Abbie

This time you half expect it, which sounds weirder than it is. 

But as you wake up and smell that telltale aroma of grapefruit and Mint, you know exactly where you are.

You turn slowly to check the time. It’s around midnight.

You went to bed fully clothed, phone in your back pocket. The stranger seems to have had the same idea, the fabric of his shirt soft against your fingertips

He wakes up as you slip out of bed, waving your phone to start the flashlight app. So much for snooping around to get intel on him.

“Who are you?” He asks, which is totally the wrong question if you’re a creep who kidnaps people.

“I should ask you the same thing. And you should answer first since this is your place.”

“My name’s Iida. Iida Tensei, to be exact.” He rubs his face. “And I didn’t take you here. I went to bed like normal and woke up with you beside me.”

“Oh. Well, I mean. It hasn’t happened in a while, but it could-”

“Your Quirk?” He asks, making sense of your stuttering before you can. “It’s teleporting, right? Does it malfunction sometimes?”

“Well, it used to, as a kid.” You explain, shame flooding you, “I can only teleport to places I know because I have to see them in my mind. But I don’t know you, right?”

“Maybe I saved you?” He offers. You scrunch up your nose.

“I am- I was a hero. Ingenium? Maybe you heard of him?”

“Oh,” you nod slowly before shaking your head, “well, I’ve heard of heroes, because who hasn’t, but not of Ingenium, sorry. Never had to be saved either.”

“Sorry.”

You laugh, short and abrupt, but in all honesty. “Why? I don’t think getting saved is such a nice thing, right? It means you were in danger before.”

“Oh, but it’s an experience for sure. I mean… When I was a kid, I was-” He stops and you’re not sure why you do it, maybe it’s the softness of his features or the sound of his voice, but you urge him to speak.

“I got lost, once, as a kid. I still remember how helpless I felt and how a hero saved me, and took me back to my parents. I haven’t seen him around since, but I still remember his name. Gran Torino. I knew before… that I was going to be a hero, but that cemented it as something I really wanted to be.”

“Wow,” you breathe, a little awkward in the face of something like that. “I just became a mechanic because my Dad’s one too.”

He laughs, but he doesn’t invite you to speak and you realize that you’ve overstayed your welcome anyway. Not that there was ever any welcome to begin with. You stumbled in here on your own, bothering this nice, attractive man.

“I’m… I’m going to get going now,” you stutter, “and I promise it won’t happen again.”

He doesn’t move to get up. Maybe he only put on a shirt but not shorts?

You try not to think about it when you teleport away.

Nothing happens for over a week, long enough that you begin to think of it as an outlier, brought upon you by the return of your period.

Now that that’s over you only have to get checked out for future disasters.

But then you open your eyes to darkness and the smell of Grapefruit and Mint and you know, without a doubt, that you’re back.

“Iida-kun?” You ask, voice soft with shame.

You reach out your hand and touch his face, surprised to find a slight stubble. But it gets his attention and only a second later you blink against the light. 

It’s gone just a second later and as a blanket is thrown over your head you remember that you went to sleep wearing nothing tonight. In your defense, the AC was broken.

“I’m so so sorry,” you point out, voice shaking, “I don’t know… I thought it was my period.”

“It’s okay,” he huffs. You wonder if he’s blushing. 

“I’m leaving, okay,” you tell him, embarrassment flooding you. “Sorry.”

Half an hour later you find yourself pressed into his side once again, though this time better dressed. He’s not, however. 

You teleport away once again, this time without waking him.

But as you open your eyes to the morning sun filtering in through the half-open blinds, there’s an arm slung over your shoulders and a warm, naked chest pressed to your back.

You’re back. Again.

It’s Sunday and you don’t have to be gone right away, so that’s your excuse for letting your eyes wander through the room. 

His bedroom is clean and organized, with books and sports equipment in every corner.

And there are pictures, tons of them.

Right next to the alarm clock is a picture of a little boy. He looks just like Iida-kun and with a pang, you realize it must be his son. What lies on the other side of his bedroom door? How many children does he have?

This bed is barely wide enough to house two people, so you don’t think he’s married, but-

A pained groan interrupts your thoughts. 

Before you can react, though, Iida pulls you closer, his arms now crossed over your stomach.

He’s mumbling something, his voice laced with pain.

“No, don’t, please-” he begs, “help, someone- Help!”

That’s when you feel it, the telltale signs of your Quirk activating. But you’re not teleporting anywhere, not that you could after doing it so much this night already. And you’re not the one who activated it.

For a second you’re floating, disappearing slowly into thin air. That’s not unusual, it happens mostly when the space you want to go is already occupied or too far away.

But when you materialize again, you’re back where you started, right in Iida’s arms.

That’s when it hits you.

You didn’t teleport to him. He teleported you.

But how? And how are you going to explain that to him?

If Iida is weirded out by the fact that you’re a) back in his arms again and b) not making any move to get away from him, he’s not showing it.

Instead he wipes a hand over his face and plants himself back into the pillows.

“I think I need a coffee,” he tells you after a minute.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t say no to that either.”

“Would it be terribly rude to ask you to make it?” He lifts his head again to squint at you. “Or help me out of bed?”

“Help you out of bed? What are you, eighty?”

He smiles shyly. “No, I’m paraplegic.”

Blood rushes to your face as you realize what that means.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t know.” A hand rests warmly on your forearm. “But the choice is yours.”

You huff for a second, trying to reel in the shame before getting out of bed and walking around it. There’s the wheelchair you should have noticed earlier. 

“What do you do if you need to pee?” You ask as he leans heavily onto you before swinging himself into the chair.

“Hold it in,” he tells you with an embarrassed smile. “But I’m working on getting into it myself.”

Your nerves bubble in your throat as you approach the door only to release in a soft sigh when no little kid is waiting on the other side.

“Your… uh… son doesn’t live here?” You ask as you follow him into the kitchen, too aware of your messy bedhead and your sleepwear-clad form.

“My son?” Iida turns to squint at you. “I don’t have a son.”

“The picture on your nightstand. I noticed it.”

“Oh,” he laughs softly, “that’s my little brother. We’re fifteen years apart, but I should really get a new picture in there. But he looked so cute back then. Not that he’s not looking cute now, I-”

“I get it,” you nod, “I still have a picture of my cousin in my wallet from when she lost half of her teeth.”

“Quirk coming in?” He asks and you snort. “Yes, actually.”

“How am I calling you here?” Tensei asks. He offered you his first name over that first cup of coffee, called his mother to let her know he wouldn’t need help this morning while you fried eggs for breakfast.

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly, “that never happened to me before.”

“But you knew it was possible?”

“Actually,” you breathe loudly through your nose, “I only realized that it had to be that because I was in the middle of teleporting this morning when I was already here only to land back where I was. It’s like reloading a page, you know? You just get back to where you were.”

“But we don’t know each other,” Tensei points out, “or do we? What school did you go to?”

You name it, all of them. Nothing seems to ring a bell. 

“When you…” you hesitate but he urges you to go on, “When you reloaded me, so to say, you were… you were calling for help.”

Tensei pales, his lips stretching into a straight line.

“You don’t have to tell me what that was about,” you add on quickly, “I just thought… maybe us teleporter Quirks are like a helpline? And I was just the closest one?”

“You think so?” He asks, voice strained.

You shrug. “What other possibility is there?”

But there is one. One you don’t even want to think about.

What if the Universe with its laughable humor, decided you were right for each other? 

No, that would be too crazy.

-

Just because you know why it happens doesn’t mean, however, that you know how to stop it. And as you start waking up in his bed more often than not, it seems only logical to go with it.

“Morning,” you mumble, knowing where you are without having to open your eyes. The telltale aroma of Grapefruit and Mint gives it away.

“Morning,” Tensei yawns, unmoving.

You can feel yourself slipping back into sleep, the warmth of him, the softness of the bed pulling you back in. Five more minutes won’t hurt.

“What did we say?” You ask groggily, face planted against Tensei’s chest. “You gotta wear a shirt to bed.”

“Sorry,” he rumbles but doesn’t move. “What time is it?”

“Too early.” You close your eyes again. He doesn’t move either.

“Shit, I’m late for work.” Your jump out of bed is thwarted by the blanket around your legs and you fall unceremoniously onto your face.

“I’ve got a spare toothbrush if you want it,” Tensei offers.

“I have no clothes.”

“Bring them next time,” he smiles, grabbing the hand you’re offering and pulling you up.

He blushes seconds later when he realizes how that sounded.

“I mean, only if you want.”

“Sure,” you agree easily because he really is good-looking, “if you make the coffee in the morning?”

“Brother, I wanted to check in before schoo-” 

You make the mistake of shooting up at the sound of an unfamiliar voice.

The guy in the door looks like Tensei’s Doppelganger, mouth wide open as he takes you in.

You wrap your arms around your torso, realizing a little late that your skimpy tank top might be a bit too revealing for a- how old is Tensei’s little brother again?

“Tenya,” Tensei starts blubbering that second, “You’re… I didn’t expect you this early- I’m…”

“This is my cue to leave,” you mutter, but stop when Tensei’s arm presses you back into the pillows.

“Stay,” he breathes out, eyes flickering over your face before he turns back.

“Sit,” he asks his brother, “we can explain.”

In all honesty, you don’t really know why you stay. 

It’s not like Tensei could do anything about you leaving, really. He has no idea where you live, doesn’t even have your number saved or something like that. And he still has no idea how to activate your Quirk on command…

But you stay, blanket pulled up to your chin to spare the youngest Iida’s innocence.

He’s fun to watch, little Tenya, taller than you without trying, yet turning smaller and smaller in his older brother’s presence.

It’s not hard to guess that Tensei’s his hero.

Tensei’s voice is calm and collected as he explains. You don’t even try to help him sort through this mess, instead letting your eyes wander over his features. He’s not wearing a shirt and his back, turned to you, is covered in scars, like a spider web of history. 

Your hand itches to smooth across it, letting the warmth of his skin seep into your fingertips. 

He’s got a few Moles too, sprinkled across his milky white shoulder blades like freckles over sun kissed cheeks. 

“Are you even listening?” Tensei turns his head and you blink a few times to focus.

“Sure,” you lie effortlessly, not missing how his lips quirk into a smile. 

His eyes are warm as they move over your face and you have to force yourself not to hide away. You’ve never seen a face this attractive turn so soft before, at least not when looking at you.

“I’m… I’m leaving then,” Tenya adds, voice a little strained. “I don’t want to be late.”

“Sure,” you nod, just as Tensei asks him not to rush. 

It’s weird. You want to leave and you want to stay longer, want to keep this bubble around the two of you, yet go out and scream from the rooftops that this man might feel things for you.

Work calls, though, and even though you stay as long as you can - helping him out of bed and into the shower, making coffee while he gets ready, thinking about kissing him while he sits on the other side of the table, talking about his plans for the day - you have to leave eventually. 

You hug him awkwardly, trying not to sink into his hold even though you want nothing more.

“See you next time,” you say with a wink, expecting to be back in the evening.

But Tensei does not call for you.

-

One week passes without finding yourself in his bed.

You have no means to contact him other than teleporting into his apartment and you don’t dare to do just that. What if he’s having guests over? 

What if- and the thought is making you nauseous - you end up teleporting into his bedroom only to find him making out with someone else?

Wait. The thought of someone else implies that he made out with you too. He didn’t and it’s not like you can blame him for that, right? 

Looking down at your hands, the skin oil-stained and chapped, you can’t help but feel unworthy of him. Former Heroes do not mingle with basic mechanics. 

You go out drinking the second week, trying to drown your sorrows in cheap beer and awful music.

“What about him?” Rumi, your best friend points toward a guy in the corner, red wings folded behind his back. He’s attractive, but there’s also something unsettling about him, the way he seems to be watching everyone without a care in the world.

“No,” you shake your head. You don’t feel like erasing the memory of Tensei’s touch - as platonic as it had been - from your skin by being with someone else. And even if you did, you wouldn’t pick someone who’s definitely way above your league.

“Oh, come on.” She takes a shot and winks. “I’m going to talk to him if you don’t.”

“Suit yourself,” you say when you notice someone else. 

His hair is jet black, reflecting the bright lights overhead that flicker over his heavily scarred skin. His eyes, a bright turquoise, move over the people with cold carelessness. Something drops in your stomach when his gaze crosses yours.

You grab Rumi’s arm. “We need to leave,” you tell her, and there must be something in your voice that cuts through her haze, because she nods, following you toward the door.

Shivers are running up and down your back as you wait for a Cab, chatting up a few girls who are waiting by the door, convincing them to join you and your friend.

“Oh shit,” Rumi says, moving to get out of the car, “I forgot my jacket inside.”

“I’m getting it,” you tell her, pushing her back, “I’ll see you there, okay?” 

She hesitates, but you’re already out of the car, closing the door with a click.

Inside, the mood has shifted, though not many seem to have noticed, too far gone already in their haste to get drunk. 

Sweat’s running down your back as you move through the crowd, looking for the flimsy black jacket. 

You smell it just as you reach it. Fire. Something’s burning. 

It’s hard to tell from back here and even getting up on a barstool barely helps. That is, until you turn, spotting the guy with the turquoise eyes behind the bar. His hands are filled with flames and his eyes burn the same.

He notices you at the same time, lips curling into a cruel smirk. Not far from him is the fire alarm and you lunge forward to pull it. Something collides with your shoulder, pain curling around it.

You scream just as the alarm goes off, cutting the music like one does a ribbon. The sprinklers go off immediately, but you’re already halfway gone, panic setting off your Quirk.

You have half a mind to think “Somewhere safe” before the room disappears before your eyes.

Grapefruit and Mint.

It cuts through your panic like sunlight through a rain cloud.

“Tensei?” You rasp, trying to make sense of it. “Tensei?!”

The light comes on and you find yourself sitting on the bedroom floor, hair damp, jacket clutched in your hands.

“Are you okay?” He asks, before sucking in a breath. “What happened to your shoulder?”

“I think- I think I just got attacked.”

“Let me see. Can you get up? What happened?”

You dissolve into tears under his gentle care.

Tensei thinks you should talk to the police.

You think everything else would be a better idea. 

“I’m not supposed to use my quirk,” you tell him, again and again, as he pours you a cup of chamomile tea in the morning. “What if they fine me? What if- what if they take it away?”

“They’re not going to take away your Quirk just because it activated by itself. You might get a slap on the hand for using it too much if they knew, but you’re not hurting anyone with it, are you?”

“Can you check the news?” You change the topic, unease swirling in your stomach. “See if there’s something about the bar?”

He dutifully picks up his phone, giving you a second to take him in.

His sight eases your mind. He looks just like he did two weeks ago like he always looks in the morning. Soft and warm and reassuring, like all you need to do is climb into his lap and forget the world.

You want to ask if he missed you, but you don’t dare to.

“Nothing,” he says, putting his phone down. “Would you- would you feel better if I accompanied you to the police?”

“How would we explain that we know each other?”

He blushes. “We could… we could say that we’re… friends?”

The unease in your stomach is getting harder to ignore. Or maybe you’re hungover as well.

“Why didn’t you call for me… uh, the last few weeks? Are you getting over your nightmares?”

Tensei huffs out a tired laugh. “I’m taking sleeping pills. I’m not a fan of them, but they seem to be working. I thought… maybe you left before I woke up or something.”

“No, I thought…” You swallow nervously, looking down at the table before shrugging as if you don’t feel as much as you do. “Maybe you found someone else you could teleport into your bedroom.”

You realize how it sounds just as you say it, but it’s too late to take it back.

His hand moves to cover yours, a warm weight that seems to settle your nerves with the smallest touch. “I’m barely managing to figure out how I got you, I’m not switching things up.”

For a while, you two sit in silence, unmoving. 

Eventually though, Tensei speaks again.

“If you let me, I’d like to accompany you to the police, okay?” 

You’ve only been to the police once before when a car you had been working on turned out to be stolen. Everything, from explaining how you noticed to how you got that client in the first place, had been a terrible, terrible experience.

But walking in with Tensei is like stepping into a different world..

One officer, a mutant with a cat face, comes up to you almost immediately, shaking Tensei’s hand with a smile.

“What brings you here, man? Long time no see.”

“I’m- my friend here,” Tensei points to you, “got attacked in a bar yesterday. Nothing in the news suggests that you know about it, so we wanted to inform you right away.”

“An attack?” Green eyes flicker to you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you mutter just as Tensei disagrees. “First-degree burn on her shoulder. I did the best I could last night when she came by, but I’m no doctor.”

“I’ll call someone to check in on you. Come in, come in. Do you want coffee? Donuts?”

It clicks by the third person who walks in. They all assume that you’re not just Tensei’s friend, but his girlfriend.

It’s in the way they smile at you, unassuming, chuckling when you name your profession.

“Fits like a glove, doesn’t it?” They say, preening when the words light up a feverish blush on 

Tensei’s cheeks.

He holds your hand when a nurse examines your shoulder and you wish that this was real, that you’ll step out of this building and continue just like this. 

But living in his world for a day, where police officers joke around with you and doors open that you didn’t even know existed, just highlights how far apart your lives truly are.

As it turns out, you seem to have met Dabi, a villain who’s rather new to the scene. You can tell, just by the looks exchanged and awkward silences filling the room, that he’s someone you don’t want to mess with.

“It would probably be better if you didn’t go home for a while,” Detective Tsukauchi announces. “If this is a bar you frequent regularly, it wouldn’t be hard for him to figure out where you live.”

“My friend-” You start just as Tensei says “You can stay with me.”

You tense, just as Detective Tsukauchi smiles and nods.

“An excellent idea. We can escort you home if you need to pack some things first.”

“Oh, no-” You shake your head and wave your hands at the same time. “Getting escorted by the police to my place would just open the door to more trouble. If you could… like… give me a proper written excuse so that I can use my quirk, I can do that in one trip.”

“I’m afraid that I-”

“Tsukauchi, Sir-” Tensei lays it on thick with the charm, “I think in a situation like this you could make an exception, right? Don’t you have Officer Moroi on your team as well? You could still consider it an official escort if she did the teleporting.”

And so, half an hour later, it’s decided.

Officer Moroi’s Quirk is almost the same as yours, although she needs exact coordinates and is able to teleport other people - and stuff - as well.

Saying goodbye to Tensei is an awkward affair. Detective Tsukauchi is going to take him back to his apartment while you pack your things.

You move in for a hug, a handshake too formal for what everyone assumes you are. Tensei moves as well, but you misjudge his intention as wanting to hug you as well. His lips end up on yours for the briefest moment before you pull back, his face as red as-

“Oh,” you cough awkwardly, turning around. “Detective, I… I just remembered. There was another guy at the bar, with wings, he was looking-”

Tsukauchi doesn’t even blink. “No worries. We’re aware of him.”

“You-” Tensei’s hand curls around yours, pulling your attention back to him.

“Stay safe, okay?” He asks, face still flushed. “I’ll see you later.”

-

“I’ll take the Couch,” you offer in the evening, your things awkwardly merged with his. Your clothes stuffed into his drawers, your toothbrush sitting in the same cup. 

Tensei made dinner, told you stories from his past, and checked your injury, warm hands seemingly everywhere at once.

“Are you sure?” He asks, rolling through the living room. “There’s more than enough space in my bed and we’re kinda used to sharing it, don’t you think?”

“Well, yeah, but that was then-” You trail off, not really sure where you’re going with this.

His features stay relaxed as he nods, moving toward his bedroom.

“Do you want some help-”

“I got it,” he sends you a smile you can’t help but question. “I told you I’m getting better at it.”

So you’ve got nothing to do but slip under the covers and stare at the ceiling, trying to blend out the thrumming of pain in your shoulder.

You can hear him breathing, even from this far away, and it calms and upsets you at the same time.

He’s here. But he’s so far away.

Quietly, he calls your name. 

You consider ignoring it for a second, pushing him a little further away. For your safety or his, you’re not sure.

Still, your voice slips out anyway.

“Yes?”

“Are you scared?”

“Of what?” You ask, surprised.

“Being in a relationship.”

You swallow harshly. Has it been this obvious?

“I am, you know,” he admits, “and I was wondering… if you feel the same.”

You blink up at the ceiling, your mind racing ahead. Whatever you do now, it can make or break… whatever this is, between the two of you.

“You know,” you answer, slipping out of bed, “I have called myself a lot of things. I have been called a lot of things, too. But I don’t think I’ve ever believed that I was scared of something.”

You stop in the doorway to his room, your eyes getting used to the darkness. He’s facing you.

“So you’re not scared?” He asks, voice thick.

“Oh no, I’m scared shitless,” you admit, walking the short distance until your knees hit the bed frame, “but that has never stopped me from doing something. What about you? Doesn’t being a hero mean something similar?”

He’s warm as you slip under the covers, your whole body sucking up that familiar aroma of Grapefruit and Mint, your head almost falling into place against his shoulder.

“It’s a different kind of fear, I guess? You can train how to be a hero, from fighting Villains to rescue missions. You can’t train being in love.”

“Mhm, some people definitely try,” you joke, your hands unable to rest, moving across his chest until you can feel his heartbeat pick up beneath your fingertips.

“Tensei?” You ask, basking in his warmth. “Have you been in a relationship before?”

“No,” he admits, one hand a soft pressure on your lower back. “I dated around a little after school, but I was so busy building up the business, spending time with Tenya, I just…”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. You think you’ve got all the time in the world and then you’re thirty, everyone else has already had kids and you wonder where you went wrong.”

