Just as luck - or perhaps fate - would have it, who else had been standing behind the doors listening to every word? None other than Gojo Satoru. 

Though his face is downturned, and you can’t make out his expression, your heart soars at the sight of him. He’s pressed against one of the walls closest to the doors, and he clenches his fists at his sides. And you’re just about to reach out- to tell him that Naoya’s words didn’t matter- to tell him that Naoya didn’t matter—

But before you could, Gojo sharply turns to you and bows. Those bells atop his hat jingle as he does so, and he stays bowed as he asks, “This fool begs to be dismissed, Your Highness?”

Your Highness? “You…you may…” Your brows furrow, fingers trembling towards him. “But Satoru-”

And yet, he’s gone.

And you didn’t get a single look at his expression.

You wondered what you would see. You wondered what you would be hoping to see.

But no matter what it was, you knew that all you wanted to see - whether anger or mirth or irritation - was Gojo himself. 

Your engagement was in six moons.

.

.

.

To your dismay, Gojo Satoru was avoiding you.

You should have realized that something was off that moment after the disastrous dinner—or perhaps when he didn’t join you to sleep, or perhaps when he hadn’t joined court in the following days. According to one of the palace staff, the jester was ill, but every attempt at a visit to his quarters ended up with you being rebuffed or diverted.

And how many opportunities for diversion there were.

The palace was a-flush with florists, and bakers, and candle-makers, and mask-designers—and orchestras upon orchestras practising for your engagement waltz. 

One of those times you’d been dragged away to floral-picking for the grand engagement ball - the one that would announce your union to the entire kingdom. Another time it had been to pose for a portrait with Naoya (a particularly taxing endeavour). And another time it was to pick out the colors for your mask- this was to be an extravagant masquerade ball after all. And another time it had been to get fitted for the ballgown you’d be wearing for the night—like exactly right now.

This time, you’d gotten just past the guards stationed upon either side of Gojo’s chambers (both on his word, and to prevent the Princess from getting into any…scandalous affairs before the engagement).

And you’d cracked open the door - ever-so-slightly - only to find that what was inside…made you halt.

Gojo’s room was completely and utterly empty.

Not just of himself, but of his literature books, his shoes, his bells, his flower vases. Anything and everything that made the chamber so utterly Gojo’s, was gone. Even the braid of friendship you wove for him when you were twelve - that he kept at the very top of his jewelry box - and the flower crowns you made for him that he dried and hung from his windows—you made them rather often, before…Naoya. 

He had intruded upon your idle dance between love and friendship - and you were still feeling bitter and confused as Utahime fitted you. As she wound up the hip springs of your corset- and tightened, and tightened—

“I just fail- hah, fail to understand.” You’re muttering, slightly out-of-breath.

Utahime looks up from the knots of your corset, “Your Highness?”

The royal tailor had just stepped out to aid in bringing the imported silk and cloth of gold up to your bed chambers, and in the meantime your attendants were helping tighten your numerous layers underneath. Your ballgown - engagement dress, more precisely - would be fitted on top of the base linen undergarments and the crinolines. 

Tonight, you will be engaged.

And to a man that has never made you laugh once-

“Your Highness?” Utahime repeats, snapping you out of your little reverie.

“Oh- forgive me.” You nod at her in acknowledgment. “What I meant to say was, I just fail to understand what he’s thinking.”

She nods back - you didn’t have to specify who. “It is precisely as I have told you, Your Highness.” Utahime tightens a few more knots- knocks a few more breaths out of you. “That ol’ nuisance has not a single thought in his mind. You must not worry yourself too much about him.”

“Oh, but Utahime…how can I not?” You’re sure the flurry of other attendants surrounding you were listening in - smoothing down your layers, preparing your jewelry. But you didn’t care at the moment, if you did say so yourself. 

“I believe it is just a little ailment, Your Highness. I fear I am not blessed enough for such a thing to prove fatal to that jester-”

You gulp. “I believe Satoru may be avoiding me.”

At that, even Utahime’s brows furrow. “Pardon?”

“His chambers have been emptied of even the flower crowns, and I haven’t even the faintest glimpse of him these past few days.” Speaking these words aloud seems to make them too real. “I believe I told you of how he overheard the conversation between Naoya and I?”

Utahime nods.

“Naoya had uttered some things- balderdash, if you ask me—” Your fists threaten to clench, but two attendants were working on your nails. Another was double-checking the measurements for your mask. Mask. “Yet I fear Satoru may have misconstrued some things…and I haven’t laid eyes on him ever since.”

There’s a silence.

Her fingers finish their final knot.

And then Utahime stands to look you squarely in the eyes. “This is Gojo Satoru we speak of, is it not?”

Slowly, unsure of where this was going, you nod.

“Then you have naught to worry about, Your Highness.” She flashes you such a beautiful smile, looking over your corset for imperfections - of course, there were none. “It is most likely that he’s skulking about these palace walls, looking for a minister to scare or a prince to embarrass.”

You’re letting out a soft huff of laughter.

“Or even…a princess to adore.”

Your eyes widen- and you’re snapping your gaze to hers. There’s a knowing expression that Utahime wears - one she often gets whenever she notices Gojo hiding in your room, or watches the two of you sneak out during royal balls. 

This one, in particular, was about to be the most crowded and convoluted yet. 

And you’re meeting her smile, eventually. “I thank you, Utahime…” You then look down as you hear the doors of the dressing room fly open, “But adoration cannot stop a royal engagement.”

Three sharp claps sound as the tailor gets the attention of your attendants. 

“That will be all, ladies. Thank you.” And his own attendants and apprentices flood the room to take over the fitting stage—Utahime squeezes your shoulder as she leaves.

Though she doesn’t reach her bed chambers for a much-needed rest, as she might have wanted to. Instead, she’s halting right outside the entrance-

“You.”

And making sure you were occupied by the tailoring, Gojo bows dramatically. Holding his little bells so they don’t jingle- “At your service, Madam Sour-face.”

“Cease it.”

“No, I said Sour-face-”

“Forget it.” Utahime could feel a migraine coming on already at the mere sight of his impish grin. 

“Sour-face Utahime with her pressure so high, one more joke and she’ll make me cry~”

Why - oh why - couldn’t the universe take as kindly to her and forbid her from seeing this man, too? She continues, “First, enlighten me as to why you’ve been giving Her Highness the cut?”

A too-innocent expression crosses his face. “Pardon? I fear I have no recollection of ever-”

“I will kill you with my bare hands and feel no ounce of guilt.”

Gojo clicks his jaw shut.

“I…” And it’s under the pressure of her unwavering glare that he finally cracks- letting out a deep sigh and dropping his head. “I plan to leave the palace.”

“Pardon?” Even she sounds utterly shocked. “When-”

“Tonight.” Gojo has never sounded more serious to her. “I have spent the past few days gathering my possessions, everything…she gifted me. As the ball starts tonight, I shall take my leave.”

“But your duties-”

“I have informed His Majesty of my decision. It seems though he shall miss the rhymes, he is keen for an amicable marriage between Her Highness and Prince Naoya. A jester can be replaced, trust in a marriage cannot—especially not one of political nature.” Utahime is almost shocked at this simple foresight, but then again- everyone always did underestimate the fool.

She watches his reaction, “And…the Princess?”

Which seems to make him flinch - as though struck. Perhaps a part of him was. “…I shall leave her a letter before I depart. Her Highness does not deserve to see such cowardice-”

“And yet you still remain.” Utahime’s words make his blue eyes snap to hers. She crosses her arms in front of her, and lets a smug smile take over her lips. “For what reason were you spying outside Her Highness’s fitting, if not to see her?”

“I—” He takes a desperate step closer. “It was simply in passing-”

“For what reason did you empty your bedroom of the flower crowns Her Highness made especially for you? Surely they shan’t prove themselves too useful on the road?”

Gojo’s eyes widened. “I…the memories-”

“For what reason have you waited until the last minute to leave? Until the last minute she shall not be yours, and yours only?”

He snarls, “She was never mine.”

