Yandere! Geto, who thinks it's so cute when you come over to his apartment, crying those big, crocodile wails about some guy. The same excuses that have blended together over the past few months - you got ghosted again, broken up with, cheated on, doesn't matter, because at the end of the day, you're in his arms. Crying into his shoulder. Fists bunched into his shirt.

So, he thought he could handle the fact that you're sleeping around. That you're out flirting and kissing other guys because, really, who is the real winner here? You keep crawling back to him each and every time like a dog with a tail between its legs and a whimper caught in its throat.

Yandere! Geto, thought he could push all those silly thoughts of his aside. Who thought he could handle the idea of his sweet girl going off with different strange men. But it seems his hands act on impulse before his mind can think of the consequences.

Yandere! Geto, who pouts that lower lip of his with a sigh at your rambles, his finger lifting your chin so you're forced to look into his violet eyes while he tilts the last bit of wine in your glass past your lips. His thumbs brush away a stray salty tear or two, taking your mind away from the lingering fizzy taste on your tongue that wasn't there a moment ago. Easily pulling you onto his lap after a few moments, your body already going limp, and your words can't help but mush into something incoherent. His eyes, delicate yet cold, watch as your own go glassy.

Yandere! Geto, who thinks it was worth all the little moments of frustration within himself, dealing with his control issues and all. Letting you have the freedom that you'll never have the luxury to taste again.

Oh, does he delight in finally having your warmth in his arms. The delight in his face when your body is just as reactive as he had thought it would be. He begins to palm your breasts, watching the panic in your eyes subside. His other hand already begins to nudge your limp legs apart, just to get a look at the cute little panties you wore just for him.

"A little bow just for me? You shouldn't have, puppy," He coos sickly sweet against your ear, ignoring the pitiful noise that escapes your throat. "Guess, I'll just take all night exploring underneath these, mm? I don't hear any protests."

His eager hand circles your clit through the patterned cotton, listening to every hitch of your breath. His knowing eyes glancing down at the pool of wetness beginning to form against the fabric, and how he just knows if he didn't put that muscle-relaxant into your drink, he'd have you bucking right into his palm like a bitch in heat.

Yandere! Geto, who pushes away his own feelings to not fuck you dumber than you already are. Who has to remind himself that this is all just the beginning. Just the start of your training for your true purpose in life.

Yandere! Geto, who can't help but breathe a laugh as he carries you to his bedroom and begins to tell you all of his ideas. How he first thought of dating you. Then he thought about hooking up until he got to this moment. But now, with these drugs in your system, with him having you right in his palm. Well, isn't it better if he makes you exactly what he wants you to be?

Yandere! Geto, who gently places you inside the pink metal crate, after a sweet kiss to your lips. Tucking you into the various pink paw print blankets that are nothing but soft against your skin, yet not thick enough to block the bite of the bottom of the crate bars that will soon dig into your skin until he deems you can come out again.

You were never going to be wife or girlfriend material to him. Not even a friend.

No, you were no more than a bitch in heat, and he's here to make you realize exactly what you are.

His bitch. His sweet little puppy.

Suguru would burn the candles of thought and wander around a series of scenarios: what would it be like to love? What color is romance and what taste are kisses? There must be a reason why the moon was put on a pedestal of artistry, or a color of blood to abridge all tongues and words of ardor. There had to be a reason why someone was so eager and willing to hand their hearts on a platter to someone else, someone who was looked upon as the apple of eye. It seemed absurd: humans are merely products of vice, planted to sin and harvested to destroy, every letter and word they utter weighs nothing heavier than a lie, So why would such a morbid creature empty the jar of heart on another morbid creature? It is a wounding, shameless lie.

Cease to feel and halt to sense, there was no meaning in draining the amphora of emotion on someone, a one who can't taste curses to know how much of a grace it's devouring. it's pointless to break the glass of heart over a bod that ignores your agony to indulge in its little world of pink lies. He just wishes- Only if, if he slices that part of him that screamed of humanity everyday, the part that made him extend a wing to shield the helpless from their demise… He hated having a heart.

