𓆩 she loves her garden 𓆪

The confounding man before him only circled his thrashing form, a look in his eyes more studious than it was inquisitive, and it made the brunette come to the startling realization that the scene playing out in front of him was not new, and barely concerning. The startling glow of his electric blue eyes seemed to gleam in the moonlight as he tilted his head to the side to observe the way Choso’s head fell back to accommodate the pulsing emanating the fresh wound in his neck.

Finally finding the strength to clamp a trembling hand around his supposed captor’s ankle, he glowered up at him, blood still dripping down his chin from his earlier attempt to rid the foreign substance from his tongue. It had been no use though, what with the urging hand that clamped his jaw shut as he was instructed to swallow it.

“What—” He huffed out a pained groan, but continued on with a fierce determination. “What did you do to me?” 

“What did I do?” The platinum haired man scoffed in inappropriately timed amusement, shaking his head before squatting down to meet his victim’s eye. “What did you do, buddy? Getting behind the wheel when you’ve got enough booze in your system to host the next frat hazing.”

He could only barely recall the moment he’d swerved off the road; couldn’t recall what he’d hit, how fast he was going, or even what direction he was headed in. No, the only thing he could remember with startling clarity were all the images of you that flooded into his consciousness the moment his head hit the windshield. Choso wouldn’t be able to explain his actions with a gun pointed to his head, but he sure as hell could recall the way your laugh seemed to flutter into his mind in tandem with his limp body crash landing onto the cold road. 

The stranger barely exerted any energy to push him back down onto the ground with one hand to his clammy shoulder, his other arm coming up so he could sink his teeth into his own flesh. Choso noted with a panicked shock that the man didn’t so much as flinch as viscous blood began to pool around his inhumanely piercing, canine teeth.

 Already able to predict what was coming next as that same bloodied arm was being lowered down to hover over his mouth, he made a feeble attempt to press his lips together. As the thick drops pooled at his lips though, each scorching nerve ending in his body seemed to work for him as he parted his mouth to allow it to drip down his searing throat. 

“Atta boy, now you’re getting the hang of it.” The man preened, some hint of sincerity peeking through the teasing lilt in his tone. The brunette squeezed his eyes shut in shame as he acted on a primal instinct, reaching up to hook his hands greedily around the man’s forearm to latch onto the open wound. “Sounds like you’ve had a tough run, huh, big guy?” 

With each drop of crimson that flooded his system, it was as though he could feel each pathetic cell in his body fighting to fuse back together. The fracture in his clavicle, the rupture his split ribs had worked into his lungs, the still flowing wound on the back of his skull; they were all working in tandem to assure he looked human once again— or as close to human as he could ever get again.

The whistle that left the blue-eyed man’s lips fell upon Choso’s ears like the most shrill of rings, echoing in his steadily aching head and pulling an agonized groan from his throat. 

“She sure did a number on you.” He quipped with a fond smirk as he pried his arm away from the needy hands that continued to seek out the addictive substance leaking from his rapidly healing wound. With an infuriated furrow in his brows, the brunette sat up with a newfound burst of energy, even if the motion seemd to wind him the slightest bit. “Who is she?” 

“Who?” The fresh convert spat out through a harshly rasped tone. Still, his muddled mind knew exactly who the man just might have been referring to. 

Satoru Gojo smirked, resting an arm on his bent knee to glower down knowingly at his latest pupil with a sly tilt of his head. He watched with the same fascination all his past converts have sparked within him, that desire to know just what they would do should they be given that coveted second chance. 

“The girl that’s had you drinking yourself into sorry ass oblivion.” He reminded unnecessarily, narrowing his eyes to drink in the way Choso’s pupils seemed to grow then shrink continuously as the blood he’d just ingested fought to overwrite his genetic system. 

Leaning in closer, the smirk fell into something more serious, more sincere as the man’s chocolate eyes seemed to flood with unshed tears. 

“The girl you begged me to give your last words to before you died.” 

The warnings Satoru Gojo gave him before setting him out to begin this new chapter of his life, the one where he had no real life even being breathed into him anymore, they seemed simple enough. At least most of them did. Well, who was he kidding? None of them sounded simple at all.

In fact, each one frightened him more than the last, and had it not been for the platinum haired man’s statement that he had only saved him with the agreement that he’d make good on all that he had been about to leave behind that night of the accident, Choso would have found a remote country on the other side of the world if it meant he could keep whatever was coursing through his system now far, far away from you. 

They began innocently enough. 

“The sun isn’t your best friend, but she’s not your enemy either. It might tire you out more, make you feel weak. It’ll take time to adjust.” 

Choso had always been a bit of a night owl— he could handle that. 

“You’re gonna want to turn people. A shit ton of them. Think of it as… an evolutionary instinct; survival of the species if you will. Best to stay low for a while.” 

Turn people? It hadn’t even crossed his mind that he could do that. Sure, Gojo had done it easily enough for him when he was on the brink of death, his life already flashing before his eyes and reminding him of all the times he should have held you closer than his moronic mind could comprehend. Still, he thought maybe the man was just… a different breed? God, what had his fucking life turned into?

“That being said, you could say we’re… a romantic bunch.” Satoru had a mirthful lull in his tone, a knowing and devious glint in his eyes as though his next words wouldn’t turn Choso’s world on its axis. “That girl. You’ll seek her out— even if you don’t want to. Your body will find her.” 

A gulp forced its way down his throat, and had he still had a beating heart, he was sure it would be bursting from his cold, stone-hard chest by now. The newly turned blood coursing through his veins thumped ruthlessly in his ears as images of you began flooding his mind once again, namely of that horribly broken glare you forced his way that day he left you— the day he so foolishly ruined his own life under the guise of doing what was best for you. 

Looking up from the device he was lazily scrolling through, his mentor’s piercing eyes found him with an earth-shattering solemnness written all across his supernaturally pristine face. 

“You’ll want to kill her. You won’t.”

a/n: just gauging interest for an idea that's been haunting me teeehee

masterlist | requests | talk to me ❤︎

Your stolen glances across the room provided no solace. Whether intentional or not, you would find his stormy eyes no matter how far you had strayed— he was never far behind anyway. It was proven impossible for you to focus on any of the absolutely droning conversations presented by your suitors, not when there was only one man swirling through your thoughts. 

You felt your cheeks flush as your eyes seemed to unconsciously shift up, and up, and up, until that magnetic pull led them to your knight. He was vigilant as always, rigidly postured against the perimeter of the room you were closest to, decedent irises already zeroed in on you. There was the subtlest of nods that tilted his gaze, a gentle reminder of his presence— not that you could forget it anyway. 

“Has something else stolen your highness’s attention?” Your current dance partner quipped, making your breath hitch in embarrassment as you quickly turned your focus back to the task at hand. There was a playful mirth in his blue eyes that helped quell the anxiety bubbling in your stomach at the thought of your rude behavior. “Or perhaps someone else?”

Your lips parted in shock, shifting open and closed as you wracked your brain for a proper excuse. 

“I apologize, Lord—”

“I am teasing, Princess.” He chuckled softly, a knowing glimmer evident in the subtle smirk on his lips. “Unless of course your distractibility implies I am a poor conversationalist, then your highness must answer for such crimes.”

The tension in your shoulders slowly dissipated in tandem with his playful banter. It was a very welcome change from the countless men you had already encountered that evening who insisted the way to your heart, or rather the crown in their eyes, was putting you through gruelling conversations about their titles or conquests with that pleading look in their eyes that said please be impressed by me.

“I wouldn’t dream of tossing such an accusation so carelessly onto you, Lord Gojo.” You played along, finally allowing your fingers to settle more firmly around his for the first time that evening as he guided you around the floor gracefully. “I’d quicker admonish your dancing skills should I be forced into a confession.”

The white-haired man scoffed in feigned offense, taking the opportunity to spin you under his arm. It was proven difficult to bite back your amused smile as his hand on your back pulled you back into him. 

“At the risk of sounding pathetic, I must defend my honor, your highness. You would be the first lady to make such a claim against my presence in the ballroom.” Gojo stated with a confident smirk, and you could swear his face was a hair closer than it had been just a moment prior. 

You took the opportunity to analyze his sharp features. He was handsome, there was no sense in denying it. Those piercing blue eyes of his could nearly be considered intimidating, sending a shiver down your spine as you gazed into them directly for the first time that evening. You found yourself wondering if they were the type of eyes you could see yourself waking up to each morning, the kind you could see on your children. 

