Them Eyelashes 😍

this fic is one of the first I’ve read here and unsurprisingly my one of my favs 🥹💞 from the angst and the fluff, it’s just so well written, and the way the author write sukuna is what made me love him even more 🥹😭😭

I Love You, Always series m. list

I Love You, Always series m. list

Sukuna x Reader

Summary: In the midst of the crowds, I see no one but you. You’ve noticed this stranger every day. You see him when you go, and you see him when you return. At first glance he looks harmless, since his hair is pink and his face is smooth and clean, that is, until you see his nape and arms. He’s covered in tattoos. You know you should stay away but it seems like the universe keeps pulling you closer and closer to him. You want to know him. You’re curious about him and unfortunately, humans are attracted to the unknown. He’s bad news, but maybe it’s what you crave. He’s a beautiful disaster in your plain and boring life.

“I can’t tell if this is love between a man and a woman, a bond that has been built up for a long time, or the deep friendship that we share, but one way or another, I really loved you. More than I thought.”

Genre: Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader

Status: ongoing

Warnings: fluff, smoking, angst, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, reader is half, smut, virgin, virginity loss, consensual sex, slow burn, alcohol consumption, heavy angst, drugs, non-canon, Sukuna is human, alternative universe, no jujutsu, minor mentions of other characters, oc characters, choppy story cuts, slow updates 18+

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING THE CONTENT STATED IN WARNINGS.

Note: Sukuna is not written in canon LOL. He’s a gruff, edgy, soft little bastard in here. He’s not too soft, but he’s definitely not written as thee Ryomen Sukuna… let’s just enjoy this one for a bit… Let me dream, okay? Reader is half! Just wanted to say that I don’t write too often so my updates will be slow. This is a fanfic that I’ve had in my google drafts for a while, but I didn’t get too far into it so there’s not much written yet. However, I wanted to share it with you anyways! I hope you can enjoy the story in the end! I’m not very talented so if this fanfic isn’t your cup of tea, just keep rolling through. Thank you :)

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accidental fuck on set!

actor!sukuna who is just as mean as the characters he plays. he's a buff, grumpy and yet an extremely dependant and prideful person.

actor!sukuna who's played in way too many movies with you casted as his co-star. thus, resulting to the two of you growing close, a friendship fairly complicated to your fans— you're such a sweetheart, a lovely actress, yet this pink haired, tattooed, arrogant man is the person you're most sighted with. not that they hate sukuna, the complete opposite actually, but it's shocking to know that you two get along so well.

actor!sukuna who's been casted with you in movies for so many years now, it's almost, almost, no surprise to him when the next movie you find yourself in includes a sex scene. between the characters you two play, may he add.

actor!sukuna who had to reassure you that it's going to be okay— you were a great actress, but you've never played a sex scene out before, and now you had to recreate it with the guy who's been leaving you wet for the past few years, of course you were going to be nervous.

actor!sukuna who is undeniably excited. you're so twitchy, so nervous it's amusing if not unbearably cute. he watches as the director scolds you for being so unfocused.

actor!sukuna whose excitement immediately disposes when he hears that they're delaying the scene to tomorrow since you couldn't keep into schedule today, having to retake a few scenes and waste time. you come clinging to him, seeking for comfort, which he could never deny you. that day, you fall asleep in his apartment with your head on his shoulder. this has happend before, so why is sukuna so fucking nervous now?

actor!sukuna who drives you to the set the next day. he doesn't need to look over to know you're squirming uncomfortably. you seem to calm down when he places his large hand on your thigh. for comfort, obviously.

actor!sukuna who's off for his makeup to be done— so are you. your girls on set (who seem to have progressed their role to your friends now) are touching up your clothes, which will be ripped off either way during the play. each touch on the clothing reminds you of that, and suddenly you're nervously whining again. shoko, who, as your best friend, came along for emotional support even offers you some alcohol, which you unfortunately have to decline. being drunk makes you even more horny, that'd be a problem on set.

actor!sukuna who is so fucking ready. the first shot is him, grasping your wrist and dragging you into another room. a little too harsh, he pins you against a wall, a whimper slipping past your lips. while the cameras aren't too much of a bother since you've learned to blind them out, the people are.

actor!sukuna who seems to know that, because you're very sure him softly rubbing his thumb in circles over your hip wasn't apart of any script. your head spins as he leans in, aggressively captivating your lips. the camera focuses on where you two connect, and sukuna pulls back slightly to show his tongue and yours circling and licking each other, saliva collecting and almost dripping down your chin. you moan, to which he growls, his lips bruising yours.

actor!sukuna who is debating in his head whether he's excited to rip your clothes off or upset. he doesn't like the thought that millions of other people get to see you like this— so he's going to use this as his advantage and show everyone that you're his. your clothes are off in a second and he's fucking covering you, his chest pressed to yours, causing your breasts to push up. he gets to see you naked for the first time and it's on set? yeah, you must be an idiot if you think he wont cover you. he does, however, look down to catch the sight of your cleavage and the fat of your tits pressing up against him.

actor!sukuna who, while he pushes you into the bed, never ever disconnects his body with yours in order for you to stay hidden (and for him to feel your perky nipples burying themselves into his warm skin).

actor!sukuna who eventually has to get rid of his clothes and your panties, which he does— he's rough with removing his stuff, hoping the camera's focuses more on him and not on you since your tits are free and for everyone to see. he kicks his pants off, but his boxers stay on. the scene is going to focus on your upper bodies, so he doesn't have to worry about constantly covering your pretty pussy from everyone. though, there's a little scene shown where he delicately hooks a finger under the waistband of your underwear, slowly.. slowly pulling it off (an accidental whine escaping you).

the next scene consists of him pulling the covers up to his waist, your private areas hidden from the rest of the world as he leans in to suck and nibble at your neck. your moans aren't fake, and nor is the wet patch that's slowly forming on your panties.

when suddenly you feel his teeth sink into your skin, you finally realize that this is the moment in which you're supposed to act as if he's sunken his dick inside of you— but you're too late and the director is already shouting his loud 'CUT!'

so once again, sukuna covers you two and goes in to nibble at your neck. this time, he makes sure you don't forget your script by nudging his hardened cock against your clit. that action might alone could've given you an oscar, because you're jumping and yelping and moaning in his hold, feeling his pink fluffy hair brush your jaw as he grins into your skin. as if to make it sound like it's inside, you let out a more relaxed sigh, followed by a moan.

actor!sukuna who absolutely relishes in your embarassment, grinning as he watches the colour in your face drain when the director informs you that you have to retake the scene (undeniably, he'll catch the wet spot forming on your cunt).

and fuck him for making this so hard. for being so hard. because he's fucking grinding into you, his fat cock might aswell slip into you if it werent for his boxers and your panties. you're whimpering, holding back the urge to say his actual name as you moan the name of his character.

actor!sukuna who has to remind himself that he's on set, and not in his actual bedroom while he dry humps you. you seem to have forgotten the people watching you, because you're slowly grinding up against him too.

actor!sukuna who steals one last— unplanned, unscripted— kiss from you, tongue diving into your throat, hand coming up to cup your face. after he pulls back, his thumb lazily swipes away the drool that's run down your lips.

actor!sukuna who knows you're uncomfortable with the stares, so when you hear the final 'CUT!', he wraps the covers firmly around you before hoisting you up into bridal style.

you both— and the rest of the cast— laugh it off as they know he's protective over you. that he knows what you need the most, so they don't question it when he doesn't let anyone else see you exposed anymore.

actor!sukuna who brings you back to his apartment that day, making sure that the wet patch he felt and had seen on you gets taken care of— making sure his huge hard-on gets taken care of.

you totally ignore shoko's messages, along the ones in your groupchat with the rest of your friends, telling you that you basically almost fucked on set— that you almost filmed a porno instead.

you also totally play it off after the movie gets released and fans scream and screech, a fucking unimaginable amount of edits including this scene as a small 'sneak peek', fans crashing over the whole thing, people writing some absurd comments— "do not search up the sukuna scene on tiktok", knowing THE scene will pop up. some comments even leave you giggling, "i need them both oiled up in my bed", "i think i just let out a moan at this", "i rewatch this scene daily".

of course, the fans don't just casually drop the topic. this goes on— forever, with people questioning your actual relationship, asking how you felt during the scene, if it was awkward— and most importantly, if sukuna got hard during the scene.

all you can do is giggle nervously as you move on to the next question.

masterlist

🥹

water’s edge | 02

₊˚.༄ pairing: crown prince!gojo satoru x f!reader | setting: modern royal au | official playlist

₊˚.༄ summary: in a world where titles define their fates, gojo satoru, the crown prince of japan, and his wife-to-be, face a tempestuous court of deception and schadenfreude. as they waltz on the edge of ruin, can their love endure the treacherous waters that threaten to pull them apart, or will the whims of the enigmatic chrysanthemum throne prove strong enough to drown them both?

₊˚.༄ author’s note: did i really just punch out a 12.9k chapter? 😅 thank you again to the loml @angstbot2000 for beta-reading! sorry for the wait everyone and thank uou for the sweet messages! again, reblogs are highly appreciated.

₊˚.༄ episode list: 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. +++

Flashback: Shinjuku Opera City (a week after the jubilee gala)

Click. Beep. beep. beep Your wristwatch mimicked a ticking time bomb right now. You breathe once to make sure you were still, for all intents and purposes, alive. The smell of the Sauvignon blanc laid in front of you was so heavenly, its grape-like aroma tempting you to take a sip but you couldn’t, afraid that your body will just reject it in its current state of shock. You must have had a few too many earlier, your commoner palette not exactly used to the refreshing and crisp taste of white wine directly sourced from the rolling hills of Pouilly-Fume, and you must be hallucinating all this in your drunken stupor. Yes, all this was a hallucination, some sick naive dream you conjured after sharing a passing glance with the prince of the nation. It had to be, otherwise, why does it feel that your body has shut down? You were unable to move. Unable to speak. Unable to think.

And you were adamantly sure that you had also been rendered unable to breathe.

“…Huh?” That probably sounded stupid to your unlikely companions, well, normally it isn’t that stupid if you haven’t said that every five minutes or so during this fateful encounter. “This is a mistake. You really want me to-?”

“-Yes,” he said immediately, his mother nodding alongside him. His finger glided across the rim of his scotch glass. He took it neat, of course, the Crown Prince is a man of good taste. “I can ask my people to help you move your belongings to a more dignified residence tomorrow morning.”

The empress frowned at Satoru’s backhanded comment about your way of life. “Satoru, you’re scaring her,” she whispered worriedly to her son.

“If she’s smart, sure,” Satoru hisseed under his breath. If he was going to propose to you and consequently marry you under his parents’ orders, he was going to do it his way. “Look, Ms…?” he trails off, your name escaping him.

“(Y/N),” you provided. “My name is (Y/N).”

He makes a soft ‘tch’ sound which goes unnoticed since you were too preoccupied in shaking away the haze of thoughts in your mind dimming your ability to think. He continues, “As I was saying. Ms. (Y/N),” he puts emphasis on your name, etching the loathsome sound of it into his mind. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

What did he mean by that? “Excuse me?”

“I know I said that I was just a fan when I sent you those flowers after your performance tonight but, I guess you could say I’ve become an admirer of yours.”

This was all scripted, and Satoru, despite having had a memory good enough to memorize has a good his entire family tree including the collateral branches before he even graduated from primary school, found the words getting stuck in his throat and he trailed off, his mind was filled to the brim with nothing but the face of the woman he is unwillingly betraying in the name of protecting his status.

But wasn’t this what she wanted when she threw herself at the emperor’s feet that night? She was selflessly allowing him to go through with this despite knowing that every false tender word that he says to you would be a dagger to her heart, that every moment spent with you instead of her would make her cry a river of tears.

It feels as if this entire thing was a circus he had been forced into because his crown was hanging dangerously off the edge of the tightrope above him. Forced to perform, forced to act, forced to smile so that he wouldn’t feel the sting of the whip his father, the ringleader, had in his hand. Wasn’t that something Satoru has always done? How was this any different from all the elaborate ruses he’s been ordered to perform? Gojo involuntarily looks behind his seat, craning his head back, hoping to see the familiar figure of the love of his life standing exactly a meter away from him, just as she’s always faithfully done, but that was all wishful thinking; Himiko had been removed from the duty of accompanying him tonight.

“I don’t think I’m just a fan,” he continues, turning his attention back to you, the words confessing his so-called love being uttered stoically. You stop him right there, the amount of bewilderment in your heart at a fatal maximum. His hand finds his pocket, searching for the godforsaken ring he is about to present to you. “And I—“

“—You’re just curious, Your Royal Highness,” you dismissed his so-called feelings with a shake of your head. “You’ve never been with someone outside your circle, and you’re curious about what it would be like to be involved with a commoner like me.”

When the words leave your lips, a stretch of panic washes over your face. Did you just disrespect the prince and the empress by doubting the sincerity of his words? Or did they disrespect you by treating you like a moron? Were you just supposed to believe that Prince Satoru had feelings for you? Your mind was spinning, and you were feeling a migraine aura beginning to form at your peripheral vision. You had to get out of there. Quickly moving the chair back so that you could stand up, you bow contritely to excuse yourself from the room. “Ms. (Y/N), please wait!” the empress sighs exasperatedly when you leave the private dining room of the high-class restaurant, your heels clicking against the marble floor as you hurriedly see yourself out.

Perhaps, they were being too hasty for you to say “yes”, too secretive about their true intentions. If they were to even have a chance of convincing you to marry Satoru, they have to let you in on the truth. Luckily, despite her age, the empress catches up to you just as you are about to hail a cab which was proving to be difficult since it was now past eleven o’clock and even the busy skyscraper district of Shinjuku was starting to look deserted.

“Ms. (Y/N),” she breathes, stopping just a few feet from you. “Please hear me out. I’m sorry, this was a mistake…”

“It's fine, Your Royal Highness, I know the Crown Prince doesn’t like me the way he says he does. I may not be as highly educated as you but I’m not an idiot.”

The empress looks on sadly. “Well,” she sighs, standing next to you. “I knew you would figure it out sooner or later. Still, I’m really sorry for what happened back there.”

You don’t respond for a long while, contemplating what to say; the air between you is one of awkwardness and something’s gotta give, otherwise, you and the empress would be standing in the middle of the empty street like total fools. You are the first to break, “Your Highness. Why me? And what’s this really about?”

Why on earth were you chosen over so many other women in Tokyo’s most affluent families to become Prince Satoru’s wife? You expected that this so-called dinner would be nothing more than a courtesy call to thank the prince and the empress for visiting the last night of your show. One could only imagine the emotional whiplash you felt when the prince suddenly offered for you to become his wife which was totally unexpected considering you have never spoken a word to one another before. Just what kind of a messed up Shakespearean romantic tragedy did you wind up in? This entire thing felt like a work by some deranged author who’s had one too many to drink while writing this poisoned manuscript of a love story.

“It’s exactly as the prince said,” she says succinctly. “The prince isn’t getting any younger and he’s in need of a wife. That’s what I would have told you if you were one of those shallow high society women I’ve had the displeasure of meeting.” The empress bitterly thinks about one specific girl that is so loathsome and vile that she has forcibly brought Satoru on the brink of total destruction. Last week’s fiasco with the emperor was a warning shot, and knowing her husband, there won’t be a second time.

You frown, not liking it when people are purposefully brought down to compliment another. “I’m sure that’s not true,” you mumbled, not really knowing what to say.

“But it is,” the empress insists. “People who are born with everything have this tendency to think they are above everyone else. Maybe that was what caused the prince to become this way, because his own mother was born from nothing,” she chuckled.

Knowing that the prince was the only son she will ever be blessed with, having had him at the age of forty-one, she overindulged Satoru by giving him everything, and bending to his every will. So, Satoru grew up confident that he’d only have to point at a storefront window and his mother would get it for him, otherwise he’d throw a tantrum. Maybe that’s what’s going on — all the scandals, all the controversies — was this another one of Satoru’s tantrums because they refused to allow him to have a relationship with, much less marry, his chief-of-staff?

“Nothing? I thought Your Highness, well before you married His Majesty, was an heiress to a car company. I don’t think you should lump yourself in with us.” Those who were truly born from nothing, you thought to yourself.

The empress puts a hand over her mouth as her shoulders begin to shake as she giggles. “Is that so?” she laughs, reaching into her coat pocket, in search of something. Finally, she feels the familiar feel of the trinket she keeps with her day and night.

You expected her to pull out something more valuable than a five yen coin, and it looked like it’s an old one, judging by its rough and rust-stained edges. “See this?” She carefully places the coin in her hand as if it were a precious item. “This was the first ever money I ever had to my name at only eighteen years old. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it even now,” she smiles wistfully as memories of her youth, albeit a simpler time away from the intrigue of the imperial court. She gently places the memento in your hand.

It was so light, it barely weighed a few grams yet it held so much of the empress’s heart in it, like a personal diary that has kept her company throughout the years, or perhaps it was a compass that led her to the path that resonated with her true self- the girl of only eighteen that had the look of a dreamer in her eyes, or maybe it was an anchor that served to keep her feet firmly planted on the humble ground in spite of her exalted status as the emperor’s consort.

You studied the coin. “Only five yen?” Even you, a musician whose finances are scattered to the wind, could make more than five yen in less than an hour. You were confused. Was this another one of their tricks to get you to say yes? No, it couldn’t be, seeing as how the empress seemed so genuine now, almost like the conversation you were having was like a mother and daughter having a heartfelt chat.

The empress nods. “I was a store clerk at a music shop when I was young. It was the only way I could save up and go to college. Of course, this was all before my father invented that powerhouse of an automobile when he was tinkering around with a few of the customer’s cars in the mechanic shop he ran.”

Listening intently to the empress’s story, a sense of solidarity seemed to grow between you and her. “And this was your first salary? Hard to believe music shops pay so little back then.”

“No, no. That was a tip I received from a customer when I returned her wallet. She left it in the shop and I ran after her. Of course if I were a thief, I would have taken off with it, but it was completely empty.” That caused you to laugh. Who knew that the empress who always carried herself with poise and dignity had such a deadpan sense of humor? “So, she gave me the only coin in the wallet to thank me. A five yen coin. Since then, I’ve kept this with me at all times. Call it an old lady’s sentimental ramblings, but this is what keeps me from letting all this get to my head.”

You nod in understanding. But what did this beautiful story have to do with marrying Satoru? The empress senses the question before you could even form words to ask it.

“What I’m saying is that Satoru was my outlet,” she sulked. “My second chance. So I gave him everything his little heart could ever want. And as a mother I know it was wrong of me to raise him to think he’s above everything and everyone.” She didn’t actively do that, though. Satoru just developed that toxic kind of thinking somewhere down the line. “I’m sure you’ve heard the nasty things they say about my son.”

The atmosphere suddenly turns sullen. You remembered how you watched in horror when Prince Satoru appeared on your TV screen the morning after the jubilee gala. You normally saw the prince attending royal functions such as groundbreaking and ribbon-cutting ceremonies, and while you are aware, just like everyone else in the country, that Satoru had his own share of misfits, you dismissed it as the actions of a rebellious young adult. You never thought for one second that you would see the prince battering a man until he was closer to death than a rat caught in a mousetrap outside of a shady gambling den in an unsavory district in Tokyo.

“I’m pretty sure the press is stretching the truth at times.” That was the right thing to say, you didn’t want to badmouth her son in front of her.

She scoffs humorlessly. “I’m not asking you to defend him. What I’m asking of you is to help him.” She takes your hand in hers. “Ms. (Y/N), this marriage may start out as a publicity stunt, but you could turn into something better than that.”

Maybe you’d fall in love with the prince, and maybe he could open his heart to love another again, someone who was healthier for him than Himiko. While the disbelief in your face was clear, the empress’s words give you a sense of hope but again, being excused from this narrative was what you wanted more than anything. “I think you overestimate my power, Your Highness. What you are asking of me will only end badly, I’m sure of it. It’ll be a disaster for everyone.”

Looks like there was no convincing you. A lot seems to be going on inside the empress’s head and you sympathized with her anxiety, but this was something you couldn’t do. You have been what people call a “pushover” your entire life, but the subject of your marriage is critically non-negotiable.

“I understand,” the empress is now resigned to her son’s fate. It seems, after all that song and dance in front of the emperor, it was all futile in the end. At this rate, this time tomorrow, the son of the empress’s unwilling mistress would probably be declared heir apparent and she would be powerless to stop it.

“I’m sorry, it’s just my mother taught me that marriage is sacred and that I should never mess around with it. You could have asked me for anything, Your Highness, and I would have said ‘yes’ in a heartbeat.”

“Your mother seems like a very wise woman,” the empress smiles softly. “And she’s very lucky to have you as her daughter.”

You stiffened at that. “I…I wouldn’t know if she feels that way, really.”

A wave of confusion crashes over the empress. What did you mean? “Sorry?” she clarifies. You hesitate to let her in on your own pain and you feel a slight prick of guilt poking your heart. She had been so vulnerable tonight, so open with you about her grief while you guarded yours in a titanium safe. She decides not to push the subject further and instead places a hand over yours comfortingly before turning to leave.

A thought occurs in your head and everything seems to slow down. The cars passing by the main avenue of Nishi-Shinjuku seemed to be running at 10 mph instead of the road’s minimum 20 mph. The billboards towering over you have momentarily lagged like some fatal error occurred in the LCD screen.

…This was wrong, you shouldn’t even be thinking of this.

...What would make you any different from a bloodsucking gold-digger?

…Don’t run after her.

She wouldn’t want you to do this. It would kill her if you did this. But haven’t you killed her many times before? What would make this time any different? Absolutely nothing. Your mind is made up.

…

“Your Highness, please wait.”

6:12 AM.

You didn’t know that the smell of flowers could be so vile and revolting.

Sat in the middle of a room with about a hundred bouquets of flowers from a multitude of well-wishers, at six in the morning on the day of your wedding, you gaze up at the huge mural of your new residence in the imperial palace. The pupils of your eyes followed each image on the vast painted ceiling which, compared to your tiny Tokyo apartment, felt like the entire sky altogether. Your eyes follow the image painted by Kanō Eitoku depicting life in the old seat of the imperial system, Kyoto, each blink of your eyes, you hone in on a new aspect of the mural: the mountain of Ryūgatake, the old imperial palace which you were told still existed today, the grasslands surrounding the ancient capital, and the people of Kyoto as they go about their daily lives.

If only those people could speak and were not just plastered images on a lifeless cement canvas to keep you company, maybe you won’t feel as lonely having had to wait for your wedding day to roll by without your husband-to-be by your side.

Sighing, you fall against the carpeted floor, your hands clutching a greeting card from one of your friends who gushed about how you had suddenly become a princess-to-be overnight and how you must be so happy to be engaged to such a handsome man that is prince Satoru Gojo. You hold back your tears, your fingernails digging into the vellum card.

You’ve given up calling the Imperial Household Agency to connect the line to Satoru, they come up with a different ruse each time. “Please, I need to speak to the Crown Prince,” you would sniffle into the line’s speaker desperately.

“His Royal Highness is busy right now in his office.”

“My apologies, Ms. (Y/N), but Prince Satoru is unavailable right now due to [insert name of engagement which is perfectly-timed with the wedding consultations he’s supposed to attend with you here].”

“Prince Satoru is currently away to inaugurate the new building for [insert any imperial charity foundation here].”

But you know all those so-called reasons for his absence were lies, excuses to keep their future consort from overthinking where her distant fiancé could be. Come to think of it, you haven’t seen Himiko around either, that alone should be enough to answer the lingering questions in your head about Satoru’s whereabouts. It wasn’t as if you could suddenly act like some jealous spouse when 1.) You aren’t married yet. 2.) You are the trespasser in their relationship. 3.) You are simply a bandage solution to clean up the prince’s image, someone who had unknowingly been at the right place at the right time. You are well aware of where you stand in the grand scheme of things; that kiss as you drove out of the palace compound that day should have been a good enough reminder that you will never truly be your future husband’s better half.

That title, the one you unwittingly stole from a woman you’ve never even met before, is something you can never truly call your own. You were no different than the typical other woman who would wear the legal wife’s wedding dress like some thief.

Yet how is it that you know all of these things like scripture but you still spent the entire night crying over a man who finds it physically impossible to be in the same room as you? Why did it hurt so much when you saw your fiancé shield his girlfriend from the autumn chill the same way you hoped he would shield you from the many challenging questions during that press conference? Why does it feel like a dagger had been plunged into your chest when you saw Himiko kiss Satoru so tenderly, and your husband-to-be returning the gesture with equal fervor?

You lay on your side, the velvet texture of the carpet somehow providing you some semblance of comfort. What would your retainers say when they come into this room and see the crumpled form of their future empress on the floor, her knees hugged to her chest as she tries to make sense of everything that has happened these past few days? You imagined that they’d probably think you were crazy, and Satoru would probably jeer at the thought of having a simpleton as a wife.

You were only a girl of twenty-three summers, you should be enjoying your twenties by doing the things that you love with the people you love. These sunny days of youth pass by in the blink of an eye, but in your case, you have been totally robbed of it, now being primed to become not just a princess but a wife too. While the former is certainly an intimidating role, the latter is just downright petrifying for someone as young as yourself.

Not a single soul save for the empress went to check up on you last night, the only people you were expecting to keep you company today are the hairdressers and makeup artists to prepare you for the wedding. Of course, the austere members of the Imperial Household Agency are also set to make an appearance in your chambers today probably to make you sit through another briefing session on court etiquette. You glance out the window, it was barely light out due to the winter equinox when nights are longer than daytime, and somehow that made you even more sad than you already were laying down on the floor of your room, desolately alone.

A knock at the door awakens you from your trance and you sit up, arranging your hair neatly and pulling on your shoes. Sighing, you make your way towards the door and see someone who you do not quite expect. He momentarily shifts his attenton to the battalion of attendants behind him, nodding to them. “Leave us alone.”

“Your Majesty, good morning,” your breath hitches in your throat as you hastily bow your head before the emperor who seemed to be more anxious about this day more than you, seeing as he is already dressed in his three piece suit and slacks ensemble with the Collar of the Supreme Order of the Chrysanthemum hanging between his lapels.

The emperor was an enigmatic figure who mostly kept to himself, his chamberlain and main staff often joking amongst themselves how the emperor was really a recluse who had only been born to become the sovereign ruler of a nation by an unfortunate stroke of fate. Your future father-in-law hums in acknowledgement and you are left to wonder if this is where Satoru gets his aloof nature from. “Good morning, (Y/N). May I come in?” he asks as if this entire compound wasn’t his.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

He eyes the many bouquets in the room, sighing heavily as he does, the guilt of putting you in this impossible position weighing on him. He admits that he jumped the gun when the empress offered to have Satoru marry someone who could brighten up his public image from the many blemishes it incurred during the night of the jubilee when he and Himiko were seen together, causing trouble in the casinos of the infamous Kabukichō red light district.. To have you bear the weight of becoming a lamb to the slaughter with this marriage was just downright cruel, knowing that his son will certainly make it his life’s purpose to destroy you, but what choice did he have?

It is the crown that makes the choice for him, he’s been told by his own father.

“Listen, do you have the slightest idea of what you’re about to go through?” the man whom you would call your father-in-law in just a few hours asks flatly.

Of course you do, Satoru has already given you a taste of what your marriage is going to be like. You solemnly nod “I think so,” murmuring softly, crestfallenness is evident in your voice. “Satoru has made it clear.”

The emperor purses his lips as he fumbles with a tulip that had been nestled in one of the bouquets in your chambers, “Well, it’s good that you know. I know my son and I am not here to tell you that everything you’ve seen these past couple of days will get better,” he eyes the telephone, one you haven’t even placed the phone back onto the handset in hopes that Satoru would call you. “In fact, it’s only going to get worse from here.”

You frown, crestfallen. “How so?” you asked, your hand gripping the fabric of your dress. “Are you saying that this is just the beginning?” Truthfully, you were fine with this being the beginning, only if you could have the reassurance that all this will come to an eventual end. But it seems now that this was going to be life as you know it, with a husband who gags at the sight of you and has the innate ability to treat you like you were his personal bedwarmer and doormat.

“Yes,” the emperor says gravely, a dark look crossing his features. “So if you’d like to back out now, now is your only chance. Satoru has made enough messes, a canceled wedding will barely do anything to his reputation at this point.”

He’s right; these past days have only proved that Satoru is probably granting you a way out, maybe that’s why he has done nothing else but to ignore you as a final act of mercy if you ever decide to bail. One tiny kiss on the cheek is nothing when he starts to go missing in the middle of the night to attend to his mistress’s beck and call, when he starts to bring home his mistress for dinner to actively spite you with their relationship, or when he, god forbid, starts fucking in her in your marital bed while you’re away on some royal function.

You could live a full life without him, having barely even known him save for his proclivity to emotionally torment you, but it feels wrong to just…up and leave after all that song and dance in the press opportunity.l Shaking your head, the emperor’s offer is refused insistently.

“I’m not going to give up on him, I won’t give up on our marriage before it even begins,” your eyes bore into the emperor’s own. You’ve promised yourself and the empress that you’ll see this through, if Satoru is going to make your life a living hell, then, you’ll just have to take all his blows like a champ.

“I don’t doubt your willpower, (Y/N). I’m just saying that this might be even more difficult for you than you think,” the emperor warns. “Satoru doesn’t just push back, he’ll run over people who get in his way.”

“Your Majesty, it’e alright. I’ll manage somehow.” you mumbled. “The empress and I made an agreement that if I marry Satoru, I…” you trail off, not really wanting to reveal more than you should, the emperor waits for you to continue, his eyebrows furrowed together.

What would you get if you married Satoru if not unnecessary suffering? And even then, that didn’t sound like a good deal, the emperor thinks to himself. You could have gone on happily with your life, blissfully unaware of the trials of being married to the white-haired prince, you probably would have continued climbing the career ladder before finding someone to settle down with, maybe you’ll have a few kids along the way, and Satoru would also be blissfully unaware of a certain (Y/N) (L/N) existing on this plane of reality with him.

Why were you so committed to marrying him?

“I’d be able to…” you stutter. There was no use hiding it now but maybe you could conceal the truth a little longer, if not for your sake, but for the empress — no, a grieving mother — who met you in a hotel café that night with the weight of the world on her shoulders and asked you to keep the details of this transactional union a secret. “I would…”

The emperor raises a hand to stop you, though he is mildly perturbed at your hesitance to open up to him, he decides that whatever you and his wife were keeping from him does not concern him or the throne and that it is simply a thing that should be left unsaid. He really didn’t want to pry into the details of the contract you agreed to, and since you seem to have already made up your mind, all he could do now is hope that you do not give up so easily on his son the same way he did, and that this choice to marry Satoru would not backfire on you or the imperial system in the long run.

“Stop. I understand,” the emperor nods, his shoulders seemingly slumping in defeat as he is unable to convince you to cut it and run from the horrible fate you were speeding towards at a hundred miles an hour. Maybe Satoru was right to make you out to be an idiot, the emperor frowns. “But…don’t say I didn’t warn you, and from the bottom of my heart, I wish you all the best.”

And just like that, the wedding pushes through as scheduled, having declared before the father of the groom that you weren’t one to give up so easily, or…maybe it’s just your blind optimism talking.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you settle into an ornate curtsy, your foot gracefully tucked behind the other, your hand postured in a cordial handshake with His Majesty. The emperor’s pupils dilate, his mouth runs dry and he feels like something in his body had momentarily stopped working or had broken entirely — he knows that trademark act of obeisance so well — you’ve perfectly captured the image of a younger version of his wife who had perfected royal protocol in just under a year when they got married. She must have sought to teach you everything she knew or rather she was forced to learn by herself when she was in your position in an act of true esprit de corps. And for a moment, he finds himself surrendering to your doe-eyed but unmistakably poised charm, and he starts to become more convinced that you were a worthy future daughter-in-law.

He shakes his head, swiftly snapping him out of his trance, now was not the time for these things. The emperor nods back to return the gesture before turning to leave, just as your attendants are about to arrive to get you ready for the ceremony. “We’ll see you in the cathedral, then, (Y/N).”

But as soon as he is halfway out the door, he turns back to look at you one last time as (Y/N) (L/N), for the next time he will see you, you will then be (Y/N) Gojo, his first daughter-in-law, the first royal bride in centuries who neither hails from a family of politicians nor influential persons alike, the icon of a new chapter for the imperial family.

He sighs, turning back around to face you, having almost forgotten the task he’d been entrusted with by his wife. “I almost forgot. Ijichi,” he calls to his faithful grand steward who is waiting outside your chambers to bring forth a rather special gift he and the empress intended to present to you after the ceremony but he figured now might be a good time. The tall, lanky and sickly-looking spectacled man known as Ijichi bows before you which leaves a strange feeling festering within you, he was carrying a navy blue felt case that seemed so valuable that he had been compelled to wear gloves to prevent his bare hands from touching the fine fabric.

The emperor motions to open the case and your face pales when you see what is inside. “This is intended to be worn by the Princess Royal on her wedding day but since I don’t have a daughter to give that title to, the title will now belong to you.”

The tiara in his hands is a hefty thing, molded entirely from the most of valuable of silvers, it resembled the Queen Mary Fringe Tiara that had been worn by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II on her wedding day, with an abundance of baton diamonds dotting every conceivable nook and cranny. It takes some time for you to adjust when it is placed upon your head, it only weighed a modest 1.7 kilograms, it was much lighter than the many tiaras the family keeps hidden away in the imperial vaults but for someone like you, it is an awfully heavy thing not just in the literal sense but also in the figurative side of things.

As of this moment, you weren’t just an ordinarily forgettable face in a crowd anymore.

“Carry the weight.” The emperor’s voice is commandeering. He steps back, scanning how the tiara looks on you from afar and though it looked awkwardly placed on your head with how you are struggling to balance its weight, you still managed to carry it adequately. “Now…you’re one of us.”

8:55 AM.

“Need some help?”

Satoru looks up to inspect the reflection on the mirror and a sad smile crosses his face when he sees the familiar figure of Himiko leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest as she gazes at her beloved getting ready for his wedding day. “You don’t have to be here.” He begrudgingly fumbles with his collar, unable to meet her eyes. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he professes, despite having immeasurably hurt you these past couple of days instead.

Himiko shakes her head. There was no use in grumbling about it now when just on the other side of the palace, Satoru’s unworthy bride-to-be was being pampered by her many ladies with manicures, foot massages, and practically anything to make you happy while she, the prince’s true love, was condemned to watch him be cruelly given away to someone else. There was a sense of finality with how hundreds of palace staff rushed through the hallways carrying all sorts of wedding paraphernalia to decorate the Chowaden reception hall and the courtyard to welcome the wedding guests.

Satoru frowns when her hands find his collar, she skillfully untangles the ribbon medal and readjusts the silver emerald-studded necklace that came with it.

Please…just one more minute…one more minute with you, Satoru closes his eyes as Himiko’s thumbs tentatively rub his chiseled cheek as if she were memorizing every bump and every curve of his skin before someone else tries to claim that they know every bit of Satoru inside and out. She knows it will never be true, no one can ever know Satoru the way she intimately knows him, not even if he was going to marry another woman. It may be possible for you steal everything from her — the emperor and empress’s favor, the public’s warm approval, the ring that had been fitted to accommodate the size of her finger before it was given to you — it may have been easy for you to pull the rug from underneath her, but it would be difficult — no, impossible — for you to ever claim ownership of Satoru.

He was hers and she was his, Satoru leans against Himiko’s touch, sighing woefully. “I’ll make her pay, I promise. I’ll break her, destroy her again. And again. And again until nothing’s left of her,” he recites the promise, punctuating the words with a kiss every time, as if they were having an illicit wedding of their own, and his words were a marriage vow — the only one that he will honor with every fiber of his being. Himiko bites her lower lip before she slowly nods, appeased.

“But Satoru, marrying her is the only way for you to be restored as heir apparent. Either way, we can’t win without doing this your father’s way.” Her hands leave his collar and she sadly gazes out the window, her narrow eyes glazing over the ancient ginkgo tree at the center of the palace’s vast atrium which was now shedding their green leaves to take on the tell-tale yellow hue as autumn draws near. She always loved the view of the palace courtyard from above, especially in this room where she and Satoru spent many nights proving their love for one another.

Gojo frowns at her melancholia, he comes up from behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’ll think of something, I promise this won’t last longer than it needs to,” he kisses her cheek, nuzzling it with his nose tenderly.

“I don’t mind waiting, Satoru, I’d wait for you forever, and as much as we both hate her, we need (Y/N),” she spits out your name as if it were rat poison in her mouth. “So, let’s just play along. It’s not like we’re not used to meeting in deserted parking lots at midnight, right?” She offers him a half-smile, reminding Satoru that their entire affair has always been illicit in nature.

It’s not like she was accepted by his parents to be their son’s future consort. They’ve been through this before, hundreds of times rather, even before you came along. They’ve had to deal with so many forces ripping them apart over the past three years from the oh-so-omnipotent emperor who hardly wields any political power to his neurotic wife whom she has called, on several occasions, a bitch.

And yet, together they remained as it has always been, with Satoru cradling Himiko in his arms as he peppers kisses up her neck, sucking at the soft flesh, his hips flush against hers. He does this in front of the window for any unfortunate passerby to see. Hell, Satoru was hoping you’d walk by and see this heartbreaking display and maybe you’ll just run home in your wedding dress with your tail between your legs.

“We don’t have to get used to it, Himiko,” he mumbles into her neck, inhaling her sweet perfume, the one he liked the most. “One day, we won’t have to hide anymore,” he kisses her cheek tenderly, caressing the bone of her wrists which still bore faint marks from the handcuffs that had been wrongfully placed on her with his thumb. “And people can say whatever they want about us, and it wouldn’t matter because I will have been the emperor by then and you, my empress.” He presses their foreheads together, the tips of their noses barely touching in a moment of silence.

After a long while, Satoru lets go of Himiko, his eyes scanning hers as if he were searching for answers hidden deep within her soul. “What is it?”

“I just wish you hadn’t stepped in back there.” It was a thought that kept him awake these past agonizing nights. “Maybe if you just stayed out of my father’s office, this wouldn’t have happened. I was alright with you visiting me in my jail cell, you know.”

“As if I’d ever let that happen,” she sighs when he pulls away to fasten his cufflinks, suddenly feeling a bit disheartened at the loss of his touch. She kisses his cheek, looking at his reflection through the mirror, her eyes alight with adoration. “I promised I’d always be your ally, didn’t I?”

When she and Satoru first met three years ago in the selection for his chief-of-staff, Himiko Zenin, despite coming from the affluent Zenin clan, lagged behind compared to her contenders who aced the exams that tested their knowledge on the law, constitution, history of the imperial system, royal protocol, foreign languages and other aspects that may prove useful for the prince’s right hand. But there was one thing that she had that all the other applicants didn’t have, and she demonstrated that perfectly when Satoru unexpectedly dropped by during the final interviews to speak to each of the candidates himself.

Satoru stared at Himiko with a bored expression that day, his being devoid of any emotion. “Ms. Zenin, it seems you did poorly in all of the exams,” he glances at her file which should have been tossed in the bin by the time she placed last in the jurisprudence exam. “And you’re affiliated with one of the more morally ambiguous families in the country. Looks like today’s just not your day, huh?”

It was true. Having Himiko Zenin as his chief of staff was dangerous from the get-go. The Zenin clan’s head back then during the time of the selection was on trial for graft and corruption. But, there was something Himiko had that all the other applicants did not. At the time, he couldn’t quite put a finger on it but now, after years of selfless service to him, Satoru realizes that it was the ferocious loyalty that hid underneath her then perfectly ordinary shell which he personally refined into the gem of a woman she is now, and she never swore allegiance to the crown but rather to him, Satoru Gojo.

“But, I’ll indulge you,” he reclined against his chair that day, his arms crossed. “Why should I even consider you as my chief of staff? What can you offer me that the others before you cannot?”

Her answer to that question instantly won him over and in that instant, Himiko’s life had changed forever. “Whatever you ask of me, Your Royal Highness, I’d give my very life for you.”

Satoru turns away from the mirror, his lips instantly on hers. His hand dangerously hovered over the hem of her dress. “S-Satoru, what are you doing?” she moans into his mouth as Satoru moves both of them to the bed, he climbs atop of her as she lay on the mattress, her locks splayed over the silk sheets. She knows what he’s doing, this was almost like a film she has seen many times before; this was how tense conversations with Gojo go with him impatiently parting her legs, their hands desperately discarding their clothes until they are left utterly bare before one another.

He wanted to destroy you the same way you destroyed what he had with Himiko. This anger translated into his rough pace. He roughly jostles his hips against Himiko’s, her arms wrapping around him as he buries his cock inside her, his lips covering her milky flesh with dark-purplish bruises, marking her as his.

Call him a sadist but he hopes that Himiko would change into a dress that could flaunt her marked skin so that when you fearfully look around the cathedral, warily searching for her, your heart would break at the sight of the countless hickeys on her neck and collar. He wanted to see you cry the first of the many tears you will shed for the crime of marrying him.

“Satoru…!” she cries out as the luscious feeling of his girth pistoning in and out of her. He grunts as he feels him inch closer and closer to his high. “Mmph—‘Toru,” she whines when he reangles his hips, plunging deeper into her, his arms locking behind hers as he violently chases his release. He’s so close. “I love you, I love you…-a-ah!”

A symphony of pleasured groans falls from his lips, his very being uncoiling as he cums. His hips involuntarily keep thrusting as hot spurts of his cum drips down Himiko’s entrance, mixing with her own release. Himiko frowns as Satoru clicks his tongue at the soiled sheets beneath their connected forms. He groans as he pulls out, sinking into the warmth of her embrace, his still hardened cock poking her inner thigh. “Promise me you’ll only love me?” she whispers as her fingers absentmindedly play with his white hair.

“I promise,” Gojo murmurs into the crook of her neck as he lulled to sleep by her soft, even breaths. “I promise it’s only you…no one else.”

11:45 AM.

Only half an hour left. A crowd of, from what you have heard, 70,000 have gathered on the strip of the main road that the bridal car will pass en route to the cathedral.

“It’s true,” your maid of honor who people refer to as Ieiri says, showing you her phone which showed the many tweets from news agencies, famous personalities and normal people alike about how excited they were to witness your wedding day. There were countless social media posts consisting of yours and Satoru’s official engagement picture and many have taken to hosting their own live-streaming sessions of this monumental day.

“Everyone’s so excited. I wish my wedding would be this big,” one of your bridesmaids sighs dreamily. You manage a small chuckle at her, maybe if she knew of your plight right now, she would probably be eating those words alongside the many petit fours she’s been munching on this past hour. “Look at all those people,” she continues scrolling through her phone.

“It’s the first televised imperial wedding so obviously, it’s a big deal, Riko,” Utahime laughs. “Not to mention, it’s the first time a member of the imperial family would be married in a Western-themed ceremony.” For everyone to see.

One of your newly appointed helpers enters the room, and jogs over to you as quickly as she can in her heels, she has a small jewelry box delicately decorated in an ecru gift wrapper in her hand. “Ms. (Y/N), this is from the prince. His butler told me to give this to you.” You’ve been sad all day and your ladies-in-waiting heave a sigh of relief when they see a hint of a smile on your face, even if it did hold a bit of apprehension.

“Really? For me?” You stand up to accept the small token, careful not to ruffle your wedding dress too much as per the dressmaker’s instructions since the fabric used to construct the piece was susceptible to crumpling. Momentarily setting your phone down on the vanity table mid-text, you graciously accept the wedding gift. Maybe Satoru was starting to warm up to you and that he is now chipping away at the wall he built between the two of you. You hoped that by sending you this gift, this would be the start of something new and better with your husband.

But given how things are, that would be impossible. This was probably just a gift he sent to appease you after many days of effectively acting like you don’t exist.

You open the box and your ladies chatter around you excitedly. “It’s so pretty!” the youngest of your bridesmaids, the daughter of the Japanese ambassador to France apparently, marvels at the pair of earrings. Briefly smiling at her, you then turn your attention to the small letter that was neatly slotted between the groove of the box’s padded interior that held the earrings in place. His handwriting was so conscientiously beautiful that it almost looked like a computer-generated font, there wasn’t a hint of clumsiness in each stroke.

“To (Y/N),

I’m sorry about these past few days. This won’t make up for it, but, I’d like to join you in wishing for a successful marriage together.

– HRH Satoru Gojo”

Your heart slows at the cold closing. He had omitted the words “love” and “sincerely” before his name, but you expected that. If scraps of affection are all you could ever hope to get out of him, you have to learn to deal with it sooner or later; this was your life now, you will always be second to the love of his life. It must have taken everything out of him, and it must have caused an argument to erupt between him and Himiko, to send you this and you understand that he’s also having a difficult time with how things are now but it mattered so much to you to see him try. Regardless if this gift was given to you freely or not, you couldn’t refuse it, even if every voice in your head was screaming at you, reminding you of the horrific scene you saw that day when you caught your fiancé kissing another woman out in the open immediately after you announced your engagement.

“Would you like me to put it on you?” Riko asks. “I’m sure the prince will be happy to see you wear these.”

“You really think so?” you wince when your helper struggles to find your earlobe piercing. “I didn’t know he could be so sweet.” That’s obviously a lie; you know full well Satoru could be sweet, it just pained you to remember that he’s capable being sweet to another deliberately causing you immense grief. Your helper stiffens slightly. She has seen him become sweet before, albeit to another, but she didn’t have to divulge any details and accidentally ruin your wedding day.

She nods shyly, succeeding with the first diamond earring and then the other. She steps away from the mirror. You looked radiant. “Y-yes.”

Noticing her discomfort, you expertly steer the conversation elsewhere. “I see. Well I should probably return the favor.”

You’ve gotten Satoru a wristwatch you and the empress had personally had commissioned by a famed watchmaker that could rival the craftsmanship of a Rolex. It just arrived last night and well, given your current mental state then having taken the brunt of Satoru’s ire the past few days, you couldn’t bring yourself to wrap it. Momentarily deciding if you still had time to have one of your helpers buy some wrapping paper, you realized it would be cutting it too close so you hastily scribbled on a blank dedication card you randomly plucked from one of the bouquets you received. Luckily, some of them had extra cards.

“To Your Royal Highness,

Please don’t apologize, I’m sorry too for being pushy lately. Thank you for the gift, I’ll be sure to take good care of it. Happy wedding day, and I’m looking forward to better days together!

Wholeheartedly yours,

(Y/N) (L/N)”

Reading through it one last time, you affix your name at the end. “You guys are so sweet,” your youngest bridesmaid gushes as she presses a button on the room’s telephone to request for a butler. “I’m sure the prince will love it.”

“Whatever ‘sweet’ means.” You grimace, your unease getting the better of you. A few moments later, a butler peeks into the room. You bound over to him, placing the present in his hands. “Could you please give this to Prince Satoru?” you asked him and the butler looks slightly bewildered at your choice of words. If it was an order, you could have just said so. Perhaps you were still getting used to the idea of having people waiting to attend to your every beck and call.

“Right away, ma’am,” the butler replies obediently nonetheless. “Also I ran into His Majesty’s chamberlain just a while back and he asked me to remind you of the time. Everything’s ready,” he informs you just as he turns to leave in the direction of the palace’s east wing where Satoru's private chambers are. Upon hearing that, the bridal entourage starts to get ready to leave ahead of you, they’ll be going to the venue with a separate convoy from the bride’s since you’ll be driving through some of Tokyo’s major avenues en route to the cathedral.

You watch as they file out of the room in their cream dresses, each one of them, despite having known you for only a little less than half a day, pull you into a bone-crushing hug wishing you well. “Congratulations, (Y/N).”

“Thank you,” you kindly smiled at each one of them as they left.

When you are left alone to your devices, you take one last look at (though you could hardly recognize yourself) the mirror, swallowing harshly, your hand absentmindedly playing with the locket which you continued to wear, ignoring the gracious advice of the Imperial Household Agency’s grand steward to set it aside for today’s festivities as it was uncustomary for royal brides to wear articles of clothing and accessories that did not hold any relation to the imperial family.

Only thirty minutes to go ‘till everything changes. Wait no, that was grossly inaccurate. Everything changed the split second you laid your eyes on him. Since then, everything seems to be a jumbled haze like some sort of psychedelic trance that just won’t end. Reaching for your phone one last time, you hastily search for a particular contact number, your finger hovering over the call button. No, there’s no point, you sniffle softly. Calling her would only make things harder than it already is and backing out of this now is out of the question.

Another knock is heard on the door, but it isn’t as insistent as the first few ones as everyone was starting to get a bit frustrated at you. Did they think you were stalling for time? “Just a minute,” your voice wavers. You just received a new text message from the number you were planning to call.

“We’ll be moving her in a few hours. Will send you her new room number when we get there.”

Bringing the phone to your lips, your heart makes somersaults in your chest when you receive the news. The sacrifice you were still yet to make has already paid off and your ledger of personal favors crossed out with a red marker effectively completing your transaction with the empress. Without even giving you time to text a quick “thank you”, another urgent knock is heard on the door. “Ms. (Y/N), I’m very sorry to interrupt but, we should get going now.”

“I’ll be right there,” you said again, quickly typing another message on your phone: “I wish I was there with her. Please hold her hand for me.” The second it goes through, you quickly shuffled towards the door, your head bowed in apology. You hold your breath as you balance the tiara on your head hoping that it won’t fall as it hangs precariously off-center on the crown of your head, your eyes trained on the ground as the door slides open. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries, I’m pretty patient. Ijichi, on the other hand? Not so much.”

His voice is feather-soft and melodious like a harp string being plucked delicately so that it produces a clear and deep bell-like sound, the very language he chooses to speak with is devoid of neither a shrill nor sharp word unlike the fusillade of orders you’ve been mercilessly bombarded with this entire day. Walk like this, speak like that, don’t do this, and most certainly never do that, you must have gone through a decade’s worth of rules and regulations to follow during the ceremony and even after you’ve said your “I do”’s. Still, you found solace knowing that Satoru is slowly warming up to the idea of cooperating with you, and has even found it in his heart to give you an olive branch of sorts which was now hooped through your earlobes, sparkling under the light like a clear drop of water from the sky.

At first, you naively think it’s him. Did Satoru really come over to see you? While that seemed uncharacteristic of him, the very thought of him voluntarily visiting you planted a sense of relief in you regardless. Maybe he wanted to settle things before the ceremony, to be upfront with you about his intentions in this marriage, how the two of you will be towards one another going forward, and if your luck holds out, maybe he’d finally let you in on his acts of impropriety with Himiko.

But, you would recognize Satoru’s indifferent timbre anywhere, this voice was far too different and seemed much kinder and softer than your fiancé’s.

You slowly open the door to greet your guest, confirming your suspicions as you meet the gaze of a man you haven’t met before. He seems severely unfamiliar.

No, wait. That can’t be it, he may seem unfamiliar but he’s definitely recognizable. In fact, you’ve seen him a few times before, standing feebly next to your fiance during the emperor’s birthday broadcast. Then, it clicks. Wasn't this…?

“Crown Prince Suguru?” you blinked. He’s the only senior member of the imperial family that you’ve never been officially introduced to. Of course, you are on speaking terms with the emperor, the empress and of course, Satoru, but never the prince that idly lingered in their large shadows.

The raven-haired man chuckles deeply at your shocked expression. Clearly, you didn’t expect to meet him under these circumstances, and that caused you to accidentally refer to him as the Crown Prince when that title only belonged to Gojo. He looks at you endearingly, finding you intriguing.

So this was the woman his younger brother is to be married to. Suguru has heard a lot about Satoru’s docile bride-to-be, in fact, he received news of the engagement while he was in Rome, the last leg of his first solo tour in Europe. People were so quick to label it as a pivotal point in the history of the Japanese monarchy and that you are the symbol of change, specifically, they likened you to a camellia blooming in a sea of chrysanths, a breath of spring in the imperial family’s everwinter – alluring in every sense of the word. But, alluring isn’t exactly a word he’d use to describe you seeing as you’ve only just met but, right now, he found you to be so adorably cute that he might just start to believe the things they say about you on the news.

“It’s just Prince Suguru. Satoru’s the Crown Prince.” The gentle correction makes you so flustered that you feel blood rush up to your ears, a tell-tale sign of your abasement. “But you could just call me Suguru.”

“Oh, right, my mistake,” you rub your eyelid, growing embarrassed. “Prince Suguru,” you stressed his correct title, remedying your earlier mishap. Despite you being in heels, you can’t see past him, given that he towered over you so easily so you stand on your tallest tiptoes, trying to peek over his shoulder. “You haven’t happened to see Mr. Ijichi, have you? He was right outside the door a few minutes ago.”

Suguru buries his hands in his pockets. “He just left, you’re welcome,” he winks at you, having sent Ijichi on his way when he accidentally stumbled across him furiously tapping on your door as he was making his way to his car.

Ijichi was…difficult to get along with — he’s short-fused, demanding at some times, and he is what people could call a stickler for the rules — Suguru isn’t doesn’t really want to say nasty words about his father’s grand steward and he’d give credit where it’s due since Ijichi is not just efficient when it comes to running the imperial household but he is also fiercely dedicated to every member of the imperial family.

Still, he couldn’t count the many times Ijichi had to scold him for all the mischief he caused while he was growing up even if his life depended on it. The worst scolding he got from the older man was when Suguru went missing on his fifth birthday, having snuck out of the banquet hall with at least ten pieces of bread stuffed in his pockets with every intention to feed them to the many ducks in the imperial garden’s ponds.

“What?” your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets, you were going to get an earful later. “You mean he went ahead without me?”

“It’s alright. You’ll see him later, sure he’s probably going to talk your ear off but he means well, trust me,” Suguru flashes you a reassuring smile.

You look at him, your lip curled into an uneasy grin. “That doesn’t sound like fun,” you bemoaned, having had enough reprimands to last you until your next life. “So, with Mr. Ijichi gone, forgive my bluntness, but am I right to assume that Your Highness will be the one to bring me to the cathedral?”

Suguru accommodatingly holds out his arm for you to hold onto. “You assume correctly,” he says warmly. You expect him to hurriedly lead you down the steps leading to the palace’s main driveway, but he does something entirely different. “Are you ready to go or do you still need more time?”

That was the first time anyone in a kilometer-wide radius has asked you what you want to do instead of telling you what to do.

Suguru watches every small change in your expression. He figured that you must be pretty tired of people treating you like some robot, training you to blindly obey every order perfectly. The jet black-haired prince has only known you for two minutes and his heart is already disintegrating for your current predicament of feeling completely and entirely alone. If he could alleviate your troubles even with just a small act of kindness by engaging in polite conversation with you and actually listening to what you have to say instead of talking over you like most of your etiquette coaches have done all day, then, he’ll gladly tune in to listen to you even as you read through an entire book of sonnets if you ever felt up to it.

Being validated comes a long way, and if anyone understands your plight, it was him and even if he didn’t understand, he’ll do everything he can to try regardless.

“I-I’m ready,” you nodded hesitantly and Suguru doesn’t walk ahead right away and allows you to set the pace as you walk past the line of attendants that bowed to you and the prince as you made your way to the imperial family’s very own Toyota Century convertible which had been custom-made for you.

The open top roof gave onlookers access to see their future empress as the motorcade departs from the Kōkyo Imperial Palace and follows a 4.6-kilometer route that will travel to the St. Mary’s Cathedral, the seat of the Roman Catholic archdiocese of Tokyo. Neither you nor Satoru were practicing Catholics yet, the imperial family has decided that a Christian-themed wedding rather than the ancient Buddhist matrimonial ceremony that is usually done away from public view would make the imperial system appear more accessible to the people.

Suguru helps you into the car, gently arranging the train of your gown so that it doesn’t get all wrinkled. “Thank you, Your Highness” you whisper to Suguru who squeezes your free hand as if to say “you’re welcome”. The car’s engine hums to life the minute the two of you are settled in the backseat. “W-what am I supposed to do now?” you asked, readjusting your grip on your bridal bouquet.

The prince lets out a humored snort, having forgotten that this was your first official function. Showing you the correct way to wave and the right angle to face and bow to the crowd, he watches you closely, allowing you to struggle for a bit before stepping in to help with some encouraging words. “Just keep smiling and waving. It’s just like being onstage, you know.” At the center of the motorcade, six police cars patrol every side of the convertible forming a ring of protection just in case someone in the crowd with ill-intentions would try to harm either you or the monarch next to you.