Once during a green summer, one that had a breeze of May and the pink warmth of Valentine's day, The sphere wrapped a blessing in a curse's fabric; a gift so pristine it competed with the glimpses of eternity with a smile and tore the horizon's edge with a kiss, a form of life that its existence on this cursed land was the vilest injustice ever committed towards its chastity. The Angel; now blossoming from the sphere's seed into a human with flesh and blood, nerves and bones, eyes and a beating heart, is left to be stained and tarnished, munched and swallowed by the imperfect- the bad seeds, the swirl of everything evil. a tear of a curse could lace a sea of blessings, and you had to be protected: from the serpents, the devils, the flawed, or anyone else that wasn't him.

"Y'know, Suguru, sometimes when I look through your eyes, I can see you fighting yourself, as if you were your own worst enemy" You started the conversation like this, so casually, with no hint or intention of digging too deep into his psyche.

July, casting blazing rays and nearly melting the shadows outside, while the pair of you decided to remain in class for no obvious purpose. Suguru didn't mind having you around, aware that you weren't going to engage in tittle-tattling, leaving him with the room to think. It's been a long year.

With a strike of sudden concern, and maybe a little suspicion, He directs his whole posture towards you, noticing your relaxed position on the seat beside his. a silence of something that was about to begin stretched before he asked "What do you mean?"

a Winter night smile drew itself on your lips. In a movement of Bonnie Parker leaning on her motorcycle, you faced his confused comportment, rolling your eyes playfully before replying "You thought that no one would notice? That's cute. but I must admit, you're so good at hiding it, even Satoru wasn't able to see it, I'm surprised!" something brightened in your expression, contradicting the words you just said. As if you were Suguru's Anima; you spoke so confidently, insisting on extracting a part you didn't like of him.

And that confidence stirred a certain sentiment within him. something he would see as… vulnerability?

He stared.

Another silence, silence of an absurd play, one that the audience certainly didn't need to absorb the scene.

You continued "Amanai was a human like any other, someone with dreams and hopes, fears and triggers, and a family- and a lot of friends. she lived her life to the fullest… Well, maybe not completely, but at least she had some taste of blessing before her death. people aspire to horizons, living enough to reach it and sometimes not, savoring both sweet and bitter times before kicking the bucket. But that's not what we're talking about here"

His eyes couldn't get any wider, the images played slowly and vividly while the cassette of that memory didn't seem to stop.

"She's a vessel that can be replaced. Lord Tengen wasn't in that need for her anyway. But are we sorcerers any better? no. we're replaceable as well, unless you are Satoru, which we aren't. Yes, we are strong, but still replaceable. The Jujutsu world needs to continue existing or else cursed spirits will blow everything to bits, and of course, we're the only ones who can keep it going and exorcise these creatures."

Your fingers twiddled with your necklace, rolling it slowly as your tongue flowed. "I wanted to go everywhere too, I wanted to have a lot of friends to love without worrying that they'll die at any second. I wanted to wander around and behold flowers and snow without seeing an ugly cursed spirit…"

His tongue wouldn't unwrap, au contraire to his thoughts. his mind moved as fast as forgetfulness would spell, drinking in all of your heart's tears. Perhaps, after all, he wasn't the only one who awakened to a harsh knowledge.

You, are special.

"It's not fair… why should I be the one who gives up on their happiness to save people who know nothing of my sacrifices…"

"I-.." your rant comes to a halt, a veil of guilt slides down your expression.

"Sorry… I didn't mean to remind you of… back then, I talked too mu-"

"No." He interrupts, his usual resting face painted over.

"You can continue, I understand you…" Suguru smiles.

Ever since the curtain on your heart was pulled, you seemed to confide in him more; drifting away from Satoru and Shoko slowly and subtly. He didn't want to think of it, yet these pages of poems and lines of serenades whispered something to him everytime he looked through you. She must be unhappy too, Unhappy people are sensitive to the unhappiness of others¹. and to confess, it balmed a little comfort on his soul to see that misery brought you together. Day by day, both of you would speak for hours, crafting an imaginary horizon where everything was a haven for a winsome world, goodwills falling like spring rain. Night by night, He who becomes the one to count the nights, scripting his nightdreams and rehearsing his hopes to a shadow of you that lingered in the corners, only for every word to blend into space once the daybreak spills through the clouds.