You absolutely hated the fact that this is where your mind was programmed to wander. You hated that you couldn’t enjoy a conversation without needing to concern yourself with the implications it might have on your future. You hated that your love life had become a game of chess. Even moreso, you hated the fact that the eyes you pictured in your future were darker, sharper—

“Have I lost you again, Princess?” Your partner’s beguiled tone pulled your thoughts back to the present. Huffing out a gentle sigh, you mustered a dazzling smile.

“No, my Lord, I was simply busy counting each time your foot has graced my toes.” You quipped with a challenging arch of your brow. 

“You are an absolute menace, your highness.” 

“So, I’ve been told— oh!” Your response was cut short by your own stunned gasp as the white-haired man dipped you suddenly, a delighted laugh bubbling up your chest. 

This was torture— Choso concluded as he felt his jaw nearly lock in place at the sight of you actually enjoying yourself. It was terribly selfish of him, he was well aware. The night had been progressing as smoothly as it could in the mess of his mind, but it was only because he could see that glazed over look in your typically lively eyes, the one that told him your mind was miles away from whatever man was before you. 

Now though, in the arms of this debauchee, the knight saw a certain weight lifted off your shoulders for the first time that evening. It should have come as a relief to him, especially with how fearful you had been about your prospects just hours prior. All the sight of your glittering smile brought about was an ugly monster that had never needed to be awakened in him. It whispered to him his short-comings, and it taunted him with the boundaries, no— shackles of his title.

With his gloved hand curling tighter around the hilt of his sword, he tried to ignore the way the monster reared its perverse head at him. He tried to ignore the way it told him that it should be him pressing your delicate frame against him in a dip that surely should have been deemed too intimate for a first meeting. Gojo’s striking eyes were raking down your face, lips parted and only centimeters from yours as time seemed to slow, and Choso realized he couldn’t ignore it any longer. 

Perhaps it was the monster that pushed through the crowd. Yes, that’s what he would blame it on. It was the monster that didn’t care who he was shouldering into. It was the monster that was storming head first into the one pleasant interaction you’d had all evening. 

“Your highness,” His firm tone cut through your airy laughter just as Lord Gojo guided you back upright. That familiar voice sent a shiver down your spine, as it held an edge to it you had yet to hear attached to Choso. Shifting your head around to face him, you noted that his gaze was set instead on your partner, an unreadable glint darkening his typically warm eyes. “Your presence has been requested elsewhere.”

You blinked in surprise, but your partner cut in before you had the chance to part your lips. 

“Surely her highness can finish her dance.” It wasn’t a request, and the way his hand didn’t leave the small of your back even after you’d slowly lowered your own arms served to solidify his insistence. 

The knight tried desperately to adjust his expression that he was certain appeared positively thunderous at the moment as he dropped his eyes toward that grimy hand that remained on you. He wasn’t sure just how successful his efforts were though. His jaw clicked with the force of his clench as he held his arm out expectantly.

“I’m afraid the king calls upon her, my Lord.” Choso emphasized before finally shifting his gaze to meet your perplexed expression. His lips pursed ever so slightly. “Your highness?”

“You must excuse me,” You muttered breathlessly, an awkward smile gracing your lips briefly as you bowed your head toward your partner. “Thank you for the dance, Lord Gojo.”

“I assure you, the pleasure was all mine, Princess.” With an effortless suavity, your hand was being pulled up, your knuckles just a breath away from his lips when the distinct swishing of a sword being prepped to be drawn halted his movements. An armored arm sliced through the miniscule space between you two.

“I advise you remember your place, my Lord.” The knight emphasized lowly. 

Gojo raised a surprised brow at him, but he swiftly unhanded you once his eyes landed on the partly unsheathed sword still tight in his grasp. With a mortified flush on your cheeks, you rested a placating hand on Choso’s arm. 

“Come now, Sir Kamo.” You hoped you were doing a good job at concealing the slight panic in your tone as you gave him a subtle tug. “My father has requested my presence.”

With a final once over at the challenging glint in the Lord’s eyes, he was begrudgingly sheathing his sword once again before promptly guiding you in the opposite direction. 

“What ever seems to be the problem, Sir?” You whispered indignantly as Choso, cheeks ablaze in a shared display of embarrassment and anger. “I am certain my father would not have called upon me in the midst of such a promising interaction.”

“You rang your bell, your highness.” He stated simply, though his eyes remained on the path ahead of him. You blinked owlishly at him, a scoffed laugh escaping you.

“I most certainly did not.” You corrected, halting him once the both of you were far enough away from Lord Gojo. Even as you stepped in front of him to face you, his gaze seemed to find anywhere else to reside in a frantic attempt to avoid those accusatory eyes of yours. “I was quite enjoying myself for once, actually. Lord Gojo is a perfectly acceptable suitor.”

“He is a perfectly acceptable rake.” Choso’s fiery gaze finally shot over to meet yours, his brows furiously threading together momentarily before he took in a deep, calculated breath. Your lips parted in astonishment at his sudden outburst. “You must excuse my reprehensible behavior, Princess. I forget myself.”

As he pinched the bridge of his nose between his gloved fingers, it was becoming astonishingly clear what was truly going on here. 

“Pardon me if I make unjust assumptions, Sir, but are you…” Your words trailed, face flushing at the possibility that you might be blowing things far out of proportion. 

You thought about that edge in his voice you had never thought him capable of, about how he lied about his reasons for interfering— how fiercely he had stepped to Lord Gojo. It was only mere hours prior that you thought yourself a fool for ever having allowed the thought to cross your mind, that the juvenile feelings that had been blooming within you would pass with his indifference, his oath to the crown. Now though, as the events of the last few minutes replayed in your mind with stunning clarity, those feelings no longer felt as foolish. 

“Am I what, your highness?” He questioned after considerably having pulled himself back down to reality— the reality where he had no say in who you danced or flirted with— no say in who you would marry. 

Staring into his velvet-spun eyes, your question hung in the weighted air between you, for the answer was already swirled into the solemn expression on his face. It was in his subdued tone and the way his typically pristine posture hunched each time he spoke to you lest you need to burden yourself with standing on your toes to properly hear him. As you inched ever so slightly closer to him, it was in the way his breath hitched, and his eyes seemed to race down to your lips before he had the chance to stop them. 

“Princess,” Choso began as his tongue darted out to lick his lips subconsciously before his eyes met yours once again. His brows twitched down as though restraining emotions that were already bubbling at the surface unbeknownst to him. “Is… everything—”

“All rise for His Majesty, the King.”

His lips still formed over his question, though you wouldn’t be able to hear it over the sudden announcement. At once, his head snapped up to take note of how each attendant seemed to scramble into a proper position to greet their king. By the time he turned his attention back to you, you seemed to have snapped from whatever haze that had you acting so strangely toward him, evident in the way you took a careful step back.

The knight contemplated leaning down to ask if you were alright, but the moment had already been stolen from you two by the heavy weight of the crown. With a resigned acceptance, his shoulders slowly fell back into their rigid posture. He once again took his rightful place, one that would forever be behind you— far enough away to assure he’d never impede on your progression toward the throne, yet close enough to feel how desperately he longed to be beside you instead.

The only time you had to reflect on what had transpired between you two was late at night, when Sir Kamo had already been relieved of his shift, and, despite his distance, you could only think of him as you tossed and turned in your sheets. 

The darkness that had possessed his tone, the one that should have vexed you irreparably, it only pooled in your chest and swirled into each ragged breath you took. You tried to run through each prospect that had been presented to you that night, of their titles, their conversation, even their faces, but he seemed to haunt each corner of your mind.

You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering down an avenue you once would have believed preposterous to give energy to. You wondered how much of his restraint was shackled to the walls of this castle, and you selfishly felt yourself longing to test it, to push at each nerve and chain that bound him to his duties in hopes he’d confirm the tale his stormy eyes told you just the night prior. 

“Good morning, your highness.” His usual greeting weighed more dramatically on you as you stepped out of your chambers that next morning. With a hitching breath, you braced yourself before turning to face him.

“Good morning, Sir Kamo.” You responded with a subtle nod, eyes carefully assessing him as though you’d find your answer even from behind all that carefully crafted bravado. His gaze flickered down to greet yours, a certain wistful charm behind them that made you wonder if he had been thinking of you all night as well. 