Countless people erupt in happy cheers at the sight of you and Suguru, some are simply content with waving while others are holding up flowers and tossing them to the front of the crowd barriers in jubilation. “It feels a little more intense than just being onstage,” you mumbled, your eyes landing on a little girl sitting in her mother’s arms as she waves a little Japanese flag in her hand which looked like she made it in her arts and craft class. You awkwardly wave at her, chuckling when she happily waves back, delighted to see you directly looking at her.

“Well, you’re doing great.” He inches closer to you, wrapping a steadying arm around your waist while the other guides your hand, gently angling it in a more prominent position so that you look a little more assertive. “Like this,” Suguru helps you wave in a more continuous manner, teaching you to center the motion by keeping your elbow mostly stationary and allowing only your wrist to subtly move from side to side. “And keep doing what you’re doing. Make eye contact with them; make them understand that you see each and every one of them.”

Suguru watches you bow and wave to the spectators with a proud smile on his face; the motorcade has now reached the Shinjuku area and is nearing its destination of Bunkyo-ku where the cathedral is and even still, the crowd doesn’t appear to thin out. Suguru feels like he’s watching history unfold before his very eyes. He wonders if Satoru had purposefully chosen a commoner to conjure up a classic “love conquers all” romance of his own wedding day, if he did, then Suguru must congratulate him for a job well done. No one has ever come out to see a member of the imperial family in this sheer number, he daresay, not even the empress on her wedding day or His Majesty on his coronation day.

But with you, this day is nothing short of a revolution.

“Your Highness, you’re staring.” Suguru hums, confused, before realizing that he’s been looking at you funny. “You’re still staring,” you said succinctly.

“Oh, sorry.” Suguru says awkwardly and you couldn’t help but let out a slight snort. “What?” he cocks his head in your direction. You were laughing, though brief, the very sound of it brings a smile to his face. “It was about time though. We’ve been in this car for more than fifteen minutes now and that right there is the first genuine act of happiness I’ve seen you make,” he remarks. He was starting to think that you were incapable of smiling which he found a little unsettling since brides aren’t exactly despondent during their wedding day. Of course, what would he know? His little brother had gotten married ahead of him.

You crinkle your nose in mock displeasure. “That’s kinda mean and probably the last thing I’d say to someone I just met…with all due respect, Your Highness.”

Suguru grins at your tiny jab at his character, and to think that he nearly bought into the whole “as demure as a butterfly” thing they said about you in the papers. Make no mistake though, he sees how elegantly ladylike you are, but he also sees how you are so effortlessly spellbinding with your wit translated into a few short but sweet words. No wonder Satoru fell for you and even gave up his vice-like romance with his chief-of-staff to marry you, he thinks to himself. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry that was a bit uncalled for.”

“Oh— Your Highness, I was just joking.” You waved to the crowd of people on Suguru’s side of the car, grimacing when you see a few schoolboys, probably university students with how tall and mature they looked, pretend to blow you kisses. Indulging them, you subtly return the gesture flustered beyond all measure. Everything feels so public now, and you are left wondering about how you could survive the rest of your life like this.

“…I knew that.” Choosing momentary silence, Suguru finally decides to chip away at the facade you were putting up. He could see it in your eyes, you were a cross between scared and unhappy which is clearly normal for someone who is marrying into the oldest monarchy in the world. You weren’t at all what the members of the Imperial Household Agency said of you when you were out of earshot: a sorry excuse of a future empress who is privileged in every way but can’t find it within herself to stop her endless complaining. “Just trying to make you smile, that’s all.”

Shouldn’t your future husband be doing that? You sighed. Oh right, he was probably busy comforting Himiko. She probably needed him now more than ever after everything you’ve done to torment her. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Suguru,” he corrects kindly. “If you’re going to marry my little brother, you could, at least, drop the troublesome title when you’re talking to me.”

Little brother? How have you never heard of this before? You knew Satoru had a brother, but you never thought Suguru would be the older one out of the two of them. If that was the case, then, why didn’t he get the title of “Crown Prince”?

“Weird, huh?” He breaks you out of your trance, as if he heard the question swirling around in your head. “Why is Satoru the Crown Prince and not me?”

“Are you psychic or something?” you playfully teased, slowly growing more comfortable with the jet black-haired prince that sported an Apollo-like smile - warm, and inviting. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

Suguru shrugs. “Why? Whose mind do you want to read?”

Satoru’s, you smiled sadly. Maybe by unraveling the inner machinations of your soon-to-be husband’s mind, you could learn to meet him halfway by understanding him a little better; no person is born inherently cruel and while you had your doubts, you know, in your heart, that Satoru is no exception to that rule. “No one in particular.”

“Ah, well, I expected that.” He grinned at how guarded you are, reclining against the plush seat of the car to rest his stiffening back for a minute. The convoy is about ten minutes away from the cathedral now.

You offered him some consolation though, grateful for this light-hearted chat. “Let’s just trade answers next time.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Himiko thought this day would be horrible but it turns out it isn’t as bad as she pessimistically thought. If she only knew that this was how the love of her life’s wedding would go with him still inviting her to his bed before he gets hitched off, then, maybe she shouldn’t have been so awful towards you who never stood a chance against her. Competing with you would be like making a rival of a rat; it would be unnecessary trouble. Still, even if she had all but won against you (as if you were worthy enough to even become her opponent), that didn’t stop the Zenin clan’s little darling from causing a little trouble today.

Her eyes flutter open to reveal Gojo’s handsome slumbering face, utterly spent from their lovemaking session, their naked forms still entangled together under the cotton-percale sheets. She stretches her supple body luxuriously, and pulls away from Satoru’s embrace earning a small “mmph” of disapproval from her lover. Giggling, she plants a soft kiss on his chiseled cheek.

“Your Highness?” Someone says from behind the door. Taking one last look at Satoru’s sleeping form, she walks leisurely to answer it, clad only in the prince’s shirt which ran above her knee.

Leaning against the door, she answers for the prince, a detestable act similar to a cardinal sin. It was forbidden for a mere servant to speak for any member of the imperial family. In the past, in the Japanese empire’s golden age, a servant who took the words out of their master’s mouth would have their tongue swiftly sliced off. But Himiko is not a servant, nor is she subject to the rules as long as the prince was around. “His Highness is asleep.”

On his wedding day? The butler nods stiffly. “I see. Ms. Zenin, can I trouble you with this? The prince’s fiancé has sent him a wedding gift.”

Himiko doesn’t answer for a long while and a tense silence fills the room. “Fine, but have you done what I asked?” she relents opening the door, the butler’s face turns red at the sight of her lack of modesty. “Having you run my errands isn’t cheap, you know.”

The attendant bows his head, “Yes. She’s currently wearing it right now, last I saw.”

“Good. I’ll be taking this then.” She shakes the box to get a feel of what’s inside, not that it would be anything of high value though given its cheap sender.

Curiosity gets the better of her and she succinctly opens the gift, her eyebrow quirked. A watch. Very typical. She notes how it’s made out of silver and she scoffs harshly. Even if she didn’t chuck it into the trash, Satoru would have done it himself since he prefers gold pieces over silver and he most certainly wouldn’t want to touch anything that was from you given how he loathed the very idea of you.

The attendant gulps when he sees Himiko harshly discard your gift. “Ms. Zenin, don’t you think that giving her that would be taking it too far? You know how the Crown Prince feels about those earrings. If he ever were to find out that it had gone missing…”

She turns her head in the direction of the bed where Gojo was currently tossing and turning in his sleep. “Then, I’ll tell His Highness that his chief butler,” her eyes were aglow with cunning as the butler trembled slightly at her murderous gaze. “Is a thief who stole from the imperial vaults, and if you ever decide to rat me out, who do you think the prince will believe? A nameless no account like you or me?”

It slowly registers in the attendant’s mind that he had been utterly played when Himiko asked him to give those earrings to you via an under the table agreement, it’s not like Satoru prepared a wedding gift for you anyway thinking that showing up to the accursed wedding in itself is a generous gift already. “…You used me…!” he whispers angrily, not wanting to rouse the prince.

Himiko shrugs nonchalantly. “And you were stupid enough to be used for a few banknotes. Now get lost, I’ll just inform His Highness of your voluntary resignation tomorrow morning.”

She closes the door on the rattled servant and saunters back over to the bed, slipping back under the sheets. Satoru sleepily notices the bed dip with her weight, and unconsciously snuggles closer to her, his arms wrapped around her form. She lovingly strokes his disheveled hair alternating between twirling his locks in her index finger and massaging his scalp as if she hadn’t just ruined a man’s life two minutes ago. Her hands reach for the phone on the nightstand and she scrolls through her feed watching a video of the bridal car pulling up to the cathedral.

She boredly watches you step out of the car with your hand looped through Suguru’s arm shyly waving to the thousands happily anticipating this glorious day while your bridesmaids help you with your wedding gown’s train so it doesn’t snag across the concrete steps. It takes about five minutes for the cathedral’s towering doors to open and she smirks when she sees you slowly make your way inside, completely oblivious to the fact that your groom is not at the end of the aisle where you expected him to be and is instead still soundly asleep next to her.

The silence that follows is indicative of the horrific scene that greeted you and Himiko switches off her phone, settling back into the pillows contentedly. Serves you right, (Y/N), she smirks.

12:30 PM.

Funny how you think that you’re immune to awful things that happen to other people…before it happens to you. There’ve been hundreds of stories like this before, but you never thought that you’d find yourself in the long list of unfortunate jilted brides. Your hands tremble as you hold your bouquet of white calla lilies and baby’s breaths. Surely you must have gone blind or something or this was all some sick dream, you desperately search the cathedral room with abject horror in your eyes. It couldn’t be…you take an uneasy step toward the witness as your wedding guests whisper amongst themselves, their hearts filled to the brim with condolences for you.

Something in you jeeringly mocks you as if to chide you for living too long in the forest of your fantasy, dodging every pocket of reality’s sunlight as it shines through the many trees you’ve cultivated with your delusions that this…whatever the hell this is…could miraculously work out in the end. That you stood a chance against all the cards that were catastrophically stacked against you, and that he could give you even just a scintilla of respect if it was truly impossible for him to ever learn to love you.

“Suguru,” you instinctively clutch his hand as if by him squeezing your hand back, you could miraculously be put together again. You were so heartbroken that you didn't even realize that you just called him by his name, forgoing the mention of his venerable title. “…I-I…” you gulp as you feel the dreaded words lodge deep in your throat, clogging your airways with uncried sobs.

“Oh, (Y/N), I’m so sorry…”

“…Where’s Satoru?”

water’s edge taglist: @dummyf @kentokaze @esthelily @mandysfanfics @userbananababes @strawberryjimin13 @snowprincesa1 @naturallyspontaneous @kooromin @gojoist @dcvilxswish @13-09-01 @peachipeachy @iluv-ace @sawendel @helloitsshitzulover @jjuniescuderia @ackermendick @starrylibras @timetobegone @heelariously @idktbhloley @jeon-blue @8aif9sgbsnn @purpleguk @rednezvous @yeseurri @floralsightings @yoheyyosup @dontwannacry04 @dragonladyy

REBLOGS AND INTERACTIONS IS WHAT KEEPS AUTHORS GOING SO SHOW SOME LOVE ✨💕 mwah! see you all in episode 2.5!

my love 🫶🏻

Silent Love: Ch. 6 - "Forgiveness"

⊹ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Four

Previous Chapter: "Good Guy."

Chapter One: New Roommate(s)

Master-List: Here!

.・゜゜・ ｡･ﾟﾟ･ ╰┈➤ Sukuna x Reader

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ Sypnosis:

When moving out of your dorm and leaving your eccentric roommate goes to shit, you're offered by one of her friends to move in with him... for free! That is, if you don't mind living with two completely opposite college boys.

However, life isn't that easy, and there's a hot asshole around the corner to piss you off. Especially when he's always up late at night when you're studying, purposely trying to get on your nerves in the most perverse way possible.

You hate him.

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ Genre:

College/Modern World AU. Multiple parts.

Shameless Smut, Thin Walls, Mildly Dubious Consent, Roommates Fluff and Crack, Slice of Life, Kinda Slow Burn, Oral Sex Vaginal Sex, Slight Age Difference, Degradation Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Enemies to Lovers, Spit Kink, Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ Word Count: 27,169

･ ｡ﾟ☆:  *･ November 14th, 2023 ☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Wednesday

You keep your eyes closed, ankles crossed while sitting down on the toilet. Your fingers play with the end of your sweatshirt while Uraume kneels before you, their thumb pads softly working into the eyelid of your eyes. Softly rubbing left and right, and up and down. 

“This always helps with swelling.” Their voice is monotone, holding no emotion or form of expression. “Cooling them down is good for a short amount of time, but it can strain the eyes and be uncomfortable. Rubbing them gently removes the fluids that have built up.” 

Uraume is completely different from when you first met them. They’re more collected, calm, emotionless, and put together. They haven’t so much as smiled yet, nor do they even sound human. They’re also wearing something more formal, a white button up shirt, and some nice black pants. You feel like a child next to them, messy and disorganized. 

You sheepishly nod, “I didn’t know that.” 

“You most likely haven’t cried enough to know that.” Uraume tells you, pulling their hands away from your face in exchange for a cool damp cloth. “These are things you learn with experience, much rather time.”

You tilt your head, “Have you cried enough?” 

Uraume pauses for a moment, before responding, “Not me, no.” The stand up, tossing the wet cloth in the sink and it hits the bowl with a gross splat. Then, they add, “But, someone I used to tend to, yes.” 

You nod, fluttering your eyes open, you immediately notice how much lighter your eyes feel, along with your vision being a bit better. You push yourself off the toilet seat lid, moving to the mirror and looking at yourself. 

Uraume’s standing next to you, looking at you through the mirror. “Looks good enough for the day, wouldn't you agree?” They grab their rolled up sleeves, and pull them down, making sure that the cuffs of their nice shirt rest perfectly at their wrist. 

You nod, the tips of your fingers moving to the corners of your eyes. They’re still a bit irritated, but the swelling is practically gone, along with your eyes, no longer bloodshot, more tired or high looking. “Yeah, it looks good.” You smile slightly. 

Uraume nods satisfied, “That’s good.” They sigh to themselves, closing their eyes with a bit of exhaustion, their hand pressing against their mouth, mumbling, “This is getting to become my normal again.” They open the restroom door and leave the small room. 

You follow after, blinking a few times, “Is there…?” You watch as Uraume makes way to the kitchen, opening the plastic bag they brought with them. “Uhm… are you? Is there something you’re here for?”

Uruame nods, placing the things on the table. “Of course, I’m here for Sukuna.” They place the final item, and you quickly observe they’re the ingredients for cookies. 

Cookies?

“Oh, well, I’m sorry but…” You move to the island, resting your weight on it, “Sukuna’s not here, and I have no idea when he’s coming back.” You pass them an unsure smile, “If you want, you can stay and wait, but I don’t know how long you’ll be waiting.” 

“I’m aware.” Uraume tells you, discarding the plastic bag, “He’s currently at my place, he’s going to return later today.” They pull out their phone, typing something. You can’t deny you’re jealous, especially knowing that Sukuna spent the night there. 

Wait, what? 

Now, you’re a bit confused, why would Uraume come here for Sukuna while he’s at their house? “Oh, did he tell you that?” You lean back and forth, a bit anxious at the thought of Sukuna coming home. “He hasn’t told me, or Yuuji anything.” 

“No.” Uraume tucks their phone in their pockets, “I just told him. He should be here in an hour or two.” They shrug, “However long it takes for him to get out of bed.”  

You tense, “Oh, uhm. Okay.” You twist your feet to the hall, ready to leave. “I’ll be in my room if you need anything–” 

“I do.” Uraume points at the items on the island counter, “I’m making something, it’d be nice to have an extra pair of hands.” Their finger taps expectantly on the counter, almost impatiently. They want you to stay, and you don’t want to stay. The idea of Sukuna coming home has you anxious, and avoidant, you really don’t want to see him right now. 

“Oh, uhm…” You thickly swallow, shakily pointing at Yuuji’s room, “If you want… I can go grab Yuuji?” You pass them an unsure smile, letting your hand fall to your side again. 

Uraume shakes their head, “No. Your help is good. Come on.” They point at the butter, it’s two sticks. “Put those in the fridge for me, I have a feeling they’re close to melting.” You pass them an unsure look, naturally turning to go to your room, only for Uraume to say, “I’m trying to help you feel better, you’re being a brat.” 

You blink at their abruptness, before slowly nodding, “Okay.” You grab the two slabs of butter, and move them to the fridge. “Bossy.” You whisper, shutting the fridge behind you. 

“No, not at all, just trying to help you.” Uraume says, reaching into their personal bag and pulling out a headband, “People tend to drown in their emotions if they don’t have anything to distract them.” Their hair is now out of their face, “Besides, everyone likes making cookies.” They blink at you.

You roll your eyes at that, you’re sure Sukuna doesn’t like cookies, he’s too brittle for that. You cross your arms over your chest, huffing a small bit.

“Even Sukuna.” Uraume quips mindlessly. “Although, he is picky about how they’re made. But, he’s like that with all food, it needs to be perfect, or it goes in the trash.” Despite the content matter, Uraume doesn’t sound like they’re complaining, it sounds more mindful if anything. 

You laugh a bit, “Am I really that readable?” 

“People tend to be when they’re mad.” 

“Really?” You lean on the fridge, biting the inside of your cheek, trying to find a kind way to phrase your words. “Uhm, Uraume, I appreciate the attempt to make me… uh, feel better, but I’m not interested.” You place your hands behind your back, “I’m sure Sukuna would be more than happy to help–” 

“He told me what happened.” Uraume says, reading your face, seeing the way your face burns. “He told me everything. Including what occurred at the party.” Which… they already had a faint idea of what occurred. 

“Oh.” You don’t know what to say anymore and Uraume knows that. “I’m surprised, I didn’t take him as someone to talk about such things.” It’s a slight jab at Sukuna, but it’s the least he owes you, right? 

“He doesn’t.” Uraume moves around the island, “Although, as of yesterday, he’s become much better at it.” Uraume tilts their head at you, narrowing their eyes. “Any idea to why?” You divert your eyes at that implication, shaking your head. “I’m sure you’re aware, but back when he moved out, he moved in with me, I was the friend who took him in.” 

That makes you gasp, “You’re… So, you two lived together during–” 

“Yes.” Uraume looks down, “Yesterday, I’ve never seen him so… vulnerable. It’s endearing, as his friend, but very odd to witness.” They hesitate to say, “It’s almost as if I’m reliving my youth. Dealing with Sukuna back when he was a teen and first moved in with me.” 

You feel your chest flutter, “Wait, you mean…?” You play with the end of your shirt, your face slowly heating up. “He’s also hurt by what happened?... He cares about what happened?” Uraume can sense your flattery, it’s as easy to read as a children’s book. 

Uraume turns away from you, chin resting on the palm of your hand. “I didn’t say that, but if that’s how you take it.” They reply emotionlessly, not bothering to look at you. 

You’re trying to hide a smile, but are miserably failing. Which makes you turn away from them altogether, “Can you tell me… what he said?” Your fingers are toying with each other. 

“No.” They push themselves away from the chair, moving towards the ingredients on the table. “Are you going to help me with these cookies?” They pass you an expecting look, a bit hurriedly too. 

You move after them, softly saying “I can’t cook.” You’re a bit embarrassed by that confession, even though you’ve said it close to a million times now. 

Uraume softly sighs, letting their head fall in a tilt, “I don’t think that matters, Su–” Uraume pauses for a moment, before awkwardly adding, “It’s cookies.” They grab some bowls from the cabinets, placing them on the table lightly. “You can’t mess up cookies.” 

You rub your arm, “You’d be surprised.” You open the drawers and pull out some mixing supplies, along with falling to the floor cabinets to pull out the electric mixer. You didn’t think there was one, but checked just in case, which thank god you did. 

Uraume doesn’t respond, just grabs the sticks of butter and uses a butter knife to cut them into chunks. You take this time to ask more questions, “Sukuna likes your cooking?” You tilt your head to the side, “But, needs things to be perfect?” 

Uraume nods, “Yes.” 

“How did he know your cooking was perfect?” You grab some paper towels and place them on the counter, allowing Uraume to place the blocks of butter on them. 

“He didn’t, and it wasn’t.” Uraume almost smiles to themself, recalling back to those times. “And he wouldn’t eat anything I made for quite some time. Sometimes he would starve himself, which I forced him to eat before he died in my house.” 

You laugh, and Uraume adds, “Could you imagine that? Cleaning a dead body?” They shiver, “The absolute time and mess it would be, the smell?...” They wrinkle their nose, before relaxing, “Is what I would say about anyone else, but it’s Sukuna.” 

You lean on the counter, a bit of dread filling your stomach. “You… like Sukuna?” 

“I love Sukuna, more than myself, actually.” That makes your stomach drop, twisting into something gross and unnerving. Uraume shakes their head, “Not like your type of love, mine is more… admiration, if anything.” 

“Oh?” You tilt your head to the side, “You admire Sukuna.” 

“Of course.” Uraume went through something similar to him, but was much more… crushed by the situation. Sukuna handled it far better than they did, which was admirable to Uraume. They hesitate, but add a small, “Sukuna admires you…” 

“Really?...” You turn away, cheeks burning, and heart racing. However, you don’t dwindle on it for too long, you’re quick to change the discussion. “So, how did Sukuna grow to like your cooking?” You tap your finger against the table, the action creating a small noise of which Uraume absolutely despises. 

“He had no money, nor anything to eat.” They toss some of the butter cubes into the bowel, passing you an empty one and silently ushering you to do the same. “Yet, that didn’t stop him. Like I said, he almost starved. But, I cared enough to force him to eat.” 

You nod, mimicking their actions and placing the butter in your bowl. “So, you learned how to cook for him?” You push your bowl in their direction. 

Uraume grabs some sugar, pouring some into their bowl, and pouring an equal amount into yours, “Yes. I learned exactly how to cook for Sukuna’s taste.” They sigh a bit, “It was difficult the first few tries, good food would go to waste, but I managed to get it “perfect” soon enough.” 

“How did you make it, “perfect?” Sounds a bit impossible.” 

Uraume adds brown sugar to both the bowls, eyeing the amount. “I don’t know.” Uraume passes you a whisk, mixing their batch which entitled you to do the same. “One day, after his constant comments on how to make the food, I served it to him, and he ate it.” 

You struggle a bit to mix the ingredients, before finding a rhythm that is good for you. “Hm. Sounds like Sukuna.” You smile a bit, but immediately hide it, “He’s bi-polar as hell.” 

Uraume quickly breathes out of their nose, “Sure.” They tap their whisk on the side of the bowl, their free hand spinning the container while expertly twisting their hand and mixing the batter, “Although, I have a suspicion it wasn’t the food that was…‘not perfect.’” 

“What does that mean?” You glance at both your bowls, and notice yours doesn’t look as nice as Uraume’s. You start mixing with a bit more purpose. Uraume doesn’t respond, just taps their whisk on the edge, then takes yours to do the same. 

“Does he feel bad?” You ask, watching them mix your bowl. 

Uraume pauses, before finally removing the whisk, tapping the edge of the bowl and placing the whisk to the side. “You’ll see.” They add an egg along with vanilla extract in both bowls, handing you the items again. 

You smile a bit, you know you should feel bad, Uraume is silently telling you that he is hurt over the situation, but that makes you a bit happy. Knowing that he’s in pain, just like you, maybe even crying, makes you happy. Because, it means one thing. Sukuna does care for you. 

—- 

You cringe, eyeing your burnt cookies, and Uraume’s perfect ones. You grab one of your cookies, tapping it on the pan, it’s solid. You drop the cookie, “I told you I was bad at cooking.” You pout slightly. 

“Like I said before, I don’t believe it matters.” Uraume grabs one of your cookies, breaking off a piece, and popping it into their mouth. You can hear the loud crunching, before they pause, close their eyes, reach for a paper towel, and silently spit the cookie inside the towel. 

“I’m sorry.” You say, but smile ever so slightly, you find the situation a bit amusing. “I swear, only I would be able to find a way to ruin cookies.” You pick up the remaining piece, popping it in your mouth, only to split it back out into your hand. Wow, those are horrible.

Uraume nods, tossing the paper towel out, “It’s just a matter of practice.” They sigh, looking at the two trays, “I suppose we can toss them out and say you made mine.” They put their hand to their chin in thought. 

“No! Why would we do that!” You take one of Uraume’s cookies, “You’re being ridiculous. Here, let me just–” Your heart stops when your head the garage door opens, Sukuna’s engine revving. You feel an indescribable worry shot through your body, forcing yourself to freeze. 

Uraume’s leaning on the island counter, chin resting on their palm while they’re looking at you. “Too late, it seems that Sukuna’s home already.” They’re watching you so intently, you’re a bit unnerved by it, are they…? Are they waiting to see what’s going to happen?

“Cookies?” Sukuna asks, closing the door behind him. 

You jump, turning back to look at him. Sukuna’s eyes are already on you, and unlike normal, he’s looking directly at your eyes. His hands twitch as his sides, unsure of what to do. You’re looking at his eyes too, they look familiar. They look like yours.

Sukuna raises his hand, and weakly waves. 

You mimic him, passing him a weak smile. “Hi.” 

“She made cookies for you.” Uraume cocks their head to the side, gesturing at the two trays. “She left the first batch in for two long, and insists on making a second batch for you.” They pull the headband off their head, letting their hair fall in their face. 

You blink at this, turning over your shoulder to say, “No, that’s a lie, Uraume made one batch, I made the other.” You can’t look at Sukuna, you only mumble with a flushed face, “I messed up my batch… for you.” 

Sukuna finally tears his gaze away from you, looking at the trays. “You made them for me?” He takes a few steps forward, standing in front of the two trays. He makes a face at your burnt cookies. 

You feel even more embarrassed now that he’s blatantly looking, “U-Uraume made some for you, too.” You stutter, playing with the ends of your sweatshirt. You feel Uraume standing next to you, their arm touching yours. 

“It was all her idea.” They immediately press their hand to your mouth, not allowing you to add to their statement. Going so far to shoot you a nasty glare when you turn to look at them. That’s when you feel something click into place, Uraume’s helping you right now.

Uraume is here for Sukuna. 

You can’t help but wonder, did Sukuna send Uraume to check up on you? See how you’re doing and if you’re okay? Is that why they texted him to finally come to the house? You feel so many questions flooding your mind, but your mind is stuck on the implications. 

Sukuna sent Uraume to check up on you for him. Uraume is here for Sukuna. They're here in place for Sukuna.

“Which one’s did you make?” Sukuna asks you, finally glancing over his shoulder. By this time, Uraume already pulled their hand away from you, acting as if nothing had happened. 

“Uh,” You point at the tray with the burnt cookies, “The ones that are rocks.” You move to grab them, “Here, let me just toss them out, I know no one is going to eat them.” You reach for the tray, but Sukuna grabs your wrist, shaking his head. 

Sukuna grabs one of your cookies, and pops it into his mouth. You cringe when you can hear the harsh chewing, and you instinctively reach for a paper towel, but Sukuna doesn’t give any indication of the taste. He just closes his eyes. 

He’s eating your cookie? He’s eating your burnt cookie that is sitting next to Uraume’s perfect ones. The picky Sukuna, is eating one of your fucked up cookies… and why? You softly pull away from his grasp, “You’re eating it…?” Sukuna swallows, and it makes your cringe. “You didn’t have to do–” 

“You’re cooking is…” Sukuna places his hand over his mouth, turning away from you. “You really do need to work on it.” His voice sounds shaky, uneven, and a bit mocking. “Did you even try?” Is he laughing at you?

“I can’t believe you ate that.” You’re burning up, turning away from him. “And, of course I did, I just… messed up.” You cross your arms over your chest, “And, it’s–it’s the thought that counts…” 

“Dumb girl.” Sukuna replies with a small amount of amusement. 

You look at him for a second, mumbling, “Why–Why did you eat them? They’re obviously not… perfect.” 

Sukuna raises one of his eyebrows, pinching your cheek. “You made them for me, it’d be rude not to.” He wrinkles his nose, shaking his head slightly, “Even if they’re shit.”

Uraume smiles slightly, grabbing their things. “It’s getting late, I suppose it’s time for me to leave.” They turn for the door. 

Sukuna looks at Uraume, he places his hand on the back of his neck. “Thanks.” He waves, “I’ll see you around.” 

They smile to themself, “Anything for ‘Master’ Sukuna.” Yet, right before they leave the house, they point at Sukuna, “I don’t want to see you acting weird anymore.” They point at you next, “You, learn to like better people.” 

“What?! W-What does that… mean?” Uraume passes you a knowing look, which makes you flush. You place your hands on your hips, pretending to roll your eyes as you look to the side. “Bye, Uraume. See you later.” 

Sukuna nods in agreement, “Of course, I’ll see you.” Uraume waves, finally leaving the two of you alone in the kitchen. It’s silent, but not like the silence when the two of you argued, it seems more comfortable and somber. 

You’re about to say something, when your phone rings, making both of you jump. You laugh slightly, “Sorry.” You pull it from your pocket, checking the called ID. You feel a small spike of dread when you see your mom’s name, did something happen? “Wait, let me get this.” 

Sukuna just nods, instinctively grabbing for another one of your cookies, but quickly pulls his hand back. It makes you hide a giggle before answering. You place your phone on the counter, seeing her face fill your screen. You pass her a small wave. 

She waves back, “Hi.” She pulls something on the screen, and you recognize it as your driving license. “You left something, I forgot to tell you yesterday.” She looks at the card, nodding her head, “You are so cute in this.”

You let out a sigh of relief, nodding your head, “Oh, I didn’t even know.” It wasn’t like you’re actively driving, so keeping it on you at all times wasn’t entirely necessary. It was just used as a form of identification. “I’m sure I can pick it up during the holidays.” Your mom nods, and in the corner of your eye you can see Sukuna looking over your shoulder. 

Oh no.

“Who is that?” She’s trying to look over your shoulder, despite being on a call. “Oh my–is that your boyfriend? He’s so hot!” She’s signing a bit more frantically, she’s excited. “Why didn’t you tell me about it? You are so lucky, baby, I wish your father–”

“Mom!” You say, covering your face. “Can you not, he’s just my roommate.” You bring your hands down, and silently tell her, “For now, just wait.” 

If your mom could, you know she would be smiling like an idiot. She’s always been one for listening to your stupid drama or about boys, you’re sure it’s no different even in your adulthood. “I knew it, I have a sense for these things.” She nods, “You have good taste, although, he looks like an–” 

“Asshole.” You nod, “I’ll talk to you later mom. I’ll see you during break.” She nods and ends the call, prompting you to let out a relieved sigh.

Sukuna stand next to you, one of Uraume’s cookies in hand, “Mom?” 

You nod, turning your head to look at him, “Yeah.” You snatch the cookie from his hand, taking a bite and handing it back to him. 

Sukuna’s eye twitches at your actions, “Fuckin’ disgusting.” He scowls at the cookie. 

You hide a giggle, “I accidentally left my drivers license.” 

“You could’ve grabbed another fuckin’ cookie.” 

“You’re still on the cookie?!” You give him an aspirated look. 

“Just tell me what she said.” He waves you off, “I’m over the cookie now.”

You laugh abruptly, “Ar-Are you?” He rolls his eyes and nods in acknowledgement, you quickly add, “She thought you were my boyfriend.” You’re tempted to take another bite of his cookie to mess with him. 

Sukuna looks at the bitten cookie, passes it a scowl, then pops the rest into his mouth, chewing while asking you, “What’d you say to that shit?” 

You turn on your heel, walking towards your room, “You’re the worst person ever, and I’d rather date Yuuji than you.” You have a smug smile on your face, fluttering you lashes innocently at him. “What else would there be to say?” 

Sukuna scowls at you, “You’re such a fuckin’ liar.” He wants to follow after you, but keeps in his spot. “You know you love–” He stops himself from finishing his sentence, he probably shouldn’t mess with you too much right now. Especially saying something of that nature. 

You wave him off, opening your door. “You’re so full of yourself. I will never like you.” 

Sukuna half smiles, something you can’t decipher hiding behind it, but it becomes more real once he sees you smiling back at him. “Promise?” He tilts his head to the side. 

You stop at the door, leaning on the frame while looking at him, “Do you promise?” There’s a small smile on your lips, your eyes full of curiosity, but it’s tainted with a bit of pain. Like you’re looking for something in his answer. 

Sukuna pushes his hair back, giving you a boyish look, “Do you… want me to?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to stop your smile from building as you look to the side. You pass him a final smile, before silently entering your room and closing the door behind you. Sukuna cups his face, shaking his head into his hand. 

He hates that he’s smiling right now. 

･ ｡ﾟ☆:  *･ November 30th, 2023 ☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Thursday

Yuuji picks up his controller remote, which is coincidentally pink, and clicks the icon for YouTube. “I usually do this with Fusiguro or Nobara, but they’re out of commission today.” He leans on your legs, his head falling back on your knees, “Studying or something…” 

You run your fingers through his hair, “I mean, finals are coming up, Yuuji.” You grab another butterfly hair clip, clipping it to his hair to hold his bangs back. “I’ve been starting to study, too.”

Yuuji groans, closing eyes and moaning, “I don’t want to study.” He lets his head fall to the side, which you quickly grab and pull it back on your knees, adding more hair clips. “I don’t even want to take a final, why can’t break just… come.”

“Don’t whine, Yuuji, you’re a smart boy.” You take one of your under eye patches, and place it in its designated space. “I promise you, it’ll go by so quick, you won’t even process it.” You nod, “There, that should feel refreshing for your skin.” 

Yuuji nods, propping his head back up and searching for something on the search bar. “It feels good.” He clicks something, mindlessly telling you, “We should do this more often, I like doing girly things.” 

You giggle, twisting your hair up and pulling it out of your place. “We can totally do that.” You place another pair of eye patches underneath your eyes, and tap them in place. “Although, I’m moving out after finals, so you may have to hurry.”  

Yuuji gawks at this, twisting his head so fast, you think he’s going to break it. “What?! You’re still moving out?” He sighs, shaking his head, “Is it Sukuna?” He throws a dirty look in a general area. 

You laugh, “No, it’s not Sukuna, Yuuji.” You pat his head, “Although the thought is thoroughly appreciated.” You watch as he plays the half time of a super bowl game, one featuring Shakira and Jlo. Of course. 

“Oh, are you two still mad at each other?” Yuuji leans his head back, allowing you to put some star pimple patches on some designated areas. “Or, did you two make up?” 

“Mad at each other? No.” You close the small container which you keep your pimples patches in, before looking to the side and thinking. “Me mad at him? Well.. I haven’t completely forgiven him. But, I’m not as mad anymore.” You smile a bit, thinking about Uraume, and what they did to calm a bit of tension between the two of you. “But, I feel like that doesn’t answer your question.”

Yuuji looks at you with determination, shaking his head. “Stay here. If it is Sukuna, I can kick him out.” He grabs your hands, giving you a curt nod. “Mhm!” You just laugh, hand pressing against his head to push him away from you. 

“You’re being ridiculous, Yuuji.” You tap his forehead. 

“I pay for the house, Yuuji. Please, throw me out, see what happens.” Sukuna snarkily adds from behind the two of you. “Maybe ask our old man for a job while you’re at it. Get you to stop leeching off me.” He grumbles. 

Yuuji flops back into your legs, groaning out dramatically while you giggle. “But I don’t want to work…” The super bowl music starts, and Yuuji springs out of your lap, raising in his arms as he dances in his spot. 

You laugh again, looking at Sukuna and passing him a quick shrug. 

Yuuji is already up again, the system remote in hand and singing Shakira opening half. Moving his hips, and smiling like an idiot. Still, you got to give it to him, he’s actually really good at dancing. A part of you thinks Shakira should’ve had Yuuji as one of her backup dancers. 

Yuuji looks at his brother, passing him an unsure smile, before saying your name. You snap your attention to him, “Hey, can you do all this to him, too?” He gestures to his face, “If you couldn’t tell, his skin is literally crying for help.” 

Sukuna’s eye twitches, “If you didn’t know, I actually take care of my skin.” He moves to stand over Yuuji. He crosses his arms over his shoulder, smirking to himself while adding, “Probably better than you wash your ass.” 

“Hey!” Yuuji yells, pointing an accusing finger at Sukuna, “I wash my face with a soap bar.” He narrows his eyes, “And my ass, too.” He turns back to the TV, wiggling his shoulders to the beat. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes, “We can totally tell.” 

Yuuji pauses his dancing for a moment, pointing at you. “Do a face mask on him so he has to shut up.” He turns back to the TV and dances like nothing happened, completely changing up his attitude the moment Jlo appears on the screen. 

Sukuna drops down next to you, making you bounce ever so slight from the weight distribution. He closes his eyes, leaning his head back, “Alright, let's get this shit over with.” He taps your thigh. 

You raise an eyebrow, “Wait, you actually want me to do this?” You push his hand away from you, “I thought this type of stuff would be too girly for you, or something?” Besides, you’re not too keen on touching him right now, you’re not completely healed from the argument between you two. Better than before, but not completely over it. 

You wonder if Sukuna is over it, he did seem relatively upset over what you did. Even if you have no clue what you did. He seems over it, then again, you can never know with Sukuna. Yet, a part of you wishes you do. 

“Just do the shit before I leave.” Sukuna tells you, eyes still closed and his body relaxed on the couch. If you know Sukuna well enough, you’re sure that means he wants to do this, just won’t admit it. 

You can help, but subtly smile. “Then ask politely.” You point at Yuuji’s dancing body, “Your younger brother had no problem doing that.” Yuuji didn’t ask, you forced it on him, but Sukuna doesn’t need to know that. “Aren’t you supposed to be setting an example?” 

Sukuna’s eyebrow twitches with frustration, but he remains silent. Which you think is much better then hurling more insults at you, so you take it as him asking politely. “Whatever.” You grab a pink headband, and place it on his forehead, sliding his hair behind it. You pick a few of his baby hairs and clip them with your hair clips. “You know, I saw you before all this, just mixed you up with Yuuji.” 

“Really?” Sukuna asks, not bothering to open his eyes. 

“Yeah.” You grab a moisturizer, placing it on the tips of your fingers before spreading it to the other hand and placing it on his skin. “I was with Maki when I first saw you.” You laugh to yourself,  “She said you were spoiled.” In nice terms, “Then, I met Yuuji, and complimented his hair, since it was the only thing that stood out to me.” You pull your fingers away, “Looks like Yuuji stole the only compliment I would ever give you.” 

“Oh, how absolutely kind of you.” Sukuna pauses for a moment, recalling the conversation you’re referencing. “Wait, that’s why you said I didn’t work to get here?” He huffs a small bit.

“I was hoping you forgot.” You whisper, gathering more eyepatches to place on Sukuna. 

“I have a good memory.” Sukuna tells you, finally opening his eyes to look at you, “I’m sure you know that, at least.” You don’t respond, just peel open the product and place them under his eyes. “Just so you know, I pay for my and Yuuji’s education. I work for our grandpa.” 

That surprises you a bit, “That’s kind of you.” You feel that's a common thing you tell Sukuna mindlessly. You place the final eyepatch, swiping your fingers over both to make sure they stick. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you leave for work.” You open a face mask, spreading it open to make it easier to fit over his face. 

“Yeah, you’re just really forgetful.” You glare at him, which clearly assumes him. “It’s nothin’ I need to leave the house for, purely mental work.” He smiles to himself, flicking your forehead. “Stuff your little brain wouldn’t be able to wrap around.” He mocks you.

You feel your eye twitch, you slap the face mask over his face. You laugh when he flinches, his eyes shutting from the intrusion. “Uh-huh. Yeah, my stupid girl brain wouldn't be able to wrap around your big man, alpha job.” 

Sukuna shakes his head, trying to hide his smile, “You’re so fuckin’ dumb.” 

You spread the mask over his face, “Yeah, yeah.” You tap his cheek, removing the small air bubble caught between his skin and the mask. “Okay, there.” You grab the package and check the instructions, “Says to leave on the skin for fifteen minutes.” 

Sukuna sits up, about to speak when you cut him off, “Ah, nope! It means no talking for fifteen minutes.” You tap his shoulder a few times, a cheeky smile building on your lips. “You don’t want to get wrinkles, right?” You push yourself off the couch, tapping Yuuji’s shoulder to show him your masterpiece. 

When Yuuji turns to look at Sukuna, his jaw drops, “Holy shit, I didn’t think he’d actually let you do it.” He smiles at his brother, hand holding onto each other while singing, “He’s such a cutie, maybe he’ll let you do his makeup, too.” 

“Both of you come any closer to me, and I will kill you.” Sukuna says with a scowl, pulling up his phone to scroll through it. “Especially, you, Yuuji.”

Yuuji wraps his arms around your shoulder, whispering, “Hear that, he’s got a soft spot for you.” He wiggles his shoulder, singing in your ear, “Maybe, he likes you.”

A pillow comes right between the two of you, but hits directly on Yuuji’s head, making him fall to the floor on his knees. Sukuna cockily laughing behind him, “That’s what you get for whisperin’ like little fuckin’ girlies.” 

Yuuji just collapses into himself, “Why… Why does this always happen to me…?” He reaches a tantalizing hand for you, shaking while he mumbles, “An.. an angel. An angel has come for me…” 

You giggle, naturally reaching back for him, but Sukuna places his body between you and Yuuji, smirking while he slaps his hand down. “Yeah, that’s one hell of a way to put it.” He picks up the pillow again, only to throw it back at Yuuji’s face. 

Yuuji’s reaching for you, again, but your attention is preoccupied by picking a new video to watch. Which… Sukuna feels a small pride in. You’re not paying attention to Yuuji, then again, you’re not paying attention to him, but it’s better than you hanging off his brother in front of him. 

Selfishly. 

Sukuna swears when Yuuji’s hands dramatically falls to the floor, he can hear Yuuji whisper, “Traitor…” Of which falls on deaf ears, clear by the way you're humming to yourself and clicking onto a video. 

“Here, I picked a Selena video.” You say with a smile, placing the remote down. “It’s the intro to her performance at the Astrodome.” You already smile when you see her waving to the crowd. 

Yuuji gains an inhuman amount of strength to push the pillow and Sukuna off him, joining your side and chanting Selena’s name. You’re quick to grab your hair brush, using it as a mic to sing along with Selena’s singing while Yuuji messily follows her dancing on the screen. 

Sukuna merely sits on his heels, looking at the both of you idiots with a dumbfounded look. You’re idiots, you two are actual idiots, maybe even mental. Still, Sukuna is… smiling. A fond look on his face watching the two of you enjoy yourselves. 

More specifically you. You’re hair tied back with a similar fuzzy head band, although yours is decorated with small cat ears and the color white. Some matching colorful clips holding back your baby hairs, and your face adorned with star pimple patches and eye masks.

You’re so weird, he thinks to himself. It’s nice to look at.

Even when you turn to look at him, passing him a face that can only be read as, ‘Stop looking at me, weirdo.’ Sukuna still admires you, passing you an expression you’ve never seen before. It makes your chest flutter a bit. 

“You look dumb.” Sukuna tells you with a smile, laughing when you push his shoulder making him fall off his heels.

“Oh please, have you looked in the mirror?” You say between lyrics, passing him a smug smile as you say, “I’m sure your blonde girlfriend would be on her knees if she saw you right now.” You laugh to yourself, spinning alongside Yuuji. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes, grabbing your wrist and pulling you down with him, “Forget about her.” He tells you, enjoying the way you perfectly fall into his chest, an adorable glare staring at him, “I know I have.” 

You naturally place your hands on the floor, pushing yourself off his chest. “I haven’t.” Your words are directed at something else, and Sukuna knows that. Still, you don’t stand up just yet, you keep your gaze concentrated on him. 

Sukuna looks to the side for a moment, “I’m aware.” 

“I have such a thing for asses.” Yuuji says from behind the two of you, making you turn your head over your shoulder to give him a questionable look. Only to see he’s giving you a mirroring look, “Woah, I literally had my back to you for five seconds, what is happening?” He covers his face, “I feel like I’m interrupting.”

“I’m trying to kill your brother.” 

“Oh.” Yuuji slowly nods to himself, “Fair.” 

You look at the pillow, then point at it, “Pass me that so I can suffocate him.” Yet, Yuuji’s quick by your side, placing the pillow over Sukuna’s face with a laugh. “Or, you can do that, too.” You place your weight on Sukuna, keeping him in place. 

“We got him!” Yuuji yells, looking back and forth around the room. “Someone call animal control!” You giggle, only for both of you to be pushed back, practically sliding across the room as Sukuna sits back up. Yuuji fakes worry, “He’s loose!”

You and Yuuji start laughing again, finding humor in how dumb that line was, while sitting on the ground. Before both you take a moment to stare at Sukuna. You point at him, “Su-Sukuna, your face…” You cup your mouth, trying not to laugh, “..Where’d your face mask go?” 

Yuuji makes a confused face, before lifting the pillow he’s still holding onto. Displaying Sukuan’s face mask perfectly intact and sticking to the cushion. You and Yuuji fall to the floor, laughing hysterically. 

Sukuna turns away from the two of you, his hand placed on his lips. “I-Idiots.” 

Yuuji then proceeds to pick himself up with the pillow, raising it in the air and recreating his best ghost impression while violently sprinting after you. “Boo!” You awkwardly get up, your feet sliding on the wooden floor as you run away from him with a fake cry. 

Sukuna just… watches as this unfolds in front of him. 

And at some point, he swears there is actual terror on your face while you’re running away from Yuuji. Practically, slipping on everything everytime you take a quick corner or round the dining room table. Yuji’s quick on your tail with another scary yell, which tears a real scared scream from you. 

You pass Sukuna a quick look, hiding behind the dinner table. And despite your terror, you’re smiling, clearly enjoying yourself, as you scream, “Help me!” Then, quickly run behind him, hands pressing into his back, “I’m calling for backup, someone get the ghostbusters in here!” 

Sukuna, does something that shocks you both, he laughs. His hand lifts to his eyes while he shakes his head, “You’re so stupid.” Yuuji takes this as an invitation to continue, this time giving his attention to his brother. Only for it to seriously fail and receive a bodyslam into the couch, the pillow long gone. 

Your jaw drops, watching–almost in slow motion–as Yuuji drops, presumably, dead in his spot. His hand dramatically falling limp by his head, his head falling to the side with it. He mumbles, “Brother…?” He blinks, his other hand touching his face, “Is this heaven?” 

“It’s hell.” You quickly perk in, sitting by his head, “I hope you had fun Yuuji, because it’s nothing but suffering and fire from here on out.” You laugh to yourself, pulling his head into your lap. “I swear, you’re always dying on me, Yuuji. It’s like you’re trying to escape from me.” 

Yuuji covers his face with his forearm, “You’ve finally figured me out…” 

You slap his arm, Sukuna sitting on his legs, which you have to think is painful, but Yuuji doesn’t flinch. “Rude.” You mumble, pulling his arm off his face, “What were you saying?” You silently scold Sukuna for sitting on his brother's legs, but he doesn’t move. 

Yuuji’s eyebrows furrow, him looking to the side in thought. “What was I saying?” his eyes land on the screen, watching as Selena finishes her final song to the intro of her performance. “Oh!” He sits up, “Asses.” He says with full confidence. 

You tilt your head to the side, passing Sukuna an unprepared look, before repeating his words with uncertainty, “Asses?” There’s a small laugh hidden behind your words. 

“Asses.” Yuuji asserts, “I have a thing for asses.” 

You nod your head, eyes wide, “Wow. That’s… amazing, Yuuji.” You give him a forced smile, as if he were a toddler passing you a horribly drawn drawing, “I didn’t need to know that.” You stand up, almost pushing Yuuji off the couch as you do so. 

Yuuji throws finger guns at you, clicking his tongue, “Well, now you do.” He falls back down, taking your place on the couch. Yuuji passes you, what he thinks is a charming smile, but looks more scary if anything.  “By the way, you have an amazing–” 

Sukuna hits the back of Yuuji’s head, “Learn to shut your fuckin’ mouth, Yuu.”

Yuu? Is that a nickname Sukuna calls Yuuji? You’ve never heard it before. You put your hand out, “Wait, Sukuna, let the boy speak.” You shrug, turning your attention back to the screen, “He may say something that I want to hear.” You scroll through the related videos, and try to pick another song to listen to. 

Yuuji passes Sukuna a smug smile, “Yeah, Sukuna.” 

Sukuna just rolls his eyes. You give up on finding a video, and place the controller in Sukuna’s hands, silently telling him to pick something. Then, you sit on the ground next to the coffee table, since both boys are taking up the couch. 

Yuuji pulls his legs from under his brother and stretches them, pulling out his phone in the meantime. Yuuji calls your name, “Are you free the whole next week?” You just give a halfhearted shrug. “Well, if you are, Nobara and Megumi are planning on meeting up in the library for the whole week, to study. They just texted me about it.” 

You watch as Sukuna begins searching for a song to listen to. “Oh, that actually sounds really nice, I’d totally be–” You pause, thinking for a moment, “Wait, I can’t on Monday and Wednesdays, I have my club.” You groan at that thought. 

Yuuji tilts his head to the side, “Wait, I thought you liked going to your club?” 

You turn to look at him over your shoulder, “No, I do. Believe me, I do.” You sigh, “But, I have to go to every club meeting since no one wants to cover for me. It’s honestly so exhausting. Like, you don’t even have to do much, you just have to check roll-call, yet no one seems to want to take on the small work load. “And with finals coming up, I really need a break.” 

Yuuji hums, pouting ever so slightly, “Sorry to hear that, if you want, I can take your spot.” 

You laugh, shaking your head while turning back to the TV, only to see a video playing. “I feel it coming.” By, The Weekend. You hum to yourself, already nodding your head to the beat. You smile to yourself, “Tell me what you really like.” 

Yuuji nods with you, skipping a few lines before adding, “Just take it step by step.” He pushes himself off the couch, crawling next to you, “You’ve been scared of love, and what it did to you.” He bumps into your shoulder, making you nod in sync with him.

“I feelin’ coming, babe.” You sing, this time snapping your fingers to the beat, your shoulder rolling together. The two of you enjoy the rest of the song while humming parts, eyes engrossed in the music video. Until you turn over your shoulder to look at Sukuna. 

You feel a bit… shocked by what you see. 

Sukuna’s nodding along, his eyes already on you while singing along, and now that you’re looking at him, it feels like you can hear him singing, “You’ve been scared of love, and what it did to you.” It sounds a bit odd, knowing how deep his voice is, but at the same time it’s domestic. A bit intimate to you, never in your life would you think that one day you would see Sukuna singing along to a weekend song. 

You pass him a ridiculous smile at him, nodding your head a bit more dramatically, “You don’t have to run, I know what you’ve been through.” You place your hand over your heart, which gives Sukuna some form of encouragement. 

He places his hand on his chest, “Just a simple touch, and it can set you free.” 

“We don’t have to rush when you’re alone with me.” You mouth back, swaying your shoulders slightly. 

Yuuji leans back, shooting his hands in the air while loudly singing, “I feel it coming,” Which inclines everyone to sing the final lines together with a laugh.

It may seem ridiculous, singing along to a weekend song with Sukuna, but… it feels real. 

Sukuna feels real. 

–

You stretch your arms over your head, letting out a long yawn. “I think I’m clocking in for the night.” You push yourself off the ground, accidentally making Yuuji fall to the floor. Shit, you didn’t know he was sleeping on you. 

Yuuji shoots up, “I’m up! I’m up!” He blinks hard, looking around a bit confused, “Uh, save your tears for another day?...” He lets his head fall back onto the floor, almost as if he had passed out again. This time, without you to cushion his fall.  

You laugh, rolling your eyes, “Goodnight, Yuuji.” You pat his head, which gains you a small smile from him. 

Yuuji pats your hand back, “Night, night.” He curls into himself, much like a puppy. 

A small huff leaves your lips, before you make your way to your room. Sukuna passes you a quick glance, which you return with a curt wave. “See you in the morning, Sukuna.” 

Yet, when you go to open your door, a hand grabs yours. You don’t even need to look at him to know who it is, you turn over your shoulder, the name leaving your mouth like sticky honey, “Sukuna?” Yet, your eyes aren’t on his face, they're stuck on your hand. 

He’s holding your hand.

Albeit, he is holding it a bit awkwardly, but he’s holding you. Last time you were in a similar situation he was holding your wrist, now he’s holding your hand.  A small difference, but it holds more meaning than you can ever imagine. You’ve never noticed before, most likely because you’ve never taken the time to mentally note, but Sukuna’s had it much larger than yours. It holds your whole hand whole, it's warm and calloused. It’s comforting.

It’s far more intimate now.

“You're rude.” He tells you, but for once, there’s no malice in his voice. It’s more calm and playful, shockingly. “I see you clearly have a favorite brother, pretty girl.” 

You raise your eyebrow at him, slowly pulling your hand away to cross it over your chest. “What? Is it that I didn’t wish you a good slumber?” You smile while he glares at you, you tilt your head to the side ever so slightly, “You’re oddly sassy today?” 

Wait, did he just call you pretty girl? “Wait, what did you call me?” You blink dumbly. 

“I didn’t say anything.” Sukuna says, before adding, “Besides, you’re always fuckin’ annoying, but you don’t see me bitching at you ‘bout it.” You raise an eyebrow, which is more than enough said. “Okay, fine, I’ll give you that.” 

You nod satisfied, “That’s what I thought.” You shake your head, “Wait, no, you’re not changing the conversation, what did you call me?” 

“Dookie stain?” Sukuna says with a satisfied smirk. 

“Oh my god.” You place your hand over your face, “I don’t think I’m ever going to forgive you.” And with that sentence alone, the tone between the two of you snapped into something less light-hearted, and more… distant. 

There’s a small silence between you two, and it isn’t very comfortable, nor is it uncomfortable. If anything, it’s more…. The two of you don’t know what to say. Should you say something about the argument? Or, should you leave the topic to simmer, then eventually die out? Maybe, find a completely different topic to talk about, despite how much you want to talk about the argument.

You look to the side, biting your bottom lip gently. Sukuna leans on the wall across from you, “You’re still mad?” Looks like Sukuna can also read your mind. 

You’re hesitant to say, “Not as much as before, no.” You hug yourself, “I’m guessing you’re also no longer mad…?” You give Sukuna a hopeful look, but it isn’t returned. 

Sukuna doesn’t say anything, just softly sighs. “Finals are coming up.” He tells you, and him ignoring your question, is answer enough. He’s still bothered over what happened. Still, a part of you wonders what you did that got under his skin. That makes you feel a bit worse, the fact that you don’t know. Yet, it couldn’t have been that bad, right? 

That thought makes you feel even worse.

You merely nod, not adding to his words. You don’t have much strength to do that right now. Maybe, you don’t have the strength to have that conversation right now, much rather to your own desires. 

Sukuna seems unsure, hesitant to say, “I study at home, if the brat isn’t bothering you, you should come by.” He cocks his head in the direction of his room. “I already know how annoyin’ he can be.” 

You tilt your head to the side, raising an eyebrow. “Wait, right now?” You tap your door, “It’s past my bedtime, and I’m actually really tired.” You tease. 

Sukuna scoffs at you, “No, dumbass. Later.” You laugh a bit, knowing that even though you're clearly joking, Sukuna seems to find offense to everything. “Besides, I’m going to… uh, talk to Yuuji right now.” He passed you a look that says a thousand words. 

You feel your lips part a bit, knowing exactly what Sukuna and Yuuji’s conversation is going to entail. And, as much as you are a bit mad at him, you smile at him. Your eyes glowing in the small light of the hallway, while your eyes shine bright at him, “That sound… amazing.” You nod softly, “I’m glad.”

Sukuna diverts his gaze away from you, not able to hold your gaze. “Yeah, whatever.” He crosses his arms over his chest, mimicking your stance. “I swear, you always look at me with that stupid smile. It’s annoying as hell.” 

You’re still smiling, tilting your head to try and look at his face. “What? You hate my smile?” You say, leaning closer to him, “Is that why you can’t look at me right now?” 

“I can’t look at your hideous face.” Sukuna responds. 

“Uh-huh, sure. I completely believe you.” You smile a bit, “I’m sure that’s why you called me a pretty girl right now. Just because of how hideous I am.” Sukuna doesn’t respond, but the twitch in his eyebrow is satisfying enough. “Okay, yeah, we can study later.” You turn on your heel, opening your door, “Since you asked so nicely, Sukuna.” You say animatedly. 

“Didn’t ask for anything.” Sukuna tells you while rolling his eyes, pushing himself off the wall to stand a bit closer to you. “You might actually be going mental.” He pinches your nose, blocking your airway for a moment. 

