Wabblezz

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It’s the posture, mostly. The way he hunches over his desk like a seven-foot-tall gargoyle trying to protect a fragile Excel spreadsheet from the rest of the world. He wears hoodies that have seen better decades, his white hair is usually an uncombed bird’s nest, and he possesses the unique ability to trip over flat surfaces.

Satoru Gojo is, by all standard university metrics, the campus loser. The guy people either ignore or subtly laugh at when he drops his entire binder in the middle of a crowded lecture hall.

Which is exactly why the number five feels like a physical slap to your face.

"Five?" you repeat, staring at him.

You’re sitting on the floor of his cramped dorm room, the smell of cheap instant noodles still lingering in the air. Satoru is sitting cross-legged opposite you, folding a tiny piece of a silver gum wrapper into a perfect, neat triangle. He looks up, blinking his ridiculously bright blue eyes behind a pair of smudged, thick-rimmed glasses that slide down the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah," he says, his tone entirely casual, devoid of any bragging or ego. He pushes his glasses back up with one finger. "Five. Is that bad? I thought it was pretty average for our age."

"For normal people, Satoru. Not for someone who unironically uses a rolling backpack on rainy days," you mutter, rubbing your temples.

A small, genuine smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He doesn't get defensive; he just shifts closer, his long legs tangling slightly with yours. "Hey, the rolling backpack protects the structural integrity of my textbooks. You know how expensive the advanced physics ones are."

It’s funny. It’s genuinely hilarious because you spent the first three months of knowing him thinking he was entirely untouched by the concept of romance. You two had ended up together by some weird stroke of cosmic luck. It happened during midterms, surrounded by empty energy drink cans and highlighted pages of notes. You’d been staring at a diagram, completely exhausted, and murmured, "I think I like you."

You’d expected him to choke, or stammer, or do something appropriately pathetic. Instead, he had just looked at you, his face softening into something so quiet and gentle it made your chest ache. "Oh," he’d whispered, a small, breathless sound. "Good. Because I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you I like you for three weeks."

You were average. Just a regular student navigating the chaotic, exhausting rhythm of university life. He was the guy at the absolute bottom of the social ladder. It made sense. You fit together in a quiet, low-stakes kind of way.

But now, this. Five people.

The drama of it settles into your stomach, a sudden, sharp prick of standard relationship insecurity. If Satoru, with his terrible posture, his dorky laugh, and his complete lack of social grace— had five people in his past, what did that mean? Had they seen the same soft, fiercely intelligent guy you had? Were they cooler than you? Smarter?

"Who were they?" you ask, trying to keep your voice light, like it’s just a piece of casual trivia and not something that’s suddenly making the air in the room feel a little heavier.

Satoru stops folding the wrapper. He sets it down on the low coffee table, his expression shifting from amusement to that focused, entirely grounded seriousness he only gets when he’s looking directly at you.

"Just people from high school and first year," he says softly. He reaches out, his large, warm hand hovering for a second before gently resting over yours. His thumb brushes against your knuckles. "They weren't... it wasn't like this. Most of them liked the idea of me because... i don't know, maybe smart? or because they thought the white hair was quirky. But they got tired of the actual me pretty fast. They wanted someone who knew how to play the game, I guess."

He looks down at your joined hands, a faint, self-deprecating shadow crossing his face. "I'm a lot to deal with. I know I'm weird."

The pain in your chest deflates as quickly as it arrived, replaced by a wave of ridiculous fondness. He really is just a sweetheart. A massive, brilliant, socially inept sweetheart who has no idea that his honesty is the most attractive thing about him.

"You are weird," you agree, squeezing his hand back. "You're incredibly pathetic, Satoru."

He lets out a loud, dramatic groan, burying his face against your shoulder. The weight of him is heavy, but it's a grounding sort of heavy. "You're supposed to reassure me, not agree with me," his muffled voice complains against your shirt.

"I'm just stating facts. But," you shift slightly, resting your chin on top of his messy white hair, "I like the actual you. Rolling backpack and all."

He huffs a laugh, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tightly like you're the only stable thing in his chaotic, overthinking mind. "Good. Because number six is definitely my favorite."

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Your relationship was the sheer unpredictability of it all. It really had been a rollercoaster. A non-stop cycle of soaring highs and devastating drops that left you permanently out of breath. You two argued a lot. It wasn't just quiet disagreements; it was the kind of friction that tore through the peace of your tiny spaces. You remember the burning behind your eyes, the nights you spent crying and begging him to just talk to you, to stop retreating behind that cold, distant wall he built whenever things got heavy. He had cried too, and he had begged— not as much as you, his avoidant brain usually freezing him in place... but when he did break, it was loud, messy, and desperate.

But god, when the rollercoaster went up, the view was beautiful.

There were blocks of weeks where you two were just ridiculously, blindingly happy. Love was completely in the air, so thick and sweet it felt like a physical presence in the room. You couldn't even walk past each other without stalling. There were kisses everywhere, lazy ones against your temple while you were both trying to cram for midterms, soft ones pressed to the palm of your hand while walking to the convenience store at midnight, and deep, quiet ones in the middle of the kitchen while the rain poured outside. Everything felt so effortlessly good.

During those quiet, golden moments after a fight had cleared, Satoru would wrap his long arms around you, pulling you so close against his chest that you could hear the steady, rapid thumping of his heart. He would bury his face in your hair, exhaling a long, shaky breath, holding onto you like a lifeline.

He never said it in big, dramatic speeches, but you could feel it in the way his grip tightened whenever you squeezed his hand back. He was so incredibly grateful. He was so happy that you stayed with him, that you kept choosing to hold on, even in his absolute hardest, most chaotic days when he didn't know how to handle himself.

You were the one person who looked at all his rough edges, all his mess, and just chose to love him anyway.

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7 yrs later...

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The rain hitting the glass of the coffee shop is the only thing filling the silence, a rhythmic, monotonous hum that matches the dull ache Satoru has carried in his chest for seven years.

He’s twenty-nine now. The messy white hair is tamed into something cleaner, the oversized hoodies replaced by structured coats that fit his frame, and the thick, smudged glasses replaced by expensive, thin-rimmed ones. He finally learned how to stop slouching. He looks like a proper adult, the kind of man people actually look at twice on the street. He’s successful, stable, and completely empty.

For three years, he had you. And for three years, whenever the pressure of his own mind got too heavy, he did the only thing he knew how to do... he pushed.

Whenever you tried to get close during an argument, whenever his own deep-seated insecurities flared up, the defensive walls went up like iron shutters. “Let’s just break up.” “You deserve better anyway.” “Can’t you fix that attitude of yours?” It was a toxic, exhausting script he ran on loop, a lowkey avoidant reflex born out of a terrifying fear that you’d realize how pathetic he actually was and leave him first.

Until one day, you didn't fight back. You just looked at him with tired, heartbroken eyes, said “Okay,” and walked out.

He spent the next seven years trying to scrub the memory of you out of his skin. He went out, he met different people, he took long, aimless drives alone to unwind, trying to force his brain to reset, convincing himself to be the guy that NO ONE will forget. He had finally reached a point where he convinced himself he was 'starting to move on.' The ache had gone numb.

Until the bell above the coffee shop door chimes, and the universe decides seven years of penance isn't enough.

You walk in, shaking a wet umbrella, laughing at something on your phone.

Satoru freezes, his coffee cup halting halfway to his mouth.