“Would you-” He stops, but his heart races, you can feel it.

“Yeah?”

“Would you go on a date with me?”

“Usually,” you tease, because his voice quivered in a way that doesn’t fit his sturdy frame, “I don’t ‘sleep’ with guys before a first date. You kinda messed with my rules here.”

“Sorry,” he rasps, trying to play along.

“It’s fine,” you move a little, pressing your lips against his cheek. “You did wine and dine me today, after all.”

-

You could get used to this.

Tensei’s still asleep, mouth half-open, face mushed against the pillow. You can’t stop your curious hands from traveling, rubbing soft circles into his warm skin, following the spiderweb trails of his scars, pressing a teasing kiss to one of his moles.

He groans softly, hands twitching by his side.

“What time is it?”

“Time to relax,” you tease, pulling one of his arms around you. He snorts.

“I would, but I really have to pee.”

“Oh, what a shame,” you move to sit up, untangling him from the blanket. “But we can slip back into bed after if you want. Although I am craving breakfast.”

Tensei blinks up at you but doesn’t speak. You blame it on him not being a morning person and help him into the bathroom, before moving toward the kitchen, prepping a quick breakfast.

He’s already back in bed when you step into the bedroom. 

Sleeping with, or rather, next to Tensei, has taught you a few things about him so far. He runs hot, he likes to spoon, and he makes the softest little kitten snores when he’s sleeping on his back.

But living with him, just for a day or two, shows you so much more.

He pretends to be a morning person, but it takes a while for his brain to kick in. The smell of him, Grapefruit and Mint, comes partly from his Quirk, the engine jets in his arms being powered by Grapefruit juice, and partly from his absolute obsession with everything Mint scented. Bodywash, Shampoo, Deodorant, he even has Mint scented Candles sitting all over his apartment.

Tensei obviously works out a lot and hasn’t stopped after retiring from being a Pro Hero, the dumbbells in the corner showcasing not a single speck of dust, but he has no trouble lounging on the Couch with you, asking about the book you’re currently reading, or bothering you with the most insane questions about the show you offer to watch.

He’s a family man, too, and you suspect that there is only one reason you’re not absolutely plagued by visiting family members right now.

“Did you tell your parents not to show up?” You ask as you pull on your shoes. Tensei had asked to go out for a little stroll and since the weather was playing along, you had no choice but to agree.

“Uh, yeah, how did you know?”

“I’m a woman, I can tell.”

He sends you a look and you falter. “Okay, fine, there’s a Calendar by the door that has everyone’s name on it. Your parents would have come by today.”

“Oh that,” he nods, face clouding, “I’m trying to become more self-reliant. I know everyone’s just trying to help, but-”

“It’s stifling,” you finish his sentence and he nods, smiling a little.

“You get it?”

“Oh yeah, my Dad is the worst when it comes to this. It doesn’t help that we live in a district that has quite a high crime rate. I’m not dumb, but he’d like to see me somewhere safe.”

“As every parent would, probably. Where do you live?”

“Why, do you wanna know if you went on patrol there?”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t, I would have noticed you.”

There’s a teasing tone to it, letting you know that he’s flirting. He’s not bad at it and since you’ve been doing nothing but cuddling all day, you dare to lean down and kiss him.

-

If Rapunzel was a man, he would look like the guy following you.

He’s dressed as a civilian, his long, blonde hair tied into the prettiest messy bun you’ve ever seen. And the size of it…

Tensei recognized him yesterday at the park. Apparently the Police are really concerned with your safety, sending him over to keep an eye on you.

“He’s nice,” Tensei had declared. “You don’t have to worry about him. His Hero Name is Present Mic, you might know-”

“No,” you shook your head, “Never heard of him.”

“Any Hero that you do know?”

“Well, All Might, of course,” you smiled. “But my favorite Hero is Laundry Hero: Wash.”

Tensei laughs. “I could never have guessed that. Sounds like a story I would like to hear.”

Your phone alarm pulls you out of the memory and you turn it off, blinking yourself a little more awake in anticipation of your stop.

Tensei doesn’t live that far away, but you still need to take three different trains to get to work, now that you can’t just teleport into your apartment and walk the short distance from there.

Goldilocks, err, Rapunzel, follows you out, whistling a tune. You don’t know how he does it, but he manages to fit in with the crowd of blue-collar workers.

 -

“So you got yourself a boyfriend?” Rumi, best friend and also best car-saleswoman you know, is eating her lunch across from you. “Without telling me?”

“It’s not like that,” you argue, well aware of the tall man dressed in jeans that must be Rapunzel’s replacement for the day. “It’s complicated, okay?”

“I know complicated, but that sounds like a whole ‘nother level,” she takes a sip of her diet soda and pins you down with a glare. “If you’re staying over at his place already it’s a big deal.”

“Yeah,” you fiddle with your utensils, “I know, he’s just… he’s so safe, you know?”

“Safe?” Rumi furrows her brows. “Explain.”

“Like, he’s so… funny. And warm. And caring. Last night we were fighting about who gets to cook Dinner, and- What?” You cut yourself off when you notice her wry smile.

“Oh, you’re so far gone, it’s hilarious.” She chuckles into her drink. “Bring him in some time, will you?”

“We’ll see,” you put your stuff away, “My dad would most definitely love him, for sure.”

Your phone rings at that moment and you pick up, heart hammering in your throat at the sight of Tensei’s name on the display.

“Yes?”

“Hey,” you can hear the smile in his voice. “How’s your lunch break? I’m in the store right now and wanted to ask what you want for Dinner tonight.”

“I thought I was going to make Pizza?”

He laughs softly. “Fine, you can make Pizza tonight. Do you want ice cream for dessert?”

“Oh, yes, please. Mint-Chocolate Chip, if possible.”

“Mhm, no, not possible, that box is already reserved for me.”

“Well, you gotta learn how to share one day.”

Rumi’s grinning like a madman when you finally put your phone away.

“What?” You ask, fighting against the warmth bubbling in your chest, the smile that’s threatening to overtake your face.

“Nothing,” she giggles, “nothing at all.”

-

“What’s the verdict, Doc?” You ask as Tensei finishes changing the bandage on your shoulder. 

He huffs with amusement, the sound cut off by the closing of the door.

“Tenya?” Tensei asks, a tone in his voice that can only be worried. You turn.

Tenya’s face is bruised, dark blue hair full of grime. 

“Nii-chan?” His eyes flicker over to you, face closing off the hurt and exhaustion he’d shown seconds before.

“I should leave-” you start, realizing half way that you have nowhere to go. Tensei’s hands are still warm on your shoulder and even though he’s pulling away, his hold on you stays, his eyes flickering between you and his brother.

If he has to decide between the two of you, you’d rather have him pick Tenya.

“Are you hungry?” You ask, getting up. “I’ll make you something to eat, give you boys some privacy.”

Tensei’s apartment is bigger than yours by a mile but not huge.

You can hear them talking, the tone of their voices heavy.

At one point you think you can hear one of them crying, the sound squeezing your heart like one does a lemon. Should you check on them? What if it’s Tensei crying?

The food getting ready decides for you. No one likes burnt Pizza.

“Coming in,” you announce your arrival softly, feeling relieved and a little guilty when you realize Tenya had been the one crying.

“Hey, big guy,” you place the dish in front of him, “hope you like this. If you want, I can disappear again, the choice is yours.”

“I’m fine,” he wipes his eyes on his sleeve, leaving a smear of dirt across his nose before he puts his glasses back on. “You can- You can stay. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It’s fine. Tensei was your brother first. And I’m warning you, if you let me stay, I’m going to ask you all sorts of questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Well, for starters, I definitely need to know your favorite flavor. Because your big brother here is obsessed with everything Mint flavored and I need to know if it runs in the family.”

“I do like Mint,” Tenya offers, cutting off a first slice of Pizza. 

You know very well that this is just a means of distraction, that talking about what’s bothering him would be a lot better, but still… you need to start somewhere, right?

Tensei’s hand squeezes yours under the table as Tenya rambles on about different flavors he cannot choose between.

“He asked if he could sleep over,” Tensei explains as soon as Tenya disappears into the bathroom. He sighs. “When I-” He stops, gestures to himself, the wheelchair. “When this happened, it hit him hard. I was in a coma for quite some time and he’s never been without me, really. We were always very close. I know that everything changed, but there’s something to him now… something that wasn’t there before. It’s like something turned dark inside him.”

“That does happen sometimes,” you agree. “When you realize too early on that life’s not fair. That people are more vulnerable than you thought they were.”

Tensei takes a shuddering breath and your hands rush to hold him, console him in any way you can.

“Do you want to share the bed with him?” You ask, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. You’re not usually this touchy with guys you’re interested in, but you usually don’t feel this safe around guys you’re interested in. You’re starting to act all weird and mushy around him and it’s a little unsettling sometimes.

Tensei laughs. “I don’t think we’d fit. But we could keep the door open.”

“I think it would be good for him if you could admit that you’re still having nightmares.” The words slip out before you’ve really thought about them, but you don’t want to take them back. “Not that you have to do it right away,” you ease the sting of them, “but it can help, sometimes, to know that the strongest people are also afraid of something.”

“Maybe,” he offers, and you leave it at that.

-

Toshi nudges your feet, walking by. You roll out from under the car to check what’s going on, surprised to see Tensei in all his glory.

He sits tall in his wheelchair and the shirt he’s wearing is one of your favorites, bringing out the blue in his eyes. 

“Hey,” you greet him, a little self-conscious about your dirty overalls. “What brings you here?”

“I had an appointment not far from here and thought I could check in on you. When’s your lunch break?”

You squint up at the clock in the corner. “Half an hour.”

“I can wait, if that’s okay with you. Is that alright? I can leave too, if you don’t want company.”

You don’t want company, but you want his company. 

“Stay, please,” you say, swallowing the weird feelings that are swirling in your chest. “You can share a cup of coffee with Rumi in the office, if you want. You know how to get there?”

He nods, smiling as he turns his wheelchair and rolls out of the garage.

You can feel all eyes on you, but you’ve never felt less like discussing your personal life with anyone, so you roll back under the car. There, at least, you can ponder why him showing up has made you this nervous.

Tensei knows you’re a mechanic. And he’s obviously not bothered by the fact that this isn’t some fancy-schmancy auto repairs shop. So if he doesn’t think bad of you, why do you do it?

Tensei’s laughing with Rumi and your Dad, of all people, when you walk into the office. You tried your best at cleaning up, but you still feel dirty in comparison to Tensei’s perfectly ironed clothes.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, leaning into your father’s hug. His overalls look worse than yours. 

“Rumi called and asked me to come check out one car. She suspects some foul-play.”

“Ah.” You shoot her a glare, but she smirks, playing innocent.

“And how lucky I came in right away,” Dad adds, “so I could get to know this guy. Did you know that your mother got saved by his father once? I remember it clearly, it was this awful purse-snatcher guy and Ingenium saved the day. He really was a fine lad, you got to tell him I said hi,” your father slaps a heavy hand onto Tensei’s shoulder. You flinch at the ink-stains he leaves in the fabric.

“I will. Father remembers all of his saves, so I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear from you. But I think we should get going, if we want to make use of our time,” Tensei turns to you. “Are you ready to leave?”

“Leave where?” You furrow your brows. 

“There’s a park nearby and I thought we could get a stroll in, what do you think?”

“Eh,” you falter for a second, but Rumi’s less than subtle head movements tell you to go along. “I guess why not?”

“Do you always have to be out in nature?” You ask twenty minutes later when you’ve found a place that’s to Tensei’s liking, a tall tree creating enough shadow for the two of you to sit under.

He blinks. “I guess… I guess I like it a lot, does it bother you?”

“Not that much,” you admit, “It’s just a little surprising, I think. How was your day so far?”

Tensei’s face turns serious, your heart thundering at the sight.

“You know,” he starts, fiddling with a napkin, “I’m supposed to undergo surgery in a week or so.”

“Oh? What kind?” Surely, it’s nothing big, you tell yourself.

Tensei sighs, taking your hand and squeezing it tightly.

“It’s experimentative surgery. I have a twenty percent chance to walk again.”

“And the other eighty?”

He chuckles, but it doesn’t sound amused. “I try not to think about it.”

“And you’re supposed to do it? Or is this just an option you’re thinking about?”

His eyes flicker over your face. “It’s an option. My mother doesn’t want me to take it. Tenya’s all for it, although I haven’t really disclosed the risks to him.”

“Tenya wants you to be the person he knows you as. You’re his hero. No one wants to see their heroes fall.”

Tensei sighs, shoulders slumping. It hurts to see him that way. Before you can stop yourself, you’ve climbed onto his lap, dirt be damned.

“Hey,” you say, cradling his face in your hands. “Talk to me?”

“I just want everything to be how it used to be,” he admits. “I want Tenya to be happy again.”

Behind your ribcage, a flame of hurt starts licking at your heart. You push it aside, focus on what he’s saying.

“He’s becoming a hero, right?” You ask, “Doesn’t that mean… He’ll have to face these things eventually, will he not?”

“Yeah, but- but not like this. Not on his own. I’d be by his side, fighting alongside him.” 

Tensei’s hands dig into your hips now. Your heart stutters with his next words, sensing something beneath them that your mind isn’t ready to process yet.

“If I could turn back time, I would. Even if it meant being a coward that day. I just-” He breaks off, resting his head on your shoulder. You let him cry it out, your food long forgotten.

-

Tensei’s smiling again by the time he leaves, though you can still see the sadness lingering in his eyes. 

Your mind is fogged up as you work and you need twice your usual time for even the most basic tasks.

Rumi’s sending you looks, but you’re not ready to talk about it yet.

It’s on your way to the train station that someone pulls you aside.

You recognize those red wings instantly.

“Yo!” The guy smiles, but it’s not friendly, “Have you heard anything from Dabi?”

You blink, trying to move away, but his grip on your arm is firm.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ah, don’t play it like that.” He smirks. His eyes are a mesmerizing golden color, but they hold no warmth for you. “I know you had intel. What I don’t know is why you came back into the bar?”

“Intel?” You finally manage to rip your hand out of his grip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I told Tsukauchi about you and he knows you were there. I’m going to let him know you’re not unimportant as he thinks you are.”

You ready yourself to teleport, cursing the time it still takes - it’s not like you had much chance to practice - when he laughs. It transforms him, the cold, harsh lines bleeding from his face.

“Oh, so you really know nothing,” he says, voice easy as if he’s just talking about the weather. He waves at someone, who turns out be Rapunzel, hiding behind a nearby pillar.

“You were right, Mic, she really knows nothing.”

“Excuse me?” You ask, equally horrified and … You’re not sure how to name that other feeling, just that it leaves you feeling weak, like a terrible cold. 

“Ah, I’m glad.” Rapunzel- Present Mic, you remind yourself, grins at you, blonde mustache dancing above his lips. “Just taking care, you know. Can’t be careful enough these days.”

In less than a minute, both of them are gone and so is your train. 

All you want to do is teleport over to Tensei and let him make sense of this interaction. But using your Quirk out in the open is never advisable when you’re not a registered Hero, even in a place like this. 

So you find yourself a secluded space to wait for the next train - or teleport, depending on what’s shorter, your patience or the wait time - and sit down to think. 

Your mind’s still reeling from today’s revelation.

In about a week, Tensei will undergo experimentative surgery. He might be able to walk just fine after that, be who he used to be before it happened, whatever it is. 

You try to think of him, standing up. He’s going to be tall, for sure. Probably leaning in the doorway with that lazy smile he always wears when you get home.

But- if everything turns the way it was before, where will that leave you?

Because before, he didn’t have time for a relationship, nor did he want one. He was busy prepping his agency for when Tenya was ready to join him and there’s still a few years until that can happen. 

And even if he wanted to scale down his work hours, there’s a difference between dating an Ex-Hero and an active Hero. Not just in the risks he takes, but also in his public image.

Dating you, with your job and your origin, your ties to a part of Tokyo that’s less than stellar. You can’t help but think of yourself as a stain on his public imagine, much like the oil stains your father - and you - left on his outfit today.

Your train arrives, but you don’t get on. There’s still too much to think about.

-

“Where were you?” Tensei waits for you in the hallway, brows furrowed. “You didn’t pick up your phone.”

“Thinking,” you say, plant yourself in front of him without taking off your shoes. “We need to talk.”

“Do you want to sit down-”

“If you want things to be how they used to be,” you talk over him, needing to get this out, “I will no longer be here.”

Tensei stops, mouth half open.

“I’m not offering you a chance to turn back time. There might be people with a Quirk like that, but I don’t have it. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking today and I… I don’t want to hold you back. I understand why you want to get back on your feet and I’d never be in the way of that, but I don’t think we could be together if you returned to being a hero.”

“Why not?” His voice is too soft for a man this sturdy. 

You turn your eyes toward the floor.

“Because you are you and I am me and we do not fit together.”

“I think we did pretty well,” Tensei argues and you pull your shoulders up to your ears.

“Yeah, because at the moment you’re broken. I do fit well with broken things, not with those who look new and shiny.” You can’t stop your hand from reaching out, touching the oil stain that’s still on his shoulder.

“I leave stains, Tensei. And you’re a Hero in a white suit.”

“So that’s it?” He asks after a moment of silence. “You’re just going to leave?”

“Staying would just prolong the hurt, wouldn’t it?” You wring your hands. “You don’t even need me anymore. You sleep fine.”

“It’s not about sleeping,” his fingertips dig into the armrests of his wheelchair. “It’s about the time in between. I want to be awake with you.”

“I know,” you swallow the pain, “but that doesn’t make everything alright, does it? I’ll… I’ll get my things, okay? Apparently, I can go back to my place.”

Tensei watches you quietly as you grab your stuff.

A few times you can tell that he’s preparing to say something, but he doesn’t.

“Goodbye,” you tell him, heart heavy, longing for nothing more but to crawl into his arms and stay there, the whole world be damned. “I hope everything turns out alright for you.”

-

Rumi thinks you’re stupid.

You think you’re stupid.

You’re not sure what your Dad thinks, because you haven’t yet told him about the whole affair.

But from the looks he’s sending you over a plate of what you fondly call “Dad’s hodgepodge”, you’ll find out pretty soon.

“So,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “That guy in the wheelchair.”

“What about him?”

“He’s your mate?”

You fight the flinch, but your face must betray you. Your father chuckles.

“You know, you come right after your mother.”

“I know.”

“Mhm, do you?” He cocks his head to the side to squint at you. “Because I don’t think you do. Did you know that your mother accidentally conjured me up one day?”

You freeze, food halfway to your mouth.

“What?”

“Yeah,” he nods, a wistful smile on her face. “She was so done with dating, she sat down, thinking long and hard about what she wanted in a man, and then wished for it to appear, in one person, thank you very much. A few seconds later I sat in the middle of her room, plenty confused. Didn’t know my Quirk could be turned on me like that.”

You gape at him, mouth open. 

“That’s not what you told me! At all!”

“Well,” he takes another sip. “Didn’t want you to try and recreate it. You’ve always been a curious kid.”

“But-”

“Ah,” he shakes his head at you. “Don’t talk back to me. Your mother would be disappointed.”

“Mom would be disappointed if I didn’t talk back,” you snap and he grins, bright like you know him.

You drop your head in your hands. 

“So what if he teleported me to him?” You ask, face hidden. “That doesn’t mean we will automatically work out.”

“No,” your father agrees, “but I don’t think we raised you to be a quitter. Or to be ashamed of where you came from. You used it as a motivation, became something we could be proud of. But I’ve noticed, lately, that you’ve lost your goal out of sight. Didn’t you want to get out of this part of town? Open a garage in one of the nicer districts and take me with you?”

“So you’re saying I should milk him for what he’s worth?”

Your Dad laughs.

“No. But I think you should at least try to see if you can work things out before you decide it will fail. And before you ask, Rumi didn’t tell me a thing. You’re just bad at hiding stuff.”

“Am not.”

“Am too. Eat your food.”

-

Tensei messages you every day. It’s not much, just a few details of what’s going on, but he’s persistent, even though you don’t respond.

Today’s text has you freezing though.

“Talked to Tenya. He’s as torn about going through with the surgery as I am, now that he knows the risks. Hope you’re doing well.”

The letters are dancing in front of your eyes. 

Tensei’s just as scared of things as you are. But while you were the one to take the first step, slip into bed with him when you could have run away, he’s the one keeping the conversation going.

You pick up your phone and start to type.

But isn’t that cowardly as well, you wonder, staring down at the words. You should tell him in person.

His apartment, however, is empty. 

At first, there’s no hint as to where he could be, until you reach the Calendar in the kitchen, tomorrow marked. Tensei, thorough in everything he does, has written the name of the Clinic next to the appointment.

Not that it’s of any use to you now, when visitation hours are most certainly over.

You pace his living room for a good minute before you realize, a little late, that you don’t have to deal with those anyway. All you have to do is focus on his face, the familiar smell of Grapefruit and Mint and-

Tensei groans, loudly. You’ve landed on top of him.

“Shit, sorry,” you climb off of him as quickly as you can, expecting the telltale smell of Hospital disinfectant and the crinkling of cheap linen.

Instead, your legs land on a mountain of plushies instead of the floor and when he turns on the light, you come face to face with a lifesized poster of a Hero named Gran Torino, the name all but plastered above his head.