“Because you believe the Princess does not deserve to base herself- being the lover of a fool yes?” When Gojo does not answer, she continues. “The fool seems to believe he knows what the Princess deserves. But does the fool know what he deserves?”

There’s a prolonged silence—of which is only punctured by the awed gasps from inside the dressing room, as the tailor and his apprentices comment on your beauty.

Gojo has the sudden, mad thought to open those doors just a little wider and see you for himself. Just one last time.

One last time.

What was he thinking?

He laughs to himself bitterly, “A jester can never be anything to a princess. Never.” 

“But a princess can be everything to a jester, yes?” Utahime asks. “More importantly- who are we to dictate what a person is to another person?”

The answer was as obvious as it was painful.

Gojo Satoru loved you. 

Loves you.

Something of it must show on his face, because Utahime throws him a pitiful look she’s never shared before—“You may leave if you please, I shan’t stop you.” And then she reaches out and presses a hand against the doors- they part, unlocked. “But if you wish to stay and stop acting a-fool…then follow me.”

She brushes past him.

Meanwhile Gojo looks inside and catches a glimpse of you - and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. 

He runs after Utahime, bells jingling.

.

.

.

“You look…”

“How odd.”

“How startling.”

“What a change!”

Utahime crinkles her nose, “The only thing this proves is that your face is more tolerable when it is covered.” She turns to the brown-haired woman next to her, “And that my Shoko is a goddess when it comes to handiwork.”

Shoko smiles sweetly, “I have much practice making death masks.”

“I’ll say.”

As the other few attendants pendulate between laughing to themselves, and admiring Shoko’s quick work - she’d been requested just a few hours before to make a mask befitting a royal ball, and she’d finished it just in time - Gojo leans closer to the mirror. 

He reaches his trembling fingers up to touch his face, “This is surely…me?”

“Unfortunately.” Utahime sighs, and she gets elbowed by Miwa.

Utahime had gathered the most trust-worthy attendants she led: Miwa, Momo, and Kugisaki from tailoring. Along with the impeccable royal healer, Shoko, who she knew would be the only one that would be able to create a mask for the ball with her expert hands. And they’d gotten to work fixing up perhaps their most difficult case yet—none other than Gojo Satoru.

The royal jester was rather fussy at first- insisting that the powder puffs and cloth wipes tickled. 

Before Utahime put her foot down and announced that they weren’t going to present a ‘half-assed’ (forgive her language) marriage-wrecker to the Princess just yet.

That reminder of you kept him quiet for the rest of the make-over.

And Kugisaki had even commented, “Perhaps we ought to invoke the Princess’s name every time we need to keep the jester in line?”

“Do not tempt me.” Utahime had replied. 

Gojo had shuddered.

But it really was true: he sat through the rest of the next hour or two without so much as a single rhyme or peep. 

Not even when they told him to ‘pucker up’ in order to douse him in rouges and lip stains. That likely saved five years from Utahime’s life…

Gojo himself helped them scrub off his stark-white jester’s make-up. The vampiric base. The teardrops of black paint. The red, red lips—a few of his little troupe openly stared as they’d never seen the Princess’s jester without his make-up. 

And Gojo himself knew that he wasn’t all that bad looking - he had noble features. A strong nose. A high set of cheekbones. A pert, pretty mouth that always looked to be on the verge of saying something he shouldn’t.

Or, at least, that was how you described him.

You were the only person that got to see Gojo without his court-deemed make-up; and you always did say he was handsome. To which he’d always bat his long, white lashes dramatically and compose you a sappy sonnet about your eyes. He supposes he knew he was decent, but…handsome? 

He never saw it.

But these girls seemed determined to make him.

Cloudy hair. Delicate features. Blue eyes like a painting.

They replaced his make-up with something simpler. Gone was the cast of white, instead replaced by just a bit of rouge and shimmer. His pale brows were tamed and so was his hair - braided to the side using fragrant rose oils, with a few pieces falling handsomely over his face. All thanks to Momo, of course. 

Kugisaki had dug up something from that ol’ tailor’s trunk—a snow-white cloak and doublet, along with the associated tights he often made fun of. It was a suit fit for a prince. 

And it was exactly the type of suit he’d made fun of a prince for.

But here he was now - not a single difference between him and them. Or at least physically.

Gojo’s training sessions with Yaga had kept him fit; and he fit the suit perfectly. His broad shoulders were outlined against the clean cut, and his trim waist fit snugly into those damn tights—even through the suit, it was obvious he was well-built, in a way those baggy jester’s outfits never did show. Polished shoes. Silver buttons. Silver belt. Heavy silver chains and pendants that arrived with the robes. 

He might even have passed for a battle-hardened Prince like this…

Momo helped him into his equally as white gloves - it seems they were sticking to a theme for him. All the better to help his eyes and his crown stand out.

Oh yes…the girls had somehow bribed Yaga into letting them sneak down to the royal treasure. For just a few minutes.

All the spoils of war and generations of wealth—and they’d come out with a crown. 

It was Utahime who’d dug this one out, deciding that that would make him stand out far more than the usual hats. 

Made of pure silver; the design itself was rather simple, or so it seemed at first. Only when one looked closer…when one ventured further…could you see that what seemed like a simple band was actually a wreath of silver branches and floral vines twisted into one, with sapphire-studded flowers blooming along it. One more thing had been taken from the treasury - a signet ring with a ‘G’. 

“It felt proper.” Miwa, who had found the ring, beamed. “Names and titles are lost to time. And though I may not know what the ‘G’ once stood for, at least for tonight, it can mean ‘Gojo’, can it not?”

Gojo felt it getting slid onto his left hand, and he stares at the ring with furrowed brows.

He stares and stares.

He’s never felt more worthy of you.

By the time they had finished, the strings of the orchestra had started playing their opening sequence - the ball was commencing. 

Utahime turns to the rest of them, “We have done well.” Then, ultimately, back to grumble at him. “…You have done well.”

And though Gojo could make up a rhyme to rile her up, though Gojo could comment that they could have done better and bask in the ensuing chaos, though he could do his mask and his mask—

He simply looks at each and every one and smiles. Sincerely. “Thank you.”

They smile tenderly back.

The final component of his outfit for your engagement ball was the mask. Though there was no set theme, Shoko had gone above and beyond to craft his in the shape of the upper-half of a snow leopard’s face. The feline gaze. The sharp ears. The faint outline of rosettes against the white mask. It was mastery. 

Gojo dons it and smiles to himself. He really did feel handsome, as you had always said.

His blue, blue eyes twinkle from behind the mask.

.

.

.

“You look absolutely riveting, Your Highness.”

“I thank you.”

This was a royal ball that looked gilded. There was no other word to describe it—gilded. 

Polished floors. A thrumming orchestra. Golden chandeliers had every single candle lit; and they crept halfway down to the ballroom floor as if gifted from the Sun itself. Just for you. 

And that was in addition to the numerous other decorations that made even the most high-titled of guests gape in awe: the shimmering fountains that looked as if they were sprouting liquid gold, golden-dipped gardenias wreathed around the hallway, and the long table of foods were most lovely. All sorts of sweets and champagnes in honor of the union.

Guests upon guests upon guests being announced as they entered. They were dressed to impress, and there were more aristocrats gathered for this one ball than you’d seen in your entire life, perhaps. 

Had Gojo been here with you, then you two would’ve had the most amusing time coming up with stories for each one. 

There was Sir Gakuganji who held a secret liking for abstract dancing, here was Lord Todo whose son had fallen in love with a thousand-year-old portrait. No one would be spared. The two of you would have tucked yourself into some alcove and watched as the lavishments flew by, and when everyone was appropriately drunk you’d sneak out to the stables or to star-gaze. 

Your heart clenches.

Satoru…

You attempt to shake your head free of him.

It most certainly was a beautiful ball. And if you imagined that this was one of no particular purpose, then you really could see it. 

The ball was decorated to match your dress, you see.

Floor-length silk. Gold-threaded bodice. 

Celestial layers upon layers.

Your uppermost skirts had gold dusting atop it; and they dazzled as you floated across the ballroom. 

Your attendants had decided that going for a more simple look with the jewelry was appropriate - it would accentuate the simple gold circlet atop your head. A single sapphire embedded into the middle of it. 