“Sure.” Your voice sounds ridiculous. Which makes Sukuna smile a small bit. You wave his hand off, turning to your room. Yet, right before you close your door behind you, you pause to look at him. Your head leaning on the door. Sukuna almost perks up at you, expecting something. It’s a bit puppy-like in a way. “Say it.” Your eyes are boring into him. 

“Say what?” Sukuna mumbles back, passing you a disinterested sigh. You just give him an expecting look, similar to the one he was giving you not even a few seconds ago. He loudly—and obnoxiously—sighs, “Good fuckin’ night, loser.”

You burst into laughter at his insult, which doesn’t at all feel insulting, but more humorous. “Bye, Sukuna.” You watch as he makes his way back to the living room, but you call his name again, just to mess with him. “‘Kuna?” 

Sukuna—visibly—sighs, his shoulder slowly raising, then lowering, before slowly turning his head over his shoulder to look at you. “What do you want now, idiot?” He’s glaring at you, but it’s still entirely humorous in your head. 

“Good…” You watch as he eyes perk a bit, and you laugh a bit, you can’t help it, really. “Good luck removing those eye masks, they stain the skin.” 

“Fuck you.” He flips you off. 

･ ｡ﾟ☆:  *･ December 1st, 2023 ☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Friday

“It’s done!” You squeal, throwing your hand in the air with enthusiasm. Only for you to collapse onto your computer, “Oh my god, I’m done.” Your eyes close, rubbing your eyelids from the strain of looking at a screen without your glasses. “I hate Gojo, I pray for Gojo’s students next year. This project is literally so invasive.”

Yuuji merely nods, a bit caught up in his thoughts. You can’t help but notice Yuuji seems a bit different, more put at ease, and untroubled with himself. A blissful smile on his face, as his eyes blink with a similar tone, he looks happy. But, not in the sense of grinning ear to ear, but in self… contentment. 

You can even see it in the way he holds his body, his shoulders seem lighter, his smile less forced. It’s almost as if you’re finally getting a glimpse at the real Yuuji, not the one he’s been trying to force into your eye. He’s still Yuuji, but more… real. 

It makes you feel warm. 

You can also see the slight puffiness in Yuuji’s eye. They’re a bit red, and the corners look a bit irritated, too. You assume their conversation entailed a few tears, but you’re not going to point them out, nor are you going to ask. You’re sure Nobara will do that for you.

If anything, you’ll bother Sukuna about it later. Noticing his eyes are also a bit irritated at the corners, too. Not in front of Yuuji, though, maybe when the two of you study on your own, you’ll tease him about it. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, turning your computer to Yuuji, “Wait, can you check it for me? I feel like it’s too personal.” Knowing Gojo, he’d probably love that. “Should I tone it back some more? Or, should I say ‘fuck it,’ and leave it as is?”

Yuuji leans over, eyes skimming the google document. “I think it’s fine, your writing is way better than any papers I’ve done.” 

Sukuna reaches over, taking your computer, only for you to snatch it away from him. “Ah, you can’t see it yet.” You’re mumbling a bit, your face growing hot, “I still have some comments I need to delete before I turn it in.” Again, you think it’s far too personal for a normal school paper, much less for Sukuna to read. 

Sukuna doesn’t bother to ask, just lets you do whatever. “Weirdo.”

“We still enjoying our Friday out?” You ask Yuuji, pulling your head up to look at him. “It’s our last glimpse into freedom for a month.” 

Yuuji perks at this, “Yeah, Nobara should be swinging by with Megumi anytime now.” He closes his computer, looking at Sukuna sitting across from him. “You sure you don’t want to come, Megumi is going to be there.” 

“You’re acting like Megumi is going to suede his decision.” You rest your head on your hand, looking at Yuuji. “Wait, unless they’re secretly dating, and this is your way of coming out to me.” You turn your attention to Sukuna, passing him a smug smirk. 

“I’ll kill you.” Sukuna says, not taking his eyes off his computer. 

You merely giggle in response, leaning ever so slightly in his direction. “Mhm. Keep talking to me like that.” 

Yuuji blinks innocently, “I don’t know, It might. I think Sukuna likes Megumi.” He narrows his eyes at you, “Wait, I’m changing my answer, she’s going to be there.” Yuuji points at you. 

“You’re acting like that is going to change my answer.” Sukuna rubs his eyes. 

You shrug, “It might.” 

Yuuji sighs, looking away from you with a red face, “Well, I’m going…” 

That makes both you and Sukuna turn to look at Yuuji, a smile building on your lips, while Sukuna bites the inside of his cheek. “I’ll…” He smiles a bit, “I always hated when you pulled that shit on me.” He leans back in his chair, letting out an exasperated breath. “I’ll take you out somewhere this weekend, you good with that?”

Yuuji tries to hide it, but he smiles into his hand. 

You lean close to Yuuji, “He loves you, Yuuji, isn’t that so sweet?” Sukuna throws a pencil at your head, to which you almost tackle him for. You quickly compose yourself, “Good thing you love him, because everyday I fight the urge to take him out in his sleep.” You give Yuuji a small smile, “You’re keeping me sane, Yuuji.”

“Who knew we actually had that in common?” 

“We love Yuuji, or we want to kill–”

“Nobara’s here.” Yuuji stands up, closing his computer and placing it in the middle of the table, which you allow your device to join next to. He laughs to himself, tucking his phone into his pocket, “She also said, Megumi bought drinks, but I think that’s a lie.” 

“Let me grab my shoes.” You push yourself back from the table, grabbing your converse and twisting your feet into them. Tapping them on the ground once you stand back up, satisfied with how they look. 

Yuuji’s already by your side, draping a blue jean jacket over his red hoodie. “We’ll be back around ten, I don’t think we’re going to do anything crazy.” He tells Sukuna, looking over his shoulder to see his brother standing behind him. 

“I don’t care what you do.” Sukuna says dismissively, “Just don’t wake me up when you get home.” His hands are in the pockets of his sweats. 

Yuuji nods at Sukuna, pulling your hand quickly to the car. “See you tomorrow.” Sukuna returns the gesture with a small wave, almost laughing when Yuuji pushes you into the car awkwardly. A small yelp resigns in his ears as he shuts the door again. 

Sukuna softly nods to himself, making way back to the table, grabbing his computer from the center. He doesn’t know why he put his device in the pile when he was going to return not even a moment later, but what was done, was done.

“To finish that stupid assignment for Geto’s class–” Sukuna pauses after opening his laptop, immediately flooded with a pink background, and a splitscreen of a google document. It hits him like a rock through a moving vehicle, this isn’t his computer. 

See, if this computer was Yuuji’s, he would’ve closed it and reached for his own. It’s truly as simple as that. But, it’s not Yuuji’s computer, it’s yours, and the google document open is the research project you did on him. 

Besides, what you don’t know, won’t hurt you. 

Sukuna hides the open webpage in favor of looking at your wallpaper, noticing what he thinks is your family under a cherry tree. But, he can’t spot you, which is a bit odd, you would assume that a picture like this would include everyone–Sukuna pasuses, his eyes landing on a small girl in the middle. 

“Holy shit.” Sukuna mumbles to himself with a smile, trying not to laugh. That small girl is you. You look incredibly young, most likely a picture from middle school. Yet, what he’s a bit perplexed by, is your appearance, a stark contrast to how you look now. Glasses, braces, messy hair, and a fashion sense that screams early 2000’s. 

Cute. 

Sukuna wonders if you still need glasses, possibly changed them out for contact once you hit college? Now, he wants to see what you look like in glasses. Would you look childish, like the picture here, or would you look more grown and dignified. Some other thoughts pop into his head thinking about you wearing glasses, but he doesn’t dwindle on them for too long. Despite how inviting they may seem. 

He opens the document again, immediately meeting with the simple words of, ‘Project, by me.’ He thinks it’s a bit improper, and adds your name for you. You can thank him later for being such a kind roommate, and–now–study partner. 

Sukuna’s eyes naturally fall on the small circle chart at the beginning, explaining the nutrients, and food he intakes. Right next to it is a graph explaining his active life, how much he works out, and practices. Along with the calories he burns, along with what he gains from working out. 

It’s far more extensive than he’s ever noted about himself. Yet, that’s not the part that seems interesting to him, more or less what he’s looking for. He’s looking for personal notes about him. Your… “evaluation,” of sorts. He wants to know what you wrote. 

Sukuna actually spoke to Maki earlier in the day, asked her about the project. 

“What?” Maki asked with a scowl, “Why the hell would I do that?” She places her hands on her hips. 

Sukuna’s quick to say your name, “Asked for an example, just hasn’t had the time to find you yet. Decided I’d help her out.” He placed his hands into his pockets, tapping his foot on the ground impatiently. 

Maki sighed, flicking her glasses to the bridge of her nose, before pulling out her computer, placing it on the picnic table where she was eating. “Fine, but tell her she owes me.” She said with a groan. 

“Nah, I’ll take care of it.” Sukuna said, eyeing the screen Maki just showed him. She did it on her brother Megumi, writing about who he is, analyzing his character, and more specifically, who he is in her eyes. “Hm.” He nodded to himself, “Cool, I’ll buy you lunch, or something.” 

Maki shook her head, “Sure, whatever.” 

Now, Sukuna can’t deny how curious he is about what you wrote about him. Along with the small comments you added to yourself. He’s quick to click the first one. It’s attached to a sentence. 

“Sukuna Itadori – a previous student of yours – holds himself with pride, strength, and dignity. Yet, contains a side to him which no one seems to view, a side that’s more caring then most would note.” 

– ‘Pride is one hell of a way to put it. I already hate this.’ 

Sukuna laughs a bit, clicking onto the next personal comment. 

“Sukuna is an individual that pushes everyone out, in fear of rejection. (Rejection – the dismissing or refusing of a proposal, idea, etc.) However, the rejection feared isn’t tainted in love, or measly relationships written in immature youth, nor is it littered from social cliques which people tend to flock to, but rejection as in the fear of yourself, of never meeting what you pray to become.” 

– ‘That’s all the professor is going to get out of me, honestly, the man is so nosey. Fail me if you need to, I don’t care anymore.’ 

There's another comment attached to it. 

– ‘Sukuna deserves so much better, then just being my stupid fucking project. I wish I could tell him that.’

That makes Sukuna reel back, his heart beating loudly in his chest. A plethora of emotions flooding his head, along with guilt seeping through his chest. It feels weird, something he feels very little of, but it’s real and drowning. You… You do know why he’s mad. 

Now, ugh… he feels a bit stupid. 

Now, he feels bad. 

Sukuna shakes his head, he wants to continue, but doesn’t know if he should. There’s only a few more comments, which can’t be too revealing, it can’t make him react in such a way as the previous one, right? So, he’s fine to continue. 

“I noted that being by the side of an athlete was going to be revealing of his character, however, I couldn’t help but notice the change of mine. I became more nervous, scared, excited, and riddled with anxiety. My personal agenda against Sukuna switching from the one I heard from acquaintances, to something I could piece together on my own. He’s brash, stoic, and pleasing to the eye.” 

– ‘“Pleasing to the eye?” What is this, 1900? I swear, just call him sexy asf, I’m sure Gojo wouldn’t care… hell, he’ll probably understand if anything.’

That makes Sukuna laugh, “She’s going to hate me.” But, that doesn’t keep him away from looking, if anything, it has him clicking your second to last personal comment. However, right before he can get to them, Sukuna notices the massive paragraph break between a conclusion, and the two more comments. 

The conclusion is simple and dignified. However, the paragraph under the break isn't so much. 

“Sukuna Itadori. A man who has managed to flip my world upside down, a complex person of which I feel I will never understand. Yet, I've grown to terms with that. I’ve grown to terms that the only individual I will understand is myself, however, spending time with some else at close proximity, passes me a glimpse into someone else's life, along with their problems and aspirations. I understand so little, yet more than most.” 

– ‘This is too personal, I need to write a better conclusion. Ugh. So close to being done.’ 

Sukuna agrees, mumbling to himself, “It’s like she’s in love with–” His finger clicks the last personal comment. 

– ‘Just say you love him, it’s not like he’s going to see it. Maybe, Gojo will give me a good grade for the confession, too.’

Sukuna closes the computer, then cups his face. 

He’s fine, there’s nothing happening right now, his mind isn’t racing, nor is his heart beating quickly at all. He’s completely calm, not freaking out at all. His…

Sukuna’s ears are tinted red. 

You’re going to kill him. 

･ ｡ﾟ☆:  *･ December 2nd, 2023 ☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Monday

You already told yourself–close to a million times now–you put your name on the document. You just don’t remember putting your name, even though you distinctly remember, not putting your name on the document. You shouldn’t think about it anymore, anyway, you turned in the assignment and–

“Madame President, are you okay?” 

“Stop calling me that, I actually hate it.” You mumble to yourself, before standing straight up. “Uh, what’s up?” You glance around, “Are there more papers I need to fill out, or something?” A boy shows you his drawing of him and you, a heart in the middle. 

You smile, patting his head, taking the paper away from him, telling him a silent ‘thank you,’ before looking at your peer. “Uh, no, there’s someone… uh, someone’s waiting for you.” They push their glasses to the bridge of their nose. Pointing in–what you think–is a general area. 

You feel everything around you go blank, the floor sinking beneath you. You want to swallow the lump in your throat, but you can’t. You force a nod, “Uh, yeah, I’ll go… talk to them.” Walking to the person makes your heart pound, your body littered with anxiety. 

Mahito. 

He’s smiling at you like a friend, waving widely and catching the attention of your fellow peers and children. He calls your name so kindly, you wonder if you hallucinated the whole night at the party. “Yoo-hoo! Come here!” 

You feel your eye twitch, your feet sinking into the ground with each step. You pass him a half-hearted wave, “Uh, what do you want?” That sounded really mean, but he deserves it. 

“Awh, don’t be tense with me, I’m not here to hurt you.” Mahito waves his hand reassuringly, before his eyes narrow in on you. “I just wanted to talk to you, little puppy. Without your owner to bother us, this time.” 

That nickname makes you uncomfortable–no, Mahito makes you uncomfortable. “Uh…? My owner?” Is he talking about Sukuna? That makes you scowl, why in the world would Mahito think Sukuna owns you? Just because you spent some time around him–and like him–doesn’t mean anything. “I’m sorry, why are you here?” 

Mahito pushes his hair over his shoulder, his smile widening. “I’m here to talk to you.” He taps your forehead, and his finger is cold, sending an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. “Also, Sukuna sent me for you.” 

“Did he?” You glance over your shoulder, looking at the children and peers playing. It makes you feel a bit sick, you’re in such a tight situation. You can’t cuss him out, nor can you make a big scene. You’re trapped, and there’s nothing you can do. 

Mahito nods, “Yup! He’s asking to bring you to the parking lot.” He places his hand on your head, ruffling your hair, which you hate immensely. “Just wants to make sure his little puppy doesn’t get lost on the way over there.” He smiles at you, “Isn’t that so kind? Wanting to keep you safe from the horrible people out there?” 

You push his hand off your head, “Don’t touch–” 

A hand presses on your shoulder, making you turn. “President, if you need to leave, that’s fine.” They lean in a small bit, cupping your ear as they whisper, “A few of the kids are scared of your friend.” 

You shrug them off, “He’s not my friend.” But, that leaves you in a horrible place to make a decision. You don’t want to distress the children, but you also don’t want to leave anywhere with Mahito. Your head is screaming at you, that is a horrible idea, and you’re going to listen. 

“What? But, I thought we were close?” Mahito takes a step forward, placing his arm over your shoulders, “Is this you telling me that you hate me? That you don’t want to be my friend?” 

Yes. “Uh, I would personally…” You push him off you, glancing at your peer, then the children again. You look down at the drawing in your hands, before softly sighing in defeat. “Fine. Where does he want to meet?” Your head is screaming at you, don’t, you’re going to get hurt, but you can’t be around children with this creep. 

Mahito jumps with joy, humming to himself briefly, “Yay!” He claps his hands excitedly, grabbing your wrist to pull you along with him, but something grabs your hand, pulling you away from him. Mahito instantly turns on his heel with a questionable look, before his face flushes pale. 

You keep your back to them, their chest hitting the back of your head. Their voice is laced with venom, “You really want to die, huh?” Naturally, relief washes over your body, your hand squeezing his. A silent thank you, and gain of strength. 

Mahito thickly swallows, shaking his head, “Let’s stop kidding around, Sukuna, you’re not going to kill me.” He waves off his sentence, “That’s… illegal.” He sounds unsure of himself, passing the two of you an unnerved smile. 

Sukuna merely raises one of his eyebrows, “You want to talk about shit that’s illegal?” He sticks his free hand out, holding it open and gesturing for him to hand him something. “Give me your phone, let’s see what’s on it.” 

Mahito seems to cower at that, shaking his head. “No, actually, do we have practice today? I think I need to be… there.” They don’t have practice today? He turns on his heel, shoving his hands into his pockets, “I’ll see you there, Sukuna.” 

You twist on your heel, looking at him, “What are you doing here?” 

“Saving your ass, apparently.” 

“How did you even find me?” You cross your arms over your chest, tapping your foot impatiently. 

Sukuna raises an eyebrow at you, lifting his sunglasses up to keep his hair out his face. “I didn’t find you, I just remembered.” He’s wearing something that fits along with his sunglasses, a black button up shirt, two buttons popped at the collar, and the sleeves raised above his elbows. He’s wearing some black pants, however, they’re matched with some red jordans. 

“Remembered?” You say a bit confused, “What do you mean, remember? I’ve never brought you here.” You glance at the person with glasses, passing them a quick look of, ‘did I?’ They shake their head shamefully. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes, lifting his hand to rest on the back of his neck. “When we first saw each other.” He turns away from you, and, maybe it’s the sun–it’s December, there’s no sun–that’s making his ears red.

You blink a few times, before your eyes widen with realization, “Wait, you noticed me?” You tilt your head to the side, trying to look at him, “Wait, are you saying you were looking at me when you passed by with your football friends. You noticed me?”

“Don’t sound so giddy, weirdo.” Sukuna finally looks at you again, but he pinches your cheek, hard. “Who wouldn’t notice your ugly face.” 

He smirks to himself, but it quickly dies into a scowl. “Looks like Mahito noticed you first.” He sighs, leaning his head back slightly, “If I were you, I would file a restraining order.”

You shudder, recalling the blue-haired man, “Ugh, I don’t want to remember him, or that…” Your voice waivers a bit, before you finish your sentence, “Uh, that night…” You divert your eyes, pulling your hand in front of your body to look at the drawing again. You shake your head, “What on his phone, by the way?” 

Sukuna looks to the side, licking his teeth. “Don’t worry about it.” He places his hand on your head, but instead of ruffling your hair like Mahito, he fixes the messy strands. “It’s nothing you’re ever going to have to worry about.” 

“What does that–”

“You’re a horrible fuckin’ artist.” He takes the paper from you, looking at the drawing. “Good thing you’re becoming a physical therapist.” 

“I didn’t draw that.” You flinch when you feel a small hand tug at the bottom of your shirt, drawing your attention to the artist of the drawing Sukuna is holding. You instantly lower yourself to his height, your hand touching his shoulder gently. 

“Is he bullying you? Mean one.” The boy asks, pointing a finger at Sukuna when he stops signing at you. A small breath of relief passes your lips, you’re glad he’s around with Sukuna, and not with Mahito. 

You laugh a small bit, a smile splitting your lips as you quickly glance at Sukuna. He’s looking at you curiously. You shake your head, “No. Not bullying me.” You pat his head, “A close friend. He’s nice, most of the time.”

“He looks very scary.” The boy tells you, “Is he the boyfriend?” 

You loudly laugh at that, shaking your head. Sukuna hands the drawing back to you, “Did he ask you if I’m your boyfriend?” 

That accurate guess startles you, “Uh, yeah? He did?... Wait, how’d you know that?” You blink a bit at him, taking the boy into your arms as he silently asks for a hug. 

Sukuna shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “A good guess.” 

You narrow your eyes on him, suspicious. “A good guess?” Maybe, Sukuna and Uraume are part Jedi, or something? For some reason, that makes a lot of sense in your head. 

The boy tugs your shirt again, “Is he take you away from me?” 

You smile, “No, he will not take me away from you.” You look up, locking eyes with his mother, “But, your mom is here to pick you up.” He perks at that, quickly twisting around and searching for his mom with an excited smile. You stand up, pointing a finger at the person with glasses again, “You, go sign him out, I gotta’ deal with him.” You cock your head in Sukuna’s direction. 

“Fine, walk your ass home then.” Sukuna turns on his heel, walking away from you. 

You’re quick to grab the back of his shirt, “Wait, you’re taking me home?” You ask innocently, peaking your head past his shoulder, “But, that means that Yuuji’s going to have to take the bus alone, and I can’t do that to–”

“I’m taking you both home.” Sukuna pulls his shirt away from you, “Believe it or not, but not everything is just about you.” 

You roll your eyes, before glancing behind you. You catch a glimpse of all the people and children, before turning back to Sukuna. “Let’s just go.” You whisper, looping your arm with his, “Maybe, no one will notice.” 

Sukuna seems to smile at this, “You’re not going to get in trouble?”

“Who cares?” You shrug, walking alongside with him, “I do everything for that club, the least they can do is let me have a day off…” You look to the side, mumbling, “Maybe, even two.” You smile, picking up your pace when you think you hear someone call your name, you look at Sukuna over your shoulder. “Besides, don’t you need me to study today?” 

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, before scoffing a bit, “Yeah, let’s go.” 

You just laugh in return. 

—

You pop another fry into your mouth, “I thought you said you were also taking Yuuji home?” You shut his door behind you, passing Sukuna a quizzical look. “Unless, he somehow has powers and is just invisible?” You use your hands to feel around the car’s area for anything. 

“You’re so stupid.” Sukuna locks the car, turning it on to blast the heater for you. “I just lied to you. He’s out doing some weird ghouls and ghost shit. The weirdo.” He can see the glare you’re giving him, and quickly responds, “What? You were acting too cocky. Can’t have you think I’m goin’ soft on you.” 

“Well, you are.” You lift the Mcdonalds bag, shaking it slightly. “Even if you don’t want to admit it.” You lower it into your lap, grabbing another fry and eating it. 

“I was hungry.” Sukuna tells you. 

“Uh-huh.” You pass him a knowing look, then point at the cup sitting in his cup-rest. “Can I have some of your Mcflurry? Looks good.” 

Sukuna doesn’t even pass you a glance, “Help yourself.” 

You giggle before grabbing the cup, helping yourself to the creamy treat. You know, and you’re sure Sukuna knows the ice cream is now yours, and he’s not getting it back. So much for being hungry. “You’re so sweet to me.” 

“Nope.” Sukuna takes a bite of his burger, nodding his head in approval. Something you noticed all people–more specifically, men–do when eating. You wonder if that’s a psychological thing, or something…

“You didn’t get any fries?” You ask with a head tilt, grabbing a small french fry and lifting it from the brown bag. “Isn’t that the best part of Mcdonalds?” You take another bite of the Mcflurry, a shiver shooting down your spine uncomfortably. 

“Sure.” Sukuna looks at you, taking a bite of his burger. “If you don’t mind dying from whatever shit they put into them.” He grabs his coke, taking a small drink of the dark liquid. 

“Ugh.” You loudly groan, sinking into his leather seat. “Don’t tell me you’re an obnoxious gym-bro who’s gonna’ criticize me for everything I eat.” You twist your head away from him, “I don’t think I’m going to be friends with you after this.” 

Sukuna laughs a little bit, saying your name to catch your attention, you merely lazily pull your head in his direction. “I’m joking, I’m literally eating Mcdonalds with you.” He lifts his burger, testing it back and forth. “You’re bad with sarcasm.” 

You quickly sit back up, narrowing your eyes at him. “It’s not sarcasm if you sound the exact same, Sukuna.” You press the fry to his lips, keeping it there for him to eat, “That’s you being… you.” 

“Hm.” Sukuna opens his mouth and allows you to feed him, “Maybe, you’re autistic.” He says in between chews. He says it so nonchalantly, you didn’t even find it humorous, again, you think it’s Sukuna being… Sukuna. 

“That option is definitely on the table.” You say with full seriousness, before narrowing your eyes suspiciously, “Wait, is this a form of you shaming me?” You point dramatically at him with a fry, “Are you shaming me right now, Sukuna?

“Absolutely.” Sukuna turns on his car, “In fact, I’d call you a whole lot of things in my head, just filter myself since I know you’re sensitive.” He places his hand on your head while looking over his shoulder,  pulling out of the parking spot. “You big baby.”

“Now, we’re just going back to our previous conversation, you do have a soft spot for me.” You pop another fry in your mouth, adding, “You may not be aware of it, but you subconsciously do, which I think speaks louder than any actions, or words you may yell at me.”

Sukuna furrows his eyebrows, “You seem very talkative today.” 

You shrug, scooping up more ice cream into your mouth. “I’m just stating the truth.” You scoop another mouthful, but this time, you hold it to Sukuna’s lips, which he takes into his mouth without a second thought.

He mumbles, “And, what’s that?” Sukuna pulls his hand away from your head, putting the car into drive. 

“I don’t know.” You lean your head on the window, a small spark of anxiety building in your stomach as you whisper, “You actually care for me, in a weird Sukuna way.” A part of you wants Sukuna to agree, you want to hear what he has to say. You want to hear it more than anything right now. 

“Wait, I thought you have to eat healthy for Football, or something?” You tilt your head, “Isn’t Mcdonalds totally bad for you, or is this like your cheat day?” Not even that, but supposedly Sukuna only ate things that were perfect, did Mcdonalds also happen to fall under that specific spectrum?  

Now, you have so many more questions. Wait, no, Mcdonalds fries are fair, you completely get it. But, he’s not even eating them?! You’re just making your brain hurt right now. 

“Coach doesn’t care what I eat.” Sukuna shrugs, “I don’t care how I eat, as long as I work it off later.” 

You thoughtfully hum, “Oh. Well, you should probably write down all of this in your app thingy.” You gesture to the Mcdonalds mess in his car. “I can do it for you.” You reach for his phone in his pocket, and he naturally lips his leg for you to retrieve it. 

“My app thingy?” Sukuna questions, but it sounds more like he’s making fun of you if anything. “The hell are you talkin’ about?” Wait, no, he sounds genuinely confused. 

Now, you’re confused. “Yeah?” You tilt your head to the side, “You literally let me look at it for my project, remember?” 

Sukuna pauses for a moment, before his eyebrows raise ever so slightly, “Oh, yeah.” He nods, “I know what you’re talking about.” 

You slowly move your hands back and forth, “So…?” 

Sukuna groans, “I deleted that forever ago.” He shrugs, “I didn’t need the app.” 

“Then why did you–” 

“I got it for you.” Sukuna rolls his eyes, “I didn’t want to deal with your pestering questions about my diet. Thought it’d be helpful for the situation.” 

You furrow your eyebrows, “Wait, does that mean you got the app for me?” You end up smiling, poking his arm playfully, “Oh my gosh, Sukuna, you got an app to make the project easier for me? Is that why you were really bad at filling out the–”

“Not everything is about you.” Sukuna shrugs off your arm, mumbling to himself. “I swear, you’re so conceited.” 

You pout like a child, shoving your face with more fries before placing the empty bag on the floor of his car. “You can at least let me think you did something nice for me, ‘kuna.” You try to finish the Mcflurry, but find yourself a bit too full. 

“Kuna?” Sukuna mimics back to you, “Where’d that come from?” 

You furrow your eyebrows at him, “What? What are you talking about?” 

“You just called me that.”

“No, I didn’t.” You’re not looking at him.

“Yes, you did.” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“You’re such a child.” Sukuna rubs his eyes, “Whatever, be like that.” 

You just shrug, scooping another mouthful of ice cream and feeding it to Sukuna. You keep silent, and you can’t help but notice the way Sukuna adjusts himself uncomfortably in his seating. “Keep talkin’ to me.” 

You tilt your head to the side, narrowing your eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I want to hear you talk.” Sukuna flicks your forehead, “Dumbass.” 

“You want to hear me talk?” You smile to yourself, “Or, is this a silent way of you telling me you like hearing me talk?” 

“I’m used to you babbly about nonesene, silence from you makes me uncomfortable.” Sukuna didn’t really answer your question, but he didn’t deny it. Which is better than nothing. Honestly, that’s a win in your book with Sukuna.  

“Wow, thanks.” You put the empty cup in his cup holder, shoving the spoon inside. “What do you want me to talk about?” You naturally place your elbow on the center console, leaning your head on your hand. 

“I don’t know.” He rests his hand on the center console, it’s close to touching your arm. “I like hearin’ you talk.”

“So, you admit it now.” You sound more matter of fact, rather than playful this time. Because, in all actuality, you already knew Sukuna felt that way. You huff a sharp breath of laughter, “I feel like you’re making fun of me.” 

Sukuna smiles to himself, “Oh, I absolutely am.” 

“You know what, just for that, you now have to take me home everyday.” 

･ ｡ﾟ☆:  *･ December 3nd, 2023 ☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Tuesday

“Do you think Yuuji will be mad we got food without him?” You shut his door behind you, passing Sukuna a sympathetic look. “Again?…” You pout to yourself, “Hopefully, he’s going out to eat with his other friends?” You grab the trash from his car and stuff it into the paper bag. 

“He’s good on his own.” Sukuna locks the car, making way to the entrance of the house. “He can manage one or two days without Mcdonalds.” He can see the glare you’re giving him, and quickly responds, “What? You want to buy him the food?” 

“No.” You add from behind him, following him into the house. “You already know I’m too broke for that.” Sukuna doesn’t respond, but you’ve grown used to his silence, so it doesn’t bother you. If anything, the small huff of laughter is enough for you. “Do you want to set up in the kitchen?” 

Sukuna opens his room, shaking his head. “Nah.” He walks inside, “We’re doing this in my room.” 

You almost trip over your feet, your face growing a bit hot. “Your room?” You look to the side, then back at his open door. Shoving the paper bag into the trash can sloppily, a small napkin falling out. “We can’t study in the–” 

“Get in here.” Sukuna yells from his room. 

You’re quick to join him, dropping your converse loudly at his door while mumbling, “Maybe, if you would ask politely.” You shut the door, dropping your bag next to your shoes. Mumbling to yourself, “I swear, you’re also so bossy.” You naturally move to his bed, flopping onto the mattress. 

“Yeah, just lay in my bed.” Sukuna says sarcastically, pulling out some textbooks, “It’s not like you haven’t washed your ass in days or anything” Sukuna literally saw you leave his restroom with wet hair in the morning, he knows you showed today. 

You laugh, rolling your body in his blanket, trying to create some form of warmth. “Shut up.” You naturally grab one of his pillows, planting your face in it. Instantly, his scent floods your senses, making you a tad bit dizzy. 

Sukuna feels one of his eyebrows twitch, his face a bit red from watching you shove your face into his pillow. “Stop being fuckin’ weird.” He grabs your ankles, tugging you off the bed and onto the floor, your back hitting the ground with a solid ‘thud.’ “Now, I need to clean my sheets.” 

“Stop being so dramatic.” You let your head fall back onto the floor, a small smile on your lips. “I remember you telling me you like the way I smell, so consider it a–” 

Sukuna slaps the pillow over your face, “Oh my god, you never shut up.” He sighs, sitting down on the ground, laying out his computer and textbooks. “Start doing your damn work.” 

A muffled, “You asked for this.” Leaves your mouth, making you push the pillow off your head. “See, this is why I wanted to study in the dining room, we would actually be working on a table. Not the floor.”

“Stop complaining.” Sukuna’s already trained on his work, notebook and textbook open. “Do your damn work.” You sigh, crawling over to your bag. Sukuna’s eyes follow your body as you bring your stuff in front of him. 

“Hey, do you think my skirt is cute?” 

The question seems random to Sukuna, but he answers nonetheless, “What do you want me to say to that?” 

“Yes.” You say with a playful grin, “Honestly, I would prefer it if you got on your knees and told me, ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen since you’re wearing it!’ but, I’ll take a simple yes in this situation and be happy.” You bat your eyes at him innocently.

“Even if it would save my and Yuuji’s life, I wouldn’t get on my knees for you.” Sukuna says annoyedly, “But, uh, your skirt is fine, I guess.” 

A small spread on your face, “Awh! Thanks Sukuna, you’re always so sweet to me.” You wave your hand up and down, pretending to be flattered. 

“You’re pushing me.” Sukuna says unbothered, looking at his work. 

“That's the goal.” 

Yet, as you’re laying out your things, a small light bulb lights up in your head. “Sukuna?” You place your notebook on the ground next to your computer. Sukuna doesn’t look up, but he does say your name in a similar tone to your question. Acknowledging and a bit indulging. “You’ve never told me what you’re studying?” 

Sukuna lifts his eyes from his computer screen, “I’m studying engineering.” He writes something down in his notebook, answering or writing a question down. 

“Is that what you always wanted to do?” You lean forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the type of work he’s doing. Although, you can’t really see it, to be honest, you can’t really see your work right now. You need your glasses, but you’re not keen on retrieving them from your bag right now.

Not in front of Sukuna, at least. 

“No.” Sukuna places his pencil down, “I wanted to go into business, but gramps told me that was a stupid idea.” 

“What?” You tilt your head to the side, “Why would that be stupid?” You think for a moment, “Well, I have no idea what business would do for you. What type of business would you be dealing with?” You laugh to yourself for a moment, “Perhaps… you’re in everyone’s business?” 

Sukuna’s eye twitches, “I don’t know how you’re in college.” He shakes his head, whispering, “You’re so fuckin’ stupid.” Still, with his palm pressed over his lips, you’re sure he’s smiling right now. 

“It’s a genuine question.” 

“That’s what makes it so stupid. I think that makes it worse, too.” He leans back on the palm of his hands, “But, I wanted to get a degree in business to… I don’t know, do whatever people do in business.” He shrugs, “I knew I was going to inherit my old man’s company, so I guess I wanted to learn a few things before jumping into work.” 

Things are starting to make a bit more sense now. Sukuna had a nice sports car at sixteen, and owns his own house. Then, there was that one time where you ate out with him and Wasuke at a really nice–expensive–restaurant. You’re slowly starting to piece together Sukuna comes from a bit of money. “Wait, but that sounds smart.” You lower yourself to the floor, laying on your side comfortably. Sukuna’s pillow supporting your elbow. 

Sukuna shrugs, “Gramps said he was hiring me no matter what, as long as I worked, so I decided to do something else. I’m not going to pay for something I’m already experiencing at work.” He sighs, “So, I decided to major in engineering.” In simple terms. 

“Hm.” You continue scrolling through your computer, it’s nowhere or anything important, but you’re sure an idea of what you’re supposed to do will come to you in a bit. “Are you excited? It seems like you’re going to be making a lot of money.” You rub your pointer finger and thumb together. 

“You’re asking a lot of questions.”  Sukuna says, closing his computer briefly. You don’t know if it’s a sign of annoyance, or a silent tell that he wants to continue the conversation. “Any reason behind your sudden pestering?” 

You laugh, a small smile on your lips, “I want to get to know you more, Sukuna.” 

Sukuna pauses for a brief second, your personal comment on your project flashing in his head. ‘Sukuna deserves so much better, then just being my stupid fucking project. I wish I could tell him that.’ And, it makes his throat tighten uncomfortably, a sensation he’s getting far more familiar with, then he would personally prefer.

Sukuna whispers, “Really?” Before he quickly covers it with a scoff, “Money, who cares.” 

You can be going crazy, but you swear you saw his demeanor slip. “Uh.. I–I do.” You explain, slowly shaking off whatever you might’ve noticed. “I’d love to have money to burn.” You smile a bit, “Uh, but… doesn’t everyone?” You drum your fingers on your computer, “It’d be nice to have some money to spend on luxuries, you know?” 

Sukuna passes you a half smile, “Yeah, I get it.” 

“Don’t do that.” You wrinkle your nose. 

“Do what?” Sukuna furrows his eyebrows at you. 

“Smile.” You say, an unserious smile on your lips. “It’s scary, looks like you’re going to murder me.” You search up something on your computer. 

“You’re so kind.” 

“Yeah, this is what you look like.” You flip the screen to him, showing Jeff the killer in picture form. “Think someone posted your morning pictures, Sukuna. Should we go hunt them down?” You turn the screen back to you, giving it a quizzical look, as if you were trying to find the answer to your question on the spot. 

“I’m going to kill you.” 

You giggle, pointing at him loosely. “Only proving my point.” You hook your foot on your other sock, playing with the fabric. “So, how do you plan on doing it? Suffocation, maybe taking me out–” 

“I actually have it written down here.” Sukuna pushes a sticky note to you, it’s pink. “Read it out loud.” 

“Is this a fetish?” You raise an eyebrow, “Do you make all your victims read what you’re going to do to them, or am I just special?” 

Sukuna furrows his eyebrows, almost glaring at you, before he breaks. Twisting his head to the side and bursting into laughter, the back of his hand covering his mouth as he tries to collect himself. He ends up covering his face, still laughing while muttering, “You’re so dumb.” 

And, in this context, you agree. You’re absolutely dumbfounded. Sukuna is laughing, and it’s not a pretty small huff, or a brief chuckle, which you’re not even sure you’ve heard him do, but now, he’s genuinely laughing. 

You press your lips together, a tight lipped smile slowly building on your lips. But, you still look at the sticky-note anyway, trying to make out the words, but you can’t. They’re too small, and a bit too messy. “Sukuna, I can’t read this.” You’re just trying to distract yourself, because if you look too long at Sukuna laughing, you know your face is going to break out in flames. 

“Yeah.” Sukuna says, ignoring your words. “You’re special.” Your name follows, punctuating the sentence. 

Your lips part ever so slightly in a silent gasp, before you look away. “I–I… still can’t read it.” You try to ignore what he just said. Still, Sukuna just called you special. You can literally hear your heart beating in your ears right now, your hands are shaky, too. 

“I want to hear you read it.” Sukuna says, tilting his head to the side slightly. 

“Can you…” You slid the sticky note back to him, turning your head away from him. “Read it for me, I genuinely can’t read it.” You can feel your ear burning, before a horrible realization comes over your mind. 

Sukuna dramatically sighs at you, snatching the sticky note from you. “What? Are you blind or somethin’?” He laughs to himself, before looking at the sticky note whispering, “Oh, that’s right, you are.” 

You blink once, then twice. “What.” 

Sukuna presses his lips together, “Huh?” 

“What did you say?” 

“Didn’t say anything.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, watching as his eyes are trained on the sticky note. “How do you know that?” You made sure no one knows that, even Nobara, so how would Sukuna know that? Were you squinting too much at your screen when you worked with Yuuji and Sukuna yesterday, or did he see the family picture on your–

Your stomach drops. 

Sukuna can see your express fall with it. He closes his eyes and tries not to laugh, “Don’t tell me you saw it?” A horrible, twisted realization falls over your consciousness, “You read it?…” You can feel yourself flush pale, an uncomfortable and embarrassed feeling twisting in your stomach. 

Sukuna deeply inhales, “Read what?” The expression you pass him, breaks him. It’s riddled in embarrassment, your lips quivering slightly, as your eyes are ever so slightly watering. Sukuna laughs until his hand, unable to control himself. Yet, he didn’t expect you to do what you did next. 

You tackle him. His pillow in your hand as you place it over his face, sitting on his abdomen as you ignore his muffled laughter. “Shut up. Shut up. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.” You chant, closing your eyes and trying to not reel in your embarrassment. 

Sukuna taps your thigh, trying to tell you to stop, while his other hand tries grabbing your hand, or the pillow on his head. But, you don’t relent, you continue to try and kill Sukuna. Then, the resistance stops, Sukuna’s hands drop limply by his side, his laughter ceasing. 

You sigh with relief, letting your hands fall slack, but Sukuna goes in for the attack. Swiping the pillow away from your and grabbing both your wrists into his grasp. “And you’re calling me the fuckin’ killer.” He scoffs, using his free hand to reach for your bag. 

You struggle in his grasp, glaring at him. “I have every right to kill you now.” You watch as he grabs something from your bag, and immediately you resist even harder. “Absolutely not, don’t even try to—“ 

“I just want to see how you look with them, calm the fuck down.” Sukuna opens the small box, pulling out your glasses and placing the lenses over your eyes. “See, look at you.” He sits up, making you slide down into his lap, your wrist still held together by his one hand. “You’re…” He looks to the side for a moment, “It’s cute.” 

You look to the side, face burning, “You’re so… ugh.” You groan, “Infuriating.” Still, you can’t deny how pleasant it is to have Sukuna admiring you like this. If admiring is the right word in this situation. 

It’s quite for a bit, before you softly sigh, your legs sliding down and relaxing into him. His grip on your wrist looses up nicely, your breathing soft and content. “How… how much did you read?” You finally look at him again, but with the glasses decorating your face, you can really see him now. 

Sukuna’s face markings are so much more detailed than you originally thought, and his eyes… they’re stunning. A deep crimson, looking at you with so much… admiration and awe. They divert away from you, a cocky smile on his lips. He scoffs, “All of it.”

You feel so exposed right now, “All of it?” You repeat, more so to yourself, then to Sukuna. “So, you know?…” You stop yourself, unable to force the words out. You’re too embarrassed. Sukuna nods, turning his gaze back to you. You instantly cover his eyes with your hand, you can't look at him. More so, you don’t want him to look at you. 

Sukuna smiles, his sharp teeth flashing at you, the dimple in his cheek indenting perfectly into his skin. “I can’t look at you?” He cooed, it’s more mocking if anything. 

“No.” You lean back slightly, which makes Sukuna grab your waist, keeping you in place. His smile falters for a moment, and you wonder why. You were just adjusting your sitting. “Besides, you think I’m hideous, or whatever.”

“It’s true, your face makes me laugh.” You annoyedly groan at him, but Sukuna trails one of his hands to yours, his finger hooking over your fingers. “Let me look at you.” He tugs a bit at your hand, it’s not forceful, it’s more asking if anything. “I want to see the girl who likes me, stupid.”

You don’t respond, you don’t even let his hand pull away from his eyes. You don’t know what you do, you don’t know what to do, nor how to respond to his question. You’re merely grounding yourself into the situation, in the way he’s holding you, and his soft breathing.

Sukuna says your name again, only for it to quickly die in his throat. 

You kiss him. 

Your other hand cupping his jaw as you deepen the kiss, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips work with you. His hands wrapping around torso, holding you tighter than he’s ever held anyone before. You can feel his lashes flutter behind your hand, his head twisting to the side so he can deepen the kiss. 

You break it, pulling away with your hands at your side now. You chew on your bottom lip nervously. Sukuna leans in again, but you turn away, your hands resting on his chest to push him back. Despite your denial of his advances, he holds onto you just the same. His hands aren’t holding you like they did at the party, they’re gentle, they are soothing, and comforting, maybe even a bit longing. 

It’s silent for a moment. 

You softly sigh, your fingers playing with the collar of his shirt while you whisper, “Sukuna?” You see him nod, but keep your eyes on your fingers. Looping your index finger under his shirt and pulling his golden chair for your pleasurable viewing. “Can… we talk about it?” 

Sukuna doesn’t even let a second pass before he responds, and his words make the world fall silent. Your heart is beating so loudly, and your body freezes, your fingers tangled in his chain as they finally process in your head. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Your lips part, before you quickly press them together, pulling your gaze to his face. Did he just say that? Did the stoic, unforgiving, asshole, Sukuna… just apologize to you? Your lashes flutter at his expression. Sukuna’s isn’t looking at you, his glare is trained to the dull wall to the right. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

Your heart beats even faster at his expression, your face flushing hot. 

Sukuna is blushing red. 

His cheeks covered in a deep blush, eyebrows furrowed, glaring at you like normal Sukuna would. Except for one thing… his face is burning in a deep red blush, even the tips of his ears are red. He’s embarrassed, very embarrassed, but he still looks angry. 

You move in quickly, wrapping your arms around his neck, whispering, “You… you’re sorry?” You shakily exhale, closing your eyes into his neck. “Did you just say that?” 

Sukuna instantly wraps both his arms around you. His hands touching his own sides from holding you so tight. “I’m so sorry, I’m such a fuckin’ horrible…” He groans, leans his head on yours. “I’m terrible, I’m so terrible.” 

You nod, laughing slightly as you add, “Yeah, you’re an asshole.” You softly sigh, “But… maybe, I am, too.” You hold him tighter, your heart longing. “What.. what did I do wrong? I–I feel horrible for asking, but… I really don’t know.” 

Sukuna closes his eyes, “When I told you…” He thinks to himself, “What happened to me. That’s something I’ve never told anyone, but Uraume about.” He pauses for a moment, “And, I really… I value you more then… I don’t even know. That scares me. It’s terrifying.” 

You nod. 

“I was telling you the worst of me, and I didn’t want to know how you were going to react. I hate everything that happened, and how I reacted, but here I was relieving it for you.” Sukuna pauses again, before forcing out, “Only for you to remind me our friendship was only a week. Everything that we were experiencing was only going to be for a week.”

You instantly pull away from him, “Sukuna, that’s not what I meant–” You pause, looking at his expression, his eyes glossy and shiny. You feel something trail down your cheek, before hitting Sukuna’s shirt. You feel your bottom lip wiggle, before your sniff, your shoulders jumping up with a hiccup. You feel dumb, you’re not even as upset about what happened anymore, but the tears don’t stop. “At the party, I thought you were just going to use me and throw me away, but I didn’t want that–”

Sukuna feels his chest tighten, shaking his head, “I thought you were using me for your project.” He tells you, “I thought that's why you told me you were a burner phone.” Sukuna recalls the way his heart shattered when you told him that, doing everything in his power to keep his emotions together. “I thought you wanted everything to end the moment the week was over, and…” He diverts his eyes, “I… I never wanted that.” 

You close your eyes, recalling the following day. “Then, we had an argument.” Your mind instantly floods with memories, recalling the pain and words you yelled at Sukuna, the lies and truths you told him in a fleeting agonizing moment. 

“Yeah.” Sukuna looks regretful, “The stupid fuckin’ argument.” Both of you are silent for a moment, and you don’t think it’s going to be broken for a few moments, but to your surprise, Sukuna speaks up again. “Did you…?” He thickly swallows, “Did you mean those things?”

You feel a bit on the spot with that question, and you don’t know how to answer. Well, you do, but… what about Sukuna? Did he mean the things he said? You don’t want to say something only for him to not feel the same. But, it’s obvious how he feels, right? It should be now, but it doesn’t feel like that. His words bounce in your head clouding your mind with doubt. You’re scared, no, you’re terrified. “Did… you?” 

You don’t want to hear that answer right now.

“When we “first” made up.” You abruptly ask, chewing the corner of your lips, “I asked you if you’d promise you wouldn’t like me. You asked me if I wanted you too.” You push your glasses to the bridge of your nose, “Why?” 

Sukuna remains silent for a bit, before huffing, “This is so weird to me.” He mutters, softly groaning to himself. “I’ve never done this type of thing with someone.” He furrows his eyebrows, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. 

Still, you look at him through your lashes, and hopefully ask, “Do you… like it?” Your voice is a hushed whisper.  

Sukuna wrinkles his nose, scowling ever so slightly. He shakes his head, “No. This fuckin’ sucks.” This conversation is supposed to make everything, but it feels sad, every word that comes out of you, or him makes his throat tighten painfully. He watches as your gaze diverts from his face, and that makes his chest tighten. Shit, he didn’t say that right. “Well…” He starts again, pulling your face to look at him, “I hate it, but… I hate it less, since it’s with… uh, you.” 

You sniffle again, his words holding you in a comforting blanket. The words spill out, sooner than you would like, “I didn’t mean it.” You push your glasses up, whipping your eyes with the back of your hand. “I was just scared, and you made it seem like you didn’t… I don’t know. Care for me, or something.” 

Sukuna cups the bottom of his face, whispering, “I don’t know why I said that.” 

“I don’t know why I said that, too.” You sniff, “I was just…” 

“I didn’t want to promise anything, because I already know…” Sukuna pushes your hair from your face, leaning in a bit closer, “I’d be lying to you.” He flutters his lashes, “And, I don’t want to… lie to you anymore.” 

You nod, eyes pearling with tears, “I don’t want to lie either.” You whisper, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You grab his shirt.“I want to be… I want to be with you.” You hug him again, your tears wetting his shirt. “I’ve always wanted to be with you.” A soft whisper.

Sukuna chuckles, letting you cry into his shoulder. “Why did you say that sooner?” 

“I thought you didn’t like me!” You cry, adding in a hushed whisper, “I thought you hated me. I thought you were just going to leave me the moment the week was over after using me.” You shake your head, gripping onto the back of his shirt, “I couldn’t stand that thought, so that’s why I pushed you away!” 

Sukuna continues to rub your back, “You’re so stupid.” He mumbles, bringing you into him tighter. I could never hate you. I would never push you away. “It’s okay, now, don’t cry like a baby about it.” He adds a derogatory, yet playful, “Baby.”

“I’m so happy you don’t hate me.” You softly sigh into his neck, closing your eyes as your body completely relaxes into his. “So happy.”

Sukuna tries, he really does, but something hot and wet slides down his cheek, and you don’t see it, nor are you ever going to know about it, but it happens. It’s real, it’s grounding, and it’s pulling. “Yeah.” He holds you, “I know.” Arms wrapped around your, his head tucking close to yours, “I know.”

Your body is completely relaxed as you whisper, “I don’t want to argue anymore.” You shake your head, whipping off the final tears on your cheeks, “I don’t think I have the power to argue with you anymore. I want things to be…” 

Sukuna presses his closed eyes onto your shoulder, “I don’t want to argue like we did on Tuesday.” A sharp breath comes out of his nose, “I like the arguments like the one in the car. It’s cute you have a bit of spunk. As much as it is annoying” 

You pull back, a small smile on your lips, “Yeah, your grandpa is right, you do need someone to keep you in check.” You lower your hands to his chain again, “Thank god you have me, right? What would you do?” 

Sukuna nods, “Yeah, I’d be stress free without you.” He raises his hands to your waist, “Who would want that? A carefree life, compared to an annoyin’ little shit like you?” He’s passing you a boyish smile. He’s smiling far more than you’re used to. You like it. 

“Yeah.” You laugh, pulling on a piece of his hair, “Look, you even have a gray hair, now you have a small piece with me wherever you go.” You look  at him again, this time a smile on your lips. “Aren’t you so happy? You’re stuck with me?” 

Sukuna doesn’t say anything, he just looks at you. His pupils blown wide, as his hands gently hold onto you. You pass him a silly smile, “What?” You tilt your head to the side, “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Your lips part, your eyebrows raising in silent shock. “Huh?” A small suppressed laugh escapes your lips, “Wait, are you asking me to kiss me?” You tilt your head to the side, “The f-boy Sukuna, the one who had a girl over this very week, is asking to kiss me?”

“We didn’t do anything. It was just a stupid fukin’ project.” Sukuna leans in closer, grabbing the back of your head. “Just fuckin’ kiss me already.” Sukuna doesn’t even let the sentence process in your head, before trying to press his lips to yours. 

Key word. Trying. 

Unfortunately, right before the two of you can kiss again, a strand of your hair falls in between your faces. Blocking the kiss from ever happening. You naturally giggle, mumbling a small apology. But, Sukuna doesn't seem to be fazed. He just pushes the strand behind your ear, cups the back of your face and pulls you into a kiss. 

It almost feels like he’s smiling against you. 

You kiss him back, but his kiss is much more brief, ending then starting again. It feels unreal, Sukuna, the emotionally unavailable Sukuna, kissing you like a lover of years would. 

You’re giggling, sniffling every now and then, only for Sukuna to kiss your cheeks, then kiss you on the lips again. You can taste the salty wet tears on his lips, but you don’t mind, it’s cute in a way. “You’re not acting like Sukuna.” 

He places his forehead on yours and tells you, “I’ll slam your face into my bed, if you’d like?” Sukuna cockily smirks to himself, tilting his head to the side. “Or, do you want me murder you silently?”

“Silently? I feel like murdering me would not be a quiet activity.”

Sukuna nods in agreement, “You’re right. I can set the house on fire with you inside.” He kisses you again, whispering, “Doesn’t that sound romantic? You’d be my first murder. You’re special.” 

You laugh, “Romantic is definitely one way to put it.” You look to the side, thinking, “But, that definitely sounds more like my Sukuna. I wonder if you were an arsonist in your past life. I feel like that’s very on brand for you.” You look at his eyes, and catch a slight red look to them. “Oh. My. God.” Sukuna flinches when you point at him, “You were crying? Oh my god, were you crying?” You huff, “And you’re calling me a baby… hypocrite.” 

He makes a ludicrous face at you, placing his hand on your face and pushing you off him. Making you fall onto your elbows with a laugh, “I think you’re actually going mental now.” He throws the pillow at your body, “I fuckin’ don’t cry.” 

“Not true.” You smile at him, grabbing the pillow and holding it over your lap. “You cried when you talked to Yuuji, and don’t deny it, I totally saw how red your eyes were.” You wiggle your shoulders, “Awh! The big strong Sukuna is actually a big cry baby like me–” 

“I can make you cry.” He’s now leaning over you, the pillow thrown on his bed. “We’ll see who’s the real cry baby, then.” He’s smiling, but it doesn't look inviting or reassuring, sadistic would be the right word here. A small squeak leaves your mouth. 

You blink a few times. “Huh?” Sukuna picks you up, tossing you over his shoulder. This must be a common practice with the brothers, it doesn’t happen often, but it happens enough for you to mentally note. Another noise leaves your throat when he drops you on his bed, parting your thighs and moving in between them. 

Sukuna keeps his forearms near your head, his nose touching yours. “You want to know somethin’.” 

You giggle, “No, not really.” You laugh when Sukuna drops his head with dejectment, his forehead hitting your nose gently. “Fine, tell me, what do you want to say, Sukuna.” You shiver when his nose brushes over your neck. 

Sukuna’s hand moves under your knee, hooking it around his waist. “I’d give anything to make things up to you.” 

You laugh, letting your arms comfortably cross over his shoulders, “You already said sorry, and that’s already enough for me.” You tug him closer, which almost throws him off balance, causing him to stumble into you. “Especially with your big boy ego.” 

“You ever call me that again, and I will throw your ass to the streets.” He kisses your neck, enjoying the way you naturally open yourself to him. Still, there’s a bit of hesitance behind your movements, and that alone makes him stop. “Did I hurt you?” 

“Mentally.” You throw out loosely, but immediately smile, “No, I’m just, uh…” You divert your eyes for a moment, “Uhm, nervous, I guess.” No, you’re not nervous, you’re scared. What if he just… leaves again. 

“About?” Sukuna sounds different, more soft. 

“Uh, this.” You naturally hug him tighter. 

“Should I stop?” 

You take a moment, “...No.” You softly sigh, “I just don’t want you to… uhm, leave again.” 

Sukuna takes a moment, before kissing you again, it’s sweet. “I’m not, don’t even worry about that.” But, your unsure expression makes him hesitate. It’s a bit weird, he’s feeling so many new things today. He wants to make sure you’re comfortable, and he’s almost scared to touch you. You feel like glass to him. 

Sukuna thinks he may be broken, maybe you broke him, but everything that is happening is so new to him. He doesn’t know how to respond, but he does know one thing, he doesn't want to hurt you anymore. He doesn’t want to scare you, or make you cry. He doesn’t want to hear you sob in his arms over something stupid thing he did. He can’t stand that. 

He doesn’t know why, but seeing you like that, hurts him. 

Maybe he is broken. But, every broken part of him wants to be around you all the time. And, he doesn’t know exactly how to comfort someone, or fix what he’s done. But, he’s trying, he’s trying harder than he’s ever tried with anyone before. 

Sukuna may not be the best person in the world, but he’s trying to find a way to build your trust in his own way. It’s the one thing he has always been good at, and almost centralized his identity around. It’s a bit sad when he really thinks about it, but trauma has a unique way of messing with a person. 

He nods, “Okay.” He kisses your temple, “I won’t do anything until you beg me to.” He pushes himself off you, standing between your thighs while you lay down on his bed, towering over you. “You like the sound of that?” 

You feel your stomach twist and turn with butterflies, the feeling of being prey to a hungry wolf has you heating up with desire. “O-Okay.” You thickly swallow, pushing yourself up and sitting up straight, grabbing his chain and tugging him down to your lips. “I like… uhm, I like the sound of that.” 

Sukuna chuckles, “You do?” 