“What are you doing here?” Tensei asks, voice groggy, “Am I dreaming?”

“Are you not in the hospital?” You ask back, trying to see more of this strange room. There’s sports equipment in the corner and pictures on the wall. 

Wait, is that Tensei with his front teeth missing? 

“I’m at my parent's place,” he whispers, turning the light off. “What are you doing here? Did I- Did I summon you again?”

“No, I wanted-” The darkness doesn’t make it easier to speak, instead you’re so much more aware of his body and his smell and the warmth he exudes. “I wanted to be there, with you. For the surgery or whatever you decide to do. I didn’t want to send you just a message, though, so I turned to your apartment but there was only a note on the calendar-” Tensei pulls you into his arms without a word.

“Are you going to leave again?” He asks after a while, voice muffled by how his face is pressed into your shoulder.

“Only if you send me away,” you promise, your hands finding the scars on his back, the spiderweb familiar, though not yet burned into your memory. One day they will be, you think, hoping that it’s true.

“Not sending you away,” he says, pulling you down. “And about the surgery-”

“You can do whatever you feel like doing,” you promise, “And I’ll do my best to support you.”

He laughs softly. “Even if means having breakfast with my parents tomorrow? Accompanying me to a different surgeon for a second opinion? Sitting with Tenya and my parents while I’m undergoing surgery that could kill me? Or pushing my wheelchair around until you need your own in case I decide against surgery?”

“Out of all those options, breakfast with your parents sounds the most daunting,” you confess, “but if they don’t bite my head off for sneaking into your room in the middle of the night to turn their innocent son into a Rebel, I can be swayed.”

“What about the rest?”

“You’re not the only one scared of relationships,” you admit. “But I’m not willing to let that fear stop me. You might have to remind me, though, sometimes. I don’t have the best memory.”

“Deal,” he says and you don’t need light to know he’s smiling. You can feel it, the curve of his lips, pressed against your own.

- x -

“Tensei?” Tenya calls from the front door.

“Taking a nap,” you call back, “I’m in the kitchen.”

It surprises you yet again, how Tenya’s still not done growing. He’s blinking in that tired way that tells you that school has been hell, but he still moves to hug you before he descends onto the Couch. 

Your apartment is closer to his school than his parent's house and even if it wasn’t, you’re pretty sure he’d still show up at least once a week.

In a few months, right after graduation, Tenya will start working as Ingenium, the newest member of their family to properly carry the name as a Pro Hero.

Tensei is insanely proud and so are you.

You take one look back at Tenya’s sleeping form when you feel it, the telltale signs of your Quirk activating.

You have just enough time to drop the knife you’d been holding before you dematerialize, only to plop back into existence right next to your Husband.

Tensei’s smiling, eyes open.

“Hey there,” he greets you, pulling you close, smothering you in a cloud of Grapefruit and Mint. “Missed you.”

“I was just in the other room,” you pretend to be mad, but your hands are betraying your words, rubbing circles into his back. 

“Too far away,” he jokes. 

“One day you’ll get in trouble for misusing my Quirk,” you tell him, twirling a strand of hair around your finger.

“h-” he starts, but seems unsure of how to finish. “how did you figure out the coffee machine?” he asks, and you both know it’s not the question that was supposed to come out. why are you doing this? why are you still here? most of his other endeavors have always fled in the morning, the bed cold and the house empty by the time he awakes. he felt the connection between the two of you last night, but normally the people he pursue leave without a trace, and he’s gotten used to it. it’s what he knows. so why are you in his t shirt, sipping from his mug, and acting like this is normal? why does he find himself wishing it was?

“there’s only four buttons on here, and one is for the clock. you don’t think me so simple, do you?” you tease with a smile.

no, he doesn’t. quite the opposite, in fact. he thinks you’re brilliant. you had met at a bar downtown and talked and talked, the tension eased by a few fruity cocktails. taken by your wit and humor immediately, he found himself inviting you over to extend the night a little, maybe have a glass of wine or two. not entirely surprisingly, you ended up in his sheets, all giggles and sloppy kisses and passionate touches. he fell asleep, sated and content with his limbs intertwined in yours.

instead of answering your question, he replies, “just a splash of milk, please.” 

your quirked brow betrays your skepticism. "not even a little sugar?" he seemed to have had the largest sweet tooth last night, if you correctly remember the sweet drinks that were downed absentmindedly between quips, stories, and touches that lingered just long enough to be more than friendly.

he's sheepish when he replies "i shouldn't, right? i have to limit my sugar somewhere or later down the line I am going to have to see my doctor more often and I am trying to avoid that. she's a scary lady."

he's not finished with his sentence before you tip in a small dash of sugar. "you're still in your early thirties. give it another decade or two before you start worrying about your blood sugar." you bring the mug over, bare feet padding softly on his hardwood floor as you approach. "i don't think a little sweetness in your life will kill you."

as he takes the mug from your hands, his fingers brush over yours. he doesn't look away from you eyes as he lifts the mug to his lips, but just before he takes a sip, he murmurs, "it might."

you hum and walk back over to where your mug sits on the counter. leaning against it, you ask, "how'd you sleep?"

"better than I have in ages," he replies, and his tone is oddly sincere. "I wasn't expecting you to still be here."

"should I not have been?" though you try to sound confident and carefree, a light waver in your voice reveals the fear at the idea that you've gravely misunderstood him and embarrassed yourself to no end in the process.

your thoughts don't get to stray far, however, because he's quick to respond. "no, no. it was a pleasant surprise. you have been a truly pleasant surprise."

your cheeks warm and you suddenly find his cabinets fascinating. "you're not supposed to be smooth first thing in the morning, you know." you grumble.

he's closer now, directly in front of you, and he places his mug down, just to you right. as he retracts his hand, it comes up to tilt your chin back towards him.

he's so handsome it's unfair.

"i'm sorry, sweetness, can I make it up to you with some breakfast?" he asks, his voice entrancing and still thick with sleep. the gesture and the question leave you breathless, so you just nod affirmatively. he places a kiss to your temple before turning and digging around his fridge and grabbing the ingredients he needs to get started.

-

soon after that, you become a constant in his life. he hadn't planned on you as a part of his routine, but you just, fit. in the mornings he finds himself spending less time in the bathroom mirror fixing his suit. now he wakes up eager to get dressed and sit on the edge of his bed with his choice of tie, waiting for you to take your spot between his legs and tie it for him. seeing the furrow in your brow as you adjust it just right, fixing the collar and tugging on the lapels to make sure he's perfect, it all makes him swoon.

before you, his lunch couldn't even be considered a break. he would just pop open whatever prepackaged meal he had bought that day and eat it in between readings of contracts and reviews of cases. now, he leaves his office without fail, never missing the time to eat and listen to you talk about your day.

when his bouts of insomnia get worse, you're there to help him. the house starts to smell like lavender. you've got all kinds of melatonin gummies and you don't let him say no to a massage, first focusing on his temples and scalp, then laying him down to work the knots out of his back. he's snoring by the time you're halfway down.

when he gets really stressed and the pressure starts to get too much, he comes home to a quiet house. he finds you in the bathroom preparing a bath with salts and soaps. you usher him in, insisting on taking care of him- carding water and shampoo through his locks and providing him with a safer space than he's ever had in his life.

higuruma is a lawyer. he deals with people who spin words all day. lies, loopholes, and secrets are all imbedded in his quotidian conversations with clients and colleagues. you, however, don't ripen him up with flattery or kind words. you don't make promises you don't intend to keep and you don't mince and twist your words to use against him. you simply do what you think is right. your actions have captured him far more than any words alone could do. in return, to show you how much he has truly come to love and need you, he looks to what he knows best. contracts.

For ordinary, aggravating people, all it takes is them seeing that muscular, pissed-off man approaching, and they run off as fast as they can.

Nanami trained for hours upon hours to become stronger in order to protect you, which is how he managed to become so buff.

If you’re a sorcerer as well, Nanami insists upon the two of you doing as many missions together as possible.

He’s not a whiny kid, so he won’t throw a fit if he can’t be right by your side, but he’ll definitely try to negotiate with the higher-ups at every given opportunity about it.

He knows you’re strong and that you can handle yourself, he knows that you don’t need his protection, but he still wants to be there for you.

He’d die for you without a second thought. Jump in harm’s way as a human shield without any care in regards to his own life.

Nanami is naturally insanely strong, of course, but if an enemy hurts you, even if it’s just a small scratch, he becomes an entirely different person.

He once slammed someone through several walls for kicking you in the stomach. They died instantly. And Nanami gently and carefully inspected your bruises after.

He does worry that he’ll somehow hurt you on accident, both directly and indirectly. He’s afraid that he’ll accidentally hurt you whenever he touches you, or that something bad will happen to you if he accidentally makes a mistake while on a mission.

Not only does your dear husband protect you from other people, but he’ll protect you from weather, dangerous objects, etc.

If it’s raining, he won’t hesitate to snatch off his jacket and put it over your head if you both forgot to bring an umbrella. He’ll also carry you across unavoidable puddles without you even asking.

If he notices a loose nail sticking out somewhere or a wobbly chair, he fixes it immediately just to make sure that you won’t get hurt.

When fighting, he might remove his tie. He might remove his jacket. But he will never remove his ring.

Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman⸺a work I have long heard whispers about but never fully encountered until now. Her words, as bold as they are revolutionary, have struck a chord deep within me. She speaks of the education and independence of women, of our capacity for reason and our right to be regarded as more than mere adornments to the lives of men. Her arguments are so meticulously crafted, so unwavering in their conviction, that they have compelled me to reflect on my own circumstances.

I confess, there is something intoxicating about the notion that women might be more than what society has so neatly confined us to be. Is it truly so outlandish to consider that we, too, possess minds capable of great thought and spirits yearning for freedom?

I cannot help but wonder if there will ever come a time when these two worlds might reconcile⸺the status quo and that of what the book articulates. When women might be both respected and fre

Before you could finish writing in your diary, you suddenly heard frantic footsteps down the hallway, leading closer and closer to your door. Nobara bursts into the room, and you look up at her in confusion and, partially, dread. Nobara wouldn’t be bursting into your room unless there was someone who absolutely couldn’t see what you were doing in your past time.

Before she could catch her breath, she wheezed out, “Your mother.”

You quickly hopped into action with practiced and routine movements. Lunging for the floorboard that had hollow space beneath it, you moved it so you could place the book and your diary underneath and quickly hide evidence of you reading scandalous and radical works.

Just in time, it seemed, as your mother walked into your room to see you on your bed.

She squinted her eyes in suspicion. “What were you doing?”

You averted her gaze. “Nothing, just daydreaming, Mama.”

Usually, she would prod further into the matter, but it seemed as if she was too excited for that. Clapping her hands, she exclaimed, “I have just got an exclusive invitation for you! One that could secure you a very good match.”

You gave her a quizzical look as she walked closer, sitting at the foot of your bed with an expression of barely contained glee. “We shall be visiting the Gojo estate in Kent!”

At the mention of his name, your left eye twitched, though your mother remained oblivious. “Indeed, Mama? As is every other lady in London, I presume.”

“No, no,” she replied, waving your quip away with a dismissive hand. “We are to arrive at the Gojo estate before the house party.”

Your heart sank, dread pooling in your stomach. Oh, no, no, no, no. A sudden pressure gripped your chest, and you found yourself clutching at the bodice of your dress as if to steady your racing heart. “Before the house party, Mama?” Your voice, despite your best efforts, came out higher-pitched than usual, though you tried to maintain a semblance of composure. “Whatever for?”

“To secure an advantage, of course!” she replied with a bright smile, as though the matter were the simplest thing in the world. “The Gojo family has extended a personal invitation for us to stay with them for a few days prior to the event. It is plain to see⸺he is quite taken with you. Even that dreadful Lady Whistledown has noted as much.” She smiled indulgently, reaching out to gently smooth a stray lock of your hair. “It is your natural grace and charm, my dear, that has made you the season’s diamond.”

As your mother continued to speak, the twisting in your stomach began to intensify, morphing from nausea into something sharper, something more akin to anger. You kept nodding, trying to maintain a slightly pained smile, but the thought of spending time at the Gojo manor, in such close quarters with him, became increasingly unbearable. The memories of your recent encounters⸺his biting remarks, his mocking gaze⸺were still fresh in your mind, and the idea that you were being pushed toward an engagement with him made your skin crawl. But you knew better than to express your true feelings to your mother.

“That is… unexpected,” you managed to say, choosing your words carefully. “Are you certain this is a good idea, Mama? Perhaps we might appear too eager and ward off other potential suitors, lest they mistake me as claimed by Gojo?”

“Nonsense!” she replied with a dismissive laugh. “If all goes well, you’ll be announcing your engagement at the house party itself!”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could hardly breathe as the full weight of what she was saying sank in. An engagement. To Gojo.

You almost felt faint, but as the initial shock wore off, it was replaced by a simmering anger. How dare he? How dare Gojo make a game of this, toying with you as if your future was nothing more than a sport to him? And how could your mother not see that she was playing right into his hands?

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the anger was bubbling up, threatening to spill over. “But, Mama, what if he does not wish to marry? What if he simply enjoys… toying with people?”

Your mother’s expression softened as she reached out to pat your hand, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. “My dear, you are overthinking this. Men like Lord Gojo may seem playful and insouciant, but they are ultimately driven by duty. A man in his position knows the importance of finding a suitable wife, and you⸺my darling⸺are just the woman for the role. You are intelligent, accomplished, and beautiful. He would be a fool not to see that.”

Each word only fueled the fire of your anger. Duty? Suitable wife? You bit your lip, feeling the weight of her expectations press down on you like a suffocating blanket. But beneath that weight was a growing resolve, a refusal to be treated like a pawn in some grand game of power and prestige. Gojo might enjoy playing with others' lives, but you would not be his plaything.

You gave her a pained smile. “If you say so, Mama…” you replied, the anger now evident in the tightness of your voice.

“Of course, I do!” she declared, rising from the bed with a self-satisfied smile. “Now, we must begin preparations immediately. There is much to be done before we depart.”

As your mother closed the door, you stormed over to the floorboard, whipped open your diary and prepped your quill to furiously write: 

Lord Gojo is a most intolerable wretch. Though his outward appearance might deceive many, there is an endless well of impurities within his character.

Indeed, God truly blesses the wrong soldiers with features such as his. However, I take pride in being one of His strongest for I possess the fortitude to resist the temptation of ending Gojo’s miserable existence myself.

Were Sukuna here, I daresay he would assist me in disposing of the body with great enthusiasm.

While the Gojo dinner table was stocked with the finest of meals⸺that deserving of a wealthy dukedom, of course⸺Satoru found himself eyeing one dish of all⸺the scones.

Observing his mother and father, who were engrossed in deep conversation, he realized he could make the move. As discreetly as he could, he stocked his plate with many of the treats. The cook, bless his soul, knew how to make scones exactly right: soft, yet hard around the edges that have Satoru drooling when he takes a bite in to get a burst of flavor. He discreetly tucked a few sweets into his pocket for tonight’s work session on some Gojo business, thinking himself subtle.

Satoru could continue writing endless love poems in his head towards his chef’s scones, But Lady Gojo, ever watchful, noticed his little scheme. She arched an eyebrow, her tone teasing as she remarked, "Satoru, darling, it astonishes me that you remain so fit with such a fondness for sweets."

Without missing a beat, Gojo flashed his usual charming smile and responded, “Perhaps it is because I am kept on my toes constantly by you, Mother.” His parents shared a laugh at this, clearly amused by his playful banter.

The Gojo dining fell into a comfortable lull once again, sounds of forks and knives scratching against porcelain plates. The silence was better, Satoru believed. Because he knew he was not going to be pleased at what his father had to say to him next, judged based on the thoughtful look he adopted while staring at Gojo. 

“And how fares the season, Satoru? Have you made any progress?”

Satoru wanted to groan so bad, but instead, he straightened in his seat, the smile on his face now simply a facade. “I am confident all will proceed as expected, Father,” he replied, though his tone lacked its usual certainty.

Duke Gojo narrowed his eyes slightly, sensing something amiss. “Are you sure about that?” he probed. “You know very well, Satoru, that your inheritance of the title is contingent upon securing a wife and producing an heir. This is not a matter to be taken lightly.”

The weight of his father’s words hung in the air, pressing down on Gojo with the full force of expectation.  Would it be eccentric if I decided to scream to the heavens right now?

Before Gojo could even formulate a response, his mother, ever the one to steer the conversation, interjected with a delighted exclamation. “Oh, it’s all handled, my dear! Did you not hear? The diamond of the season is arriving a week early to our manor in the countryside!”

All thoughts of screaming himself mute vanished as his mother’s words piqued his interest. Now, this was interesting. You? Spending time with him, under his roof, with no escape? The idea alone was enough to spark a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Satoru almost started cackling maniacally at the thought of pestering you until you broke that oh-so-perfect and uptight demeanor of yours, until you were reduced to exactly what you were: an unruly and highly emotional know-it-all.

One could say Satoru was very bitter about the losses he had bore for that horse race.

As a self-assured smirk started to creep up Satoru’s face, Duke Gojo blinked, surprised by the news. “A week early? That’s quite unusual,” he remarked, turning his gaze back to his son.

Satoru offered a sweet smile. “Yes, unusual indeed.” He knew his parents were well aware of the marital implications of such an arrangement, and he could feel their eyes on him, gauging his reaction.

But Lady Gojo, satisfied with her announcement, continued with a gleeful smile. “I daresay, it’s all coming together perfectly. Even matchmakers could not have planned it better.”

Indeed, Mother! The prospect grew more delightful with each passing second, and the corners of his mouth curled into a sly grin. You were in for quite the week, and he would relish every moment of ruining your composure.

Yuji leaned in closer, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “Sister, did you perhaps neglect the chamber pot today?” he asked, his tone teasing but his gaze serious. “Your expression is quite telling.”

 The carriage, though spacious, felt suffocating with the tension hanging in the air. Your mother sat by the window, her eyes sparkling with what could only be described as gleeful scheming regarding your imminent week at the Gojo manor. You, on the other hand, simmered with barely contained fury, with a pinch of nausea, your thoughts consumed with how you would confront Gojo at the ball you were all headed to. Yuji’s scrutiny only added to your irritation, his amused yet concerned face a stark contrast to your stormy mood. Across from you, Choso couldn’t suppress a snicker at Yuji’s comment, clearly enjoying the exchange.

You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer. “Yuji, if you do not cease your incessant prying, I shall see to it that you regret ever opening your mouth!”

Yuji flinched, visibly startled by your outburst. His confidence wavered as he stammered, “I⸺I meant no harm, sister.” He quickly extended his elbow to you, his movements almost robotic in their sudden politeness. “Please, allow me to escort you inside.”

You ignored the offer, your focus already elsewhere. The moment the carriage came to a stop, you heaved yourself off, stepping into the entrance. Grand revelry was before you; many suitors and young ladies were present, necks glittering with diamonds and hands adorned with gloves. Roving your gaze around, you saw him.

The world around you seemed to blur as your gaze locked onto Gojo, everything else fading into the background. A sleazy and handsome grin on his face, definitely talking about some useless nonsense. 

Like a bull seeing red, you marched forward with determined fury, your sights set solely on him. He stood there, the picture of nonchalance, completely unaware of the storm heading his way. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your anger propelling you forward with each step. Yuji and Choso exchanged confused glances as they lingered by the entrance, unsure of what had just transpired.

As you closed the distance, Gojo finally noticed you, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. But there was no time for his usual banter; you were ready to confront him head-on, no matter the consequences.

“What have you done?” you roared, striding towards Gojo. His head turned slowly, an amused and condescending smile creeping across his face. “I know this is⸺”

“Miss Itadori,” a voice hissed, dripping with offense. You turned to see Miss Yuki glaring at you. “Lord Gojo and I were in the midst of a very private conversation.”

You blinked, realizing that in your anger, you had entirely overlooked Miss Yuki’s presence. Though inwardly rolling your eyes, you knew it was best to maintain decorum. You curtsied in apology. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Yuki. I shall leave you both to continue your conversation.”

As you stepped back, giving them respectable space, Miss Yuki side-eyed you with a sharp “hmph!” before turning back to Gojo with a flirtatious smile.

“So, my lord,” Yuki began, her tone coy, “what type of woman would be to your liking?”

Gojo scratched his chin, feigning deep thought as he prepared his response. “Well, Miss Yuki, I would imagine she must be intelligent, accomplished, and⸺” He paused dramatically, taking her hand and kissing the back of it with a slow, deliberate drawl, “⸺and beautiful.”

You suppressed a sigh. Does he never tire of that tiresome gesture? It’s grown exceedingly dull.

Yuki’s pleased grin widened. “And what level of intellect do you find satisfactory, my lord?”

“Well,” Gojo mused, “I would prefer a lady well-versed in calculations. I often find myself making errors in my ledgers late at night, and a wife who could assist would be most valuable. Moreover, I would enjoy engaging in debates on scientific matters.”

Is he seeking a wife or an accountant?

The unusual nature of his request clearly left Yuki taken aback. She blinked, her smile tightening. “Indeed, Lord Gojo, these are rather...uncommon expectations for a wife.” Yuki then hesitated, glancing around as though searching for an escape. “Well, my lord, as intriguing as this conversation has been, I fear I must take my leave. My mother has been awaiting my return, and I would not wish to keep her waiting.”