Naoya had sneered at the choice, of course. When doesn’t he? But this time, he was particularly offended at the presence of a sapphire rather than the Zenin family’s signature blood-red rubies.

You refused to make your attendants change it. You donned your cat-like mask with pride. 

Perhaps that’s why he seemed keen on ignoring you in favor of a group of other beautiful court ladies in attendance—though you honestly couldn’t imagine anything different happening had the two of you been married, as well. You sighed inwardly.

You’re nodding in acknowledgement as Prince Okkotsu Yuta nears with a man beside him. 

He looked older - about your father’s age, if not a few years older. Tall. Toned - in the way of someone that had one been corded with muscle, but had since lost it to age. Bearing an ice-white beard and a row of silver medals proudly lining his chest—he stands before you in his off-white uniform and bows. It was obvious that the man was rather handsome, drawing eyes from around the ballroom. 

But what catches your eye the most were his eyes.

Summer-sky blue eyes.

They reminded you of—

“My uncle, Michizane, Your Highness.” Yuta introduces him. “This is his first time in the palace since…”

Your voice drops into something hushed. “I understand.” Turning to the general, you’re half-bowing once more. “I am rejoiced to welcome you into my home, any troubles that we may have had in the past-”

“Have naught to do with the present, Your Highness.” Michizane graciously nods at you. “And most certainly have naught to do with the beloved princess.”

You manage a smile.

“And if you can excuse my being so impudent…it is precisely what I sought this occasion for, Your Highness.” He looks over the bustling crowd, now getting ready to waltz- and seemingly catches the eye of your father. Your father who now looked as though he’d just seen a walking dead man. “I hope to bury the misunderstandings between my family and your father, and understand what happened to my younger brother and his family. It had proved itself to be both a blessing and a curse that I had been on an excursion during those troubled times. And I seek a resolution for the sake of my inner peace, if nothing else.”

You’re nodding in agreement. “It is most tragic what happened. For the sake of borders…nothing is worth so much. And I cannot ask for your mercy enough-”

“It is not something I shall ever be able to forgive. But you are not at fault, dear princess.” Michizane smiles conclusively, but not unkindly. 

“And yet, I have been wracked with guilt ever since.” You ultimately reply. 

Though you hadn’t met Michizane previously, you had learned that the history between your families was a long and bloody one. His family had been of a royal bloodline, of kingdoms now lost and eviscerated into neighboring ones - including yours. And you knew it was partly the fault of your kingdom. And although royal tutors justified and justified away your father’s actions—you could see past them

“Perhaps…” Michizane is the one to break through your whirlwind of thoughts. He reaches his gloved hand out, a silver signet ring on his middle finger. “-a dance to commence the burying of our animosity?”

“But of course.”

As the orchestra starts up a lively tune, Michizane whisks you away onto the dance floor. Much to the horror of some of your elderly ministers, of course, who gaped at the mere presence of the man.

And at the fact that your first dance wasn’t with the Prince.

But laughter bubbles to your throat as Michizane twirls and swirls you—sways you smoothly around and around the dance floor. He was one of the best dancers you’ve ever encountered, and you’re smiling appreciatively at him once the song comes to a close.

From the corner of your vision, you spot the black-and-red-clad Naoya storming his way over to you. And you hurry to beg a second dance when-

A title is announced - louder than all the rest. 

A prince.

Prince…you don’t hear the name.

But you don’t need it. 

Because you’re looking up at the grand staircase from which guests made their entrance, hand-in-hand with their partners or followed by their entourages. This one had neither. This one was one of the most beautiful men you think you’ve ever seen.

He looked like something from a story.

Snow-white mask. Snow-white suit. He was tall and clearly toned - but there was something in his demeanor that made him seem almost…dainty. He gripped the balustrade of the landing and looked over the glistening ball- barely even breathing, it seemed like. And he looked content to remain there in awe, before the chief butler reading out the named coughs- pointedly.

The man startles.

He looks over at the chief butler, and then nods jerkily to himself. In self-assurance.

Cautiously, he makes his way down to the ball.

And the closer he gets, the more of his details you’re taking in: like the traces of signature silver on his suit, and the way his fingers trembled ever-so-slightly. 

He looked just like the princes you’d read about in fairytales - the ones you imagined as a child before you happened to meet a real-life prince. 

Curls of white could be seen behind that snow leopard mask of his. They contrasted oh-so-beautifully with the blue, blue sapphire atop his crown.

Just like his eyes.

Your breath hitches-

“I believe I may have been monopolizing you, Your Highness.” Michizane whispers as the Prince nears. 

“Pardon?” You look at him- but he merely smiles.

Before you know it, the mysterious guest has neared enough to give the two of you a jerky bow. His tone tremors ever-so-slightly as he asks, “P-permission for the next dance, Your Highness?”

Michizane nods at you reassuringly. 

“I would be delighted.” You breathe, and then he’s taking your hand in his—gently. A touch even softer than the fabric of his tender, tender gloves. 

“I bid you a good evening, Your Highnesses.” Michizane tips his hat, “And do take care of the lovely princess…” Before turning to the younger man…his brows furrow the longer he looks-

But a lady-in-waiting taps Michizane’s arm for a dance—and he’s made to turn away. 

And you’re left alone.

With him.

Naoya stuck with some other lady-in-waiting as you put your hand…tentatively on the other man’s right shoulder. He lets out a shaky breath, as if your mere touch was replenishing his soul—and he doesn’t move away. Then you let your second hand get grasped - gently - in his own. 

Backward with your right foot.

Sideways with your left foot.

Backwards.

Sideways.

Backwards.

Sideways. 

It’s halfway into the song, pressed closed to his thundering chest, that you finally break the silence. “The crown suits you…Satoru.”

Gojo flinches, “You discovered-”

“You did not seriously think you could fool me?” You smile. He mirrors it- albeit sheepishly. “Gojo Satoru, how could I possibly be gulled? You have been my dearest friend since I was eight-”

He twirls you in the middle of the ballroom.

And you continue. “-and the one I hold closest to heart.” Looking deep into his blue, blue eyes.

Gojo sighs, “Words cannot describe how beautiful you are, my princess. The least this fool can do is but dress to impress.”

“You look particularly dashing this evening as well, Satoru. You always do.” Surprise makes his lips part—and you’re leaning in. Though they do not touch, you hear gasps from the onlookers. “You look like a Prince.”

“And you look like my dreams.”

The two of you dance for a second song, and a third, and a fourth. Without letting Naoya gain any entryway between you two - that non-existent space - you two dance the night away—dizzy with nothing but the proximity.

The realization that you could be so…close as long as no one found out. That you couldn’t be closer.

That you could.

That you needed to.

By the time that most of the guests had well and thoroughly indulged themselves in the bubbling champagne and wine, the clock had struck midnight—and you and Gojo disappear into the night once no one’s looking. Through the small passageway where the two of you had first met, then up a few flights of staircases, breathless and giddy, you’re lucky there were no guards stationed outside your bed chambers as the ball raged on.

And you’re opening the door and falling into the vast bed with him.

Your hands on his lapels. His hands on your waist.

You’re both letting out synchronized grunts as your back hits the springy mattress, and Gojo’s letting out a scorching breath that fans your face. That sets your skin searing.

“We ought not to…” You whisper- and then you’re pressing your lips down his neck. Illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the windows.

“I am of the same thought.” He responds, in an equally hushed tone - as if anything louder would shatter this fragile dream. It most certainly must be a dream, yes? This was all you’ve ever wanted- and him. “And yet—”

And yet, Gojo places a hand on the back of your neck, and guides your mouth to his. 

He kisses you loooong and deep- and inexperienced. You both are.

You’re chuckling as you tug his lips open with yours - letting Gojo’s sultry tongue slide inside your wet cavern. He drags his tastebuds inside and moans—

And after kissing you and kissing you as if starved for eons—

Until your lips were buzzing.

Until his hot hips were crushing into yours.

—you let your fingers fall to his silver buttons. Rapidly undoing them.