The heat of his gaze was sweltering, and suddenly you could think of nothing more than fresh air to cool your rapidly warming chest, neck, and cheeks. Blinking the haze you believed surely must be present in your eyes, you continued walking ahead of him, the solace of a garden stroll calling to you like a siren. It was only a heartbeat’s delay before you heard him fall into place behind you. It made your heart sway, the way he was never far behind. He’d follow you into the grave if you asked him to, you were sure of it. 

The thought had a fond smile melting onto your lips as the double doors were instantly opened for you, the morning breeze caressing your tickled-pink skin. 

“I trust your highness has made a decision regarding which suitors she will present to His Majesty this evening?” And just like that, your deluded fantasy was crushed under his seemingly innocent reminder of the duties you’d never be able to escape. 

What you wouldn’t know was that it was never his intention to shove your fate so mercilessly down your throat, but he instead was desperately attempting to quell the fire that had been raging within his veins since the night prior. 

Who had caught your eye, and what was it about him that stole your precious attention? Even if he found out, what good would it do him than providing a sample at which he could pick apart, comparing himself to with each passing, restless night even if the result would stay the same each morning when he woke?

You were privy to none of these racing thoughts though, and his seemingly careless question made you scoff softly. With a shake of your head, your pace quickened purposefully. The embarrassment of your seemingly misguided assumption had your cheeks burning, yet this time it wasn’t Sir Kamo’s charm to blame, but his blunt loyalty to the crown that had yet to be placed on your head yet. 

“Your highness?” Choso called out hesitantly, and it was clear in his voice that your sudden shift in attitude had caught him off guard. “Is something the matter?” 

“I simply find it humorous, Sir,” you spat out before your logical mind could stop you, his formal title ripping off your tongue as though laced with venom. Grunting in discomfort, you tried to ignore the dull ache suddenly digging into your heel. 

His brows rose at your tone, a twinge of defensiveness threatening to spill out as it bubbled instantaneously in his chest. Perhaps it wasn’t his place. Perhaps he had grown overly comfortable with the saccharine way your lips seemed to dance over his name each time you’d address him. 

‘Sir Kamo’ With your eyes wide and doey as you’d steal a glance at him over your shoulder. Never like this though— never cold and unfamiliar as though you were summoning a servant.

“Sir?” He mimicked your biting tone, the faintest flicker of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips with the hopes that you were simply playing a game with him. 

“Yes, Sir,” You turned around abruptly, your vexed expression disproving his wishful thinking in an instant. “Your behavior was—” 

You were cut off by your own growl of frustration as you stomped at your offending foot in hopes of relieving yourself of the otherwise miniscule disturbance that seemed that much more amplified in the heat of your anger toward the man before you. To his oblivious eye though, it looked simply as though you were throwing a tantrum in the midst of your sudden, inexplicable rage.

“What of my behavior, your highness?” The knight ground out with a matching sting of formality. 

“It was—” You shifted uncomfortably on your feet once again, brows knotting together in aggravation. 

“Have I done something so egregious that you mustn't speak it? ” Choso’s tone hardly held the disdain he intended it to have, and instead there was an undeniable frustration coating his words in the honey of his familiar baritone. 

“No, I—” Your cheeks flushed at the way your discomfort had interrupted your attempted assertiveness, and you felt reduced to nothing more than a prim and spoiled princess once again. Trying desperately to shake the offending object from your foot as discreetly as possible while still maintaining your poise, you squared your shoulders at him once again. “If I may continue—”

“You will fall if you continue this preposterous waltz, your highness.” The knight scoffed in concern, his fingers itching to reach out and steady your wavering gait. “Advise me of what ails you, and I shall fix it.” 

“It’s— ugh! An insect or something has lodged itself in my foot.” You were working to hike your dress and under-layers up, fully prepared to squat down in the midst of the garden to investigate the situation yourself. 

At once, Choso was knelt before you, halting your movements with a hand to your shoulder. 

“I am perfectly capable—”

“It is not proper for your highness to dirty herself on the grounds.” He quickly corrected, a tenderness in his tone despite his prior aggravation made you gulp down the defensiveness bubbling up in your throat. Your breasts heaved against your bodice as his fingers paused at your hem, and he glanced up at you in question. “May I?”

Stray strands of his hair swayed gently against his forehead in tandem with the calming breeze, the sun’s rays making his chocolate eyes appear a honeyed caramel. It knocked the wind from your lungs that were already painfully constricted against your blasted corset. Raising your chin as though to remind yourself the importance of maintaining your composure, you nodded softly. 

“You may.”

After a beat of hesitation, the moment he took to look around and assure he wasn’t unduly exposing you to any onlookers, his fingers lifted your hem just enough to reach your foot and not an inch higher. A shiver that you tried desperately to conceal ran down your spine when his hand wrapped gently around your ankle, lifting your foot carefully to rest on his raised knee. 

Shifting forward to accommodate the sudden change in your balance, your hands moved to rest on his broad shoulders. There was more gentleness in his tugging off your shoe than you think you had ever seen come from his gruff hands. The manner in which his other hand remained firmly on the flesh just above your ankle made your mind swirl with all the repressed tension of a young princess. 

“It was but a pebble, your highness.” Choso declared, that shy smile beaming up at you as he presented the offender to you with an outstretched palm. Tilting his head, there was a playful mischeviousness in his eyes that reminded you that he too was once just a boy. His lashes fluttered against his cheekbones as the beginnings of a morning drizzle began falling gracefully over the suddenly somber moment. “And what shall the princess order I do with the traitor?”

Too caught up in your sudden, stunning realization that Sir Kamo, of all the suitors of high ranking and adorned accomplishment that had been presented to you over the years, was the first man you ever dared spare a second glance at. Attempting a tickled smile, your eyes fluttered as though to rid themselves of the metaphorical hearts that had involuntarily begun swirling within them. 

“What punishment does my knight deem appropriate for such an act of treason?”

“Against my princess?” Choso’s head had dipped down once again to quickly slide your shoe back on before carefully setting your foot back onto the grass and adjusting your dress, hoping to get you out of the rain as quick as possible lest his previous illness dare catch you too. He was far too close for it to be considered proper, you were sure, as he stood once again to his full, staggering height. “Only the most gruesome of deaths, surely. Best make an example of him, yes?”

His princess. Your heart pounded mercilessly against your ribcage at the prospect of ever being inferred to in such relation to him. Slowly sliding your hands off of his shoulders, your eyes remained locked on his as you took a calculated step back. 

“Yes. Vigilant as always, Sir Kamo.”

“Now,” His breathy laugh was still present in his teasing tone as he flicked the offending pebble into the distance. “Please, do continue, Princess.”

Blinking owlishly up at him, your mind raced as it tried desperately to find place in your previous conversation once again. 

“Well, I—” You cut yourself off, and he thought it positively enrapturing the way your brows twitched with an obvious frustration at your distractability. “You must forgive me, Sir. It seems I cannot recall where I was.”

“Ah,” He nodded solemnly, a kind yet reserved smile settling onto his handsome face. “Then surely I have yet to upset you too terribly, then, your highness.”

“Yes,” You breathed out, quickly falling into step beside him as he guided you back into the castle. “I suppose not, Sir Kamo.”

“Excellent, then if your qualms have been settled you should change quickly from your wet clothes before you catch your death. You can tell me then where on the grounds you wish to reign your terror onto for today.” 

Breath could just barely find your lungs as he was placing his fingers delicately under your palms to assure you didn’t slip up the stairs. It seemed as though everything was moving too quickly, impressions changing too rapidly for your muddled mind to process. 

“I…” Your soft voice trailed, and you prayed to grasp onto any semblance of sense before the courage left you all together and the moment would slip from your fingertips. “I was hoping some fresh air today would help clear my head. Make a more informed decision— about my suitors.”

“Very well then, Princess.” He nodded dutifully, though he wasn’t sure why you were asking his permission as though you hadn’t always simply scampered off with the knowing expectation that he’d be only a few paces behind you no matter where you went. “If the weather allows, we shall stroll through the garden after you dry and break your fast.”

“Actually, Sir Kamo, I thought perhaps we could visit the market within the village today… get away from the castle even if just for a moment.” You didn’t intend the way your eyes glistened up hopefully at him, but you couldn’t help your baited anticipation. The typically stoic man scoffed out a soft laugh, quickly snuffing out the light hidden beneath your irises. With furrowed brows, you tilted your head at him. “Have I said something funny?”

“It is not safe for your highness in the villages.” He said simply as you two arrived in front of your chambers once again, and it was now your turn to scoff. 

 “I have always traversed the town with the proper protection beside me, Sir Kamo.” 