She curtsied with a strained smile, clearly eager to extricate herself from the awkward situation Gojo’s peculiar standards had created. Without waiting for a reply, she swiftly turned and made her exit, leaving you alone to confront Gojo, who now had an amused look on his face, as if he had purposefully answered that way to ward Miss Yuki off.

You pointed your finger at him, wagging it accusingly as you hissed, “Gojo, I know this was one of your ploys.”

He let out an exaggerated groan, and he dropped all flirtatious pretenses he had adopted when conversing with the other lady. “Ah, yes. Please, by all means, heap more blame upon me for things entirely beyond my control. I derive immense pleasure from being the target of your needless and misdirected fury.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

With a strained smile, he sighed. “It seems our mothers have taken it upon themselves to orchestrate this entire charade.”

Your hands flew up in exasperation. “I cannot believe this! I would sooner perish than marry you, and heaven help me if I were ever to bear your children!”

“Spare me the theatrics,” Gojo replied, shaking his head as if amused by your outburst. He inclined his head slightly, gesturing toward something in the distance. “We are being observed.”

You followed his gaze and saw, across the dance floor, both of your mothers trying—albeit poorly—to appear inconspicuous as they exchanged furtive glances and whispered behind their fans.

You huffed in frustration, turning back to Gojo. “This is absurd.”

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. “But would it be so terrible to bear my children?” he murmured, his tone teasing yet somehow serious.

Your pulse quickened at his words, but you refused to let it show. You straightened your posture, meeting his gaze with as much poise as you could muster. “I can’t think of far worse fates, my lord,” you replied, a touch of sarcasm lacing your words.

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly undeterred. His hand brushed lightly against your arm, the touch fleeting but enough to send a shiver down your spine.. You felt a slight tremor of awareness course through you, and despite your best efforts, a hint of warmth crept into your cheeks.

He leaned in even closer, his voice a low murmur. “You seem flustered, Miss Itadori,” he said, his breath warm against your skin. “I must admit, the idea of a future with you is… intriguing.”

Flustered and at a loss of witty remarks, you stammered, struggling to find your voice. “I⸺I hardly think that⸺”

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly enjoying your reaction. He gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His eyes had this sultry expression to them, one that you didn’t need to ponder more than one second to know had no good intentions. 

With that, he released your hand, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding and your cheeks aflame.

Gojo ⸺ 1, You ⸺ 1. 

Choso crossed his arms, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Mother, why are we departing a week earlier than the rest of the ton?”

The carriage rocked gently, the luggage rattling with the motion. You slumped in your seat, weary from the long hours of travel, your thoughts drifting to the comfort of a soft, fluffy bed. Your mother, noticing the beads of sweat forming on your brow, handed you a handkerchief before turning to respond to Choso. “Well, my dear, your sister has caught the eye of Lord Gojo, and his mother has personally invited us to arrive early so that we may become better acquainted.”

Your eldest brother frowned, while Yuji stared vacantly out the carriage window, enraptured by the sheep present on the farm you were passing. “But why should we do so?” Choso pressed, his tone firm. “It is not as though Sister is lacking in suitors. Why should we entertain Lord Gojo’s interest above all others?”

Even in your heat-induced lightheadedness, your attention was drawn to Choso’s defense of you. A flicker of hope ignited in your chest; as the viscount, Choso held considerable authority over your mother, and he could potentially influence the matrimonial decisions made on your behalf.

“Lord Gojo is the most eligible bachelor of the season,” your mother insisted. “We would be foolish not to seize such an opportunity.”

Choso retorted quickly, “And Sister is the most eligible lady of the season. She is the diamond. If Lord Gojo’s eligibility rests on his title, would we not do better to pursue a match with Duke Nanami?”

You silently cheered Choso on, hoping he might sway your mother’s mind away from the ridiculous notion of a match between you and Gojo.

But your mother was not easily deterred. “I am quite set on Lord Gojo, Choso,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “Your sister seems to have formed a rapport with him, and this is about more than just titles. We must also consider her inclinations.”

Both your mother and Choso turned their expectant gazes upon you, awaiting your response. Flustered and unwilling to directly oppose your mother, you swallowed nervously and nodded. “Whatever you think best, Mother.”

The remainder of the ride was marked by the satisfied smile on Lady Itadori’s face and the glowers⸺yet paired with concerned glances⸺from Choso.

The slowing of the carriage and its turn onto a smooth pathway roused you from the gentle lull of travel. You blinked your eyes open and glanced outside. A magnificent flower bed greeted you, a sea of blues ranging from the palest sky hues to deep indigo. But what truly stole your breath was the manor itself⸺more a castle than a mere country home. Its grandiose structure rivaled Buckingham Palace in regality, with elegant blue spires and stately beige stone walls that seemed to stretch towards the heavens.

The carriage came to a complete halt at the base of a grand staircase, where Duchess Gojo stood waiting, surrounded by footmen and maids all dressed in coordinated baby blue livery. As the carriage door was opened, you, your mother, Choso, and Yuji stepped out into the warm afternoon air.

“Lady Itadori!” Duchess Gojo descended the stairs gracefully, her arms extended in greeting. Your mother met her with an equally warm embrace.

“Your Grace,” your mother replied fondly, her face lighting up with familiarity. The duchess then turned her gaze towards you, her smile gracious and welcoming.

“And this must be our diamond,” Duchess Gojo said warmly, her eyes twinkling.

You offered her a polite smile and curtsied. “Miss Itadori, Your Grace. I am deeply honored by your hospitality.”

She waved off your formality with a flick of her hand. “The pleasure is entirely ours, my dear. We are delighted to have you with us, and I do hope that you and my son will find ample time to get better acquainted before the house party.”

You returned her smile, though unease stirred within you. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Choso and Yuji introduced themselves with the same practiced politeness, and after the formalities were concluded, the duchess clapped her hands together. “Come now, let us take tea. You must be quite fatigued from your journey. I shall have the staff see to your rooms so you may rest after.” She directed the servants to unload the luggage from the carriages and then motioned for you all to follow her into the manor. “To the drawing room!”

As you crossed the threshold into the manor, you were struck by the sheer opulence surrounding you. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate gold and blue detailing, and the walls were lined with endless portraits of the Gojo family. Your gaze was momentarily drawn to a portrait of Lord Gojo himself. The artist had rendered his eyes in a cold, oceanic blue—quite unlike the electric blue intensity they held in person. The painting failed to capture the vitality, and perhaps the insufferable smugness, that characterized his gaze.

You quickly looked away before anyone could notice your lingering stare, hurrying to catch up with your family as you reached a grand set of double doors. Footmen stood at attention as Duchess Gojo led you into a drawing room, elegantly appointed with plush furnishings and laden with trays of sweets.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” the duchess urged, gesturing towards the seating. She and your mother settled at a small table near the door, while you and your siblings gravitated toward the couches in the center of the room, where a tempting array of desserts awaited. As you sat down, maids swiftly arranged teacups and began pouring the tea. Yuji and Choso took seats across from you, their expressions reflecting varying degrees of interest—or lack thereof—in the proceedings.

“So, Miss Itadori,” You looked across the room to look at the duchess, who was leaning further to grab at her teacup and take a sip. “How do you find this season?”

Her question hung in the air, and in that instant, you felt the weight of every gaze in the room fall upon you. The most searing of them all, though, was your mother's. You could feel it like a prickling heat against your skin, a silent reminder of the expectations that had been laid out before you long ago.

A love match. The words echoed in your mind, each syllable twisting into a knot of uncertainty. The very idea of love seemed foreign to you—elusive, abstract, something that belonged in novels rather than in the practical world of arranged marriages and alliances. Love was not what you had been taught to seek. No, your upbringing had been grounded in duty, decorum, and the quiet understanding that marriage was a contract, a union of convenience rather than passion.

But how could you say that aloud? How could you tell the duchess—tell anyone—that your dreams did not include the fiery passion of a love match, but rather the comfort of a peaceful arrangement? Your throat tightened, and the words that had once seemed so simple lodged themselves in the back of your mouth, refusing to emerge.

Your mother’s eyes bore into you, filled with unspoken expectations. You knew what she wanted to hear: that you were pursuing love, that you were open to it, that you were the ideal picture of a hopeful young lady seeking her romantic equal. But that wasn’t your truth. Your truth was more complicated, filled with desires for stability, understanding, and a life unburdened by the chaos that love so often seemed to bring.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the beat almost deafening in the sudden silence of the room. What were you supposed to say? How could you balance the delicate line between honesty and propriety?

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making it nearly impossible to find your voice. The tension swirled within you, an unrelenting force that made you wish you could simply disappear. What if they could see through you? What if, with one wrong word, they uncovered the truth of what you really wanted—a marriage that was practical, peaceful, and devoid of the complications that came with love?

But that wasn’t something you could admit. Not here. Not now.

You forced a polite smile, hoping it hid the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before the weight of the room could settle further, the heavy double doors swung open with a soft yet deliberate creak. Every head turned in unison, and the air seemed to shift as your savior, Satoru Gojo made his entrance.

His attire was impeccable—a finely tailored waistcoat of deep blue, embroidered with silver thread that caught the light just so, paired with polished boots that gleamed as if they had never touched the ground. Yet, despite the formal attire, there was an air of disarming casualness about him, a kind of effortless elegance that made the room's grandeur seem almost insignificant by comparison.

His damp hair, still tousled from what must have been a recent bath, added an edge to his otherwise polished appearance. Droplets of water shimmered at the tips of his white locks, catching the light as he ran a hand through them. The scent of his cologne, rich and intoxicating, seemed to announce his arrival to you even before he spoke.

He strolled in with an air of ease. “It seems that our guests are finally here!” He moved with an easy grace, crossing the room in a few long strides, bowing slightly to the duchess and your mother before turning his attention to you. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary, a playful glint in his eyes as if he could sense the internal battle you had been fighting mere seconds ago.

“Miss Itadori,” he greeted you with a smile that could have melted the iciest of hearts, “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

Your mother’s eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Ah, Satoru! Come, sit with us.” She motioned to the spot next to you with enthusiasm. “Why don’t you and Miss Itadori sit together?”

Choso’s sharp gaze followed him with a hint of suspicion, but he made no objection as Gojo accepted the invitation, seating himself beside you with an infuriatingly confident smile. Yuji and Choso remained on the opposite couch, observing the scene with varying degrees of curiosity and caution.

“Well then,” Gojo began, grabbing an obscene amount of scones to heap on his plate, “I was just at the 

archery range earlier today. Quite the exhilarating sport. I find it sharpens the mind as much as the aim.”

Yuji, ever the admirer of feats of physical skill, leaned forward with interest. “Archery, my lord? That sounds remarkable! I must admit, I’ve always found it to be one of the noblest of pursuits.”

Gojo leaned back into the couch, resting one arm casually behind you on the backrest, his posture the very picture of relaxed confidence. He smiled at Yuji’s enthusiasm and continued, “Archery has long been a favored pastime of mine. It requires precision, patience, and an understanding of balance—qualities I find both necessary and rewarding. I've dedicated many years to perfecting my skill with the bow.”

He paused, allowing a slight, reflective smile to touch his lips. “In fact, just last month, I competed in the annual tournament at Her Majesty’s estate and managed to hit the bullseye in every round. Some of the other competitors remarked that it was almost unnatural, but I assure you, it is merely the result of countless hours spent at the range.”

Yuji’s eyes widened with admiration. “Every round? That’s incredible, Lord Gojo! Your dedication must be unparalleled.”

Gojo shrugged with mock humility, though his eyes glinted with pride. “It’s all in the discipline, really. Once you understand the rhythm of the draw and the release, it becomes second nature. Of course, the challenge is in maintaining that focus while under pressure. But I’ve found that to be the most exhilarating part—especially when the crowd is watching.”

Yuji nodded fervently, clearly enthralled. “I would love to see you in action, my lord! Perhaps you could give me a few pointers one day.”

Gojo chuckled, his gaze shifting to you for a moment before returning to Yuji. “Ah, I’m sure you’d take it quite well, Yuji. Perhaps we could all visit the range together during your stay here.”

 The nonchalant arrogance in his voice, paired with the image of him lording his skill over others, irritated you. You couldn’t resist a small quip, your tone light. “Oh, indeed, Lord Gojo. Your accomplishments are so profound that I fear I might believe you are telling tales. Of course, I wonder with all this focus on archery, do you leave any time for pursuits that require a bit more… finesse?”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as they met yours, his gaze sharp with understanding. Yet, rather than take offense, he allowed a playful smirk to curl on his lips, his voice laced with teasing intent. “Ah, Miss Itadori, archery indeed requires finesse, I assure you. But perhaps you’d care to test that claim yourself? I’d be more than happy to provide a demonstration.”

As he leaned in closer, you found yourself all too aware of his presence. The scent of his cologne, a warm and intoxicating blend of vanilla and tobacco, filled the air between you, making it difficult to maintain your composure. His face hovered just near enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

“In fact,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “I’d wager that with a little practice, you might find yourself hitting the mark with more than just words.”

His proximity made your heart skip a beat, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Despite your resolve to remain composed, the effect of his closeness and the quiet intensity in his voice left you momentarily at a loss for words.

Choso, sitting across from you, gave Gojo a sharp look. Meanwhile, Yuji was practically beaming at the prospect of an archery lesson from the lord himself.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice more controlled than you expected, though there was still a slight quiver in it. “But I’ve found that words can be just as powerful, if not more so.”

Gojo smirked, his gaze lingering on your face as if savoring the moment. The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable, and you could feel the weight of it, pressing against your own resolve. But you wouldn’t allow him to see just how much he affected you—at least, not yet. 

Despite the warmth in your cheeks and the flutter in your chest, you held his gaze, meeting his playful intensity with your own determined calm.

However, your mother’s voice broke through the spell. “Oh, Your Grace, might we have a tour of the manor sometime?”

Duchess Gojo, clearly delighted to show off her home, nodded eagerly. “Of course! There is a pavilion overlooking our garden where we can play pall-mall, and the library is quite extensive.” Your interest piqued at the mention of the library, and you made yourself a mental note to explore where it was.

Then she turned her gaze towards you, her expression growing more conspiratorial. “And as for Miss Itadori, Satoru has promised to give her a personal tour of the grounds tomorrow after she takes rest today.”

You stiffened at the suggestion, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Gojo lean in slightly, his mischievous grin widening as he whispered, “I’ll be sure to make it… thorough.”

You couldn’t sleep.

Restless thoughts kept you tossing and turning, denying you any hope of finding solace in slumber. The events of the day had left you drained, and after the conversation in the drawing room, you had collapsed into the plush, inviting bed. Sleep had claimed you almost instantly. But now, in the dark silence of the night, you awoke with a start, your mind refusing to quiet. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t escape the whirlwind of thoughts that stirred within you.

The prospect of the coming days loomed over you, a storm of anxiety brewing. Spending time with Gojo, of all people? Your mother’s insistent push for this potential marriage was unbearable. How could you possibly tell her that you despised the man? The mere thought of being bound to him in matrimony was a nightmare⸺marriage itself was daunting enough, but to an arrogant, loquacious, and insufferably self-assured man like him? It would be nothing short of Hell on earth.

With a frustrated sigh, you rose from bed and rubbed your face, trying to dispel the fog of sleeplessness. Perhaps a visit to the manor’s library⸺the one mentioned during tea⸺would offer some distraction. Grabbing a lantern, you slipped out of your room, treading softly down the stairs and into the main hallway. You moved with the caution of a thief; your mother would surely not approve of your nocturnal wanderings. Her voice echoed in your mind, sharp and reprimanding: “Good things never happen in the dead of night!”

As you opened the library’s grand doors, a soothing fragrance enveloped you⸺the scent of aged paper mingled with a hint of vanilla, a fragrance unique to this room. But what truly took your breath away was the sheer size of the library.

Bookshelves lined the walls, rising two stories high, creating a space that could easily have served as a grand ballroom. Cozy nooks beckoned you to sit, while further exploration revealed tables and armchairs tucked away behind towering shelves. It was a bibliophile’s paradise.

Your eyes roved over the multitude of volumes: ancient ledgers, personal family records, scholarly works on politics, astronomy, and the sciences. Though you did not often indulge in scientific pursuits, you found them fascinating whenever the opportunity arose. One book in particular caught your eye:

Observations on the Planet Venus.

Drawn to the back of the library, you found a large window offering a stunning view of the garden and pavilion, bathed in starlight. You couldn’t resist the allure of the table beside it, where you settled in and began to read.

“The planet Venus is an object that has long engaged my particular attention. A series of observations upon it, which I began in April, 1777, has been continued down to the present time…”

Time slipped away as you became engrossed in the text, the lantern’s light flickering softly as you pored over the meticulous observations and calculations. Your hands were soon stained with ink, evidence of the notes you had been feverishly jotting down on scraps of parchment you had found in a supply cabinet. A good hour or two had passed before you finally leaned back, stretching your tired muscles. You rested your head on your arms, intending to close your eyes for just a moment. Soon, you found that your sleepy brain forced you to reflect and muse upon your life, as a mind often does at three.

What a pity it was that you couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Gojo. If only he were different, you might have lived in this manor, with its perfect library, forever. You could imagine it: waking in the mornings in your fluffy bed, sharing the latest discoveries in astronomy and medicine with your handsome husband…

Truly, what a pity. Your sleep-deprived mind began to conjure an image of this imagined husband—tall, nearly Gojo’s height, with kind eyes and lips that would kiss you gently awake each morning (unlike Gojo’s snark). You envisioned banter over breakfast, late-night rendezvous in the library, and tender embraces in bed…

Before you could delve deeper into your fantasy, the sound of footsteps jolted you back to reality. The tread was deliberate, too similar to your mother’s for comfort, and panic flared within you. Your mind, already muddled with exhaustion, conjured the worst possible scenario—your mother finding you here, in the library where you had no business being at this hour.

Memories of her discovering forbidden books in your childhood flashed before your eyes, and your breath quickened in fear. Rising as quietly as you could, you pressed your hands over your mouth to stifle any sound, creeping toward a bookshelf to hide. But the footsteps drew closer, relentless in their pursuit. You felt like prey, cornered and desperate.

Getting out of your chair as quietly as you could, you squeezed your eyes shut and put both of your hands over your mouth so you didn’t start making audible gasps that would let the person know where you were immediately. Softly⸺but panickedly⸺walking towards a bookshelf, you hid as you traced the footsteps getting closer and closer to you. You tried to walk away from the sound, but it seemed like the person was listening intently for your movements. You couldn’t help but think you were like prey, cornered and desperate.

However, it was all for naught; your heart sank as you realized you had ended up in an alley of bookshelves that were up against the wall, essentially creating a dead end for you. The steps got closer and closer, and you drew yourself closer and closer to the wall. Your eyes was still shut, but you could hear the steps around the corner, coming closer and closer. 

The footsteps were merely a few feet away from you, and in a moment of sheer panic, you blurted out, “I am sorry, Mother⸺”

“Excuse me,” came a voice that was decidedly not your mother’s. Your eyes flew open to find none other than Gojo, his blue eyes alight with offense. “Do I resemble your mother in any way?”

You blinked, struggling to process the sight before you. He was holding a quill, ink, and a stack of notebooks that resembled the ledgers you had seen earlier, along with a plate of scones that looked absurdly sugary.

“I—” you stammered, taking a sharp breath to compose yourself and paused, looking at Gojo⸺who was shooting you a petulant frown⸺take a big bite of his scone. “Your tread was uncannily similar.”

He paused, chewing on a scone with a sulky expression, while you averted your gaze in embarrassment.

When he finished chewing, he cleared his throat. “You must possess rather poor hearing to mistake a man of my stature for a lady.”

You shrugged, still flustered. “Perhaps you have an unusually light step.”

An awkward silence settled between you as Gojo took another loud bite of his scone. You hastened to break it. “It is quite late; I must take my leave. Good night, my lord.”

You bowed your head slightly and moved to leave, but before you could slip past him, he blocked your path, suspicion narrowing his gaze. “What business do you have in the Gojo library at this hour?”

“Nothing of import,” you squeaked.

At the not-very-innocuous tone in your voice, his eyes narrowed further. “Your tone suggests otherwise.” He leaned in, his gaze sweeping over you with exaggerated scrutiny. Noticing the ink stains on your hands, he quipped, “Were you tampering with important records?”

Your heart raced, knowing that he wouldn’t be entirely wrong to suspect you⸺what else would a lady be doing in a library at this hour? It was a no-win situation: confess to reading a book and risk your mother’s wrath, or be accused of something far more serious.

It was best to come clean. “I was merely reading a book,” you confessed. “I can show you precisely where I sat and what I was doing.”

Gojo’s expression softened, but he quickly continued his theatrical suspicion and hmmphed. “Of course. I must be certain that no mischief has been afoot.”

You led him back to the table where you had been reading. He sat across from you, depositing his supplies onto the table with a flourish and leaned back, crossing his arms. Ever the investigator, he watched as you retrieved the book. It bore no resemblance to the Gojo ledgers, which had the telltale blue cover and Gojo insignia, which consisted of six eyes. 

Upon seeing this, he nodded in acknowledgment. “You are exonerated.”