“My princess.” The jester wrenches deep from his chest - guttural and gone. There was a crazed hint in his tone already. “Allow me…”

And before you know it, he guides your hips to rest back on the king-sized mattress. Sapphire eyes boring deeply into yours- Gojo hands you his crown to hold, as he hovers himself down and unravels the first few layers of your gown. 

His fingers are quick- nimble.

And it takes him far shorter an amount of time to rid you down to your undergarments than it takes your careful attendants. Desperate. Depraved. Soon enough, you’re feeling goosebumps prickle across your skin at the bite of cold midnight air; your chemise and undergarments were much too thin.

And soaked. 

Utterly, utterly soaked. 

But Gojo’s face flushes - almost hard enough to warm your skin through sheer proximity. He admires your sopping cunt through your panties, he leans down and presses his nose right where your clit would be. And then he sniffs—

“Fuck.”

He almost jolts. Reaching in and tearing through your undergarments with his teeth. 

“Fuh-fuck.”

The noise that expels from him is almost unbidden- and its primal tone is enough to make your toes curl. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, he stares at your swollen folds. He stares at your glossy slit. 

He stares and stares as slick beads out of you in a pretty stream—and before Gojo’s own mind seems to register, he’s muffling a hot moan between your naked legs. Immediately shoving himself nose-deep.

His chin thwacks! the top of your sopping slit, and his tongue wastes no time darting inwards. 

Your entrance is so wet that he has no trouble easin’ his thick muscle inside- despite its impressive girth. And then immediately zig-zagging his sensual inches fucking in—aaaaaaall along your walls and driving the curvaceous tip of his tongue into every little ridge and cranny. Fat. Trembling with need. 

“Yes, my princess.” Gojo’s managing between husky breaths- each scorched out against where you were most sensitive. “Yes, my princess-”

“S-Satoru—” Your hand’s reaching down to twist your fingers into his snow-white locks. 

You’re giving him a particularly hard pull and he groans-

“My princess…” That ocean gaze of his is half-lidded and hypnotized, flickering right up to bore into your eyes as he gluttonously propels his tongue even deeper. “I cannot live if I do not make you mine.”

Your feet plant on either side of his shoulders- a steadfast pedestal. For you to buck your hips and shove your drivelling cunt against his mouth, “Then what deters you, jester?”

Gojo’s chuckle is dark and deepened with lust. “Nothing, Your Highness.”

He’s moving his tongue in and out of your hole at such a frenzy. 

This was the night of your royal engagement, and you’re here getting eaten out by your jester—

“Does it vex you that this lowborn jester has finally gotten his hands on the princess’s pretty pussy?” He gurgles out into your arching core, the wads of your sap slipping between his lips—and then back out as he licks. “Perhaps not you…but surely those godforsaken ministers that must have hoped for a more…royal touch….”

And licks and licks and licks—“Y-you keep running that mouth, Sato-”

“Jester, remember?” He grins. “Pray tell, Your Highness, am I the first?”

He must know the answer. He surely must- he’s been at your side for the past eighteen years…and you yourself were aware that you were his first, too. 

Yet you find your lips moving before your mind does. And you whimper, “Y-yes…”

“Pardon, my princess?”

“Yes-”

Gojo drags the doughy patches of his fingertips across your clit.

“Then you grant this lowly fool the deepest and most precious honor.”

It was an honor. 

An honor to eat your pretty core—to press his puckered lips against your folds in such a sensual kiss- one that would make even the most scandalous of court ladies faint. To part those tender pussylips and dive his tongue inside- every single inch that thrusts away at a vigorous pace. Stuffing you from the hilt of his tastebuds, to that flexible tip that swirled to n’ fro- 

Gojo had his face pressed up so closely - so deeeeep - that parts of his features were rubbin’ red. Covered in slick. Dripping with it. 

And yet he was only scouring deeper- deeper- fucking deeper until your pelvis was crushed against his hungry maw. Crushed. “And this fool is grateful- so very, utterly grateful.” His tastebuds were going in nearly till those sweetened soft spots you loved so much in those solitary moments in the privacy of your baths, yet he flares his tongue till he’s stretchin’ you out even more. “I shall do anything for you, my princess- anything—I live to serve you-”

Gojo’s honed canines nip at your clit.

“And this pussy.”

And serving you, he is. 

With every fibre of his being. With every part of him that could reach you—he’s eating you out like such an animal, as if he was going fucking frenzied on your cunt. 

The tip of his nose massaging your clit. That left hand of his fastening to your waist and dragging you right back n’ forth even deeper. 

“And th-this fool deserves not such a privilege-” He whispers, mostly to himself. Though his wide, lust-glazed eyes maintain contact with yours, “This fool deserves nothing. And yet…yet, I care not if they happened to enter this chamber right now- I would gladly get thrown in the gallows for this greed, for a second taste.” 

Wide-eyed - almost crazed - he tugs his wet tongue uuuuup the middle of your slit, and almost up to your navel. “In fact, I beg of it.”

And his other hand…

Oh, Gojo’s other set of fingers smear the puddle of slick that spreads from your core- all along your inner thighs and making its way down your calves. He collects it all.

Every single drop.

And then, like the most precious of mead, he brings those wettened fingertips up to his mouth and sucks. Savors. Gojo’s eyes flutter closed and his Adam’s apple bobs with ecstasy - “She tastes like she yearns for more.” 

“You understand?” You’re asking, half-bemused.

“I speak seven languages, Your Highness.” Gojo replies, “One of which is pussy—” Then with his flattened tongue, he laps up the rest of the satiny ribbons escaping you- before flicking his eyes to the mountain of pillows piled behind you. “My princess, might I request that you procure a little treasure I have left underneath your favorite pillow?”

“A little treasure…?” Almost dazed, you reach underneath and your fist closes around something soft and bell-decorated. One of his jester’s hats. 

“A long, long night beside the princess left this poor fool forgetting—the hat bestowed upon me by the princess, I should be getting~” Gojo trills- whilst he still lavishes his heated, horny lips across your swollen cunt. “But if the princess puts it upon my head, she can be as pushy- as she wishes as I eat this royal pussy~”

Your jester is speaking rhymes between your legs?

“Oh, sometimes your mouth is overworked.” You’re harrumphing at the overjoyed jester - once you’re unceremoniously dumping the cap n’ bell onto Gojo’s head.

Grinning, he bites down on the expensive tip of his right glove and tugs it off. 

He makes quick work fastening that behind his ears, before nudging your hands to grasp onto the floppy ‘ears’ on top. Your sole source of balance as he leans in and eases one of his long fingers inside- then two—then teasin’ a third.

As he shovels in oblong inches into your sopping cunt, pushin’ apart your tender folds and letting his padded tips find their way inside. And inside.

In and out.

“Please-” You breathe heavily as he quickens the pace after a few squelching thrusts. His middle finger was the longest, and it was spreading you apart the deepest—fuck, it was just so soft inside. So welcoming. So tight that you were clenchin’ around him almost hard enough to make his poor digits snap- and the mere thought makes Gojo hard enough in his trousers that he wants to cream them right away-

You’re clamoring onto your elbows suddenly, “Y-you cannot be serious, Satoru…”

Oh, had he said that out loud? It seems he’d said that out loud. And yet, without even a hint of regret in his grin- Gojo hums. “A jester shan’t ever lie to his princess.” Those kiss-bitten lips of his purse with a wad of spittle that lands gently between your pussylips, “Or his pussy.”

“Your pussy?” You ask- before the breath’s suddenly knocked out of you as he starts driving a third finger in this time. Properly.

Stretching you out to the maaaaaximum. 

The globular ends of his fingers edging in, in, in—he doesn’t just remain pistoning them vertically. Gojo’s rude in the sense that he’s hooking them right below where you needed him the most.

Throbbing, thumping; your g-spot was most certainly aching for him.

But that was exactly the problem- and Gojo’s smile grows wicked as he keeps thrusting his three fingers into your cunt. “J-just the slightest bit…fuck, to the left, jester.”

“If the princess may still utter a sentence, then this poor jester must go harder on her entrance~” He croons. Swabbin’ into every good spot except for that one - your favorite - he suckles on your sensitive nub. “What deters you from claiming what you seek, hm? Use me, Your Highness.”