“Yes, but there has not always been an enemy of the crown bold enough to strike before dawn breaks, your highness.” It was clear that he was trying with everything in him to maintain his composure, but your insistence was assuring that his patience would wane scarily thin. The tension that had been steadily building earlier seemed to come crashing back down between you two at once. 

“Do you wish to imply that you would be unable to protect me should danger arise?”

At once, that knightly resolve of his cracked, and the neat tie nearly fell from his hair with the force at which his head whipped around to glare intently at you. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into you today, or if it truly was your petulance that had him so on edge, or simply the looming decision you were set to make that night. For a moment, you saw the version of Choso that had revealed itself to you if only for a second the night prior. 

“I’d quicker allow their blades to find home within my heart before I ever allowed them to graze even an inch of your flesh, your highness.” His defense was being spat out through gritted teeth, as though the thought of danger alone would harm a hair on your head. The finality in his tone sent a mortifyingly rapid warmth swimming down your chest and into the lowest pits of your belly. 

“What then, pray tell, is the reason for your refusal if not the assurance of my safety?” 

Choso took an uncharacteristically calculated step forward, and you responded with a hesitant step back of your own. Your back hit the wall behind you, and you thought it lucky that there was nary a soul in this hall, as surely another knight would have had his head for such a menacing display directed toward the princess of all people. No fear found residence in your heart though, only a growing anticipation that continued to fester as his distinct scent allowed itself to invade your senses with his close proximity. 

“I have sworn to lay down my life for you, your highness, that is true.” His low tone had your eyes drifting down to watch the way his perfectly blushed lips formed around the words. There was a sharp precision in the way his gaze followed your own, and it made him glad for the weighted layer of his armour that would shield the sound of his beating heart from you. “However I fear you must underestimate my resolve. Should someone dare step to you with any semblance of impure intentions, the actions I may take could very well cost me my title as well as your trust, my princess.”

Whether intentional or not, he was drawing closer to you with each romanced word that fell from his lips, and you yearned to feel even the faintest brush of his scarred nose against yours. There was an aching effort to keep your eyes from fluttering closed, but the unfamiliar heat spreading up your thighs was making it hard to do anything at all.

“There is nary a thing you could do to ever tarnish my trust in you.”

“And yet I cannot dare the risk of your highness ensnaring herself in a lie should she bear witness to her enemy’s blood between my teeth.”

The softest of whimpers slipped past your lips, the kind of melodic tune that had the knight begging the gods to grant him mercy. His breath fanned out warmly across your flushed cheeks as his traitorous eyes dragged down to drink in the way your breasts heaved beneath the confines of your bodice. 

“And…” Your breathless response trailed as your tongue darted out to wet your drying lips. He met your gaze just as your eyes shifted beneath your lashes boldly, contrasting the bashful tint on your cheeks sinfully. “If I should like it, Sir Kamo?”

The gulp that forced its way down his constricted throat had your gaze flying down to catch the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. You could swear the air surrounding you grew a few degrees warmer. Your eyes fell shut in anticipation as he leaned down closer to you, his armor clinking softly throughout the vacant hallway. His warm lips brushed against the shell of your feverish ear, and you could feel them part before closing once again as though about to reveal something they perhaps shouldn’t. 

“Then I shall rip villages apart between my bare hands— if this is what your highness wishes of me.”

“Your highness only wishes one thing of you.”

“And what might her wish be?”

“Spare her of her misery and kiss her, Sir.”

Choso’s eyes squeezed shut, his head falling forward until his forehead landed unceremoniously onto the wall behind you. His teeth sunk mercilessly into his bottom lip until the slightest tangs of metal teased his tongue. Of all the preparation required of him when training for this very title, none of it could have prepared him for the way his heart would ache as he forced himself to pull away from you. 

The smooth plush of his cheek brushed against yours on his way back up, and he could only smile tragically at the sight of your eyes that remained closed for him. Grasping at your hand, he raised it delicately before pressing a lingering kiss against the silken skin of your knuckles. 

“Save your lips for someone worthy of them, princess.” Your eyes drifted open at his reserved tone, the sight of his sad smile tugging unjustly at your heartstrings. “It shall be my only wish of you, your highness.”

The weight of his rejection bared down on you mercilessly, and the effort to keep yourself afloat in spite of it had your cheeks flushing angrily. Blinking back your mortified tears, the familiar vex of injustice began stirring in you as you watched him take his place once again, seemingly unable to look you in the eyes and be tempted any longer. 

“You are a coward.” Your furied jab made him flinch, his jaw clicking at the force of his clenching it. “And a selfish one at that.” 

“I am merely upholding my duties, your highness. My job is to protect—”

“Yes, and what a marvelous job you’ve done of it, Sir.” Your voice was rising with each passing second, and you had to remind yourself to drift back down to a gritted whisper. “You shield and protect me from the hands of men you deem undeserving, yet when I reach for yours you pull away? Is that well within your duties?”

His resolve was beginning to slip once again as he pivoted on his heel to glower down at you. 

“It is well within my duties to protect your highness of her own naivety.”

“Naivety?” You scoffed, but you could already see the way the regret for his own words were settling into the contours of his face. “Do you believe my affections toward you to be naive, Sir Kamo?”

“I do!” Choso snapped, his chest rising and falling dramatically as he tried to collect himself once again. Pulling his tightly clenched fist up to cover his pursed lips in anguished thought, he shook his head. “I mustn’t be the object of your affections, Princess. You deserve—”

“I deserve what? A nobleman? A man with more political motivation than compassion?” 

You had opened your mouth to continue your enraged assault on his rational, but he could no longer bear it, glancing behind his shoulder once before his hand was wrapping around your forearm to tug you into your chambers. Your back hit the door with a jolt as he abruptly shut it behind you. The sudden shift winded you, panting softly as you watched him pace around your chambers as though battling with which of his thoughts he’d let out. After a moment, the knight paused in front of you, staring contemplatively down at you with mist-clouded eyes. 

“Do you—” He stopped himself, dissatisfied with the way his next intended words were going to come out. A determined sigh escaped him. “Do you wish for a life of hardships? One where you must deny your family, your security because I was not strong enough to deny myself?”

“I wish for a life with love.” 

“And you shall find it!” The knight cried out in desolate frustration.

“And if I already have?”

The shield of his honor and duty fell then, weighing down his typically rigid shoulders as your lip trembled pathetically. Stepping forward as though moving through molasses, it seemed like ages before he paused in front of you, a single tear slipping down his face. At once, his hands were coming up to cup your cheeks, and for a moment, you believed he’d finally allow himself to succumb to the sins of his flesh. 

“It mustn’t be me, your highness.” Choso smiled through glossy eyes as his calloused hands gripped tenderly at the sides of your face. Those traitorously beautiful eyes shone with the most gorgeous of tragedies as they drifted desperately over your features in a frantic attempt to commit them to memory from this close. “But I shall not be the last heart you will capture, I will lay down my life on it. T-They shall come, and they shall make you happy, Princess.” 

Your bottom lip trembled, burning tears licking salty streams down your smushed cheeks as you peered up at him through damp lashes. 

“But shall they love me as you do?”

A strained and breathless laugh escaped him as though the very notion was meant merely as a jest. With a soft shake of his head, he grinned affectionately down at you, his thumbs gently wiping at your flooded under eyes. 

“No, your highness— no they shall not.” You couldn’t help but sob out a pathetic laugh of your own, and your hands came up to grip at his wrists. “I’m afraid you shall be resigned to second best— as no man shall ever claim to love you as much as I do. Run from those who say otherwise, for they are lying to you, my princess.”

It seemed mindless, the way your hands drifted up to grip his nape, pulling yourself up just enough to press a timid kiss against the corner of his lips. You felt them twitch in uncertainty under the heat of your display.

“Please show me mercy before I forget myself.” He whispered, turning his head to the side so that your lips dragged against his cheek instead. 

“If I shall resign myself to second best as are your wishes, Sir…” You pulled away from him just enough to press your secret against his ear, the feeling of your warm breath licking down the sides of his neck nearly causing his knees to buckle underneath him. “Then would it be terribly selfish of me to ask that I be allowed to be loved truly? Just this once?”

“You know not what you are asking of me, your highness.” Choso was breathless now, coming to the startling realization that he had never had to fight a battle as gruesome as the one he was waging against himself right now. 

“Then show me.” You insisted as your fingers curled into his nape, twisting at the soft tufts of hair there. You felt his grip on your cheeks tighten ever so slightly with the effort of his restraint. 