At that, you sighed and clutched your chest. For a moment, you contemplated pleading with Gojo to keep your late library visit secret from your mother but you shot the idea down for two reasons. First, you would never lower yourself to plead with Gojo, and second, Gojo⸺ever the insufferable man⸺would definitely make sure to mention it to your mother and further exacerbate the issue. 

As he began arranging his ink bottles and quills, preparing to work on his ledgers, you took a moment to observe him. He was dressed in casual attire, loose-fitting trousers and a white shirt with several buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest. Slut.

It took you a moment to realize that he was settling in at your table. You frowned. “I beg your pardon, but this is my spot.”

Gojo looked up from his work, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “My dear, this is my library. Thus, it is my spot.”

You opened your mouth to retort, then closed it in frustration. He was right, after all. The entire manor was his. Your silence seemed to amuse him, as he returned to his ledgers with a smug smile.

Now, you didn’t really know what to do⸺should you go back to your room, or should you stay and continue reading the book? In your indecision, you continued to flip through the pages of the book, particularly because you wanted to finish the conclusion section before going to bed. But you soon felt his gaze upon you, the sound of his quill slowing down.

You didn’t look up. “Might I suggest you cease staring at me? It is quite improper.” “What? Why would I do so? To watch you peruse a tedious romance novel?”

“This is a book on the state of the art of astronomy.” 

“Indeed? I confess, I am surprised.”

Your irritation flared and you whipped your head up to glare at Gojo. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“I was under the impression that young ladies’ interests lie solely in matters of the heart.”

“So, in addition to gossiping, you are also prone to narrow-minded assumptions?”

Gojo scoffed. “Narrow-minded? It is a simple observation. Both men and women often indulge in fanciful notions of love.”

You scoffed. “Ah, so you hold yourself above other men. What are you, God?”

Gojo ignored your remark. “Those who read such frivolities are seldom engaged in serious thought or the appreciation of true art.”

“Romance allows one to experience love and joy. Does the prospect of happiness through art truly horrify you?” You stood, glaring at him. “Unlike you, my lord, ladies such as myself cannot frequent dubious establishments such as brothels to seek out lovers. Our reputations and futures are at stake.” Gojo began to respond, but you cut him off. “To deny women the solace of love is cruel. It is our only refuge in a world that forces us into unwanted marriages!”

When you were done ranting to Gojo, you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in. Truly, this man could bother you like no other; only your siblings have caused this much heat on your face due to anger. The only sounds in the library was your rushed breathing, from anger.

Gojo scoffed. “You truly think too much.”

You offered a sharp scoff. "And you, far too little. Even Sukuna Jr. possesses more emotional intelligence than you."

"Do not compare me to that wretched creature," Gojo retorted.

You gasped in disbelief. "How dare you speak of Kuna in such a manner!"

"Then perhaps you should keep him from fouling the air around me!" he snapped.

A sly smile crept across your lips. "He merely knows whom to guard me against."

At reference of That Night, Gojo sighs exhaustedly. “Do you find trouble with the judgments I made that night? None of that was meant for you.”

“Are you quite serious?” You were in disbelief. Does he truly feel no remorse? Frustrated, you ran a hand over your face. “Your words may not have been intended for me, but they were no less cutting. I cannot abide such arrogance, my lord.”

Gojo leaned back, crossing his arms with an air of indifference. “Arrogance or simply honesty? I merely spoke the truth as I see it.”

“Your so-called truth is nothing more than disdain wrapped in wit,” you snapped, feeling your temper rise again. “You speak as though your opinions are infallible, as if you alone have the right to pass judgment on others.”

“I only say what others are too afraid to voice,” he retorted, his tone cool. “If that makes me arrogant, then so be it. But I will not apologize for it.”

“Of course not,” you said bitterly. “An apology would require some measure of humility, and that is something you clearly lack.”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, his voice growing more clipped. “I fail to see why my opinions should trouble you so much. Perhaps you are simply too sensitive.”

Your anger flared at his dismissive tone. “Or perhaps you are too blind to see the harm your words cause. You claim to be honest, but what you truly are is cruel.”

“Cruel?” Gojo’s voice was sharp now, his composure slipping. “For speaking the truth? For refusing to coddle those who cannot handle it?”

“For refusing to consider the feelings of others!” you countered, your voice rising in frustration. “Not everything is a game or a joke, my lord. Your words have consequences, whether you acknowledge them or not.”

A tense silence fell between you, each of you locked in a stubborn glare, neither willing to yield. Finally, you shook your head, the weight of your frustration pressing down on you. “I cannot do this,” you muttered, turning away. “You are utterly impossible.”

You began to walk away, but Gojo’s voice cut through the silence. “Running away so soon?” There was a hint of something in his tone⸺something almost like disappointment⸺but you dismissed it.

You paused, glancing back at him with a hardened expression. “There is no point in continuing this conversation. You refuse to see reason, and I refuse to waste any more of my time on you.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your heel and left the library, your heart pounding with irritation and anger. As the door closed behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of heaviness in your chest. 

prev. the debutante | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n gojo the type to hit ur g spot every ti---WHAT WHO SAID THAT?

anyways yes we r getting (sort of) freaky in the next chapter (gojo busts in his pants seeing reader's ankles /j)

gojo when reader thought he was her mama

also tysm for all the asks, and comments, and love you guys have shown me. super motivating that you guys are enjoying the story and propels me to write more <3

comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3

TAGLIST

@ncitygreen @backstagepaige @serinatly100986 @nappingmoon @coochellati

@extremelyexh4usted @yoshisaurmuchakoopas @nixiepixee @generalstephkenobi @vernasce-blogs

@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun

@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1

@hyori2 @babyblue0t7 @iwanttoberich420 @rosso-seta @ladytamayolover

@kalulakunundrum @r0ckst4rjk @mo0sin @angelina7890 @jaeminaur

@yamiyas @cherry-blossoms-in-red @r3inae @lagataprrr @sasfransisco

@fortunatelyfurrygiver @aurora-tiny @gojonegs @luna-v-roiya @xxemmarldxx

Satoru had no intention of squandering his time this season⸺or at any time, for that matter.

The notion of love matches held little appeal to him, despite witnessing such a union firsthand in his own parents. Make no mistake, the Duke and Duchess Gojo enjoyed a happy marriage, and Satoru held both his father and mother in the highest regard. Yet, he was perfectly content on his own.

Being one of the strongest bachelors⸺both intellectually and physically⸺has been Satoru’s destiny. Ever since his ancestors had been blessed by the royal family with the dukedom, the Gojo family had made its goal to be the most powerful nobility and the closest to the royal family. (Which is still maintained in the status quo, because the Queen dotes on Satoru, inviting him for tea every fortnight. The Queen lavished him with overly sweet biscuits, and in return, Satoru provided her with the latest gossip from court). 

But this responsibility doesn’t get fulfilled without independence; one had to accept the solitary truth that to be truly great was to remain unswayed by the fleeting pleasures of the world⸺love included.

Satoru had little time or interest for the other vices that tempted men of his station, such as lust. Contrary to the whispers circulating among the ton, Satoru had never indulged in the life of a rake or frequented brothels as many of his acquaintances did. Really, the allegations were, in truth, merely just a byproduct of his appearance and demeanor; with a young man with the stature, face, and eligibility of Satoru, the public would immediately like to slap on the label of “rake” due to his arrogant personality. Moreover, any encounters he had witnessed between men and women⸺whether dropping his friends off at brothels in his carriage after an evening at the gentleman’s club or overhearing flirtations at parties⸺struck him as shallow and an utter waste of time, especially when he was already a week behind on the ledgers and other official matters his father had entrusted to him. (He did have one indulgence, however: a weakness for gluttony, with an array of sweet confections as his loyal companions during long, sleepless nights.)

Marriage was an even greater burden. The thought of being accountable for a wife, and eventually children, seemed like a daunting task to Satoru. With sleepless nights spent on covering just a fraction of the business his father must do as a duke, Satoru was tired. He was exhausted⸺exhausted from the weight of responsibility, from striving to meet his father’s expectations, from seeking the Queen’s approval, from worrying over what Whistledown might print about him, and from the gossip of the businessmen with whom the Gojo family dealt. 

And yet, despite this weariness, Satoru was gripped by an insatiable obsession with perfection, an obsession that only deepened his fatigue. He craved approval, power, and the flawless execution of his duties⸺desires that gnawed at him even as they threatened to consume him.

Which is exactly why he needed a perfect wife. A wife that was capable, could handle bothersome people⸺which he was steadily losing the patience to deal with⸺and a reliable companion. Someone that would reduce his stress, not add to it. 

Satoru had spent all day lurking in the shadows as best as he could; being the most eligible bachelor did mean that brothers and sisters were coming up to him, singing praises of their debutante in an effort to capture his interest. But Satoru knew all too well that the loudest families often had the most to compensate for.

As ladies in white paraded before the crowd, many buckling under the weight of judgment and attention, Satoru prowled like a jungle cat, staying hidden in the throng, biding his time, and waiting for the right moment to strike.

What he noticed first about you was your way of carrying yourself. Even Auntie⸺the Queen⸺who, after seeing countless of girls today, had been incredibly bored, dragged her eyes over you in slightly more interest than she did for others. The moment you stepped through those grand doors into the court, it was evident to everyone that your stride was that of someone who understood her role and position in life⸺a confidence that set you apart from the other debutantes. Satoru’s eyes raked over you, observing you as your chest rose slightly as you took a breath in. 

And then you smiled.

Satoru's eyes widened, just imperceptibly, as he watched your expression as you made your way to the Queen. He made sure to shake his expression off to a more nonchalant one as he watched your form walk. Lesser men than Satoru would die for your smile. Men, out of all traits a woman could possess, cherished a pretty visage the most. Yet, what your smile conveyed went beyond mere beauty; it embodied innocence and the qualities most esteemed in a demure bride (which Satoru knew was just all a show, but it was indeed indicative of your skill to put up appearances, hence deeming you a reliable companion).

The corner of the young man's mouth rose.  When the Queen declared you the diamond of the season, Satoru knew he had found his quarry.

When the ball came, Satoru acted similarly: observing from behind, staying in conversation with his friends and other noble men that did business with the Gojo family as he prowled the ballroom, waiting for the right moment to ask you for your hand. And then Naoya came in when you were finally alone, away from all the incompetent men that dared to think they had a chance to court you, and Satoru almost laughed snarkily at how easy it all was. 

Approaching you, saving you from Naoya⸺it was all a perfect construction of his. Dancing, he noticed your steps were carried out with a practiced perfection and grace, and your responses to his questions displayed a respectable level of intellect. He could tell your responses were practiced and simple, your constitution and demeanor a result of much effort into presenting yourself as best as you could. But what does it matter, when you do it so perfectly?

Maybe it was a bit naive of him, but you seemed to glow when conversing with him. It amused him, as he kept watching your pretty eyes as you kept smiling while he kept throwing difficult questions at you. It was all expected, however. Satoru knew he was blessed with the brilliant blue Gojo eyes and eccentric fair, white hair; he was the most eligible bachelor for not only wealth and power but reproductive capabilities and opportunities as well. Which lady wouldn’t want to be mother to his cute and beautiful blue-eyed babies?

After witnessing such mediocre men who paled in comparison to Satoru, surely you must be smitten. Gojo could see right through you: you, the diamond, have been looking for a man as meritorious as you, and you had found it in Satoru. 

So why were you acting this way?

When you wake up in the morning and get ready for suitors, it is as you expected; there are multiple carriages outside your doorstep, and there is a line from the drawing room, extending all the way down the stairs. When Choso stumbles into the drawing room, where you and your mother are enjoying tea, he is clearly unhappy at the selection of men waiting to be let in to call upon you. 

“This is absurd!” Choso’s hands raked over his hair in an effort to process the scene he had just witnessed. “Why do I see Naoya waiting outside?”

Your nose crinkled in distaste. “Well, dear brother, I certainly cannot control which suitors call upon me. He must’ve enjoyed our conversation yesterday. The enjoyment, however, is one sided.”

Choso’s eyes widened comically. “You had a conversation with him yesterday?” He then turned to your mother accusingly, who was reading a Whistledown while sipping on her tea innocuously. “This would not have happened if I was there, Mother. This is your fault.”

Your mother continued drinking her tea nonchalantly, waiting for a few beats to grace him with a response. “I prefer this, my son, to no visitors out there because our dear Lord Itadori scared all the bachelors away with his pickiness.” Then, her eyes flashed. “And don’t give me that tone.”

You snickered behind your palm as Choso visibly deflated.

 “Kuna! Get back here!”

Pitter patters of small paws started to get closer and closer, as heavy footsteps followed it. Yuji and the family corgi, Sukuna Jr., burst into the room. Eyeing the biscuit in your hand, Kuna made his way directly to you, panting at your feet. A pet given affectionately by your-not-so-affectionate older brother, Sukuna, when he left for his year long trip around Europe, Kuna was the cutest little puppy. You and Yuji loved to spoil him, clearly shown as Yuji patted him while breathing heavily. You cooed as Kuna licked your fingers while inhaling the biscuit you had presented him. 

“Well,” your mother stood up, having finished her tea, and began ushering in the maids to clear the table. “It seems our morning will be quite busy. You’d best be prepared for a long day, my dear.”

Choso was still grumbling as he took a seat across from you, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the long line of suitors outside. “I’m keeping an eye on that Naoya fellow. If he so much as looks at you the wrong way…”

You raised an eyebrow at your brother’s protectiveness, feeling both amused and touched. “Choso, I appreciate your concern, but I can handle myself. Besides, with Kuna here, I doubt any of these gentlemen will get too close without proper approval.”

As if understanding the conversation, Sukuna Jr. barked enthusiastically, his tail wagging as he looked up at you with bright, expectant eyes. You smiled and scratched behind his ears, watching as his tiny body wriggled with joy.

Yuji, still catching his breath from the chase, flopped onto the chair beside you, shooting a grin at Choso. “Come on, big brother, give her a break. It’s not every day our sister gets declared the diamond of the season. Let her enjoy it.”

Choso crossed his arms, still unconvinced. “I’m just saying, if any of these men don’t meet my standards⸺”

“Your standards?” you interrupted with a teasing lilt. “Choso, I’d never find a husband if I had to meet your impossible standards. Besides, you should be more concerned about finding someone yourself.”

Choso’s cheeks tinted with a slight blush, but make no mistake; he was hot with anger, ready to make a snarky retort. Your mother, who had been overseeing the maids, turned her attention back to the conversation with a soft smile.

“Your sister is right, Choso. It’s her time to shine, and as her family, we should support her, not make things more difficult.” She gave him a pointed look before turning to you with a gentler expression, and he backed down as he always does for your mother. “Now, my dear, are you ready to begin receiving your guests?”

You took a deep breath, nodding as you steeled yourself for the hours of polite conversation and careful navigation of the social battlefield ahead. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good,” your mother said, her voice laced with both pride and encouragement. “Remember, you are the diamond of the season. There isn’t a man out there who wouldn’t be lucky to have you.”

You offered a weak smile. “Let’s get this over with.”

As you walked toward the sofa where you would be talking with suitors, Kuna trotted alongside you, his presence a comforting reminder.With Yuji and Choso trailing behind, and your mother leading the way to open the door, you braced yourself for the onslaught of admirers waiting beyond the door.

But as you straighten your posture, in anticipation to greet the first suitor, you couldn't help but glance down at Kuna, who stared up at you with wide, curious eyes. You chuckled softly.

“Well, Kuna,” you whispered, “let’s see who passes your test today.”

Gojo’s gaze wandered down to Sukuna Jr. in your lap as you stroked his fur, and he gave you a saccharine⸺yet strained⸺smile. “Must this dog bear witness to our conversation? 

As if sensing Gojo’s unfriendliness, Kuna started growling, and you could feel the rumble deep in his stomach. You met Gojo’s sweet smile with one of your own. “Yes.”

Gojo blinked, and the smile on his face faltered. You noticed that this was one of the first time Gojo’s ever expressed an emotion outside of smugness, and you count this as your personal win.

“Well,” he hesitated, and then a smile was on his face as if that stumble didn’t happen. “You look wonderful this morning, Miss Itadori.”

Your eyes flashed at his audacity to talk behind your back and try to fool you with flattery. “On the contrary, I think I look rather simple.”

Gojo, none the wiser as to what you were referring to, waved his hands. “Nonsense.”

Before you could respond, Kuna let out a low, rumbling growl, his sharp eyes fixed on Gojo. The sound was subtle, but in the quiet of the morning, it was unmistakable. Gojo’s gaze flickered down to the small dog, and his smile tightened ever so slightly.

You gently scratched behind Kuna’s ears, calming him, though his gaze never left Gojo. “I apologize on behalf of my dear Kuna,” you said, your voice light but nonetheless pointed. “He tends to be wary of many, particularly those he believes to be with ulterior motives.”

Gojo nodded, unfazed, and looked down at the dog in question. Upon eye contact, all your efforts to calm Kuna went to naught as the dog stood up, tense and teeth almost bared fully, to stare back at Gojo defiantly. Gojo, to his credit, was starting to be a little wary and was giving the pup an impassive stare. 

“You know, I have an affinity for dogs. There are many pups that I have spent my entire childhood with.” He offered a chuckle and moved his hand to pet Kuna. “Dogs do have a way of sensing things, don’t they?” That was clearly the wrong decision because the dog’s growl grew louder, and suddenly, he snapped at Gojo’s hand. Before Kuna could sink his teeth into Gojo’s hand, however, Gojo smoothly withdrew it out of his reach. 

“Protective, isn’t he?” Gojo laughed, but his stare towards Kuna was veering more and more into a glare. He tried to disguise his irritation by suavely adding, “Admirable. I’m glad he has protected my lady so well.” Gojo then grabbed your hand to give you a small kiss on the back of it while keeping eye contact. You had to divert your eyes elsewhere to avoid coloring your cheeks; while you knew this was just another one of Gojo’s pretenses to charm you, you were still fazed by it. 

You cleared your throat and tried to uphold the conversation. After all, it would be outright rude to keep throwing thinly veiled insults his way when there were others in your company; he also had the potential to spread further malicious rumors about you if you showed attitude. You mustered up a fake smile, and offered, “He was a gift to me and Yuji offered by my older brother, Sukuna, when he went traveling,” you offered. 

“Is that the brother you hoped to follow to Europe?”

You blinked and faltered. You didn’t expect him to remember that tidbit from your conversation at the ball last night. While most of the preferences you had asserted were artificial⸺supplemented to you by your tutor, who had drilled what fake preferences of yours would woo men⸺you truly did gain enthusiasm for the languages because you hoped to prove your helpfulness to Sukuna in an effort to run away from your inevitable debut. At the time, you were rebelling against anything your mama said, avoiding anything  associated with being paraded around like an animal, put on display for men. “Yes,” you said slowly, “Yes, it is.” 

Gojo smiled, this time a little more genuine at the fact it was his first time receiving an authentic response from you this morning, rather than something covered with a fake smile. Just as he leaned in slightly, probably preparing to make another smooth remark, Kuna, who had been shifting in your lap, suddenly stilled, his face buried in your lap and tail facing Gojo. For a moment, you thought he might be settling down.

And then it happened.

The largest fart ripped through the room out of Kuna’s arse, which was pointed directly in Gojo’s face. While you were not a scholar studying physics, you were aware that the air dynamics did not do Gojo any favors in preventing the smell from hitting him direct-on. Gojo’s eyes widened in surprise, and his suave expression faltered entirely as the smell quickly followed, filling the air around you both.

You could feel the heat rushing to your face in your effort not to laugh out loud. Trying to keep your composure, you gently patted Kuna’s belly, who was now face up, tongue lolling out in bliss. “Oh, dear,” you muttered, your voice strained with the effort to suppress a laugh.

Gojo, for once, was at a loss for words. His eyes were tearing up, probably at the smell; whenever you and Yuji spoiled Kuna with those biscuits, he dropped nasty-smelling dungs, and you knew Gojo wasn’t spared at all. The arrogant bachelor, who always seemed to have a witty response ready, was now at a loss of words as he weakly gazed upon the weak little poot! poot!s that escaped Kuna as you continued patting his stomach in an effort to relieve your pup’s digestive system.

At Gojo’s expression, you had to take quiet, deep breaths in an effort to rein in the cackles that were threatening to overcome you. You resorted to covering your mouth as you strained, “As you can see, my Kuna is quite expressive, and he seemed quite eager to show you that.”

He offered you a strained smile. “He does indeed generate quite a bit of wind.” At that, you could no longer hold back. Genuine laughter wracked through your figure, hurting your ribs as you tried to quell it with a hand to the mouth, but no avail. Your muffled laughter was still loud, and when the giggles subsided, you wiped your tears and threw an apologetic look at Gojo, preparing to express your regret. 

But you stopped at the sheer wonder he contained in his face as his gaze fixated on your lips, which were drawn back in the ghost of the smile you had while laughing riotously. Without allowing you much time to dwell on it, he stood up and dipped his head in a little bow. “Well, I have been taking quite a bit of your time, Miss Itadori. I better let other suitors have their chance.” He kissed the back of your hand. “I hope to see you at the horse race tomorrow.”

“Likewise.” You couldn’t help but spy some red coloring Gojo’s alabaster cheeks as he made his way to the exit. As you greeted the next suitor, the imprint of a certain man’s lips continued to tingle on your hands. 