You’ve changed. If he thought you were beautiful when you were nineteen, huddled over textbooks in his cramped dorm, you are breathtaking now. There’s a radiant, effortless glow to you— the kind that only comes from peace, from growing into your own skin without someone constantly pulling you down into their own chaos. You look ten times more beautiful as an actual adult. Secure. Grounded.

As you turn, your eyes scan the room and lock onto his. The laugh dies on your lips, replaced by a sudden, quiet shock.

Don't do it, Satoru commands himself, his knuckles turning white around his mug. Don't stare. Don't fall for her again... she's over you. Look at her… she survived you.

"Satoru?" Your voice is different... richer, steadier— but it’s still your voice. The sound of it sends a violent, physical jolt straight through his ribs.

"Hey," he says, his voice raspy. He forces a polite, neutral smile that feels entirely heavy on his face. "Long time no see."

You hesitate for a fraction of a second before walking over to his table. Every step you take closer is a masterclass in agony for him. You don't look angry... you just look surprised, maybe a little nostalgic. "Wow. Look at you," you say softly, gesturing to his neat coat, his sharp posture. "You grew into your height."

"Yeah. Finally learned how to walk without tripping over my own feet," he tries to joke, but the humor is thin.

"Can I...?" You point to the empty chair across from him.

"Sure."

As you sit down, the faint scent of your perfume drifts over, and Satoru has to actively remind himself to breathe. He forces his hands into his lap so you won't see them shaking. He tells himself to be strong, to keep the distance he so desperately insisted on seven years ago. He tells himself you’re officially over him.

But as you start talking, asking how he’s been, telling him a quick, animated story about how you got caught in the sudden downpour... the carefully built walls of the last seven years crumble into dust.

You’re yapping. It’s that same, beautiful habit of yours, running your mouth about three different topics at once, waving your hands slightly to emphasize a point. You smile, a genuine, bright thing, and it hits him like a freight train.

Deep inside, a desperate, pathetic part of him is screaming. He misses everything. He misses the way you used to tease him until his ears turned red. He misses your laugh ringing out in a quiet room. He misses the way you used to annoy him by stealing his fries, the casual warmth of your touch when you’d hook your arm through his, the soft cadence of your voice when the world got too loud. He wants to reach across the table, grab your hand, and beg for a second chance he knows he doesn't deserve.

"So, yeah, total nightmare of a morning," you finish, offering a small, slightly self-conscious laugh, tilting your head. "Sorry, I'm still a handful when I get started."

Satoru swallows the lump in his throat, staring at you behind his lenses. He looks for any sign of the old hurt in your eyes, any lingering resentment, or worse— complete indifference. But there’s a flicker there, a quiet, intense stillness as you look back at him, your gaze lingering on his lips for a split second before meeting his blue eyes again.

He can't tell. He genuinely can't tell if you've moved on, or if the ghost of what you had is haunting you right now, too.

"Don't apologize," Satoru says, his voice dropping, losing its polite edge and becoming dangerously soft, dangerously close to the sweetheart you used to love. "I've missed the noise."

He may finally be the guy he always wanted to be years ago—stable, put-together, successful, 'mentally stable' but as he stares at the empty chair across from him, the truth settles heavily in his gut. The only thing that actually mattered, the only thing missing from the picture-perfect life he built, was you.

The crumbs on the plate blur slightly behind his glasses as his mind violently drags him back to that night seven years ago...

It was freezing. A bitter, cold night at the park near campus, the streetlamps casting long, harsh shadows on the concrete. Things had gotten bad again. He’d felt himself suffocating under his own insecurities, and like a coward, he resorted to the same old script. He’d thrown those ugly words at you, practically begging you to leave before he could ruin things completely.

And then you had just nodded. You agreed to break up with him.

He still remembers the exact sound of your footsteps retreating down the pavement. Standing under that dim park light, his chest tight and suffocating, he had desperately hoped you’ll look back. Just once. Just a single glance to give him an excuse to break.

But you didn't. You kept walking, disappearing into the dark.

God, he had wanted to chase you. Every muscle in his seven-foot frame had screamed at him to run after you, to throw his arms around you, to pull you close so you could comfort each other through the mess he made. But he didn't. He was scared. He was hurt, overwhelmed by his own avoidant brain, completely paralyzed by the fear of his own toxicity.

He let you walk away. And he had regretted pushing you away every single second of that night, and every single day for the seven years that followed.

Satoru abruptly stands up, the chair scraping sharply against the coffee shop floor. He doesn't care if people are looking. He pays the bill with a trembling hand and steps out onto the damp sidewalk, his blue eyes frantically scanning the crowded street.

You’re already gone, swallowed by the afternoon rush, but the lingering scent of your sweet perfume and the memory of your radiant, grown-up smile still hang in the cool air.

He closes his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. The old, pathetic Satoru would have gone back to his apartment to rot in his own regret. But he isn't that kid anymore. He had learned his lesson the hardest way possible.

He knows you might be over him. He knows he has a mountain of hurt to make up for, and that you owe him absolutely nothing. But seeing you today, seeing how beautiful, how grounded, how completely irreplaceable you are... changed everything. He couldn't just let the universe throw you back into his path only to watch you walk away a second time.

He hopes this time, there might be a chance. He’ll wait. He will do whatever it takes to earn a place in your life again, to prove that he can be the secure, loving sweetheart you always deserved. He will chase after you until you accept him again, no matter how many years it will take.

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you flipped a page in your notebook and underlined something that absolutely did not need underlining, just to have somewhere to put your hands.

“did you,” he started, sitting up straighter now, all his earlier ease draining out of him, “did you seriously just gojo me?”

“can we please get back to the agenda,” you said, addressing the room in general rather than him specifically.

nanami cleared his throat and tried to steer things back on track. “as i was saying, the eastern district has seen an uptick in curse activity over the past—”

“she gojo’d me,” satoru interrupted, loud enough that the whole table heard it, staring at you with the wounded expression of a man who had just watched his house burn down in front of him. “in front of everyone. she used my last name like i’m a substitute teacher.”

you still didn’t look at him. you clicked your pen closed, then open again, then closed, a habit you knew drove him up the wall, and said nothing at all.

“focus, gojo,” you said again, watching the way his whole soul seemed to leave his body when you said it a second time was a little more satisfying than you’d expected.

“okay. okay, everybody hold on,” satoru said, raising both hands like he was trying to talk down an actual hostage situation. “nobody move, nobody speak, something has gone horribly wrong here. she just used my government name. in public. on purpose.”

“that is your name,” nanami pointed out, deadpan, not even looking up from his own notes.

“not to her it isn’t! not in four years has she ever once called me gojo, and now suddenly, out of nowhere, in the middle of a staff meeting, she’s talking to me like i’m a stranger she met at the post office—” he turned to you again, voice climbing with real panic now. “okay, you know what, meeting’s over, everyone go home, thank you for coming, we’ll reschedule—”

“the meeting,” yaga said flatly, unimpressed, “is not over.”

“it is for me!” satoru stood so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor, then leaned across the table toward you, blindfold slipping further down his forehead, genuine desperation creeping into his voice. “what did i do. just tell me what i did and i’ll fix it. is this about the mission partner thing? it’s the mission partner thing, isn’t it. i can undo it. i can un-fix the fixing. i can grovel right here in front of everyone if that’s what this requires—”

you finally looked up to deliver the final blow with the sweetest, most devastating calm you could manage:

“i’m not sure what you mean, gojo. we’re in the middle of a meeting.”

that was the moment the room completely lost it. shoko was laughing so hard into her coffee cup that she had to set it down entirely, wiping at her eyes. nanami pressed a hand over his face like he was praying for the strength to survive this job for one more day. even yaga, who never smiled during meetings on principle, was clearly biting back one now, badly.