Your voice; it is the voice of his mind now. The shadow of you is melodizing his thoughts and troubles of the heart, lulling his reveries and caroling his visions. The pages of romance flip like petals in the wind: as the silk of your vocal cords tailors the letters with red and pink, he is finally allowed to relish the true colors of so-called love. Yozo² is no longer fool in Suguru's thinking, for wanting to die alongside the one he loved, which Suguru Geto himself now, secretly, hopes to achieve with you.

"Have you ever thought about death?" Green-colored smile, surely wasn't grayed by anything. Suguru just thought, what did you think? Did you want to be with him no matter the place?

The roles have been reversed. now you're the silent one; you were sure that you did talk too much that day, pouring your wounds into him that now they're his wounds. Guilt stinged your heart, only if you remained silent back then.

"Um- yes, I'm already accepting it, we're sorcerers after all…" you struggled to compose a thought he'd like, it came out as what a child attempting wisdom would say. speaking to your friend has become a difficult task lately, you didn't want to lose the thread of thinking you shared together, and he seemed quite pleased to talk to you.

He chuckled.

"Never thought of making it better for yourself at least?"

What…

"I used to think so too. But slowly, I'm finally able to see what I was too blinded to see. Remember when you said that you wanted to have a lot of friends and go everywhere? that's rightful of you to ask- but you can't get it whether you plead for it or not. I'm telling you; I know it very well when I say you can have everything you want if you step up and take control." stated he.

As if looking for any other person who seems to notice that there's something odd, you glanced around. nothing was in sight except the trees and grass of the long forest line.

His face didn't move when he continued "You see, we forgot that we were stronger, smarter and more skilled than the ordinary, say evolution theory: creatures go through a long process of development to become advanced in brain and muscle. some reach the highest stage of development and become a human, while others simply stop in the middle or never start, thus remaining monkeys"

For some reason, you imagined yourself operating on his brain: cleaving the front of his skull with a sharp scalpel, lifting up his scalp in a way a box of chocolates would be opened, unwrapping and milling his brain convolutions, looking through his memory and mind's eye to see when and where these ideas have crossed his mind so you can uproot them- it is your fault, you filled him with so much tangles for a sweetly simple soul as him.

"...And since monkeys can't survive on their own, we were the ones who would acquire and use their talents to establish Jujutsu and save them, doing it out of kindness and altruism, they give us curses and we cure them in response, continually and with no recognition of our merit…"

Something in his eyes twitched; he sounded as if he was letting go of an ancient burden, the Messiah's cross thrown off by his back.

"... You, me, Satoru or anyone who uses Jujutsu is the purest form of life on this earth, we're destined to rule as much as we were to protect, to punish as we were to love. we sorcerers are chosen by the heavens…"

"...Monkeys must die." the corners of his mouth were altered to a frantic excitement, seeming like he'd seen after years of being dim sighted.

It is a blessing to be ignorant.

It started out subtly. Suguru would continue smiling- the line and twist on his face metamorphosed into one you have no knowledge of: it was strange, uncannily simple and eerily sweet, more of looking at a portrait of a goner and less of seeing a friend. His compassion faded, a mock-lively kindness replaced it, by the nature a moonlight would mimic a sunray's warmth. it is not change, nor epiphany; your friend was dying with no hearse set or heart settled- Suguru slept to no awakening so the priest in Gojo-gesa can breathe to every aspect of life.

Eyes that used to behold the blessings in everything are now glaring with violence, gnashing its teeth to whoever and whatever didn't wield any cursed energy. it is visible for you to only see, all of the ink and blood jarred behind his eyes, masked perfectly and contained in a patient smile he wore to his subjects— our subjects darling! he would say, giving you a saddened look, as if his gift of a thousand obedient monkey wasn't enough to thrill you as much as it did to him.