“I told you he was a rake,” Nobara muttered as she scrubbed your arm with an intensity that matched her outrage. After hearing what Gojo had said about you, she was livid. Unfortunately, your skin was bearing the brunt of her frustration.

“Well,” you mused, trying to distract her, “what rumors have you heard that make you think that?”

“Momo told me a few months ago⸺” Nobara paused, her hands hovering over the various bottles on the counter. “Which scent would you prefer for your hair?”

“Sandalwood,” you replied.

Nobara nodded and poured some of the rich liquid into her hands before massaging it into your scalp. You closed your eyes, feeling the tension from the day's exhausting and dull conversations slowly melt away under her skillful fingers. “Momo mentioned that he’s often out late at night, which seems suspicious. But now that I think about it, Momo isn’t the most reliable source,” Nobara added, her tone shifting to one of skepticism.

You quirked an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

“There’s talk that she attempted to lure another maid’s husband into an affair,” Nobara replied, her hands now working the shampoo through your hair with a practiced ease. “She even tried to gain access to his quarters.”

You gasped. “How scandalous!”

“I know,” Nobara said, her hands now massaging the back of your neck with a gentler touch. “So, who knows how much truth there is to her gossip. But still, Gojo’s behavior is less than honorable, don’t you think?”

You sighed, gazing up at the ceiling with a mix of frustration and resignation. “He was gossiping about me with other men, calling me all sorts of horrible things⸺‘simple,’ of all things. And yet, he has the audacity to want to call upon me?”

“You know,” Nobara mused as she continued her task, “He sounds the exact opposite of what some of your books would imply.”

You hummed in agreement, recalling the radical works you kept hidden beneath your bed. Your mother would be appalled if she ever discovered them, but you often sought solace in political writings that challenged the rigid expectations of society. “I know. And that is precisely why I have no intention of encouraging his attention this season—at least, not before I ensure his complete and utter humiliation.”

“But do take care. His connections to the Queen are quite strong.”

You drew back from Nobara's hands, much to her chagrin. She gave you a glare while you exclaimed, "What?"

“Surely you’re aware that the Gojo dukedom is among the closest to the royal family?”

You fervently hoped your mother hadn’t caught wind of Gojo's status. Yet, the way she had been observing you⸺subtly scrutinizing you in the drawing room while feigning interest in a suitor awaiting his turn⸺suggested otherwise. She had certainly noticed Gojo's growing interest, and the thought of her getting involved, fixating on a match with him, filled you with dread. Drawing your hands over your face, you moaned, the very notion of her scheming to pair you with Gojo weighing heavily on your mind.

“But that should hardly be a concern if you’ve begun to distance yourself from him, correct? You have been creating some distance, haven’t you?”

Your silence spoke volumes, and Nobara, ever quick to discern your hesitation, gasped in exasperation. “You cannot seriously be considering giving this gentleman any encouragement, can you?”

"No, no, it’s not that,” you replied, massaging your temples in frustration. “It’s just that my mother is probably ecstatic at the prospect of securing a match between me and Gojo.”

“But surely, if she knew the things he’s been saying behind your back, she would understand.”

You tried to open your mouth to respond, but it felt as if your throat had closed up. Would she really? A match with Gojo would mean elevated status for the Itadori family⸺a duchess for a daughter. What worth is there in being the diamond of the season if not to secure the most advantageous match? The very thought made your chest tighten with the suffocating realization that your mother might very well advocate for the union, despite Gojo’s duplicity.

“I⸺” you swallowed. “I’m not sure.” Before Nobara could interrupt, you stood up and reached for your robe. 

Nobara's brow furrowed as she watched you stand up. "Where do you think you're going? You’re not done with your bath, and your hair is still full of suds!" She reached out to stop you, her hands hovering as though unsure whether to pull you back into the tub or grab the robe you were now clutching.

You forced a small, tired smile, grateful for the distraction. “I need just a moment. The water's gone cold, anyway.”

“Oh, nonsense! You’ll catch a chill if you get out now. Sit back down,” Nobara insisted, her protest tinged with genuine concern. She placed a firm hand on your shoulder, guiding you back toward the warm water.

With a reluctant sigh, you allowed yourself to be coaxed back into the tub. The momentary reprieve from the conversation was a relief, and you welcomed Nobara’s determined focus on completing your bath. She picked up a sponge, her earlier frustration melting into concentration as she scrubbed your back.

“Well, we can discuss that scheming rake later,” she muttered, more to herself than to you. “For now, let’s get you properly cleaned up before your mother comes looking for you. She’d never forgive me if I let you appear anything less than perfect.”

You nodded with a lump in your throat, grateful for the change in topic, even if only temporary. The soothing rhythm of Nobara's hands working through your hair, the warmth of the bathwater, and the familiar, comforting routine helped ease the tightness in your chest. For now, the troubling thoughts of Gojo and your mother's ambitions could be set aside.

“Now, hold still,” Nobara said, her tone softening as she rinsed the last of the soap from your hair. “We’ll have you looking radiant again in no time.”

The conversation was left unfinished, hanging in the air like a question that neither of you was quite ready to answer. But for now, the silence was a welcome refuge.

"Do you have any notion of how impossible it is to charm a lady when there is a pup expelling such foul air right beneath your nose?" Satoru lamented, leaning back in his chair and raking a hand through his tousled hair. The trio gathered at the table presented a rather unusual sight: Satoru, visibly discomposed; Nanami, calmly sipping his drink as ever; and Suguru, nearly doubled over in laughter at his friend’s misfortune.

“Would you please⸺SMACK⸺cease your laughing?!” Satoru glared at Suguru, who seemed to be of no hope, now with tears in his eyes as he clutched his stomach and the back of his head, which Satoru had just hit. 

“Truly, your vanity⸺haaah⸺your vanity was in need of humbling,” Suguru managed between breaths, still snickering behind his palms. 

Satoru glowered, crossing his arms and staring daggers into his drink, as if his gaze alone could break the fine glass. “My pride had already suffered enough. She was positively frigid.”

Nanami hummed. “Perhaps she’s merely discerned your true nature.”

“It defies comprehension,” Gojo groaned, ignoring Kento’s statement. “What kind of lady disparages her own beauty as ‘simple’? I cannot fathom what has caused her such vexation. Only the night before, she was utterly taken with me!”

Suguru⸺who had now calmed down⸺was in the midst of wiping his tears when he suddenly stopped. “You don’t suppose it had anything to do with your careless words, do you?”

Kento eyed the pair in front of him with an accusatory side eye. “And what precisely did you say?”

 “Satoru, in his usual fashion, could not contain his tongue. Out on the terrace, with the garden as witness, he spoke rather unkindly, referring to the diamond as ‘simple and dull.’”

“Nonsense,” Satoru waved his hands, dismissing the idea. “The lady would never wander the gardens at such an hour in the night unchaperoned.”

“I suggest you reconsider.” Kento gave him a stern look and continued, “I happened upon her last night, emerging from the gardens, and she appeared rather disheveled.” 

This revelation gave Satoru pause, but if there was one thing certain about Satoru Gojo, it was this: his arrogance was such that he could scarcely fathom anyone, least of all a lady, finding his charm anything but irresistible⸺even if that very lady had overheard him uttering defamatory remarks about her. And this lady was one he could not let go of, unless he wanted to wave good-bye to his future.

“I am confident all will be well,” Gojo exhaled, his lips curving into a Cheshire smile. “Even if she did overhear, surely a few well-chosen sweet words will surely set matters right.”

(He was most grievously mistaken.)

“How many of those biscuits do you suppose we could finish?” Yuji was eyeing the biscuits from his seat next to you in the pavilion where you and your family were sitting. Out promenading with the other families of the ton, it was a scenic and beautiful day for you to mingle with even more suitors. The joy!

“Certainly less than me,” you remarked, sipping on your tea smugly. By the irritated pout on his face, you knew you were successful at getting a rise out of your younger brother. Knowing your mother wasn’t in sight, you quickly darted for the jam-filled biscuits, and your brother quickly followed in tow; soon, you were both stuffing your faces silly with the sugary treats.

“You two are incorrigible,” Choso scrunched his nose from where he sat across from you, arms crossed. “There’s no need to inhale those biscuits. What if someone sees?”

Yuji stuck out his tongue⸺now adorned with biscuit crumbs⸺and continued gorging, while you snickered at your younger brother’s pettiness.

“Miss Itadori.”

You began coughing wildly, caught off guard, and hastily straightened your posture to greet your guest. You turned to see Lord Ino, who offered you a slight nod before acknowledging your brothers. “Lord Itadori. Mister Itadori.”

“Lord Ino, nice to meet you on such a fine day.” You try to put a smile on your face as best as you can, even though you were caught off guard. “How do you find today’s weather?” 

Takuma grabs the back of your hand to kiss it. “I find it wonderful for the prospect of promenading. Do you care to do so with me?”

“Of course,” You stand up and link your elbows with Takuma’s.

“We’ll be thirty paces behind you, sister.” You both turned to look at Choso, who was giving Lord Ino his inevitable protective glare. Given Ino’s acceptable station, Choso hadn’t immediately protested, unlike the many suitors he had chased out of your manor the day before. He grabbed Yuji by the elbow, who, with cheeks comically inflated like a chipmunk hoarding acorns, was promptly dragged away. “Yuji, get up.” The last you saw of your brothers was Yuji’s futile protests, his mouth too full to be coherent⸺inevitably sending some crumbs flying onto Choso⸺and Choso swatting him for it.

As you began your walk with Lord Ino, the conversation naturally turned to the upcoming horse race. “Are you looking forward to the race this afternoon?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

“I am,” the lord replied. “And you?”

“Very much so,” you said, a hint of excitement in your voice. “I have a feeling that the less popular horse⸺Blaze, was it?⸺might surprise everyone. The conditions seem just right for an underdog victory; the track is soft and warm, which would favor Blaze’s build.”

Lord Ino glanced at you with a polite but unconvinced smile. “But Thunder has higher odds and more bets. It’s as simple as that.”

You couldn’t help but bristle at the word “simple,” a word that had recently come to grate on your nerves. You pressed on, though, determined to keep the conversation pleasant. “I suppose there’s some truth to that, but sometimes there’s more to a race than just the odds and popularity.”

Ino chuckled softly. “Well, a good mentor and friend of mine⸺Duke Nanami⸺agrees with the odds, and His Grace is someone I deeply respect. I tend to follow his lead⸺the duke has a way of teaching lessons without hindering one’s growth.”

Before you could respond, the sound of a trumpet blared in the distance, signaling the start of the race. You looked at him, giving him a courteous nod, gesturing in the general direction Choso and Yuji were supposed to be in. “It seems the race is about to begin. I must rejoin my family.”

You curtsied as he bowed, and you watched as he walked away, leaving you momentarily alone. You took a deep breath, trying to dispel the lingering irritation from the conversation. Just as you began looking for your family, you felt a presence approaching.

You turned to find Lady Mei Mei and her entourage closing in. Their expressions were a study in artful contempt, laced with curiosity and barely concealed amusement. The atmosphere between you was thick with unspoken competition, each woman silently gauging the other’s position on the social ladder. 

“Miss Itadori, what a nice surprise!” Lady Mei Mei remarked, her tone dripping with false sweetness. “It appears you are alone and unchaperoned in a garden yet again! At least, according to what the rumors say. Was it part of yet another one of your charming ploys to get what you want?"

You met her gaze with cool composure, not giving her the satisfaction of a visible reaction. "I have no clue what you're talking about."

Lady Mei Mei tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as if appraising a particularly interesting specimen. "Really?" she mused, drawing out the word as though savoring it. "It’s just that Lord Gojo hasn’t spoken with you all day. Even if Whistledown commended you in the last issue, I wouldn’t expect his interest to linger." The two ladies flanking her⸺unremarkable save for their sycophantic attachment to Mei Mei⸺giggled behind their fans, as though she had delivered a crushing blow.

You allowed yourself a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. "So I’m assuming he called upon you?" you questioned sweetly, your voice laced with feigned politeness.

For a fleeting moment, Lady Mei Mei’s carefully curated composure slipped, the faintest flicker of irritation crossing her face before she regained control. She leaned in slightly, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper meant for you alone. “None of the suitors will be interested in you any longer. The Queen may have mistakenly proclaimed you the diamond, but a pretty face, empty smiles, and hollow words can only last so long.”

“Whatever would be most convenient for you to believe.” Her words were empty and her threats dull, but you couldn’t help but let it compound on the irritation you had experienced today. But you knew better than to let your tongue loose; you were quite impulsive when you had started, and you didn’t want to start any scandal anytime soon. Instead, you held your ground, trying to maintain your composure (outwardly, at least) as Lady Mei Mei and her entourage turned to leave, their laughter echoing in your ears. 

You tried to implement a few things your tutor had ingrained in you: taking deep breaths and setting your posture correctly. However, as you stood there, collecting yourself, the last thing you needed seemed to manifest before you: Satoru Gojo.

His tall figure approached you with that familiar, self-assured stride, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Ah, Miss Itadori," he greeted, a sly smile playing on his lips. You were already irritated, and it took all your will-power to stifle a groan. 

"I couldn’t help but notice you were conversing with Lord Ino," he remarked casually.

Give him a smile. "Indeed, we were enjoying a promenade. It is, after all, what young ladies and their suitors are expected to do."

“Quite the choice in company!”

KEEP up the smile.  "He is a nobleman, and I am of noble descent. I fail to see your point, Mr. Gojo." 

Gojo’s smile was quick and cutting. “Oh, I’ve no particular quarrel with Lord Ino. It’s simply that he’s hardly the sort I’d expect to see on your arm. After all, he’s practically Nanami’s lapdog.”

You felt the familiar irritation rising within you⸺and you were fighting for your life trying to keep a smile on your face⸺but you kept your tone measured. "And what, pray tell, are you implying by that, Mr. Gojo?"

"It’s quite simple, really⸺" 

But your patience, already worn thin, snapped at that word.

"My good sir, do you not think it rather dishonorable to speak ill of others behind their backs?" Gojo began to respond, but you cut him off. "It’s curious how quickly opinions can change, is it not? Just the other evening, you seemed to hold me in rather low regard. Tell me, do you often dismiss people as ‘simple’ when they fail to meet any of the lofty expectations you have set? Or do you perhaps truly believe yourself to be at a station higher than others?"

Gojo stiffened, the smile slipping from his face as your words hit their mark. Before he could respond, Choso appeared at your side, his protective presence a welcome relief.

“Is there any problem, sister?” Choso asked, his tone polite yet firm as he glanced at Satoru, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Gojo’s gaze flicked to Choso, his irritation clear as he opened his mouth to make a cutting remark, and you couldn’t thank the gods enough for Choso’s mother hen tendencies. But the words faltered when he recognized who had interrupted. For a brief moment, surprise flashed in his eyes before he masked it with a tight-lipped smile.

You seized the moment, turning to Satoru with a sweet smile. “I think our time is up, Mister Gojo,” you said, your voice laced with venom.

Satoru hesitated for just a fraction of a second before nodding curtly, his expression unreadable. “Of course. Until next time, Miss Itadori.”

With that, he stepped back, allowing you and Choso to walk away toward where people were gathering for the race. As you moved through the crowd, you could feel Satoru’s gaze lingering on you, but you didn’t look back.

“That horse appears rather stout, does it not?” Yuji squinted against the blazing sun as he observed the horses from his seat beside you in the grandstand. “Why has it garnered so many bets?”

Choso, seated protectively on your other side, kept a steady arm linked with yours. His presence was reassuring, though your irritation was directed at the figure seated just below you. Satoru Gojo, to your endless chagrin, was sitting with Lady Mei Mei, who had all but forced her way into the seat beside him. Though he tried to appear indifferent, his signature flirty remarks flowing with ease, you noticed the subtle signs of irritation crossing his face. Whether it stemmed from Lady Mei Mei's advances or from your earlier exchange, you couldn't be sure. You refused to meet his gaze, though you could feel his eyes on you intermittently as the crowd waited for the race to begin.

“Men can be quite foolish at times,” you remarked hotly, your voice carrying just enough to be overheard. “Some people value the superficial and materialistic over true substance, much like they do with horses. Blaze, for instance, has the qualities that truly matter.”

You could almost feel Gojo’s gaze intensify, and despite yourself, you glanced in his direction. Lady Mei Mei, ever the actress, feigned a stumble, exclaiming with a coy smile, “These crowds are rather rough on a lady!”

You scoffed inwardly at her transparent attempt to press her bosom against Gojo’s arm.

“Oh my,” Gojo drawled, his voice oozing concern. “We can’t have that, can we?” Ever the gallant gentleman, he interlaced his arm with hers. “Here, for extra protection. I wouldn’t want a pretty lady shedding tears beside me.”

Mei Mei’s smirk was as satisfied as a serpent after a meal, and she batted her eyelashes coquettishly. “If I were to cry, would you console me?”

“Of course,” Gojo replied smoothly. “Though I might find myself crying should my horse lose. The bets I’ve placed are rather substantial.”

A flirtatious giggle escaped Mei Mei’s lips. “Then I shall cheer with all my might, so you needn’t suffer any losses, my lord.”

You were perilously close to tearing your hair out.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, my lady,” Gojo said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it with exaggerated flourish. “But rest assured, I am quite confident of a victory today. Thunder is swift and cunning, far superior to that... other horse. It’s simple, really—Thunder will win.”

Your composure cracked. “Yuji,” you called, your voice sharp. Your brother, who had been lost in thought, snapped to attention. “Despite the other horse’s popularity, Blaze possesses the one quality universal to all champions: speed and diligence. The track conditions are in its favor.”

Yuji, caught off guard, blinked in confusion. “Yes, of course, sister,” he mumbled, clearly unsure of why you were addressing him.

“And anyone who thinks otherwise,” you continued, raising your voice slightly, “is bound to lose their money. Sorely and simply.”

Gojo matched your tone, his voice ringing out. “But of course, it’s all in good fun. There’s no need for hostility over a sport, is there? Both horses are fine contenders, though I remain convinced Thunder shall emerge victorious.”

Mei Mei tittered, parroting his sentiments, but you could hardly see straight for the anger coursing through you. Unable to hold back, you retorted, “However, it is, after all, still a race. And Blaze will win.”

By now, your exchange had drawn the attention of those around you, including your brothers. Choso and Yuji exchanged puzzled glances before Yuji asked weakly, “Are you still talking to us, sister?” Meanwhile, Choso’s protective instincts flared, his gaze darting suspiciously between you and Gojo.

Before you could reply, the horses lined up at the starting gate, and the crowd collectively rose to their feet, including Gojo. “Steady now, Thunder!” he called out, his voice brimming with confidence.

Not to be outdone, you shouted, “Come on, Blaze!”

The bell rang, and the horses surged forward, the crowd erupting in cheers. Blaze and Thunder quickly pulled ahead, the two horses locked in a fierce battle for the lead. Thunder was currently ahead, its sleek form cutting through the track with precision.

“Steady, Thunder! Keep the lead!” Gojo’s voice was full of excitement, urging his horse onward.

Your heart raced with frustration as Blaze lagged slightly behind. “You can do this, Blaze!” you urged, your voice rising above the din. Without thinking, you began whistling sharply, drawing alarmed looks from your brothers. The stares from the crowd meant nothing to you as you focused solely on the race.

Blaze, as if responding to your encouragement, began to accelerate, its powerful strides eating up the ground between it and Thunder. You noticed Thunder’s pace faltering, fatigue setting in, while Blaze surged ahead, pulling into the lead with a quarter of the race remaining.

Now it was Gojo’s turn to whistle, his voice tinged with desperation. “Straight to the finish line, Thunder! Don’t let up!”

But Blaze only widened the gap, its momentum carrying it farther ahead. You couldn’t contain your laughter, a joyous sound that bubbled up from within as Blaze crossed the finish line first, with Thunder trailing behind.

“Goddamn it,” Gojo cursed under his breath, his frustration palpable. You clapped your hands in delight, your laughter ringing out.

With deliberate grace, you placed your hands on your hips and turned to Gojo, flashing him a triumphant smile. “I’m so glad the ‘simple’ horse won,” you said, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “It seems I’ve finally bested a duke.”

Gojo’s blue eyes bore into you, their intensity searing, but you met his glare with a boisterous laugh, savoring the victory as the crowd’s cheers and claps echoed around you. Until it was only the two of you, staring each other down.

Gojo ⸺ 0, you ⸺ 1.

Now, Duchess Gojo had always had a penchant for gossip, no one escaping her eye and observation. Of course, it was now the Whistledown era, for the unknown author could observe far more than the high-profile duchess, who was the receiver of much praise and attention due to her son’s eligibility. But this eligibility had only been achieved because of her ability to direct the tide based on her reconnaissance, and in all her years, no could match her sass and direction. Except one. 

"You know, Lady Itadori," the Duchess remarked, her tone laced with feigned pensiveness, "the Gojo manor in the countryside has been dreadfully quiet, and, if I may say, it has been quite some time since we last enjoyed a proper tête-à-tête.”

The two ladies stood together near the stands, choosing a more secluded spot from which to observe the horse race. Lady Itadori, her closest confidante, met the Duchess’s gaze with a gleam in her eye. "Indeed, I must agree."

For a moment, the two women stood in silence, their eyes surveying the scene before them. From the ladies flirting shamelessly to the gentlemen scrambling for the favor of the season’s debutantes, they were like spectators at a grand circus. Yet, their attention was drawn to a particular act.