“that’s it,” satoru said, dropping back into his chair. “fine. that’s fine. be like that. see if i care. i am literally the strongest sorcerer in the world and i am being disrespected in my own place of employment, in front of my own coworkers, by my own—” he lowered his voice for the last part, leaning toward you like it was a secret, “—girlfriend, who apparently doesn’t remember that we live together and that i know exactly what cereal she eats and exactly what she looks like without—”

“gojo,” nanami cut in, exhausted, “please let the meeting continue.”

“see! even he can feel that something is deeply wrong here! the temperature in this room actually dropped! shoko, did the temperature just drop or was that just me—”

you allowed yourself the smallest, most private smile, tucked safely behind the cover of your notebook, as the strongest sorcerer alive continued to unravel in real time over exactly one syllable of his own last name, in front of the entire senior staff of jujutsu high, on a random tuesday morning.

by the time you got home that evening, satoru had clearly spent the whole day rehearsing something, because the second you walked through the door he was already there, hovering, almost vibrating with nervous energy like a dog that knows it did something wrong but isn’t sure what.

“okay so,” he said, following you into the kitchen, “i’ve been thinking about this literally all day, and i want to formally apologize, on the record, for the mission partner thing, and also i want to say, for the record, that what you did today was actually kind of terrifying and i need you to never do it again.”

“do what,” you said, setting your bag down like you had no idea what he could possibly mean, even though you absolutely did.

“you know what,” he said, sliding an arm around your waist from behind before you could even take your jacket off, chin dropping onto your shoulder. “the gojo thing. please. i’m begging you. never again.”

“it’s your name,” you said, echoing nanami from earlier, and you felt him groan directly into your shoulder.

“it is not my name when you say it like that,” he mumbled. “when you say it like that it sounds like you’re breaking up with me in front of witnesses. i had to sit there for an entire meeting wondering if this was it, if this was the day my girlfriend decided she’d had enough of me and was breaking the news.”

you turned around in his arms, biting back a laugh, and he immediately seized the opportunity to rest his forehead against yours, eyes closed like he was bracing for more punishment.

“so you admit you deserved it,” you said.

“i admit nothing,” he said, “except that i am deeply, deeply sorry, and that i will never again swap your mission partner without telling you first, and that if you ever call me gojo again in public i will actually die.”

“say please.”

“please,” he said immediately, no hesitation at all, pulling you in tighter like he was worried you might change your mind and use his last name right there in the kitchen just to torture him further. “please, please, i’ll do anything, i’ll even do paperwork, just—just be normal about it. call me anything else. call me an idiot, call me insufferable, i don’t care, just not that.”

“fine,” you said, finally letting the smile show. “satoru.”

the relief on his face was almost embarrassing, the way his whole body seemed to unclench at once, like you’d just lifted some enormous curse off him.

“thank you,” he said, dramatic as ever, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then finally your mouth. “never again. i mean it. that was the scariest six words of my entire life and i’ve fought curses that wanted to eat my ass.”

“it was one word,” you pointed out.

“it felt like six,” he said, and pulled you into a hug so tight it nearly knocked the breath out of you, laughing into your hair, all traces of this morning’s fight forgiven, or at least thoroughly overridden by how badly he never wanted to hear his own last name from you again.

“None at all?” He asks, swallowing visibly, his eyes burning, dark circles marring his otherwise perfect complexion. You grip his wrist gently, shaking your head.

“None at all, Toru,” he exhales in relief, though he doesn’t want to get too excited – you still had been poisoned, even with Mao’s quick work of it. “I am going to get checked in a bit, I just… wanted to know about… her.”

“Lola?” He says it like a curse word – it is one, truly. You nod. “She’s locked up for the moment, but she won’t live to see the week.”

“Toru, should you truly-”

“I will kill her,” he cuts you off, ever so quiet, tilting your chin. “For everything she fucking did. Don’t you try to talk me out of it.”

“And… Sir Geto?”

He sighs, shaking his head. “I need his testimony, so I offered a deal – you can decide his fate. I’m sure you’d be a little more kind to that man than I would be.”

You go to open your mouth, when the door opens, and advisor Ijichi comes in, pushing up his monocle, smiling with relief as he sees you. “My Empress, it’s so good to see you awake.”

“Ijichi,” you rush up and hug him, making the man blush. “I heard you carried me to safety, yes?”

“Of course I did, it was no bother,” he’s a flustered mess, Satoru can’t help but laugh softly at the sight of him awkwardly patting your back. “I come bearing some news for you both.”

“I’m listening,” Satoru’s hand doesn’t leave the small of your back, the warmth seeping through your layers, your silk underlayers, your pretty dress, one that Satoru’s mom had made for you.

You couldn’t help but love the little touches of home with the added lace, the billowing sleeves. You love her so very much, she had checked on you much this morning, and you hated that she was worried like that over you – though perhaps no one went through as much as Satoru that night, from what you heard.

‘It was terrible,’ she had said, sniffling – usually a formidable woman, she was vulnerable laying next to you in the bed as you’d brushed her hair back. ‘You shouldn’t be comforting me!’

‘I put you both through a fright,’ she had sighed, snuggling up, the infamous Gojo strands much like her son’s. One would almost think her as a sister, she still looked so very young and lovely, even with reddened eyes. ‘How bad was it for him? I hope he did not…’

‘Lose it completely?’ You nodded, swallowing. ‘I thought I’d lose him and you together with how he acted.’

‘Mama Gojo, do not say that,’ your heart ached then. ‘I cannot have him hurting himself over me.’

‘I was terrified,’ she had swiped her eyes, shaking her head and exhaling. ‘I am also scared of… if you’re…’

‘We weren’t sure if I was pregnant completely, yet,’ you tried to smile, but it fell flat. ‘I will get checked soon.’

‘If anything happens to that baby, I’ll kill-’

‘Mama Gojo!’

She had been very serious.

To think of what Satoru went through while you were unconscious breaks your heart, you only know a bit, likely to not upset you further. But you feel it, how tightly he’s holding you, like he can’t stand to pull away – and you don’t want him to, you want to be locked right in his embrace for as long as you could be.

“Sir Geto would like to talk to the Empress alone,” Satoru scoffs, and you can’t help but tense up. “I told him you would not allow such a thing, but even so – if you did, I would go down with her as protection.”

“Fuck him, I should put him out to be hung,” he curses, holding you so tight you wince, making him pause. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“You’re all right, Toru,” you smile reassuringly. “I don’t think Geto would hurt me if I-”

“He almost killed you!?”

“That was Lola,” you mumble, Satoru laughs again, a psychotic sound, as if he was actively losing it, brushing a hand through his hair until it’s a mess. “I’m not saying he isn’t to blame, but there are a couple questions I need answered before you throw him out of a tower window.”

“He’ll splatter so lovely,” Satoru says, longingly – you giggle a little, shaking your head at him. “No?”

“I have some things I really need to know…” He knows what you mean, the past you had shared and just how much of that was questionable, how much did Suguru lie to you over the years?

He got the note when they confiscated everything Suguru had, but he has not brought it up to you, not yet. Not realizing how horrible he made you feel when you first got there, how lonely and hopeless – he’d read it several times just this morning as you slept, restless, tossing and turning in the bed as he sat at that desk.