“You know how much I love you, right?” he murmured, holding your hand. your eyes pierced the reflection on the vanity glass: a husband and a wife sharing an intimate moment, scenery of a devoted Genji holding a torn Fujitsubo³ and kissing away all of her distress. you switched your sight towards his hand, the one that stroked yours, the one that had on its ring finger a silver band twirled.

“And I'm willing to offer you everything I have, anything you want” He placed a kiss on the crown of your head, billing and cooing in his words “I just ask for a little smile in return, or a little ‘thank you’ for everything I do to us”

“You're taking advantage of innocent people, Suguru”

He scoffs “Are they really that innocent?! All they do is cause destruction and corruption. you're too kind to even call them people” the last word dropped like a glob of mercury, heavy and tarnishing. he's annoyed for sure that you ruined the romantic mood by mentioning monkeys yet again.

“You're murdering people who came to you for help, Suguru…”

You saw it without looking at it, the flash of rage and loathing, with all its redness and heat a fire had less or more of. you hoped in despair ,maybe there's still the lingering blush of compassion in his heart; the comity of your dear friend Suguru, not the hatred of your husband the monk. His fist flew in front of your face, grabbing your chin and rotating your skull to his penetrating eyes. for a second, a thread was pulled in your chest, cutting your heart with a feeling of fear, was he about to strike you?

“I told you thousands of times… those you cry for so much are. not. people. Do you understand me?!” He pressed on each word, heavy breath fanning your face. you could only look back and try not to recoil under his gaze.

“They ruin our lives, they kill us, they cause suffering and they taint this earth with their filthy emotions… if it wasn't me who gets rid of them and cleans their trash, only heaven knew how much time left for us to live…” he digs his nails into your flesh, gritting his teeth at you “They made you unhappy, they tried to kill me while I was risking my life to save them everyday!” he raised his hands in the air, snarling with full volume. you're sure that Nanako and Mimiko are in another room hearing, and utterly aware of their agreement and devotion to Suguru.

Frantically, he unwrapped his Gojo-gesa and threw it on the floor, shooting you a glare while he freed himself from the sleeves of his haori. his stare kept lining yours, and when he stripped from the white hada-juban, you've seen it, as if at first sight.

“Shouldn't a wife support her husband?! Why do I feel like everything else except for me matters to you?!” He yelled. it is not the first time you see the scar on his chest, in fact, you've seen it too many times that its lines were as familiar as the dimness of your eyelids.

“Whom am I doing this all for?! for us! for our family! they're just like us, they've been belittled and cursed by monkeys and they had their happiness snatched brutally from their hands… all just because they were sorcerers” he calmed, yet not eased judging by how sharp his expression was. He dropped his arms to his side, reaching to cup your face and force you to see his eyes “You were hurt too… you begged me to save you years ago… you do remember the day we sat together in class and talked”

You do remember.

The echo of that hour reverberated through his eyes. in their dark shade, you watched a reflection of yourself, helpless and gray, sew the first threads of his insanity. you wished if life had been a little more cruel and tore off your tongue before you ever got the chance to speak with him.

It's you who chiseled the priest.

He feathered a finger across your cheek, crooning honey “And you remember our dates too, all the kisses and embraces, our wedding and our nights together…” serene as a sea in spring, animating the past into a sweet lull. his eyes smiled to you, cording your heart when continuing “You love me, you love our family, our paradise— and him” His palm spidered to your stomach, stroking the node of flesh “You would never abandon him, would you?”

Can you even? He sojourned far in, tethered to you through a wall of flesh with a string stretching inside of him. the memory of his existence would carve lines in both of your bodies even after his birth.

“You're so selfless, that's why I fell for you darling” whispered he, drinking your silence in taste of obedience. Was there any release from the cuffs you wrapped around your own wrists? Suguru wasn't an imprisoner, he just smelted a bracelet you wished to wear, eager to please and in hunger for your praise, while you, in words and smiles, altered his brain to see in dark color.

“Why don't you say you love me?” he coated demand with love, pouring foam on your ears in a whisper.

Your skin felt light underneath, like you could walk out of it as a coat. In times like these, when he gave affection and demanded it back, you could only say one thing, unlike a full colored prism of flirtation he can murmur to you.