You bite the bottom of your lip, nodding your head slowly. “Mhm.” He cups your face, and his nose tickles your cheek, his kisses coming in fast and soft. Peppering down to your neck, his nose touching your neck like a fleeting feather. While his fingers trail down the inside of your thighs. Goosebumps follow his hands on your legs. 

A pleasurable shiver shooting through your body when he finally slides his hand under your skirt. You whimper, grabbing your skirt and lifting it up, allowing yourself to watch the way Sukuna gropes you. A small moan leaves your mouth, “Keep… uhm, doing that.” You watch as his thumb works painfully slow circles into your covered clit. 

Sukuna nods, eyes enraptured by your thighs shaking around his hand, your pink panties wrinkling and damp from your slick. “Such a slut.” He shakily exhales, “You like this, don’t you? You like when things are nasty.” 

You don’t say anything, merely nod your head. “Yeah, I know, baby, I know.” He says against your neck, his deep voice rumbling against your skin. You feel something warm, and wet slowly move up to your ear. Before his mouth bites your ear playfully. “I know you love the way I touch you.” 

He lowers himself to his knees, flipping your skirt completely up. Allowing himself to look at you for however long he wanted. You move your hand in between your legs, “Are you looking?” You can feel your face burning, your heart beating in your ears. “That’s so embarrassing, please don’t look.” 

“It’s not embarrassing.” He responds, running his nose gently down your thigh. “It’s hot.” He grabs behind your knee, tugging so your legs are dangling off his bed. He smirks to himself, “You’re making me hard.” 

“Oh my god, please don’t say that.” You use your other hand to cover your face, your face burning in embarrassment. But, a small whimper leaves your mouth when Sukuna places his hand over yours, applying pressure to your pussy. You pass him a half hearted glare, “Sukuna!” 

“What? Don’t tell me you hate my words?” Sukuna teases, his eyes drinking up the way you jolt. “Or, maybe, it’s that you hate my voice?” 

“I just hate you.” You mumble, leaning back in his bed, and allowing him to peel off your hand from between your thighs.

“Mhm, I know, babe.” He loves how much he affects you, his voice and words, causing your body to burn and shiver with desire. “Hopefully you can keep to your words when I make you squirt over my fingers.” Sukuna devours the way you shiver at that, your thighs twitching. And, all caused by a few kisses, a light touch, and some deprived words. . 

So cute.

Sukuna grabs your hips, pulling you closer to his face. Lifting your skirt and looking at the thin pink panties that separated you from his mouth. He groans, resting his hand on your knees, pushing your thighs apart to look at your drenched panites. He swallows, blood flooding his cock, straining it against his pants. 

“Okay..” He starts, putting all his weight on his knees. He can see the way your chest is slowly rising and falling, and the cute pink panties that stick to your wet hole. He wishes, more than anything, you weren’t wearing them, but he wanted to toy with you. Just a little. Besides, they would be off in a few minutes, so he isn’t entirely worried about it, he has the patients to wait. “Has anyone touched you here?” 

If anything, Sukuna wants to hear you beg for him to take them off. 

You blink at him innocently, before softly nodding your head. “You have.” 

Sukuna chuckles a bit, “No, gorgeous, anyone other than me.” Both his hands follow the curve of your thigh. Getting closer, and pressing under your skirt. You thickly swallowed, glancing at his hands and face. 

You hesitate to shake your head, but when you do, Sukuna freezes. “Wait, have you ever…?” Sukuna’s still touching you, but it’s more endearing, and less sex-driven. “Has anyone ever gone down on–have you ever had sex?” 

You again shake your head. 

Sukuna feels his cock twitch. “Shit, so you’re really a virgin.” He watches as your eyes divert, “That’s not bad, I just…” He leans his head on your knee, resting it there. “I’ve never been with a virgin.” Sukuna’s been with only a few people, less than he can count on one of his hands, but they’ll all have some form of experience. So, approaching them, and their sex-life is different, but with you, he doesn’t entirely know how to approach it. He wants you to feel comfortable with him, but he also wants you to feel good. 

You push yourself up, leaning on the palms of your hands while looking at Sukuna. “I’ve never done anything, does that make you feel better?” You pass him a silly smile. 

Sukuna huffs, “I mean, it’s kinda hot.” He smiles, his sharp teeth flashing as you, “I'll make your head spin, and your legs shake.” He lifts his hand, tapping your forehead. “Do you want that, you want me to make you feel good?” He watches as your throat bobs, “You want to shake and cry with pleasure while I tongue your clit?” 

You shiver. “Just get on with it already. I feel like we’re talking too much right now.” You laugh a small bit, “I feel like we’re doing this wrong, or something. Are we doing this wrong?” 

Sukuna just raises an eyebrow at you. “You’ve never done this before, how would you know what’s right or wrong?” 

“I’ve seen porn.” 

Sukuna drops his head back, deeply inhaling that exhaling. “Porn is made for horny twelve year olds.” Sukuna smirks to himself, “Wait, don’t tell me you get off to that fake and gross bullshit.” He sarcastically adds, “Dirty girl.”

You flop back down, a small giggle leaving your lips. “I feel like you’re messing with me now. Just do what you’re going to do.” You mumble, before softly adding, “I mean, I want to know why everyone cares about sex so much–” Your mouth parts in a moan, his tongue giving you a hard kitten lick. Eyes bouncing up, and trying to see what reaction you would give him. 

He laughs, “I’ll make you an addict.” Sukuna places his thumb on your clit, rubbing it up and down. “Just promise me you’ll keep your legs wide open f’me. Don’t even think about fuckin’ close them.” He slaps your thigh, making you yelp. “Or, I’ll make you go so brain dead, you won’t even be able to.” 

“Stop talking–” A moan tears through your throat, Sukuna wrapping his lips around your covered clit. Sucking hard on your small pearl, before laughing against your cunt. 

“Did you say somethin’?” He slowly inhales, eyes rolling to the back of his head from your scent. Sex and pure lust, god you’re so fuckin’ sexy. He continues licking your clit, keeping his attention on the sensitive bud. 

You can feel his tongue working against your fabric, wetting it with his saliva and your juices. It’s so nasty, but it makes your eyes cross everytime he flicks his tongue over your sensitive bud. This is amazing. You gasp, your hand clamping down over your mouth to try and keep quiet. A pathetic attempt, really. Sukuna slaps your thigh in response, shaking his head, his tongue swiping left and right as he does so. “Don’t even fuckin’ think about.” He seethes, pissed by you trying to keep quiet. 

Sukuna doesn't want you to be quiet. He’s been robbed of all chances to hear you cry out in pleasure, or his name in ecstasy. Despite this not being his first sexual encounter with you. The first time, he knew you were listening to him jack off, but you didn’t so much as whimper for him. Which was saddening. And, you can only hear so much when the music from a party is playing in the background. Sukuna wants to hear how good you feel. He wants to hear how good he was making you feel.

“What–ah! What if Yuuji is home?” You arch your back, Sukuna sucking on your clit again. “What if he hears?” You whisper, grabbing onto his sheeps, the fabric seeping between the cracks of your fingers. “That’s going to be so–” 

“Embarssin’?” Sukuna fishes for you, trying to finish you off. “I know, but he won’t know, if you stay quite.” Sukuna reaches for your hands, pulling it to his cheek, only to kiss your palm. “But, I don’t want that.” He continues kissing your palm, moving his lips towards your middle and ring finger. “I want to hear you, want to hear you whimper over my tongue and scream my name.” Sukuna smiles, slides his tongue between your two fingers, letting you look at the lewd gesture the two of you are making. “Okay?”

A shaky exhale leaves your lips, before you meekly nod. Sukuna chuckles, pushing your hands to your face, “Good girl.” He keeps your two fingers spread, pressing the open space to your lips. “Let me see your tongue.” 

You feel your bottom lip tremble, before opening your mouth, your pink tongue sticking out and resting between your two fingers. You can feel how they’re wet, and you can taste Sukuna’s saliva. You moan, “This is…” You feel your sentence trail when you notice Sukuna’s gaze trained on your tongue, wiggling and moving between your fingers. 

He closes his eyes, softly groaning to himself. Fuck, he’d give anything to feel that tongue on his throbbing cock. Watch it slide and swirl over the head of his cock, before your pretty little lips would stretch over his fat cock. Drowning in your glossy eyes as hot tears slide down your cheeks, your throat constricting around his girth. 

“Stop thinking too hard about it.” He tells you, his tongue sliding from your knee to your inner thigh, pressing wet kisses into his skin. “It’s supposed to feel good, even if it is gross.” And if Sukuna is being completely honest with himself, knowing that something is filthy makes it hot. He moves to your covered cunt, kissing your lips. Avoiding the place where you want him most. “Just lay down and feel, I clearly make you think too much.” 

You just pull your hand away from your lips, a string of saliva falling down on your shirt. “Okay.” You keep yourself propped up, watching as Sukuna practically makes out with your pussy. You can see how wet your underwear is now, along with how glossy Sukuna’s lips are. 

You keep your hands bundled in his sheets, trying to keep yourself sane as Sukuna makes you feel good. It feels incredible, and looks porngraphic. The fat of his tongue pushing itself between your lips, making a small crater in your panties. The tip flicking your clit, moving up and down like a teasing feather. 

You feel your eyes flutter shut, holy shit, it feels amazing. You don’t ever want it to stop, you want… more. You clamp your thighs together, but Sukuna’s hands are already on your thighs. Pushing them apart and smiling against your skin, “Keep them open.” He shakes his head to the side, his tongue following his movement on your clit. 

You groan, and Sukuna moans with you. Grabbing you right knee and placing it on his shoulder, “Keep this here.” He whispers, continues to suck on your covered clit, watching as your body falls back on his bed. Your back is arching. 

“Oh–oh my god.” You lean your head back, your body hot and sweaty. Holy shit, this feels amazing. Sukuna feels amazing, and it feels depraved. Licking and sucking at your clit, even though it's covered with the thin fabric of your panites. “Fuh–fuck, please.” You moan, tucking your calf behind Sukuna’s head, pulling him closer to your cunt.  

His eyes seem to glow watching as your body jolts, and your pussy twitches. And with the way your panties are absolutely drenched, clinging onto your pussy lips like a second skin, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination. “Please what?” Sukuna mocks, “Please… stop?”

Sukuna isn’t going to stop, there’s no way in fucking hell he’s going to stop, but mocking you, seeing your eyes water, it makes him insane. Hearing you beg and whimper over his mouth, god… Seeing you like this makes him feel… incredible. Knowing that you haven’t done this with anyone else, yet want to do it with him, has him spinning. It makes him feel good. It’s something he’s never had before, but knows he now can’t live without. He has craved for something like this. A hole he’s always adorned in his chest, but never found a filling for it. But now, he feels full, it’s a feeling he would’ve never thought to find, despite how desperately he searched for it. 

Sukuna feels amazing when he’s with you. Even when you’re dancing in his living room with face care adoring your face, a pout on your face while you playfully ignoring him, glaring at him with your reflective eyes, or the small back-and-forth the two of you share. It’s all so amazing. 

But, seeing you like this. Embarrassed and eager for what he was going to do next. Open and vulnerable, trusting and wanting more, it’s… it feels like the best thing in the world. Sukuna feels like he’s becoming addicted to this. He holds the back of your thighs with his big hands, closing his eyes and flattening his tongue on your pussy, tearing another moan from your mouth.

“N-No! Please don’t stop.” You whine, tears brimming your waterline. Your lips part as you moan, gripping onto the sheets as your hips jolted forward, trying to push your pussy harder against his lips. Desperate to get more pleasure from his mouth, you just want to lose yourself in it. You don’t want to think about anything, not school or studying, just Sukuna between your legs. 

Sukuna laughs against your cunt again, continuing his abuse on your pussy. Enjoying the way you try holding your legs apart, your thighs shaking around his head. He tightens his grip on you, not even giving you the opportunity to move them together if you wanted to. “I won’t stop.” He whispers, “Don’t you worry your pretty head off.”

You giggle, sounding a bit drunk, “You–ah! Called–you called me pretty, fuh-fuck, again.” You feel a coil in your lower stomach, something you’re all too familiar tightening inside of you. “You think–oh my god, holy shit, you think I’m–I’m pretty.”

“Fuck yeah.” He moans into you again, “I think you’re fuckin’ sexy, your tits and body, your lips and tongue, all of it.” He wants to add your eyes, but feels himself grow a bit… embarrassed to say that. Ironic, huh?

That makes your stomach twitch, butterflies swarming inside of you. The coil growing tighter, your thighs pushing agsint his hands in protest. It feels good, it feels too good. “Su-Sukuna, m’getting… I’m–” You back arches, your body resisting a bit more. “I’m gonna’ cum, I feel–shi-shit!” 

“Yeah?” Sukuna lolls his tongue out, letting it slowly drag over your over-worked bud. “Fuckin’ cum on my tongue then.” Sukuna closes his eyes, feeling them roll to the back of his head with your soft moans filling his room. You taste so fuckin’ good. 

You roll your eyes into the back of your head, your pussy clenching around nothing. But, you wonder to yourself, what it would feel like to have something inside of you. Something long and thick, stretching you open and fucking your insides until you’re mindless. “Sukuna–Sukuna!” His name leaves your mouth like a mantra, your voice raising in pitch as your legs shake. Your toes curl with pleasure, your hands grabbing onto Sukuna's hair. 

Sukuna instantly moans, loving the way you tug at his hair. Unsure whether or not you want to push him away, or pull him closer to you. “Fuck, c’mon, cum on my tongue, just let it feel good.” 

You finally feel the coil snap, your lips parting in a silent moan as your body tingles. Your thighs naturally pull into your body, opening wider for Sukuna’s tongue working fasting against your covered clit. It feels amazing, it feels unworldly, unlike any orgasm you’ve ever had before. Your fingers don’t even compete to this, it’s addicting. 

The worst–best–part is, it feels so long, and Sukuna doesn’t stop his abuse on your sensitive bud. This time, placing his thumb over it and rubbing circles into it. Making your orgasm even more intense, your back arching in pure pleasure. 

Your hand reaches down for his writes, your mind pulling together only for it to be thrown back into intense pleasure. Something you don’t entirely like, but you don’t dislike, it feels good, but it feels… too good. Like, unbearably, burning pleasure, type good.

Your body grows hotter to the thought of Sukuna touching you without any fabric in the way, the fire in your lower stomach lights a flame again. His tongue actually touching you, his fingers spreading you open allowing him to get easier access to your swollen cunt. 

Sukuna slow stops, watching your legs twitch by his head as he pulls his finger away. “Awh, is it too much for the baby?” He mocks, tilting his head to the side and passing you a cocky smirk. “I thought you were a big girl.” 

You naturally pout. Even if Sukuna didn’t say anything bad, you want to… make him proud. You nod your head, “I… don’t be mean.” You whisper back, “Feels too good.” You pull his hand to your mouth, kissing his palm like he did yours a few minutes ago. You slowly bring your lips to his middle and ring finger, silently admiring how big they are. You can’t help but think how they would feel inside of you, splitting and stretching you open. “I want to make you feel good, ‘Kuna, I want to do something for you.” You open your mouth, your tongue making way between his two fingers. Your tongue is peaking at him, while you flutter your long lashes at him. 

Sukuna feels his brows twitch, his dick straining against the zipper of his jeans. His pupils are blown so wide, you can barely see a ring of red in his eyes. He’s absolutely enraptured by you, his mind swirling with nothing but the way you cry his name, and tremble beneath his touch. 

It feels like Sukuna’s going insane. He just wants to push you further, he wants to see what noises you make when he laps at your clit for hours. Would you cry, or whimper? Would you scream in pleasure, or go numb from it being too overwhelming? Only for him to push his thick cock into your slit, watching your eyes grow wide as your pussy swallows him up whole. 

Your breath grows more uneven with his concentrated gaze, sliding your tongue up the tip of his fingers, and pulling it into your mouth. You whimper, your body flowing with nice tingles again. “‘Kuna, can you please…” You divert your eyes for a moment, before softly finishing, “Can you please do that, without my panties in the way…?”

Sukuna breathes out, closing his eyes for a second before placing his hands on your shoulders and pushing you against his bed. “Careful.” He whispers, resting his dick between your thighs, grinding himself against your wet panites, “I would do anything, if you beg me to.”  

You smile, grabbing his face and kissing him tenderly, tasting yourself in his lips. You tongue rolling around his, “Then…” You pull back, whispering, “Can you please stop teasing me, ‘Kuna, and really eat me out?” You furrow your eyebrows cutely, as you add even quieter, “I really want to feel your tongue on my pussy.”

That makes Sukuna snap.

Sukuna places his hands behind your knees and pushes them to your stomach, keeping them pinned there, “Grab your knees.” He tells you, and you instantly listen, your hands grabbing at your knees and keeping them pinned to your chest. He pulls your panties up, letting them dangle at your foot before looking at you. 

Sukuna looks at you again, his eyes devouring your bare pussy. Wet and swollen, ready for his touch. He keeps himself snug on the bed, places his hands back on your thighs over your hands, and licks a long stripe up your pussy. Instantly you throw your head back, your teeth digging into your bottom lip with pleasure. His tongue sliding between your lips, dipping into your hole, before sliding up and dragging over your sensitive over stimulated clit. 

You whine, your hips writhing against his mouth as your juices slides down your ass and onto his bed. Ruining his sheets, but Sukuna loves that, he loves knowing what the two of you are doing is so filthy, it makes a gross mess. That’s so hot to him, makes him so fuckin’ hard. 

Sukuna moves his hand to his cock, his palm rubbing on the head and trying to adjust his painful hard-on. A feeble attempt to try and release some needed tension, his head spinning from how horny he is. His hips rut into his hand, desperate to feel something, anything on his aching cock. 

Sukuna unbuttons his pants, pulling his boxers underneath his cock and sloppily wrapping his hand around his girth. Groaning against your pussy with an eye roll at the brief, yet pleasurable relief. But, that doesn’t stop him, no, that makes him work his tongue even harder against you. Getting off to every whimper, moan, and breath, that leaves your pretty little mouth. 

You can’t help but notice how much more vocal Sukuna is, and as much as you want to push yourself up and see what he’s doing, but you can’t. Your legs twitch with overstimulation with every swipe, your chest bouncing up with every moan leaving your lips. 

Sukuna pulls his remaining hand on your thigh to your pussy, creating a ‘v’ on your base, then spreading you open. Flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue, making you cry out in pleasure. You try to grip the sheets harder, but it doesn't help, the pleasure is just so intense. This coil of pleasure builds within your belly again, this time it’s faster and more intense then last time. It makes you babble something incoherent to try and warn Sukuna, but to be honest with yourself, you don’t know what you’re even trying to tell him. Your mind is swirling with thoughts of Sukuna, and his actions. How he makes everything around you disappear with something as simple as his tongue.  

You feel tears slide down your cheeks into Sukuna’s sheets, your eyes crossing into your head with pleasure. You babble out, “Oh my god–oh my god.” You hands move back to your thighs pulling them open, and another moan tears from you, he has so much more access. 

Sukuna pushes himself off the ground slightly, places his hands and weight on your thighs, keepings them securely pressed to your stomach as he continues to abuse your swollen clit. His tongues sliding between your lips before catching under your hood, applying pleasure to make you squeal. 

The small act makes your words jumble and moans out of your mouth, your thighs fighting against the pressure and trying to push him off. You don’t want to, but it’s so overwhelming. You don’t know if you want him to stop or keep going. Yet, at the same time, you know you don’t have a say in that currently. 

Which… for some reason, you absolutely love. You love that you don’t even understand what you’re trying to do or say. You love that you don’t even know what you’re laying on anymore, or which way you’re facing, again? But, Sukuna can make out the words, “Fuh–’Kuna, I think… oh my god, please, don–don’t stop! S’close!” Your eyes squeeze shut.  

Sukuna laughs at that, not stopping and letting his eyes drink up the way your muscles tense. You’re close, he knows that you're so close. He sucks onto your clit, watching the way your twitch, before letting go. He pushes his weight off of you, watching as your scrunched expression relaxes, and immediately looks at him with an adorable confused expression. 

Fuck, he loves teasing you.“Feelin’ good, babe?” 

You tense, the feeling being ripped away from you. It feels good, but it also feels wrong. The intense feeling pulled away from you so quickly, it makes you tense. Your muscles are tightening in your lower stomach, you’re so close, but so far at the same time. Then, the intense feeling quickly vanishes making you completely relax into his sheets. Instantly you feel sweaty, your muscles tired and sore. You feel your bottom lips wiggle, “Stop d-doing that! I was…” You trail off, looking to the side as your eyes flutter. “Uhm, you know…” 

Sukuna smiles at this, you got embarrassed. How cute. “Were you?” He mocks at you, caressing your cheek, “Awh, the poor baby wants to cum, you want me to contune tongue fucking you? You like the sound of that?” He rubs his nose on your inner thigh affectionately. 

You pout, “I–I…” You pass him your gorgeous eyes again, glassy and wanting, “Can you please not stop again?”

Sukuna knew he was making you feel good, he could tell by your fucked out face, but anyone could. He merely wants to hear it from you, hear you writhe and beg for him to keep you on the edge. He gets off on that, watching a girl cry from how good something is, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to scare you. So, something more intense, would have to wait for a later time. “I won’t, don’t worry.” He places his thumb on your clit again, “I’m just teasing you.” His finger rub slow and pressured circles on your clit, and it drives you insane.Again, this curling string continues to spiral inside you, pleasure building upon itself. 

Sukuna hums in acknowledgement, before going back to your pussy. Taking two fingers and spreading you apart. Tongues hitting all the places he couldn’t before. He gently bites your clit, letting his fingers trail down your slit. Your eyes widen, before a moan leaves your lips. His finger sliding into with ease, your slick and saliva allowing you pussy to swallow his finger whole. Sukuna groans at this, fisting his cock again. 

Your reaction is perfect, the small gasp you let out when his knuckle hits your lips is liberating. He almost hears you choke on your breath, a bit shocked by the intrusion. But, Sukuna is already reassuring you, praises spilling his lips as he shushes you. “It feels good.” He slowly adds another finger, “Trust me, you’ll love this.” 

You nod, turning your head to the side and resting it, trying to watch as he fingers your hole. It’s not something you’re too experienced with, since you stick to stimulating your clit. If anything, you thought you were broken, since every time you finger yourself, it didn’t feel like anything. Also, the stretch is a bit uncomfortable, but it’s complemented with Sukuna’s tongue, so it’s not all too bad. 

You softly sigh, before closing your eyes. You hold as you feel this prickle of pleasure intense, far more pulling then Sukuna’s tongue. It feels… good. 

Sukuna’s finger slides inside, then pulls out, only to slowly slide back into you, his knuckle resting on your lips again. Pushing his fingers up slightly with every slow thrust. You can hear your voice raise in pitch, growing louder with each thrust and swipe of his tongue. You want to place your palm over your mouth, but you can’t. You’re unable to function, more or less keep quiet. And after a few pumps of his thick finger, you're writhing in his bead with pleasure. 

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, toes curling as an unexpected loud pitched moan leaves your lips. You feel like you’re unable to express how you’re feeling, you want to desperately pull away, but make it even more intense at the same time. It feels like you’re so close, the coil inside you was about to snap. 

You feel something unfamiliar in your lower stomach. It feels good, it feels somewhat familiar, but at the same time, a bit different. His fingers are still working into your cunt, wet with the slick you’re producing. 

It makes the feeling even more intense, and suddenly, it feels like you’re about to… You feel your bottom lips wiggle, “K-kuna!” You gasp, trying to form words, but are unable to find the right ones. 

Yet, Sukuna ignores your plea, merely smiles to himself while sucking into your clit, and pressing his fingers inside of you. He nods to himself when he touches something spongy, he chuckles to himself, “Fuckin’ found it.” As he presses his fingers up, applying pressure onto your g-spot. 

Your vision goes white. Your back arching as you quickly grip his hair, a high pitched moan leaving your throat as you feel yourself completely let go. The pressure in your stomach releases with a painful orgasm. 

Sukuna’s mouth is already on your pussy, riding out your orgasm while he milks his cock. Focusing his attention on the head with a soft groan. His throat bobs as you finish, your thighs shaking around his head before they limply slide off onto his bed. But, he quickly grabs them and wraps them on his shoulders, giving you a final long stripe up your pussy, watching as your hips twitch in overstimulation. Sukuna cockily smiles, watching you pant and melt into his soft and sweaty bed. Clearly exhausted by the high you just received. 

You look adorable. Your eyes were still watery and red, the bottom of your lip swollen from you biting on it, and your body abused from the pleasure you were receiving. God, it makes him even harder knowing that your first time was with him, too. “Mhm, that’s it. Just relax.” 

A shakily exhale, before humming with a head nod. 

He feels his cock twitch in his hand, but he pays it no mind. Just tucking it back into his boxers and zipping up his pants. It feels gross, but he’ll think about that later. He pushes himself on his feet, whipping his mouth with the back of his hand, a smirk on his lips. He sits down next to you, pinching your cheeks and making you look at him. “You with me, doll?”

You slowly blink, trying to gain your sight again. “What is… uhm, what’s supposed to be…” You drop your head back, his fingers slipping from your cheeks. “What was the question?” You still feel… you don’t even know. 

“Yeah.” He lays back on the bed with you, “Just say you’re in love with me, I promise I won’t make fun of you.” 

You gain your head, blinking a few times to pull your thoughts together. “I hate you, Sukuna.” You turn on your side, flipping your skirt down to cover yourself up. You lean forward, and kiss him. “I already told you that.” 

Sukuna hums, nodding his head while closing his eyes. “Keep saying that, I’ll get hard again.” 

“I hat–” Sukuna raises his eyebrows expectantly, passing you a cocky smirk. “I can’t with you.” You look away, but you’re smiling. Trying not to laugh at Sukuna’s stupid fucking joke. Suddenly, you’re hit with the feeling of your bare legs sticking to your sheets. “I feel gross now.” 

Sukuna kisses you for a final time, “I’ll be right back.” He pushes himself off the bed, walking to the door and pulling it open. You assume he’s going to the restroom, and he isn’t gone for long. The next thing you know, he’s back between your legs with a damp towel. While he cleans you up, it feels a bit intimate, as well as embarrassing. You ignore the lewd comment Sukuna made about you wanting to pull your panties back up. Cockily saying, “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” 

You merely respond with a slap to his shoulder, letting him press the towel to your legs and clean up the mess. And despite how embarrassingly bare you feel, it’s nice, really nice. “We can put a towel on your bed next time.” You say, pushing yourself off his bed and looking at the stain left. You giggle to yourself, “Guess you were right, I did dirty your sheets.” 

Sukuna slaps the towel over your face.  

You immediately pull it off your face, throwing it at his, “Oh my god, that’s so gross!” You place your hands over your face, “I totally need to watch my face, or I’m going to break out or something.” You work so hard to keep your face clear, now this jackass might ruin it! 

“You’re actually a child.” Sukuna says, dropping the towel to the floor. 

The two of you flinch at the sound of knocking at his door, both of you turning your head simultaneously. You smile to yourself, “One, two, three, not it!” 

Sukuna throws the towel back at your face, which makes him laugh when he hears you cry out in anger. You’re quick to drop the towel back down on the ground with a satisfying, ‘plat.’ Turning your attention back to Sukuna to watch him open the door, you see his back tense. His shoulders pull together slightly. 

You sit up in his bed while tilting your head at him. “You okay?” 

“Is that…?” That voice makes your face drain. Yuuji tilts his head to the side, looking past Sukuna’s shoulder and right at you. He instantly lights up, your name leaving his mouth, “Oh my god, have you two made up already?” He loudly gasps, “Wait, does that mean we can have more movie nights?” 

You part your lips, and look at Sukuna when he turns to face you. The two of you don’t say anything for a moment, before you burst out in laughter, cupping your mouth as you turn away from the two boys. Sukuna leans his head back, resting his forearm over his eyes as his face turns a bit red. 

You let out a sigh of relief. You don’t think Yuuji heard. Sukuna straightens himself out, “Get out of the way, Yuuji.” Sukuna pushes him to the side, making his way to the kitchen. “I need somethin’ in my system.”

Yuuji lets Sukuna pass, “We’re out of drinks!” Yuuji calls back, which is responded with an obnoxious groan. You giggle, but Yuuji is quick to eyeball the floor, noticing how it’s scattered with books and computers. “I’m guessing the two of you have been spending quality time together?” He smiles, “You’re going to tell me all about it, right?” 

You don’t know how to respond to that, “Uh… Sure, yeah.” Still, you feel a soft smile split your lips, crossing your legs over one another. Before you quickly pull your foot underneath your ass, realizing your panties are still strung on them. Shit, you really should’ve put them on despite Sukuna’s comments. “We’re… uhm, we’re just studying together. And, he was… making things up to me, I guess.” 

Yuuji tilts his head to the side, “Things are good now?” He passes you a hopeful smile, “No more angsty tension between you two?” 

You giggle, nodding your head in agreement. “Things are good, Yuu. No more angsty tension.” You feel your thighs sticking together, and you resist the urge to wrinkle your nose in distaste. “Yeah, definitely no more angsty tension.”

“Alright, get out.” Sukuna pulls the back of Yuuji’s shirt, pulling him out of his room. However, this time he emerges with a cup in his hand, you wonder if it’s water, or if he really did find some alcohol. 

Yuuji waves at you, “Bye, I love you.” He passes you a sad look with his big puppy dog eyes. 

You feel your heart tug, “Can we keep him here with us, Sukuna?” You plead, which is answered with a silent glare from Sukuna. You pout, begrudgingly waving back, “I love you, too, Yuu.” You blow him a kiss.  

“Yeah, yeah. Cut the bullshit you two.” Sukuna shuts the door on Yuuji, shaking his head while making his way to you. “I swear, can’t believe you say that shit right after you just came on my fuckin’ tongue.” He leans on his nightstand, passing you a teasing look, “Whore.” 

“Asshole.” 

“Slut.” 

“Dick.” 

Sukuna smirks a bit, leaning his head to the side. “Gorgeous.” 

You feel your brain malfunction for a second, “H-Huh?” 

Sukuna grabs his phone, opening an app. The smirk goes wider as he responds, “Dookie-stain.” You’re about to respond with quick banter, when he pushes the screen in your face, “Give me your phone number.” 

You furrow your eyebrows, taking the phone from his hands. “Wow, does that line work with all the ladies?” You put your phone number into his phone, placing your contact name as, ‘LOML.’ You nod to yourself, clearly content with the creative name you picked.

“You tell me.” Sukuna takes his phone from you, sending you a quick text. You can hear your phone ring in your bag from across the room. “Are you obsessed with me already?”

“I mean, you picked out the name for me.” You point at his phone, making Sukuna actually look at the name you saved yourself under. “I think you’re the one obsessed here.” Sukuna looks at the name, and clicks the contact, and you automatically assume it’s to change it. “Awh, I actually like that name.” 

“Of course you do.” Sukuna saves the contact, then pushes himself off the desk. “Alright, get your ass back to studying.” 

“I can’t believe you just ate me out, then are going to make me study.” 

“Do you want me to buy you a cookie?” 

“Actually–” 

Sukuna grabs your ankles, pulling you off the bed again. “Study.” 

—

You yawn, stretching your hands over your head. You can hear the washing machine rumbling in the background, Sukuna’s sheets in the wash for the night. You hear your phone ring again, and you’re quick to grab it, flipping onto your stomach while you kick your feet back and forth. 

You don’t even have to look at the name to know who it is. It’s not like the two of you have been texting all day, despite sitting across from each other, or merely a wall apart. 

Dick-una:

Come here

You smile to yourself. 

You:

im not sleeping with u

gross

Dick-una:

Just come here

You left your glasses

You:

fine.

Dick-una:

Thats what I thought

You wrap your blanket around you, shivering when your bare feet hit the cold ground, but you’re quick to shake it off. Slowly cracking your door open, and tip-toeing to Sukuna’s room. Luckily the door is unlocked when you go to open it. 

You giggle a little bit, “Give me back my glasses.” You can see the room is still a mess, your notebooks and textbooks littering the floor, since you were too tired to pick them up. However, your glasses aren’t on the floor where you left them, they’re now on Sukuna’s bedside counter. The small lamp ever so slightly illuminates his room. 

“Go get them.” Sukuna responds, and you can see him on his phone, face illuminated by the blue screen. He’s wearing black sweats, and nothing else, his hair is messy and unruly. 

You’re already smiling to yourself, closing his door behind you and making way to the drawer. Being careful to step over all the things on the ground, and finally reaching the drawer. “You’re so kind.” You inspect them, “You even clean them for m–” 

You feel Sukuna drag you into his bed, quickly reaching an arm over your body, and turning off the light with a loud click. He taps your back, “Oh shit, did your dumbass fall?” He says, draping his blanket over the both of you. “Clumsy.”

“Ha, ha. So funny Sukuna.” You let go of your blanket, warming up to Sukuna’s body. “I’m leaving the moment you fall asleep.” 

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up, and fall asleep.” He mumbles back, an arm resting underneath his pillow. “Can’t do anything without you annoyin’ me.”

You giggle, closing your eyes and whispering, “Goodnight, Sukuna.” You don’t expect to hear a response, even when you’re seconds away from falling asleep in his soft bed. But, you hear something anyway. 

“Good night.” 

Next Chapter: Ch. 7 - A Lovely Night

Tag(s)!: @openup-yourmind, @sherlock-holmes-jr, @maskedpacific, @gasp-a-homo, @diogodxlot, @beahappyhoeee, @tojimeow, @sukunamylovexoxo, @yoontaedotin, @sukunaloverrr, @lanadelreylover4l, @raininginthemoonlight, @blackjanexx, @ethereally-lyann, @fritzzbitzz, @lanadelreylover4l, @chayunwoo, @madamteller, @mazzd4, @haithamsbb, @c-l-ellis, @samysaha, @pi-crust, @shukiinnkm

🌟

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 | satoru gojō

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : The start of the spring semester is supposed to be fresh and new, not be cramped up in a closet with your frenemy at a party! And what's worse: you actually like the feeling of his lips on yours!?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo x fem/afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern + college AU - frenemies to lovers - Gojo and reader are at least age 20 - implied that reader is a virgin - first kiss - awakening feelings - virginity loss - kissing/making out in a closet - thigh riding - grinding/humping - sex in shared rooms; college dorms (empty) - breast fondling + sucking + nipple play - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - orgasm denial- clitoral play (sucking, pinching and swiping) - missionary position - protected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up) - pet names (baby, cutie, gorgeous, pretty, princess, sweetie) - cameos: Utahime, Geto, Shoko and Mei Mei - humor bc I'm [not] funny - mention of vaginal pain, spit and tears - not proofread; will do tmrw.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.3k (i'm so sick...)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: yessirrrr let's get this party started, shall we? >:333 plz enjoy the first part of this series!! and tysm for 5.3k !!! y'all are too kind && happy bday to my gal, jazzy!! hope you enjoyed your special day, jazzy jam c:

“GO FUCK YOURSELF, SATORU GOJO!”

“BETTER THAN FUCKING YOU, Y/N L/N!”

“They’re at it again already, huh?”

“Yeah, man, it’s going to two o’clock. Might as well enjoy the show.”

College is hard enough as is. The fact that you’re now back for the spring semester is tiring enough, wanting to get these classes over with and wrap this up. Spring, Easter, and Summer break are just right around the corner, the cherry on top for this exhausting second half of your junior year. Those are the end goals!

But alas, the semester just started. The students scramble around buying their textbooks and switching courses around, struggling to make final move-in decisions and already stressing over seasonal depression at this time of year. Spring semester, huh? Same old, same old.

Although there are negatives that make it nerve-racking, there are still good things that come with this junior year. Finally over with winter break, you’re excited to be back to living with your roommates, Utahime, Mei Mei, and Shoko! They’re your girlfriends for a reason; missing hanging and stressing with them as they made your college experience much better than you expected. 

And it doesn’t end there, either! You missed study sessions at the campus café with your second-year peers, Yu Haibara and Kento Nanami. The two best friends always help with your studies whenever they need it. And, of course, you can’t forget about their roommate and your friend, Geto. The tall, raven-haired Biology major is always looking out for you and paying visits to study with Shoko. There was even a time he helped with a mouse situation in your dorm! Poor Utahime that day – saw the rodent when she came out of the shower.

However, you’re not exactly thrilled to see everyone after coming back. You throwing a middle finger at someone on the opposite side of the pathway should be evidence of such. “Oh, go jump off a cliff, Gojo!”

“Hah! I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction!” Satoru Gojo was the direct roommate of Suguru Geto, best friend of his and Shoko, and was the star player of the campus basketball team. But most of all, he’s the kid you despise with every fiber of your being. “I’d be more entertained with you slipping on some ice.”

“Oh, you wish! I saw you slip on some ice yesterday on your way to Professor Yaga’s class.” You puff your chest with pride when you see the white-haired guy suck his teeth in annoyance. “Made my whole day, what a fucking moron. How about slowing down next time? You were late anyway!” 

Snowy brows furrow with a scoff. “God, you really are a perfect roommate for Utahime; the both of you are so tiny and angry at the world around you for no reason.” 

Utahime, standing beside you during this yelling competition, decides to chip in after that remark. She almost popped a vein, “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SAY, SATORU!?” 

“You heard me!” He barks a laugh at the two of you, turning around to go on his way. “Heard it’s gonna snow later tonight. Be sure to find a nice, big, puffy jacket and some boots so the storm doesn’t swipe you away, Y/n~.”

“I’ll be sure to shove an icicle up your ass before that, you fucker!” You turn on your heel and stomp your way out of the scene, Utahime following your move. “Hmph! Hate his ass so much…”

“Tch, right there with you.” Your roommate sighs heavily to exude the aggression. “But damn, the way you two go at it is worse than mine.” 

She is not wrong; it’s true – everyone within the campus grounds knows how much you and Gojo can’t stand each other. It’s no secret; at least you two make that apparent everywhere you go. This little feud between you started freshman year with you two in the same first-year engagement program. Tiny disagreements turned into narrowed glares, which then pivoted into prominent arguments, and now here we are. 

You hoped that freshman year would be the last you’d ever see of that snow-haired prude. Unfortunately, you were wrong. The year after, you were unhappy to discover he’s best buds and roomies with Geto. And what’s worse is that you were ill-fated to share a class with him every semester — especially this one with Professor Naga for Contemporary Issues. Is this the universe’s way of punishing you for something? For what!?? 

You’ve been a good kid, doing what you can and getting the grades that brought you merit and accolades. So, you don’t get how this one guy with his stupid round sunglasses is getting under your skin. So fucking annoying…

You hate him. You hate everything about him. From the way he immediately gives you a smug look when you walk into the room and take your seat right in front of him. The way he surprises you from behind because he finds your reactions amusing. The way he relentlessly calls your name to get your attention when you’re obviously ignoring him, even when he doesn’t need you for something. 

It all makes you heated. You hate Satoru Gojo. I hate him so much!

“…hear me?…Y/n?”

You blink, realizing you were too deep in thought for your ears to pick up Utahime calling out for you. “Hmm? What’s up?”

She pulls out the keys to the dorm from her coat. “So? You coming along?”

Huh? “Where are you going?”

“To Haibara’s get-together?”

Oh, hell no! “No, Uta. I think I’ll stay here.”

The dark-haired girl watches you walk past her when she opens the door. “Why?? It’s the first Friday night of the semester; it’s not gonna be a big party or anything. Just close friends.”

“What are we talking about?” Shoko chimes in after leaving the bathroom, brushing her teeth with sleepy eyes. “Haibara’s thing tonight?”

Utahime nods hurriedly at the drowsy nursing student. “I’m trying to convince Y/n to come!”

The brunette shrugs at the comment, following you two to your room. “Well, it’s not like I’m going either.” She snickers when the eldest dark-haired roommate turns to her with a hurt expression. “Sorry. I already have notes I need to get behind on. You can tell the guys I said hi, though.” 

Another sigh leaves Utahime as she puts her bag on her desk. “…Mei Meiiiii,”

“Yesss~?” The fourth roommate calls out from the hallway. 

“Are you going?”

“Mmmm, not sure.” Mei Mei comes to the doorframe, her long silverish-blue hair done in pigtails with a green skin-care mask covering her face. “Got a meeting for my club to head to later. And even then, it might still be a while for me to join, depending on if people are hanging out afterward.” 

Now is when the raven-haired roommate whines to her hands before she turns back to you, sitting on your bed. “Y/n, please, come with me!”

You don’t give in to her cries. “No, think I’ll stay and keep Shoko company.”

But she doesn’t give up. “Please! It’s just a small group of friends and maybe a few classmates Haibara’s familiar with. No biggie!”

“Small group of friends, huh?”

“Yes!”

“You know who else are his friends?” You lift a brow when she does the same. “His roommates: Nanami, Geto, and—“

“Gojo…” Utahime completes your sentence in defeat, understanding why your reluctance is present. 

“Sorry, Uta. Maybe next time.” 

Now, you’re not saying you’ve never been to the guys’ place before; they reside on the other side of campus where senior housing is (Nanami’s pick because he’s an RA). However, it’s the first Friday night of the semester. Meaning it’s the first free weekend for most students. And you’re going to ruin everyone’s fun by being in the same place as Gojo? Yeah, no thanks.

That is until Mei Mei says, “Actually, I heard from a friend that the basketball team are planning on going out somewhere tonight.”

Shoko adds on while taking out her toothbrush to properly speak to her friends. “Yeah, now that you mention it, Gojo told me he probably won’t be at the place in the first place. Something about meeting up with a group for one of his classes.”

All separate reasons from different accounts, yet that only fuels Utahime to beam out of her mini-depression and face you once more. “See? Gojo won’t be there by the time we get there! He’ll be busy with a group project – or whatever – and will hang with his sports buddies. So, you up for it now?” 

Your brows trench down. “I…I don’t know—“

If there’s one thing the oldest roommate is good at, it’s not giving up. And it’s because she bats her pretty brown eyes and gives you the most grandiose pleading puppy face she can. It’s the oldest manipulation tactic in the book, yet it works by making your heart cringe.

Of all things to be dragged into now, it was a party? The semester just started, and you haven’t even touched a single piece of reading yet. Is this a good idea? You can’t really go based on the perspective of your roommates because what’ll happen on the off-chance you do see Gojo? The thought of it is already headache-inducing.

Then again, it’s the first time since last semester that you’ll be able to see the other guys. You didn’t say goodbye to Geto and Haibara before break because they were swarmed with finals, and Nanami was gone the moment he found out all his exams were take-home. You’re not much for parties, to be quite honest. Regardless, it would be nice to catch up on the gang and see how they’re doing before we all revert to non-stress-free college life.

You release a sigh through your nostrils before making your decision begrudgingly. “...Don’t make me regret this.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

I regret this so fucking much…

Well, this night was going to be quite a drag. Why? Let’s go over the reasons, shall we?

Turns out, the party that was supposedly at Haibara’s dorm? So, it turns out, there was a change of plans, and to be relocated somewhere else — like outside campus grounds. Screw walking, you and Utahime had to go by car with Geto to go to the party, following down the main street into this big, beautiful neighborhood and parking by a big house. Perfect for housing an event for many people to drink, dance, and vibe.

Oh yeah, that was another thing, too; the many that were attending this fucking party. Word got out about the get-together, so, of course, lots of people wanted to come and celebrate the first weekend. So, not only are you outside campus grounds, but now you’re forced to interact with a crowd rather than a small group of people. You practically have been to every corner of the place to disassociate with people you didn’t know. 

So, where are you now? Upstairs in one of the bedrooms, where the bass of the speakers downstairs can be heard. You’re not alone — sitting in a circle with Utahime, Geto, and a couple of other kids who’re present at your university. What’s happening in the room? Just a chill game of truth, drink, or seven minutes in heaven; either you answer truthfully to a question or drink to avoid it, or go to the closet and do what you want with the person who spun the bottle on you.

But, there was nothing chill about the game, and the players would agree to that notion apprehensively. Because you most definitely silently dreading every second of this entire night. Why? How about asking the person across you that you’ve been glaring at since you opened the bedroom door and saw his face?

Apparently, as word got out about the party, the college basketball team heard about it and decided to come and celebrate. Meaning the whole team is at this party. Let’s say that again: the entire basketball team – all the players – are here to enjoy the party.

The person who stood across from you sat criss-cross with long, jean-covered legs, leaning with his hands behind him, a navy blue sweatshirt, and dark round shades that cover his eyes that you know are looking dead at you. And a smug grin that patronizes you to the core.

You peer next to you, giving Utahime the nastiest look you can. And the eldest could only meekly mumble an “I’m sorry…” with twiddled thumbs.

Satoru Gojo looked at you, and you frowned right back at him. The tense atmosphere between you two was enough to suffocate the other players. Some players would try to break the tension by playing the game. But even then, it was still strenuous. One girl rolled the bottle on Geto, to which he picked “truth” and answered her question: “How did you and Gojo meet?”

Even though he didn’t pick the option, he’d take a small swig of his beer. “Satoru and I have been friends since middle school — same with my other bud, Shoko. We’ve been inseparable since, and now we’re here.”

A guy spun the bottle on Utahime and asked, “Were you ever interested in Gojo?” The raven-haired girl sucked her teeth and took a chug, drinking the whole thing in one sig. 

“Hmph! I’d rather drink sweat from Professor Gakunaji’s crusty beard and eyebrows!” She’d admit after a burp.

“Ahaha! That’s a sight I’d like to see,” Gojo would chuckle at her insult, prompting a few around him to laugh. “Bet you’d get more satisfaction from it than being with me anyway.” 

The senior rolls her eyes before opening another bottle. “Fucking bastard…”

Another spin to the bottle after a couple comes out of the closet all close and giggly. This time, it lands on you. Some bubbly girl who had her eyes all up on Gojo, her nipple piercings able to be seen from her crop tee, was the one who spun it. She asks you, “Y/n, could you please tell me why you hate Satoru so much?”

You couldn’t fight the twitch of your eye. Of fucking course. You’re in no mood to drink, and you barely know this girl to think of being in the closet with her. You exhale through your nostrils, “….We’re friends, to an extent.”

“To an extent?” She kept asking more questions with a naive tone.

Oh, drop it, will you? And why are you referring to him by his first name like you know him? “We’re—“

“They mean that we’re kinda friends, kinda not.” Of course, nothing can be to yourself because the white-haired nuisance went ahead and answered your question. “They’re friends with my roomies, and my friends are their roomies. So, I guess that makes us friends by association. At least that’s the only way to see it since we nearly argued our heads off freshman year.”

You scoff with narrowed eyes, “By association, huh.” 

He quirks a brow up. “Mhmm.”

Good God, the more you two throw invisible daggers at each other, the more uncomfortable people feel being in this room. Oh, but don’t worry; the night gets even worse. Three turns later, it was your turn to spin the bottle. And – sit with me here – guess just who it lands on? Bingo! Satoru Gojo.

The hushed gasps that filled the room were telling; it was bound to happen, but no one thought it would happen. The star-crossed haters spun the bottle and landed on each other. And since Gojo doesn’t drink (and he finds the questions rather lackluster), he chooses to closet. The gasps were louder that time, and your blood began to boil.

The first time it happened was uneventful; it’s what you preferred. After the door closed, you told him, “Don’t even think about touching me.” It was just pure silence for the entire seven minutes. You sat on one side of the emptied closet while Gojo was on the other. There were the occasional sniffles of your nose and his loud yawns. But other than that, you two stayed at your respective sides of the closet. Seven minutes of no words, just keeping to yourself and watching the lava lamp in your corner be your light. 

You two survived the first set of seven minutes, not a scratch on either of you, to everyone’s thankful stars. Keywords: first set. Because why wouldn’t there be more? 

When it got to Gojo’s turn, he spun the bottle and got you! So, here you are, walking into the closet again with your notorious opp. You swore to God this had to be the universe’s way of toying with you as if the start of this semester wouldn’t be a handful to deal with already. 

You’re back on your side of the closet, groaning at your hands. It’s okay, Y/n, calm down. You can sit through another seven minutes. You got this! Don’t even act like he’s there…

And so you compose yourself, watching the heated, yellow wax of the purple lava lamp prompt up to the top to cool and sink back down. Six minutes…Five…Four—

“So, let’s say, hypothetically,” your eyelids closed shut for your eyes to roll freely. “I asked for a little something-—“

“I guess I should’ve added no talking, too. Thought that was rather self-explanatory to you.” You shut him down quickly. “And I thought I said don’t even think of touching me.”

“Well, you’re not in control of my brain,” you don’t have to turn your head to know that the fucker is looking at you. “Besides, I did say hypothetically.”

This motherfucker… ”Well, then, I’d, hypothetically, break every single one of your fingers and give them to Mei Mei so she can sell them to all your fangirls.”

“Hah! Nice to know you see me of high value.” He shifts his feet around from their crisscrossed position. “Bet you’d keep one of them.”

You scoff. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself! I’m annoyed just from not looking at you; what the fuck would I need your stupid finger for.” 

“Hmmm, I can think of many, like—“

“Do not finish that sentence, Gojo.” Your tone dialed lower; a warning. He notices it, bringing his hands up defensively. 

“Jeez, lighten up, Y/n.” He says while leaning against the back wall. “With an attitude like that, no other guy or gal in that room will ever want to be in a closet with you.” 

Oh, you don’t say, fuckface! “I barely want to be in this closet with you. Hell, I didn’t even want to be here! I only came for Utahime, assuming it would be a small party…How the hell did you even get here? I thought the basketball team was going out somewhere.“ 

“Awww, you spying on me, Y/n?” Oh, you hate his fucking snicker, shoving a middle finger in his direction. “We were supposed to be at some restaurant joint, but a few of the crew flunked out on us and said they’d go to some ‘big party,’ then everyone wanted to go, and now we’re here. You know I don’t like alcohol, but I just tagged along because Suguru was here. I didn’t know about you, though.” 

You bring your hands to your face to sigh in private. “We gotta stop meeting like this…It’s like I can never escape you.”

“…Is that a bad thing?” 

You open your mouth to refute, but no words leave….Huh?

That was…..odd. Why did he ask that question like that: you couldn’t detect a remnant of childish malice he’d been throwing at you back and forth. Even when you faced him, his face was straight ahead. But when you don’t answer, his left eye goes to his peripheral to look at you.

What the…Is he being genuine right now? 

You gaze at him briefly before turning away, “I….I don’t know.” He hums to your response. “….Do you think so?”

Gojo shrugs. “Can’t say so either.” You hum at him back, and the silence takes over once again.

Okay, now things are even more awkward. You came into this closet with irritation, yet somehow, it vanished into thin air. It was the one thing that’s been constant throughout this evening. Now that it’s gone, you can only replay the moment from a few seconds ago in your head. 

Is it a bad thing? Why would he ask that? Of course, it’s a bad thing! Has he forgotten how much hostility we have for each other? Jesus Christ….Wait, why did he say he didn’t know either? What does that even mean!!??

“You look nice.” 

You—……I’m sorry, what???

The way you snapped your head back to him, you could’ve sworn you heard your neck crack. Holy fuck, why the hell was he looking at you right now? His round glasses shine from the lava lamp, so you can’t see his eyes.

“Wh….What?” It was cold; the weather app said it would snow later tonight. Therefore, the temperatures and winds were unforgiving after sunset. So you took it upon yourself to dress warmly. It was all simple, just a hate, long-sleeved halter blouse that matched your black skirt – it was the only nice thing you had outside of regular leggings. And you covered your legs with black pantyhoses but decorated with cute white knitted leg warmers. 

He repeated in a singing tune. “You look nice.”

When it came to the white-haired guy in this closet with you, there were rare moments where you felt as though you were shocked by him. This was beyond astounding, the comment continuing to ring throughout your ears.

You blinked at him before averting your eyes down to your hands, trying to distract the increase of heat on your cheeks by intertwining your fingers together. “….Thank you, Gojo.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he’d shrug again, chuckling to himself before adding on. “It’s way better than your other outfits. Baggy old sweatshirts, bags under your eyes even if you’re wearing glasses, sweatpants with stains. You look like a homeless librarian.”

Annnnnd just like that, with the drop of your quivering lip, all the warm feelings you felt for a minute evaporated in seconds. The anger returned with the twitch of a brow. “…Tch, gee, thanks. I can’t say the same for you.” 

“Oh, you know you look cute when you’re jealous~.”

You almost busted a nerve. Who the hell are you calling, cute? “As if. From the sound of it, you must be jealous of me; who told you to be looking and criticizing what I wear? Must be rough not being able to wear comfortable clothes all the time, huh?”

“Shut the hell up,” he finally snaps, and you stick your tongue out in victory.

“No, I’ll keep going! I’m sorry, Mr. Perfect, but not everyone wants to put on their best outfits to impress you, not like your fangirls who get their best bras to push up their breasts for you to notice.”

“Huh, you lookin’ at other girls boobies? Wow, Y/n, never took you as a pervert.” He laughs at your look of pure anger. “You are jealous, huh? That I’m talking at other girls and not you? Awww, don’t be so selfish; there’s plenty of me to go around!” 

You snarl at him. “Ugh, you’re so gross! I don’t want anything to deal with you. So all those girls can have you and rip you to shreds for all I care. Let them know how much of a big fucking baby the wonderful, amazing Satoru Gojo is when he drops his ice cream on the floor and cries on Geto’s shoulders. Or that you’re such a lightweight that you accidentally vomited in Nanami’s cup one time, which he threw at you...Or maybe I should tell them.”

His brows furrow, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would, and then some.” You smile smugly. “In fact, I’ll go downstairs, grab that red punch, and spill it right on you in front of that girl next to you. I’ll make your hair look like strawberry shaved ice.” 

He leans his cheek against his fist with a huff. “I take it back; you don’t look nice at all. So uncute.”

You gasped with trenched brows. “Excuse me!?”

“You heard me, you’re uncute!” Yup, today was the day: you’re going to choke the hell out of this motherfucker. “I feel bad for any guy who would come into the closet with you, dealing with such a little devil.” 

“You’re one to talk, dickhead! Other than you, I’d much rather be stuck in this closet with anyone else — even Geto!”

“Taah, as if! I bet you never even had your first kiss with such an attitude like that.”

Again, you open your mouth to say something, yet words evade you at that very moment. And Gojo catches it quickly. Because his brows raise, lifting his head back up, eyes scanning your face. 

Oh fuck.

“...”

Don’t.

“….Y/n,”

Don’t say it.

“You never had your first ki—“

He couldn’t finish that sentence, thank God, because the phone alarm from the outside rang. Seven minutes are up — this session is up, so you quickly stood up and opened the closet door. 

With swift feet, you sit back next to Utahime, your eyes downcast to the bottle, avoiding Gojo’s feet coming around and taking his spot across from you.  Your roommate perks at your silence, “You okay, Y/n?”

A nod is offered to her, “Yeah, I’m fine.” No, you weren’t. Your heart was pounding like crazy, your skin dropping in color. And you can feel the eyeballs from across boring into your being. “Let’s just keep playing.”

And so the game carried on from Gojo’s turn. Your eyes could only ever look at the bottle, hoping it would never land on you from there on out. But that would be the easy way out, and – as life is – nothing goes your way when you want it to be.

Because when it gets to your turn, you watch with patient eyes as the glass spins on the cold hardwood floor. One spin goes by, and another swings around. Finally, it stops, the neck of the bottle pointing vertically from you, and your whole figure washes in dread with the hushed sounds of exclamation of the other people in the room. 

Alas, the bottle pointed to Gojo. It was inevitable – you couldn’t avoid his presence since the last session anymore. You look at him, your brows scrunched with mercy. But he points to the closet with his chin, and you follow his lead to the small space with anxiousness at every step. 

Back to your respective stations in the closet. You can only use the mesmerizing wax of the lava lamp as a sort of comfort – a distraction for your nerves that are at an all-time high. 

Why were you so nervous? All he did was ask if you ever had your first kiss taken. Yeah, that’s the problem! Why did he have to know that!? Ughhhh, I should’ve just lied or something…Now what? Will he make fun of me for not having my first kiss taken yet? What is this, middle school!?? The thoughts in your head were a battle to deal with, one personal worry after another.

But all that washes away when the silver-haired guy finally breaks the quiet after a minute. “…Wanna kiss me?”

It felt like your heart dropped at that abrupt question; the warm circulation coursing through your body transitioned to an ice-cold sensation. Your breathing stops, and your eyes shoot wide at the person you’re with. “….Wha….What did you say?”

He doesn’t hesitate at your request. “Wanna kiss?”