“You are to be wed, Princess—”

“Please, Choso?” There was a faint whine in the very back of your throat that tugged at his heartstrings as well as every nerve ending in his body. That little pitch was what he blamed his wandering hand on, as it traversed lower to grasp at the back of your head and instinctively tug you up ever-so-slightly. “Just this once?”

It was with a final, strained gulp that all his reserve went swirling out of his head and down his chest, until it was no longer his carefully conditioned brain doing his thinking for him. Choso nodded deleriously, pressing a longing kiss against your cheek and down your jaw and neck as he sank onto his knees. 

“Just this once.” He concurred in a lust-driven haze as he began frantically tugging up the hem of your dress. You gasped at the sudden exposure, pressing yourself against the door behind you lest your feet fail you as you watched him wrestle with the traitorous layers. 

Your face flushed scarlet as you watched his head disappear underneath the skirt. It wasn’t long before you felt his fingers hooking into your undergarments, sloppy kisses being pressed against your thighs and hips while he tugged them down. It was with hitched breath that you awaited his resurface once the garment had been all but ripped from your legs, but it never came, and you instead felt his hands grasp at the insides of your thighs to pry them apart. 

“Wha-What are you doing?” You gasped frantically, legs attempting to squeeze shut against his grip in embarrassment. You could feel his already drunken smile against the heated skin of your thigh in response to your question.

“I am showing you what it is to be loved truly, Princess.” He explained, and you noted with a swirling warmth in your belly that his voice had dropped a few octaves than how you last remembered it. Loud, wet kisses were being pressed hungrily along your pelvic bone in an attempt to ease the sudden tension that had locked your legs together, inching his fingers through the press of your thighs to slowly urge them back open. “You should be worshipped—”

His romanced words were gradually easing the shamed guarding of yourself from his eager eyes. Panting in anticipation, you allowed your head to fall back against the door. 

“—not because of your title, but because you are good and just, and you are far stronger than I should ever hope to be, your highness.”

“Surely you should be able to call me by my name just this once.” A breathless, nervous laugh bubbled up from your chest as he maneuvered your leg over his shoulder. 

“Nonsense, even with no crown to bestow upon your head shall you always be royalty to me, my princess.” His words were nearly slurred, and he gave you no time to respond to his honeyed words before burying his face into the part of yourself completely unexplored.

“Oh!” The foreign sensation of his lips falling upon your core had you reeling back in shock, your foot bearing down on his back in an attempt to flinch away despite the way your lips were singing his praises. As though expecting it, his arms made quick work to hook around your thighs to reel you back in. 

“Did you not ask me to love you truly, Princess?” His tone held a mirth unlike him, at least the parts of him he’d allowed you to bear witness to thus far. 

“Yes, but—”

“Would you like me to stop?”

“No!” 

With that, Choso made good on his promise as though loving you was ingrained into his oath. Your eyes watered in overwhelmed bliss, clutching onto the skirt of your dress in hopes that something would ground you. He pondered, as his jaw worked through a staggering rhythm in an attempt to assure that not one drop of you went to waste, if perhaps it was unfair of him to not ease you into it, introduce you kindly to these wonders of intimacy rather than devouring you whole. 

You were panting out such saccharine little moans though, and your legs trembled against his cheeks as he hoisted the other up as well. His chocolate eyes were rolling into the depths of his head and staring back at the very essence of his soul that was screaming at him that, if he was to only have you just this once, he would assure that no matter what spineless and undeserving man would have the privilege of wedding you, you would at the very least have been made love to once.

“Choso—” Your whined cry drifted through his ears that were still muffled by the plush of your thighs, traversing in a burning stream down his chest and into his pants. 

The moan that reverberated through his lips at the sound of his name being sung so ethereally by you aided in no way to your supposed lack of decorum. In your lust-filled haze, you were unsure of just what it was that you were asking for, but he knew very well that if he allowed you to drift any further into your daze that you’d get the both of you caught. 

Pulling away from you with a longing groan, his hair was in disarray by the time he popped up from under your gown. Had you not been busy whining in protest at his sudden departure, perhaps you would have found it in yourself to be a bit embarrassed at the way the lower half of his face still glistened with the remnants of you. You wouldn’t have time to voice your discontent though, because he was quickly pressing a palm firmly over your parted lips as the other hiked up the layers of your dress to dive back between your legs.

“Do you wish for me to be castrated, your highness?” Choso whispered with an adoring smirk, eyes drifting over your face while you began to fall apart once again. He almost cursed himself for denying himself this view when he’d decided to shove his head below your skirt. 

You thought surely your mother must have hated you, your ladies must have despised you for never having thought to mention how much pleasure could be derived from just the right touch against what they’d always referred to as sacred parts of you. Your knight was dipping down to press wet kisses along your temple and cheekbones as his fingers swirled skillfully around your bud, and though he would have pillaged villages apart for the chance to have you come undone on his tongue, this would simply have to do. 

Your response was muffled behind his hand as your face flushed in tandem with your quickening pants. Frantic hands drifted up to clutch at his shoulders only to be met with the dismaying reminder that they were still heavily guarded in armor. With a frustrated roll of your eyes, you reached up to tug at the ends of his now loose hair instead. He grunted softly as his head was pulled back. 

“You shall be the death of me, Princess. I am sure of it.” Choso moaned gruffly, but you were too far gone to take note of his borderline plea for mercy. 

Tears lined the corners of your eyes as you stared into the abyss of his chocolate irises. His pupils were wide, blown out and focused on you, with his mouth agape and an awe struck crease between his brows as though he was the one being plunged into the edge of bliss. 

A withering moan reverberated off his palm, and, despite his better judgment, he found himself slowly lowering his hand. If he were to be selfish just this once, he’d assure it was worth it. Your bottom lip dragged down with his palm before it fell back into its rightful place once again, and the knight took the opportunity to muzzle you himself, his lips already glistening from the shameful way his mouth watered at the sight of your undoing as they captured yours. 

Choso swallowed up your passionate cries as his fingers coaxed you through the final waves of your release until your body was slowly falling limp before him. Though your body was spent (prematurely, he thought, though he’d allow you the moment to breathe), your lips seemed to awaken tenfold, molding against his with all the slipperiness and haste of a sheltered princess, but he swore he couldn’t love you anymore than he did in that moment. 

With a feverish moan just in the back of his throat, the knight didn’t dare release your lips as he allowed his other hand to drift down to your thighs and hoist you up. You didn’t question him, wrapping your arms around his armoured shoulders and digging your fingers greedily through his now disheveled locks. The breathless huff of surprise that escaped you as your back hit the mattress made him smile wolfishly, and it was as though his delusions of grandeur had all but convinced him that this wasn’t just temporary. 

You hoisted yourself up onto your elbows with burning cheeks as he began freeing himself from his weighted armour until his loose-fitted dressing shirt was the only thing separating you from the sight you’d only had the privilege of beholding once before. As though a marionette being pulled up by the heartstrings, you stumbled up to kneel on the mattress before him. An airy chuckle escaped his rosy lips as his hands instinctively reached out to steady you before you toppled over. 

The fluidity in the movement made your heart clench and your thighs press together with the reminder that he had you— he’d always had you. As though you were an extension of him, as though his own skin would blister should yours be burned, Choso seemed to have an extra pair of eyes designated solely for you. 

“I love you.” You whispered with a shy uncertainty, not because you weren’t sure if you meant it, but because you weren’t sure it was fair to either of you that you speak it aloud. 

A boyish flush fell over his cheekbones that he tried to play off with a smile of nonchalance, softly brushing your loose hair back with the very tips of his fingers. 

“Spoken like a woman who’s been touched for the first time.” The knight breathed out with a smile that from up close you could detect was so pained. With a shake of your head, you placed your still trembling hands on either side of his chiseled face. His warm breath fanned out dramatically over your face as you pulled him closer, and his eyes instinctively drifted shut with the hopes that your lips would graze his again. 

“Please don’t ever mistake it.” You begged in a hushed tone as his hands came up to grip at the small of your back. “If I am to share my life with another man then please at the very least never forget that it is you that I truly love, Choso.”

You felt his fingers dig into your waist anguishdly at the thought of having to watch you speak your vows to another, to wake each morning with another’s arms around you after he’s had the sinful privilege of indulging himself in you just this once. 

“Don’t remind me of what must happen when I open these doors once again, princess.” He pleaded, pressing a series of desperate kisses to your cheekbones and temple before carefully turning you around. Your breasts heaved in your bodice with labored breaths of anticipation as you felt his fingers working into the lace of your corset. “I beg you— allow me to pretend just this once.”