Raising her fan to her lips, Lady Itadori whispered conspiratorially to the Duchess, "I might add, my diamond has been spending a considerable amount of time in your son’s company."

The Duchess met her friend’s eyes and laughed lightly. "How many days do you wager it will take in the manor?"

Lady Itadori, now fully smirking, gave a delicate shrug. "It took you and the Duke but four days."

prev. the debutante | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n: reader is hearing boss music rn

forced proximity whatttt

gojo when kuna ripped one in his face

comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3

TAGLIST:

@ncitygreen @backstagepaige @serinatly100986 @nappingmoon @coochellati

@extremelyexh4usted @yoshisaurmuchakoopas @nixiepixee @generalstephkenobi @vernasce-blogs

@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun

@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1

@hyori2 @babyblue0t7 @iwanttoberich420 @rosso-seta @ladytamayolover

@kalulakunundrum @r0ckst4rjk @mo0sin @angelina7890 @jaeminaur

@yamiyas @cherry-blossoms-in-red @r3inae @lagataprrr @sasfransisco

@fortunatelyfurrygiver @aurora-tiny @gojonegs @luna-v-roiya @xxemmarldxx

“Those ladies clearly hadn’t seen you drop yourself in dung when you were younger. Or the face you make when you are so oddly concentrated. As if you just stepped into a chamber pot.”

Before Yuji could come up with a snide remark to his older brother, the two heard an incessant pacing leading up to the doors of the drawing room they sat in. The door slammed opened to reveal their mother⸺Lady Itadori⸺with a hand to her face in clear distress.

Choso and Yuji exchanged glances before Choso calmly set down the single-page newspaper he was reading. “What is the matter, mother?”

Lady Itadori moaned and sat down on a chair raggedly. “Your sister is the matter. I fear the queen will have reviewed every person in London before your sister leaves her room.”

Before Choso could get a word in, Yuji suddenly stood up. “This is a serious matter, mother. After all, she should be punctual to her debut. I will go fetch her.”

“Wait, Yuji!” Choso and Lady Itadori followed Yuji to the grand staircase of the Itadori manor. Hurriedly, they reached the foot of the stairs to see Yuji tilting his head back to take a deep breath.

“SISTER!” Yuji had his palms up to his face, as if to amplify his already booming scream. “YOU! MUST! MAKE! HASTE!” After the quite of bit noise he'd made, he cleared his throat, looking to the side to see his dumbfounded mother and brother, and shrugged. “Well, someone’s got to the job.”

Then, the brothers and their mother look up to see a peek of white and a “Miss, be careful with the hem!” You, at the top of the staircase, grab the front of your ivory dress, with your maids helping you with the train, as you start stepping down the staircase with an irritated frown. “Must you always be such a nuisance, brother?” Traversing down the stairs until your family members were visible, all you saw were dumbfounded and tense expressions. After enduring hours of painting your face and dealing with your maid Nobara’s fussing over your coiffure, you wished for a more fond reaction. Annoyed, you stomped your way past them to the exit, where the carriage was waiting for you four.

“Dear!” your mother exclaimed, rushing to your side and taking your hand as you reached the door. Her eyes, filled with concern, met yours as she nervously asked, “How are you feeling? I know this is a momentous day for you, but remember, you’ve always excelled in your lessons. It’s only natural that you’ll win the queen’s approval, dear.”

“Yes, Mother, of course,” you sighed. “It is just such a hectic day.”

“But you shall dazzle them.” Choso comes behind you, patting your back gently in his reassuring, elderly brother ways. With a proud smile, he says, “The gentlemen are not prepared for your entrance this season.” 

“Indeed! They will be none the wiser to your snark, sister.” You see Yuji coming up on your other side, offering his elbow. You tentatively take it, eyeing him sourly as he continues, “I am simply elated that Mama’s attention will be on you, rather me.”

You reach to smack him on the head, eliciting an "Ow!" from Yuji just as your mother approaches next to him, frowning. "Of course, Yuji. But it won’t be long before I have to chase after you for your tutor’s complaints about your lack of proficiency⸺"

Yuji interjects hastily. "Well! Would you look at the time? The Queen is waiting!" 

"I'm surprised the gossip pamphlet didn't mention how much of a rake you are," Lord Geto mused, taking a sip of brandy. At his right, Duke Nanami was stoic as always, focusing on the tastes the gin was bringing to his mouth rather than  the two older men beside him.

"I'm severely offended you would even imply such a thing," Mister Satoru Gojo put a hand on his chest, feigning offense. Rather than a gin in his hand, Satoru preferred drinking water lest his mouth spilled something even more notorious than his signature calculative icy blue eyes.

He continued. "Honestly, I don't understand this whole Whistledown business. Some might even say the ton holds her words more in regards than the Holy Bible!"

"You're diverting the matter at hand, Gojo," Nanami took his tired eyes off of his drink to look at Satoru. "As the heir and first son, have your parents not urged you to cease your foolishness? There is a limit to the rakish behavior one can exhibit in your position.”

"Yes," Satoru sighed, "They have. That's precisely why I'm looking for a bride."

There was a silence in which Satoru looked up from his glass to see Kento and Suguru’s mouths agape. "What?"

Suguru leaned closer to Satoru, as if to inspect his countenance unsure if he was jesting or not. "So, is it actually true? You're going to get tied down?"

Nanami wrinkled his nose in disapproval. "Must you say it like that? Marriage isn't imprisonment, you know."

Gojo sighed. "Nanami, Nanami. It's clear that one year that separates us in age has also left a gap in experience." Nanami felt a vein pop as Satoru irritatedly continued in his know-it-all voice. "Marriage is an end. The dead end, in fact. It is when you are abroad in Paris, basking in all the fine entertainment and wooing ladies until you realize you are out of funds. Out of money. Marriage is coming home not to go out and drink, but to a wife that has endless needs of you and children that will have frustrating phases of life. An end to pleasure and an end of all jest."

Kento and Suguru exchanged a glance before Suguru asked, "So why are you looking for a wife?"

Satoru looked dejectedly at them, crossing his arms. "My parents insisted. Said they would freeze my funds and kick me out if I didn't get serious about my future." He continued on his desperate rambling, leaning back in his chair. "I don't understand. Must I have a wife to "get serious" in life? I’m serious about all the fucking mergers and dubious finances my father invests in! Look how well I managed his bets!"

"You know, Satoru, your outlook on marriage is awfully pessimistic," Suguru put down his glass to lean back as well, crossing his arms in seriousness. "Don't you wish for a love match?"

"That sounds ridiculous. Love matches are just a passing fancy young ladies have when reading their ridiculous romance novels."

"Well, of course you think that." Kento deadpanned. "No respectable lady in their right mind would fall for you and your attitude."

"Nanami, you wound me."

Suguru glanced at Satoru with concern. "My dear friend, you are making this harder for yourself than it ought to be."

Satoru groaned. "I came here for jest, not to receive words of so-called wisdom. I assure you both, all is well." He looked at both of his friends. "I do not need to be assured. I simply am looking for a woman fine enough to be my wife to appease my parents and their concerns of continuing on the line and handling the dukedom but for a woman so reserved that she'd respect my wishes and isn't so miserable. Or needy." Satoru shrugged. "I would believe these to be respectable requirements for a wife."

Suguru looked at him with mild displeasure. "It sounds like you are looking for a horse to ride, not a woman you would spend the rest of your life with."

Standing up, Satoru moved behind Kento and Suguru to give them a hearty slap on the back. "Trust me, my dear, dear friends. I will find what I am looking for and drink myself silly for the rest of my life!"

"You don't drink." Kento sighed.

"Never mind, you! Sir, more drinks!" Satoru grinned. "Here's to the bachelor life!"

The three men raised their glasses for the toast. Yet, only one of them contained thin water.

You restlessly arranged the feathers in your coiffure and adjusted the fabric essentially squeezing the breath out of your lungs to accentuate your bust. The palace waiting room was stuffy as ever as debutantes and their mamas fluttered across the room in an effort to catch the smallest of flaws on their person.

Before the Queen did, that is.

"Your feathers are fine, dear. Take deep breaths for me." Your mother raised her hands, prompting you to take a breath in and out as her hands lowered.

You gave her your practiced smile and curtsy to which your mother laid a hand on the small of your back in both approval and reassurance. With the other, she grabbed your own and rubbed comforting circles in the junction of your index finger and your thumb. "You have always excelled in your lessons, my dear. I could not be prouder of the woman you are becoming." She sniffed, and you smiled in appreciation. "The Queen will love you, I am sure of it."

You laughed. "Mama, that is what all these ladies think."

“But none of these ladies have poured in the determination you have, my dear.” Your mother holds your head gently by the cheeks. “Your character and proficiency⸺I am sure the Queen will see the promising young lady that I am proud to call my daughter.”

You felt a lump in your throat. While you appreciated your mother’s words, you could not help but think of the significance of this day. You almost felt dizzy thinking about messing up in front of the Queen; if you didn't find a suitable match as a result, what would become of you? 

Suddenly, there was some fanfare from the main room. "Now, presenting Miss Itadori and the Right Honourable Lady Itadori." Your heart jumped out of your throat as you heard the call for you and your mother to walk up. 

"Let's go, my dear." With a fond kiss to your temple, your mother led you by the hand to the center of the tall and ornate doors that opened to reveal the Queen and her audience. You couldn't help but notice that your mother's hand held a reassuring, yet tight vice. 

When the doors opened, your vision blurred. Your heartbeat got faster, and all you could register was the stares. What felt like a million pairs of eyes blinking upon you, scanning your coiffure, garments, and carefully painted face. While the gossiping widows and mamas whispered amongst themselves, some gentlemen scanned you up and down in clear assessment of your constitution. A distinct smell of tobacco and vanilla wafted through the air, and you took an imperceptible breath in as you steeled yourself before putting your practiced, signature smile. 

A memory from your childhood flashed before you.

"She is excelling in her studies," your tutor had said, discussing your performance with your mother in the drawing room. You, sitting beside them, had fidgeted nervously with your small hands clasped in your lap, sitting as straight as you could manage.

"What must she do to improve?" your mother inquired, her eyes sharp with concern.

"Madame," your tutor had said, turning his gaze towards you with a knowing look. "Your daughter is quite nearly flawless. She is of my most exceptional students; her obedience and composure are unparalleled, even at such a tender age." He then fixed his eyes back on your mother with an authoritative intensity. "But there is one element that will truly distinguish her as a diamond."

Your mother had leaned forward, abandoning her tea in anticipation. "What is it?"

"Her smile."

As you flash your smile to the room, you could feel the people in the room going silent. Your smile was what helped you focus and keep your eyes on the prize: impressing the queen. Smiling in the most innocent and demure way you could possibly muster, you straighten your posture as you advance towards the queen, your eyes serene and your expression a masterful display of delicate charm.

The stares of the ton were on your back, but all you focused on was the harmony of your countenance. Chin up, you reminded yourself. Everyone in this room is my prey, and I am the predator. 

When you and your mother reached the foot of the Queen's throne, you dipped into the deepest curtsy you had to offer, keeping your eyes on the ground as you minimized your smile to a more polite and respectful one. You stayed there for as long as the Queen was silent.

Then, a rustling of fabric as the room silently gasped. The Queen was stepping towards you, and you felt a gloved hand take your chin. Not daring to breathe or rise from your genuflection by even an inch, you forced your body to stay in position as your face was raised to look at the Queen’s.

Her booming, yet regal, voice echoed throughout the room. “You, my dear. Perfect.” She then addressed the room. “I have found my diamond!”

The declaration sent a wave of murmurs through the gathered crowd. You could feel hundreds of eyes on you as you slowly rose from your curtsy, your heart pounding in your chest. Your eyes instinctively sought your mother’s, who looked at you with pride and a hint of warning.

“Keep smiling, my dear,” she whispers into your ear. “They are staring now, more than ever.”

Your mother was right, upon reflection. There were eyes observing you far more diligently than they had before. In particular, a pair of icy and brilliant blue ones. 

“Choso, not today.” Your mother sighed. “I am not ignorant of your overprotective tendencies, especially towards your younger sister and brother.”

Choso was fully frowning in displeasure, arms crossed as he observed your mother, Yuji, and yourself board the carriage. “Mother. Sister is the diamond of the season. The men will be after her like hungry vultures!”

“Well, vultures have a tendency to eat freshly decayed carrion. When you get rid of those dark circles and don’t look like dead meat, you can join us.”

Choso protested further, stopping the doorman from closing the carriage door. “But, Mother⸺”

“Yuji, close the door. Your brother will join us when learns to get sleep and not work on those ledgers overnight.” As per your mother’s instructions, Yuji closes the door on him. As the carriage rolls out of your manor and into the London streets, you blow a mocking kiss to your brother, who is now brewing at the doorstep.

“Phew! Good riddance,” Your mother fanned herself. “I need this night with you, alone. God knows how many suitors will be warded off with that horrid glare of his.”

You laughed softly, leaning back against the plush cushions of the carriage. “I suppose it’s a small price to pay for a bit of peace.”

You and your mother were wrong; your brother should have been there. 

Upon your arrival, you were followed by stares, whispers, and men. Bachelors appeared in droves, eager to engage in conversation, each drawn by your newly anointed title as the diamond of the season. After paying your respects to the Queen, you found yourself swept into a whirlwind of attention, each dance and conversation a testament to the allure your status had brought.

As you navigated the crowd with practiced grace, Yuji, ever the observant and cheeky sibling, leaned in close to you and murmured, “I must say, you’ve outdone yourself. They’re practically circling like hawks. Do you think we’ll need to hire a guard just to keep them at bay?”

You gave him a wry smile, barely concealing your exasperation. “Oh, Yuji, you’re so dramatic. They’re just eager to make their introductions.”

Yuji snickered and nodded towards a particularly earnest-looking gentleman who seemed to be making a concerted effort to catch your attention. “Well, if this is what the season looks like, I might have to prepare myself for a front-row seat to a parade of besotted suitors. Just don’t let them all think you’re here to catch them; we wouldn’t want them getting the wrong idea.”

Your mother, overhearing Yuji’s jest, gave a light laugh and shook her head. “Oh, Yuji, you and your theatrics. Just make sure you’re ready to fend off any advances that come your way.”

“What?” You’ve never seen Yuji’s smile drop so fast. As if on cue, there were mamas and maidens closer to Yuji’s age that were approaching, as if a pack, and he looked at you in panic. “Are they coming towards us? Sister, you’ve got to⸺”

“Mister Itadori,” It appeared it was too late. A pack of young ladies were right next to you, fluttering their fans and lashes and giggling. “Whistledown has praised you quite well in this last issue.”

Help, Yuji mouthed, but you merely winked in response. The young ladies had effectively formed a barrier around you, offering a temporary reprieve from the throng of eager suitors. Sensing an opportunity, you decided to seize the moment and discreetly made your way towards the punch table.  

The cool, refreshing scent of the punch greeted you as you approached, offering a welcome contrast to the bustling, heated atmosphere of the ballroom. You filled a glass with the fruity, aromatic beverage and took a moment to savor the brief solitude.As soon as you took a deep breath in, savoring your newfound freedom, you felt a presence next to you at the punch table. “Miss Itadori.”

Upon turning, you were met with the infallible smirk of Naoya Zen’in. You had indeed heard⸺and read, in Whistledown⸺that his family adopted nontraditional ways of determining the winner of the family inheritance and leadership. While Lord Zen’in wasn’t guaranteed to be the heir, he definitely was one of the top contenders. You assessed him further, taking in his arrogant demeanor as he reached down to give you a kiss on your hand. Rather wet, you thought in disgust.  

But you hid it well, fluttering your lashes up at him. “Mister Zen’in! I am flattered to be acquainted with you today. How do you find today’s ball?”

“Rather well, of course.” He reached to scoop some punch for himself. “I enjoy meeting all the young ladies and dancing with them, of course. Ever in search of my perfect bride.”

You forced an artificial giggle. “Of course. I’m sure all the ladies that have talked to you have been charmed, as am I.”

He swelled, exactly you expected, as you stroked his ego. “But none of these ladies are as valuable as you, my diamond.” To your displeasure, he took a step closer to you, discreetly tracing his finger from your upper arm to where your dance card resided. “May I have your next dance? I have been perfecting my dance skill to the point all my brothers are envious of my prowess!” He barked out a laugh. “In fact, I beat them in horse riding years ago, and…”  

While Naoya kept talking, you merely fluttered your fan over your face in mock interest. You were really starting to mourn your short-founded freedom, wanting a respite from the self obsessed young man. For some reason, you could smell the same distinctive perfume of expensive tobacco and painfully sweet vanilla you had smelled in your presentation, like a warning. Realizing you were drifting off into space with the heady fragrance, you made sure to tune into his ramblings once more.

For some reason⸺that you were growing to find uncomfortable⸺he still had his hand on your dance card. You felt the previously faint aroma growing stronger by the second. “Of course, I am soon to be the heir of the Zen’in name⸺”

A flamboyant and mischievous laugh cut through the air. “Naoya, you amuse me.” To your alarm, a young man steps to the right of you. From what you can see on the side of his face, his head sports brilliant white hair and his eyes are focused on the bachelor in front of you, who is now displeased and openly glaring at the man beside you.

“Gojo, I⸺”

“Funny that you talk about the Zen’in inheritance, Naoya.” The man⸺Gojo⸺scratched his chin in faux puzzlement while cockily smiling. “Last time I checked, Naobito was discussing handing it over to Megumi over pall-mall!”

Naoya was clearly growing more and more distressed. “Father wouldn’t dare to hand that child with a whore of a mother⸺”

Gojo clicked his tongue, outwardly showing a nonchalant smile, but you could noticeably see his eyes darken. “That’s no way to talk in front of a lady, Naoya, and certainly not of a mother. Besides, Mister Zen’in, didn’t Megumi save your family from the edge of poverty?”

Naoya’s nostrils flared. Clearly at the end of his wit, he did a small bow towards you as he swiftly exited your proximity. You blinked, partially processing the conversation that happened as well as the fact that you were now alone with this Gojo. Turning, you prepared your signature smile, the act you had been presenting for countless of young bachelors today. However, what made you stop in your tracks was his eyes.

Even the pure Englishmen you had met in London didn’t possess eyes like his. They were intense and vividly blue, flashing with judgment and calculation. His face, though strikingly pretty and slightly more feminine than others, seemed carefully constructed to mask his true thoughts. His white lashes contrasted sharply with his hair as he blinked.

And then it hit you. This was the heir of the Gojo dukedom, Satoru Gojo. Known as a capital R Rake for reasons unknown to you (Nobara just insisted he was), you could see elegance and arrogance exuding off of him, yet another noble with an ego as big as his wallet. You recall, then, what Whistledown had wrote about him⸺that he has never shown interest in marriage before today.

It was only after he blinked once more that you realized he was waiting for some response to an introuction you didn't catch. In a panicked flurry, you curtsied and said, “My apologies, Mister Gojo. I fear I haven’t had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. Miss Itadori, pleased to meet you.”

Gojo’s smile widened, his blue eyes twinkling with an almost imperceptible amusement. “A pleasure indeed, Miss Itadori.” He returned your curtsy with an elegant nod, his voice smooth and teasing. “I must say, you handle yourself with admirable grace amidst such a tumultuous crowd, my diamond.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gojo,” you replied, attempting to regain your composure as you took a sip of your punch. “I do try my best to navigate these social minefields.”

He chuckled softly, the sound light and charming. “Indeed. Though it seems you’ve had quite the evening already, judging by your rapid responses to Lord Zen’in’s advances.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to draw a hint of a smile on your lips. “It appears you’ve been observing closely. Are you always so keenly aware of your surroundings, Mister Gojo?”

“Only when I find the scene particularly entertaining,” he said, his gaze shifting to watch the guests around the ballroom. “And tonight, the spectacle is quite extraordinary. I must admit, you are a refreshing change from the usual parade of predictable manners.”

“Predictable?” you asked, your curiosity somewhat piqued. “Do you find most of the guests here lacking in originality?”

“Perhaps not lacking, but certainly not as intriguing,” he replied with a playful grin. “Take, for instance, Mister Zen’in. A man of considerable ambition, no doubt, but with a flair for the dramatic that grows tiresome rather quickly.”

You nodded in agreement. “Yes, he certainly has a penchant for self-promotion. But then, one could argue that every gentleman here has his own brand of theatrics.”

“True,” Gojo said, tilting his head slightly. “But what I find most fascinating is how you’ve managed to stand out amidst this display of pomp and circumstance. It’s not every day one encounters someone who seems so effortlessly poised, even in the face of such overt competition.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mister Gojo,” you said with a light laugh. “But I assure you, my composure is a carefully cultivated skill, not merely a natural state.”

“Ah, then I must commend your efforts,” Gojo said, his eyes gleaming. “It is a rare talent to maintain such grace under pressure. If I may be so bold, might I request the honor of a dance with you this evening? I promise to provide a diversion from the usual pretenses.”

You hesitated for a moment, weighing the potential benefits of engaging further with this intriguing man against the immediate demands of the evening. Finally, you offered him a meek smile. "Of course. I shall be delighted to dance this waltz with you."

Pleased, he guided you to the center of the ballroom, your hand elegantly placed in his. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph as you noticed Lady Mei Mei’s envious glances and the heated stares from other young ladies.