“I love you so much, Suguru…” at first, saying it was like uprooting a rotting tooth, but as time passed and your tongue knew the taste of lying, it became like picking a fruit.

He smiled “Good girl…”

His eyes glinted in red “...I love you too…”

The second time you saw Suguru dance, you were eighteen.

You’d achieved your dream of dancing at the same academy he went to, and because of that, you were able to get tickets from an instructor to his last performance as the company's principal dancer. It was a once in a lifetime performance. He danced with such emotion, sheer passion dripping from his pores. Each leap and jump pricked your eyes with tears. He was gorgeous. A star exploding just before its death.

When your instructor offered to introduce you to him afterwards you nearly threw up.

You met him in his dressing room, sat with him as he removed his stage makeup. He was warmer then you expected him to be. Down to earth, gentle, but no less intimidating. He asked you about dance and what you were planning on doing with your career. When you meekly told him you were planning on becoming a ballerina for the company, his lips curled up.

“I suppose I’ll be seeing you around then.” he said.

The third time you saw Suguru dance, you were nineteen, and this time you were dancing with him. 

It was announced a few months after his retirement that he would start teaching at the academy and that he was looking to take on a talented student as his protege. Dozens of students signed up for an audition slot, girls and boys who were leagues ahead of you in technique and skill, who had better genetics and better connections, people you could never in your wildest dreams hope to beat.

Still, you signed up. He was your idol, after all.

The first round of auditions were nerve wracking. Ten minutes on the barre, ten minutes of floorwork surrounded by nearly fifty other dancers who were more flexible, prettier and stronger than you. To make it worse, Suguru walked up and down the rows, checking your form and tapping people's shoulders so they knew he’d seen enough. You waited with bated breath for his dismissal, gnawing a cut into your lip, but to your shock, it never came.

The second round of auditions were two days later.

You waited outside the auditorium for nearly two hours, watching as people came out and started whispering to their friends, your stomach curling into knots at every grin or confident quip. There shouldn’t have been any reason to worry. You were prepared not to get it, you knew the likelihood of him keeping you in the room for more then thirty seconds were slim to none, and you’d practiced the combination plenty. None of that was enough to keep your heart from pounding. 

When it was your turn to dance you couldn’t look at Suguru. If you did, you thought you might vomit. Instead, you focused on your footing, your angles, anything but the man who you’d idolized for ten years staring at you ten feet away. You could feel yourself getting sloppy, cramping up and stumbling out of turns. Nonetheless, you kept dancing. Marking the counts in your head, trying to keep yourself from trembling.

At least until he told you to stop halfway through.

It was a disaster. A nightmare. Immediately you felt your eyes start to water, breath getting caught in your throat. You didn’t expect him to keep you long, but you thought at least you’d be able to finish the combination. Were you really that much of a failure? You blew your one shot at dancing for your idol

You felt a hand on your waist.

“Breathe,” he said, his voice low, gentle. You felt his hand slide down your thigh, lifting it upwards towards your head. “You’re flexible,” he mused, pushing your leg back down, “and I suspect your turns will be good too once you’ve calmed down.”

A bead of sweat trickles down your nape as he steps backwards, air still caught in your lungs. You couldn’t think, or breathe, or speak. 

But when Suguru told you to do the combination over, eyes flickering with interest, your body couldn’t help but obey.

This time, you took his instruction, making sure to keep your breath steady, your mind focused. He circled you, looking you up and down as you slowly became more comfortable, falling into the music, becoming less stiff. Occasionally, he’d call out a correction - lift your chest, arch your back, keep your eyes forward. You’d quickly adjust yourself. He’d smile and purr “Good girl.”

Once you’d finished and the music stopped, there was silence. Only your soft pants and the thump of your pulse filled your ears. Until, you heard clapping.

Suguru walked over and placed a hand on your shoulder. “You can tell the others outside to leave now.” he said, eyes gleaming, “I’ve found what I was looking for.”

—

Two years have passed since then, and you’re still intimidated by Suguru.