With one hand skillfully undoing each blasted lace of your gown, the other crept around to sneak up your torso, grasping at your breasts in its pursuit to your neck as he pressed you against his chest. Even with the ghastly layers of your gown separating you, you could feel him pressed against your lower back, imposing and demanding of your notice. It made you whimper with emotion you couldn’t distinguish from fear or anticipation. 

“I’m sorry.” You murmured helplessly as your head fell back limply against his shoulder. 

Almost in exact succession of your bodice finally loosening to completion was his hand coming up to grasp at your shoulder to guide you down onto your hands and knees. 

“No, my princess, I am sorry.” The knight corrected horsely, pulling your corseted bodice from your torso and allowing it to drop carelessly onto the floor below him. You shivered as his hands untucked your dressing top from your skirt, running his fingers up your bare spine until the fabric bunched up at your shoulders, to which he leaned over to pull it over your head gently. 

“F-For what?” You stammered out, your words coming out slightly slurred with your cheek pressed up against the mattress. 

You almost feared his answer, for his thinly clothed chest was now pressed against your bare back, his face diving greedily into the divot of your neck to press wet kisses there. With a subtle push of his hips, you were falling fully against the mattress, not given a chance to pull yourself up before his urging hands flipped you over.

“Fuck.” Choso whispered under his breath as his blown out eyes drank in the sight of you bare-chested underneath of him. 

Your eyes widened notably at the sound of such profanity falling from his typically prim and proper lips. You almost had half a mind to be bashful had you been given the chance, but at once he was running his hands down your sides, fingers digging into your waist as though to assure himself you were really there. It was with the featherlight touch of the backs of his fingers that he grazed at the sides of your breasts, and your back arched up into him in response. He hummed at your sensitivity, a drunken smile dancing on the corners of his lips. 

“I’m sorry that you shall only have me once, your highness.” He declared with an unfocused gaze as his hands danced down your sides once again, fingers hooking into your undergarments to begin dragging them down much too slow for your poor heart to handle. 

You sat up abruptly just as you were bared completely to him, bashfully allowing your now unkempt hair to fall over your breasts as though it might grant you any semblance of modesty back as he stood before you still fully clothed. He peered down at you with heavily lidded, searing eyes, not once blinking as he reached behind his head to pull his shirt off. 

“I’m sorry that the next disgraceful man that will touch you will not do it as I will.” The knight glowered, his chest rising in anticipation as your delicate hands reached up to trace smittenly down his torso, fingers dipping across each scar with careful precision.

 In your curious eyes’ greedy pursuit, you landed on the soft tufts of hair leading down his naval, your lips parting softly at the sight. 

“They won’t?” You questioned through anticipatory pants as he hooked a tender hand under your jaw to force your gaze to his once again.

Choso shook his head with what you could only describe as a craven smile, not once letting up on his grip of your cheeks as he climbed over you, leaving you no choice but to fall back once again in submission to him, though you could think of no other place you’d rather be. Leaning down, he pressed a longing kiss to your awaiting lips while nudging your legs apart with his thigh. 

“I intend to leave an imprint that shall haunt you each night.”

Your lips popped open into a gasp at his enraptured promise, unable to help yourself as your hands drifted down the firm ripples of his biceps. The knight felt his stomach contract as your delicate fingers shyly grazed the hem of his pants. 

“Is this what your highness wishes of me?” He breathed against your lips with an almost taunting lull in his voice. You could only nod desolately, not trusting your voice just yet. With a scoop of his hand under your bare hips, he was pulling you up so that his imposing length would press against your trembling thigh through the barrier of his pants. “Is it?

“Yes, Choso!” You gasped, too lost in the haze of your lust to notice the way his lips tugged up into a fond smile at your gentle yet desperate ruts against him. “Please, I—”

“Your highness?” The soft rapts at your door acted as an ice shower over his once blazing nerves, nearly sending him into an early grave. 

His hand quickly shot up to press over your lips just as the choked gasp escaped you, your eyes wide with a fear that had his adrenaline kicking into over drive as he stared back down at you. 

“Sir Kamo would be on guard outside should she have still been in her chambers, my lady.” One of your ladies commented, the sound muffled through the thick wood of the door.

“Well, I have yet to see her this morning.” The other said with a finality that told him he didn’t have much time at all to think before that door would be opening. 

Without a second though, he was scooping you up with an urging hand pressed against your back, kicking your discarded clothes as silently as he could beneath your bed before hauling you toward the sizeable wardrobe on the other end of your chambers. Your legs gripped like a vice around his waist as he stepped inside with an athletic precision and quietly shut the both of you in. 

Each terrible possibility raced through his head, every one more grim than the last. You would be shamed by your family, you’d be shunned by each suitor with ears as destination for such pressing gossip, you’d live your life in exile. It would all be because of him, his desires of the flesh that were only meant to haunt him. They were never meant to graze your innocent skin. 

His eyes were blown out, wide as they stared down at you in the dimness of the wardrobe. You were already staring up at him with fearful tears brimmed in your waterline. A pang of guilt, alone with a sudden wave of nausea settled over him as you flinched at the sound of the bedroom door creaking open, and he found himself pressing his hand over your mouth once again. 

He’d forced himself onto you— that’s what he’d tell them if it came to it. The king would surely have his head for such treason, but it would be the only way you’d leave unscathed, your future and your safety still intact. 

Choso was already preparing for the worst, drafting a letter in his scrambled mind of what he’d tell the younger brother he had left back home. He’d be honest with him— even if Yuuji would be the only soul he’d share it with, that he’d fallen in love with a woman that was born out of his reach, one he’d happily die for in defense of her honor.

“As I told you, she’s not here.” The two ladies bickered just a few feet away, and you felt your knight’s breath hitch in anticipation as their heeled footsteps grew farther and farther until the door shut with a soft thump. 

It was silent between you two, and neither of you dared to move a muscle. Choso’s lids slowly dropped as he kept his eyes locked on you, taking in the state he’d left you in. You were still bare against him, one arm shielding your breasts as though he hadn’t already laid witness to the most intimate parts of you, your other arm still hooked around his shoulders. 

He felt the warmth of your core pressing tantalizingly against his abdomen, reminding him of just what he had been seconds away from doing. The hand that was pressed to your mouth slowly lowered. It was as though you already knew the thoughts swirling through his brain, evident in the way you shook your head with a barely noticeable tremor. Your knight found himself shaking his along with you, whispering out just what you feared he might.

“It mustn’t be me, your highness.”

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For how carefree Satoru Gojo always came off to his peers— at least at surface level— he had a keen eye, one he wasn’t sure he could thank his technique for. 

He noticed the subtleties at first. The man would furrow his brows when you’d always insist that he be the one to choose what the two of you would eat for dinner that night. 

“I’m okay with anything, really.” You’d assure with that soft, timid smile of yours. 

Satoru figured you were simply indecisive, but it didn’t quell the unease that would settle into the pit of his stomach each time your fingers would dig anxiously into the hem of your shirt if pressed too far on the topic. 

He picked Thai. 

He let it go. 

He noticed though. 

Gojo noticed the way you were quick to dismiss your own disappointment most of the time. He had a quick tongue, lips with an endless supply of energy that wouldn’t seem to slow for the life of him or anyone around him. That, paired with the way his thoughts seemed to run a mile a minute, made it so that the man would always have to put in a strained effort to be an active listener. It was proven difficult though, what with the way your otherwise mundane stories would light him up— he couldn’t help but want to give his two cents on every other sentence. Still, he wanted to for you.

So, he was quick to cut himself off whenever he’d catch himself so rudely interrupting you— if he’d catch it of course. Sometimes, it went unnoticed. Sometimes, he was halfway through his third rabbit-hole tangent before he noticed the soft deflection hidden behind your typically sparkling eyes. 

“Thought I told you to pinch me when I interrupt you.” Satoru would remind you with an apologetic ruffle through your hair. His hand would drift down from your crown to cup your warming cheek as he’d tilt his head. “What were you saying, sweets?”

“Oh,” You’d always mutter halfheartedly, eyes cast down toward your lap so the lie would slip easier past your lips. You couldn’t help it though— you couldn’t convince yourself he cared enough in the first place. “I can’t really remember anyway.”

Even with your gaze fixed away from him, you could feel the way his eyes would squint unconvinced at you. 

“You were telling me about that nasty lady from your work out class.” He’d remind you with a gnawing guilt pooling in his chest. 