Have….Have you lost—“your mind!? Why would you ask me that??” You whisper yelled at him so the people outside don’t hear you.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Why not?”

Why not?!? “Gojo, you can’t be serious. Just because I never had my first kiss doesn’t mean I need it to happen this instant! Are you that much of a horndog that you’d ask—“

“Let me explain, alright!?” He yells in whispers back with a hand raised to stop your rambling, and you hold your tongue. “Listen, I’m not asking to be a dick, okay? I just thought that…ya know, being in a place of strangers, someone’s bound to be in this closet with you and ask you for a kiss.”

Your face screws to a magnificent expression of confusion you could ever contour. “Wh–Why are you concerned about who I kiss? It’s not like I’d agree or—“

“Yeah, but like, what if they did, huh?” His azure eyes peek from above his sunglasses. The sharpness they carried told you he was serious about this — like he was serious about you. That…That was so off of him. “What if some weirdo forces themself on you and me and Geto can’t help you in time, huh? I can think of two guys in this room who’d probably do that.” 

It takes a few seconds for you to soak in his words, “….So? What are you getting at?” He opens his mouth but stops from saying something, his pointer finger up but back to a fist. You could tell; whatever he was thinking had him in mental turbulence.

He releases a deep sigh before saying, “I’m just…I’m saying, wouldn’t it be better to have your first kiss with someone you know, at least?”

You couldn’t believe he was saying such things to you. “And…you think you’re the one I should….kiss?”

“….I don’t hear a no.” 

You wanted to refute that statement — challenge him or prove him wrong! You looked at his face, examining every feature to find an indication that whatever he was saying was just a way to get under your skin. He loves to poke fun at you, so why wouldn’t he use this as a perfect opportunity?

However, you couldn’t find anything. His eyes were sincere, stationed right back on yours. You saw his Adam’s apple move from a gulp, letting you know that he was a little nervous, too. And your gaze drifted to his mouth, the thought of his lips being on yours staining your brain for the first time. It was scary to think about, your heart racing to no end. 

“Y/n,” he said your name so quietly that you almost missed it. “Do you trust me?”

What an odd question to ask in this awkward atmosphere. Do you trust Satoru Gojo, the boy you would smack with a given chance? He’s undoubtedly the most annoying person you’ve ever bumped into — a thorn in your side since freshman year. He is such a tactless fool, doing and saying whatever he thinks comes to mind, picking on you like you were a child, and not taking you seriously when you wanted him to. You could list many things that you saw wrong with this guy.

Yet, he wasn’t the worst. There hasn’t been an instance where you felt uncomfortable around him, only annoyance. He was friends with Geto and Shoko; that alone should be enough to tell you he’s someone worth depending on. And even when you two would be tasked to do something together: sure, you’d suck your teeth and bicker til the cows come home. But at the end of the day, you still knew how to work with one another and get the job done.

In all things considered, Satoru Gojo was a nuisance. Even so, he was a nuisance you could depend on — to trust. 

Breathing was a hard thing to do, taking in air and exhaling excruciatingly slow. You chew on your bottom lip and give him a curt nod. “I…I trust you, Gojo.”

He lets your answer sink in for a bit before he moves his position, his back to the wall while facing you, legs straight down to the ground. He pats on a thigh, “C’mere.”

Hesitance was there for a split second, but you followed his command and quietly maneuvered your way toward his direction, situating on top of his legs. Of course, you were anxious as hell; your ears and cheeks shared a warmth unbearable to host. Your figure being so close to his, you had to be dreaming. 

But you weren’t. The hands he placed on your waist prove so, earning a gasp to leave you. His voice is low for just the two of you to hear. “Put your hands on my shoulders…Ya scared?” A slow nod is what you give him, and he chuckles lightly. “It’s okay. Try closing your eyes for me. Relax, I’m not gonna do anything dumb.”

He only said that because of that look you gave him. He is going to do something to you — just nothing too rash. 

“Trust me, pretty.”

Pretty? Yes, he just called you pretty. You were used to him calling you dumb names to get you riled up, yet none nearly sweet and fitting the mood like this one. It made your heart skip a beat.

With that, you held back reluctance when closing your eyelids. It made you a little uneasy, unable to see him in front of you, what he was doing, what he looked like while having you on him like this.

Suddenly, you squeak when something softly presses down to your clavicle. It was his lips. 

He snickers, “Ya know, I gotta admit.” He brings his mouth up your neck with kisses, your breath shaking with every peck, and your hands clinging onto his sweatshirt. “It’s kinda nice seeing you be all shy on top of me like this.”

“Go..jo...” you flinch at his soft kiss on your forehead, his hands rubbing your sides.

“Don’t do that. Call me by my first name.” You can feel him bringing a hand to your cheek, caressing your bottom lip gently with his thumb. “I know you know it. I wanna hear it with your voice.”

Holy fuck, this got intense way too fast. He brings his nose close to yours, and you shiver at the contact. It only means he’s mere centimeters away. Thank God your eyes were closed now because you swear you’d turn to stone if you snuck a peek.

“S..Sa…Toru—Mmmph!?“

And there it was, the inexorable. Gojo’s lips fleshed with yours softly, nothing too explicit or unpleasant for you. It was a simple kiss, yet it felt so foreign to you. Your first kiss had been with Satoru Gojo. What a momentous day.

It lasted a few seconds, your body stiff and hands balled to fists nonetheless. He removes from you with a soft noise between your lips, the heat from his face taken with him now that you have space to breathe. You open your eyes for him.

“There ya go,” he says with a small smile, stroking your cheek with his thumb while his forefinger plays with your earlobe. “Was it so bad?”You huffed, shaking your head no. Gojo hums, the hand on your waist gripping your flesh faintly. “….Can I kiss you again?”

Your breath hitched. It was a tiny request. One more wouldn’t hurt, right? You nod, closing your eyes again and awaiting his move.

Gojo leans in and claims your lips again, a soft hum from him when his face is back on yours. The next one was a little more risqué than the last, your bottom lip being taken by his playfully. The third kiss was where the mood dialed to a more wanton plane, him nibbling on your lip to allow him access. It’s here that Gojo can’t contain the reins, removing his glasses, “Come here, cutie.”

And you can’t help yourself either, succumbing to these smooches while wrapping your arms around his neck. Gojo’s no better, snaking his hand to the back of your neck and his other sneaking down to your butt.

You break the kiss to inquire, “Hahhh—…you pervert,” your eyes half-lidded. 

He puffs a laugh, “Whaaat? I thought you’d like me to be touchy.”

You don’t admit anything to him, just slamming your face to his again. You decided to be a little adventurous and lick his lips. Gojo senses the initiative and takes your tongue to suck on. The whimper you let out was too cute, egging him on to suck and tease the muscle more. 

It makes you dwell in the moment more, your limbs no longer stiff, yet your hips subtly move voluntarily. The friction from your groin rubbing on his jean-covered thigh was strangely enticing, your restraint becoming lesser the more you moved. And it gets worse after both Gojo’s hands creep into your skirt and tease your ass with squeezes.

“Ahhh, mmmm, Satoru..” you squeaked. 

“Relax, baby,” there it goes again, another cute pet name to call you. He really knew how to get you going. “Let me take care of you….Mmmm”

He shoves his tongue into your mouth – not too forceful to scare you, but enough to get that he is impatient. You moan to his mouth, a hand grabbing tuffs of his snowy hair. 

His nose is pressed to your cheek like yours, and it’s getting harder to breathe now that things are getting intimate. But it all felt good, and the mood was just right. You rub your chasm onto his leg, which he lifts just a bit to make grazing your groin a little better. And God, the way his hands groped your butt, it turned you on even more. 

Ohh fuck, tongues swirl around each other, your head begins to pound, and your ears ring from the heat on your face.. Oh, God, you could feel a hand come up to the top of your stocking, teasing its way down your skin and to the hem of your underwear. Please, please—

BEEP!! BEEEP!! BEEP!!

Even so, everything freezes in time, and both you and Gojo stop whatever you’re doing. Lips still on lips, your ass on his lap, and his middle and forefinger barely grazing the crack of your ass. It’s here that everything hits you all at once: you are not the only one here — you’re not even in your room! You’re still at the party you were dragged into, in some stranger’s bedroom closet, smooching with your supposed most hated person. 

You immediately withdraw from him, Gojo removing his hands from you to put up defensively. Your hands rush to cover your lips, which are wet from spit. A thousand thoughts run around your head. Holy shit, what the hell was I doing!? Did I really just kiss Gojo? Satoru Gojo!? What was I thinking!!?

And Gojo didn’t say anything, only gauging your reaction to see what goes from here. The light from the lava lamp behind you is sheltered, your silhouette drawn to cover the guy in front of you. 

I need to leave. That’s your final thought, taking an immediate stand and storming out of the closet. Utahime noticed you make a beeline to the door, and the roommate pursues right behind you down the stairs. She moves past drunk dudes to grab your wrist, “Y/n! What’s wrong – are you okay?”

It’s time to lie. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just tired, you know.” You lead her to the broom closet where all the initial guests’ jackets were stored. You grab for yours and put it on, “I think I’m just gonna call an Uber and head back to campus before the snowfall.” 

Her face contorts to an expression of worry. “Are you sure? I’ll come with you; this place bugs any—“

“No, no. You don’t have to worry, Uta.” You place a hand on her shoulder before she can move another step. 

“When you say it like that, I can’t help but worry.”

Your lips twinge to a smile to display faux comfort. “It’s okay, really. You don’t have to ruin your fun for me. Besides, I saw some underclassmen waiting to speak with you all night somewhere down here.”

Utahime doesn’t buy it, and you knew she doesn’t. But thankfully, she doesn’t try to fight with you and gives you the okay. She watches you open the door before leaving, “Make sure you call or text me when you get to our dorm!”

It made you laugh; the girl can be such an older sister. “Don’t worry, Shoko’s still there, remember? Cya later, have fun!”

“Bye, be careful!” A final warning to you before the roommate closes the door for you.

You spoke too soon. Now outside, snow was already falling to the ground, probably a few minutes earlier since it wasn’t sticking to the ground yet. The little cold flakes touching the skin of your face were almost remedial, evening out the warmth of your cheeks.

You use this moment to recuperate from what transpired in that house. It was so out of the ordinary and was completely weirding you out, but not in a terrible way. It was more like odd-ish, strange, downright out of the norm. The more you think about it, visiting back to the senses of your hands in his hair, his slender fingers teasing the flesh of your butt, and the pillowy sensation of his lips glued to yours while whispering sweet things…..

….Nope, the cold was not helping at all. There goes the warmness creeping back on your cheeks and ears. Let me hurry and get the fuck out of here, grabbing for your phone and unlocking it to find the Uber app.

“Y/n!”

But before your thumb could press on the application, you instinctively turned around to see the door was open again. And the person who called out to you had your breath come to a complete stop.

Gojo closed the door behind him, coming down the driveway while hurriedly putting on his grey Chesterfield coat. “Fuuuuuck, it got cold quick!”

“G–Gojo!” You stuttered when out by the time he could make it to you. “What’s up? What are you—“

“I saw you weren’t in the bedroom, and Geto told me you headed downstairs. You could’ve told me you were leaving; that fox with bangs was giving me an earful,” he stuffs his hands in his pockets and then curses. “Fuck, I should’ve checked for my gloves before I left….Anyway, where are you heading off to?” 

You were a little taken aback. “Uhhh, back to the dorms?”

“Great!” He wraps an arm around your shoulders and walks with you down the road. “My car’s over there; let’s hurry before we freeze to death.”

Huh? “Hurry where??”

“Huh? We’re going back to campus, no?”

We!? “Together!?”

“Yeah?”

“Gojo, please!” You promptly removed yourself away from Gojo, standing in front of him. “Why are you doing this? Why are you being all nice now?”

He shrugged “Ehhhh? Are friends not supposed to give friends rides back home?”

“No, not us! We aren’t friends; we’re friends to an extent, remember!?”

“Ahhh, stop being a baby. You act as if you’ve never been in my care before.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Yeah, but not when I’m alone with you, dummy! “C’mon, it’s gonna get colder with this snow.”

“Okay, just—Stop!” Your hands go up to prevent them from getting any closer to you. He stops, the fallen flakes camouflaging with his hair. “Gojo….you understand what just happened back there, right?”

He doesn’t say anything, only a single nod. 

“So, you know that my mind is going at like a hundred miles per hour right now.”

“….Yeah.”

“Okay….So, just please…I need a minute.” Your face goes to your feet to divert your thoughts elsewhere because you don’t know if you could handle looking at the white-haired man for a mere second.

Gojo looks at you mumble to yourself, avoiding him. He releases a deep sigh, walking towards you and lifting a side of his coat to shield you two from the windows of the house party. “…You’re doing it again.”

His shoes come to your direct line of sight, your heart pounding even more. “D…Doing what?”

“The thing where you push people out whenever you feel overwhelmed.” You flinch when his finger grazes the back of your palm. “Don’t do that, not right now. I want you to talk with me.”

What is there to talk about? You could’ve said that to throw him off — be avoidant to this whole conversation. But it’s futile after he brings your chin up to face him. 

“Did I make you uncomfortable back there?”

“….No.” 

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I….I don’t know.” Honestly, you did not know. Your mind had too much to go through; so many memories and phrases from moments ago hit you all at once. You’re fighting the urge to tremble — not from the cold, but from overstimulation of brain power and senses.

His eyes are still fixed on you, noting you chewing on your lip. “Come with me.” The sudden revelation quirked your eyebrows up. “Whatever’s going on with you is obviously because of me. So, I’d feel like a dick if I just let you leave because of me. Plus, there’s no way you’re getting an Uber from here. Shit is like $20, I checked.”

“Gojo, I—“ he silences you with a kiss on your forehead. The feel of his lips on your skin again almost made you shut down.

“Sorry,” he whispered while placing his forehead on yours. You never really noticed how tall he was until he did that, your heart skipping again. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

Picture it: you are out in the cold with Gojo, snow falling down silently onto your figures, him bringing his coat up to shield you from the world. If you were naive enough, you’d mistake this as a scene from a fairy tale. And how he was looking at you, too; his sunglasses were back on, but you could make out the blue orbs that lingered on yours. It’s as if he didn’t want to look at anything else. Just you and only you. 

You don’t know where the hell this side of confidence came from, but you lifted your hands to cup his cheeks and bring him in for another kiss. Cold lips instantaneously warm up at each other’s contact, Gojo leaning into your touch more. 

Snow continues to fall and stick, and the music from the house can still be heard from the outside. Yet it doesn’t bother you because it all drowns out in this moment you feel with him. Whatever these feelings you are experiencing are something new — scary, but new. And for some reason, it felt right to have them for him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A sheet of white cascades over the university grasses, students’ cars topped with sprinkles of snowflakes, and the lampposts emit a glow that fits the dark, cloudy weather. 

You were back on campus but not in your dorm where you told Utahime you’d be. You did text her when you arrived, so she doesn’t have to worry too much for you. In turn, she texted back that something had come up and is going to another event with Haibara and some other friends. She said she wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning; it sounds like she’s having a good time. 

The same thing goes for Geto, only that the raven-haired boy called Gojo to say he’d be home in the morning because he was getting “private” with someone he met at the party. “Will be back in the morning. Don’t cause a fire alarm like last time, you dork." 

Haibara is supposedly with your roommate, meaning he won’t be back until the morning, either. The only person left to account for would be Nanami, who is currently away for the weekend because he had to visit home to grab last-minute things from break. 

That leaves only you inside their apartment – in Gojo’s room on top of his bed with your top and bra down on the carpeted floor, along with Gojo’s sweatshirt and jeans. His bed is like any other twin bed for college dorms, a little impossible to move around for two people and limited positions. Nonetheless, to start things off slow, you lie comfortably on his bed with your head to his pillow as he crawls above you and works from above.

Gojo is straddled on top of you, kissing your lips and sucking on your tongue, evoking the prettiest wails he’s ever heard. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders while his are busy roaming your body.

The kiss is broken when you gasp at the contact of his pinkie grazing a nipple on your breast. “Ahhnn, Satoru, don’t touch…Mmmph!”

“Hmmm, what, gorgeous?” He places his lips from your chin down to your neck, sucking on your skin and leaving ticklish nibbles. “Don’t touch what?”

“M–My ni—Ohhoo!” He gives the hardened bud a tweeze, and your cry results from the sudden action. 

He chuckles, “So cute.” Kisses travel down from your collarbone, your breasts, and finally, your other unattended nipple. A whimper leaves your lips at the wet sensation of his tongue swirling around the sensitive nob, and you shriek when he takes it into his mouth. The frequent grazes of his teeth and the tongue pushing your nipple to the roof of his mouth — it all felt surreal.

Yet, it wasn’t as surreal as the next thing he was about to do. Sucking on your tit was the perfect distraction for him to sneak a hand down into your pantyhose, sinking it to the lower regions of your underwear. You gasp at the feeling of a digit pressing on the wet spot of your underwear.

“W–Mmmph…’toru, wait…” you pat him on his shoulder to get his attention, yet he doesn’t lift from your breast yet. “Don’t—Stop, it’s embarrassing—Khhmm!“ Shivers shoot up your spine after Gojo uses his middle and forefinger to go in between your panty-covered folds. Your wetness sticks onto him the more he rubs. 

Gojo lets go of your nipple with one last suck, the cool air chilling the wet bud. “Awww, is my lil’ princess shy?” You could only answer in pants and puffs, his blue eyes surveying your entire body laid out for him. “Heh, shit, you look so good...Hmm? Hey, you got a tear down here.”

“Huh?” You follow his eyes down to your tights, bringing your attention to a worn-down tear where Gojo’s hand is between the material and your underwear. It must’ve been from when I was grinding on him earlier today…

The snow-haired boy removes his hand from inside your tights and uses both to make the tear bigger. Your eyes shot wide, “Wha—What are you doing?”

“Making it easier to see your pussy.” He continues to tear a hole big enough for the damp spot of your pussy to be prevalent. 

Your face dials up in warmth at the vulgar ward. “You could’ve just taken them off, you idiot…”

“Pssh, that’s no fun. Besides,” Gojo uses a thumb to remove the panty barrier to reveal what he’s wanted to see the moment you crawled up on his bed. Your bare cunt, wet substance glistening the pretty folds of your labia. He bites his lip. “I’ve been dying to see this pretty thing you’ve been hiding from me.”

Your hands rush to cover up your vagina, “D-Don’t say such embarrassing things, Gojo!”

“Hey, hey, let me see it,” his hands are used to pull yours aside, your slit throbbing from his gaze without your control. “And what did I say about calling me by my last name?”

It was a force of habit, dummy. “...Just be gentle, okay, Satoru?”

He beams a smile at you, the dimples on his cheek prevalent with his childish manner. “I will, princess! Now, what’s goin’ on here…” 

He ditches his head down to your chasm, giving the inviting genitalia a slow lick up to your clitoris. You bucked your hips in shock, jerking at the sudden intrusion of his tongue situating between your slit. He uses his hands to keep your legs still while he sucks and teases your vagina.

You grab for his hair, “—Khhaa!! Ohhh, ohhfuckkk, Satoru, no—Ohhh!!” Your eyes screw shut, mouth open to let your cries fly out. 

It only pushes Gojo to keep going, his tongue ravaging your folds as if he’s going to lick you clean. And when he sucks on clit? Holy fuck, you could’ve sworn your soul left your body right there and then.

“Satoruuu!! Ohhhshit, ohhhh…Mmmph,” the noises that come from the commotion below of Gojo’s tongue lapping and slurping your essence were so pornographic to the ears as if they’d melt on the spot. “Oh, God, I’m gonna cum, I think I’m gonna…Nnmmph!”

Gojo hears you; that’s why he removes his mouth from your clit before you can experience your orgasm. You throw an unsatisfied whine at him, a shit-eating grin apparent on his face. “Sorry, cutie. But I wanna have a feel for you first.” He straightens his posture and spreads your legs for him. You follow his hands that land at the hem of his boxer briefs, where a tent protrudes until his erection is sprung out with one fell swoop.

The erect limb you gawked at was definitely something you weren’t mentally prepared enough to see. Your eyes take in every single detail you can: from his pink tip, where precum exudes from the urethra down to the underside of his cock, to the long body curved slightly to the left. A whole living a breathing dick — and it’s Gojo’s dick, of all things. It was oddly pretty, you had to admit. 

“Ya ready?” You snap back to reality when Gojo calls out to you as he scoots forward to you after putting the condom on, the cockhead aligning with your labia. You hold your breath at the proximity, “Listen to me, Y/n. Since this is your first time, I need you to take deep breaths and try to relax for me. Think you can do that for me?” You sigh through your nostrils, but you nod. “Heh, good. Now stay still, and let me know if it hurts, okay, princess?”

He lightly pushes his glans to your labia, swirling it around to warm you up before kissing the entrance of your vagina. He begins to propel into you, and you begin to brace yourself for the pain that accompanies his insertion. You grab the pillowcase, your teeth clinging to your bottom lip as tears well up. But you remind yourself to breathe, drawing out as much of an exhale for Gojo to shove the tip in.

And when it does get in, you release the loudest gasp you’ve ever expressed that night! Your body froze stiffly as Gojo plunged more of his length into you; the curve scraping your side caused such an exhilarating spike in your nerves that your walls immediately began clenching around him. 

Oh fuck, It’s coming, I’m gon— “Ahhhh!”

And just like that, your organs that were avoided before came back in seconds., the walls of your slit fluttering on Gojo’s cock like crazy, electric shocks climbing up to your head and pulling you in for a haze.

The sudden contraction of you makes Gojo hiss, “—Fuuuck, you’re gripping me like crazy…! Damn, you feel so fucking good…” He continues to push himself onto you until the base rises your southern lips and grinds his pelvis, which only fuels your screams even more with the overstimulation. “—Khhh! D-Damn…did you cum, baby?”

You can’t even form a proper sentence, your lower half feeling too full to speak, and your figure trembling from the crescendo. 

Your expression has Gojo bend down to laugh. “Never had that happened before. Heh, glad I could make you cum for the first time. Congrats, pretty…” Pillowy lips claim yours again, taking your whines and whimpers as he roughly grinds his hips to you.

Gojo begins moving his hips at a slow pace, letting you adjust to his size and shape. However, the peak has made your entire lower body dial-up in sensitivity, your back arching to him every time your clit is barely touched. Tears have long fallen since he successfully entered inside you.

Jesus, the fucking curve of his shaft was so fucking dangerous! Not only was the feeling of his veins coming to and fro with your inner walls had you twitching, but the way the tip of his cock was scratching and poking every spot that had you humming was so unfair. Especially now, when he changes the rhythm to a faster cadence, you’re bound to come again! 

“Ohooo, ahahhh, Sa-‘toru…! Ughhh, Jesus, it feels so….Hooohhh!!” Your words slurred in between kisses, almost choking on your tongue with the slap of his balls hitting your taint. 

“Yeah, baby…—Ohhh, shit, shit, shiiiit…!” You feel so good to Gojo; he can’t help but slam onto you with all his might. Your nails were causing eclipses on the skin of his shoulders. He didn’t mind; he knew it was because you were feeling good, too. “Hnngh…How’re you feelin’, Y/n? Hmm?”

“—Eeshh!! I–I…don’t know…” Your brain was too mushy to think adequately, too distracted by what was between your legs.

But Gojo wasn’t buying that mess. “Ohoho, I think you do know, sweetie.” The tall silver-haired boy creeps a hand down to your clit to give it a pinch. You scream, your legs wrapping around his hips involuntarily. “How’re you feeling?”

“—Fuuuhucck!! It feels good,” There, you finally said it. “It feels soo good…Hic–pleaseeee, make me feel good, ‘toruuuu!!”

He puts his forehead to yours before kissing it. “God, you’re so fucking, cute…” 

Gojo increases his tempo to an erratic fashion, your wails bouncing off the walls with every plunge of his dick inside you. Your gummy walls clamp onto him while his fingers swipe around your clitoris, and more tears strike down your wet cheeks. 

The familiar tingling sensation from before begins to climb up. Oh, God, it’s happening again. “Ahhooo—OhmyfuckingGooood!! I’m gonna cum again, I’m gonna cummm…! Aiiishh, ahhhhh!!”

And there it goes, your second crescendo hitting you like a wall. Your walls twitch around Gojo’s length again, prompting the man above you to impetuously thrust in a harsh motion, evoking more choked sobs from your puffy lips. And when he dwells into a finish of his own, you can feel his limb pulsate along with your contractions withering away.

The two of you heave and pant close to each other before Gojo slumps his body on your nude figure, allowing him to rest while he pumps his load into your stimulated cunt. The sheets beneath you stick to your sweaty skin, the air of Gojo’s huffs tickling your neck. 

When you feel your body subsided from the excitement, you two turn to each other. Noses touching each other, eyes locked into each other’s stares. 

“….So,” he’s the first to speak in a whisper. “…What does this make us?”

His eyes were so alluring to look at, like looking at the most beautiful azure gems in your adjacency. “…I’ll punch you if you say I’m your girlfriend.”

That has him chuckling in shaky breathes. “Fair enough, but it’d be dumb if we don’t talk after this.”

A curt nod in agreement, “…Is there a thing called frenemies-with-benefits?”

“Pfft, I don’t know, but why not? I wouldn’t mind.” Gojo then decides to get up and finally remove himself from you, slowly taking out his cock with the condom. The bed creaks when he leaves to remove the plastic and wrap it to discard it. “You okay?”

You ponder for a few seconds before coming to an honest answer. “I think so…My pantyhose isn’t fine, though, you fiend.” 

He flashes another smile at you, his dimples taking your heart away. “Yeah, yeah, sorry about that. I’ll get you another pair.”

“You better be.” 

BZZZT!! BZZZT!! BZZZT!!

Before you could get off the bed, a vibration came from Gojo’s dresser top. It was his phone, the caller ID reading as “punk-boy bangy wannabe” 

You blink and give the phone to Gojo after he puts his sweatshirt back on. With raised brows, he says, “It’s Geto?” His thumb presses the green button before bringing the device to his ear while he puts his limp dick back in his boxers. “Yo. Wassup?”

“Okay, good, you picked up. I’m getting in the elevator right now to grab something from the room real quick. Open the door for me, will ya?”

The white-haired roommate couldn’t express his shock in time because Geto ended the call before he could have the chance. He turns to you slowly, and you can tell whatever he’s going to say isn’t good based on that dumb look on his face. “Geto’s coming up…now.”

Panic spiked up as it rightfully should. You were still braless and topless, for Christ’s sake! And wearing torn tights!? Something you did not want Geto to see in the likes of his and Gojo’s room. “W–What should I do?!”

Gojp quickly scans the room for a plan, immediately pointing to a door to his right. “Hide in my closet!” He hurries to grab the door open. “Quick, grab your clothes get in here!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…!” You grab for everything in your direct line of sight, making a straight beeline to the closet when you’ve got everything. “Don’t forget my shoes at the front; just quickly hide them somewhere!”

“Okay, okay—“

“I’m serious, Gojo! Do not do anything stupid!”

“I heard you, jeez.” He watches you move around the closet, moving his shoes to one side while trying to hide behind one of his suits. Jesus, you looked real cute even when you were scared. “…Hey.”

You peer up at him, moving his blazer so he could see your complete face. “What?”

“Be careful not to leave your panties here ‘cause I might not give them back.”

The last thing Gojo saw within that second was one of his dress shoes thrown dead at his face. His hands come to his stinging nose and cheek, exclaiming at the pain with a loud groan. “Fucking pervert, quit playing dumb games and get my shoes!”

I take it fucking back. He slams the closet door closed. “So uncute…”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 ❤︎ reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ dividers by @/cafekitsune & @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

Jjk kitchen nightmares AU part 9 guys!! Took me ages and failed an exam in the meantime! In any case, enjoy the Hakari centric episode :D

🫶🏻

“…𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵”

this is sooo good 🥹

❝ 𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐒 ❞

❝ BEING PROF. GETO'S T.A. IS SO HARD BECAUSE HE'S SO HOT!! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (part two of the prof geto series)

✧ summary: you're now professor geto's t.a. for the semester, forced to spend time with the man that you so desperately want, either of you barely able to hold back when you're around the other, so what happens when you're forced to go to a conference with him...and there's only one bed.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut (mostly fantasy), depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student in my mind, but age is vague, so much mutual pining, bed sharing, cuddling, masturbation (f + m), oral (m! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), semi public sex (sorta), office sex (kinda), amateur's take on moral philosophy and ethics, art by @/nino84391425

✧ wc: 16,821 (apparently i am writing a novel lol)

“On time for once?” Professor Suguru Geto remarks without looking up from his notes on the podium, even as your footsteps echo in the empty lecture hall, “color me surprised,” 

“Couldn’t be late on my first day as a teacher’s assistant, now could I?” and his lips curl in that damnable smile, as he finally glances up from his notes to see you looking far too gorgeous in his button up — one you had oh so generously relieved him of last night, pilfered away in your bag seemingly. 

“But you could be late on your first day as a student?” and you lick your lips, as you draw closer to him, “seems like you’re quite the hypocrite, not very ethical,” 

“Don’t think what we did last night was very ethical either,” you murmur, enjoying the way his dark eyes glaze over for a moment with the thoughts what you both did — the places touched, the moans heard, and the pleasure had — “plus, I definitely have an incentive to be on time now,” your fingers graze his, and why does his touch always feel like coming home. 

“And what’s that, sweetheart?” he murmurs, running the back of his hand against your cheek. 

“Your gorgeous face,” you smile, leaning close as your lips brush, “and some stolen kisses before class,” 

“And what makes you think you’ve earned them, my favorite student?” He teases, as his fingers slide to the back of your neck, and his other hand snakes around your waist, tugging you close. 

“Oh, I have a few ways to earn them, Professor,” your fingers drag down his chest, “but I don’t know if we have the time before class to—“ 

And his lips find yours — needy and bruising, as your fingers clutch at his shirt, the pressed fabric now definitely creased under your touch, “we’ll make time,” he murmurs, as he leans back to drag his thumb down your plush lips, “I still have many things to teach you, and what time is there like the present?” 

He’s leaning down to press a kiss to your lips— 

RING. RING. RING. 

Your eyes snap open, a groan crawls its way out of your throat, as you fumble for your phone to silence the dreaded ringing. You lie back on your bed, a distinct ache between your legs that makes you squirm, and only want to bury yourself back into your bed and possibly the reality that existed within only your dreams. 

But this was sadly reality, and you had about two hours before your first class as a teacher’s assistant for Professor Suguru Geto’s ethics and moral philosophy class. And two hours before you would see Professor Geto for the first time since you had made out. 

You turn over, pressing your face into your pillow. You wondered if you tried hard enough, if you could suffocate yourself before then. 