It’s difficult not to be, especially now that you’re so close to him. Five times a week at exactly four o’clock the two of you meet in a studio, and he won’t release you a second before nine. Every second of that time is precious, he’s told you, it’s a second closer to you taking his place as the principal dancer. 

He works you like a horse. Demanding impossibly long turns, bigger leaps, stretching and bending you so deep you feel your bones might snap. Every movement is repeated at least four times before he’s satisfied, and even then, he’s insistent that there’s more room for improvement, that you’re just scratching the surface. He’ll demand you do it from the top, ignoring the way your face falls, only watching with a scrutinizing eye as you return to the start. It feels impossible to please him sometimes. You’ve never felt as exhausted as you do after your lessons with him.

You thought the academy had harsh rules, but they’re nothing in comparison to Suguru’s. There’s the normal ballet school rules of course; hair must be up in a bun, no makeup, pink ballet tights and leotard, no asking for toilet breaks ect, but he’s also particular about your personal life. He makes you track when you sleep and what you eat in a journal and bring it to him each lesson to approve, a rule he made after you pulled an all-nighter one day and nearly fell asleep on him, just to ensure you're “practicing good habits.” You find yourself holding your breath everytime he looks over it, you can only exhale once he’s handed it back to you and told you to go warm up. Then, there’s the rules about people. He advised you, in a manner that made it understood that it was not actually a suggestion, to stay away from other dancers. It’s better for you not to get caught up in the cattiness of it all. More than that, however, you’re to stay away from boys. 

“They’ll only distract you from what’s most important.” he’d told you, “You want to be the best, don’t you?”

He’s never made it clear what would happen if you broke one of his rules, but you haven’t found the courage to figure it out. Suguru is, to put it bluntly, terrifying. It’s difficult not to notice the way his arms flex as he stretches you out, the thick veins protruding from the skin, or the strength in his legs as he lifts you, holding you up as though you’re little more than a pillow. Beyond being a once in a lifetime performer, Suguru is a powerhouse physically. 

It’s not that you think he’d ever hurt you, but the one time you ever did speak about a boy to him (a dance partner in one of your classes) your stretches that day were particularly painful.

Even so, Suguru, for all his austerity, is a good teacher. You’ve become one of the best ballerinas in the company under his guidance. And though he may be rigid while you’re on the dance floor, he’s gentle in the cool down. He sits you down and takes off your shoes, carefully massaging the soles as he holds water up to your mouth, thanking you for your hard work, ensuring you know he’s proud. He’s confusing like that. Jekyll and Hyde. But maybe that's what makes his praise so addicting. Why you blush so hard when he tells you “good girl.”

Maybe it’s why, even when his touches started to become a little too intimate, you didn’t say anything. The hand on your thigh was just a friendly gesture, the lingering touches on your breasts were accidents. Suguru didn’t mean it that way, surely. 

And the kisses on your forehead, those were simple, platonic gestures. He meant nothing by them. Even when he started kissing your hands and cheeks, you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

You tried to focus on the dancing, to remind yourself that Suguru has only ever done right by you. Embrace it, you told yourself, isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? For him to notice you?

When it turned into kissing on the lips you couldn’t deny it anymore.

You weren’t sure how to react the first time it happened. One minute he was pulling off your shoes, talking to you about how proud he is of you, how important you are to him, the next his eye were glinting, resting dangerously on your lips as he leaned in. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. Briefly, you thought to scream, then to push him away from you, or maybe you should ask him why? But when he pulled away, you were paralyzed.

“That’s good, Y/N.” he sighed, going back in for another, entwining his fingers in yours as his tongue breached your lips. A painful lump grew in your throat as it sunk in what was happening. By the time he pulled away again, tears were spilling down your cheeks.

Suguru smiled softly at you, thumbing away the beads. “Shhh, you’re alright.” he promised, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. Thick fingers ran through your hair as you sobbed into his shoulder, clinging onto his shirt for stability. “Don’t be scared, it’s just me.”

You couldn’t pull a coherent thought from the storm whirling through your mind, nor were you stupid enough to think you could pull your already exhausted body out of his arms. You best you could manage was a half choked, “You’ll get in trouble.”