“Right,” You laughed airily as though to cover up your feigned forgetfulness. With a shake of your head, you’d wave him off. “She ended up leaving early anyway.” 

And it would kill him— the way your tone would shift so quickly, as though your day to day memories weren’t worth retelling in the first place. 

“Don’t leave me hanging,” Gojo would make a show of pulling you closer, urging you to look up at him once again to find that eager glimmer in his eyes that had even the smallest part of you believing that perhaps he really was interested in what you had to say— that he really was different. “Give me the details, I wanna know what your instructor said.” 

The sorcerer noticed that all these little subtleties were forming into a much larger beast that even he trembled at the thought of facing. They made up the harsh, growing truth that whatever you had experienced before him had taught you that you weren’t worth the space you took up next to him— not worth the space you took up in the world in general. 

Though patience had never been his strong suit— he wanted to try for you. It was proving more and more difficult though to continue on with no answers to the never-ending questions your odd behavior seemed to stir in him— not that he’d ever found the appropriate moment to actually voice any of them anyway. 

That carefully practiced patience was wearing thin though with every detail you’d carefully exclude, each vulnerability you insisted on keeping from him. He thought surely he must be doing something wrong for his girlfriend to be so avoidant of him for things he always thought were normal boyfriend duties. 

Satoru had never heard any word of helping you around with handy work in your apartment, not even when you showed up to work one morning with bloodshot eyes and the darkest of circles emphasizing them. 

“Oh, I was up trying to figure out how to assemble the bookshelf I bought.” You’d explain with that soft, nonchalant and bashful smile as though your own struggle amused you. 

“Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve helped you.” Satoru would question in a befuddled stupor. 

“I didn’t want to bother you.” You’d always say. 

The sorcerer had half a mind to be offended, perhaps enough to assume you thought him incompetent to step up to such assignments. It was always the same though. You never wanted to bother him, not even when you were on the brink of collapsing into a fever induced coma. 

He’d had to hear it from Yaga, that you’d called in sick— that it sounded bad. Gojo had never been one to blush easily, though he couldn’t help the heat that crept up his neck and into his ears as the principal asked him how you were feeling, and the six eyes hadn’t the faintest clue what the man was referring to. 

He left early that day. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” Satoru questioned in exasperation just seconds following his dramatic entrance into your apartment, dropping the excessive bag of supplies onto the counter to stride over to where you laid bundled up on the couch. In an instant, you were pushing past the screaming ache in your bones in order to sit up— anything that would make it appear as though you were just fine. “You texted me this morning like nothing was going on.”

It wasn’t his intention, but the sorcerer couldn’t help the way his voice began to raise ever so slightly in frustration of your stubbornness. His tone had a twinge of panic settling into your chest, and you quickly pushed down the three layers of blankets that had been weighing you down. 

“You’re busy, and I—”

“I don’t care how busy I am!” He shouted with an incredulous laugh, running his hands through his hair to pull at the roots as though the sudden pressure would help him understand you any better. “Why do you never tell me when you need help?”

Your mouth opened and closed pathetically, and you could already feel your bottom lip beginning to tremble. With any strength you could muster in yourself though, you forced it still, gulping down your anxiety despite the way your raw throat scorched in protest.

“You… you don’t need to help me, Satoru.”

“I don’t need to?” He emphasized, hunching over the couch in order to assure he was hearing you correctly. His stance only made you cower back, though you stubbornly kept your gaze fixed on his through your lashes. You shook your head softly. “Do you know how useless I feel most of the time? My own girlfriend won’t ask me for help? Won’t tell me when she’s struggling?”

Gojo’s piercing eyes were wide on you, awaiting with that exasperated worry line between his brows that made you want to hurl. He watched though as your facade of indifference began to crumble— because his voice was too loud, his tone too pointed, all directed at you. In the midst of trying to make yourself as small as possible in hopes that it meant you’d be easier to love, you had still somehow managed to become too much. 

It happened slowly, and then all at once. Your lips, still pale from your sickness, curled down into a frown as your shoulders seemed to cave in to make you appear smaller. Shaky hands quickly came up to shield your reddening face from his watchful eye as the tears flowed against your will.

Satoru’s tense shoulders fell all at once, the once stern expression on his face quickly dropping into one of panicked guilt while he watched you fall apart before him. 

“Baby, wait, I’m sorry.” His tone had fallen into a quieter one, more gentle— more careful. 

You flinched away as you felt his knees sink into the cushion beside you to pull you into his chest. The stiffness in your frame fought against his grip, but he ultimately won in the end, your fevered body was soon engulfed in him, swallowed up by his Herculean arms. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice.” Satoru emphasized once again, pressing an apologetic kiss against your temple again and again. You were shaking your head though, desperately attempting to wipe at your soaked cheeks and compose yourself. 

“I’m sorry,” you babbled, the humiliation of the entire scenario burning away at your cheeks. The mere thought of him stopping his own day to day to go out of his way and take care of you? And here you were, a babbling, dramatic, emotional fool having to be talked down from the depths of her own insecurities. “Don’t worry about me— please, I’m okay.”

“If there’s ever a day that I don’t worry about you, I’m dead— do you hear me?” He insisted, pulling you away from his chest to pry your hands from your face. With urging hands against your cheeks, he tutted at the intensity of your fever under his fingertips as he forced you to look him in the eyes. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I’m fine—”

“Why are you apologizing?” Your partner quickly cut through your attempted deflection.

“I—” You cut yourself off, unsure of how to put your countless, otherwise nonsensical insecurities into words that wouldn’t make you sound like a head case. Satoru nodded in encouragement. “I don’t want to bother you.”

The familiar line escaped your lips in a strained whisper, and your partner’s eyes fell shut in anguished frustration as he leaned his forehead against your burning one. 

He wanted to ask— he wanted so badly to know who had so cruelly rewired your brain. Your skin was clammy under his fingertips though, and your frame continued to tremble with feverish cold sweats. So, he pushed his mountain of building questions to the back of his mind and pressed a lingering kiss against your temple before getting to work.

Despite your mortified protests, he took your temperature before dosing out the fever reducer he’d picked up and plugging your nose for you as he tipped the revolting, viscous liquid into your mouth. He pushed easily past your swatting hands to press a cool compress to your forehead. He ignored your pleas of reassurance that you were perfectly fine as he rummaged through your kitchen to find a pot to heat up the soup he’d brought over. 

The weight of your anguished protests weighed on you as he continued fumbling around in the kitchen with the soup recipe, grumbling something almost unintelligible about the directions being cryptic on purpose. When you drifted off against your own best efforts, he didn’t look annoyed as you thought he was supposed to feel when he gently woke you. There was only a glimmer of soft relief in his eyes, as though he were afraid you wouldn’t wake.

“I’m okay.” You’d insist through a delirious haze as his comparably cool hands sat you up on the couch.

“Then be okay with some food in your system.” He’d quip back with ease, a fond yet concerned smile tugging at his lips as he placed the steaming bowl onto your lap. 

Your cheeks burned a furious crimson as he tenderly pushed the hair from your face so you could eat. That feeling of unease continued to pound at his chest as he fed you each spoonful of broth, and you insisted between each bite that you’d be stronger tomorrow— that he wouldn’t have to worry about you, wouldn’t have to be bothered by you. 

Satoru allowed the feeling to pass just as your fever did that night as he woke in a haze every few hours to press a hand against your forehead. 

The feeling only continued to grow though. With each dismissive wave of your hand, each detail you failed to relay to him, it grew inside him until it was a monster that kept him up at night. 

That beast clawed at the corners of his mind in the middle of the night as he’d watch you sleeping so soundly next to him in the bed he had to convince you he was more than okay with you staying in on the nights when you two let too much time slip past you.

“Why would I make you leave at this time?” He’d scoff incredulously, already rummaging through his drawers for a shirt you could sleep in.

“I don’t want to bother you.” You’d reply as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, and it’d break his heart a little more each time.

Your shoulders would rise and fall softly, and your face would be free of all those worry lines and furrowed brows that seemed to plague you throughout the day. Gojo would trace over the absence of them with the tips of his fingers, careful not to disturb you. With each curve of your cheek and plush of your lips under his delicate touch, he’d wish to every star that illuminated your face from his window that he could understand each ugly truth you had thus far elected to guard from him. 

It would eat away at him through each passing day as your seemingly subtle little quirks became more and more apparent to him. He thought perhaps you’d tell him eventually, that there was no need for him to pry, but he couldn’t help the way it’d crawl to the forefront of his mind each time he’d catch you with that distant look in your eyes. 