Probably not. That would be far too lucky. 

~~~

Professor Suguru Geto couldn’t sleep — instead he spent his time staring at his ceiling, the blades of his fans spinning above him, just like his mind was — in circles. It was as if he almost didn’t want to risk his dreams taunting him, it was the same reason he had buried himself in research over the semester break, the same reason he had put off emailing you the materials for the semester, and the same reason he hadn’t seen you since that day you had kissed. 

It was too much of a risk. 

You were risk personified, even for a risk averse theologian he liked to think himself as. But you were the thing of myths, the dangled food for Tantalus, the far too warm sun for Icarus, and the promise of gold for King Midas. But you were not a myth — you were real, his student made of flesh and bone, the same flesh he had pressed into his desk just a few short weeks ago, his legs parting your thighs, his fingers itching to rip your pantyhose off your legs— 

He sighed, this wasn’t helping — his bedside clock blinked back at him mockingly — he only had a few hours before his first class. He should try to sleep even a little. So he did, shutting his eyes, and hoped he wouldn’t dream of you. 

But he couldn’t possibly be that lucky. 

How many times have you stood in front of this office door? Your Professor, to which this office belongs, would joke that it was far too many to count — and you’d be better speculating how many times that Sisyphus rolled the boulder up the same hill. But the last time you had been in it was the thing that made you hesitate now. 

But that was your entire relationship wasn’t it? A game of chicken, wondering who would hesitate first — and neither of you were the type to hold back. Except when it came to this — except when it came to your feelings for the other. 

You shake your head, trying to shake your anxious thoughts free of their eternal bounce around your skull, and grit your teeth before finally knocking. 

“I’m actually right here,” a voice behind you says, making you jump, as you whip around, nearly pressed against his office door. And now you stood face to face with the man who owned it.

And how was it that every time you saw him, he was achingly more perfect than the time before? His ebony hair was half down, black locks brushing against his shoulders, the rest tied up in a neat bun. A crisp white button up underneath a neutral toned knit sweater vest, the shirt very much like the one you had stolen in your dream. 

Perfect. 

“Professor Geto,” you offer a small smile, trying your best to keep your eyes on his, instead of drifting over his form, “it’s good to see you,” 

“It’s good to see you as well, and so prompt,” he says, brushing past you to unlock his office, “made a habit of being on time these days?” 

“Well, when your professor reprimands you in front of the entire class, you try to make a habit of being on time,” why did it feel like your dream was repeating yet again? It’s not as if your relationship with him wasn’t cyclical enough — life imitating dreams was almost far too much. He opens the door for you, letting you enter first, before he follows you in, “and aren’t you the late one this time?” 

His lips quirk, as he rounds his desk, and takes a seat, “You really can’t make it a conversation with me without giving me shit, huh?” 

“Language,” you chide, as you sit across from him, “not very appropriate for an academic setting,” and you have to bite back the want to say that you’ve done plenty of inappropriate things in this office the last time you both were here. 

“Well, our track record isn’t known for being very appropriate, now is it?” Or maybe you didn’t need to say it, because the way he was looking at you told you everything you needed to know. But that didn’t mean either of you would act on it. He licked his lips, mouth parted to say something, his gaze heavy. 

And the moment is broken when his email goes off — you squeeze your bag a little tighter, as you busy yourself with digging through your bag for the materials to go over. That sound was nearly traumatizing in this office, not only did it usually signal the start of some assignment you had to trudge your way through — it also was the sound that had ended your relationship before it even really began. 

“Class starts in an hour, so I thought we could have this meeting just to review the syllabus and see if you have any questions — as well as just overall any questions you had about being a T.A.,” he explains, pressing his pen to his lips, “I understand this is your first time being a T.A.?” 

“It is, I hadn’t really considered it until the department head approached me about that,” and he nods, a flash of emotion that surfaces for only a moment before dissipating, “what will my responsibilities be?” 

“Good question,” a smile pulls the corners of his lips, “obviously, as a T.A., you will have office hours that you can decide with your own discretion—” 

“So it’s okay if I have them once a month at 3:00 AM?” and he rolls his eyes as you bite your lip at the sight — why was everything he did so effortlessly attractive? 

Fucking unfair. 

“Witching hour, how apt,” he murmurs, as he tilts his head, “but they should be weekly, as I’m sure you know, and held not in the middle of the night, when nights should be used for other things,” and you have to bite back your reply, like what? 

And then he continues to explain, “You can also help with some grading — mostly entering grades online for me since you know I love to handgrade,” 

“Oh yes, truly enjoyed having my self-esteem cut to shreds after receiving a paper back,” you scribbled notes down in your notebook, “glad I won’t be on the receiving end this time,” 

“If you’re good, that is,” and you knew it slipped from his lips — from the way his lips parted, the way his body froze for half a second as if he had shocked himself — and he had, because the spark between you two remained, a weed stubbornly cracking through concrete, “sorry—’ 

“You don’t have apologize,” you shake your head, waving him off, “it’s really fine,” 

“It’s not,” he said softly, placing the syllabus down on the desk, “I know we agreed to keep our relationship professional,” 

“We did,” Yes, you both did — sort of. 

“And I want us to do that—” 

And you ask the question you weren’t brave enough to ask the last time you two had seen each other, “Why is that again?” 

When the email had come, it was as if a spell had broken — the rosy colored lenses had come off, only to leave the hard glare of reality behind. Your limbs still entangled while you both reread the email off of his screen — as if it would say something different the millionth time over. 

It didn’t. 

And then the awkward clamor of disengaging, slow limbs pulling apart, as the warmth of his embrace left as quickly as it had come. Silence as the two of you let the news settle in, like a noose tightening around your necks, and you slowly slid off his desk. 

“If I’m your T.A.,” you had said slowly, adjusting the skirt of your dress, “we can’t do this, can we?” and he had only nodded, his gaze unable meet yours, fixed to the rug on the floor of his office, and he could only muster two words as you brushed past him and gathered your things—

“I’m sorry.” 

But even so, you couldn’t remember why it was a bad idea? Why was it so wrong for the two of you to do this? What difference did it make that you were his T.A.? It was still against the rules either way — it was still unethical either way — so why, why did it matter? 

But he knew why, from the way his brow creased with lines and his lips pursed and the way his eyes yet again couldn’t quite reach yours — as if you’d spot something in them that he didn’t want to see. 

“Because we’re going to working together all semester long, with students in class who will see us each week,” he licked his lips, leaning back in his chair, “because it was already problematic if we saw each other without any classes or connection, but now — if you’re my T.A. and my girlfriend, how would I even properly supervise you?” and he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing as he blows air through his teeth, before his voice grows softer, “how would I focus on guiding you and our students if I’m too busy gazing into your eyes or staring at your lips or wanting to—” he cuts himself off, “you know it’s not a good idea,  most of our students probably wouldn’t notice, but rumors spread and it takes one good rumor to ruin your career,” and he adds, “with how things work, you don’t need me to tell you why it would be worse for you than me, even if I tried to take responsibility,” 

And you did know, knew very well that rumors got out that the two of you were together that nothing would happen to his reputation — perhaps he would be scrutinized a bit more, some judgment and side-eye from other professors and higher ups, but he wouldn’t get vilified like you would. Called a slut or a whore — and those would be some of the kinder names you’d be called, and you can’t imagine what it would do for your career, especially if you stay in academia. And then the rumors would fester and grow, more wondering where your grades came from — whether you had obtained them through honeyed words whispered over pillows and rumpled sheets instead through late nights spent at your desk and weekends practically living at the library. 

“I do know,” you said quietly. But it didn’t mean you wanted to do it anymore than you had that day. A part of you wished he had stopped you when you had turned to leave his office, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into his arms—but this was hardly a romance novel, “and you’re right,” 

He still has his gaze fixed anywhere but your face, settling his syllabus on his desk now, the silence familiarly filling the room yet again, muscles tense if your body didn’t know whether to flee or to draw closer. 

So you did neither, and instead broke the silence. 

“So would T.A.-ing provide an opportunity for me to teach the class?” and he blinks, eyes snapping up now, as a glimpse of sadness slips away behind his now thoughtful expression. 

“Would you want to do that? I don’t know if I could allow you to lead an entire class, only because some students may take some issue with another grad student teaching them—” 

“I don’t blame them with the tuition costs,” you mutter, and he nods, “don’t nod, it’s your salary I’m paying for,” 

He laughs, a noise you wished you could bottle because you knew it’d be the same as bottling happiness, “Well worth your money after how much your writing and understanding of moral philosophy and ethics has improved,” and you roll your eyes. 

“I see your ego is the same as ever,” and his lips curl, as he crosses his legs, and you fight the cruel temptation of your gaze flickering a little downward. 

“Well, Kant did say an ego is necessary to understand the world meaningfully and therefore act in a moral way,”  you tilt your head, being defensive with philosophy? That was a new one. 

But you weren’t one to let things go — as he very well knew. 

“And he also said that an ego can lead you astray from living a moral life if we become too self absorbed,” and he raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you calling me self absorbed?” 

You bite back a laugh, “Well, you are certainly self interested,” and you gesture around his office, “look at this office,” 

“What about my office?” he gapes at you, and you snort, you’ve seemingly struck a nerve by how wide his jaw dropped. 

“It’s a little…pretentious,” and dare you say it, your professor had a touch of pink painted across his cheekbones and the tips of his ears, 

God he’s even pretty when he blushes. 

“I’m just teasing Professor,” and then you add, “it’s one of my more tedious qualities,” 

And he blinks, before his lips curl in the smile you never tired of seeing, “not tedious, more irritating,” 

You chuckle, before trying to get back on topic, “So you think you could work out me teaching a part of the class?” 

And he nods, “Let me discuss it with the department head — it should be fine,”

“Do I have any other responsibilities?” 

“If it doesn’t conflict with your schedule, you can also attend some classes, students can stay after and ask you questions as well,” and you nod, looking over his class times in the syllabus. 

“I can make the Tuesday one,” and he makes a note, as you rise, “we should go. Don’t want to be late for the first class now do we?” 

And he smiles the same damnable smile, “That would be a terrible first impression,” and his shoulder brushes yours as he opens his office door for you, “after you,” 

God, you thought as you stepped past him, the warmth from the brush of his body still there, this was going to be a long semester. 

If there was one thing you had learned from being a teacher’s assistant for Professor Geto’s class, it was that the students were even more desperate for your professor’s attention than you had thought. You thought your introduction had went relatively well — besides the pointed glares of several….enthusiastic students. 

After his detailed overview of the class, he reaches the resources section of the course syllabus, “Now, I am available at my listed office hours, in which you can make an appointment online. There’s also tutoring services through the university listed as well. And lastly, we have a T.A. for this class, for the very first time,” and he smiles, “Class, please meet your T.A. for this semester,” Professor Geto says your name and gestures to you, sat up in the corner of the lecture hall, and you stand, waving, “your T.A. took this very class last semester and showed great grit and dedication in the class assignments,” you have to stop yourself from shooting him a look, but you can see a hint of a smile on his lips, “She is also a philosophy student, so please, feel free to reach out to her,” 

“Thank you Professor Geto for that…generous introduction,” your pause was slight enough that he caught it, a smile tucked behind an all too fake cough, “I really look forward to working with you all — this class truly had a great impact on my perspective about the world,” and you catch a flicker of an emotion ripple across his face out of the corner of your eye, “my office hours will be posted soon, and I hope we can get to know each other well over the course of this semester.” 

You sit as the students cast their gaze forward again, and the class continues on as usual. You make use of your time by reading for some of your other classes, until class was over. 

And that’s when you really learned something. As requested, you joined Professor Geto at the bottom of the lecture hall to help field questions from the students. 

Except, the students were far more interested in Professor Geto than they were in the course material. 

But maybe it was simply because it was the beginning of the semester right? It couldn’t happen again right? 

It was a good thing you weren’t getting graded because you would earned yourself a zero. As again, the next week, students were only interested in Professor Geto — whether it was because it was for his intellect or — you glanced at the students mooning over him — something else. 

Something you knew very well. 

You were forced to watch a female student flutter her eyelashes, then another brush against him, as she showed him what passage was confusing her, and then another student couldn’t stop staring at his lips. And then you wonder, if it had been another student who kept pestering him week after week, would it have been them instead of you? Would they have shared those moments together? Maybe even they would actually gotten to be in a relationship, instead of watching other people flirt with him—

“Excuse me,” your eyes snap up from your reverie and you see two students, seemingly waiting to speak to you. 

Those students had seemingly taken pity on you and spoke to you about the class, tips, and asked about your office hours. But soon enough, the students filed out one by one until it was just you and Professor Geto. And he’s collecting his things, as he glances at you, lingering still as you check your email on your phone, “Don’t you have class after this?” 

You blink, “how’d you know that?” 

And he’s straightening his notes to place back in his bag, before he turns to look at you over his shoulder, “well you’d always rush off after class so it was either you had class or you didn’t want to be alone with me,” he looks back to his bag and you hear the click of the zipper, “I was hoping it would be the former,” he adds. 

“Well, I never lingered after class when I was taking it either,” you adjust your bag, toying with the strap — why was it anytime you were with him it felt like stepping into quicksand, the more you struggled, the more you sunk — and even if you didn’t move at all, you were still stuck all the same, “didn’t want to get in the way your students stroking your ego,” 

And he raises an eyebrow, “Are we back to my ego again?” 

“I don’t see you shying away from smiles and praise from your students,” and his brow knits together, as he places his bag down on the podium, “no wonder your ego is so large,” 

“What students?” 

“Oh please, the ones swarming your desk after clsss. Didn’t you ever wonder why so many students from different disciplines take your class?” he opens his mouth and then you add, “and don’t say philosophy and ethics apply to every aspect of life,” 

And then he seems to consider the thought, as before his lips curl, as he leans against the podium. 

“Am I detecting some jealousy?” he smirks, and you pause before you scoff — far too quickly. 

“No,” and he only smiles wider. 

He chuckles, “That was convincing. I’m glad your ability to teach is much better than your ability to lie,” 

“I’m not—“ 

“Jealous or not,” and you have to bite back your retort, his gaze freezing you in place, a softness you hated to see — because you didnt know whether it made you want to push him away or pull him close, “there’s only ever been one student who caught my eyes,” 

Ah, there is was — you were sinking again. 

“Really?” you mumble, crossing your arms, “not even one other? You have a habit of unethical behavior for an ethics professor,” 

He’s grabbing his bag, before he’s taking a step forward to whisper, “Only when it comes to you,” and you have to force yourself not shiver at his words warming your skin, “I’ll see you next week,” 

And he’s gone — as you stand in the empty lecture hall next to the podium, the very one from your first dream— and you’re right back where you started. 

Professor Suguru Geto wasn’t the type to make mistakes. He was always meticulous and methodical — he used the very principles to help guide his life — because it gave him a moral framework, a way to interpret the world and his own actions. That’s what had drawn him to ethics in the first place. But then he met you. 

And it seems like he’s made nothing but mistakes since. 

He sat in his office after he practically fled the classroom, forcing his pace to be normal, hoping you didn’t see the flush on his face. Fuck, he tossed the pen he had picked up to start grading away, what was he doing? 

He had told himself it was for the best — again and again when he watches you leave at the end of the last semester. He held his muscles taut as he watched you gather your things, stepping over the crushed pieces of both of your hearts. The two words he had barely choked were the only ones he could manage before he watched his office door shut behind you. 

It was for the best. It was for the best. It was for the best. 

That sentence was on repeat in his mind as he tried to work on his paper over the break — “try” being the operative word. It felt as if even his work hadn't been untouched by you — your impact widespread and all consuming — just as your actual touch was. 

Fuck, he rakes his fingers through his hair, how was he going to survive this week much less this semester? 

He couldn’t afford to be selfish — for your sake and his own. But it didn’t mean he didn’t want to be. He runs a hand over his face — he all but blatantly admitted that he had feelings for you after class. After promising to keep things professional — he was the worst. 

He only wished he was worse enough to do what you both wanted when you asked him in his office why you both couldn’t be together. He wanted to tell you the reasons why you should be — because he couldn’t stop thinking about you despite never seeing you over the break, his heart nearly stopped when he saw you standing in front of his office, and because he couldn’t help but smile when he could see you hesitating in front of the door — but he couldn’t help but smile when it came to you. But he didn’t. 

He couldn’t. 

But he also couldn’t help but toe that damn line in the sand, the one that he had drawn, but the one so desperately wanted to cross. 

And then there was a knock at his door, he sighs, “Come in,” 

The department head enters his office, as Suguru blinks before he gets to his feet to offer his hand, as they exchange greetings, before gesturing for him to sit, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I saw your email about having your T.A. teach part of your class, and I wanted to get a little more detail about it,” Suguru nods, his face composed, but his body tense — paranoia scratching at the back of his mind, no one happened to see them kiss had they? No one was on campus really at that point. And the door was closed — he probably just wanted more information.  

“What questions did you have?” and the department head runs down his list — what topic would you cover? How much class time would it take? Would he be asking the class first? Would he review your materials beforehand? 

“Well, you both seemed to have thought a lot about this,” he leans back, crossing his leg over the other, “I think having her teach a part of a class is fine, but I would like you both to do it sooner rather than later,” and Suguru opens his mouth, but then he adds, “and I’d like to attend that class,” 

Suguru tilts his head, “You would like to attend my class?” He considers his words carefully, “I was under the impression, based on the rules, the only thing needed to allow a T.A. to teach was the approval of the department head,” his anxiety begins to pick away at his nerves, “it’s not unusual for a T.A. to teach here correct?” 

It was his first time having a teacher’s assistant at this university so perhaps this was a quality check? To ensure both you and him were meeting the standards of the university — and his anxiety added, and to make sure no rules were being broken by either of you. 

“Yes, it’s not unusual, and I have my reasons which I’ll discuss with you after the class,” he checks the time and rises from his seat now, “I have another meeting soon — do you think she can present in two weeks?” 

Suguru hesitates, “I’ll have to ask her but most likely that should be fine,” 

“Okay please send an email cc’ing her and confirm the details,” he says his goodbyes, and he’s gone, as Suguru sits and considers this — what could he be planning? 

Or, his nerves add, what could he be looking for? 

Either way, he pulled up your email — it was going to be an interesting two weeks. 

“Deontology determines whether an action is right or wrong based on a set of rules and principles instead of the consequences of the actions,” you speak to an empty lecture hall, your voice echoing in the silence, “therefore an act that isn’t morally good can lead to a good outcome,” 

You had come into the lecture hall to practice yet again this week. You were cursing your past self for inflicting this optional task on yourself — it had taken far more time than you had expected (what’s new?), taken far more preparation than you thought (again, of course), and now had the fun added pressure of the department head attending. And why was he attending? A wonderful and complete mystery. 

The last two weeks have been amazing for your mental health, truly. 

You were lucky the lecture hall and the building at large was deserted at 8:00 PM — all of the staff and students had all but fled, and you were left with the perfect place to practice. It had been many nights of honing your presentation to the allotted time, leaving time to pose a thought exercise, time to discuss, and for questions. 

You don’t see the door behind you open, nor do you hear it close, as you use the clicker to go through your PowerPoint, switching to the next slide. 

“For example, killing an intruder, based on the consequence would be wrong, as I hope we all know killing is wrong — otherwise, I worry about what will happen when you get your grades back,” you give a brief chuckle — and hope some of the students would pity you with some laughs, and that’s when you hear a small laugh behind you. 

Your head snaps around, flushing when you see Professor Geto standing by the door. He’s wearing a deep royal purple button up and gray slacks, the sleeves rolled up exposing his forearms. 

God, this wasn’t a dream was it? 

“Don’t let me stop you,” he says, his footsteps against the floor grew closer, and your body tenses, until they stop, “go on,” and he leans against the wall behind you. 

“But when you do kill an intruder to protect your family, that’s viewed as right under deontology,” and you can’t focus with his gaze running over you, an all familiar feeling settled over you. Would life imitate dreams again? Would he come over and ask you to continue your presentation as his lips pressed gentle kisses to your neck and shoulder? Would he— 

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you can’t meet his gaze, but you hear his footsteps, “should I go?” 

“No, no, it’s just,” you shake your head, “a little deja vu,” 

He raises an eyebrow, “deja vu?” 

Your blood runs cold. Fuck. 

“I don’t recall you ever presenting like this in my clsss before,” you can't decide if his voice is more thick with confusion or curiosity. 

“Yeah, no, sorry it’s nothing,” you brush him off, your eyes fixed on your notes on the podium, and you know he’s still staring, “what?” 

“I see you’re still not a very good liar,” and you scoff, “what is it that’s gotten you so bothered?” 

“Nothing,” you insist. 

“The more you say that, the less I’m convinced,” and now he’s walking closer, closer still — but you’re fixed in place, “what is it?”

“You never let anything go, do you?” And you turn, your breath catching when you saw how close he was — inches from you, his pretty eyes wide at the sudden movement, his breath warming your lips. Black strands fall in his face, and you have to stop yourself from tucking them behind his ear. Stop yourself from wanting to touch him, stop yourself from wanting him to lean forward, stop yourself from wanting him. 

Nothing good ever came from your want. 

“Only when it’s you,” but this man makes it impossible not to want him. Not when his voice is soft, not when the back of his finger, a knuckle brushes against your cheek. And no words are needed — you can hear it in the silence between you both, you feel it in the gentleness of his touch, and in the softness of his gaze. 

And you know you’re in love with him. You are.

But you can’t be. 

“I’m not telling you,” you murmur, looking away — and it seems to break the spell, as he steps back, nodding, a flicker of sadness that slips away under his facade,  “but maybe I will sometime, over a drink,” you add. 

A smile tugs at his lips, “Well we know how well that went, or didn’t go rather, and you know, we can’t anytime soon,” 

“Well sometimes an action that isn’t morally good can lead to a good outcome,” and he raises an eyebrow. 

“Using deontology to convince me?” He tilts his head, “not a bad strategy — maybe I’ll have you write a paper,” 

“And willingly subject myself to your red pen? No thanks,” and he snorts, before the smile fades into a frown, brow wrinkled in thought, “what is it?” 

“Nothing, I’m just…” he crossss his arms, “I’m wondering why the department head wants to observe your presentation,” 

“He didn’t give any indication why?” and he shakes his head, “maybe he just wants to evaluate how good a job you’re doing,” you add, “you are relatively green,” 

“Not that green,” and you see his lips pressed together — and is he? — he was — he was pouting. You bite your lip how fucking adorable — but you know you’d be met with a scowl if you said that out loud, “don’t you worry that the dean may suspect something between us?” 

The thought had crossed your mind, but class had been nothing but professional so far, and you’d be too busy sweating bullets (and perhaps dodging them from the students if the presentation went poorly) to even consider your feelings for him. 

You sigh, “Look, nothing to do but get through it, right? It should be fine, we’ll deal with whatever comes after. As long as I don’t choke, and you don’t stare at me too adoringly, we should be fine,” 

And you expect a retort, a cheeky reply, or even a quite sarcastic one, but he only gives a small smile, “Right,”

You feel your cheeks burn and you can’t meet his gaze again without feeling your heart flutter. 

Fuck — maybe there was something to worry about. 

Despite the concerns, the presentation goes off without a hitch. You spot the dean sitting in the corner of the lecture hall, pen and notepad in hand, which did nothing to soothe your poor heart (nor did the far too many cups of coffee and the total lack of sleep). 

It happened quick — a blur of speaking, forcing yourself to slow your words down, a necessity when presenting — as you knew you always spoke faster than you believed you did when presenting. You think you even made the students laugh a few times, led an interesting thought experiment with a rousing debate that ended with no clear answer (as always), and then you answered questions. 

All the while, Professor Geto stood in the back, and you’d catch a glimpse of him by the corner of your eye, his lips curled in that smile that haunted all your nights and days. 

By the time it was done, you had barely realized time had gone so quickly, as you passed the metaphorical baton back to Geto. And you took a seat off to the side, opting to watch him lecture, rather than busy yourself with other work. 

It felt like old times, you thought, as you watched him speak. You couldn’t blame the people that took his class just to watch him speak — he was unfairly beautiful when he spoke, gesticulating as he read a Kant quote. And you kept your face as neutral as possible, but he catches your eye for a moment, corner of his lip twitching upwards. And a flush settles over your cheeks, as you discreetly press your thighs together, trying to look suddenly engrossed with your notebook. 

Your heart ached as much as your body did. You wanted to walk over and just kiss him, swallow his smart words along with his gasp, and feel those hands run along your body. You wanted to know every thought in his head, every part of his day, and fall asleep beside him. 

You glance up to see him still speaking — a black strand falling in his face. You bite your lip, before looking back down. 

This man would be the death of you — and it was even worse being alone with him. You’re thankful that your T.A. check-ins with him were every other week, because you couldn’t imagine having to spend more than an hour with him every other week. 

“You want us to do what?” You blink at the Dean, his lips curled in a smile, his hands tucked into his pockets. 

“Apologies for all the secrecy, I did not receive confirmation about this until earlier today,” he explains, “but I want you two to attend this conference on ethics and philosophy  — it’s over the weekend, two weekends from now. It would be a wonderful opportunity for the both of you to make connections and attend presentations, as well as mingle with prospective students. It would also afford us an opportunity for both of you to help put our university on the map,” 

You glance at Professor Geto, his lips parted in surprise, “Sir, is it appropriate for a male professor and a—“ 

“Don’t worry, the accommodations will be separate and it’s a public event, as long as everything remains professional, there’s no problem, right? As long as you two are okay with it and there’s no problem,” he glances between the two of you, “is there a problem?” 

And Professor Geto’s eyebrows knit together. It was a lose-lose situation — saying no meant raising some suspicions that there was an issue between the two of you, but saying yes meant going on a trip with the same professor you had kissed at the end of the last semester. And if anything happened on this trip...it could be very bad — ethically and otherwise. 

So you make the decision for both of you. 

“That’s fine. I’m happy to attend if Professor Geto is,” and you know you have no choice — you had to spend the weekend with him, alone. At a conference. In a hotel.

“Do you have everything?” Professor Geto asks, as you hand him your suitcase, your fingers brushing as you do.  He lifts your suitcase into the trunk of his car, his black t-shirt riding up as he does, a quick flash of the expanse of his muscles—

Fuck, you bite your lip, stop, stop. Professor. He’s a professor. 

It didn’t matter that you had felt him part your thighs, as his lips slid against yours, nor that every time you saw each other, you felt this undeniable ache to touch him, comfort him, hug him, nor that you knew he felt the same and wanted to give in as badly as you did—

No, it didn’t matter. 

You consider his question, scrunching up your face in thought, “I think so, wait,” you snap your fingers as he glances at you, “forgot the rest of my apartment upstairs — you think that’ll fit in there too?” 

He smirks, rolling his eyes as shuts the trunk, “Ha, ha, ever consider becoming a comedian instead of a philosophy major?”

“Every day, but then I think what would my favorite professor do without me?” 

He raises an eyebrow, “I’m your favorite?” 

“Who said it was you?” you grin at him, as he shakes his head and you open the passenger door seat and slide in, as he slips into the driver’s seat. He adjusts his mirrors, buckling his seatbelt, as a sudden wave of guilt bombards you. You had dragged him down this rabbit hole with you — and now the two of you had to spend the entire weekend together, alone. 

You lick your far too dry lips, “Sorry if I roped you into this,” you fidget with your phone, tapping on the screen absentmindedly. 

He starts the car, engine roaring underneath your feet, before he glances at you, brow furrowed in seeming confusion, “What? It’s not you that roped us into this,” 

You purse your lips, “But if I didn’t agree to it—“ 

He sighs, “We were in a position where we didn’t have much of a choice,” his fingers drum against the steering wheel, as his eyes flicker to make sure your seatbelt was on, “it’s not your fault — and it’s not a bad thing — we’ll spend time at the conference, we’ll mingle, and then return to our hotel rooms,” he adds, “don’t worry. Nothing will happen.” 

And his reassurance is almost a punch to the gut instead — and your brain chides you for being so childish — you knew it was for the best, you knew it was the right thing to do, and you knew he was trying what was best for you, and for him. 

But why did it hurt so goddamn much? 

You steal a glance at him as he pulls into the street and begins to drive, dark gaze forward, his hair tied into its usual neat bun, and a chain poked out from underneath the rounded opening around his neck. And then your eyes flicker back out the window.  

Was it really not a big deal to him? 

Because the last two weeks were consumed with nothing, but thoughts of being alone with him. Days spent in conferences, sitting beside each other, whispering thoughts and inside jokes; evenings spent socializing together, waiting for the other to give the signal to leave; and nights walking back to your rooms, fingers brushing as you walked beside each other. You were sure it would take a slight bend of the rules, a gaze that lingers a little too long, to break the paper thin resistance either of you had to the other. The two of you could barely be alone for more than a few minutes without temptation rearing its ugly head — even now your eyes can’t help but trace the curve of his jaw, the way the sunlight catches his eyes, the way your fingers want nothing more than intertwine with his hand that rests on the console between you two. 

But you don’t. You give a weak smile, glancing out the window as the streets of Tokyo pass you by — “Yeah it should be fine.” 

Just fine. 

“There was a problem with your reservation,” 

And after half an hour of waiting off to the side, with your luggage stacked up and irritation creeping its way to a new high as you watched others easily being checked in to the hotel, you assumed there was a problem. If there wasn’t a problem, you would wonder if this was a new take on Waiting for Godot that would end with the both of youu sleeping in the lobby. You rubbed at your temples, as Geto dealt with the hotel staff, his arms crossed, lips a tight line, “the hotel double booked one of your rooms, so we only have one room available for you.”  

You barely heard the rest of the argument your professor had with the hotel staff, the same phrase ringing in your ears — one room, one room, one room. With nothing more to argue about, they finally escorted you both to your room in awkward silence. And as they opened the door, you spotted it — there was only one single queen sized bed. 

One. Bed. 

You felt your cheeks flush, as you couldn’t even meet Geto’s eyes, as he began to speak heatedly with the manager again. And the excuses began, as the manager wrung his hands, about how no other rooms being available due to the conference and another event happening in town. 

“There is a couch though,” he offers,  pointing to a far too small couch, and the sharp glare that Geto gave him would put even his red pen to shame, “we will see about comping half—“ Geto crosses his arms, “all of your stay here,” and with that, he’s gone. 

“So,” you sigh, glancing at Geto, with a strained smile, “I have dibs on the bed?” 

Was this a cosmic joke? You wondered as you turned off the water of the shower, squeezing your eyes shut. Was this a version of ethical karma for what you had done last semester? An ultimate ethical test that you would surely fail? A fucking prank show? 

You didn’t know. You dried off and got dressed, pulling on a t-shirt and shorts, your hair still damp, as you took a breath and stepped out, towel slung over your shoulders. 

Geto was still on the phone, pacing back and forth — he was trying to call other hotels to see if there was anywhere else with two rooms or at least a room with two beds.

“Yes I understand it’s very last minute—“ he sighs for what must have been the billionth time today, “yes, there was a mistake at the hotel I’m staying at—yes, ok, well, thank you,” he hangs up, setting his phone down. 

“No luck?” You sit on the edge of the bed, wiping your hair, and he shakes his head. 

“The one thing they were right about is that every hotel room is booked solid — not only is our conference in town, but there’s a physical science consortium happening as well,” he rakes his fingers through his hair, a few strands coming loose, “I’ll have to give the Dean a call to update him on the situation,” 

You nod, “So what should we do about sleeping?” And he can’t quite meet your gaze, “are there no trundle or rollaway beds?” 

“No, apparently those have all been spoken for,” he grumbles, and he prepares to call the dean, “I’ll take the couch, you can have the bed—“ 

“Professor, we can—“ and his gaze snaps to you, “we can share—“ 

“No, we can’t,” he says softly, “you know we can’t do that,” 

“We’re both adults—“ 

“And we’re still a professor and a student,” he draws the line between you two again, the gash even deeper than before, the gap that’s meant to keep you safe — the chase meant to protect you — so why did it feel more like a punishment? “I’ll take the couch,” and he calls the Dean to update him on the situation. 

You busy yourself with drying your hair in the bathroom, before coming back out to see him hanging up the phone. 

“Well, are we in an ethical bind or should I go sleep in the lobby just to show there’s no funny business?” And he shoots you a look, “there have been stranger bedfellows,” and he opens his mouth, “and a single word comes out of your mouth, and I’ll join you on that couch,” 

And a very pretty flush adorns the tips of his ears and cheeks, “He said it was fine, it was out of our control, but to just document everything, including the hotel’s incompetence for legality reasons,” 

“You’re also a lawyer as well as a professor?” 

“You have to hedge your bets,” he shrugs with a smile pulling at his lips, before he checks the time, “I’m going to take a shower,” he sighs, pulling his hair from the messy bun, letting his black locks down. And you watch him run his fingers through his hair again, sighing, as he heads into the shower. 

You lay on the bed, biting your lip — as you turn over to use your phone, as the shower turns on. And you glance at the closed door — the thought of him in there, pulling his shirt over his head, shedding his pants and boxers. Your cheeks burn, burying your face in your pillow as if that would help (it did not). 

You curl up on the bed, turning away from the bathroom door, using your phone. And a few minutes pass, as you kind of drift off into sleep, and you hear a creak of the bathroom door open that rouses you from sleep. You don’t move at first but you hear shuffling, the sounds of a zipper. You finally turn on your other side, eyes fluttering open, and you’re met with the sight of bare skin. 

You blink, eyes flickering up to see your Professor’s flushed face, before your eyes slowly following a bead of water slip down his bare chest, black hair dotting along the middle of his chest and abs, down to a happy trail that was hidden by a towel wrapped around his waist. His clothes in his hand, and your eyes find his own, your lips parted and mouth impossibly dry. 

Oh. My. God. 

“Uh—“ and his cheeks flare red, as you try your best not to let your eyes flicker downward, “I forgot my clothes—“ and you turn away, as he darts back into the bathroom, “I’m sorry,” he says, muffled through the door. 

“It’s okay!” You reply, your heart thumping against your ribcage, squeezing your eyes shut to only be met the memory of his bare torso, “fuck,” you mumble under your breath, as you turn onto your back, and stare at the spinning ceiling fan above you. A distinct ache below at the thought of him. 

Your eyes flickered to the shut bathroom door. You hear the sound of water running again — maybe he needed to wash up again. Either way, you slid under the comforter, hand slipping into your shorts, you had some time. You wish you could have grabbed his hand before he fled into the bathroom, sat up on your knees, fingers sliding to his cheek. 

“Kiss me,” you’d murmur, and he would, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips sweetly, as your fingers glide up his bare chest. You’d swallow his gasp with delight, as your other hand finds his wet locks, fingers tangling in his black locks, “please,” you would guide his fingers to the hem of your shirt and he would oblige, lifting up and over your head. And your fingers would tug his towel away, letting it fall to the ground. 

Your fingers press against the wet patch on your underwear, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you gasp, imagining it was instead his eager fingers that tugged your shorts down. You sunk one finger in and then another, pumping slowly, and you knew he would get you ready for him. He would fuck you with his thick fingers, as his mouth latched to your clit, sucking gently as he fucked you open. You moaned his name softly, as you imagine his fingers stretching you open. 

“Do you want me, my pretty girl?” He would murmur between your thighs, lips glossy with your release, “s’good for me, taste as good as you look,” and he would press your back gently into the mattress as he would meet your lips again before, rubbing the tip of his cock against your puffy lips, “tell me what you want, Princess,” 

“Please,” you whispered, as you moved your fingers faster, adding a third finger, but you know his cock would feel so much thicker, and reach so much deeper, “fuck me,” 

And he would, sinking into you, his pretty cock parting your folds, his quiet grunts and moans whispering in your ear, as he works himself inside to the hilt. His lips would find yours as he would rock his hips into you — your cunt would flutter around his length. He would press your thighs apart further, long fingers digging into your soft flesh, the wet squelch of your cunt and the sounds of his skin slapping against yours would ring in your ears.

“S’close, Sugu—fuck,” you would keen against him, instead of your fingers, “please,” and his thumb would find your clit, just as yours did, and you would cum all over his cock, squeezing around his length, as he sinks even deeper, until his tip is brushing against your cunt. The moan of his name slips out, as you press your forearm against your mouth to barely stifle it. 

Fuck, you come down from your high, panting. And you glance at the bathroom door, thinking you’ll clean up once he gets out. You roll over in bed, as you pulled the pillow over your face. 

This was going to be a long weekend. 

Suguru lingers in the bathroom for far too long after that, the embarrassment of the moment still far too fresh in his mind, his cheeks still a dusty pink at the thought. Not only was it bad enough that he was trapped in this hotel room with you for an entire weekend, but now he had paraded out practically half naked for you to see. 

Fuck his life. 

He had hurried into the shower if only to get a break from being in the same room as you. It had been hard enough to endure the last few weeks as a T.A., but now he had to spend an entire weekend sharing a hotel room — and deal with situations like that one all weekend. Seeing you emerge from the bathroom, only in a t-shirt and shorts, still damp from your shower — wet hair in messy tangles that he wanted to run his fingers through— and that’s why he excused himself to the bathroom. A reprieve if only for a moment. If he had only remembered to bring his clothes into the shower — he wouldn’t have had to finish his shower, with only his discarded clothes to wear that had slipped off the clothes rack and onto the damp floor. 

He had stepped out, towel around his waist, as he peeled out, only to see your back to him, the sounds of soft breathing told him you were asleep. And he crept out, silently cursing as the door creaked and rifled through his suitcase for clothes. He had found them, and gone to retreat back when you roused and turned all at once. 

God, he sighed, it was such a mess. 

But the way you looked at him…lips parted, gaze flicking across his body, the way your eyes lingered a little too long on his torso — and now he had an entirely different problem. 

His cock tented against the towel, as his eyes slid to the bathroom door. What if he just hopped into the shower for a second again? The towel dropped to the floor, as he steps back into the shower, turning on the water. 

He groans, his fingers slide over his mortifyingly hard erection, teasing his slit as he would imagine you would, as you would open the bathroom door, murmuring his name, “Professor? Are you okay?” And you wouldn’t wait for his answer as you stepped into the shower with him, eyes raking down his body, a teasing grin on your lips, “not very ethical is that?” And your fingers would curl their way around the base of his cock, making him shudder with pleasure, “I can take care of that,” and you would kiss down his chest and stomach, even despite his protests, until you reached where he wanted your touch most. 

And god, you would look so pretty on your knees for him, as your fingers pumped him far too slowly, teasing him with a chaste kiss to his tip, tongue dragging against his slit, better than how his thumb did, “s’good for me, Professor,” you’d say, when you heard the hiss he just let out, “I wonder what other sounds you could make for me,” and your lips would close around his tip, sucking lightly, as he gasped, his other hand clasped over his mouth, muffling his sounds. 

He would look down with half lidded eyes, and see your head bobbing as you took him so well, your fingers toying with his balls, spotting your eyes flicking up to meet his — glazed over and desperate, just he imagined his were. Your mouth would feel so much better than his hand, the wet squelch of his pumping would not compare to you swallowing around him, sucking and licking around his length, his pre-cum and your drool slipping down the corner of your mouth. 

You’d swallow around him, as his fingers would slide into your hair. And maybe you would let him fuck your mouth, hips rolling slowly as you adjust, before he slowly would thrust faster. He would repay the favor tenfold once you were done, burying himself in your sweet cunt, until you were begging him to stop. His fingers moved faster around his cock, his low groans and wet squelch bouncing off the bathroom walls, hopefully drowned out by the running water.  Fuck, he wished he would feel how it would to have his tip brush against the back of your throat. 

He was close, the twitch of his dick in his hand told him so, and he imagined what it would be like to cum in your mouth, watching you swallow his release, if you’d want to, or cumming all over your face or chest, letting his cock drag over your tongue as he pulled out. 

Fuck, he shudders, moaning your name against his fingers, he cums all over his hand and the wall of the shower, his release running down mixing with the water. He rinsed his hand off, leaning his head under the water again, hoping it would wash away any traces of you. 

It didn’t. 

And as he emerged from the shower, making sure any trace of his act had slipped down the drain, but the towel around his neck, wondering if you’d see what he did on his face. But you wouldn’t — because you were fast asleep. 

His lips curled as he watched you sleep for a moment, your lips parted, curled up facing away from the bathroom — your feet sticking out of your blanket. He adjusts the blanket for you, and you shift a little in your sleep, mumbling something under your breath, before settling back in. 

And he bites his lip before turning away — he would never be clean, would he? 

Not when it was you. 

“How much longer do you think we’ll be stuck here?” you murmur, the smile plastered on your lips nearly starting to chip and crack. 

Professor Geto sipped at his drink hiding his frown, long fingers cradling the wine glass far too perfectly, “at least another hour,” he sighs, “when in academia, one must get used to mindless conversing if only it will lead to another needless connection,”

And this day had been nothing but an exercise of that — lectures, panels, presentations — any other word that meant someone or several someones sitting in front of you, talking at you — with only maybe 30% of the people actually listening (if you were lucky or interesting). And now you were one hour deep into a mixer that had you engaging in dry chit-chat that had your mind going numb by the first ten minutes. Your only reprieve being by Geto’s side. 

You hated how he could make the dullest of things enjoyable for you, or rather—

You hated how much you loved it 

“How pithy — Plato?” And he snorts, as you finish off your own drink, “I’m going to get a refill, do you want anything?” He shakes his head, and you head off to the bar. 

You were so restless after sitting for so long. Not to mention the slight rash you got from not washing up soon enough. You woke an hour and half later and cleaned yourself up — luckily Geto had passed out by then. You saw him sleeping half scrunched up, half sprawled out on the couch — one of his legs were hanging off the couch — and even his blanket had slipped off. You stifled a small laugh, taking a quick picture of him — so stubborn that he wouldn’t sleep on the bed with you. Your gaze had softened, as you picked up the discarded blanket and placed it over him softly, your fingers gently tucking some of his hair from his face. You fell asleep again after heading back to bed, and woke up refreshed — while Geto had woken up with a very sore back and neck. 

“Can I get…” you look at the menu, ordering your favorite drink, standing by the bar as you adjust your dress, you had opted for a black dress with sheer tights — one you had worn a suit jacket over it. You tap against the bar top, checking your phone as you do. 

“Can I get what she’s getting?” A dark haired man sidles up beside you, his mouth curled in a smirk drawing attention to a scar in the corner of his mouth, and his voice drops to a whisper, “though I think I’d enjoy you more than the drink,” 

You raise your eyebrows, “and I think you’ve certainly had enough tonight,” you say under your breath, giving an awkward chuckle, but he doesn’t seem to notice as the bartender comes back with your drink. Your eyes flicker over the crowd as you search for Geto but you can’t find him. 

“What’s your name, pretty?” And your skin crawls as his dark gaze slides over your body, “mine’s Toji,” and you bite back a sigh, introducing yourself, “it’s very nice to meet you — I’ve met a lot of people tonight but you definitely have been the most interesting,” and the bartender comes back with his drink. 

“Then you must have not met a lot of interesting people so far,” you say, eager to look for any out to escape this conversation, “my friend is waiting—“ 

“No, I’d say that you’re just that interesting,” he sips his drink, “can I get you another drink?” 

And right when you’re about to respond, “No, I don’t think she’s interested,” And you tense a moment before you register the familiar voice, Geto smiles at Toji, if you could call that a smile — it reminded you of one a predator gave its new prey, “especially because she’s a student, and you’re most assuredly not,” 

Toji raises an eyebrow, “But she is an adult, she can speak for herself, so why don’t you let her, Professor?” 

“Because—“ his fingers twitch as if he wants to reach for you but he can’t. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. And you know why he can’t. 

Geto’s smile wavers, and you intercede, “I can, and I think I’ve had enough for tonight,” you pay your tab, “let’s go back to the hotel, Professor,” 

And Toji pulls his card out, handing it to you, “If you change your mind,” he raises his glass, leaning against the bar, before he leans closer to you, whispering, “if you ever get sick of him, call me,” 

You give a polite smile, tugging Geto away until you reached the outside of the building, silence filled the space between you two, until you found your way outside. 

“What did he say?” He asks as he calls a car back to take you both to the hotel, and you don’t know how to answer that — not without making it worse, “actually, never mind. I shouldn’t have asked,” 

“Professor—“ 

“You’re an adult, he’s right — you should be allowed to make your own choices,” he licks his lips, his eyes still fixed on his phone screen, “I’m sorry if I—“ 

“Can you let me speak?” you sigh, as you wave your hand in front of his phone so he would look at you, and his eyes meet yours, “you’re fine — I was trying to get out of there — I just felt very trapped.” 

He huffs out a chuckle. “When you took that long, I wondered if the group of solipsists had taken you hostage,” 

You grimace, “I guess when you believe everyone else is an illusion, you also think manners are an illusion too,” he laughs in earnest now, “now there’s a real smile,” He tilts his head, “the smile you had inside, real scary kind of smile,” you tease, as his eyes can’t quite meet yours.

“Oh yeah?” he suddenly seems very interested in his phone, “our rideshare is almost here,” 

“Almost like you were jealous,” and he scoffs. 

“Of him?” 

“Uh huh, he is pretty attractive, maybe I will give him a call—“ and you notice him grip his phone tighter, and your lips curl, “but I probably won’t, not really my type,” 

“Not your type?” he asks. 

“More into the intellectuals, that man was far from it — I like an academic, sweater vests, glasses, a pretentious little office—“ and the glare is back, as you laugh, the rideshare sparing him from you continuing this conversation, but you also didn’t get to see the slight smile on his lips as you slipped into the back of the car. 

“Just sleep on the bed,” you say for probably the thousandth time, but he only shakes his head, as he sits on the couch, combing out his black locks. Even freshly showered, he looks unfairly hot — a loose gray t-shirt with sweatpants, contacts switched to glasses, and now his hair brushed against his shoulders. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch — it was fine last night—“ 

“Your spinal cord would beg to differ,” and he looks unamused, as he struggles with his comb, “what are you doing?” 

“I can’t get this knot out of my hair, and I can’t get you out of my hair either,” he adds, as you roll your eyes, slipping off the bed and walking over. You ease the comb from his fingers, biting your lip at the brush of his fingers, “what are you—“ 

“It’s easier if someone else does it,” and he sighs, giving in, as your fingers undo the knot in his hair gently, “your hair is really smooth and fine, probably why it tangled so fast,” and he only hums in response, his body relaxing under your touch, as you comb through the rest of his hair. You bite back a smile, he’s almost like a cat, keening under your touch, “feels good?” You murmur. 

“Yeah, it does,” and you don’t want the moment to end, you want this excuse to touch him to remain, the first time you’ve been able to breach this wall between you two — and it’d be over in an instant, “I think that’s good,” he mutters. 

He lays his head back on the top of the couch to look up at you — pretty obsidian orbs stared back at you — and your heart squeezes. He was so close, within reach, and all you had to do was lean down, press your lips against his, and maybe you wouldn’t have to tiptoe anymore, maybe you wouldn’t have to hide from him, maybe you could be— 

“We should go to bed,” he sighs, the moment breaks, as he sits upright, adjusting his pillow on the couch beside him, “we have an early start,” 

“Don’t remind me,” you turn back to him, “but you’re right - we should go to bed—“ you grab his pillow, “on the bed,” 

“No—“ 

“Like you said, we’re both adults,” you tilt your head, as he purses his lips, “I think I can handle sleeping in bed beside you, just sleeping, we can even put a pillow between us,” and you add, “if I try anything in my sleep, you challenge me to a pillow fight, and push me off the bed,” 

He scoffs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I really can sleep on—“ and then you raise your eyebrows, eyes flicking to the hand on his neck. He sighs, “fine, but I really will push you off the bed, I’m a restless sleeper,” 

“Then it’s equal opportunity,” you grin, as you slip into your side of the bed, stretching. Suguru is slower to get in, taking his time and adjusting his pillow and blanket before he finally gets into bed, “good night,” 

“Good night,” he turns to face away from you as he sleeps and you do the same. 

But it wasn’t a good night. Not when you couldn’t fucking sleep. 

For someone so smart, you really were very stupid. The bed that seemed expansive and open yesterday now felt Tom Thumb tiny, every shift of your body felt like a ripple effect, as you’d feel the slight shift of Geto right beside you. He was so close — you swore you could nearly feel the heat radiate off of him, the weight of his body beside you felt far too close and way too far — a chasm you could never cross.

And it was close to driving you insane enough to follow your wants all the way down it. 

But you couldn’t — but you could look, stare into the void, without becoming part of it. 

You shift again to face him this time — how could the back of someone’s head be so beautiful? Jet black locks that you had combed yourself fanned out on his pillow. But you could spot the nape of his neck through the tresses, a lovely spot that you only wished you could lean over and bury your face in. Your eyes began to droop. 

Hypnos finally took pity. You could only sleep this way. Your eyes finally flutter shut — you should have known — you were always the most comfortable with him in your sight. 

Suguru knew that you had fallen asleep — because your soft breaths fell into a rhythm, the crinkle of your sheets had grown silent, and the loud thoughts that filled up your head had gone quiet. He was glad one of you could sleep. 

He surely wouldn’t get a wink tonight. 

This was certainly more comfortable than the couch, but at least he had slept on the couch. He would be lucky to get thirty minutes at this rate. This weekend had already been too much — and he felt his will to stay away from you slowly snapping, a few strands away from breaking away completely. 

When he had seen you with Toji — he didn’t think, he just acted. He could see you were uncomfortable, the way your body leaned away from him, the way your eyes flickered around the room, and the way you toyed with your glass. It was a simple choice, but what happens when the next person that flirts with you is someone you’re interested in? Would he have to stand by and simply let it happen? Watch as you’re able to date this person but not him simply because of his title? 

He was jealous. Not of Toji — but of the idea of you being with someone else — of your attention drifting from him, of you drifting from him. He turned to lay on his back, he really was fucked wasn’t he? 

He turns his head to look at you. It never helped that you were effortlessly adorable, even now as you slept. Lips parted, body curled up, your hair falling in your face yet again. His fingers tuck a strand behind your ear gently, and you shift, a quiet hum leaving your lips as you settle back into the arms of the sandman. 

How were you so close but so far? You were mere inches away but you might as well be across the country. Because he couldn’t touch you, he couldn’t hold you, he couldn’t kiss you. The kiss he shared with you haunted his dreams — a daydream wrapped up in the nightmare of reality. He couldn’t ask you to wait — wait for your degree to be completed so the two of you could date. It wouldn’t be fair to you, but what about this was fair? 

And he turns on his side to face you, his fingers brushing your cheek gently — maybe if he couldn’t be with you in reality, he could allow himself to dream, his eyes flutter shut. 

Just for a moment. 

And his unconscious allows it — allows him to dream of you. 

Dream of your face buried in the crook of his neck, your soft breaths warming his skin, his nose buried in your hair. Your fingers grasped at his shirt, your other hand thrown over his middle. Why was your scent so intoxicating? He sighs, pulling you impossibly closer, and you shift, your leg sliding around his waist, as you pressed closer, pulling a groan from his lips as your core grazes right against his morning…visitor. 

And you move again, nose brushing against his collarbone, his name on your lips, quietly whispered like a secret against his skin. It was perfect — you were perfect. 

But what if this wasn’t a dream? The back of his mind prods — but that’s not possible, he was home in bed, right? This wasn’t real. It was the same dream he always had, of waking up in your arms, a lazy morning spent together in bed, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, the sheets becoming dappled in sunshine. 

No, there was no way this was real, he sighs into your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, but even if it was, he thought as he drifted, he didn’t want to wake — not yet. 

A distinct buzz stirs you from your sleep. But you don't want to wake — you were far too comfortable. But the buzzing persists, so you reach blindly for your phone and to turn off the alarm. And settle back into bed, eyes still shut, as you find your way back onto your pillow — or what you thought was your pillow. 

Except pillows didn’t move, or have an arm they could wrap around you. 

Your eyes open, to find yourself entangled with someone else — your brow furrowing in confusion that melts away to silent horror. Professor Geto. 

So much for sticking to your sides. 

Fuck.  

You tried to extricate yourself to no avail, his arm wrapped around you, pulling you flush to his body, your legs entangled, aside from your leg thrown over his waist, you realize, a small squeak escaping your lips, as you try and fail to move away. Instead you brush up against something very…hard. 

You flush, cheeks burning so hot that it’s truly a miracle he didn’t wake from the heat of your skin against his alone. His morning wood was pressed right against you, nearly between your thighs — just like the last time it was  against you — why the fuck would you think about that now? You resisted the urge to press your legs together — lest you have another new problem, and a mess to deal with. 

You manage to only pull your head away, urging yourself up so that your faces are an inch or two apart now. His soft breaths warmed your lips, his brow relaxed, locks of black hair fell in front of his eyes. Your fingers reach and tuck the locks behind his ear, tips skimming his skin. And the arm around you almost seems to tighten, and you bite your lip, the comforting presence of his arms far too tempting to drag you into wanting — as if you ever left. Wanting was dangerous, because wanting can only ever lead to need, needing him was as foolish as it was to share a bed with the man you were in love with. 

But how foolish was it that you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away? It was okay right? Okay as long your lips didn’t touch, as long you didn’t follow this slope all the way down — it was treacherous to press forward, but why did you want to anyway?

Your eyes flutter shut again for a moment — and your eyes glanced at the morning sky — the sun had just breached the horizon. You could allow yourself a few minutes — even if you had to give up a lifetime with him. 

The blaring of your phone only seems to grow increasingly loud, as you give a small groan, rolling over to your phone again, slapping the screen to snooze it again. And your eyes flutter open a moment, lazily flickering over the screen — 8:45 AM. 

Your eyes close — before your mind fully wakes — 8:45 AM? 

“Fuck,” you shoot up to get up, a tangle of limbs,  jolting Geto awake, his eyes popping open, his arm instinctively grabbing you by the waist, and you land with an oomfph back onto the bed—wait, not the bed. 

Your hand pressed against his chest, your body against his, noses brushing, your eyes unable to tear away from the other — his eyes were even prettier this close — a dark brown, nearly black, with flecks of another color — purple? You can’t tell if that’s your heartbeat or his that’s racing with how close you are, chest to chest. And even as you try to shift, you make it worse by slipping, your hips rubbing against each other’s. 

Fuck. 

You both freeze for a moment, his eyes flickering to your lips and back, as yours does the same, before you both scramble apart. 

“We’re late. We’re really late,” you spring out of bed, grabbing random clothes from your suitcase, “I’m going to get ready, really fast,” you don’t even bother to look at his expression, and you almost wished your heart had shattered your ribcage, with how fucking hard it’s beating, if only that you wouldn’t have to spend another day in the conference with him. 

You sighed, as you brushed your teeth hurriedly while doing your hair — well maybe a lecture or presentation would take your mind off this morning. 

So that wasn’t a dream, Suguru was only glad you didn’t even glance at his face when you ran off, or you would have seen the lovely tomato red that graced his cheeks. He could still feel the warmth from your body, slowly receding, and he swore he could still feel you against him, your soft skin, your pretty lips against his neck, and your leg around his waist. 

Fuck. 

God, he had another fucking problem to deal with — as he shifted awkwardly, his morning wood up and erect with a tent that could put most large circus tents to shame. Fuck, he didn’t have time to take care of this — especially with you in the bathroom right now. 

But still, he pressed his inner palm to his lips, how was he going to make it through the rest of the conference with the feeling of your body still lingering in his mind. If the situation was different, the two of you would have woken up with smiles on your lips, spent the morning cuddling without a care, and probably a little more than that—

But the situation was the same, and his eyes slid to the bathroom door, so why was it that he still thinking about you? He wasn’t the type to dwell, he accepted things for what they were — he had his principles and his beliefs, and he stuck to them, unless proven otherwise. He was a man of guidelines, of rules—

So why were you the only person that ever made him want to throw every rule away? 

“We are going to be discussing ethical dilemmas faced in universities and how to approach them,” the lecturer begins, “can anyone tell us an example of one such dilemma?” 

You both had barely made it into a lecture — barely even speaking as you ran-walked into the conference — choosing a lecture at random, as the two of you ran a good fifteen minutes late. You both arrived, hiding your pants, as you both grabbed water bottles from the back, and sat down. 

And of course to make matters worse, your phone goes off, making the entire room turn to look at the two of you. You silence your phone, murmuring a quick sorry as the two of you take your seats. 

Could this possibly get worse? 

Your eyes glanced at him — it was already bad enough to begin with. Geto had barely spoken a word this morning, even as the two of arrived at the conference, the only words he spoke were to the attendant that parked his car. 

You tugged at the collar of your shirt, adjusting your clothes. And if that wasn’t enough, you were going to spend the day sweaty and disheveled. Meanwhile, you stole another glance at your professor — his skin flushed from running, button up not buttoned up all the way, glasses instead of contacts, and his hair in its usual bun, but a few strands were nearly coming loose — he still looked fucking delectable. But he wouldn’t meet your gaze, his body positioned to lean away from yours, his eyes fixed ahead. 

You held back your sigh as you focused on the presentation — you just needed to get through today — as the lecturer picked someone who raised their hand. 

“A student-teacher relationship is one such ethical problem faced in universities today,” and Geto nearly chokes on his water, coughing slightly, as you feel your cheeks burn at the thought of this morning, “it presents several ethical problems — including the role the professor plays in the student’s education and future, their ability to provide praise or reprimand, and even grant recommendations gives them great power over their student. It leaves the student without much freedom in the relationship.”

Oh, what the fuck. 

The rest of the conference is spent in relative silence with a thick film of awkwardness perfectly overlayed. When you both finally return to the hotel room, your only consolation is that you’ll be leaving tomorrow. You toss your things onto the couch, “I’m going to wash up,” you tell him, and he only nods in reply, as you enter the bathroom and shut the door, back pressed against it and sliding down. 

Oh this is such a mess. You sigh, maybe a shower will help. 

It didn’t. You were still just as much of a mess as you were before. You sighed, as you stood in front of the sink, wiping your hair with a towel. This could be so simple if you both could be together — so easy. There would be no tension, no hurt feelings, no awkwardness — you could just be. But that’s not an option. So the only other option is to let him go. 

But you didn’t know how to begin to. 

Either way, hiding in the bathroom wouldn’t solve a thing — and you finally opened the door, “I’m done if you want to wash up,” he nods, sitting on the couch, reading a book. His glasses rested on the tip of his nose, lips pursed, and legs crossed. 

You walk over, grabbing your things from the couch and put some of your things away in your suitcase. But after all of that is done, you realize one thing is missing — your cellphone. 

“Shit,” you murmur under your breath, searching through your suit coat pockets, your pants pocket, anywhere that your phone might be. 

“What’s wrong?” Geto says, book in his lap, as he tilts his head. 

“Can’t find my phone,” you mumble, cheeks burning — god, it was already awkward enough, and now this? 

“Is it on ring?” You nod — your phone was usually on ring, sometimes to your detriment — you cringe at the memory in the lecture this morning, “I’ll call it,” 

He calls you — and you glance at his phone screen, your contact is just your name, no picture, nothing. You bite your lip, what were you expecting? A heart next to your name? And the sound of your phone ringing catches both of your attention. 

“It’s over here, somewhere,” he says, lifting up some of cushions of the couch, and reaching underneath into the creases, as you walk over — “I found—“ 

And you were so concerned about your contact information in his phone that you forgot about his contact information in your phone. 

The screen flashed with the image of him sleeping all lopsided on the couch from that first night, as you covered your mouth in both horror, but also to stifle your laugh. 

His eyes flicker to you, “When did you—“ and you reach for your phone, but he moves it away, “not until you answer my questions,” 

“This isn’t class, Professor, I want my phone—“ you reach for it again, and he’s holding it above your head, “oh real mature—“ 

“Like the picture you have of me as my contact picture?” He raises an eyebrow, a real smile pulling at the corners of his lips, “thought I should resort to my student’s level,”  

“Your T.A.,” you correct, as you reach for your phone again, but he’s using his height to his advantage, and he’s beginning to walk backwards, “come on, give it back—“ 

“Not until I change and delete that photo,” and he’s trying to hold your phone up to your face to unlock it, and you gasp. 

“Oh my god, give it back!” And you grab his hand, and he’s grabbing at the other, giggles leaving your lips, as he laughs too, as the two of you struggle for the phone, your fingers closing over it, and over his own fingers as well. 

And you realize how close you are to him. 

The two of you freeze a moment, laughter on your lips fading away to soft smiles, and his fingers squeeze yours lightly, as he passes you your phone back. But he doesn’t move away — and you don’t either. 

“Why did you let go?” and it seems like it’s a force out of your control that draws you together, no matter how much either of you try to let go. 

“Because I can’t help giving you what you want,” he murmurs, and the heat of his gaze melts your heart, as you drop your phone onto the couch, and reach for his hand again. 

And you lean closer, your other hand gently brushing against his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw, “So if I ask for a kiss, will you give it to me?” You won’t close the gap anymore than you have — he needs to reach for you too, let himself give into gravity. 

He does, as his hand brushes against your cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth across your cheekbone, “will we stop at just a kiss?” He murmurs, leaning so close that your eyes want to flutter shut. 

“Only one way to find out,” and his lips brush yours. And it’s not chaste like your first kiss was, no, his lips slide against yours, as his other hand slides to the back of your neck. He swallows your gasp eagerly, if the smirk you feel against your lips is anything to go off of. Your teeth graze against this bottom lip teasingly, drawing a small groan from the back of his throat. 

Neither of you couldn’t stop at one kiss, and you both knew that, even as your lips parted for a small breath of air, they found each other again — just as you both always did. Because you could never let him go — no matter how hard you tried. 

RING. RING. RING. 

And this time it isn’t an alarm. But rather his phone, flashing with a name that brings you crashing back to reality. 

The department head. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, as he parts from you, his warmth leaving all at once, as he grabs his phone, and turns away, “Hello? Yes, the conference is over. Everything went well. No, no, nothing out of the ordinary.” 

You stared at his back, this would always be the case wouldn’t it? Even as you crashed together, something would pull you apart, and neither of you could break the cycle. You take your phone from the couch, and crawl into bed, but you could start. 

You close your eyes, your fingers brushing against your lips for a moment. You needed to start — otherwise, you would just end up broken. 

And you don’t hear him hang up — or see him stare at your figure under the covers — and he would break along with you. 

Suguru didn’t know what to say the next morning — especially when it seemed couldn’t even bear to look at him, much less speak to him. You had busied yourself with packing, even before he had awoken. His back ached from the night he spent on the couch, he couldn’t fall asleep for far too long, and by the time he did, he kept sleeping — through his many alarms it seemed. 

And it wasn’t the couch that kept him awake. 

You both had the most lovely timing, didn’t you? He thought, as he combed his hair in the bathroom, the memory of your fingers running through his hair as you gently undid the knots in his locks still ever present — it seemed like any time you two wanted to act on your feelings, the universe was doing what it could to keep you apart. 

Was this fate versus free will? 

You both kept choosing each other — but fate kept pulling you apart. Did he have any control over his actions or did he have no control over his actions at all? Was it all predetermined by some force he couldn’t perceive? Some force intent on pulling you apart. 

He sighed, as his phone lights up with an email from the department head — department head position opened up in Jujutsu University: Kyoto — 

And so maybe he should let it. 

The next few weeks pass by far too quick. As your semester picks up, you stop attending Professor Geto’s classes, opting to send an email to let him know, and he replies back with a simple response — Ok. Please let me know when and if you are available to input the grades for the midterm paper. 

The rest of your T.A. work is done online and over email — and you do your best to keep busy, keep yourself occupied, and keep your thoughts from straying to him.

And you maybe succeed 10% of the time. It doesn’t help that your unconscious does not wish to cooperate since it seems that once you stopped seeing your professor during waking hours, he’s infiltrated your sleep — sneaking in and out by the time your eyes open. 

And then you’re left with the fragments of his touch, his voice, his kisses, and soft, loving words. 

Just as you always were it seemed. 

And before you know it, the end of the semester comes, and you find yourself in front of that same office door yet again. It felt like an eternal reoccurrence — stuck to repeat the same events again and again in an infinite loop. Was there any exit from this loop? 

You didn’t know — you knocked on his office door — but you could try. 

“Come in,” you do, entering his office to find him sitting at his desk, hair half up for once. And his eyes flicker up to meet yours, his head tilting at your stare, “see something interesting?” 

“Your hair—“ and your cheeks burn — so much for trying — “it’s different,” 

“Thought I’d try something different — my hair is growing out,” and you have to repress the want to curl a lock or his hair around your finger, “do you not like it?” 

You shake your head, “It looks nice, just different,”