Sugurus' chest rumbled against you. “No, not if you don’t tell anyone.” he said, before pulling away so he could look you in the eye. “Swan Lake auditions are coming up, remember? You know I think you’d make a lovely Odette.”

Your heart sank to your stomach. He was right. And without him to vouch for you, there’s no way in hell you’d ever get the part, or any other part for that matter. Suguru has been the companies darling for over a decade, it would look terrible for them if it came out that one of their dancers did this to their student. They wouldn’t believe you over him if you told them, and even if they did, you’re sure they’d do anything to make sure you shut up about it.

Without Suguru, your career would be over.

And it was because of that, that you kept returning, even though your heart sank every time you walked into the studio. It’s why you stayed quiet as Suguru groped and touched you as he stretched you, why you didn’t argue when he made you drop to your knees and suck him off for not taking his corrections, why you let him finger and edge you into a dripping mess to “teach you discipline.” And when it was time to leave, you’d kiss him tenderly as a thank you for the lesson just like he asked, because you were a good girl.

Suguru only became more insatiable from there. During swan lake rehearsals he’d keep you late and fuck you in your dressing room as he gave you notes, holding your hips steady and arching your back, just like in the studio. If you talked to other dancers he’d quickly usher you away, keeping a firm hand on your lower back just to cement the message that you belonged to him. 

Male co stars annoyed Suguru the most. You learned to be careful around them after he caught you laughing at one of the princes’ jokes and spanked your ass red like a child. 

Rumors started swirling of your and Suguru’s relationship. You could hear what the other dancers called you behind your back - whore, skank, suck-up. The general consensus was that you didn’t deserve what you had, that you only got parts because you were sucking Suguru’s dick.

And the worst part was that they were right. You never would have made it this far had Suguru not decided you’d make a nice sex toy. Everything, your technique, your strength, your acting, your grace, you owe all of it to him. It’s only because of him that you have what you have.

You find yourself falling into his arms more often than you’d like, crying about how they all hate you. He’s quick to offer you comforting words peppered in between sweet kisses, reassurance that you’re a very talented dancer and promises that they’re just jealous of you. You loathe how you sink into him, how you let him cradle your face and wipe your tears. It’s only a momentary reprieve, soon overshadowed by shame and self hatred, but at this point, he’s the only reprieve you have. 

In a way, that makes you his, doesn’t it?

When you’re twenty four, you attend the company's annual gala and it is announced that you will be the company's new primary dancer, and though the applause is loud, no one is smiling.

No one except Suguru, sitting in the same seat you did the first time you saw him dance.

your best friend suguru has always been protective over you, since the very day you met. he found you hidden in a corner of the university campus, trembling and crying, unable to say a word when he asked what's wrong. turns out you got lost since it was your first day. you were so worked up that he just didn't take you to your lecture. instead he took you to the library, sitting in a corner with you as you wiped your tears, talking to you until you felt comfortable enough to say something to him. it was just a little 'thank you', your hands clutched in your lap with your head bowed. his heart just melted at your shaky, quiet voice, and he made a vow to himself right there that he'd take care of you no matter what.

he loves to take you out to places you'd never go by yourself - which is basically everywhere but your accoms (or his when your friendship makes it that far). he's obsessed with the way that you only talk to him. he has to order for you at restraunts, he has to buy things for you (even with your card) when the two of you go shopping together. he even has to talk to your professors for you, even for the subjects that he doesn't take. and he couldn't love it any more than he already does. it feels a little weird for him, he's being too possesive and he knows it, but your voice feels like a special little secret to him. it just makes his heart flutter when he's talking to someone and all you can do is stand - well, more like hide - next to him behind him, and only once the person is gone will you start talking to him again.

and he loves your voice oh so much. not only does it feel so special for only him to hear it, but it's just so cute. he doesn't care if your voice is deep or high pitched or just normal, he finds it so cute when you go on long rambles about your interests.

he just thinks you're so precious, so it's no wonder he's so protective of you. and what kind of best friend would he be if he didn't take care of your every little need?