He doesn’t know how to bring it up, to apologize – you surely must think he’d be furious about it, but he is not.

Of course you missed home during that time, and the perceived ‘perfection’ of Suguru and the comforts of a place you grew up in.

“Then I shall allow you to have your moments alone,” you hug him tightly, letting him brush back your hair. “Kiyo will stay close to the door.”

“You may as well, Toru… I just…”

“No, I realize there is much to be said,” he sighs now, chin resting on your head. “I’m so very exhausted.”

“As am I, I just wish we could…”

“Yes,” he grimaces now. “I also must speak to the little murderous harlot.”

“You’re going to kill her!”

“I am.”

“You must let it go to the council,” you chide, staring into narrowed blue eyes. “It’s our best chance to rid ourselves of the concubines altogether.”

“She is correct,” Ijichi chides, and Satoru looks at him over your head. “The royal advisor Jinshi has offered his advice to you, your excellence.”

“No calling me that when it’s just us,” Satoru waves his hand, Ijichi can’t stop his blush, you giggle at how cute it is.

“Master Gojo, then.”

“Call him Toru!”

“I didn’t say that familiar!?”

“Toru is cute,” you pinch his cheek, he snorts and smacks your hand off his cheek playfully. “I hear this advisor is very important, and from what I can tell, versed in politics very much. He would be good to convene with, yes?”

“Indeed,” Satoru sighs a little dramatically, though. “I never get enough time alone with my bride.”

“We shall have much time, very soon. Hmm?” You’re running your hands up his chest, his voice drops to a murmur.

“Not until you’re all better, you bratty empress.”

You pout up at him.

“You were just poisoned.”

“I know! A little bit.”

“A little!?”

“Ahem,” Ijichi reminds you both of his presence, waving his hand again at the two of you. “We have much to do, you two. I will not leave her alone for a moment, I promise you this time.”

“Oh Ijichi,” you walk over to him, taking his hand. “You did nothing wrong that night, I was in my room.”

“I still…”

“You helped save me,” you smile reassuringly, watching him relax his shoulders just a little bit at your words. You look back at your husband, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed under those gold silk robes. “We will make sure to have dinner tonight, alone, and take a bath together. Won’t we, Toru?”

“I can’t handle a bath like…” He doesn’t say it all – but you grin, as if you know he’d be tortured, unable to not have his cock buried inside of you.

It’s been weeks.

Yet you just had a terrible thing happen, and he must be careful.

“Stop being so slutty in front of Ijichi.”

“Your Excellence! Do not speak of the Empress this way!?”

“Indeed, do not!?” You stick out your tongue as you hook your arm through Ijichi’s, earning his glare. “Dinner, and then the bathhouse.”

“Go on, then,” you both walk together, but you can’t help but tense, as you look back at Satoru, turning and walking the opposite direction in the courtyard.

You never do get enough time with the man you love, and there is still so much to learn about each other, so much you must do together, speak of, work on. Yet all you want is to be in his arms, on his lap, kissing him until your head spins, and you’re dizzy, resting in the comfort you had missed so much.

When he turns a corner, his eyes catch yours, and you feel that weight in his gaze, that sad little smile, as if he’s dreading the day, too.

Yet, there is much hope for the two of you.

First, however? There was much to discuss with a couple of infiltrators.

******

The dungeons Satoru has Suguru locked up in are chilled, it’s utterly dark, every step down the spiraling stairs echoing with your heels clicking against them. Your heart is pounding, as Ijichi walks behind you, heading down first, holding his hand up for you to take with a nervous smile.

“Are you all right, my lady?”

“I am,” you assure him, but his concern lingers. “Say it, then.”

He sighs. “You’re doing too much for just having been poisoned, the state you were in was…”

“I swear I feel fine, whatever the pretty girl Maomao gave me worked wonders,” you try again to calm him, but you see his judgement even in the dark, with the little lanterns hanging on the walls. “Truly!”

“Mmm,” you both keep walking. “You are stubborn like the Emperor.”

“That stubborn?”

“Mhm,” your lips quirk up. “It’s not funny, my lady. You know you both age me beyond my years!?”

“He did that before I came, and you’re most handsome, all mature,” he blushes even in the dark, guiding you down the hall now.

“Don’t use your charms, they won’t work today.”

“They always do.”

“Hmph,” your mood sobers up a bit as you catch sight of Suguru's cell at the end of the corridor, the only one bathed in the small lighting.

“Is Lola elsewhere?” You ask softly.

“She is.” Kiyotaka says nothing else, stopping then at the bars that block Suguru’s cell, taking a key and unlocking it.

Suguru sees the action immediately, and stands as your footsteps approach – the heavy chains around his wrists and ankles rattling just a bit. His fine knightly gear is all gone, replaced by a basic white tunic, that dark hair – usually so perfect, is thrown up in a messy pony tail. Those eyes that were the last thing you saw before you fainted, have dark circles underneath them, like he hasn’t slept.

"Princess..." he begins, seeing Kiyotaka and clearing his throat, correcting himself with a ghost of a smile. "Empress, I mean.”

“Indeed…” You let Kiyotaka open the door now, stepping inside, peeking back at him. “I will be all right, Kiyo. Promise.”

“One touch on her hair,” Ijichi warns, Suguru sighs.

“I would not hurt her,” the tension is palpable when he steps back, giving you some privacy alone in the cell, when so many emotions rush through, you’re shaking, hands trembling. 

“I don’t know whether to speak or smack you,” you admit, laughing without any real humor, as he frowns. “Or punch you. Or kick your dick.”

“Kick my dick?” He raises a brow, and you shove at him, tears already forming in your eyes, but he lets you. He lets you shove him, stumbling back when a big man like him never would, taking your hand on his chest to pause you. “I suppose I deserve much worse.”

“You deserve the worst, and Satoru will give you no mercy unless I ask,” you shut your eyes, feeling the tears slip from your eyes. “I should not, either.”

 “I never imagined..." Suguru trails off, his voice breaking in the middle, hand hovering like he might cup your face.

Your jaw sets. "Never imagined what, Suguru? That I'd see you here? Or that you'd help try to kill me?"

He falters now, stepping back a bit as if slapped, but he doesn’t release your wrists until you yank them back, clutching your hands into fists, pulse racing so quickly you feel dizzy. 

"Never that.” That dark amethyst gaze locks onto yours – so exhausted, so beyond dark, the intensity making you tense up. 

“Oh, never that, hmm?”

"I started under false pretenses,” you scoff at that. “Yes, I did initially – try to be everything and anything you could love.”

The pain hits so hard you can’t breathe.

Though you were in love with Satoru – so fucking in love, it didn’t erase the years of being ‘with’ Suguru, your knight by your side, promising to be with you even as you were just a young child. The hurt knowing that you were just a part of some bigger scheme didn’t go away, and you need that closure, truly.

Even if it’s painful.

“I’d like to know about it more, just exactly your plan – would you be honest with me?” He nods, tugging out one of the old wooden chairs in the cell, where there lay parchment paper and pens.

“Please sit.”

“Fine,” you mumble, seeing your name scrawled on several crumbled sheets of paper, making your eyes burn with tears. “Will you even tell the truth?”

“I won't lie to you again.”

“How long?”

He sits across from you, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes shutting. In the darkness, he does not look as imposing as you’re used to.

He looks tired.

“I was put there when I met you, to slowly gather intel against the royal family -”

“My family!”

“Your family made how many people starve?” His words are sharp, he appears to regret them when you jerk back as if slapped. “I mean not you – the royals in general, they care not for anyone but themselves.”