And he hands you the papers he’s graded, “you can input those, I’m just finishing up a couple more, so if you wouldn’t mind waiting a bit?” 

“Not at all,” a silence falls over between the two of you, the quiet scratch of his pen as he grades, the occasional ding of his e-mail breaking up the silence. You sneak a glance at him — ebony tresses brushing against his broad shoulders, his brow furrowed that you wished to run your fingers along to smooth his worries from his mind, pretty lips parted as he reads a sentence silently to himself. 

Fuck — no, no, you can’t do this. 

You busy yourself thumbing your way through the papers, spotting the familiar red scrawls littering these pages, as they once did yours. You were so pissed when you got your first paper back — indignant even — a whole Karen ready to speak to his supervisor. But when his honest criticism and blunt words rang true, you found yourself not only wanting to prove him wrong, but a want to be better. To earn his respect. And of course, later, you wanted to earn a little more than that. 

You bite back a chuckle, and here you still were — by his side. Except next semester you wouldn’t be his T.A. 

But you would still be a student. And he would still be a professor. 

But one other thing that hasn’t changed is how brutal the feedback is — you couldn’t help but feel bad for “Itadori Yuuji” — whoever that was. 

“What are you smiling about?” Your eyes snap up to meet his, his head leaning against his palm, elbow resting on the desk. 

“Nothing,” you shake your head, but he looks unconvinced, “just thinking about our first time in this office,” and then your cheeks burn at the double meaning, “I mean our first office hours appointment—“ 

He waves you off, “I know what you meant,” a small chuckle in his cadence, as he continues to grade, “you certainly weren’t happy with me,” 

“No I wasn’t,” a small smile on your lips, “but it worked out in the end,” you add, “you got an amazing T.A. after all,” 

His eyes meet yours, “More than just that,” 

Why can’t you help but get pulled in time and time again? And why can’t you help but ask questions that will only hurt you in the end? 

He continues to grade when you finally speak, “What do you think would have happened if I didn’t end up being your T.A.?” 

And his pen stops, lips pursed, “We shouldn’t—“ 

“Why shouldn’t we?” you felt like a child demanding an answer from their parent. 

“We agreed—”

“I don’t remember an agreement-” 

“It was unspoken—” 

You scoff, crossing your arms, “You really are only a professor because an attorney would know that binding agreements can’t be unspoken,” he falls silent, his voice soft. 

“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” his words are wrought with conflict, pain seeping into every syllable, “I don’t want to keep going down this road only to for you to get hurt in the end — I don’t want to jeopardize your future for something that might not last—” 

“But what if it does?” and he swallows thickly, “what if we can make it work? We’re both adults, we can be discreet—” 

“So discreet that we end up making out in my office?” he takes off his glasses only to run a hand down his face, a slight pink tinge on his cheeks, and you huff out a chuckle. 

“A little more discreet than that, we’ll lock the door next time,” it’s his turn to scoff, and you rise from your seat, lips curled, “close the lights, or maybe even kiss in a place that’s not on campus,” but he does the same, meeting you on the side of his desk, his fingers brushing your cheek so gently as if you’d shatter under his touch. 

“I don’t want to stand in the way of your career,” he says, his fingers finding your hand regardless, fingers interlacing, “I don’t want you to—” 

“It’s my choice, Suguru,” you murmur, as you lean against his warm palm, your fingers sliding against his palm and into his inky tresses, “don’t you owe me a choice, and a drink?” you add, and his lips curl in a knowing smile. 

“I do, if you’ll still have me,” and he’s leaning close, sucking the air from the room, and the logic from your minds, as his lips barely graze yours, “shouldn’t we lock the door?” 

“Fuck it,” and you pull him into a deep kiss that pulls a groan from his lips that makes your cunt ache, as he’s already pushing you into the lip of his desk, his hand sliding down to your waist. 

“Now who’s being unethical?” he murmurs, pressing eager kisses along your jaw, that makes you melt against him, your legs nearly jelly at this point, “what kind of example are you setting as a T.A.?” 

You bite back your moan as his lips find the soft spot of your neck, teeth grazing it far too fucking teasingly, “Well students learn by example,” and his hands are slipping under thighs to lift you so you’re sitting on his desk — you spread your legs for him in the dress that you’re in, pantyhose underneath, his heavy lidded gaze raking over your body, “and look at my professor staring at his T.A. so lustfully, even with a clear power dynamic—” 

And his fingers find your thighs again, squeezing, before his fingers dig into the sheer hose, tearing holes in it, drawing a gasp from your lips, “How’s that for a power dynamic, princess?” far too pleased, “don’t worry, I’ll buy you new ones,” he murmurs, “now just be a good girl and spread your legs for me,” he says, as he pulls away the ruined pantyhose, and he’s undoing the buttons on his shirt with one hand — one, two, three — before your fingers take over, leaning to press kisses at each inch of exposed skin, until the shirt falls open. 

Then his lips find yours again, his silver tongue asking for you to part your lips and you do — as he extracts every want you have with his burning touch — his lips against yours, his large hands parting your thighs, his knee pressed against your twitching cunt — and only leaves your want for him behind, until it becomes a need. 

“Wonder what our students would think of you,” his fingers tease your inner thighs, drawing a whine from your lips, “wanting your professor to fuck you in his office instead of inputting their grades,” he whispers in your ear, as his fingers finally skim the wet patch of your underwear, “so wet f’me, already? Look I think you even soaked my slacks,” he tsks, as his thumb and forefinger find your chin and tilt it up, “what are you going to do about that?” 

“Suguru—please,” and he smiles as his finger starts to tease your puffy clit through your drenched panties, “don’t tease—” 

“How can I not when you’ve nothing but tease me with your existence?” he pulls the crotch of your underwear aside, “I’ll oblige my favorite student this time—but I won’t be so nice next time,” he adds, biting your bottom lip. 

RING. RING. RING. 

It was his fucking office phone. You groan, but his finger continues to sink into you, “Suguru—” 

“Let it ring,” his lips find yours in a bruising kiss as his finger deliciously sinks into you, “I have all I need right here,” he whispers, and you pull him back into a kiss by the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, your hand sliding up and down his chest, while he worked a finger into your cunt, “so fucking wet f’me, so perfect,” 

And your hand flies back to support yourself as a second finger begins to sink into you — but your hand grazes his office phone, and the messages begin to play back.

“Fuck, sorry,” you mumble, as you reach blindly for the phone, only to knock it back, as he chuckles and reaches behind you, trying but failing to help — your noses brushing, and he smiles before kissing you again. 

Mr. Geto, sorry we missed each other, I was calling, hoping that you would still be in office for the day, but I must have just missed you. I wanted to call to offer you the job as department head at Jujutsu Tech University: Kyoto—

You freeze, your lips parting from his as you look up at him, his eyes wide as he stops the message from playing back any further — and the words settle over the mood like a sheet pulled over a dead body. 

And you’re the first to speak, always asking the questions that will hurt you in the end, “You’re moving to Kyoto?” 

✧ a/n: so i'm sorry for that ending hahah, i promise there will be a happy ending later on for these two. thank you to @gaylatteart and @laneysmusings for betaing and just being the best. also if i tagged you please comment / reblog because tagging on tumblr sucks, it takes very long.

✧ taglist: @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @difficultdomains, @diogodxlot, @that-goth-bisexual, @bash1018, @dazailover1900, @aliyalala, @ashhlsstuff, @blue041803, @mwtsxri, @bblgumfairy, @sukunasleftkneecap, @xo-evangeline, @fiannee, @teatreeoilll, @chalametet, @ryukaver, @d1gitalbathh, @saga3ious, @seventhcinema, @satosugucide, @your-l0nely-star, @sokkasmoon, @deegausserr, @hyookka, @oggsyy, @littlebitb, @higuchislut, @ti-mame, @itoshisins, @cerene-dipity, @onionsoop, @sinlillith, @izzythenaive, @akvrae, @lalacute03, @rxndou, @c-themoon, @xxrag-d0llxx, @hqtoge, @sugarxlumps, @hopeluna, @actualdeemon,

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — you thought you're living in hell as you meet again your childhood bullies, Gojo, Geto and Shoko in college but that wasn't it, there's more to come, more people who are so interested with you and you slowly turning into a college fucktoy

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 — Gojo, Geto, Shoko, Nanami, Sukuna, Toji, Naoya, Choso

𝐂/𝐖 — noncon/dubcon, vaginal penetration (p to v), harassment, sexual assault, noncon filming, bullying, corruption kink, etc. (there is a lot but i will make sure to mention it every part)

𝐀/𝐍 — hi!!! this is my first ever dark content series i ever written. i wrote it bc i've been thinking about this idea for a long time ever since i read this one hc of bully satosugu and was inspired by some pics found in pinterest

part 1

fun reunion

— gojo, geto, shoko

part 2

slut sucker

— gojo, geto

part 3

forward march

— shoko, toji

part 4

coming soon....

as you like it (sequel to romeo ♱ juliet)

↳ gojo satoru/reader

bound by the dictates of the prophecy, the emperor contemplates whether retaining his wife or severing ties with her may be the sole path to fulfill his ambitions. yet, what he may fail to discern, is that the plague in his reign lies beyond what meets the eye

♱ genre. tragedy, revenge, period piece, royal au

♱ tags. 26k wc, extremely OOC, tyranny, emperor!gojo, empress!reader, (you will hate the reader!), unrequited love, religion (especially Catholicism), blasphemy, implied infidelity, violence, war, rebellion, misogyny, impregnation, smut, disease, gore, death, arson, and written in early modern english/archaic english

♱ notes. heavily inspired by anne boleyn's real-life story, and manhwas sister, i am the queen in this life and ten ways to get dumped by a tyrant, as well as shakespeare’s king henry V. direct quotes also derived from the movie the king. has no correlation to the original as you like it play except for the title, as i wanted a title to my r+j sequel that's still shakespeare-inspired :) i have plans to turn this into a regression series, so this will serve as the original story, and the series will be the reincarnation fic, but nothings set in stone yet. we'll see! for now, feedbacks are highly appreciated :')

masterlist. playlist. gallery. archaic grammar index.

EARLY MODERN ENGLISH -> MODERN ENGLISH VERSION

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐄.

SATORU, Emperor of Caelum.

YOU, of the same order.

SUGURU, knight commander of the Imperial Order of Knights.

TOJI, Emperor of Astheryn.

NAOYA, a duke, cousin to Toji.

GENEVA, nurse to the empress.

MAXIMILIAN, advisor to the Caelan Emperor.

NANAMI, a nobleman. 

The Pope.

FRIAR MYCHAL, a Franciscan.

YUUTA, cousin to Satoru, exiled

A maid. 

A physician.

The Oracle. 

Citizens of Astheryn and Caelum; kinsfolk of both empires; the Imperial Court, Nobles, Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 

In a vast empire's might, an Emperor reigned,

Duty's veil his heart restrained.

Beside him, an Empress fair did stand,

Her love unmet, her heart unmanned.

Cold and still, his heart did lie;

Untouch’d by love's gentle sigh.

The Empress long’d for his affection true,

Yet his love remain’d a distant hue.

In shadows deep, her love did pine,

Bound by duty's rigid line.

As seasons passed, her love turned to ire,

A flower of vengeance, fuel’d by fire.

Now as our tale begins we see,

How love and duty bring us forth to tragedy.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

THE LATE 15TH CENTURY

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈

Only slightly did you loosen up as the sequence of your steps were taken in slow but measured strides. Each footfall had a rhythm that was neither lacking in confidence nor hesitance, with your heels clicking on the marble floors and the sound of it echoing along the spacious hallway as if to remind every person within the vicinity that the Empress was arriving. You held your breath much to the tightness of your corset and tried to keep your emotions intact, taking a halt from walking knowing that your ladies-in-waiting were tailing you closely behind.

Two valiant knights stood by his door, offering a curtsy to their Empress the minute you had crossed their eyes. A knock on the door followed. Then, soon enough, you were granted a step forward inside your husband’s study. 

There he was, ensconced behind his desk amid copious piles of paperwork, his attention undivided by the woman who graced his study with her presence. His locks, reminiscent of Arctic snow, were meticulously arranged, accentuated by the resplendent black doublet he donned, adorned with intricate silver patterns upon the brocade cloth. His eyes, as blue as the sky and oceans alike, declined to meet the gaze of his own wife. 

“For what purpose art thou come?” he uttered.

Meanwhile, you made a swift curtsy and motioned for the attendants and knights to depart away, leaving the two of you alone. “I crave a word with thee, Your Majesty.”

His countenance appeared to congeal as he fixed his gaze upon you for several uncomfortable moments. "Of what matter?"

“Concerning the New Year's banquet, dear husband. It draweth nigh in a fortnight, and arrangements must be set in motion.” You stood squarely afore him, hands entwined afore you. A regal presence. A queenly figure, fashioned precisely to his desires. Such was the image the empire had embraced since your ascension to the throne. Before him stood the epitome of grace suited to that role. “Pray, what theme dost Your Majesty propose?” 

He closed the ledger he had been inscribing on, scrutinizing your features intently. “I harbor little fondness for such gatherings, yet the banquet is a necessary evil.” His gaze shifted towards your gown, meticulously crafted to complement your form, adorned with the same elaborate embroidery as his own attire, accented by a sizable silver cross adorning your neck like the good Christian you were. “The citizens already begin to take note of our opulence; thus, I eschew an excessiveness that may draw undue attention. Let it be lavish enough to suit our status, yet not overly extravagant. As for the theme, it ought to be black and silver to match our regalia.”

The Caelum regalia, once bedecked in innocent hues of white and blue, underwent a somber transformation to black and silver upon his ascension to the throne. Behind this alteration lay a tragic tale. Satoru, the man whom you addressed as husband, had first borne the title of Crown Prince before ascending to the imperial seat. His younger sister, the infamous maiden who met her demise alongside her lover, was bound to an ill-fated romance that purportedly quelled an age-old enmity between two ancestral foes.

The forbidden romance betwixt a scion of a Zen'in and a scioness of a Gojou, both of princely lineage, ignited strife between the Astheryn and Caelum Empires. With half a century of animosity between these bloodlines, a lust for supremacy, and an unyielding clash between nations, the discord erupted into a civil strife, ceasing solely with the ratification of a peace accord signed by the sovereigns of both empires.

Yet before all these tumultuous events unfolded, Satoru's ascent to the highest throne owed much to you. Though you were not his intended betrothed, you were a lady deeply enamored with the prince; with whom he divulged myriad fervent nights with. As the daughter of a duke whose lineage boasted mastery in the craft of forging fine swords and weaponry, and so well-versed in the art of warfare, he saw you fit to stand as his empress, prepared to reciprocate your erstwhile unrequited love through means of marriage. Howbeit, this accord came at the cost of you aiding him in his quest to unseat both his father and mother from their thrones. He loathed his parents just as strongly as he did Astheryn. The rulers preceding him were despotic tyrants, showing scant regard for kinship ties, and they exhibited no sorrow for the passing of the princess, which was a loss deeply felt by Satoru.

Satoru carried ambitions of ascending to the august throne of Caelum from a tender age, unwilling to await the natural demise of his father for ascension and instead, do it by means of force. He was prepared to imbrue his hands with his own kindred’s blood to sit at the highest throne, yet such a feat was no trifling matter. The civil unrest presented the opportune moment to execute his plans, spurred on all the more by his sister's untimely demise. With your military affiliations and strategic acumen, you aided him in orchestrating a coup d'état against his own kin. Ending it all with him, severing his father’s head with a sword, and you, killing his mother with a dose of poison. His other oppositions followed, and those who did not support his cause were offered a swift journey to hell through mass execution. Throughout these macabre events, you stood steadfast by his side, currying favor with the surviving nobility to fortify his position as emperor. Identifying traitors, you presented them for his judgment. In due course, you became his most trusted confidante, the sole woman deemed worthy to stand beside him on the day of his coronation, heralding the dawn of a new era for the empire. Thus, a new nation, a new sovereignty, and a new regalia were born.

“As thou wish, my liege.” With careful steps, you navigated his study, casting an appraising gaze upon the books lining his shelves before pausing behind him. He ought to discern that the banquet did not solely occupy your intentions that day. “Prithee, burden not thyself with all this paperwork.” Your lips brushed his ear. “Instead, shall I expect thee in my bedchamber this eve?” 

He tensed, drawing a deep breath to temper his emotions. You always seemed to know how to push his buttons—in good and bad ways. You played him like a fiddle as always. Indeed, he was well aware that your desires surpassed the scope of mere banquet arrangements. “Very well.”

The distant gaze he cast upon you pierced deeply. Eight long years of matrimony, and only now did he begin to exhibit such aloofness. Only now did such estrangement manifest. What sudden shift had befallen this marriage? You were not privy to the answer, yet you strived to deny it. Natheless, for the sake of your peace of mind, did you venture forth with your inquiry. “My liege, I wilt be so bold as to believe that thou dost not carry grudge against me.” Your eyes remained fixed upon his saintly face. “Do I speak true? For my failure to conceive the last time we—”

“‘Tis useless to harbor grudge over matters beyond control.” Displeasure thinned his lips. “What gain have I, to chastise thee merely because thou art barren?”

Pained by his words, you stepped away, quietly but firmly asserting, “...I am not barren.”

“Thou hast failed to conceive after eight years; to mine eyes, that qualifies as being barren.” He flipped back to the page he was perusing, resuming his writing.

Any trace of happiness that once adorned your mien now dissipated, and was replaced by the shadows of his cutting words. “Then, what plan shall thou construct if I fail to bear fruit?”

Satoru halted in his writing, his quill suspended in the air. He closed his eyes as he spoke, “Should thou not conceive in the foreseeable future, I am left with no alternative but to initiate a divorce. No matter the cost.”

Your eyes widened at his decision, your breath catching in your throat as the weight of his words settled upon you. His words seemed rehearsed, so well-thought of, as though he had expected this day to come and heretofore looked forward to informing you of this very plan. You failed to catch his reasoning, but succeeded at bearing the pain it had burdened you with. What had driven him to this conclusion? Certainly, a mere heir would not lead him to this ultimatum. 

“A concubine, then, doth thou suggest so?” Firm and resolute in your stance was how you received his proposal. 

The emperor averted his gaze, allowing silence to stand as your response for several minutes until he finally articulated a considerate reply. “Mine heir cannot be born a bastard, and so concubines shall only complicate matters. I have no plans in that department.” You sensed the direction of his thoughts, and you dreaded his continuation. “Rather, I beseech thee to abdicate thy throne, and I shall remarry another lady, be it of royal or imperial lineage, to bear the heir of this empire. It is the sole fitting course of action. That which, a divorce shall become necessary.”

“Step down from my throne?” Your voice quavered, laced with disbelief and anguish. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “Thou would cast me aside, discard me like a worn-out garment in your mistemper’d fit, for the sake of an heir? After everything I have done for thee.” Your words echoed in the chamber, each syllable heavy with the betrayal you felt.

Your heart, once brimming with devotion, now lay shattered at your feet. All your life, you have loved him. All your happiness and tears, you have devoted to him. You had stood by his side through every trial, every conquest, only to be deemed unworthy of bearing his legacy. The sting of rejection seared your soul, igniting a fierce resolve within your wounded spirit. Yet nothing was his response. No words of comfort did he return for your wifely agony. 

With a voice trembling through a mixture of sorrow and defiance, you met his gaze. “Fair enough,” you whispered, your tone laden with a sorrowful resignation. “If it is a concubine thou seek, then so be it. But a divorce, will I not honor. And know this, my lord,” you declared, your voice rising with a newfound strength, “I am the Empress. The only one. There is none within this empire akin to me, for a worthless, lowly concubine shalt not depose this Empress Y/N of Caleum thou wouldst so readily compromise.”

And in that solemn proclamation, you turned away, your stolid mien masking the shattered pieces of your fractured heart. 

His countenance remained stoic as he observed your departure, sighing inwardly as you exited his study. Although no longer offering a response, he found himself unable to deny the truth of your words. Nor the power in which you presented them. Your presence lingered in his thoughts, holding sway over him in a manner he could not fathom. 

As expected, you were epitome of a powerful empress just like what his mother once was and there ought to be a lot more convincing for you to step down from your post. 

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈

“If the oracle speaks true, then I fear, my lord, that this empire is destined to fall.”

It was late in the night, though the castle still brimmed with light from the torches adorning the halls. Most servants had retired to bed by this hour, barring the guards stationed at key areas of the castle. Meanwhile, the emperor remained awake, engaged in discussions concerning the fate of his sovereign. A predestined fate that could only be avoided should he make the effort to fulfill the conditions of the prophecy. 

Standing discreetly before him was Lord Maximillian, his advisor—a man who had witnessed his growth from juvenile years to the present moment. He had come to offer the emperor the much-needed counsel regarding the pressing matter at hand.

“Max, what say thee? Discuss unto me; dost thou deem me incapable?” The man of higher power questioned. “I have conversed with the Empress regarding the divorce. I have set forth the framework of my scheme should she falter in birthing my heir. I have articulated it in a manner that renders it just in her eyes. Yet, she reacts with such intensity. And loves so ardently. Ah! Women. Such vile, defiant women art the problem! A termagant—that, she is. For many years, I have afforded her the benefit of the doubt. Her mind is too ambitious for her own right. I know not how to proceed with her any longer. The prophecy dictates that I must have an heir.”

The old man returned him a soulless look. “If thou take the matter otherwise than is meant, then may I suggest that Your Majesty dispose of her.”

“Dispose?” he queried, as though he had misheard. “Her? My wife? Thou see it best to dispose of her?”

“Ay, I think it be. In the same fashion as your sire and dame,” Maximillian asserted, drawing a deep breath. “Prithee, do not misconstrue my intent as treason. My loyalty lies in thee, my liege. I stand by thee. I seek naught but the best for thee, for this empire hath not seen better days until thy sovereignty.”

Silence enveloped the air. Satoru took a moment to gaze at his elongating shadow, gradually shaping itself as he moved farther from the candlelight. In the darkness, his shadow morphed into a menacing silhouette, a specter lurking in the darkness was what had become of him. To become a tyrant was never his intention nor the promise he made to his departed sister, who yearned for Satoru to embody fairness and strength in rulership. And to be an emperor for the people. She had strived for peace among nations, yet here her brother stood, mirroring the oppressive parental figures he had overthrown. What allure did power hold over him? What such force could sway him now to forsake the very individual who had displayed unwavering marital devotion towards him?

“Hast thou been in correspondence with the King of Ellesmere?” inquired the Emperor. “Is it not so that his daughter, the princess, was to wed the late Prince of Astheryn? That prince was the very son of that wretch. That despot. That Emperor Toji II of Astheryn, my foremost enemy. What hath become of that princess, dost thou know?”

Maximillian stared at him intently. “Eight years and a vicennium ripe, yet still an unmarried maiden is the fair Princess Katarina. Is it her hand that Your Majesty seeks?”

“I shall speak my mind as the emperor, so I say this: ‘tis merely her status that makes of her the sole eligible woman to be my wife and empress of this empire.” His decision was wrought with hesitation yet born out of necessity. “Yet for the nonce, she cannot be seated until Y/N hath been dethroned. My decision shall hinge upon whether my wife shall be able to bear my heir anon. Elsewise, I shall dispose of her.”

His advisor sent him a look of approval. “‘Tis a decision that can only originate in thee, my lord. God be with ‘ye.” 

“If that be all, then give leave awhile.” The emperor paused at the western part of the castle, a nigh away from the corridors leading to his wife’s bedchamber. “I do beseech thee to be my herald on the morrow. Write to the King of Ellesmere briefly and concisely. Ere thou falsely honor a new empress, the long hours of my night are to be spent with the woman presently seated upon the throne.”

Eventually, Satoru reached your chambers and noticed that a few candles had been lit, their warm light illuminating the room softly. In the solitude in which you found yourself, seated by the bed and bathed in moonlight, silent in such serenity he hoped not to disturb. The fabric of your nightgown, thin and delicate, revealed the contours of your womanly figure beneath. He, too, was clad in a thin robe that left little to the imagination. 

As you turned to face him, you caught sight of the faint scars and marks from countless battles etched across his body, though his expression remained mostly neutral as it always had and you were unbeknownst to the profanity he had spoken of you a few minutes hence. Now, his electric blue eyes looked at you with careful scrutiny, pondering whether this sensual encounter would all be in vain or if you truly intended to fulfill your role and bear an heir this time.

“How stands the hour?” You spoke softly, approaching him with a sad glint in your eyes. “I have waited.”

“Pardon. Urgent matters call’d upon me.” Satoru could see the sadness in your eyes, but he tried his best to ignore it. You are barren, and there is little he can do to change that. He should begin his newfound task to detach from you. You brought him no good. You offered him no better fate. You were no longer instrumental for him to attain his long-standing ambition. Nevertheless, with your genuinely loving eyes he found himself conflicted, and that showed in his facial expressions. His brow knit, and he parted his lips as if to speak before hesitating and closing them again. You sensed his inclination to make you feel miserable, to render you desolate, yet he could not muster the resolve to articulate such words. Thus, he remained silent.

While you, you stood perfectly still. Like a porcelain doll displayed as a mere decoration. You wanted nothing but to give him his manly satisfaction that night, hoping that your marriage could still work and that he would not need the betrothal of another lady to carry him an heir. With delicate hands, you let the nightgown slip away, falling beneath your feet as the cold air caressed your naked form. This body. All of it belonged to him. “My lord.” You kept your eyes on him. And he, on your shapely bosom. “Please do with me as thou wish.”

Satoru’s eyes darkened as he stared at you, his voice taking a commanding tone to match his expression. “Turn around.”

You did as ordered. As obediently, as submissively. Like a servant serving her master. Yet, beneath this guise of obedience lay a deeper yearning—to vie for his love once more, and to affirm, if only for one last time, that his words this morn were but a fleeting outburst of heightened emotions.

“Thou art fair, indeed,” whispered he. ‘Tis a shame that you fall short in one aspect.

He walked behind you, enfolding you in his muscular arm, ensnaring you in his robust grasp as his fingers traced a path down your back. You could feel the contours of his toned abs pressed against your back, while he explored the dips and curves of your body with his touch, squeezing the soft mounds on your chest. He then leaned his forehead against your neck, trailing tender kisses along your spine. 

The passionate night continued with the both of you taking turns in granting each other pleasure. The kisses around your neck, his tongue in between your folds, your hand wrapped around his well-endowed member. And before you know it, he was entering you from behind, penetrating the depths of your cavern in pursuit of reaching his high. His grasp on your hips tightened with each thrust, rendering your knees weak as you remained on all fours.

Your intimate session lasted for a while, as he was not satisfied enough at having only one release for the night. He jostled you from the back, to the side, and to the front. All of which left you with the warmth of his seed seeping out of your entrance, and subsequently down your thighs. 

If only he did not let his mind speak, you could have deluded yourself that this night was his declaration of utmost love for you. 

“I shall leave thee if an heir dost not soon grant me, do we share this understanding?” Satoru did not sleep as he looked at you, his thoughts running rampant as he questioned whether or not he was being too cruel. His heart skipped a beat as he saw a second of your tears, tears that you so rightfully held back, and he was at a loss of words for once. He knew that he needed to stay firm on his decision, but seeing you on the verge of breaking down... it struck guilt in him. Satoru’s face softened, his tone becoming more calm and less forceful. Subconsciously did he do his best to comfort you. “It disheartens me that it hath come to this. Though I speak it to thee, I have duties to fulfill as emperor.” 

You could not answer immediately and tried to bear the sting it brought to your heart. “How now, didst so suddenly thou find it easy to cast me aside? Wherefore, is it another lady on thy mind?”

“That’s not so.” His guilt was knocking at the door, but he tried to pay it no mind. “This empire requires an heir and thou have failed me.”

“Blame the lack of children on thyself, perchance.” You bit back as your chest rose and fell from heavy breaths. “So infrequently did mine own husband warm my bed as though I am unwed. Blame it, then, on the distance thou have set upon us! A child cannot be born if not be made.”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed at your words. “And dost thou suggest we consummate every minute and every second of the day?” A scoff left his lips. “Eight years, I have given thee.” 

“And yet, for eight years, thou hast not learn’d to love me.”

Your gaze remained fixed, each word hanging heavily in the air, as the weight of your shared history and unresolved emotions loomed between the two of you. It was as though the very atmosphere crackled with tension, the silence pregnant with unspoken truths and unfulfilled desires. What was his true and most honest intent in forsaking you? 

Satoru sat by the edge, ultimately deciding to leave you with yet another night devoid of slumber, lone upon your chamber. “Love? That very love is what killed my sister.” 

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈

A fair distance from the Gate of Saint Pellegrino, a homeless woman cradled a baby in her arms. Her other children darted about Saint Peter’s Square while she sang a hauntingly familiar lullaby to her infant—a melody too melancholic for a child, yet so fitting for the occasion. You recognized it as the song created by the Caelan citizens after the war ended. Her dulcet voice would rival the angels of the sky, and amidst the throng of people attempting to breach the ranks of the knights surrounding the Emperor and Empress, she stayed firm in her spot, her haunting hymn weaving through the atmosphere, while her storm-grey eyes bore into you with an eerie intensity to captivate you in a trance. 

A rose will bloom, it then will fade

So does a youth, so does a fairest maid

Beneath the stars, they found their place,

In secret trysts, love's tender grace.

But lo, the fates their love did fray,

In bitter strife, they slipped away.

So hush, dear ones, and hear this lay,

Of love that wilted, night and day.

In whispered sighs, they bid goodbye,

Two souls in love, 'neath starry sky.

A decade had passed since the most scandalous demise of the Astheryn prince and the Caelum princess had occurred, where both lovers were discovered lifeless within the somber halls of the Sistine Chapel. Contrary to the common folk's belief, they were not wed, nor did they meet their tragic end at Saint Peter’s, forsooth, as their bodies were in fact found at the nearby Sistine Chapel, and their mortuary later held at Saint Peter’s basilica. The Catholic church acknowledged this romantic tragedy as a conclusion to the long-standing feud betwixt two noble empires, henceforth commemorating the young couple's demise each passing year with a holy mass.

This year rendered particular significance as it marked the solemn tenth anniversary of their untimely departure. Mayhap, it may be the reason why your husband had been on edge as of late. Every year, his sister’s demise served as a brutal reminiscence for him—a grim reminder of his perished sister and the origin of his tyrannical reign. He bore witness to his parents' handling of the conflict with Astheryn ten years ago, whereupon they callously demanded the common folk spill their blood in service to the imperial dynasty, igniting civil unrest in its wake. Such ruthless and cowardly deeds left an indelible mark upon him and brought him to the ultimatum of becoming a usurper. You vividly recalled the night he sought solace at your family's estate, clad in battered armor from countless battles waged. That eventide, he wept in your arms, confessing the death of his sister and his burning desire to exact vengeance upon those responsible for his loss. In exchange for marriage, you devised a scheme to orchestrate the coup that would once and for all elevate him to the imperial throne.

Despite the facade of peace ushered in by the treaty between him and the Astheryn Emperor, the truth remained stark: both empires were merely feigning reconciliation. They were only nominally “at peace”. A cold war, by all accounts, defined their true relationship.

The tension could be felt inside the basilica even from the moment you and your husband arrived at The Venera, a microstate on the borders of Astheryn and Caelum, in front of the men of both empires, as well as the members of the Holy Catholic Church. For many years, this sacred state remained a recognized territory of Caelum, despite its official designation as an independent ecclesiastical entity. The Gojou family were openly pious and deeply devout Catholics, while the Astherean citizens were predominantly Protestants. Not all members of the Zen’in clan practiced their empire’s predominant religion, and some suggested that Emperor Toji himself might be an atheist, albeit discreetly so. Rumors also circulated that the mother of the late Prince Megumi was herself a Catholic, which led to intense criticism regarding her marriage to a lineal heir of the imperial family. 

Nevertheless, this stark religious divide lay at the heart of the perennial animosity between the two nations. 

“Announcing Their Imperial Majesties, Emperor Satoru and Empress Y/N, the guiding stars of our empire, luminaries in the twilight of sovereignty.”

As you walked alongside Satoru, you noticed his usual bright blue eyes turning into a darker hue. His gaze fixated upon the altar, his countenance void of emotion, as you proceeded down the aisle by his side. Since that night, silence had permeated your interactions. And you still had no desire to engage him, especially if it meant enduring relentless pressure regarding an heir or the prospect of divorce. 

Yet there, you carried yourself with an air of quiet strength and dignity—a gown of the deepest black with long sleeves ending in delicate cuffs, a silver cross hung by your chest with a gemstone made from blood red corundum, and a flowing black veil crafted from the finest lace, enveloping your head and cascading gently down your back, partially obscuring your features. The veil added an air of mystery and solemnity in your poise. 

As for him, the Emperor was adorned in a doublet and hose ensemble, embellished with intricate brocade and tailored to fit his form exquisitely to accentuate his stature and regal bearing. Draped over his shoulders was a lavish cape of rich, dark velvet lined with ermine fur and fastened at the neck with a jeweled clasp bearing the insignia of his empire. Each fold billowed around him as he moved, creating a striking silhouette that commanded attention and respect.

No wonder the citizens of this empire were noticing your extravagance. And despised you for it. 

Throughout the mass, Satoru remained stoic, seated alongside you at the forefront of the church, his demeanor suggesting that this day of remembrance was a torment to his very soul. Still, he listened, but you doubted he agreed while Pope Alexandre VI delivered a sermon on the importance of unity and peace among nations, condemning the advocates of warfare and citing the tragic fate of the late prince and princess as a poignant illustration of how the animosity between two empires exacts a toll through sacrifice. Prayers were also offered for the souls of the civilians and soldiers who perished during the war, drawing inspiration from the teachings of the Bible as the mass adhered to the customary order of the Liturgy of the Word and of the Eucharist.

“In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti,” you recited under your breath, genuflecting before the altar and offering prayers for the soul of your husband's younger sister, beseeching that she find peace alongside her beloved under the guidance of the Holy Father. And as the mass drew to a close, you remained on your knees in prayer, the sound of approaching footsteps signaling the unwelcome arrival of an unexpected visitor—a presence that elicited a defensive reaction from your husband.

“Your Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of Caelum.” It was none other than Duke Naoya of Astheryn, whose sarcastic presence seemed to have acted as a representative of their highest ruler. Emperor Toji's absence to this occasion already constituted an affront to Satoru, and the pompous mien exhibited by the duke only intensified the indignation. A decade had passed since the death of Prince Megumi, and the prideful Astheryn Emperor still refrained from setting foot on Caelum's soil to acknowledge the purported 'peace' between the empires. Even more, the subtle curve on Duke Naoya's lips added an infantile insult to the already festering wound. “Kindly accept my belated salutations. It took me but a moment to discern thy identity—they speak of the Calean Emperor’s presence as formidable, yet, alas, reality oft falls short of reputation.”

You rose from the ground, poised to defend Satoru, but he raised a hand to forestall your intervention, maintaining his unruffled composure as he addressed the noble man’s jest. “Ah, well the Duke's wit is sharp as ever,” Satoru replied, his tone laced with equal sarcasm and earning the laugh of the surrounding nobles. “It doth seem that overseeing a mere duchy grants the Duke his ample free time, unlike the responsibilities that accompany the rulership of an empire that he so covets.”

“Oh, certainly!” Duke Naoya spoke in Calean with a heavy Astherean accent, still unfazed as his eyes slowly drifted to you. “They doth pale in comparison to the burdens of ruling an empire. Yet, surely, it is not as burdensome with the absence of an heir.” He let his implication hang in the air, an obvious insinuation veiled in the guise of courtly banter.

Before the exchange could escalate into a diplomatic strain, Friar Mychal took it upon himself to intervene, exhaling a laugh of unease and positioning himself between the Emperor and the Duke. “Very well!” he exclaimed. “I have received tidings that the mass attendees shall offer tributes for the basilica in remembrance to the tenth year since the passing of the Prince and the Princess. As a matter of fact, there doth already lie a plethora of flowers adorning their statue that His Majesty Satoru hath offer’d to the museum.”

The museum was just a short walk from the chapel and the space itself was decorated with ornate ceilings, frescoes, and architectural details that added to the grandeur of the surroundings. An array of sculptures lined the hall; of cherubs, saints, warriors, and mythological figures. One of the newer sculptures were of the Prince and the Princess, portraying young lovers in a tender embrace with the princely lad staring at his lady’s face. The sculpture was from a renowned Calean artist which Satoru himself hired out of the pure intention of donating it to the Veneran Museum. The nobles, members of the imperial court, and members of the church were all in awe after the sculpture was revealed to the attendees as such meticulous carvings and lifelike detail could only be done by Giancarlo di Firenze. 

“A remarkable piece, indeed!”

“The detail is breathtaking!”

“To capture such emotion in stone… ‘tis as if they are whispering their love story to us.”

Your husband could not have been prouder. Alongside him, other nobles also contributed their offerings. Some notable ones included stained glass art, precious jewels, a pair of lovebirds, and… a particularly intriguing tapestry gifted by the Astheryn Empire.

The tapestry depicts the Astherean prince and the Calean princess lying together in death with the symbolic addition of a bloodied dagger laid atop the princess’ chest, representing the same weapon that Prince Megumi had used to end his life. The imagery not only insinuated that Satoru's sister was responsible for the prince's demise, but also served as an insult to the prevailing belief in her innocence surrounding her own tragic death.

“This…” Your mouth fell agape. You need not look into your husband’s visage to perceive his growing ire. “This is preposterous!” 

The joy was evident in Duke Naoya’s eyes, yet he endeavored to feign ignorance. “Ah, ere I forget, my noble cousin, the Emperor of the Astheryn Empire, did send an accompanying message addressed to His Majesty Satoru.” 

In the threads of time, woven with the fabric of our shared tragedy, lies the essence of our 'peace'. As we gather to honor the memory of what once was, I send forth this tapestry, whereupon love and folly intertwine in an eternal dance. May it serve as a testament to the fragility of alliances forged in blood and ink, where shadows of deceit cloak the truth we dare not confront. Whilst thou sit'st upon thy borrowed throne, may thou find solace in the echoes of thy usurped legacy. 

With insincere regards, 

Emperor Toji II of Astheryn

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

ACT IV

“My liege, this is unacceptable! Astheryn doth taunt us.” 

An urgent assembly convened at the council chamber, where courtiers gathered to seek counsel from the emperor who was now seated in a position of humiliation following Astheryn's brazen act of insult. You joined the court session in support of your husband, positioned at the throne beside him, while numerous men, each to their own titles and lordship, stood before you both. The courtiers' visages displayed incandescent umbrage as they protested and vehemently rejected the malignance from the rival empire in defense to the Emperor of Caelum. Yet the subject of the scrutiny himself remained staid and dignified. 

“We cannot stand idle in the face of such an insult. If it be war they seek, then we shall grant it unto them!” exclaimed one of the members of the imperial court. A proponent of war he presented himself.  

“Indeed, Your Majesty. To allow such an audacious act of disrespect wilt deem us cowards!” said another one of the men. 

Satoru rested his arm on the armrest, a hand on his chin. He appeared to be lost in profound contemplation, yet you have grown long familiar with that expression of his to know that he was fueled with choler inside. “What say thee, Etienne? War is not a decision made lightly.”

Lord Etienne, as his name was called, spoke his opinion on the matter at hand and acted as an advocate for caution. “Aye and by, my lord. A rash decision could plunge our empire into chaos and suffering. Mayhap, we can explore diplomatic channels first. War should be our last resort, our first impulse not.”

“Your Imperial Majesty!” Lord Armand countered. “With all due respect, thy name hath been besmirched! This is blasphemous, is it not, to this empire and us, its men?” 

“Our men are not prepared for war, Lord Armand,” the previous noble claimed. “An’ how can we wage war with our forces against those of Astheryn’s? Their military prowess is the mightiest throughout the central continent. They are barbaric folks, enemies to peace. We are naught but simple foes to them.”

The belittling of Caelum’s military strength ignited your ire since that the training of soldiers, weapon crafting, and the establishment of the formidable imperial order of knights were specialties of your family—a legacy that your noble ancestors had established in this empire. It was why your family’s ties to the imperial Gojou family remained strong throughout the years. Therefore, hearing such remarks was derogatory to you.  

You held your position and participated in the discussion. “Lord Etienne, dost thou speak so ill of Caelum, which is thy country, and speak so well of Astheryn, which is thy enemy?” For a moment, the court was silenced. “God quit you in his mercy! Hear his sentence. Is Caelum a jest unto thee? We have established our military might since His Majesty’s ascent, and are potent enough to wage war against the entire world!”

“But Your Majesty—”

“Silence, all of thee!” Satoru rose from his throne, exhaling in exasperation, and shot you a displeased look. His next words were sharp and his anger misdirected. “Empress, I appreciate thy indignation, but this proves women shan’t meddle in court sessions. Emotions depart from thy mouth ere logic enters thy mind. Thou art dismissed from this session. At once.” 

You could not fathom his sentences. For the longest time, never before had he dared to disrespect you in the presence of his subjects. Never had he dared to deny you of your rightful place as the empress of this nation, knowing full well the pivotal role you played in his ascension to the throne. Why, you could not speak! You were rendered speechless, too stunned to respond as you sank back into your seat, grappling with the sting of hurt and humiliation he had inflicted on you.

And somehow, Lord Maximillian’s eyes were uncharacteristically fixed on you as though they were in triumph at your situation. He did well enough to mask that with indifference withal. What was this hostility? Even the knights who approached you only had regard for the emperor, following his command of escorting you out of the council chamber despite your desire to stay seated. Yet to save face from this abomination, you did it upon yourself to stand up and leave at your own will. 

“Nanami.” In your disappearance, Satoru spoke again, this time facing his subjects. “How dost thou propose we navigate this situation?”

Lord Nanami was more of the voice of reason, expressing his approach on the matter with neither bias towards engaging in or retreating from war. “My liege, I speak as a good man for thee. Let us convene with our allies, assess our military readiness, and explore all avenues for resolution. Only then shall we make an informed decision. It is most meet we arm ‘gainst the foe.”

Satoru already knew the answer before the man had spoken of it. Why so? Because it was the same route he would take. Only, it was his wounded pride and disdain towards his greatest adversary that landed him to a much more inhospitable decision. “Along with that blasphemous tapestry, written in his message, did that Emperor of Astheryn disparagingly refer to me as a usurper when I am the true born heir to the throne.” He ground out the words with clenched teeth as he stared at the portrait of his father. His hands balled into fists, his face hot and pinched with resentment. He detested being called a ‘usurper’ as he detested Astheryn and all of the Zen’ins. Regardless of the path he took to claim his throne, he was still a direct lineal heir to the Gojou bloodline. “I cannot let that pass. I cannot let his insult go unanswered. Hence, take down these words and address them to him, who is mine enemy.” Satoru stared straight ahead, his face blank and emotionless as he spoke his next words in flawless Astherean language. “Emperor of Astheryn, your words are as venomous as they are misguided. While thou dost revel in thy petty insults and thinly veiled threats, know this: the patience of Caelum wears thin. Thy tapestry of deceit and blasphemy shall find no place within the halls of our empire. Let it be known that the path thou treadest leads only to ruin and despair. Should thou persist in thy folly, Caelum shall meet thy challenge with unwavering resolve. Consider this thy final warning. The drums of war beat ever louder, and Caelum will not hesitate to answer the call, for this usurper thou deride may stay true to that label when I seize thy throne and make it mine.” 

Following the court session, the emperor retreated to the training hall until late evening venting his wrath against the despot from the rival empire. He devoted hours in the hall, wielding his sword, sparring with the swordsmanship master, and decisively overpowering him to feel a sense of honor for himself. In his mind, each strike was a fierce expression of his imagination, envisioning what that battle would be like if it were Emperor Toji II in his stead. It would have been their second encounter in the battlefield as the first one ended in armistice for the sake of the prince and princess. This time, however, the execution of this battle would be markedly different. 

Later that eve, he returned to his study, still in his armor as he met with his most loyal advisor. It was a private counsel to discuss matters unbeknownst to the rest of the empire—the prophecy and, notably, you. 

“I fear this as I say this: the prophecy is upon thee, my lord.” Lord Maximillian’s voice hinted at unease. His warning, spoken with a mood of paranoia. “The oracle’s riddles are living their truth, and this predicament with Astheryn is a vivid illustration of that fact. War looms on the horizon, and it threatens to be thy undoing. Now, more than ever, we require the backing of another nation in the likes of Ellesmere.” 

“I see that.” Satoru responded with a heavy exhale, tossing his metal helmet onto the carpeted floor. He made his way toward the expansive window and gazed out at the courtyard below. There, he spotted you, meandering the rose garden alone under the cover of night. You were brighter than the envious moon, coruscating like a fresh tulip amongst the field of wilted roses. 

The lord cleared his throat and stood next to the emperor. “Thou must rid of her, Your Majesty. If it is what the prophecy hath taught us, then the Empress serves as a harbinger of thy downfall. The destruction of Caelum is the comeuppance of retaining her. Abandon all hope that she will bring thee child or luck. I do acknowledge the attachment that Your Majesty hath formed with her in thy lusty years together, but she is ill fate to all of us.”

You stopped at the fountain, seemingly lost in deep thought, and then began an expressive argument with yourself in your solemnity. The sight earned his smile. Satoru could not keep his eyes off you as if they were drawn by your beauty under the luminescence of the moon. How pitiful, truly, that your innocence left you no knowledge of the conversation he was having with his advisor. 

“She shall be appointed as a concubine,” he declared, “Ridding of her is a waste; divorcing her offers a suitable solution. She may not have my heir, but she is a strong empress. A true villainess, yes. That, she may be, but she is devoted to me.” 

“Which is precisely why thou must dispose of her!" Lord Maximillian pressed onto the matter with greater seriousness. “My liege, it is anticipated that thou wilt yearn for Empress Y/N’s loyalty even at the success of your marriage with the Princess of Ellesmere. An’ her ferocious devotion could only hinder thy plans and bring about thy downfall. Who's to say she will withstand the temptation from inflicting harm upon the fair Princess Katarina out of jealousy? This, as thou knowest, could turn Ellesmere against us!” His passionate speech then silenced him into a quiet plea. “Pray, Your Majesty, I implore thee to ponder it deeply. For the sake of this empire.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕

In the evening, at the hour of eleven did you find yourself wandering the garden. It had become more and more difficult to live each day, unable to grasp why your spouse had been hostile against you for reasons you could not justify. If it were matters concerning your apparent infertility, then he could easily get a concubine just as you had already permitted. All of Caelum's nobility were well aware of your possessiveness towards him, yet it was you who proposed the idea of a concubine to him. Why, then, does he still entertain the idea of remarriage? Is it to guarantee that his heir will not be deemed a bastard? He possessed the authority to prevent such a label from being attached to the child.

“O, cruel fate!” You stopped in front of the fountain, staring at your reflection on the glistening water. “A dispassionate husband you have given me! Am I not fair? Hath I lost charm and warm youthful blood? Hath Cupid launched his awful arrow onto some other where? O, for that he is mad!” 

Tears welled up your eyes, blurring your vision as you looked into the mirrored reflection. You thought of Satoru’s hateful gaze when you closed your eyes and could feel the painful knots in your stomach. He had been naught but a distant spouse for eight years in your marital union, alas and alack, any improvements were farfetched. Every attempt at progress only fueled into a relationship filled with disagreements. 

Your monologue resumed. “There could be another woman, could it? A maid, perchance? One that crawls his bed at night whilst I am sound in my slumber. Fie, insolent wench! Or must it be a noble lady he had seen at a ball, a coming-of-age ceremony, or anything of the sort? Vile, dishonorable harlot! I shall strip off thy noble status and exile thee hence from Caelum!”

A sigh ended your ranting, leaving you with more tears to shed as you fondly remembered your youthful days of infatuation with him. He was the man you had dreamed of, yet now all he would do was to quarrel, and quarrel, and quarrel. You had become an enemy in his eyes. He may have drowned you with extravagant gifts and the rarest jewels throughout your marriage, but the one you most coveted—his love—was one he could not give. 

“My lady?” 

You turned around at the sound of the gentleman’s voice, whereupon a knight presented himself to you. No, not merely any other knight, but the Knight Commander of the Imperial Order of Knights. Sir Suguru, Caelum’s most prized possession, a power and battle-fit warrior, who could defeat a hundred armed men by himself alone. A hero he was referred to by this empire’s people. His commitment to chivalry and service did not go unnoticed as your husband, the very emperor he served, had more than once awarded him for fostering high morale and esprit de corps among other knights. 

“What brings thee hither, and wherefore?” you asked, watching him curtsy before you as he did the standard imperial greetings. His silver suit of armor gleamed, reflecting the stars in the sky, while the black cloak enveloping him mirrored the void of the night. Truly, an intimidating presence for those that knew none of him. 

Howbeit, his face was a stark difference from the aura he exuded. His eyes curved into crescent moons as he smiled, offering what appeared to be a handkerchief. “I am about my nightly rounds in the palace, and in hearing Your Majesty’s woe did I come forth. Is everything alright, Empress?” 

You sighed in lamentation and accepted the linen cloth from his hand. “To say ‘alright’ how I wish that would be so. The state of my marriage troubles me, yet hear none of it for these matters art private.”

Suguru acquiesced to your words and nodded in respect toward you, still remaining by your side in silence. Like a personal guard stationed to protect you as it seemed he had no intention of leaving you alone in the courtyard. 

“How, now! Dost thou not care to leave a woman in her peace?” you questioned, displaying a moue on your face. The tears have long been dried from your cheeks as you spoke to him. “I crave not to be perceived!” 

It was already a rare sight to cross the Knight Commander’s path around the palace, given that his duties did not include serving as a personal guard to the emperor. He was typically present only during official or diplomatic gatherings, and rather trained and oversaw the elite group of guards that would protect the emperor and empress. Nevertheless, with what little interactions you had with him, Suguru had always conducted himself as a respectful and dutiful subject towards you. 

“Forgive me. It is quite perilous to be alone outside at night, Your Majesty, as thy vulnerability may pose a risk to thy safety.” He moved to unclasp his mantle, draping the large black cloak around your shoulders, a much smaller figure than himself. “And if thou permit, the night is cold and a lady must stay warm.”

There was a strange flutter in your heart as your wide eyes saw the gentility in his intentions. You could no longer question why dozens of noble women would line up to vie for his attention. His actions spoke better than his words ever could. How far, you wondered, would his kindness to you take him? “Art thou not a bound subject to my husband?” 

“Forsooth, I am.” He stared ahead. “I have been his friend since our youth. However, it is with Your Majesty’s kin that I owe the honor of being a knight. It is with thy father’s support that I consider myself alive, standing here in this palace as the leader of all knights.” 

Not once did you move your eyes away as you studied his sincerity. “Then, if I ask thee to commit treason against the Emperor of Caelum,” you spoke with such regal power, “Shall I assume thy commitment to me?” 

For a while, Suguru did not speak. He appeared to be contemplating his answer as his stance had become defensive. Or hesitant, whichever fit. He did not meet your careful eyes, though he did look down and confess a knowledge that greatly devastated you. “The prophecy is what dictates His Majesty’s disposition toward thee. In the dungeon hides an oracle that he fortnightly seeks. I escorted him when he visited the oracle, who foretold him that he requires the birth of an heir in the near future, else a woman of no monarchical descent shalt be the cause of his downfall. To mine understanding, he read her riddles as having the need to execute thee and wed another woman of true royal lineage. That, that truth bears my commitment to thee, Empress.” 

Upon hearing Suguru's words did your heart sink, and a wave of disbelief washed over you. It felt as though the ground had been pulled from beneath your feet, leaving you suspended in a state of shock, desperately trying to grasp the magnitude of what had just been revealed to you. 

“Faugh! By’r Lady, that is a grave accusation!” Anger simmered beneath the surface of your composed exterior. You were livid at Suguru for being the bearer of such devastating news, for being the messenger of your potential downfall, and felt betrayed by your own husband, the Emperor, for keeping such a crucial prophecy hidden from you. You wondered why he had never shared this information with you, why he allowed you to live in ignorance while he made plans for your potential demise. But one thing for certain, was that this was the reason for his growing detachment toward you. 

The knight could only provide you with a comforting bow. “By the grace of God, these words art true. Lord Maximilian conspires with him. Hie to the dungeons and seek the oracle, my lady. She shall impart the truth unto thee.”

Beneath your anger lay a profound sadness, a heartache that cuts to the core of your being. The realization that your own husband, the man you loved and had pledged your life to, saw you as nothing more than a pawn in a game of power and succession. You felt a sense of profound loss, mourning not only the potential loss of your own life but also the loss of trust, of love, of the future you had envisioned.

Despite the tumult of emotions raging within you, you remained outwardly composed, your mask of regal poise firmly in place. You knew you must tread carefully, that showing weakness now would only play into the hands of those who seek your downfall. 

And yet, the devil showed himself. You had been oblivious to your husband’s presence by the window of his study as he stood a great distance from you, watching you engage in an intimate conversation with his Knight Commander down below. He could not gauge where that sudden familiarity came from as he witnessed Suguru draping his cape around you—an action that crossed a territory he should not have sought. The emperor could no longer tolerate watching it, walking in haste along the halls of the palace until he eventually reached the courtyard. His gaze was burning into the back of Suguru’s head as he stopped behind you, waiting for you to notice your husband’s approach before he spoke. 

“Empress.” His deep voice startled you. 

Your eyes were clouded with resentment, hidden under the veil of a devoted wife. “My liege.” 

Satoru stared at Suguru with a fierce look before turning to you. “It is dangerous to be abroad at this hour. I desire naught untoward to befall thee, hence I came hither to ensure thy safety.”

“I apologize, then, for causing thy worry.” A bitter smile painted your lips and the tone of your voice suggested of feigned concern. “As thou seest, I have a knight here who is trained to guard and protect me.” 

The emperor narrowed his eyes at the aforementioned knight, who elected silence out of deference to the reigning monarchs afore him. This very knight was a childhood friend of his, but now Satoru regarded him as a rival, for all the peculiar reasons. “Go and depart now, Suguru,” he commanded, and yanked the cape from the empress’ body, then flung it toward the knight. “I shall escort my wife back.”

Satoru caught you sending an apologetic look toward the Knight Commander, which in return caused his ire to grow. What was the conversation you shared with him for you to act that way? In fact, he had never seen you pay another man that much attention. What a devious, little wench. A foxy, scheming jezebel. Satoru threw insults at you in his head as he took your arm in a tight grip, pulling you away from the courtyard. The silence between the two of you was thick with unspoken tension as he led you up the spiral staircase on the eastern side of the castle. His side of the castle. 

“Darling.” Your endearment came out as a protest as you tried to pull your arm from his grip. “Unhand me.” 

Still and all, he was silent as he dragged you along. It was only a short distance to his quarters, but he did not let go of you even once. You should see in his eyes that he was not amused by the friendly interaction between you and Suguru. 

“I said release my hand, at this very instant!” 

He remained like a taciturn man while ushering you into his quarters. Once he had locked the door behind him, he released his grip on your wrist and turned to confront you. His eyes grew dark and cold. A shade of blue that reminded you of lightning. “I would prefer it if he did not approach thee when I am not present.”

“Ah, see now he speaks!” Scoffing, you glared at him. “He simply tender’d his best to comfort me. Do not suspect it of aught else,” said you defensively, in a voice backed by your authority. Only now did he realize that the expression on your face had become austere. 

“Even if that were true, I have no need for another man—especially a knight—to comfort my wife.”

“A wife? A wife thou ask’d for divorce?” you mocked as his statement erupted a laughter out of you. A loud, boisterous laughter that screamed an insult to his face. “Thou see me as nothing but a bearer of children. Not a wife nor a person thou treasure with thy heart.” As you ridiculed him with humor on your face, your eyes had also grown deranged. “A mere pawn to thy chessboard is what I am.” 

Satoru was rigid in his stance. “I only offer’d to divorce thee if thou were unable to conceive. It is my duty as emperor to sire an heir. If the empress fails to fulfill that duty, I am compelled to find someone else who will—”

“An heir this, an heir that. Out upon it!” You expressed your frustration outwardly, throwing your hands into the air. “Go get thyself a concubine, then, and I shall get myself a lover to even the score.” 

A lover? Satoru was seething, yet his expression remained unchanged. He knew that you were taunting him, and still chose not to give you the reaction you wanted. “Then, I may be certain thou wilt have greater success at producing heirs with thy lover than thou dost with me.” 

“Certainly!” you bit back, anger rising in each syllable. “In place of my husband, mayhap my lover could beget me a child, proving to the entire empire that it is not I who is barren.”

Satoru's eyebrows shot up in response to the blatant insult to his fertility. His cold eyes narrowed, the rage within him intensifying. “If thou hast a child by thy lover, it will not discredit my fertility at all. It will instead bring into question my choice to have a child with a woman who is unable to be faithful to her husband.”

Your chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. “If thou seek thyself a concubine, then I shall seek mine own lover. That or naught at all.”

“Fie! I seek not a concubine,” he raised his voice, a spasm of irritation crossing his face. “Ill-tempered shrew! Many times have said it, and I say it once more. In thy failure to conceive, my will is to remarry another lady and make her the empress, not a concubine! The heir must be legitimate. Stick that to thine empty head!” 

Satoru could feel the heat of your stare burning into him, but his mind had suddenly wandered back to the previous conversation, and he could not help but wonder whether you would actually have an affair with another man. The thought of it infuriated him, but he pushed it out of his mind as you stared at him in blazing fury. 

“Need I remind thee that it is I who aided Your Majesty in ascending to the throne?” A cloud of warning settled over your features. “It is I who aided thee in staging a coup to overthrow thy tyrant parents. If the princess did not perish, would thou not be a madman. Now tell me, the only payment I require in return is thy love, yet hast thou paid thy dues?”

He scoffed at your words. You believe all you did in leading the rebellion was for the purpose of making him emperor? It was in your best interests to see yourself climb the ranks of an imperial power. And it was certainly not love you sought, but mere attention and validation. “My respect should be enough of a reward for thee. I took thee as my wife as a sign of my gratitude. Love was never a part of the deal.”

“Love is the very essence of that deal,” countered you. “Thou would be foolish not to think so.” 

In his eyes, love and affection were something you should receive only when you deserve it, not when you demand it. In his mind, you had grown too familiar with him, too spoiled by his presence. It was time he corrected this. “Thou art mistaken in thinking that love is a condition of our relationship. Never have I made any promises of love or affection. I only promised thee of attention and the prestige of being an empress. Have I not fulfilled this promise and made thee into an empress in its entirety? Love is a mere illusion conjured in thy imagination.”

“A tyrant, he reveals himself!” You pushed him off you, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? Miserable villain! Usurping knave! Betrayer of blood, who masquerades himself an emperor under a false sovereign! I placed thee on that throne thou so wistfully enjoy. Thy power and authority have no hold on me.” 

The emperor's jaw clenched tightly as the empress's words cut through the air like a dagger. His pride was wounded by the venom of her words—words she had not carefully chosen, or perhaps did carefully choose, as she knew what words he despised hearing the most. His eyes flashed with jaundice as he fought to contain the roiling emotions churning within him. He wanted to lash out, to defend his honor and assert his authority, but he knew that such displays of weakness would only fuel the flames of dissent and discord.

Instead, he yanked your wrist again. “Forget not thy place, wife.” And then he grabbed your face with a rough hand, slamming you against the wall. “I may have promised not to take myself a concubine, but that privilege is not extended to thy behavior.” The tightness of his grip caused your cheeks to ache slightly, and he showed no signs of letting go.

“And what wilt thou do?” you spoke through gritted teeth. 

“What will I do? I will remind thee of thy position, wife,” he continued to speak in a menacing tone, “Test my patience as much as thou liketh. Go ahead and take a lover. Let us see how thy arrogance holds up when I force thee to bear his bastard child.”

You cussed him under your breath. “Is that jealousy?”

Yet, his countenance proved otherwise. “Not jealousy, as I am not possessive of thee. Bear whomever's child as thou wish. But once that child is born, I would never claim my title as the father. It would be deemed a bastard, its blood impure, and its existence an insult to my throne.”

“Press not the matters of infidelity to me when thou art the one in desperate need to put thy cock inside another lady.” You were bold enough to send him a look of disgust. “Thou art an emperor all due to me. Without me, thou art naught.”

In a fit of rage, Satoru exploded like a volcano spilling out its reservoir of hot, scorching lava. “You?! You think yourself the savior of this empire? Not by far!” There was a brief pause before he continued, eyes looking at you in unforgiving judgment. “I would have succeeded in leading the coup, even without thee.”

A snort escaped your lips. “Delude thyself that.”

“There are no guards nearby. No witnesses for thee.” The warning he had issued was laden with the implication of impending punishment, fueled by your defiance and vitriol, driving him to a boiling point. He seized your wrist once more, his grip tighter than before, as he leaned in close and spoke into your ear. “I could hurt thee right here and now if I wanted to, yet thou art at my mercy.”

“I need none of thy mercy,” you spat, taken aback as he pushed you against the wall. You could feel his breath fanning your neck as he leaned closer, inches before your face. 

Satoru's laughter rang out as you persisted in your resistance, his eyes narrowing with a mix of intrigue and anger. Your defiance only served to stoke the flames of his wrath as he began to speak, “Darling,” and made a mocking of your endearment, “Mayhap I shall ravish thee until thou art insensible.”

“Vainglorious dastard,” you spitefully replied.

He spoke no words for several moments, his breathing gradually intensifying as he gazed down at you like a toy he wanted to destroy. And for a fleeting moment, it seemed as though he was weighing whether to persist or not, but eventually, he made his choice, his voice adopting a more ominous tone with each word. “Thou wilt be ravaged.”

“S-Satoru!”

He pushed you towards his bed, and himself against you, pressing his body heavily atop yours. His breath became uneven with his anger overtaking his mind. Your whimper of fear filled him with sadistic satisfaction. “Yes, me, as thou said. No one else is here with us, and no one would bat an eye if they heard a scream.”

Your decision to pull his hair proved to be a significant mistake, though it was evident from your expression that you derived pleasure from it. You longed for it. You desired this wanton affection. This carnal desire. Lust bathed in your eyes as you observed him hastily tear his clothing, eager to feel the velvety touch of your skin against his. He wasted no time in undressing you as well, ripping away whatever obstructed your bareness, leaving you both exposed under the moonlight, indulging in the passions shared between lovers.

“I despise thee,” you declared, a hot moaning mess under him as he rammed his hardened shaft in between your legs where he himself was grunting at the pleasure of your tight entrance. In and out he went, and buried his face on your neck to leave purple marks all over your skin. “I-I despise thee!”

“I share those sentiments,” he jested, squeezing your breast in labored breaths before he sucked the rounded mass in his mouth. 

By the end of your long passionate exchange, he lay next to you, body soaked in sweat as he watched your sleeping face. The peace in those saintly features. Did you pass out? He could not be certain. Was he too rough? That, he was certain. It showed on the bruises that mapped parts of your body. He could feel a small tinge of guilt within him as he moved to pull the blanket over you, pressing a soft kiss on your lips. 

“Is this not love?” He opened his eyes when heard you laughing softly, eyes still shut but with a bitter smile spreading on your face. In a cold tone of voice, you whispered, “Thy love is tough, yet love natheless.” 

He knew it was not love, yet even if it was, you would soon be taken care of anyway. You would be exiled or worse, executed, should you fail to heed his warnings. He had to put his ambitions first and foremost before any form of affection he had of you. And if you truly, unconditionally loved him, you would understand why. 

That, that was how he defined love to be. 

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕𝐈

The castle’s dungeon was an… unsightly place. Aside from the centuries of brutal torture and grotesque deaths that occurred down under, it also housed the memory of Satoru shedding his hands on his kinsmen’s blood. That was the place where he had slain his father, his rotting head still mounted on the wall as though he was an animal that his son had hunted. A tyrant, undoubtedly. Satoru's penchant for brutality knew no bounds, but he certainly got it from his father. While you were responsible for the death of a little over a hundred people, his would account for more than thrice that number. 

As you descended further into the depths of the dungeon, the air grew heavy with the miasma of damp stone, blood, and decay. A putrid, sickening odor greeted your nose the more you entered. If not for the torches that flickered dimly along the walls, you would not be able to see at all, yet those torches casted eerie shadows that danced and swayed with each step you took. It was a frightening sight and definitely not for the faint hearted. 

“Help!” Your senses were assailed by the sights and sounds of the dungeon's grim inhabitants as you ventured deeper into the labyrinthine corridors. Gaunt specters lurked in the shadows, their hollow eyes gleaming with a sinister light as they whispered chilling secrets to one another in sotto voce. Some also cried of agony and despair, some had already fallen unhinged from being held in captivity for so long—it became a cacophony of anguished cries and tortured souls. “Help me, Empress! I plead mine innocence!”

“Step back, Your Majesty.” Suguru, who acted as your companion in this macabre trip, unsheathed his sword to protect you from being touched by the prisoners. He threatened to slash their hands with just a simple touch on your dress. 

“Empress! Empress!”

You deemed it wise to pull the hood of the cloak over your face, especially as the prisoners were starting to recognize you within these cursed confines. It would be troublesome if Satoru were to arrive soon and they began to scream your name in his presence.

“Empress, this dungeon is meant for souls as tainted as thine!” 

That statement proved itself to be spine-chilling and hair-raising, as such accusations could not be denied. Truthfully, your crimes far surpassed theirs. You belonged with the forsaken and the damned. You already accepted that all your sins and trespasses would bring you nowhere near heaven, yet you had blindly murdered people out of love for Satoru. That was how crazy you were at winning him over. And now, this is where it brought you. 

But you pressed on and continued traipsing through the dungeon until you could feel the presence of the oracle drawing closer, a beacon of hope amidst the despair that gripped the dungeon like a vice.

Finally, you reached the chamber where the oracle awaited. It was a figure cloaked in shadow at the far end of the room. And upon adjusting your visions, you could see that the oracle was an old woman, her white hair cascading like a waterfall of moonlight around her frail shoulders. Her skin, alabaster. Her eyes, ghoulish and devoid of color, and they seemed to pierce the veil of reality itself as she spoke in riddles and whispers that sent shivers down your spine. It was your first time to encounter such an unrealistic being. They said each word from the oracle dripped with the weight of centuries of wisdom and foreboding. She spoke of prophecies and portents, of trials and tribulations yet to come, her words weaving a tapestry of fate and destiny that hung heavy in the air like a shroud.