Your teary eyes snap open. When had you even closed them? “Use?”

“Use me.” Less of a demand- more of a live-saving plea. Gojo was so far gone by this point that his hardened hips were ruttin’ against the luxurious mattress with every swipe of his tongue, “Claim what you wish. Use me- use me—”

And as he wishes, you’re lightly tugging on the points of his jester hat to keep him pressed against you-

But that wasn’t enough for him.

“I beg of you—this lowly fool begs…” As his right hand shapes out the tight, tight channel of your cunt - Gojo reaches his other hand up to grasp your own- to make you clutch his cap n’ bells even tighter. Hard enough for his fingernails to leave marks- and he needs you to be just as rough. “Fucking use me like the princess you are. The princess that saved me.” 

He ruts even more suddenly- he must be painfully hard now. 

“Claim my lips. Claim my tongue- claim every fibre of my being to be used by you…” A low snarl snatches from the back of his throat. “-just claim me as yours, as I have claimed you, my princess.”

And then you’re knocking that stupid little hat off his head- and fisting your hands in his hair once more to crush Gojo’s pretty, pink lips against your cunt. Arching off the mattress, you were just bucking and bucking your treacly pussy all over his face.

Stringing yourself through the shockwaves of pleasure that kept pouring up your legs - like warm water. Gojo was just salivating in-between them.

He doesn’t even have the time to breathe—and you’re getting the distinct feeling that he didn’t want to. Couldn’t even make himself think of anything else but dragging four - now four - fingers between those swollen-shut lips and thud-thud-thudding into your g-spot. “Good princess.” He hisses between clenched teeth, “Gooooood princess-”

“Keep quiet, jester.” You’re feeling yourself get slowly overcome by primal desperation. 

“As you wish, mistress~” And Gojo’s never been happier- lashing and lashing those ridged tastebuds inside until your walls buzzed with the texture. “Mmmm.”

And soon enough, you’re feeling your legs start to twitch- in the way they did whenever you had your fingers stuffed deep in the baths- “Oh.” By this point, Gojo was aiming to intrude four fingers and his slippery tongue between your pussylips. 

Swirlin’ and swirlin’ it—tap-tap-tapping it over that first tight ring of muscle. 

His greed sickened you- and made you even wetter. And with a forceful tug of those angelic strands of his, you’re staring deep into Gojo’s eyes - fluttering desperately as he fights not to detach himself with your wet pussy. He doesn’t.

And he’s accelerating his fingers hitting the bullseye—

“I-I feel I shan’t last very long, Sato- jester.” You’re hissing, eyes threatening to shut as the white-hot pleasure keeps wracking through you.

With his spit-glossed lips wrapped around your clit, he hums. “Mmm?”

“Oh.” You hunch into him. “Repeat that.”

“Mmmmm—” Gojo elongates his nearly-feline rumbles, and then his lips quirk up- into a grin you recognize as being a signature of when he gets a devious idea. 

One sure to ruin courts and leave you amused - though you’re sure that you’re the sole one being ruined right now. 

He’s nuzzling his face ever-deeper against your cunt, then muffles out an entire sentence - what you assume to be a rhyme - whilst he keeps his mouth sucklin’ on your clit. Making the sensitive bursts of pleasure explode twofold behind your eyes- you’re seeing stars as he repeats it—again, and again, and again and again and again—

Gojo often did love repeating a joke if it managed to make you laugh exceptionally hard.

However, now you were all but crying out for mercy. Your chin trembles as you keen out Gojo’s name in a lingering echo, “I-I really shan’t- oh…” No matter how many years of royal diction or elocution you’ve endured, it couldn’t mask the way your voice cracks on the tail end of your sentence. 

Almost pathetically so.

And soon enough, Gojo’s finding his witty mouth stuffed full- fucking you through your high.

Tongue flicking in and out. Teeth grazing over your clit. 

He alternates between letting his tastebuds enter your pussy as well—and then letting his doughy digit take over as he suckles on your clit. Like the sweetest thing in the world. “Mmmm.” Repeating his little rhymes over and over- interrupted only by the noisy slurps! of him sucking on your nub- and the embarrassing little whimpers as he was wrenched by you.

Side-to-side. Up and down.

You’re moving him wheeeeeerever you wanted- and he was in heaven as pain sears from his scalp.

You grip onto his braid, and another lock of his hair, as handlebars to prolong your wave of pleasure. The bliss stabs through you white-hot as he presses deeeep into your g-spot. “I haven’t felt anything like this- hah, before, Satoru…”

“Your jester aims to please.”

Your orgasm makes you shiver. It rattles past your walls - where the pounding was most prevalent - and then up your spine to make your head pound with pleasure—the curling of your toes, the fluttering of your lashes, the way you’re letting escape the sweetest soft moans; sweeter than any orchestra downstairs. Gojo memorizes it all. 

Through peak after peak.

Through thrust after thrust.

And as the crescendo comes to a close, he parts with your pussy—a pointed squelch! emanates from the connection. “Though the back of this Princess’s pussy I did knock, Her Royal Highness still yearns for the jester’s cock~”

Your mouth gapes, “Do not tell me that was the rhyme you have been repeating this entire time?”

“As you wish, I shan’t.” He grins. And then Gojo’s raising himself to his haunches- shrugging off his cloaks and his coats. “Perhaps another? From all the princes and lords to pick, our beloved Princess yearned for the jester’s di-”

“Another word and you shall be turned out.” You warn him, albeit half-heartedly.

“Now that doesn’t rhyme, Your Highness.” Gojo faux-pouts. With a few more tugs and pulls - he really didn’t understand how you aristocrats wore this on every occasion - he’s ridding himself of his upper garments and his trousers. 

Though you’ve seen the royal jester shirtless time and time again, his perfectly-toned body made your eyes bulge. 

And then finally the linen undergarments that presented him—Gojo Satoru’s long cock, hot and rock-hard.

He was engorged till he looked fit to burst - with his mushroom-curved tip blushin’ an angry red, and his veins popping out down his shaft. So prominent that you could almost count every throb-throb-throb!

Gojo’s tip glistens wetly with precum, capping the top of his cock and just oozing like a lacquer down every inch. Almost eight inches, if you’re mentally counting correctly. 

He wraps a single hand around his thickened base- rustling the soft curls decorating his pelvis. Spreading out in an alluring pattern—Gojo then uses his other hand to nudge your thighs apart. Hamstrings stretching. Toes curling. Making sure they’re pinned to the springy mattress before he inches his red-hot cock closer. 

There’s a resounding squeeeeelch! as he smears the very first, readied inch down your opening crevice. 

“Easy there, Your Highness.” Gojo’s breath hatches with a moan. “Easy- hah…”

“I am no steed, Satoru.”

“You speak the truth, my princess.” He shoots you a ravishing smile- hungry. He really did look ready to eat you. Ready to shovel his entire length in.

Ready to break—himself. Fuck.

He was breaking himself. 

A mere few inches are entering past that first ring of muscle-

And you’re arching your back into his chiselled chest. “Oh h-heavens…” It leaves you and mixes with the broken grunts n’ gruffs that were leaving Gojo just as equally, just as desperately, as he keeps your hips pushed into the bed and siiiiinks his cylindrical length inside. 

It’s like nothing your royal tutors had lectured you upon - down to the fact that all those awkward anatomical lessons were for your wedding night with a prince, no less. 

You feel a pearl of red escape you—and you embrace him with weakened limbs. “Satoru-”

“H-heaven is correct.” Gojo hiccups out. Was he still stuck on that you’d uttered earlier- had he even heard anything more? And were there…tears twinkling at the edges of his lashes? 

Before you can finalize an answer, you’re mewling at the slight resistance of your cunt. Gojo’s cock was oh-so-girthy—more than you might have expected, and seemed to be throbbing even bigger with every second he was mazin’ himself inside you.

And he feels the shift immediately- he’s affected by it immediately.

His handsome jaw grits. His chest caves with a sudden groan. He turns his half-lidded eyes downwards, and using both overlarge hands he grips each of your asscheeks. 