“I cared, I was just… not in power. How often did I take the unfortunate food, clothing? How often did I sneak out for you to find me?”

“You’re different,” he cups your face, sighing now. “I knew you were different, even more so to try to get you to my side. You were the perfect pawn.”

A pawn.

You knew it, but it didn’t lessen the blow.

“But then..." He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Then I watched you, got to really know you. Intimately.”

“Indeed,” you blush furiously, gripping your gown so tightly the fabric crumples underneath your touch. “In ways you should have never been in such falsehood.”

“My desire for you was not false,” you hate Suguru in that moment, even if he’s being truthful, the pain is bitter as it washes through you until you’re sick. “You think I didn’t want you?”

“To get some sick revenge on my parents, perhaps.” His jaw locks as you lower his hand from your face. “You should not have stolen my first kiss, touched me … you should not have.”

“I know that, I was supposed to do worse.”

“Worse!?” You practically hiss the damn word. “Worse?”

“Much worse, to you and many others,” he leans back now, shaking his head. “It was not just you that I have had to play to get intel, to try to take over.”

“I see, one of many? That’s what those kisses meant, those fucking words?”

His brows draw together, pain written on his face. “I’ll never forgive myself for it… but I did want you. None of that was pretend, how I touched you, kissed you… I fell in love with you.”

“What lies, hah,” you feel bile rise in your throat.

“Truly. I still am in love, fuck even more than before."

Tears prick at your eyes and begin to swim, until his very image is utterly blurred. "You loved me enough to let Lola poison me? To use me as a weapon in your pathetic war against royals?"

“I wanted you by my side.”

“And with Satoru, hmm?”

"I was an idiot," he whispers, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they brush a stray tear from your cheek, you tremble with your anger. "Jealous, dumb fucking idiot.. I hated him for having you so easily, for forgetting me.”

“I did not, I kept… I kept that necklace, I kept the pin, I cared so much I did not even let myself feel anything. For what!? For a fake love.”

“It was not.”

“Then you so easily just let Lola in? You truly had no inkling she would try to harm me?”

“I don't know what I thought, but I never imagined she'd go this far. I swear it." He leans his forehead against yours, his breath against your skin, in a familiar way he should have never done with you. “I never wanted you at risk. I wanted to bring you back with me.”

“And do what to my parents, Suguru?”

He’s quiet again.

That tells you all you need to know.

“I get that royalty has its problems, I know I’m naive about the state of the world, but to use me after knowing me so long…” Your tears fall freely now. “I was worthy of some respect.”

“You were worth much more than I could ever give,” you take a breath and lean back again, hands clutching and unclutching once more, his eyes darting to the action. “You always did that when you were nervous.”

“Stop acting so familiar,” you stand now, shaking.

"Kill me now if you must… I'd die by your hand," you look at him now, feeling the emotions hitting so hard.

Even though he had done something so dangerous, so foolish…

You could not kill him.

“That would be your easy way out,” you say instead, shaking your head as he tugs you to him, taking one of your hands and putting it on his chest. A stream of memories hit, but they’re different now.

There isn’t that longing anymore, and there’s hardly any anger, no yearning for the girl that you were, and how simple things ‘were’. No, you are not that young Princess now, even though it’s been a short time, under Satoru you have grown much – you are completely different, in fact, with him.

In the best and worst ways.

You are different because of Satoru, a part of you that loved Suguru is in there somewhere, but she is in your past, left with a girl who can’t help but feel somewhat terrible for what he’s in. It’s not truly his own doing, and you understand the cause, but he had so callously and coldly not cared for you enough to even let you in on it.

“Would you have understood?” He asks now. “You, a young princess?”

“I may have if you gave me a chance,” he leans down and presses his kiss against your brow, a farewell that you allow him.

“He got that letter even though I did not give it to him,” you suck in a breath, gaze matching his. “I did not want to cause discourse, but they took it all from me.”

“He saw it…” Your eyes close. “I will speak to him.”

“He is so in love with you,” Suguru laughs, shaking his head. “I almost like that pretentious man, fuck him.”

“Well in another life, if you weren’t so terrible, maybe you’d have been friends,” you whisper, letting him press another kiss on your temple, lingering for a moment. “I shall not have you killed.”

“You should, by all means, have me killed. I already told everything about your parents, there is no-”

“I will not,” you correct, firmer this time – and Suguru sees you then.

Chin up, stubborn set to it, your hands little fists at your sides as you eye him.

You’re every bit an Empress now.

“Why?” He asks softly, watching your face and wishing he could fix it – fix everything, but he knows this kindness is already more than he deserves.

His letters that he keeps writing come out wrong, but mostly, all he can think over and over, is that you’ll be his biggest regret, yet in ways he is glad you have your emperor, that you two found love. A bittersweet taste left in his mouth as he studies you even more seriously, exhaling.

“You should have me killed for what I did, or could have done,” his eyes can’t help but flicker to your stomach. “No, I don’t want to live with what I may have done to you.”

“Well I do not know yet what has happened,” you touch your stomach, praying that the news will be good. “You don’t get the easy way out, Suguru Geto. You’ll pay back in service to the Emperor, and you’ll gladly do it.”

“You really think he’ll ever want me to?”

“Shitty service, the most dangerous situations – I’ll send you off to the ends of the bloody Earth for a flower if I want,” his lips twitched. “You’ll be in full service to the Emperor, and mean your damn vows this time. If things work out, and those girls can leave, I would be appreciative enough not to kill you.”

“He only wants you.”

You blush now. “I know.”

“As he should,” you step back, and he steps forward. “I am so, so fucking sorry I put you in danger.”

“I’m more mad you wanted to hurt my husband,” you admit. “Not me.”

“But I-”

“I cannot live in a world where he doesn't exist,” he pauses, and says nothing else, as Kiyotaka comes and unlocks the heavy iron gates, and you look back at him. “If you succeeded, you would have truly killed me.”

His hands grip the bars, head leaning against the cool metal.

He watches you walk off, going back over to his table, grabbing the pen and dipping it in the ink.

He thinks he knows the words to say, now.

*****

"Your Majesty," Jin Shi begins, his lavender hair damn near glittering as he sits in front of Emperor Gojo’s desk.

“Why is your hair so damn pretty!?”

He laughs now, shrugging a shoulder, his voice much like the Emperor’s – Satoru saw everyone fucking swooning over him. “I suppose it’s the shampoo bars I use.”

“I’ll have them imported,” Satoru grumbles, sighing then. “Forgive me, I know we are here for serious matters.”

“Indeed we are,” he smiles then. “Mao Mao tells me your Empress is still very much with child.”

“She…”

“You did not…” He trails off, frowning then, but Satoru puts his head in his hands for a moment, sighing. “I thought you knew.”

“I haven’t gotten to see my wife most of the day,” he admits. “With Lola, the council, the barrister… you. I have not had a moment.”

“I see…”

“No, no, that makes me…” Satoru grins, all dopey now. “So fucking happy.”

Jin Shi laughs softly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs, Miwa comes in and damn near has her eyes pop out of their sockets, almost dropping the tea tray. “Hi there.”

“H-hello!?”

“As if you don’t see a gorgeous man daily, tch,” Satoru crosses his arms, watching Jin Shi smile at her, and he swears the girl almost falls.

What sort of effect was he having on Satoru’s subjects!?

Wasn’t he a eunuch?