Gojo positioned his hand on your waist as you both assumed the proper stance for the dance. “So, how are you enjoying your night? I trust you’re finding pleasure amidst the horde of suitors the Queen has so graciously provided.”

You smiled demurely, carefully maneuvering around him. “Well, my lord, I am very grateful to the Queen for her blessing this season.” You took a delicate step, noting Gojo’s amused smile. “However, it is quite tiring to meet so many people. Repeating my preferences for the countryside or the city can become rather exhausting.”

Gojo’s smile widened as he guided you through a graceful turn. “And which do you prefer?”

“I would argue that the city is preferable when I feel lonely,” you said, gliding with him. “Yet the countryside is ideal for moments of solitude and reflection. Naturally, it also serves as a lovely setting for fond memories with a future husband.”

“What do you enjoy doing in nature?”.

“Embroidering or practicing the pianoforte,” you replied, making sure to display a wistful smile. “There is something particularly enchanting about playing the piano with the door open, letting nature's melody blend with the music.”

“Do you have any other talents or skills?” Gojo inquired as you both continued your dance.

“Yes,” you said, “I am fond of reading and immersing myself in literature. I also have a passion for the arts and languages.”

“Which languages do you speak?” he asked, guiding you through a series of intricate steps.

“I am well-versed in the classics⸺Latin and Greek. I’ve also picked up some French and Spanish, when I was yearning to follow my older brother through Europe for years.”

“What about literature? What do you enjoy reading?” Gojo pressed, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your smile grew slightly strained as you felt the conversation veer towards an uncomfortable territory. You felt as if the duke was interviewing you for review of your admission into an academic institution rather than holding conversation. “I enjoy Byron, sir,” you said carefully.

Gojo hummed in approval. “And here I was, thinking all ladies were engrossed in Whistledown.”

“Ah, well,” you feigned a sigh, your smile tight. “Gossip has its charm for a lady, sometimes.”

“For men, too, I must admit,” Gojo said, tilting his head towards his group of friends. “But I must confess, it is rather unpleasant when the gossip circulates that I am a rake.”

That's because they're true, you whore. "I guess it's up to the smarter individuals in society to discern the truth from the slander."

Gojo’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he guided you through the final steps of the dance. “Indeed, it seems wisdom and discernment are valuable traits in navigating the labyrinth of society’s gossip.”

You nodded. “Quite so. It is the discerning few who see beyond the surface and recognize the true character of a person.”

As the music swelled to its concluding notes, Gojo drew you closer, his gaze fixed on you with a calculative expression. “And what is it that you seek to convey through your own character, Miss Itadori? In a world full of pretense, what do you wish to be known for?”

You maintained your practiced smile. "Mister Gojo, in a world where appearances often speak louder than words, I find it best to embody grace and humility. I hope to be seen as a gentle and devoted companion, one who supports and uplifts those around her.”

Gojo’s smile only sharpened, and you couldn’t help but shake the feeling of somehow being calculated, observed, even hunted as he offered,  “A noble aspiration. It is refreshing to encounter someone who values authenticity amidst the artifice.”

As the final strains of the waltz came to an end, Gojo escorted you back to your starting position. He bowed deeply, his eyes never leaving yours. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Itadori. It has been an evening of unexpected delights.”

You curtsied in return, your eyes meeting his with a demure and sincere expression. “The pleasure was mine, my lord. I am honored to have had this opportunity.”

With a final, charming smile, Gojo stepped back, giving you a nod. “Until we meet again, Miss Itadori. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

After Gojo had taken his leave, you found yourself once again surrounded by a steady stream of suitors eager to engage you in conversation. You indulged a few with polite discourse, your smile unwavering as you navigated the well-trodden paths of societal pleasantries. Despite your best efforts, fatigue began to set in, and you soon reached your limit.

Deciding to take a brief respite, you excused yourself with practiced grace. You made your way discreetly to the veranda, seeking solace and a breath of fresh air away from the relentless din of the ballroom. As you stepped out into the cool night air, the sound of the revelry faded to a distant murmur, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the faint scent of blooming flowers.

With your mind fresh and clear from the suffocating revelry, you couldn't help but reflect back on the night. With the Queen deeming you as the diamond of the season, you knew your mother and Choso had been appeased. Of course, tomorrow was going to be a long morning; judging by the sheer number of young men approaching you today, you knew many of them would be visiting your drawing room to converse with you and gain the approval of your brother.

There were some suitors that stood out. Lord Ino seemed to take genuine interest in what you had to say, but Mister Fushiguro had both interest and quiet respect that you couldn't help but think was ideal for a marriage. After all, you just wanted a peaceful life after securing yourself and your family. While brief, you had conversed a bit with both Duke Nanami and Lord Geto, but it had been interrupted by some of their friends inviting them onto the terrace. You were sure Naoya wouldn't bother showing his face tomorrow.

That left him. Blue eyes. You couldn't help but think you had heard about him somewhere. 

Gojo.

Even though you couldn't recall much other than his rakish tendencies, the future title of Duke was certainly attractive and respectable. He wasn't so bad; with dashing looks, you couldn't help but simply think that a pretty face wouldn't be bad to look at for all those years. You snickered to yourself at your sheer display of vanity in your thoughts.

If you had to think of the most vain reasons to justify your suitors, Mister Gojo would definitely top your list of the most handsome of men. With a sturdy and healthy build, you could notice the years of dedication he must put in to maintain his athleticism. Perhaps archery, you thought. Those shoulders were definitely wide for days. Or maybe horse riding. He definitely seemed to fill in his pants with his thighs.

However, it was impossible to ignore his mischievous nature. You couldn't imagine a man such as the future Duke showing any outward display of affection, and all your interactions⸺from him outwitting Naoya, to interviewing you under the pretense of dancing⸺have always had him either besting or calculating the other converser. He definitely had a superiority complex, you rolled your eyes. Clearly, your display of the simple and stupid maiden pleased him. You wondered if he treated all the other ladies with the same level of disrespect and evaluation.

Deciding you were too far into the gardens, you turned the opposite direction to join the revelry once more in fear of attracting strange rumors about your presence in the gardens late at night. As soon as you got closer and closer to the ballroom, you heard voices.

"Ah, but there is the diamond, of course." 

You perked up, interested in knowing who was talking about you. The voices seemed to be coming from the entrance between the terrace and the ballroom. "Of course, I understand why the Queen has deemed her so." Crouching, you aimed to discreetly hide behind a large trimmed bush in such a manner that if someone were to be passing by, you wouldn’t appear suspicious. 

Another voice chimed in. “She is beautiful. Not in the salacious way Lady Mei Mei is, but in a more authentic and innocent way.” 

“I fear the ladies nowadays are salacious⸺hungry for suitors with money and power⸺so it only makes sense that the ladies appear that way. But the diamond; she is different.”

A slap, as if someone was affectionately patted on the back for attention. “Yes, yes. But let the man of the night give us his assessment. After all, he is the one who is here tonight with us, finding a wife, when no one who had ever talked to him would ever think he would be doing such a thing.”

“Well, of course. It wouldn’t take a fool to know that marriage is basically imprisonment.” You could discern the speaker’s wry tone. “The goal here is to appease my parents, and my ticket to that is the diamond.”

“Well, get on with it,” a voice pressed, rather impatiently. “What’s your assessment?”

“A bit simpleminded.” Some feeling struck your lungs, as you recognized that it was Gojo’s voice that was speaking. You swallowed, your heart pounding as you waited for more harsh words to torrent upon you. “Has no opinions of substance that should cause conflict. She’s perfectly fine for a wife. I shall begin courting her and will soon propose⸺"

You didn’t hear the rest because you soon found yourself dashing in the opposite direction, towards an alternate entrance to the ballroom. You couldn’t bear to hear any of the more degrading and embarrassing things Gojo had to say about you as you slowed your pace to a fast walk. 

With the main entrance to the ballroom in sight, you thought about the other gentlemen⸺if you could even call them that⸺that must be present, conversing with Gojo. How widespread are these assessments of you? Do all gentlemen think you stupid? However, your thoughts are interrupted when you bump into someone, rather hard.

“Are you alright?”

You look up, putting a hand to your bosom as you try to catch your breath. You see Duke Nanami’s face in close proximity, as he furrows his brow in light worry. You’re clutching your forearms as you are heaving, trying to get oriented. “Yes,” you heave. “Yes, Your Grace.” 

Nanami clearly didn’t accept your assurance as he helped you stand to your full height. “Is there anything wrong?”

“No, no, I assure you; I am quite alri⸺”

“Sister! There you are!” Yuji comes up from behind Nanami, and both of you turn to look at him. “I’ve been looking for you! The punch here is terrible, some of the mamas here are horribly intoxicated. Do you know Mei Mei’s mother just admit⸺” he cuts himself off as he observes Nanami, who’s still touching your arms,  with wide eyes. “Di⸺Did I interrupt something?”

“NO, you didn’t.” You burst out, not wanting yet another man leaving with an unfavorable expression of you tonight. You and Nanami both take a step back to distance yourselves, and he clears his throat.

“Good night, Miss Itadori. Mister Itadori.” He gives you both curt bows as he makes his way past to his carriage.

Yuji blinks. “Oookay. Anyways. Mei Mei’s mother just barfed on top of Naoya as she was buttering him up. I must admit, Mei Mei and Naoya make a formidable match in being intolera⸺”

You could feel yourself filtering Yuji out as you thought about the gentlemen’s gossip from earlier. While you weren’t exactly surprised that Gojo appraised you as a pawn, you couldn’t help but be a little offended that he could talk behind your back. Who’s to predict the other naive ladies that would be subject to his callous and calculative behavior?

 There was only one conclusion to be drawn that you swear to remember for the rest of the season: Gojo was not a man of honor, and you were not going to be one of his victims. 

TAGLIST (join it by commenting under this post!):

@ncitygreen @backstagepaige @serinatly100986 @nappingmoon @coochellati

@extremelyexh4usted @yoshisaurmuchakoopas @nixiepixee @generalstephkenobi @vernasce-blogs

@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun

@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1

@hyori2 @babyblue0t7 @iwanttoberich420 @rosso-seta @ladytamayolover

@kalulakunundrum @r0ckst4rjk @mo0sin @angelina7890 @jaeminaur

@yamiyas @cherry-blossoms-in-red @r3inae @lagataprrr @sasfransisco

@fortunatelyfurrygiver @aurora-tiny @gojonegs @luna-v-roiya @xxemmarldxx

You swiftly replaced and re-opened the signature lacquered elm finish lid, as though the action would magically replace its unfamiliar contents with the meal you’d diligently prepared the night before.

You groaned as the realization dawned on you: in your fatigued stupor, you had somehow managed to mistakenly take off with one of your poor colleagues’ lunch. As if on cue, a buzzing notification on your phone confirmed that you wouldn’t have the time to return to the staff room and rectify this in time for your next briefing.

After suffering through the remainder of your extended shift, combatting both fatigue and hunger, you finally made it back to a now  mostly empty fridge, with your original bento box nowhere to be found. Still a bit scatterbrained from the eventful day, you desperately attempted to process the meaning of all this. Had your colleague taken your lunch in exchange? Had it even left your home in the first place?

“You must be the culprit returning to the scene of the crime.”

You turned to the source of the distinct voice, and found yourself face to face with none other than Kento Nanami.

Prior to this moment, your interactions with the Grade 1 sorcerer had been limited to the occasional greeting politely exchanged as you ran into each other within the campus’ common areas. He kept mostly to himself and you pegged him to be a serious, no-nonsense guy.

And you had robbed him of his lunch.

“I am so sorry, I totally got our boxes mixed up!” you meekly replied.

“I don’t fault you, I can now see how that would occur,”  he stated, bringing up a lunch box that matched the one you were still holding, lightly tapping them together before drawing his gaze back up to you. “After all, these are identical.”

You’d always admired Nanami from a distance, even harbouring a small crush on him, sentiments you’d only allowed yourself to indulge within the safe sanctuary of your discretion. Now however, you suddenly grew aware of his stature as he towered over you, of his softer-than-expected demeanour and of the large calloused fingers that held onto your bento box.

Get it together, you thought to yourself, in a desperate attempt to centre yourself back to the exchange at hand. He spoke before you got the chance to do so.

“I was mostly curious to learn the identity of the talent behind this homemade meal. Did you make this?”

“I did, last night,” you reply cautiously, still taken aback by his compliment and its implications. Had he tasted your cooking?

As if reading your mind, he clarified, “I did of course leave your meal untouched, tempted as I was not to, but I couldn’t help but wonder what the sauce was made with, if you don’t mind sharing? It has a lovely aroma I was unable to place.”

This certainly was not the direction you’d expected the conversation to turn.

A flutter of excitement replaced the pit in your stomach, as you described the steps in making your spicy peanut sauce recipe, a dish you’d learned from your mother and had since committed to memory. Nanami occasionally cut in with clarifying questions, borne out of what you now discerned to be genuine interest.

This went on for a few minutes, until one of your colleagues popped into the room to grab a stack of reports, an interruption that served as a natural stopping point to an otherwise passionate conversation.

Nanami handed you your original box, stacking it onto the one you were carrying before tugging on the latter in a maneuver to trade with you. Possessed in a moment of boldness, you tightened your grip on his box in resistance, the movement inadvertently caused your fingers to brush, resulting in your breath hitching ever so slightly as you lifted your head up to meet his now inquisitive gaze.

“I could bring you some if you’d like,” you offered.

“Pardon?”

“Let me make you lunch? I was going to make a fresh batch today anyway. I’ll bring it tomorrow? It’s the least I can do, to make up for today.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you’re able to register the thrill of a boldness that surprised even yourself.

He ponders this for a few seconds before finally acquiescing.

“Let me clarify that you absolutely do not owe me anything, but if you insist, and only if you promise you’re not going out of your way…”

“Promise, it’s no bother at all!”

That evening, you replayed the surreal interaction in your mind as you meticulously prepped, cooked and packed for your two lunches.

The next day, he graciously accepted your offering. The delightful micro-expressions that lit up his face as he savoured the fruits of your labor more than made up for the previous day’s ordeal.

Less than a week later, Nanami prepared a bento box of his own to share with you - a novel and delicious take on a chicken and egg oyakodon, that he remixed by way of adding some of the spices you’d shared in your own recipe, resulting in a fusion of both your cuisines, a gesture emblematic of reciprocity that was decidedly bringing the two of you closer. In the following weeks, without explicit consensus, you slipped into the weekly habit of taking turns preparing lunch for each other, eating together whenever your schedules allowed for it.

It did not take long for you to realize the extent to which Nanami was a foodie, and a very opinionated one at that. His otherwise reserved demeanour disappeared momentarily, if only for the duration of lunch time, an openness you easily matched, elated at the privilege to break up what were otherwise long and often draining work days in such good company.

Culinary themes easily dominated your lunchtime conversations as you broached upon everything from tastes to flavour profiles to fusion cuisine to kitchen equipment. Slowly, surely, and unwittingly, you both peeled back your layers over the comfort of your delectable shared meals.

Eventually, your discussions veered into other topics. On one particularly busy spring day, Nanami had left you his contribution to the shared meal of the week in the break room fridge: maple barbecue chicken with a side of glazed sweet potatoes, a stark departure from his usual, savoury rice-based meals. He’d informed you that he would be unavailable at your usual lunch time as he’d be working a later shift, and as such you’d planned to eat alone. As it happened, your tasks had pushed you to take an exceptionally late lunch.

You hadn’t expected to spot him alone, sitting on a bench by the training grounds, in a deeply pensive state.

You had half a mind to leave him be but your feet took you to him, and you seated yourself next to him at his quiet invitation. You thanked him for the lunch, and he expressed that he was glad you enjoyed it. You weren’t unused to comfortable silences in your conversations, but this one carried an unusually heavy charge.

After a while, he finally spoke. “It was my best friend’s favourite dish. He died 10 years ago today.”

Over a shared sweet dish that had once bonded two young optimistic best friends, you took stock of a depth in his eyes that appeared to broadcast a silent internal war struggling to break through to his surface as he unpacked the consequences of the perils that inevitably came with the nature of your duties. You listened as the 7:3 sorcerer reminisced on tender memories that punctuated his childhood friendship with Yu Haibara, like how this maple glaze had first tasted too sweet to his liking but eventually grew on him.

The day you were assigned on your first mission together tested many of your preconceived beliefs. The team consisting of Nanami, Ino Takuma and yourself as support, was assigned to a standard exorcism mission. In theory, you knew that the two of them were more than capable of handling it. And yet, somehow, something about your proximity to Nanami as he was about to cross the curtain you’d just raised made the dangers feel more real than ever.

Right as you whispered an inaudible word of caution, Nanami turned to you with a small nod and a reassuring smile.

In that very moment, it came to you more as a shock than a surprise that you no longer regarded him as just another colleague or friend.

That you had completely fallen for him.

The mission went without a hitch and was even completed far ahead of schedule. Ino left ahead of you, leaving you with Nanami who pointed out that you were  a short walk from one of the bakeries he had recommended you, and suggested you have lunch there.

You learned that the appetizing casse-croûte ordered at his recommendation had been a chance discovery, the outcome of a desperate quest to replace a favourite treat that had been discontinued during his former corporate days. You bantered over a philosophy he shared about the tolerance for life’s little despairs being a hallmark for adulthood, to which you playfully countered that the appreciation of creature comforts was more important.

“I will concede that this particular little despair may not be the best example, seeing as it eventually led me to my new favourite bakery.”

“Exactly, it’s called serendipity, Nanami. In a similar way, it was the little despair of mixing up our lunch boxes that led my enjoyment of this delightful casse-croûte!”

He rolled his eyes with a chuckle. “You’re citing a situation where your own mistake led to your own benefit. I don’t think your logic holds.”

“Okay, sure. But all in all, aren’t you glad it happened?”

He dropped his gaze, fixating on the remainder of his coffee for a moment, before raising it again to meet your eyes, his expression indecipherable.

“I am,” he finally replies, quietly.

You took a bite to conceal your reaction, convincing yourself that you had gotten carried away and had been too forward, that you were feeding into your own delusions, that you should dial it back.

A few days later, Kento Nanami proved you wrong, by formally asking you out to dinner.

The reservation he’d secured for your first date was at a new dandy restaurant you’d seen advertised and had been eager to try out, on their highly coveted opening night, no less. However, the promise of a “memorable 5-course experience” quickly revealed itself to be little more than puffed-up TikTok fodder, all hype and little substance, as evidenced by the tiny portions of subpar meals.

You brushed off the situation as being more comical than disappointing, a sentiment Nanami was unable to bring himself to mirror at first. It was only long after leaving and several attempts to convince him that the burden of such a questionable choice rested squarely on you, having been the one to fall for the establishment’s deceptive marketing that he finally loosened up, eventually joining you in laughing it off. Together, you took turns in delivering scathing critiques and commentary on the experience, turning the ordeal into a nice humorous moment that stretched long after he’d parked back in front of your apartment.

Not wanting the evening to end just yet, you invited him up, and over what you later coined to be ‘redemption ramen’, the two of you candidly chatted until the early hours of the morning.

Some months later, over a truly memorable 5-course meal, this time of his own creation, you agreed to become Kento Nanami’s wife.

On the tail end of a particularly hectic week, you'd sensed that your fiancé could use a break. So when the young Yuuji Itadori approached you, practically begging you to convince ‘Nanamin’ to agree to let him show off his signature homemade meatballs, you jumped at the timely opportunity.

And thus, the three of you found yourselves in Kento’s kitchen that very evening, an occasion that granted you a front-row seat to the lovely bond that had formed between the two. You observed as Nanami seamlessly switched between the roles of mentor and student, diligently following Yuuji’s instructions, all the while using the exercise to dispense kind lessons in patience in response to the teen’s intermittent bursts of ardor.

Over a warm meal consisting of spaghetti and homemade meatballs, as you watched the man before you offer earnest congratulations and praise to his beloved mentee, who, in turn, proudly beamed with radiant joy, you couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful a father your future husband would be.

You hadn’t realized the reverie you’d been lulled into through the monotony of your continuous stirring movement until the gentle voice of your now-husband snapped you out of it.

“Darling? Are you listening?”

The two of you were in the middle of cooking together, in a moment of much anticipated domesticity that closed out an otherwise chaotic week. You had just moved into your new marital home a mere few hours ago. Boxes were still sprawled around the living space. While ordering takeout would have been the wiser choice given the circumstances, you’d both agreed to indulge in your common craving instead - a hearty homemade beef stew.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“I was saying that I forgot to get some paper plates. We’d have to unearth the dinnerware from god knows which box, which I don’t think either of us has the energy for. I’ll run out and buy some.” he trailed off.

“Oh wait, I believe I may have just the thing!" you exclaimed as you handed him the reins of the spoon "Take over for me?” He watched as you sauntered towards a discarded reusable bag sitting by a pile of boxes, fishing out a pair of matching bento boxes that you’d insulated from the chaos of packing for this very occasion.

“You don’t mind using these, do you?” you asked, holding them up like trophies.

He returned your smile with a warm one of his own. “Not at all.”

Special thanks to @tsukimefuku for creating the challenge that finally pushed me to post my first JJK fic!

Thanks to @positive--space for helping me with the visuals!

Taglist: @strawberry1042 @darkfaerietails @Jay220a @fattybattysblog @suguru-nugget @senseifupa @aleigant @gigiculona @rahuratna