Those pretty, princely features of his twist into something agonized- as Gojo arches his sculptured back and drives his cock inside. “Please-” Your best friend pants out. “Please, please, please, please—h-haven’t I served you well, Your Highness?”

“You would be correct…?” You’re answering him- head foggy because of the sudden flurry of semi-thrusts.

In and out. In and out. He was buried just a few inches past his sensitive slit - and the small tremors of your cunt meant that he was thrown to ecstacy every few split-seconds. 

Gojo seemed to be growing longer than you remembered seeing him.

Gojo seemed to be pulsing even thicker-

“Th-then…shan’t this lowly fool be rewarded with a single inch…?” He mumbles- sounding utterly drunk. And it wasn’t just his slurring tone and his tapering sentences that gave you that impression - but Gojo had his face pressed into the crook of your neck, and his hot tongue gliiiiiding up your sweaty neck. “A mere inch, my princess-”

You buck- and even that seemed far too much for the pussydrunken jester.

For he’s digging his crescent-shaped nails into your soft flesh and dragging you back into him - hitting his hips with a resounding thwack! “No- no, please don’t leave, Your Highness.” He begs—fucking begs. 

“I-I am not—oh.” Another blustering thrust that leaves your deepest innards probed.

“If you wish me to cease- then just say the word. And I shall heed every syllable.” Gojo murmurs, his sapphire eyes threatening to shut with the hypnotic squeeze. With his pure need. With the urge to feel himself from the outside- and considering how big he was, he’s sure he’d manage to. “But please- please, do not leave me. Th-this pussy has been my deepest, darkest desire ever for f-far too long.”

Your eyes widen, “How long…exactly?”

Those plump, rose-pink lips of his graze yours as soft as a feather. “Ever since I knew what it was…and I woke up with quite the ah- rock-hard situation. I had never left your chamber faster, Your Highness- what if the attendants witnessed it?”

You moan as one of his hands lifts off your ass to thumb aside your sultry pussylips. Lovingly full.

“What if they were aware how feverishly I desired you?”

They were just glued with sap- it makes him break off a moan.

“What if- hngh, what if they could see through me—a lowborn mutt- eager to dirty the precious princess?”

Gojo stares so long and lovingly at your slightly-ajar cunt—so lovingly, that his mouth ends up watering. He continues, “To dirty you…to corrupt you.” A stream of spittle leaks from the corner of his lips, and it ends up dapplin’ over your folds. 

“To- hah, fuck you.”

Your jester roves his hips closer - smearing the translucent liquid using his hips. Aaaaaaall over as he nudges and nudges his rounded, reddened tip deeper inside - taking over your cunt little by little. 

Stars flash behind your eyelids, and in that opportunity, Gojo had reached over to take the crown that he’d donned for the ball. Your engagement ball. And he was promptly caressing the top of your scalp with it, placing it atop your beautiful head—you suited his colors. 

Gojo lets out something that sounded more like a prayer: “To fuck you with the crown on, has always been this fool’s most embarrassing wish.”

He’s finally bottoming out.

Finally. And it’s a sensation like none other. 

Gojo’s cock was stretching you out in ways you’ve never felt before; managing to mold your channel to his measurements. And his hammers were just so sensual—slow, semi-thrusts so that he can fit himself inside. “Please-” Inside and inside. “Please, please- this lowly jester knows every secret and preference of yours, my princess.”

Your heels are digging into the gorgeous dimples at the base of his spine. “Yes, oh…”

“Every- single- inch—” And you’re being propelled in short jerks upwards- those ancient royal bedsprings protesting. As much as you were begging for more. Your hands drag down his creamy-white back, leaving bloodied marks- and that only leaves him pulsating even harder inside you. Gojo’s blossomed tip had contentedly filled you up till your cervix - “In ways those ministers would- hah, wring my neck over.”

“I would never let them.” You’re spitting out.

“And yet…” Gojo leans down to whisper. “That only made this fool yearn for it- more-” A few more pressurized thrusts, and every prominent vein of his massages your spots oh-so-perfectly. As he pushes n’ pushes he continues babbling, “Please let it fit inside-” His lips tremble with a whimper. “Please let it fit inside—”

Shock strangles your words, “S-Satoru, you’re already inside.”

“P-pardon?” He almost stutters his hips - before he likely realized that your syrupy-sweet cunt was far too heavenly for him to merely linger. And he’s thrusting away like an animal. 

Nodding, “Satoru, I promise—” Eyes scrunching together at the incredible sensations of him stretchin’ you out, hitting into your every nook, letting his velvety tip glide across your tenderest area - that g-spot. “You’ve succeeded your fantasy.” Your legs tighten around his slender waist, “Promise.”

Gojo’s chin hits his chest.

And he’s staring down at where the two of you glossily connect—“O-oh…” Gojo’s mouth looked so delicious like this - you almost wanted to bite him - as an expression of cute surprise takes over him.

And all of a sudden, it’s as if he’s simply melting…

Into your arms. Into your cunt. Gojo’s honey-dipped tip probes into your cervix, and instead of even ramming away - he’s merely draaaaagging and swirlin’ the bulbous edge of him around. Again and agaaaaain. The texture of his flared ridge was something incredible, and it knocks n’ grinds against hidden spots of nerves. “I finally have you, Your Highness.”

You’re feeling your heart pound at his confession - oh-so-tender. Even when he was fucking you deep into the plush mattress.

“You have never not, my jester.” You’re admitting back up at him.

The most beautiful smile graces his face- and Gojo’s feeling quite unfairly about all this. So he’s slitherin’ his right hand between your legs and spankin’ your neglected clit.

Those slight brushes of his bushy happy trail weren’t enough—now he was twiddling and turning such dizzying patterns atop that sweet, sweet nub. Watching your every minute expression, he hums. “Beautiful through anger, happiness and shock, yet the Princess looks prettiest on my cock~”

“You fiend.” You’re swatting his chest.

Only for him to gather up those weak legs of yours and bend you into a mating press- a mating press. Muscular thighs against your thighs. Your knees against your tits.

Gojo keeps his forehead pressed against yours as he drills away, “Though this lowly fool may be poor with the manners of a pig, aren’t you happy to have a cock that’s actually big~?”

And that…you have to admit that that one actually draws a laugh out of you.

And just as soon as the bubbling noise emerges from your lips- 

Gojo’s body seems to collapse. His hips seem to falter. His cock thunks at the back of your womb, sending your teeth chattering, and lets out a throb-throb so hard that you feel it louder than your own heartbeat.

Your eyes shoot open, “S-Satoru…?”

“I-I am quite alright, Your Highness. Naught to worry about.” Though there was something thoughtful behind his eyes, “It is simply…”

And only after a few more thrusts—after a few more rub-a-dubs of his thumb…fingers now so jittery on your cunt that he’s teasin’ you with his silver signet ring, too.

The smooth metal makes you keen-

“For all the horses and all the men, could not pull the fool out of his princess again.” He near-tentatively utters. It could be heard only slightly above the smacking of skin-on-skin, of his hips practically plastered onto yours, and you can’t help it - you’re startled into a laugh.

“P-pardon?” You speak through both moan n’ giggles. 

“Oh…” Meanwhile, Gojo was absolutely shattering. He was drooling. He was—fuck, he was tearing up. And great globules of tears were hitting the edge of your shoulder.

Gojo’s rubbin’ himself raw- he’s wracking his brain a mile a minute just for a new verse to come up with. 

Something that will make you laugh.

Something that will make you squeeze your tremoring thighs ‘round him. 

Something that will make you clench—and it’s such a startling, tight sensation that damn-near sends him hurtling straight into his high. But he can’t cum before you - of course, he can’t. What good jester possibly ever could? Before his princess no less?

Gojo accelerates his hips until tears start clinging onto his long lashes, and his cocktip starts twitchin’ out of pure oversensitivity.

And so he keeps on repeating—rhyme after rhyme, botched whimper after whimper. Each one more ragged than the last. Your jester was making you whine with laughter as he fucked you- whispering in your ear in aaaaaall the dirty ways one perhaps shouldn’t to a princess.