“Speak.” You stopped at her chamber, demanding to hear the prophecy she had said to your husband. “Tell me the Emperor’s prophecy.” 

Much to your ire, she gave you no response, still staring at the empty wall. 

“Speak!” Your patience was growing thin as each passing second would crumble any hope you had inside that Satoru was not a man who would forsake you, or even execute you, in exchange for his ambitions. But it had been twenty or so minutes and still there was no word from the oracle. “Have you no mouth? Art thou not a soothsayer?” 

Suguru sucked in a deep breath. Should his accusations of the emperor prove to be a lie, you swore to yourself that you would be the one to put him inside one of the iron maidens in the dungeon. Or that daunting Judas cradle if he preferred. “Your Majesty, it takes time to make her speak.” 

“I do not have that luxury of time! I cannot be seen hither.” You gave him a menacing stare. “On peril of thy life, Sir Knight, if this be naught but foolery, I will disembowel thee myself—”

“Beware! O Empress, keeper of fragile dreams!” 

The sudden burst of the oracle’s voice startled you, as they were far from what you had expected from an old lady. It carried an otherworldly quality that seemed to transcend her physical form. They were melodic and haunting, a chilling quality that hinted at the supernatural origins of her prophetic abilities. It was as though you were paralyzed by the time she spoke, like all your senses stopped working and all you could ever do was be forced to listen to her prophecy.

“For the Emperor's gaze wanders far,

As he seeks a lady of royal blood,

Ambition cloaked in the guise of lineage,

And in his thirst for power, lies your peril.”

As you listened, your heart bled terribly, knowing that the answers you sought lay buried within the enigmatic riddles of the oracle's words. The haunting words of the prophecy echoed through the dim chamber where you stood frozen, in a state of despair and disbelief and every awful thing in the world combined. The truth, once a lurking suspicion, now materialized before you and it left your heart in shattered pieces because you actually hoped that none of the accusations were true. So, how could Satoru do this to you? How could he betray you after all your sacrifices just to be his wife, your efforts just to receive his love, and your crimes just to satisfy his desires? Through your hands, more than a hundred souls had perished. You had shed the blood of many Christian souls for him. You had offered him your chastity and turned back on your reverence by profaning the word of God. You had worshiped him like a divine being. Yet so easily would he cast you away. No, he could not even offer the slightest pleasure of loving you genuinely, without any inhibitions, without anything in exchange. 

While your sacrifices were his definition of the “greater good”, his betrayal against you was his definition of a “lesser evil”. It was his “personal gain”, for your demise would have no profound repercussions on this empire. 

Undoubtedly, that must be his truest and utmost feelings for you. 

Suguru held you in his arms when you fell to the ground, your entire world crashing before you as the oracle revealed your husband’s plans. Your hands were shaking, trembling. You had trouble breathing. He was there to guide you out of the dungeon safely, even if you were to run and weep like a madwoman. But of course, you were not that insane yet. It was simply the ache in your heart that catapulted you into an abyss of pain. 

Satoru must not succeed in his plans. He must not come out victorious. The greatest revenge you could think of was brimming in the back of your mind, ignited by the visible spite you felt for him and his web of deceit. 

And back alone in your bedchambers, nausea overcame you and had you vomiting all over the floor. You retched the harrowing experience at the dungeons, disgusted by things you saw and heard, especially the treachery of your very husband. You were sick at the thought of him planning your assassination behind your back, like an ungrateful imbecile who only cared about himself and his vainglory. 

“Nurse!” you called, coughing out the foul taste of bile expelled from your throat. “Come hither!” 

“Anon, madam!” Geneva came to your aid as soon as you summoned her and tended to your needs immediately. At the time, you could not make out much of the clatter that was happening inside your chambers as you lay in bed with your eyes shut. It seemed that Geneva had ordered the other servants to clean out the mess you had created, while she took over in putting you to bed and making sure that you were warm and comfortable. She had no single idea about what was going through your mind, and had she had any hint about what it was, you could only imagine how bloody traumatized she would be. 

If Satoru wanted to dethrone and destroy you, then you might as well help him with it. He should no longer be surprised to see what good of a show you could offer for everyone in this empire. 

“Good madam,” Geneva called gently, after an hour or so, pulling you out of trance. “A physician is already—”

You lifted a hand, stopping her while you tried to get out of bed. “There is not a need for that.” Despite your queasiness, you had decided that there was no time to waste for this war of love and death against your husband. The sooner you planned things out, the greater your advantage would be. You had to have the upperhand in this. “Nurse, whither wander dost my husband?” 

The nurse guided you up and draped a lightweight shawl around your shoulders. “I ween His Majesty is undertaking a military inspection. Escorted by a ten or so knights goes he.” 

An inspection? It must be related to the discussion at the imperial court. Of course, if Satoru was planning to wage war against Astheryn, he had to review the troops stationed in different regions of the empire to assess readiness, morale, and preparedness for defense. He could deploy an initial 25,000 men in his heavy infantry should he find the need to go on an all-out war with the enemy, but those amount of soldiers would require the emperor himself to arduously test if they were ready for battle. Naturally, the inspection could last four or five days depending on his assessment. And in his absence in the palace, either the empress or the other trusted advisors would usually take on the duties that usually were his. 

This was the perfect opportunity to devise your plan; to prune the branches, weaken the trunk, and uproot the tree entirely. The branches began with his loyal advisors, which have already been filtered out as those previously appointed by his parents became his enemies. Enemies that died by his hands and yours, because those enemies were advisors who did not support Satoru in his method of seizing the highest throne, so he could not risk having rebels in the empire who would later work together to topple him from his seat. When he first rose to the throne, he had several assassination attempts aimed at him, typically by means of poisoning his food with arsenic, or hiring highly skilled mercenaries to slay him behind his back—all of those attempts were intercepted by you. And at the elimination of those disloyal to him, Satoru assumed that the current members of the imperial court could hence be trusted since they had not shown any hints of falsity for the ten years they had served him. 

The difference between you and Satoru was that he was easily beguiled because the noblemen treated him a lot differently than you. They were ass-lickers, trying to win him over for their own superficial benefits, while you knew who among them were simply supporting Satoru for the sake of not being executed. Out of fear, out of an inherent will to live, out of an obvious lack of choice—there was one noble who stood out among the rest. 

And it was the one whose presence was not the loudest. 

“Lord Nanami.” Upon mentioning his name, you entered the palace library—a grandeur chamber notable for its high ceilings, expansive oak shelves, and accoutrements—as he stood in front of a wood table, strangely interested in codices. “Well met.” 

The blond nobleman curtsied. “Your Imperial Majesty, ‘tis an honor to be in thy presence.” 

You gestured your hand into dismissing him, cutting to the chase because you were still unwell. And for all the necessary reasons, you had to have this conversation with him or else there would not be an easier opportunity with Satoru’s eyes and ears around the palace. Nanami was his most trusted advisor, not Maximilian as much as he fooled himself to think so. “What codex read thou?”

Nanami spoke cautiously, his eyes fixed on the codex. “Of some medical writings and scientific treatises. Rumors are circulating about a mysterious outbreak in a remote village in Constantia, a city within the grand duchy of Valoria. It seems to be an illness that is spreading rapidly with only a 10% chance of survival. I hear they are calling it the ‘Black Death’ due to the appearance of gangrene. Considering the trade routes, that city lies along the Veridian Sea, which is a path taken by the ship that trades metals and minerals with us. They engage in that route due to Constantia's involvement with the slave trade, boarding the ship bound for Caelum for the metals and minerals, while ferrying their slaves all the way to Astheryn, their largest buyer.”

As if the gods were with you! 

The topic pulled your sudden interest, for it was proving to be exactly what you needed for your plan to be successful. “An illness, thou sayest? What records have we about its origin?” 

“Valorians perceive it as divine punishment for their involvement in the slave trade. Another prevalent theory is the miasma it brings, attributing the disease to foul odors and noxious fumes in the air and in the environment in which they live. Personally, I suspect it originates from a bacterium resulting from interactions between humans and infected animals.” Despite lacking sufficient research to support his hypothesis, you acknowledged that Nanami's personal theory seemed more plausible. “The symptoms suggest to me that it is not airborne, contrary to what most people assume.”

You kept your eyes on him as he fixed his pince-nez. “What symptoms doth it have? And what conclusion have thee on what they are?”

“Your Majesty, a swarm of dead rats were found in Constantia a month ago,” he first informed, leading you to his suspicions. “Given the escalating tension with Astheryn and our increased need for metal to support our crafting and weaponry, I bade a dispatcher to send a message to Constantia due to their failure to supply us with the agreed-upon metal,” Nanami explained, showing a haze of regret behind in his eyes. “The dispatcher wrote back to me, stating that he is unable to return to Caelum promptly as he was experiencing chills, buboes, and gangrene. I presume he perished within days of arriving there.”

The moue you displayed on your face could not be stopped. “Doth His Majesty know? Of this and yon rumors in Valoria thou speakest of?” 

“His Majesty, the Emperor, hath not been apprised of the matter yet.” The blond nobleman looked at you solemnly. “‘Tis my duty to inform him as soon as he returns from his—”

“No, thou wilt not,” you commanded sternly, earning his surprise in return. “Thou wilt not speak a word to Satoru about this. Obey my word and thou shall be rewarded.” 

This was good. This was perfect for your plans! If it was true that such illness was spreading in Valoria, it would only be a matter of time until the plague reached Caelum and wiped half its population! You laughed heartily inside your head. It would be an utmost entertainment for you to watch Satoru’s downfall before your very eyes. If Astheryn was no threat to him, then a biolgical warfare would certainly destroy him. No one else had to know of your schemes but you.

Of course, the ever-so-noble Nanami was not easy to convince, especially if it was a clash between his duty and morality. “Empress, I fail to comprehend... Such matters couldst pose dangers to Caelum and its lands. His Majesty needeth be informed, as he possesses the authority to prevent the trade ship from reaching us. Astheryn had already long ceased their slave trading due to it. We must do the same.”

“And thou believe I lack the same power to issue commands as an empress?” As you raised an eyebrow at him, his stance became more apologetic. “Continue with the trade by hook or by crook. I will sign the permit and have the ship arrive us on Monday next as planned. Let us not allow rumors of an illness to hinder us from obtaining our required metal from the city of Constantia. As thou said, we need abundant supplies for our weaponry. We must seize this opportunity to bolster our arms. Do not mention this to His Majesty, and if thou dare, thou shalt face the punishment of getting thy tongue cut out.”

Nanami’s eyes widened. “But Your Majesty…”

You pressed your hand firmly against the table and asserted your authority over him. “I have ownership of a couple of remote islands near the outskirts of Caelum. Surely, thou art aware of them? I will instruct my father, the Grand Duke, to transfer one of the larger estates to thee. Additionally, I shall provide thee with a quarter of my jewels and 15000 celestas as a deposit. In exchange, I command thee to retire from thy position and never again engage in conversation with my husband.”

It was a fair bargain. The man was certainly considering that because not only would he secure his own land and riches, he would also be away from the dangers of the plague should it truly spread throughout Caelum and its nearby nations. He would be safe there in his own estate with enough money to retire early. “Empress… whatever it may be that thou art planning, this is treason.” 

“This or punishment is thy only option,” you stated, eyes burning with fire. “Make wisely of thy choice.” 

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐈

The preparation for the New Year’s ball was arduous, and you spared no effort to ensure that every detail lived up to Caelum’s prestige. Because you had a generous budget allocation for this year's banquet, you did not hold back on the display of wealth, power, and culinary sophistication. The menu alone boasted elaborate roast meats, poultry dishes, pies, pastries, desserts, and confections, accompanied by a variety of wines and spirits to enhance the indulgent dining experience. More so, the smell of luxurious dishes inside the grand hall would be enough to water the mouths of the guests.

Invitations were extended not only to the nobility within the capital but also throughout the empire, welcoming all to partake in the feast as long as they came from noble houses. The theme, as initially requested by your husband, was black and silver to match the regalia, although this theme did not extend to the guests. They were free to choose their attire as they pleased, with the only restriction being to avoid the loud colors that represented Astheryn. 

It was well-known that Caelum’s nobility enjoyed flaunting their wealth and status among themselves, further highlighting the perception of the empire as superficial and governed by leaders who indulged in unethical opulence. While you may have denied such rumors, the truth remained: such ostentatious display of wealth was a century-long tradition upheld by the Gojou family to showcase the Caelum Empire as the wealthiest and most powerful across the central continent. If there was anyone Satoru should blame for this excessive extravagance, it should be his ancestors. Not you.

As the empress of this nation and the person who oversaw these types of celebrations, you saw it fit to wear an elegant gown befitting your status. You were dressed in a majestic gown of midnight black velvet, intricately embroidered with religious motifs and adorned with pearls and jewels that glimmered in the candlelight. A towering headpiece, resplendent with silver filigree and bedight with twisted crosses and angelic figures, rested upon your head as a symbol of your pretentious reverence for the church. You moved through the banquet hall with regal grace and elegance, a vision of piety and power, with your outward display of devotion masking the darkness of your thoughts inside. 

Next to you was your tyrant husband, whose attire was an obsidian velvet of the finest kind. Around his waist was a thick belt of black leather cinching the robe, its buckle emblazoned with the imperial insignia. His chest was bedecked with a chainmail hauberk, a display to his martial prowess and readiness for battle, while a silver mantle was draped over his shoulders, adding to his imposing presence. Upon his head sat a crown of gleaming silver encrusted with onyx and obsidian stones. 

“Long live the Emperor and the Empress! May Their Majesties reign be blessed!” 

Upon your entrance down the staircase to the Grand Hall, the guests offered their curtsies and salutations to you and your husband to show their deference and recognition to the imperialty. The nobles had their chance at a brief greeting with the imperial family based on their ranking, although Satoru showed little to no care for those at the lower ranks. Nonetheless, those of lower statuses devotedly sought to curry his favor and prove their allegiance to him. 

He is naught but a fool, you thought inwardly as you watched your husband dismiss a mere count. Satoru must not have realized that those he considered of lower ranking were often the most loyal to him. They were driven by their wish to climb the upper echelon of high society, therefore, they would go to great lengths to gain recognition from the emperor. Conversely, if push comes to shove, those of higher statuses would be the first ones to turn their backs on the imperial family, as they already possessed the wealth and status to sustain their own estates and exclude themselves from the rest of the empire. 

“Lords and Ladies, esteemed guests, and subjects of my realm,” Satoru spoke with gracious authority as he stood by his throne, looking down on the nobility before him, “I stand before thee on this very occasion, the commencement of a new year, to address the empire that rests beneath mine unwavering rule. As thy Emperor, I look upon the vast land that stretches beneath me, and aim to build great cities, forge mighty alliances, and expand our dominion to the farthest reaches of the known world. This eve, we gather not merely to celebrate the turning of the calendar, but to reaffirm the absolute authority that guides our great empire. Let it be known, plainly and honorably, that the prosperity of this realm is intrinsically tied to the strength of its ruler. In my hands, I hold the reins of power, and I shall steer this ship through tumultuous waters with an unshakable resolve. Those who seek to challenge the stability of our empire will find themselves met with the full force of imperial might. Let this banquet serve as a reminder—a celebration of the empire's indomitable strength and an acknowledgment of the consequences that befall those who dare to defy it. Raise thy goblets high, my loyal subjects, for we embark upon another year under the banner of unassailable authority.”

Satoru might be a terrible spouse, but he certainly was not a terrible emperor. He asserted his authority when it demanded him the most, and he knew well enough how to make his subjects cower in terror at every word he spoke. His speech was a simple warning not only to the nobles, but perhaps also to you, as he believed the prophecy pictured you as a traitor to his reign. 

Initially, you could say he was wrong and that never in a million years would you betray the same person you helped ascend the throne. But now that his resolve was to entirely eliminate you in order to succeed in his ambitions, you would not deny such grave accusations of treason on your part. He deserved a taste of his own medicine. It was only too bad for him that he had no knowledge of what you knew, and that was exactly why you were ten steps ahead of him. 

The sound of classical music served as a backdrop for the banquet, with the dulcet sounds of flutes, harps, and viols creating an elegant ambiance through the hall. The nobles worked on their usual slobber and socialization, usually reserved for recently debuted ladies to mark their own impressions within high society. The males were often there to discuss lands and politics or to be in search of their bride who would become the next noble ladies of their respective houses. The scene reminded you of your happy days as a once noble lady, a daughter of a duke, who was also the most popular and most eligible bride for Crown Prince Satoru among all of the nobility within the Caelum Empire. Back then, your biggest rivals were Lady Anastasia de Florentine and Lady Serena de Visconti. Both ladies came from esteemed houses and had therefore become a threat to your desire to be Crown Princess. In terms of beauty, talent, and elegance; they were definitely strong contenders. What they lacked was the wit, the cunningness in which you pride yourself with, as you ended up becoming Satoru’s choice as his empress. 

You were aware that Satoru spent his years as a prince dallying with other noble ladies, even courtesans, as he himself was fair in the face. And he was aware that the ill-fate that had befallen some of those ladies were due to your own cruel doing. You tormented any lady that vied for his attention. It was not until he gave in and got to know what you offered did he stop fooling around with random whores, deeming them unworthy to stand next to him as they served no purpose for him in the long run. You offered a better role to him than the rest of them, especially with your skill as a tactician and your family’s background in the military and weaponry department which all came in handy at the time of his usurpation to the throne. 

In other words, he knew how evil you could be since day one. And benefited from you because of it. 

“What plagues thy mind?” he asked, holding your waist and your hand as you both gracefully danced in pavane. His hair was neatly brushed away from his forehead tonight, with a few stubborn strands dangling on the side. “How awfully silent.” 

You stared at his bright blue eyes coruscating under the chandeliers, noticing how his gaze wandered to a noble lady. “It matters not to thee.” 

Satoru then narrowed his eyes at your coldness. “It matters much to me. What is this foolish act art thou playing at?” 

“A foolish act of playing the role of thy wife,” you answered briefly and sternly. “Dost this banquet satisfy thee? I have invited the empire’s most beautiful and most eligible ladies to be thy concubine. All of age and of noble background so worry not. Thou may choose anyone to thy liking, so the best be with thee.” 

The offense you caused was evident in his visage. As much as it entertained you, he was clearly enraged and on the verge of losing it. You already knew he would just remind you yet again that he wanted to remarry instead of getting a concubine, but it was too good of a reaction to pass up on. In fact, he stared at you blankly, speechless for a few moments as he processed the implications of your words. “This is the game you play?” he murmurs through gritted teeth, a hint of a scowl forming on his face. Conflicting emotions surged within him, a mixture of anger and hurt, yet ultimately he chose not to give you the reaction you seemed to seek. “I will humor thee. Where be these concubines thou dost speak of?”

You scoffed, and then laughed out loud to the point where it gained the curious stares of the nobles. “Wherefore, look everywhere and haply may thy eager eyes find them,” you answered in absolute joy. “That is all they shall be; mere concubines. If thou prefer a young and ripe virgin, that is also possible—”

“Do not get smart with me,” Satoru warned, grabbing a tight hold of your chin. The muscles along his jaw tensed. “Thou art but a petulant wench, a mere ornament next to my throne, lacking the wit and wisdom to comprehend the weight of imperial decree. The matters of remarriage are not simply to jest about. Know thy place, woman, and heed the consequences of thy impudence."

“Is that a threat?” You returned his glare, now feeling all eyes on the both of you. The thick air of tension permeated the hall like a cloud of incoming thunderstorm.

The emperor was not one to show weakness in front of public eyes, now displaying an authoritarian mien to his wife as he tightened his hold on your jaw. “Take it as thou may.”  

In defense to your wounded pride, you shoved his hand away and maintained a rigid poise. “Keep thy filthy hands off me, you usurping tyrant.” 

As tension crackled through the hall, a hushed unease descended upon the assembled guests. Murmurs  rippled through the crowd like a gathering tornado, and uneasy glances were darted between the nobles and servants as they witnessed the brewing disagreements of their imperial rulers. Some averted their gaze, feigning disinterest, while others leaned in with rapt attention, hungry for the spectacle unfolding before them. 

Meanwhile, Satoru was forcing a laugh at your chosen insult. Calling him a usurper really hit a nerve, as always. “Watch that foul-tongued mouth,” he warned once more, “Barren wretch!”

Approaching one of the palace sentinels halfway across the hall, you countered your husband’s heavy footsteps by drawing out a sword from a knight’s scabbard, thereupon making a swift turn to point the silver brand directly at his throat. You had not even realized that it was Suguru’s sword that you took. Deadly silence instantly spanned the hallway, and even the tick tock of the nearby clock had stopped because of the rising tension between Caleum’s reigning monarchs. 

But with one sword raised at the emperor’s neck, twenty more were directed back at the empress. Satoru’s loyal knights were quick to trap you in full circle to protect their sovereign ruler, forcing you to submit and restrain yourself from moving the sword any closer to the emperor’s throat. 

Unfortunately for him, being submissive was no longer in your repertoire. 

“You dare commit treason in mine own palace?!” Your husband’s venomous blue eyes bore holes into your skull—his mouth thinning in displeasure as you stayed unwavered by his imperious tone. “Thou art too brave for an empress consort!” 

“That is rich coming from a usurper himself!” you countered, satisfied by the spasm of irritation crossing his face. “Have as many concubines and courtesans as thou wish, but never disrespect me in front of my people. Treat me not as though I am lower than a mistress merely because I am childless to thee. Dare you not look down at me for I am an empress first ere I am thy wife.”

What kind of psychopath was that man, truly? 

You left the hall as soon as you said those prideful words, no longer wishing to hear what more intelligible things he had to say to you and of the preposterous scene in which you engaged. The more time you spent with him, the more you realized how much you had come to despise every fiber of his being. He was an ungrateful imbecile who would slay his own kin at the price of his ambitions. You may have started the quarrel, but he did not need to escalate it and put his filthy blood-stained hands on you in front of the nobles. His goal might be to put you in your rightful place, but he chose the wrong person to be his empress. That choice alone was the start of his tragic flaw. 

And with that disrespect would soon come his downfall. 

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

Satoru struggled to comprehend the shift in your demeanor toward him and the words you chose to speak to him. He found your behavior baffling, as if you had lost touch with reason to be acting such a lunatic. You were out of your bloody mind! What could have driven you to act so irrationally, becoming incensed at every little remark he made? Was it solely because he expressed a desire to remarry for the sake of an heir and requested you to step down from your throne? No, your anger seemed to stem from deeper roots than mere marital disagreements. The hostility in your eyes said so, and it was the kind that mirrored the animosity he had witnessed in his ancestors towards their rival empire. That was the level of rancor you had of him. 

Or could this be the dreaded prophecy coming to life? 

Maximilian had been warning him that the prophecy was becoming truer day-by-day, and that the only way to ultimately prevent it was to banish you. It should be easy, truly, since Satoru had no problems slaying his own kin and hundreds of men. Why should another soul like yours cause such an impact on him? 

Yet, Satoru found himself unable to take that step. The reasons eluded him. What he despised, however, was your increasing defiance. You were no longer the submissive wife he had grown accustomed to. Albeit your inherently strong personality, you had never before lashed out at him, insulted him, raised your voice, or shown him any form of antagonism. You always let him win arguments and understood your place. Extravagant gifts like luxurious silk dresses, rare jewels, and exotic fragrances used to be enough to maintain your compliance. Were his gifts no longer sufficient to appease you? What more did you desire from him? 

Love? 

How preposterous. Love was no gift.

The emperor cussed under his breath as he slid the robe off his shoulder and stepped inside the tub, soaking his naked body under the warm fragrant water. He raked his fingers through his wet, white hair, leaning his head back as he stared at the ceiling. It never occurred to him that his eyebrows had furrowed as his thoughts of you had consumed him. A small part of him yearned to punish you for your recent behavior, while a larger part of him longed to pursue you. He desired to regain your trust and devotion, no matter how absurd it might seem to others. How else could he manipulate someone who harbored such animosity towards him? You had been easier to control when you saw him past his selfishness, turning a blind eye as long as he played the role of the loyal husband.

Fine, if it was disloyalty that enraged you so, then he would show you. In another way. That the loyalty you seek still possessed him somewhere. 

The subject of his plan stood in his privy chamber, assisting him as he bathed that morning. He had long noticed this particular servant's subtle attempts at seducing him, but had always chosen to ignore her as he never felt tempted to indulge. Instead, he found it somewhat amusing that she would willingly display her body to him in private settings like this. Perhaps, he mused, it was a message to him, indicating her desire to ascend to high society by becoming his concubine. She likely sought to escape her life as a mere peasant and elevate herself to the status of a noble lady. She may have even heard of his sexual escapades back then as a wayward prince who entertained different ladies in his chamber before he married you. That was probably why she wanted to take advantage of the carnal weakness that she thought still lingered within him. 

This strumpet. Satoru scoffed inwardly as he watched his personal maid pick up the bottle of lavender oil from the floor. She had purposely unbuttoned the top most part of her attire so that her voluptuous breasts would pop out like two balloons sitting on her chests. Appearance wise, it was clear that she had tried to put on cheap rouge from vermillion or beetroot juice, tinting her lips a brighter red than usual to complement her fiery, ginger hair. Her eyes were lined sharp from the soot, as though she was trying to resemble the empress’ seductive eyes. 

“Your Majesty,” she spoke in a seductive voice, finding her seat at the edge of the tub as she poured the fragrant oil on the hot water. She raised her skirt higher as an obvious attempt to show off her legs, and offered a better view of her huge breasts as she leaned forward. Now that she was closer to him, he could see her taut nipples peeking behind her thin layer of clothing. “Wouldst thou desire for me to bathe thee?”

His lips may have curled upwards into a smirk, but his eyes were as terrifyingly sharp as ever. “Dost thou seek death?”

Her eyes widened in surprise, feigning her innocence as she received his warning. “Nay, Your Majesty! I do not seek such.” 

“Why art thou so bold to think thy body is more desirable than the empress’?” He began to question her pride, and later put her stupidity into good use. She would be the perfect pawn for him to win his wife’s favor again. “My wife hath the most perfect figure I have seen in a woman, and thine is what? Thou boast of thy breasts that resemble a cow’s?” 

“I…” The servant stammered, clearly offended as she got up from her seat and attempted to mask the embarrassment that appeared on her face. Satoru raised an eyebrow and waited for her response, while she gathered her courage to deny his claims. “Forgive me, my lord, if I have offended thee.” 

Satoru shook his head in amusement. “What is thy aim, then, if not to inveigle me into bedding thee? I do not consort with trollops.”

Caught red-handed, she stumbled and bowed her head at the lowest possible level before him. “I beg thy pardon, Your Imperial Majesty! I merely sought to aid thee in the birthing of an heir. I am not barren unlike Her Majesty the Empress, and I can assure thee I will bear fruit even if thou only dost me once.” 

“Get on thy knees,” he ordered, stepping out of the tub and wrapping his bare body with a robe. “Thy know that to be certain?”

Her eyes pleaded for desperation to become his mistress. “Certain, yes! I am certain, my lord! And I will be a loyal subject to thee unlike the empress—”

“Pardon?” As if her words intrigued his ears. In a swift motion, he turned to the servant and looked down at her with his cold, scrutinizing eyes. “Unlike the empress? Repeat thy words with caution. Thou art maligning the most noble woman of this empire.” 

It did look like she found her way out of his criticism by directing his ill-temper towards his wife. “Your Majesty, I am not maligning thy wife. ‘Tis true that Her Majesty is having an affair with your commander of knights! Some days ago did I see the empress and Sir Suguru in an intimate embrace, running through the halls as though they wish not be seen!” 

The emperor's expression hardened at the servant's accusation, his brows furrowing with disbelief and anger. His hand tightened into a fist as he processed the shocking revelation.

“Is this the truth thou speaketh?” His voice was low, carrying a dangerous edge that hinted at the storm brewing within him. The accusation struck at the very core of his trust and authority.

The servant's gaze faltered under the weight of the emperor's scrutiny, but she remained resolute. “Your Majesty, I speak only what I have witnessed with mine own eyes. By my troth and by God’s bones, I swear by all that is holy, it is no falsehood.”

Satoru’s mind raced with conflicting emotions, but he showed none of his inward thoughts outwardly. Instead, he delighted in this ideal opportunity for him to deal with gaining your devotion again. 

“Undress thyself. I want thou bare and without any clothing," he said, his voice cold and measured, “and thou shalt remain in this chamber until my return.”

With that, the emperor swept out of the privy chamber at once, leaving behind a stunned and apprehensive servant. She believed it to be her sign of good luck. Of good fate. That she now found her place as a mistress to the highest ruler of this nation. She could not believe her destiny as she triumphantly unclothed herself, peeling every fabric off her body with excitement as she imagined the things the emperor would do to her upon his return. She would definitely have to deal with his wrath since he just found out that the empress betrayed her, but she was willing to have him use her body and let his anger out on his adulterous wife. An emperor with a distracted mind would be her ticket to being impregnated by his child. Soon, she would be his concubine, she would be the mother of a future emperor. 

She would never again have to suffer as a servant! 

Upon the sound of footsteps nearing the privy chamber, the servant provocatively sat at the edge of the tub, displaying all of her body to him and him alone. “Your Majesty, I am ready for thee.” 

“Art thou?” 

Horror washed over the servant’s face, her heartbeat increasing tenfold as she saw the empress sending an icy stare into her as she stood by the privy chamber’s entrance. Behind her were her ladies-in-waiting throwing their judgeful stares at the naked servant, surrounded by knights who seemed to have come under the emperor’s orders. The emperor! There he was, appearing behind the empress, kissing her cheek and encircling her waist, whispering to her that the servant had attempted to seduce him and had even accused his wife of infidelity. Satoru's actions struck the servant as reminiscent of a child tattling to his mother. He adopted an air of artificial innocence, as if his only intention were to win the empress' trust.

“Send this harlot to the throne room,” he commanded his knights, his voice loud and clear. “Let it be known that there will be consequences for those who dare to deceive their emperor.”

At the throne room, you found yourself seated at the elevated throne next to your husband. This was a place in the castle where the trials of the accused were often held, and now the accused kneeling before you on the lower part of the hall was a lowly maid which Satoru had claimed to have seduced him and besmirched your name. 

Did he think you were stupid? You knew what his ulterior motives were. You were aware of his covert schemes, and that his sole attempt at orchestrating this entire spectacle was to use the maid to regain your trust and obedience out of gratitude. He was clearly at an unrest ever since you had been defiant to him and he was doing the best that he could to make you submit to him. He was desperate to show you that he was on your side and believed that by reporting the maid's advances, he could convince you of his loyalty. Satoru must truly underestimate your intelligence if he thought that such acts would restore his control over you. But for the sake of a good show, you decided to play along. 

As customary, the emperor presided over the trial, while the accused maid stood before the imperialty, her eyes downcast, while whispers could be heard through the assembled courtiers.

Satoru announced her sin in a commanding yet measured voice. “Maiden, thou stand accused of attempting to seduce the sovereign and spreading slanderous falsehoods regarding Her Majesty's honor. These are grave charges that strike at the very foundation of our empire.” 

The accused maid trembled slightly but remained silent, her gaze fixed on the ground. She seemed to be having a battle in her head, realizing that she was being used by the emperor’s cruel game. What did she expect of him? You rolled your eyes. Satoru was a known tyrant. She would never last a day being his mistress, much less a concubine. You were the only lady in this empire that could handle him.

The emperor then turned to you as he continued with his speech. “As for thee, my wife, thou hast been accused of a betrayal that, if true, would bring shame upon the imperial family.” He paused, his expression grave yet thoughtful. “Therefore, I shall entrust the judgment and punishment of this matter to thee. Thou alone knowest the truth of these accusations, and it is thy virtue and integrity that shall guide our course of justice.”

You wanted to laugh at how ridiculous this was. Now he was even entrusting the maid’s punishment to you? His tactic obviously consisted of two things: 1) giving you the authority to impose punishment on the accused would make you liable for the consequences tied to the matter 2) if proven not guilty, you would have to face the shame of your misguided punishment. Because Satoru was not certain that you were having an affair, he was putting you on the spot to decide the punishment you would give based on your conscience. 

Either that or he may have simply intended to convey trust in your judgment by allowing you to administer punishment. This could be a gesture aimed at restoring your sense of authority and influence within the palace. However, given the complexities of your relationship and the context of the situation, it was likely that his motives were more layered and multifaceted.

“How dost it strike thee, Empress?” Satoru asked in a strangely calm mien. “Mayhap we can give her ten or twenty whips? Have her sent out to the dungeons or the west tower?” 

Oh, did he assume you were not capable of being creative with punishments? You were not one to shy away from brutality like him. In fact, you had something better in store for this servant of his. 

The courtiers listened intently, their eyes locked upon you as you spoke. “It is my judgment that the maid shall be subjected to the punishment befitting her transgressions.”

A hushed murmur erupted through the assembled crowd as they awaited the empress’ decree.

“Firstly, the maid shall be paraded through the streets of our capital, stripped of her garments and bearing the shame of her actions for all to see. Let her walk the path of humility, that she may reflect upon the consequences of her deeds.” Your cruel words carried a weight of overwhelming gravity as you announced the first part of the punishment and proceeded to the next. “Furthermore, the maid shall be delivered unto the custody of our executioners, who shall mete out the final aspect of her punishment. Let her be subjected to the pear of anguish, that she may atone for her sins and serve as a warning to all who would dare besmirch the name of their sovereign.”

The courtiers exchanged somber glances, trembling out of fear at the severity of your inhumane judgment. Even Satoru himself was shocked at the lengths you had chosen to take just to punish a lowly maid. Why was he surprised? He, himself, was entertained at the usage of the brazen bull, roasting his enemies alive as a punishment. The pear of anguish was not even as severe as his usual choices, as its purpose was to have a pear-shaped instrument be inserted in the maid’s vagina, and expand it to the point of internal injuries and mutilation. 

“No! No! Your Majesty!” she cried, her words choked with emotion. She quivered in terror and fell to her knees. “I beg of thee, have mercy upon me! Spare me from such unspeakable agony! Forgive me for my transgressions and the harm I have caused. Pray, grant me the chance to repent and seek forgiveness. I shall never again show myself to thee. Prithee… Empress Y/N… Spare me from this horror, I beg of thee!”

Her voice echoed through the hall with her desperate plea for clemency amidst the shadow of her impending doom. In the silence that followed, your eyes caught the guilt spreading on Satoru’s face. His blue eyes were, for a second, wide and horrified. But he was quick to compose himself and keep yet again a rigid face. 

“Very well.” Satoru gestured to his knights to take the maid away. “Do as my wife says.” 

“My liege, this is preposterous!” In the midst of the tense atmosphere, one advisor, a voice of dissent, stepped forward, his expression grave and his tone measured. Lord Maximilian was only intending to address the emperor, completely ignoring your right as the empress. “Your Majesty, the Emperor,” the advisor spoke respectfully but with conviction, “I humbly beseech thee to reconsider this severe course of action. The pear of anguish, in particular, is a device of unparalleled cruelty. The punishment is more severe than the crime committed!” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I propose a more measured punishment, one that upholds the dignity of your sovereign without plunging us into the depths of brutality. Mayhap a period of confinement or hard labor could serve as a more merciful yet effective means of retribution. This way, Your Majesty, we demonstrate both strength and compassion that define thy sovereign rule.”

“Compassion?” you scoffed, humored by Lord Maximilian’s little speech. His pretentiousness was truly out of this world. He was obviously against it because he refused to see your authority over the court restored. He had not even a single idea that you were already aware that he had been conspiring with your husband to execute you. “Thou speak of compassion and mercy, Lord Maximilian, when this empire had seen the ruthless perish of a thousand Christian souls under your counsel to the emperor. Is that not irony? What about the body of his lordship, Count Stefano, that thou order’d to be skinned alive? Or what about the corpses of men speared on pikes by the Tiber River? Now, tell me about that compassion.” 

Satoru, stuck in the situation, scanned the throne room and searched for his voice of reason. The man who always stood his ground between good and evil. Lord Nanami. Yet the man was nowhere to be found. “Is Lord Nanami hither? Call him forth to me.” 

“I am afraid not, my liege,” spoke one of the courtiers, “He had left Your Majesty a letter advising of his immediate need to be on a sabbatical. Cited he no reasons as to why.”

“Is that so?” your husband’s face contorted into confusion, while you were exchanging glances with Suguru, who seemed slightly aware of your participation in Nanami’s sudden absence. Howbeit, he spoke no words about it. 

And no one else also said another word, therefore, leaving Satoru to move forward with your decision on the punishment. If he was smart, he should see that your decision was not just a mere punishment to the maid but as a warning from you, that he was not the only person in this empire capable of being a tyrant. That you, as devoted as you used to be, could also be cruel if you wanted to be. 

You ignored the maid’s screams of terror as the knights took her away. You kept a dignified appearance and walked out of the throne room, followed by your ladies-in-waiting as they engaged in gossip about the maid and how she had always spoken badly of the empress. You wished you cared, but truthfully, you were far too nauseated as you walked through the hallway heading towards the western wing of the castle, hearing your husband’s voice calling your name. 

What did he need? Your gratitude? Your declaration of love? Your pledge of allegiance? 

Frankly, you cared none, as your extreme nausea eventually had your visions blurred, and your body fainting on the marble floor. 

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐗

Your head ached.

By the time you opened your eyes again, it was already past noontide. No, it was evening, was it? You were lying in Satoru’s bed while its owner was engrossed in a conversation with a physician. You briefly recounted the events before you were carried here, remembering the trial at the throne room, and you fainting while walking back to your side of the palace. 

“Art thou certain?” 

“I am certain Her Majesty is with child, yes.” 

“How is that possible? Tried have we for eight long years.” 

“We owe this blessing to God, my liege. Thy wish for an heir hath come to fruition.” 

You were… with child? 

You could not believe it. As the whispered revelation reached your ears, the news brought you a swirl of emotions, for the delicate life growing within your womb just challenged the very foundations of your plans. A child. A baby. A life was growing inside of you! It was not just any other life, but an heir to the throne! A byproduct of you and your husband!

But what about your revenge? 

You had a moment of introspection as you imagined yourself at a crossroad of destiny. Should you persist with your plot to topple your husband's rule, or should you embrace the newfound responsibility and safeguard the legacy that had taken root within you? The precipice of your decision would depend on Satoru’s reaction to this matter. Your decision would fall upon his level of trust in you. 

For eight years, you had always wanted to carry his child. You had always dreamed of bearing his heir. This was the very reason why the prophecy existed in the first place, and now that you were pregnant, should that mean that he would no longer find the need to remarry and execute you? Should that mean that the prophecy was false after all? The oracle was a heretic through and through and he never should have consulted with her to begin with!

“My wife.” The gentle caress of Satoru’s voice soothed your aching head. It only took you then to realize that the physician had already left you two alone, and now your husband was sitting on the edge of his bed, touching your cheek. “To think,” he mumbled, his voice tinged with wonder, “that our union has borne fruit at last. An heir to carry forth this legacy of mine.” 

He was joyous. He was surging with happiness which was glowing within him, the kind of joy that you had never seen before as he embraced his beloved wife and shared the news. For a moment, your heart melted and you were ready to forsake the grudge you carried in your heart as he proved his reaction to be genuine. His eyes sparkled like jewels as he placed a soft kiss on your belly, then moving to press his lips onto yours. 

You wanted to cry. You wanted to tear up as never in your life had you received this much level of affection from your own husband. He had never looked at you with such adoration and respect for the longest time since he had been with you. No, this was the very first time he had truly acknowledged you as his wife. 

“Am I no longer useless unto thee?” you asked, carrying a hint of sadness on your tone despite smiling at him. “Shall I no longer be called a barren empress?” 

Satoru solemnly shook his head and kissed your hand, your cheek, and your lips. “No. Each tongue that rises ‘gainst my wife shall fall.” 

You were uncertain whether it was you or him who pulled each other for an embrace, but the gravity that brought you to two together was of mutual force. He held you in his arms tenderly just as you enveloped yourself in his warmth. So this is how it feels like to be loved? You were in complete bliss. You were free from the emotional torment that—

Knock, knock! 

The abrupt knock on the door interrupted the intimate moment between you and your husband, diverting his attention to the intruder who dared disrupt the special moment. Satoru, no doubt, was already thinking of potential punishments in his mind as he summoned his attendant to enter. The attendant conveyed that a knight sought an urgent audience with him, but what could be so urgent at this dead of night? 

The intruder, to your surprise, was none other than his knight commander Suguru. 

“Suguru?” Satoru faced him with a more lenient countenance, “Speak briefly.” 

The knight commander glanced at you before he knelt on one knee and looked at the carpeted floor, delivering a message that required urgent and utmost attention. “Your Imperial Majesty, we have discovered a group of knights clad in silver armor, mounted upon war horses lining the city’s border. My men have identified the potential invaders as the Aurorae Heavy Cavalry of the Astheryn Empire.” 

“What?!” Just like Satoru’s explosive reaction, you were also surprised by the news. You knew Astheryn was ready for war, but you did not expect them to move so rashly. Satoru knew he was right to conduct a military inspection a week prior, because now, in spite of his growing temperament, he was also mentally prepared for an all-out war. “Those Astheryn bastards! How many are they?!” 

“Estimated at about 6000 units, my liege.” 

Your eyes widened in disbelief. Thousands of foreign soldiers stationed at the border of the Caelum Empire was undeniably an invasion. The audacity of this act, carried out without any prior communication to Satoru, no wonder fueled his anger like a volcano on the brink of eruption. It was a blatant disrespect to him as an emperor and to his lands as an empire.

“Double the numbers of our infantrymen and dispatch them to the border!” Satoru's voice carried a low growl, his hand instinctively reaching to massage his temples as he pondered a course of action. “They must comprise our most elite unit. I demand these men be vigilant and alert at all times. Anyone caught sleeping will have their eyes gouged,” he ordered, his tone reflecting the gravity of the situation. His eyes held fury in them as he silently paced back and forth in his chamber. However, just as Suguru made to depart, Satoru's hand halted him mid-step. “Better yet, remain here and stand guard over my wife," he commanded, his voice taut with resolve. “I will issue the orders to the army personally and confer with my chief tactician.”

Your husband had already left before you could even stop him. His presence, in a mere blink of an eye, was gone as he stormed out of the chamber, yelling out, “That bastard Toji will die by my hands. How dare he!” 

And now you were left with his commander of knights, Suguru, who looked at you in concern as you made an attempt to get out of bed. He was quick to catch you in his arms, guiding you to walk carefully. “Is it true?” you asked, face inches close to him. You could feel his hand on your waist, and the other guiding your arm. “Astheryn’s invasion?” 

“Empress, it is imperative that thou remain within the safety of His Majesty’s chamber," Suguru advised, his fox-like eyes seemingly enamored by your face. “Thy well-being is paramount, especially now. I see now why thy radiance has been so pronounced of late.”

You smiled at his words. "And what might thou be implying by that?"

“That our beautiful empress bears the heir to the empire,” he spoke softly. “This is a direct contradiction to the prophecy. Art thou pleased, my lady?”

As you nodded, you felt Suguru placing a gentle kiss above your hand, still kneeling before you like a true, loyal knight. He looked at you with a gaze filled with the desire to protect. His chivalry was evident in his demeanor toward you, the most beautiful lady of the empire. Unbeknownst to you, Suguru had long been captivated by your beauty. From the moment he first came to your family’s estate to train as a knight, he harbored a wanton desire for you. Yet, he struggled with his feelings, torn between his admiration for you and his loyalty to Satoru, his friend and lord. How could he? He should punish himself for having a mere attraction to the emperor’s wife. 

“Suguru, I expect thy loyalty to me until the very end,” you interrupted his reverie, bringing him back to the present. He held your hand tenderly, and your waist affectionately. “Can I count on that from thee?”

Before the knight could respond, a fit of unhinged laughter echoed through the chamber. There, your crazed husband walked in, his sardonically joyful eyes wide with paranoia. “Ha ha ha! Absurd! Utterly preposterous!” His loud voice reverberated through the walls, his mind now free of the on-going invasion and was instead evidently consumed by the scene before him. “My wife, thou jest, surely? Suguru, tell me this is some jest! Loyalty, indeed, I have full faith in thy loyalty, but this... the maid’s accusation. It is true after all?!” 

Immediately, the knight commander moved away from you and scrambled to kneel down at the furious emperor. You yourself could not hide your growing anxiety, but it was best to keep calm and explain the situation to your husband properly. 

“My liege, ‘tis not what it seems,” Suguru swore to your husband, who was now laughing manically. 

“Ah, a conspiracy unfolds!” Satoru’s eyes darted between you and his friend. “I see it now, the hidden plots, the whispers in the shadows. My wife and my loyal knight, plotting against me! Speak, reveal the treachery!” 

You shook your head, maintaining your composure. “He speaks true. There is no affair—”

“Fie, you wicked bitch!” By this time, Satoru was throwing a tantrum, kicking the nearby console table and throwing the first vase he saw. 

Suguru rose, his voice pleading, "Your Majesty, I..."

“Get out or I will eviscerate thee in front of her!” Satoru's words cut through the tension, and Suguru, after a moment of hesitation, took a deep breath and left, casting a worried glance at you before exiting. It was clear that Satoru was in a state of manic denial, with his laughter echoing through the chamber like a haunting refrain.

Alone with him now, you observed his demeanor, noting the same scene of past trauma in his laughter. It was reminiscent of the night his sister perished for committing suicide—a portrait of a man on the brink of madness, masking his torment with deranged laughter. Each step he took towards you carried danger. “This... This child thou carry is a bastard, is it not? That child is not mine!”

You shot him a look of disbelief, refusing to entertain such absurd accusations. “Thou art speaking folly!”

Enraged, he seized another vase and hurled it across the room, the sound of shattering porcelain ringing through the chamber, though you maintained your composure despite the sudden chaos. You must not act weak in front of a tyrant. At this rate, he could kill out of impulse, but you were careful not to pull the trigger.

“My wife thinks I am lost in a mire of absurdity?” Satoru’s laugh rang in your ears again. “Conniving bitch! Tell me, this child thou carry, what do I do with that awful thing? Shall I cut thy stomach and pull the thing out myself?”

Slap! A resounding slap, sharp and clear, graced Satoru's cheek as his words drew tears from your eyes. Despite the welling tears, you mustered enough courage to respond. “If thou question the lineage of this child, then is that not a question to thine own fertility? Dost thou deem thyself barren, unable to sire thine own bloodline? If so, thou hast long scorned me for lacking an heir, yet now thou cast doubt upon the child that I carry. Useless, thou have call’d me. Now, useless, thou call thyself! A barren emperor, unable to secure his own legacy, is that what thou perceive thyself to be?”

“Hold that tongue, thou impudent wench!” With a rough hand, he grabbed your arm and tightened his hold so much so that it would leave bruises. “Lo, here stand I, grappling with a war that hath the power to shape or shatter mine own legacy, whilst mine own wife doth gad about like a wanton whore?”

A whore? You laughed, as equally maniacal as him. No, a lot worse than him. How foolish of you to think that your husband was someone you could trust your life with? You could not believe that you almost let your guard down in front of him after you learned that you were carrying his child. Yet here he was, spouting nonsense like an absolute fool. He only judged what he saw, not analyzed what he was yet to know. This was exactly why Emperor Toji would always be a smarter ruler than him. 

“I am thy wife, and I have stood by thy side through thick and thin. I have shared thy lows and highs. I have seated thee at that very throne! Therefore, I will not dignify such insults with a response.” Each word left your mouth with gritted teeth. This was your future, peeled off for your eyes to see. No matter how much you cared for him, no matter how loyal you were to him, no matter how much love you offered to him; you were naught but a woman ready to be thrown at his disposal. It hurt. Truly, it hurt. And because you loved him, you tried holding onto the thin string of hope that he was true to you. That even if he could not love you, he still trusted you. That was the foundation of your relationship from the beginning. Trust. And that will be your ultimatum to him. So, with a shaky voice and tearful eyes, you asked, “I require nothing else from thee but this… dost thou trust me?” 

His answer was a make or break. 

His answer would determine whether you would carry your plans out or not. 

Because if he said yes, then you would forsake everything and be loyal to him without his unconditional love. 

But if he said no, then there was no point at being his wife when your role would always be easily replaced. 

Satoru’s stolid mien was an answer in itself, because his blank gaze and unsympathetic expression sent your heart to the deepest layer of hell. “No,” he declared, “I never have and never will.” 

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐗

Four days. 

Or perhaps five? 

The days blurred into an indistinguishable haze since your husband's decree consigned you to the confines of the west tower. Unlike the dungeon, reserved for commoners and lower ranks, the western tower housed nobility and imperial captives. Though superior in amenities, it remained a prison in essence. There was only a solitary window within the cell that offered a small glimpse of the world beyond. The view was barely within your reach as it was too high up for you to be able to see outside. 

You were treated no less than a rebel. Accused of treason. Accused of infidelity. Your reputation as an empress was tarnished, excluded from social circles, excommunicated by the church—at least, these were some of the things you have heard from the passerby, the attendants who do their nightly rounds in the west tower. The attendants and guards themselves no longer respected you, although you could still sense that they were cautious around you. Afraid that if the emperor were to change his mind and release you, that you would remember their faces and get back at them with brutal repercussions. 

It was entertaining, truly. It was even more humorous to watch the attendant serve you with soup and bread day and night. Judging by the distinct odor, the soup was laced with arsenic. Someone was definitely trying to poison you, but you were certain that it was not orchestrated by Satoru. Not him. He was too stupid to conjure such a plan as it also contradicted his penchant for more direct and violent approaches. If he wanted to assassinate someone, he would rather crack their skulls or slash them in half. He was too bloodthirsty to kill someone by means of poison. 

So that left you with one person: Lord Maximilian. 

Your father, the Grand Duke, promptly sent you a letter after hearing that you were locked up in the west tower, assuring you of his efforts to persuade Satoru to release you and clear your name, demanding your innocence be proved to the empire. He also cautioned that it might be a considerable amount of time before your husband could address your case, given the pressing matter of the Astherean army's invasion on Caelum's borders. In your head, you knew Satoru was having a hard time dealing with the military conflict without your counsel. It was your mind that staged the coup, leading him to his succession 10 years ago. Now, without you, he was faced with difficulty. He did not even have Nanami by his side to guide him through the war. 

You laughed. Good for him. 

On the 7th day, your father wrote again. This time, he informed you that there was a ceasefire between Caelum and Astheryn. Apparently, Caelum was struck by the bubonic plague. Astheryn withdrew its cavalry out of fear of losing their soldiers from the Black Death, while Caleans were left to suffer from the spreading disease. The citizens were going mad, panic was ensuing, and there was food shortage everywhere. No one knew what the cause was nor how to cure it. He said those who had caught the disease would fall to their deaths in a matter of days. 

You laughed again. That is my own doing, father. 

Three days later, another missive arrived from the Grand Duke, informing you of his recent audience with Satoru. Your father let you know that the Emperor still held a lingering wrath towards you, but he confirmed that your trial would be scheduled shortly. The letter also conveyed unsettling rumors of your potential deposition, suggesting that Satoru entertained matrimonial negotiations with Princess Katarina from the Kingdom of Ellesmere.

You laughed even more. A remarriage, just as he wanted. 

On the 14th day, your father did not write. He visited you on the western tower himself, somberly informing you of Suguru’s demise. He revealed that the knight commander had been thrown in the dungeon on the same day you were taken to the west tower, but he was treated more harshly. He was tortured, mentally and physically, until he met a gruesome death. Your father chose to spare you of the details of Suguru’s tragic fate. 

At that, you could not laugh. No, in fact, you cried silently in your cell that night knowing that an innocent man died ruthlessly because of you. 

What a hypocrite you were! 

The burden of introducing the Great Plague to Caelum, resulting in the deaths of countless innocent citizens, rested on your shoulders. Yet, your moral boundary seemed to be drawn at Suguru's demise?

You found yourself engulfed in laughter once more, disregarding the puzzled stares from attendants and guards alike. They may have deemed you mad, yet perhaps, madness was the only sane response to the chaos of this world. Why? What was there to be ashamed of? Life was but a game of strategy, a grand chessboard where the king, though less agile than the queen, would always be the last man standing.

Seated in a corner that night, your laughter mingled with tears, a mix of raw emotions unleashed, as the echo of approaching footsteps reached your ears. The flickering torchlight casted a shadow upon the wall, revealing the silhouette of a tall man escorted by two knights.

“Y/N.” 

When Satoru visited you on the eve of your trial, you never expected him to call your name so tenderly. What you were anticipating was his usual torrent of anger and scorn, and you found yourself bewildered by the odd shift in his demeanor. He then entered your cell and crouched before you, his blue eyes seemed almost softened by sympathy.

“Thy trial is scheduled for to-morrow,” he spoke deliberately, though you avoided meeting his gaze. “I have a proposal for thee.”

You remained silent.

“Even if thou have betrayed me, I will extend mercy unto thee, out of gratitude for aiding mine ascension to the throne.” The irony of his words were a slap to your face, hurting your ears as you listened. “I require thee to step down from thy throne with humility, dispose of the bastard thou carry, and live a modest, solitary life in the countryside. There, an estate awaits thee. I expect thee to live quietly, and await the time I will visit thee. Thou will remain as my mistress, though it will not be officially acknowledged.” 

As the emperor's words were spoken, the empress's laughter erupted with a wild and bitter sound that echoed through the chamber. Your eyes blazed with defiance, lips curled into a scornful sneer.

“Ha ha ha!” 

Satoru’s lips tightened a fraction, his body turning into solid ice as you let out an ear splitting horselaugh. 

“Ha ha ha ha!” 

His eyebrows furrowed in anger. “Empress!” 

“Fool!” you spat, your voice laced with derision. “Thou think to offer me mercy while chaining me to a life of servitude? Thou speak of gratitude while stripping me of dignity and autonomy. Thy offer is but another prison for thee to keep me as a pawn!” Your laughter turned into manic fervor, fueled by rage and disillusionment. “I will not bend to thy will, nor will I accept thy false benevolence.” 

In the end, Satoru was still a hubristic man. An ungrateful, hubristic man. An ungrateful, hubristic, foolish man. 

“Art thou aware of thy current standing?!” He was livid. Oh, he certainly was. 

Yet you? You smiled. You offered him a beautiful, sarcastic smile. “No soul in this empire shall love thee except for me! All are foes to thee, except for me! I alone have loved thee for thee. Ponder upon that, my misguided husband, for in thy quest for dominion, thou hast forsaken the one who loved thee sincerely.” 

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐗𝐈

“We gather today for a matter of great import: the trial of Her Majesty, the Empress, accused of treasonous infidelity.”

As the trial went on, your thoughts drifted back to the day of the maid's trial. Then, she knelt beneath the throne, facing the scrutiny of the court as she protested her innocence and pleaded for mercy. You, once seated upon the now-vacant throne, regarded her with detached interest. The irony of the reversal was not lost on you. It was true that you would pay the price of your wrongdoings, and be rewarded for your kind deeds. In this life, you let your greed get the best of you. You let your love for Satoru blind you. If you were ever to be reborn, you vowed to never again allow yourself to be ensnared by such folly for it led you to nowhere but misery.

How funny is that? These nobles were all here to watch your trial, while a war and plague were happening outside of the castle’s walls. 

“—may our deliberations be guided by the righteous light of truth. Empress Y/N, you appear to be in jest. This trial is a serious matter to thee.” 

You received the courtier’s look of disapproval, while the others were judging your sanity. 

“Let her be,” ordered Satoru, who looked tired and resigned. You could hear his sigh even if he was a couple meters away, and his eyes glowed in sad blues as he stared at you, as if it would be the last time he would ever see your face. 

Perhaps that truly was the case, and you made no effort to fight against it nor did you appeal to prove your innocence. There was no mercy begged for, no forgiveness sought for. It was because you saw no purpose to live this life. He must have sensed your true feelings inside as he watched you from afar, but Satoru still seemed like he was looking for a way to get you out of the situation. Instead of imposing a tyrannous punishment on you, he was clearly attempting to make you innocent. To give you a benefit of the doubt. All of the courtiers and advisors, however, were in complete disagreement. They knew that the emperor held a soft spot for you, but they did not know that his only purpose was to keep using you. 

Honestly? Your mind was growing weary. The trial dragged on endlessly as Satoru struggled to mitigate your punishment. Not until…

“His Majesty, Emperor Satoru, is consulting with an oracle,” you declared, silencing the entire hall with your revelation, ending this ridiculous trial once and for all, “Deep in the dungeon, he hides the old lady. The emperor of this nation is a supporter of heresy, therefore, he is to be subjected to inquisition.” 

Your accusations, indeed, were grave. An eerie and portentous air filled the throne room as Satoru himself was stunned and wide-eyed. Surprise contorted his features after he was exposed. His lips quivered and his jaw muscles tightened, and anger soon smoldered all semblance of composure on his saintly face. 

Caelum was a deeply Catholic nation and the Catholic Church, as an institution, did not endorse or recognize oracles as legitimate sources of divine revelation. Practices associated with oracles, such as divination, fortune-telling, and consulting spirits, as forms of superstition were heretical. These practices were considered as attempts to circumvent the authority of the Church and seek guidance from sources outside of the orthodox Christian belief.

Individuals suspected of engaging in practices associated with oracles, particularly if those practices were perceived as challenging the Church authority or promoting beliefs contrary to Catholic doctrine, could be subject to investigation, trial, and punishment by ecclesiastical authorities, even if they were members of the imperial family. 

Thus, in your revelation, Satoru was now subjected to a much more serious, unforgivable crime than you. Because he would be at war with the Church. 

And not only would he be at war with the Church, but also with Astheryn, and the Great Plague all at once. 

Of course, Satoru intensely denied it and tried to turn things around on you. He was going haywire as your ‘accusation’ caused a commotion amongst the courtiers who whispered and murmured in shock and disbelief. As the emperor, his voice held the greatest authority in that hall, and so he became furious at you, claiming to everyone that you were diverting the situation to seem innocent, denying the existence of an oracle in his castle, and that you were to be publicly executed for the crime of commiting lèse-majesté by slandering the emperor’s name. 

Finally, the tyrant was back. 

You were sick of his sympathetic gazes. 

If your husband knew you by heart, then he would know that your sole intention at declaring his fortnightly consultations with the oracle was because you wanted to anger him, and in turn, get a punishment that would be enough to free yourself from his grasp. That was the perfect approach. 

But of course, Satoru might be slow in that department. All he could see right now was a traitorous wife whose malicious intent was to undermine his authority and topple him from the throne. An enemy. That was what you had become to him.

On the day of your public execution, your father cried. And so did your ladies-in-waiting. The rest were eager to see you beheaded, all with keen eyes as you were ushered at the public square, drawing in a large crowd of nobles and commoners alike. 

Who would have guessed that you held such notoriety?

The words, “witch!”, “traitor!”, and “evil!” were thrown your way as you were guided by two knights towards the center of the scaffold. With a rosary on one hand, and a bible on the other, you looked at your father. He should be safe. You had written him a letter, telling him to bring the family and the servants to a remote island away from Caelum. As for you, your end was near. 

With your head pressed against the block, and the executioner raising his sword, your impending doom was imminent. The imperial sword he carried, you recognized, was Satoru’s personal and favorite sword. 

“Your head will be severed swiftly,” said the headsman, “Any last words?” 

Your eyes found the sky as your lips curled into a sinister smile. “Citizens of Caelum, I will soon meet thy Emperor in hell!” 

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐗𝐈𝐈

A month has passed since your execution. 

Instead of having your decapitated head impaled on spikes atop the city gates, Satoru ordered your corpse be buried at the tomb. The location was not revealed to anyone else. The citizens also did not question his choice. 

The emperor was secretly grieving the loss of his wife. 

Everyone knew. They were all aware that the emperor was mourning over the empress despite your betrayal of him, yet all of them turned a blind-eye on it. They were afraid that the emperor would punish anyone who would remind him of you. 

Was this still not an act of love? 

In fact, no, not everyone knew. Not everyone were aware that one of your lady-in-waiting swore to him in oath that you never had an affair with the knight and that the child you carried was not at all a bastard, but his. It was Satoru’s heir. It was his own child. It was the future Emperor of Caelum.

Because of his misjudgment and his paranoia, he lost the only woman who truly loved him. 

Now the empire was in shambles. Satoru could not deny that your lack of presence in the castle had a much more devastating impact than the plague that wiped half of Caelum’s population. His advisors were of no use when it came to military tactics. Nanami, the most competent of them all, was nowhere to be found. The soldiers have been struck by the Black Death, lowering his total heavy infantry down to a quarter of its nominal full strength. 

The plague had spread rapidly, causing widespread devastation and food shortage, and as the death toll rose and communities were decimated by the plague, desperation set in. There were villages that had more dead people to collect than living beings who survived. It was a state where all were affected no matter what their noble rankings were. 

People tried various remedies and treatments, often turning to religious practices such as prayer and penance in hopes of appeasing divine wrath and stopping the spread of the disease. Plague doctors also swarmed the streets with their dark canvas robes and beaked masks, implementing quarantine and treating infected individuals. 

Satoru secluded himself in his chamber, both day and night, observing the devastation of his empire from the castle's highest vantage point. Desperation ran rampant, driving citizens to seek sanctuary within the palace walls. Initially, the emperor permitted entry only to the highest-ranking nobles. However, as word spread of the palace offering refuge, lower-ranking nobles and commoners clamored for entry, prompting Satoru to order the complete fortification of the castle walls.

The stench of burning bodies permeated the air as the castle became besieged by the diseased, seeking entry but met with the fierce flames intended to ward off infection from the emperor and his staff.

“What say the Kingdom of Ellesmere?” Satoru, who had been suffering from high fever, muscle pain, and skin lesions, was accompanied by a state of paranoia as he spoke to Lord Maximilian. “The marriage negotiations with that… that princess. What says them?” 

“My liege.” He bowed, apologetically. “They no longer wish to proceed. As we are struck by the plague, King Kalleon IV thought it would be of no benefit to be in alliance with a fallen empire. Furthermore, there is something that thou must be aware of, Your Majesty.” 

The emperor looked at his advisor.

“The trade ship that caused the plague to spread throughout Caelum was…” the old man paused, wary of the ruler’s reaction, “It was approved entry by the late Empress Y/N.” 

Ha ha ha ha!

How twisted of you, indeed. Where does he go from here? Satoru was sick, genuinely sick, as he heard the clamor of diseased individuals rioting outside the castle walls. Inside the palace, his own people were also engaged in their own chaos. He was at a point where he was too fatigued to react violently at his wife’s crimes. What did Maximilian want him to do, chastise you? You were already gone, and you have left him with the most profound revenge than any punishment he could ever fathom. 

Satoru found himself consumed by a maelstrom of emotions. He was seeing red from his visions, and seeing black from his discolored skin. Gangrene. Buboes. Chills. All he could do now was laugh at his misery. He grappled with the haunting question of how he arrived at this wretched juncture. What deeds, what choices, led him down this harrowing path of suffering and despair? 

Lord Maximilian did one last attempt at coaxing the emperor. “My liege, the prophecy…” 

The mere mention of the prophecy, however, ignited a primal fury within him. His words filled Satoru with a seething rage and he entertained the notion of silencing Maximilian's voice forever, drawing his sword and executing a swift slash on his advisor’s neck. 

That damned prophecy! 

That, that was what led to all of this! 

In the depths of his suffering, Satoru had experienced the last stretch of the disease entering his body. He was vomiting, crawling on the floor, reaching for the window in hopes of seeing his empire for the last time. But eventually, his weakened body had him submit to his forfeit. 

In a matter of minutes, he would soon find death and earn his place at the ninth circle of hell. 

In a matter of seconds, he would soon be named the most hated emperor in history, just as you like it. 

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

In the aftermath of the plague and the cessation of war, the once-mighty Caelum Empire lay in ruin, its rulers, once named the worst rulers in history, overthrown. The remnants of the imperial lineage crumbled under the weight of their tyranny. Rising from the shadows of despair emerged the newly crowned Emperor Yuuta, the only remaining lineal heir of the Gojou lineage, who returned to Caelum from his exile with a fervent commitment to restore and rebuild. Known for his fairness and compassion, Yuuta pledged to rebuild the empire, to heal its wounds, and to usher in an era of lasting peace. With each brick laid and each decree issued, he sought to honor the memory of those who perished and to ensure that the horrors of the past would never be repeated. And so, under Yuuta's steadfast guidance, the Caelum Empire embarked on a journey of restoration, its future brightened by the promise of a new dawn.