“S-sorry, your excellence! I… do you require anything…”

“This is great, thank you,” she giggles and prances away, Jin Shi and Satoru sip the tea, sighing at the same time. "With the empress carrying your heir, the threat has never been more real.”

“It’s very true,” Satoru says quietly, the thoughts that life still flutters in your tummy making him ache to hold you.

Kiss you.

All over.

Fuck, imagining you in the baths later has him…

Focus.

“The council is reeling, news has even spread,” Jin Shi continues. “Lola's actions have proven that the concubines, in your case, are a threat to the empire, considering what she could have done. No matter how high ranking, she does not compete with the standing of the Empress.”

“So you think I’ll have a chance to get rid of all of them?” Satoru asks hopefully, Jin Shi nods.

“I do. The people will support it after this attempt on their Empress' life, and the council will have no choice but to agree. They will see it as necessary for stability and the safety of the royal line, though I can’t say the practice altogether would cease in your future heirs."

“I want daughters,” Satoru admits, grinning again and swirling the tea in the pretty cup around. “I want many, many little mini Empress’ running about.”

“You are so in love I’m sickened,” comes MaoMao, leaning in the doorway with her arms crossed, with you behind her. “Ew.”

“You lack romance, tch,” Jin Shi tells her, she rolls her green eyes, shaking her head and crossing her arms, walking alongside you as you both enter the office, shutting the door behind you.

Your eyes meet his, and he can feel that mix – the pain, the worry, the happiness, the love.

He feels all of it – all of you.

“Satoru,” you rush to him without thinking of the audience, and he tugs you right on his lap, kissing you deeply, the other two blushing at the sight of such blatant affection.

“My Empress,” he murmurs, inhaling your scent and burying his face against your neck. “I have no patience for formalities, I miss you too badly.”

“I miss you so badly,” you whisper back, hugging him tightly, letting him put a hand on your tummy. “I am still…”

“I heard,” his grin is huge and bright, melting you. “I am so fucking excited.”

“I am too!” Jin Shi and Mao Mao stand now, and your eyes catch theirs, seeing their smiles on their faces.

“I’ll help as much as I can while I’m here,” Jin Shi says with a bow. Mao Mao inclines her head as well.

“As will I.”

“I have no way to thank you enough for saving her,” Satoru’s hand grips your waist tightly, the emotion rushing in his voice.

“I am glad to see such love,” she says, and clearly the advisor agrees, leaving the two of you alone. It’s moments before Satoru’s kissing you, having you sitting right across his lap, fingers mapping your skin, committing it to memory.

“I fucking missed you,” he murmurs. “I hate not seeing you all day.”

“I know, soon things will calm down. I hope,” your hand sits over his, a pretty grin on your face. “A baby.”

“A baby,” he kisses down your neck, and your lashes flutter, shifting in a way that has him throbbing. “Don’t move like that, mngh…”

“C-can’t help it,” you admit, your hand entangling in his silky white locks, tugging ever so gently, he practically purrs, earning your giggle. “We have much to speak of, I believe, before we get to really enjoy ourselves.”

Satoru leans back a bit, his eyes that pretty clear blue, nodding now. “We do have much to speak of, sweetheart. But first? I’d like more kisses.”

His lips descend back on yours, stealing your breath – with much left to worry for – Lola, Suguru, the council, a healthy pregnancy – the most important thing was right here. Being in Satoru’s arms, and enjoying every little kiss, before more serious talks had to occur, before you got to just enjoy your husband in the baths, enjoy him all to yourself soon.

Yet for now, this kiss steals every thought in both your minds.

Streamer!Choso who begs you to secretly play for him on stream while he talks, just to see if anyone notices the change in strategy and style. He frowns when you note that people only watch him for his pretty face because he knows that's not true. But maybe there was a reason the views of him playing Valorant were so high, even though he was so bad at it.

Streamer!Choso who occasionally streams with his camera off because he wants to be clingy but you refuse to show your face. He doesn't understand why because there's absolutely no one more perfect than you, he would think. But you like that your relationship is private, and he likes it too. All to himself, no one else but him.

Streamer!Choso who still can't get enough of you anyway, quickly covering the camera and muting when you walk in so he can steal a kiss, or two, or three. People suspect he's yelling at his mother, convinced that that's who he's living with, but he's too busy with his hands up your shirt to see those comments.

Streamer!Choso who almost forgets he's streaming when you walk in late one night, in his t-shirt, walking slowly on your phone to his bed, blinking up at his eyes with that adorable little smile of yours. He loses his game with his staring, his eyes blown out and mouth parted, licking his lips like an animal.

Streamer!Choso who finally notices the chat that's mocking him for that dopey look on his face as the bottom half of you passes by behind him on the screen, questions spilling in about who the mystery girl might be. Not that he cares. You wore that shirt for a reason, he'd assumed, and he's quick to end his live before you can even lay down.

did I mention I'm a jjk fan too? ;)

it’s the end of the night, unsure of who to raid as he departs from stream. he sits up and clears his throat, eyes squinting at the brightness of his monitor.

“never heard of her,” choso replies after his eyes land on a comment that suggested you. he wasn’t in any way rude with his statement, just pure honesty and curiosity, and that curiosity led to him opening up your stream.

streamer choso is speechless, watching as you defeated the boss, a proud and smug smile adorned on your pretty face. he remains speechless when you turn to chat, face brightening seeing choso has gifted 100 subs. he wasn’t even aware he did that….

“oh my god!” you’re so pretty, clapping your hands together as the excitement on your face continues to grow. “choso, thank you so much! i’m a huge fan, this is crazy!”

streamer choso remains quiet, ignoring the fact that his chat is spamming even more now, all attempts to read any of the comments are futile as everyone is going crazy over the fact that choso just spent $500 on you, a streamer he’s never heard of.

he doesn’t know what else to do; all he knows is that you’re fucking pretty. he continues to ignore chat, bringing his fingers to his keyboard to leave a comment, no problem :).

he clears his throat, taking one look at chat before waving his hand at his camera, acting like the past five minutes didn’t just happen.

“okay, bye.” he says quickly, ending stream without another word and raiding yours, earning you a couple more thousand viewers and subs. before turning his computer off, he hits the follow button and subbed to your channel. he sends you a dm, smile subtly showing on his face.

choso: you’re really pretty.

you: oh !! thank you so much, for the raid and the gifted!

choso: you’re welcome. heres my number, 123-456-7890. text me :)

you: will do :)

streamer choso definitely regrets not hearing of you sooner.

doll notes ୨୧ honestly might make this into a little mini series because ive been having streamer choso brainrot the past few days and i need to get rid of the itch somehow some way!!!!!!!

With how much your leg hurt right now, how wet it felt beneath his shoddy patch-up job, you weren't totally convinced that you'd survive even if Sukuna didn't strangle you or stab you again. Darkness creeping in the edges of your vision, head swimming and stuffed with fuzz as you forced yourself to focus on his face, working up just enough saliva in your mouth so you could spit right on his nose.

His huff of disgust brought you a little bit of comfort, your mouth curling up in contentment as he let go of your cheek to wipe it away.

"You goddamn bitch-"

"He's coming for you," you swallowed hard, chest heaving as every breath you sucked in made your lungs strain and ache.

"He's not here," Sukuna snapped at you, but his dark eyes darted where you guessed the door was.

You couldn't bring yourself to glance back at it.

Not when you didn't think you could live much longer if Suguru disappointed you.