“You know,” Satoru thought surely he was subtle with the way he planned to slip it into the conversation, glancing back over his shoulder at you from his place in front of the stove. Cooking was never his strong suit— far from it. He lacked the time and care the delicate practice called for. Still, as he scrambled eggs and prayed for the best, it was just another thing he wanted to do for you. 

“Ya never told me what ended your last relationship.” He commented with a practiced light-heartedness as he haphazardly flipped at the pan in his grasp. “That’s like— first date etiquette at this point, right?”

With his back turned toward you, he missed the way you tensed in your seat. An unnecessary defensiveness creeped up from the depths of your soul, spreading like a disease throughout your chest and hijacking your system as your none-the-wiser boyfriend continued to ramble on before you.

“I haven’t heard one awkward first date story— like do I even know you? I mean, everyone’s gotta have a crazy ex—”

“Well you haven’t been so quick to offer up any of yours either, Satoru.” You bit back with more contempt than intended. It was almost instinctive, and you hated the way the malice tasted rolling off your tongue. If it meant he’d drop the subject before you were forced to pour your cluster-fuck of a traumatic dating history into his unsuspecting lap when he likely expected a lighthearted conversation though, you’d take it. 

Satoru noticed your deflection.

He noticed the tone you’d never taken with him before, the one that made his hand pause its mixing in a way that already had your heart rate spiking with crippling anxiety. 

Blinking down at the sorry excuse of scrambled eggs cooking below him, he shook his head with an attempt at a cool smile before turning around to face you. You could see the slight furrow in his brow though despite how hard he attempted to hide it beneath his chuckle. Your fingers dug anxiously into the hem of his shirt that was still hanging over your shoulders. 

“You and I both know I didn’t exactly have the time in high school to grow into the chick magnet I was destined to be.” Gojo joked with a teasing smirk, but there was a newfound determination settling in his chest at your quick dismissal of his question. Moving to lean against the counter by the stove, he pointed his spatula at you. “You on the other hand, missy— I have a hard time believing you didn’t have people crawlin’ all over you.”

“Well, believe it.” You mustered up with a fake smile plastered onto your lips, hoping he’d believe that your dating history was simply too scarce to bother mentioning. 

“That’s bullshit.” Your ever-persistent boyfriend clocked with a knowing smile poking at the corners of his lips. “C’mon, let’s hear it. What— think it’ll make me jealous?”

“No, I just—”

“Then let me in.” He grappled, waving his spatula around in emphasis. You could see the way his patience was slipping, evident in the way it was becoming harder and harder for him to stop that crease from forming between his brows. “Help me understand you.”

“Why do you need that to understand me, Satoru?” You questioned in soft exasperation, keeping your voice low enough so as not to unnecessarily ruffle any feathers. Still, your question made him click his tongue in frustration— the kind he wasn’t intending to direct toward you. It made you gulp apprehensively. “The eggs—”

“Because it all made you you.” His voice raised ever so slightly. It wasn’t out of anger, moreso a desperation for you to understand he was a safe space to lay this all down at. The forgotten pan hissed angrily behind him as he ran his free hand through his hair. “I feel like you don’t trust—”

“Satoru, the eggs.” You emphasized as the smoke began to trail dangerously high up onto the ceiling. Standing from your chair, you moved forward to rectify the situation yourself.

“Fuck the eggs.” He growled in frustration with a shake of his head before turning around to cut the stove, grasping at the metal handle without thinking twice. The scorching pan seared into his palm mercilessly, branding the skin in an instant. “Shit!”

At once, he was tossing the pan into the sink just a few feet away from him. It slammed into the other few lingering dishes with a deafening clatter, one that gripped at each nerve ending in your body with a sickening sense of impending doom. As he moved to shake out his scalding hand in the air, the motion had the warning alarms in your mind blaring. Before you could tell yourself that this was Satoru, that he’d never raised his hand at you if it weren’t to caress you, the memories stored deep in your body that you’d been trying desperately to repress reacted for you. 

Gojo noticed in nauseating horror as you flinched away from him. 

Your fists clenched at your sides, eyes squinted shut, and your shoulders hunched in on themselves. 

His wide eyes remained fluttering in alarm at your sudden defensive position for a moment before he placed the spatula gently onto the counter, careful to not allow it to clatter and jostle you anymore. 

“Hey, no, no, no,” Satoru’s voice attempted to remain steady, but it shook with the force at which he was straining to keep it low for you. His scorched hand still trembled from the injury as he presented it to you carefully. “Look, I just burned my hand, see?  It’s okay, everything’s fine.”

You were almost too mortified to open your eyes back up once again, but you knew no amount of avoidance would save you from the grueling reality that you had just cowered away from your partner who’s been nothing but good to you. As your eyes squinted open, you were furiously blinking back tears of embarrassment, of guilt, as you kept your gaze fixed on his quickly blistering hand. Still, the tremble in your bottom lip continued to give you away as you remained silent, opting to reach out a shaky hand to carefully grab his wrist and pull it toward the sink.

“Y-You should run this under cold water.” You stammered out through the lump in your throat, using your free hand to turn the faucet on before guiding his injured palm beneath it. “Looks really bad, Toru. D-Do you have any—”

At once, Satoru was hunching forward, enveloping you between his warm chest and the sink as he wrapped his free arm around you like a vine. The onslaught of tears you had been so desperately trying to hold back finally reigned victorious in light of his tender embrace, racing down your cheeks in hot, stinging waves as he buried his head into the crook of your neck. 

“A-Any cream f-for—” You attempted to continue, but a frustratingly pathetic sob racked your frame as your grip on his now dripping hand loosened. He only used the opportunity to pull you closer. 

“I’m sorry,” You babbled, bringing your hands up to cover your face. The man behind you simply shook his head against you, cooing at you with soft hushes and reassuring kisses on your shoulder. It was as though you had no choice but to lean back against him, and he used the opportunity to scoop you back, sinking to the floor as your knees threatened to buckle. “I’m so sorry, Satoru–”

“Shh, it’s okay. Why are you apologizing?” He questioned softly. His legs stretched out momentarily before curling around you on the floor, effectively trapping you into the safe cocoon of his caress. 

“You don’t deserve that.” You babbled helplessly, splaying your open palms across your face in hopes of hiding all the ugliest parts of you, all the ones you had sworn you left in the past— the ones you promised yourself not to bring into this relationship.

“You didn’t deserve it either.” He said simply. Gojo didn’t pry for more. He didn’t ask for details. He only pulled you closer against his chest, his ever gentle hands reaching up to pull your face free and wipe tenderly at your tears. 

“I’m scared.” You whispered solemnly, grasping at one of his hands to twiddle with his fingers that were now damp with the remnants of your tears. 

For once in his life, the sorcerer was quiet, patient as he waited for you to continue. A shaky exhale escaped you as he hooked his chin over your shoulder to mesh his cheek against your warmed one. Had it not been for the grim circumstances currently befalling you, you would have found it in you to laugh at how much he reminded you of a needy cat.

“I’m scared of needing people.” You continued despite how badly you wanted to clam up and hide from his watchful eye. Satoru deserved more than that though— he deserved whatever strained effort you could offer him to break out of the shell he’d been so gently coaxing you out of for the past few months. “Because when you need people, it hurts— it hurts so bad when you need them and they’re not there anymore. I can’t do it again. I can’t—”

“Then don’t.” Satoru interrupted as was so typical of him. “I don’t want you to need me— you don’t need me, and I’m trying to deal with how much that scares me.”

His confession had the breath hitching into the back of your throat. With your close proximity, you could hear the way he gulped thickly before continuing.

“You don’t need me, I don’t need you to need me. Just…” His legs curled in closer to you, his arms snaking around to cross over your chest and grasp at your shoulders. “Ask. Even if you don’t need it, you’re allowed to want it. I don’t care if you’re just asking me to pick you up tampons in the middle of the night— but just ask me. I’m here.”

You allowed his words to sink into the intimate air surrounding you two as you grappled with the parts of yourself that had held you hostage for so long. Leaning your head down to smush your cheek against his unburnt hand, you hoped he couldn’t feel the way your face lit ablaze at the thought of asking him for anything more than what he’s already so graciously offered up at your feet. 

“Can…” You paused, curling in on yourself as thought it might stop the apprehension swirling in your stomach, but you pushed yourself anyway. “Can you take me back to bed then? And just hold me please?”