He fucks you like an animal. 

It’s the final note you’re hearing - ‘—no prettier princess than thee.’ - as your sudden high takes you by surprise. Legs shaking. Back arching. You’re squeezing him tighter than ever as the white-hot pleasure courses through you.

Thrumming your every vessel and vein.

Thrusted deeper into you with every one of his- they seem to burst pretty fireworks inside your now-emptied head. Nothing but lust inside it.

And it doesn’t take much for Gojo to topple into his orgasm, as well. He shakes- he stutters…“C-cumming…” Breathlessly. Large tears were puddlin’ at the crook of your neck, dampening your skin more than your perspiration. “And I cannot think of a more appropriate home.”

“Should you sire an heir, they shall have your head.” You’re whispering to him - a smile on your face.

“But you forevermore have my heart.”

“Rake.”

“For you only, my princess.”

That bawling divot atop his shaft keeps floodin’ out a constant stream of cum—hot-white and lacquering your insides. Every single burst of cum made him twitch- letting out the prettiest erotic whines. “My princess—solely for you.” 

“More.” You murmur gutturally. “More- more.”

“More…deep inside.” Lovingly, he’s patting at your bloated pussy. “Just for my princess.”

Until your walls were almost heavy with the condensation of his sap, and after only a few thrusts of his shaft- it was pouring out of you almost like a waterfall. 

Between the crevice of your puffy pussylips, you feel it drip-drip-dripping out of you. Eventually formulating a little froth of creamy white ‘round Gojo’s swollen base - a few globules that he’s smearing with a thumb and pushing right back into you. A thumb stuck right between your folds. “A-and where do you believe you are putting your hands, Satoru?”

“Simply giving my princess everything she deserves…” He leans down to nibble on your soft ear lobe. “And right on her engagement night, as well.”

You’re moaning as he tugs on your clit a few more times.

“Happy engagement, Your Highness.” The jester speaks, as he fucks his cum into you harder than ever. 

You end up babbling for a few minutes longer, before the sudden sparks of your high start bating- and Gojo himself starts finally slowing his hips down. 

“Mmmm…” You reach up and clasp him by the back of his neck, sweaty, with his hair curled at the name. You whisper into his mouth, “My greatest pleasure, to be engaged to you, Prince Gojo Satoru.”

There’s a long stretch of silence - still thrusting - before he mutters. 

“I really do wish I could marry you…” Summer sky-blue eyes shuttering into the kiss—

“Satoru.”

“—my princess.”

.

.

.

“Zenin Naoya.”

The young man whirls around - and his nose crinkles in distaste as an older man enters the royal guests’ quarters. 

No union had been announced.

The engagement ball had long since ended, and you had even long since disappeared with some prince- some jester, as he had discovered through ballroom gossip. 

The fucking jester.

Naoya knew he should have gutted him after that dinner.

But alas, once he arrived outside your royal bed chambers to finish off the job- he’d been blocked by your personal guards from entering. That damned General Yaga had threatened that a single step closer could constitute an attempt at treason- treason? 

Accusing him of treason? Did he not know who Naoya was?

General Yaga hadn’t budged. And thus, Naoya had no choice left but to retire to his own guest’s quarters. 

Alone and angry until morning arrived. 

He had just settled with the thought of enacting his own taste of justice today- he shall lure some of the ministers to your bed chambers, perhaps falsifying an ailment you’d befallen under, before Gojo can escape. And once they discover that that lowborn jester had sullied the Princess- dungeons it is for the fool.

And oh-so-generous Prince Zenin Naoya shall agree to marry even a ruined maiden. 

Then comes the crown. Then the titles, the land, the power.

The woman shan’t be too bothersome, either, at least you were easy on the eyes. Even if the jester had gotten his hands on you first.

And ah…perhaps he shall throw out this court and your father along with it? That’s if he was in a good mood - and it was the original plan, after all…

Or perhaps he shall stage a coup of which your father had ‘led’ and enact justice as King- yes…a royal hanging should seem righteous enough. The jester shall be first. 

This was justice. 

Naoya had just been in the middle of writing a letter to inform his father of this change of plans, when a knock-knock-knock thundered from the door. The broad, bearded man on the other side of it hadn’t waited for him to answer before coming inside. 

“May I…help you?” He stands. Had this seemed like any old guard or minister, then Naoya would not have hesitated to draw his sword- but this was clearly someone of high status. Of numerous battle accomplishments.

And his eyes dip down to the silver scabbard at his waist…

This was clearly someone potent.

“I have arrived with a proposition.” The bearded man invites himself to sit down on the very chair that Naoya had been at work at.

Naoya’s eyes narrow, “Of what kind? Do I look like an errand boy to-”

“Of the kind I am aware your family is quite expert at.” Those words held such a dark weight to them—and he doesn’t take his eyes off of the Prince for a single second as he utters. “To be frank, I must request the ah…removal of Prince Okkotsu Yuta from the throne.”

That makes the royal straighten. “Find yourself a common mercenary-”

THUNK—!

From underneath his coat, the visitor pulls out a hefty bag - so large that Naoya wonders just how it had remained obscured for this long. There is a weight to it that makes the polished desk rattle, papers flying. There is an overabundance of its contents—so that the burlap rim threatens to burst open.

Naoya gulps as he eyes the - albeit alluring - bag. “D-do you believe the Kingdom of Zenins to have plummeted so far that we hold the need for a single sack of gold?”

The other man chuckles, “Gold?”

And with a single flick at the rim—it’s opening to reveal…sapphires.

A miniature mountain of it.

Such a rare beauty. Naoya had never seen so many in all the treasuries he’d ransacked combined - and his hand it darting out to grasp it—

“This is, of course…merely the advance.” The man places his hand on top of the bag, and slides it discreetly away from the Prince. His fingers twitch towards it, but Naoya can’t do anything with the other man here. “Trust me when I claim that your kingdom will have no shortage of sapphires for the next hundred years. I simply request that you prove your abilities to me.”

That snaps the Prince out of his constant eye-contact with the expensive bag. “Prove?”

His now-client nods. “Prove it. I should hope that the eradication of Prince Yuta shan’t prove too daunting- and for that, I wish to know what other…deeds you have accomplished, Your Highness.”

“The burning of the Inumaki kingdom’s crops.” Naoya immediately blurts out—before he lists off his family’s proud accomplishments as though he was listing off a market list. The other man nods with an unreadable expression. “The…displacement of the Cursed rubies, the demotion of the Ijichi household, the framing and eradication of the Gojo family-”

“Oh?” At that last one, he looks more alert. “Kindly elaborate on that final one, it seems to have ah…piqued my interest.”

Naoya hesitates- before a single glance at the sapphire sack makes him talk once more. “It was prior to my birth, thus the details might not be as adequate. Essentially what happened had to be done- the Gojo royals were advancing their economy in leaps and bounds—far too rapidly, far too soon.”

As he continues, an almost proud smile twitches at his lips. 

“It was ingenious- really.” He hums, “Just a few forged letters, just a single meeting with His Majesty-” Naoya gestures vaguely at this palace. “And he became convinced that the Gojos were planning battle over the borders.”

Naoya spits.

“Borders? Pah- what borders?” He’s pacing now, hands clasped behind his back—back turning to the other man as the Prince stares into the licking fireplace. “Come dawn, the palace was painted in red. Ministers. Mongrels. That King and Queen- the cowards begged for mercy, were you aware?”

Silence stretches.

It seems like an eon passes before the man’s answering - in a rough tone that punctures the silence. “I…I was not aware, no.”

Naoya huffs out haughty laughter.

“And what of their son?”

The Prince looks at the other man over his shoulder, brows pinched in confusion. “They had no son.”

“No.” The sword is pulled out of his scabbard. “They hid Gojo Satoru well.” 

It embeds deeply in the junction between Naoya’s shoulder and his neck—and his scream is silent. Expression twisted into shock as those final words registered - Gojo Satoru. Even in death, he hears his name. 

Much louder than Naoya’s scream was the impact of his cold, dead body hitting the carpeted floor - and almost instantly, Prince Okkotsu Yuta enters the chambers. “I have recorded the confession, uncle, and the troops are storming the Zenin palace as we speak.”