"You can't seriously think anyone will save you," Sukuna continued to scoff, his jaw locked tight as he tried to seem all strong and tough, chest puffed out as you squinted at him. He used to terrify you. Occupied your nightmares and haunted your shadows.

But he was just a human, wasn't he?

Suguru was something more.

You should've known your cult leader would never let you go.

The door broke off the hinges, hitting the floor as your heart rattled around against your rib cage, stalling as Sukuna aprubtly let go of you.

“Don’t look," an achingly familiar voice warned.

Suguru didn’t have to tell you twice.

Sukuna tried to throw some weak insult back at him, standing to put up a pointless fight. Beginning to avert your gaze down before deciding to just scrunch your eyes shut entirely, wishing you could cover your ears as a sick wet crunch rang out and shut your former flame up.

For good.

Trembling as you tried to shut out the noise, focusing on the pain just to push away the panic pulsing through you. The primal part of you that wanted nothing more than to curl up in a tiny ball and disappear, shivering as you attempted to convince yourself that Suguru wasn't the one to be scared of here.

The silence that came afterwards was almost worse though.

When you realized the only person having a hard time breathing was you.

"You're shaking," Suguru's honeyed voice broke the tension, but you couldn't bring yourself to open your eyes. To blink up at him when you were sure all you'd see was blood.

He clicked his tongue, and it wasn't until you felt a tug on your collar that you realized it was with quietly simmering rage, just for the weight around your neck to disappear in an instant. Ripped off without a second of hesitation. Destroying the restraints that bound you like it was nothing to him.

You felt his warmth before his actual touch, his fingers tracing tenderly over your arm before he sighed - and scooped you up.

Effortlessly lifting you into his arms, cradling your head close to his chest like he didn't want to risk you seeing the scene he created anyway.

“It hurts,” you heard yourself whine, bottom lip quivering just for him to press a gentle kiss there. Not shushing you, you supposed, but more of a show that he was here.

That you were safe.

Sukuna had been wrong.

Someone had come to save you after all. Someone cared enough to stop him too.

“I know,” Suguru murmured softly, his soothing voice washing over you. "Open your eyes for me."

No.

Shaking your head as much as you could, burying your face deeper into his shirt while he tutted his tongue disapprovingly at you.

"Angel," he scolded, and tears you couldn't stand were welling back up in your eyes. Weakness creeping in and clouding your judgement as you stubbornly refused to crack your eyes open to take a peek.

"I can't," your voice cracked.

Your head hurt. Your leg hurt. Every piece of you felt like it was on the precipice of crumbling, on the brink of breaking down despite how right it felt to be back in his arms. Sheltered in his sturdy embrace as he took you out of what might have been your grave if it hadn't been for him.

You had spent a life trying to be shatterproof.

Invincible. Immune to fear or fury.

Taking whatever came at you without cracking. But fuck, you were tired. Tired of the fighting and the fucking up and fumbling for control that was never yours to have.

“Hold on for me, okay? I’m taking you home,” Suguru did his best to comfort you through it, but your breath hitched, shaky and unsure as you felt your heart start to slow. Every thump of it pushing more blood back out of your wound, your leg growing more damp by the second as the sticky blood trickled down your thigh. “You can’t fall asleep.”

All his scolding didn't stop you from drifting off anyway.

A faint voice in your head thankful that at least you got to hear his voice one more time before you went. Got to feel his hands on your clammy skin, wrapped up in his warmth for a final moment.

You honestly didn't think you'd be waking up again.

"Wake up, pretty girl."

"I'm supposed to be dead," you groaned, gritting your teeth as you slowly came to in freshly laundered sheets, blinking up just to be damn near blinded by how bright it was. Daylight streaming through as you lifted an exhausted arm to cover your face, wincing at how sore your entire body felt.

"Too bad," Suguru wryly replied, and you finally forced yourself to pull your arm down enough to peek at him.

He was sitting on that armchair of his, pulled right by the bedside as he stared at you with furrowed brows. His antennas twitching too, wings shrugged down close to his side as he rested his chin on his fist.

A childish piece of you wanted to take the pillow out from underneath your head and throw it at him.

"What happened?" You croaked, your throat painfully dry as you made yourself look back down at the wrinkled blankets on your lap.

"I took care of the vultures," he grimaced, disgust dripping from his every word as he scooted the chair closer.

About to grab your hand before you slipped it back underneath the blanket.

“I’m mad at you,” you mumbled into the pillow, rolling away like it would make you feel less pathetic. “You let Gojo lock me up.”

A snake had been slithering around right under his nose. And you were the one to pay the price for his scheming - your own too, technically.

“I’m sorry,” he softly replied, getting up to perch on the edge of the bed and tenderly pet your head. “I could tell something was wrong, but I wanted to see what he’d do. If I’d known-"

"That he was going to sell me off to a sociopath?" You blurted out, brain throbbing inside your skull as you squinted to see if there was a cup of water on the nightstand.

"I shouldn't have trusted him," he admitted. "Not with you."

"Why does it matter?" You shrugged, squirming to make sure you could still move both legs, curling your toes just to confirm that you were good. "It's not like I'm your girlfriend."

Just a pet under his protection. A journalist who bit off far more than she could chew - and got a story she didn't know if she even wanted to write anymore.

Not when you were far too biased to string together the proper sentences to divulge a tale that was suddenly so much more personal than you ever intended it to be.

It wasn't about his cult anymore. Not a biography of how he'd become a god in the flesh.

But about your failures and how he caught you before you could fall.

"I thought you were my mate."

Your shoulders went stiff. Heart skipping a beat as your fingers curled around the thin fabric. "Since when?"

"Since I had you," he easily retorted, heat rising under your cheeks at his calm assertion.

Should you argue with him after he saved your life?

Did you want to be his mate? What would that even entail? Having little babies with wings like his? Spending the rest of your life spoiled in his pretty temple? Become his right-hand person now that the position was currently vacant?

"I woke up to the scent of your blood," he confessed, a hint of fear betraying his usually confident voice. "I thought I lost you. I nearly ripped this place apart when I smelled them in that room-"

“Could you call my boss?” You swallowed hard as you interrupted him, the bed creaking as he stood up. You listened to the familiar pattern of his footsteps, too exhausted to crane your neck to watch him move until he came back into view. Holding a cup of tea he must have just poured, setting it by the bed before helping prop you up.

Moving stirred fresh pain, the kind of dull ache that pulsed and throbbed as you sat as straight as you could.

“I handled it,” he smoothly said.

"What about the cops? Or-"

"No one's going to miss either of them," Suguru sarcastically dismissed your worry, one hand on the small of your back before he lifted the cup up to your lips.

You took a few short sips, letting the warm liquid soothe your sore throat.

"He was going to tell them you killed me," you revealed, tilting your head to the side as you recalled Satoru's last bitter words.

"It doesn't matter now," Suguru muttered.

What did?

What were you supposed to do now when your career had almost cost you your life?

"I’m sorry,” you muttered, looking up in his dark eyes to find his hypnotic stare already honed in on you, fingers reaching up to cup your cheek, his thumb drifting down to trace the edge of your lips. "I wasn't going to leave you."

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head before leaning over to put the teacup back up.

"The only thing you should worry about right now is healing," he hummed.

How long would that take?

You didn't need him to spiritually guide you or anything, but you weren't sure what to do when you needed a man to get you out. Even if he was part moth.

Maybe eventually, you'd be able to mentally figure yourself out.

But would you get stuck with physical proof of it? Scarred inside and out?

You knew you should lay back down. But you couldn't stop yourself from kicking the blanket away from your legs, scowling as you peeled back the edge of the thick bandage he'd wrapped around your thigh.

"Don't-"

Sukuna had been telling the truth when he said he carved you up.

A crude 'S' dug into your soft flesh, a mark you sincerely doubted would go away no matter how much time you gave it.

Your stomach dropped at the sight of it, but you refused to let all the feelings Sukuna wanted you to drown in sink in. None of the disgust. None of the fear.

He wanted you to think of him every single time you looked down, or saw your reflection in the mirror.

You wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"I ordered scar gel online," Suguru softly said, trying to offer comfort you strangely weren't sure you needed.

"They deliver out here?" You tried to joke, your mouth curling up in a small smile.

And when he smiled back, all sweet and subtle, you could convince yourself that despite everything else, this could still work out.

You could still be okay.

"You must not be hurting too bad if you're teasing me," he dryly commented, sliding closer.

"Mm, I think I'm going to need to be taken care of for a while," you shrugged, faking a little cringe as you shuffled back further in the bed. "Preferably by a handsome man."

"I'm at your service," he winked at you.

How many girls could say they had a man with devotees solely devoted to them?

You leaned forward, ignoring the stabbing pain still scattering around your head stop you from pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his crooked smirk.

"You know, I thought you still had questions for me," he cocked a brow up, slipping his fingers through your hair to tilt your face back up towards him when you started to pull back.

"A thousand," you nodded.

But they could wait.

And this time, the questions would be all yours. No need for an audience to consider. Your attention was all his.

You supposed it might be a good thing Suguru started with an S too.

reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated <3 oviposition final chapter next :3

“i doubt it, you big back.”

“you’re so mean to me.”

you laugh, the sound breaking into another kiss because satoru seems physically incapable of letting more than a few seconds pass without stealing one.

“kissing me until i forget what i was saying?”

“…is it working?” he muses.

you pause. “…maybe.”

“i know you‘re enjoying yourself,” he says softly, brushing his lips over yours again. “you haven‘t pulled away yet.”

“seems like i’ve made questionable life choices.”

he gasps dramatically, though his smile gives him away.

“oh? dating me is questionable?”

“sometimes.”

another kiss.

“when you leave your socks everywhere.”

mwah.

“when you eat all my snacks.”

mwah.

“when you—”

he kisses you longer that time, lingering just enough that you forget where your complaint is going.

“…see?” he murmurs.

“you are so annoying.”

“but?”

“but…” you smile. “you’re very cute.”

his grin is immediate, and he kisses the corner of your mouth

“what do you want for dinner?” you ask.

“hmm…” he pretends to think hard, his forehead resting against yours. “you.”

“oh my god,” you groan. “you’ve been waiting to say that, haven’t you?”

“maybe.” he grins into the next kiss.

“you should be embarrassed.”

“can’t hear your mean remarks when you’re this close.”

your lips meet in soft, absent-minded kisses between tiny conversations about nothing at all. whether the laundry is finished, whether the weather looks nice tomorrow, or how his teaching is going.

“toru—” kiss. “—how am I supposed to—” another kiss. “—focus?”

“why’d you need to?” his smile softens into something quieter, gentler than his usual teasing grin.

“…we still need groceries.”

“tomorrow,” he insists.

“tomorrow,” you give in.

and even worse than the girls that draw hearts around you and sukuna’s staff photos next to eachother in the main office, he’s got gojo. gojo, who ships you two and nags him like worse-than a middle school girl. gojo, who shoves you two together for any school event.

“what game do you have planned for tomorrow?” you ask, leaning over to whisper to sukuna as eighth grade awards are called for each subject, timing claps inbetween your words while names are called. you smirk, “how many kids am i gonna have sent my way next time?”

“just dodgeball.” he leans down to whisper flatly against your ear, still staring down a kid giggling in the seating rows of the auditorium and effectively getting him to stop with his gaze.

“your version of dodgeball is basically to the death, i might have to have paramedics in my room on standby.” you joke, turning to smile at him so sweetly. in his mind, this counts as him making you laugh and therefore counts as a win.

he chuckles lightly, just a quick huff of his chest, but essentially the hardest he can laugh if he’s not looking at a kid getting tackled in class. “these kids will toughen up eventually, i am just teaching them to do it early.”

“were you a weak kid that needed to toughen up? i can really only picture you as a big scary dude.”

“i was actually a severely malnourished child due to my mothers impoverished state during her pregnancy.“ he says, truly not realizing how solemn he sounds in his voice even as he means it as a light hearted jest.

you blink at him, face contorted in confusion and awkwardness. he wants to hit himself.

the only thing that saves him from not saying anything stupid again is the end of the assembly, marked by gojo yelling into a megaphone and for kids to round up by homeroom.

the following week he’s still embarrassed to even look you in the eyes. he’s mulling over how stupid he must’ve looked infront of you while sifting through the equipment closet.

he hears steps echo throughout the currently empty gym before he yells out.

“gojo i’m not covering your lunch break, fuck off—” he turns around to not see the usual suspect he finds during his free period. instead, he sees you, leaning against the door in scrubs and white coat clinging to your body. he stills in his motion.

you speak before he can (if he can speak at all in his embarrassed state).

“i understand the confusion, he bothers me all the time too.” you dismiss, smiling at him with your glossed lips he probably thinks about hourly. waitwaitwait, gojo talks to you all the time ? he’s going to kill that lanky fuck. “just wanted to drop these off for yuri in your next period.” you jostle around a pill bottle in your hand, “she can get fainty on gym days so give these to her just in case to help prevent that.” he knows it’s your job and all, but your concern is honestly kinda cute.

“uhh yeah i’ll be sure to.” he nods, right as you drop the bottle on top of a stack of rubber cones by the door before you walk out. and he would just like it to be known he definitely didn’t stare at your ass as you left.

and he typically makes it easier for himself to deny how down bad he is to you, but now, after you spent a week of saved up sick days out last week, he’s kind of craving your voice. so who can blame him when he calls his 6th grade nephew into his office while he’s supposed to be at lunch.

“look, kid. i’m going to need you to do something, and i’m gonna need you to not be annoying about it, kay?”

yuji furrows his brows, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie.

“you,” he gestures to his nephew, “are going to act like you collapsed and let me bring you up to the school nurse. you are then going to be quiet when i talk to her.”

“is it cause you have a crush on her—”

sukuna tenses before cutting him off.

“do a good job acting and i will consider buying you that human earthworm blu-ray. do you hear me, brat?”

yuji’s eyes light up at the mention of the dvd.

“is this impression good enough then?” yuji leans and clutches at his side in fake fatigue while moaning dramatically for help, then immediately straightens up with a smile like he’s waiting for a rating. sukuna shakes his head and genuinely wonders how he’s related to this—in sukuna’s words— pea brained doofus.

he dials your number on his offices phone, sitting tense in his chair while he shh’s yuji. yuji nods and salutes as sukuna continues to roll his eyes.

yuji could’ve sworn he saw him smile when you pick up. he continues to watch sukuna fiddle with the curled wire of the phone as he explains yuji’s apparently dire situation. he can just barely hear the muffled sound of you saying ‘just bring him up and i’ll check him out.” over the speaker of the phone before sukuna hangs up and fixes his hair.

sukuna walks out the door and desperately tries to ignore yuji’s terrible post fainting impression behind him as his nephew follows his step to your room.

just before they step into your room he whispers to yuji as he leans over.

“if you can bring up me being single i’ll take you out for ice cream, brat.”