“Good.” Michizane pulls his sword out and watches as blood creates a painting across the brick fireplace and floor. He wipes it off using what would have been Prince Naoya’s engagement robes, and places it back in his scabbard. 

Yuta takes a step closer to offer a clean wipe to his uncle, “Should I summon a court meeting at once?”

“No.” Michizane takes it and dabs at the beads of sweat on his forehead. Then he nods at Yuta to collect the bag of precious sapphires, “I have a far more important affair to attend to.”

.

.

.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!

Both you and Gojo startle awake- and a single glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows reveals sunlight filtering in. A soft breeze rustles the sheer curtains…and Gojo’s beautiful locks right beside you.

It wasn’t the first time that you were waking up next to him.

But it was the first time it was…in such a manner.

You’re tugging on the satin blanket- of which you were wearing nothing underneath. Bare. Barely holding yourself back from him. And Gojo smiles to himself as the thought seems to occur to him, as well, reaching over to kiss you—before wincing at the red, red nail marks that twinged with movement. 

You’re leaning in as well—

But then two things occur to you:

It must have been at least midday.

Someone was at the door.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!

More insistent this time.

The two of you look at each other.

Then at the door.

Then at each other.

Gojo jumps to his feet, throwing off the blankets and attempting to dive underneath your bed- but you’re raising a hand to stop him. Shaking your head imperceptibly. “No…”

“My princess?” Gojo asks.

“I believe there comes a time where one must stop running.” You’re speaking, more to yourself. And in a quick fashion you cross the room to don your satin robe—Gojo manages to bunch up a few blankets that cover his bits. You shake your head and scour for one of his casual night garments from underneath your bed - throwing it at his head.

“For all the princess in the land-”

“Oh, perhaps I ought to hand you to the guards.” The guards that were surely outside. Perhaps waiting to accuse you of treason for shattering the Zenin union. Perhaps ready to embarrass you and your jester in front of the royal courts.

Whatever it shall be - whatever the price may be for loving Gojo Satoru - you’re raising your head high and taking it like a ruler. 

You open the doors, and outside stands…

Michizane?

He looks just as startled as you, though he manages out a rough smile. “May I see the ring?” 

You’re unsure what he means—and you’re considering telling your guards to escort him away, when Michizane peers inside your bedroom and locks eyes with Gojo. Gojo who seems to startle the instant that blue, blue gaze meets his. Perhaps…

And then he’s stepping forwards- pushing the door open ever-so-slightly further open.

And presenting his left hand - with the silver signet ring still upon it. A hollowed gasp leaves the older man, and he’s clasping Gojo’s hand in his own trembling, timid ones—holding it as though it was the most prized treasure in this world. Buried for eons. 

Gojo’s voice sounds scratchy, “I-it is not my possession to don-”

Michizane shakes his head. 

“I believe…” He looks between the two of you, bright eyes twinkling with tears. “-that there is much we need to speak of.”

.

.

.

There was to be a royal wedding.

There was to be a royal wedding.

There was to be a royal wedding.

The union between yourself and the long-lost prince of the Gojo kingdom. 

After Michizane had explained to you both - let alone an astounded court - that he was the uncle of your beloved jester, that he was titled royalty, and that Gojo himself…was the sole survivor of a gruesome attack that the Zenin family had orchestrated…Gojo didn’t believe it. Not at first.

Not that someone knew his life before this life.

Not that someone had come to…save him. Because Michizane didn’t - to Gojo, it had been you. And it forevermore shall be.

But you could see the fearful hope - almost unwelcome on his face - as Michizane explained that he hadn’t known about the status of the Gojo heir, his nephew, before the engagement ball. He was so young, he must have forced himself to forget such a traumatic ordeal. Thus, it had always been assumed that he had perished along with his brother and his wife—though Michizane couldn’t find a small body amongst the carnage. 

And so he had always hoped…always, always…

And it had been the signet ring (looted by the Zenins and gifted to your father, no doubt) that roused his suspicions. Then those eyes. That hair. That smile, like his mother’s.

It had to have been him.

Fearing such an attack, had the late Gojo royals not kept the birth of their son a secret, then his features would have gotten him poisoned before he even stepped foot into the royal court. The cap n’ bells masked more than one would think. 

The scheme to expose the Zenins had been planned beforehand - being the only reason that Michizane even attended the ball in-person. And he’d thought that perhaps finding his late nephew’s look-alike had been a good omen.

Had been…

Oh, he just had to confirm it for himself. Especially after Naoya had affirmed that the Zenin’s hadn’t been aware of any son. 

Michizane could see the Gojo name in the boy. And so he was right. 

Acceptance had taken long hours cooped up in the numerous palace libraries—poring over history books, and rewriting ones that misunderstood.

During this time was when you’d iron-handed your ministers into changing the law that ‘only a prince shall marry a princess’. Of course. 

Long days and longer conversations.

Gojo had finally accepted that he was the sole righteous heir to the throne of Gojo by the time he’d ascended to the throne. It had occurred during a coronation too grand for words - of which you were the honored guest, of course.

Michizane had accumulated vast sapphire mines during his time away, and the Gojo kingdom’s infrastructure was soon able to recuperate their losses. Though not all of it…certainly some wounds would take time.

But the first time that Gojo stepped through those familiar palace walls, he cried as if it were a dream. And he’d said as much—“I had believed it was a dream- oh, I believed this was all a dream. This is my home.” As he embraced you in the middle of the royal lobby, you could agree with the sentiment. “You are my home.”

The first portrait that one saw when they entered the palace - moved by Michizane from Gojo’s former chambers to the main hallways - was one of his mother, his father, and Gojo himself.

Just an infant with bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile.

He had his father’s eyes, but his mother’s smile. 

After Gojo’s crowning, the borders of the Gojo kingdom were reestablished - all territories and citizens that surrounding kingdoms (as well as yours) had absorbed were handed to their rightful ruler.

His kingdom was new…but building. And fast.

Then Gojo had gotten to work helping right all of the Zenins’ wrongs. He aided in expanding the Inumakis’ agricultural lands, he returned the Cursed rubies that had been embedded in Naoya’s coronet to lord Sukuna, he promoted the Ijichi household’s titles twofold. 

And he rebuilt his own family. 

Of course, the Zenins themselves met their rightful fate. Prince Yuta had attacked their palace and numerous fortresses, causing those family members to be impounded. Some fled but were quickly caught—in part due to General Yaga’s tireless assistance. 

Gojo had insisted that the children grow up in his palace. And though you’d been befuddled at first - most certainly you wouldn’t allow them to be hurt…but as for raising them yourselves over placing them in noble homes - you quickly registered that Gojo simply didn’t want history to repeat itself.

Above all, he took in young Fushiguro Megumi as a ward.

The trials for the other family members were currently ongoing.

But, recently, there was a new event that shook your kingdom. 

The wedding. 

Not one of political nature…but rather love. No matter the class, position, or power the two of you held—you would always be his princess, and he your best friend- oh alright…your jester. But solely because Gojo still loved to act a-fool to make you laugh. 

Your father had no choice but to approve your wedding to such a powerful young King. Why would he risk such strong political ties? Why would he risk your abandonment?

Your people throw snow-white petals of gardenia as the wedding carriage passes through the streets- on its way to a honeymoon voyage before setting down in a newly-built palace between his kingdom and yours. Megumi would live there, too, and of course you’d convinced your most-trusted attendants—Utahime and everyone else that had readied Gojo that night of the engagement ball - to reside there, as well. 

Not as servers, but with titles. With General Yaga as your head of guards.

You couldn’t be happier. 

Gojo holds your hand. Wedding band on his left ring finger, the Gojo signet on his middle.  

Faces beamed and cheers soared as you two passed by in your dream-like carriage—upon a cloud. And though the kingdom had been decorated until one nearly couldn’t spot a single roof, Gojo only had eyes for you.

He’s unabashed as he leans down to publicly kiss you. 

Now that he finally could, the boy that had once been jester.

“Satoru.”

“My queen.”